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“I’ve prepared for both of us.”
The elevator doors opened to the thirty-first floor and Emerson stepped out.
“I have no clothes,” Riley said. “I
haven’t got a toothbrush. I don’t want to be here.”
Emerson unlocked the door to his suite. “Why wouldn’t you want to be here? It’s very comfortable.”
Riley looked into the suite and had to agree. It was very comfortable. It had a view of Central Park and beyond that the West Side skyline. There was a baby grand piano, a dining room table, assorted couches and chairs, fresh flowers on the side table, and fresh fruit on the coffee table.
“This is lovely,” Riley said.
“My father used this quite a lot, and I have to admit that I find it convenient, although I use it sporadically. Your bedroom with bath en suite is down that short hall. I’m going to my bedroom for a moment of meditation, and then there are things I need to discuss with the Siddhar. Dinner is at seven.”
—
Hans Grunwald stood at parade rest with his back to his brother. He was staring out the window in Werner’s office, looking at the Capitol, and he wasn’t happy.
“They’re in New York,” Hans said. “This has gone too far.”
“It’s a harmless wild goose chase,” Werner said. “He’s a complete flake. If it wasn’t for Moonbeam he couldn’t find his way home.”
“He found the gold, and he found us at Fletcher’s Cove.”
“This is an entirely different situation. Plus we have Rollo on the scene.”
Hans turned and looked at Werner. “You’d better be right. The old man will have your head if this goes south…literally. And I’ll be the one to carry out his orders.”
—
Riley sat at the writing desk in her room and googled Mauritius on her smartphone. There were a lot of pictures of a beautiful island nation about twelve hundred miles off the coast of Africa. A picturesque jewel of white sandy beaches in the Indian Ocean, mostly known for being the home of the dodo bird before it went extinct. Mauritius was now a model democracy with a booming economy and a population consisting of a homogenous blend of Indians, Africans, Chinese, and Europeans. There was an awful lot of stuff about banking hours on its official site, but other than that, and the fact “nudism and topless sunbathing are frowned upon on our public beaches,” it looked like a pretty fun place.
Next up for Google was the name on the note they’d found in Günter’s office. Dr. Bauerfeind. Riley found three listings. An anesthesiologist in Augusta, Maine. A gynecologist in Lucerne, Switzerland. A chemist in Frankfurt, Germany.
She read the information on the anesthesiologist and the gynecologist and was about to check out the chemist when there was a knock on her door.
“Fortunately, this hotel has an excellent personal shopper,” Emerson said, handing over several boxes. “This should get you through the next twenty-four hours.”
Riley looked at the boxes. “How did the personal shopper know my size?”
“I gave her the information. I have an excellent eye. And I personally made the decision on the dress. I think it will be perfect.”
“Did the Siddhar tell you to do this?”
“Perhaps telepathically. I haven’t had a chance to speak to him yet.”
Emerson left and Riley brought the boxes into her room and opened them. Silky pajamas, lingerie, basic toiletries, jeans, T-shirt, sneakers, fleece hoodie, and a little black dress. She stripped her suit off, dropped the dress over her head, and looked in the mirror. Emerson was right. The dress was perfect. Better than perfect. It was the dress of her dreams. Simple, classy, sexy, flattering. She was Anne Hathaway after the transformation in The Devil Wears Prada.
—
The Café Carlyle is an intimate dining room with a tiny stage, low-key lighting, and wall murals that look like Matisse and Picasso painted them after they’d been out together on a bender. The waiters are elderly gentlemen who take their jobs seriously. There was no barbecue on the menu and no room on the floor for the Texas two-step, but Riley thought it was wonderful all the same.
She looked at Emerson sitting across from her. He was wearing a black Tom Ford blazer over a black T-shirt. He was getting a five o’clock shadow, and his teeth were exceptionally white in the dimly lit room. Riley was reminded of the wolf in “Little Red Riding Hood.”
Riley took in the candlelight, the wolf, and the glass of champagne that had magically appeared in her hand.
“This isn’t a date, is it?” she asked Emerson.
