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“What?” Katrina said, and she could hear the quaver in her voice. “What is it?”
Brilstein’s smile grew until he was showing an entire mouthful of bright white teeth. “Remember what I said about the old Brilstein Luck?” he said.
* * *
—
Katrina was covered in cold sweat, and her heart was pounding wildly, thumping so loudly she could barely make out what Brilstein was saying. He sat right beside her on the sofa, and she was aware that he was speaking, but the words seemed to be warbled indistinctly in some foreign language. She glanced at him; he was looking at her gravely, and she tried to focus in on what he was saying. “. . . nothing at all, do you understand?”
Katrina clenched her fists until she felt her fingernails dig into the flesh of her palms. “I . . . what?” she said.
“I said—don’t say anything at all, Katrina. Nothing, not even hello, not unless I say so, all right?”
Somehow the words got through the fog, and Katrina nodded. “I—yes,” she said. “I understand.”
“It’s crucially important,” Brilstein went on. “Vital. We don’t know what he’s going to say—and, more importantly, who he’s saying it for, all right? So just sit tight and hear him out and don’t say anything.”
Katrina just nodded.
There was a soft knock on the door and a young woman stuck her head in. She smiled at Katrina and then said to Brilstein, “He’s here, boss.”
Brilstein nodded. “Send him in,” he said. He glanced once more at Katrina and held a finger to his lips. She nodded and turned to face the door.
Randall walked in. He seemed slightly unsteady, as if walking on a wobbly floor. He stopped in front of Katrina and Brilstein and looked at her, then at him, then back to her, very uncertainly. His face was pale and sweaty, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. He stood there for a moment looking at Katrina. Then he swallowed and said, “I—I only . . .” He glanced at Brilstein. “I’m sorry, I just— Can I sit down, please?”
Brilstein nodded at a chair, and Randall sank into it gratefully. “Thank you,” he said in a raspy voice. He cleared his throat, said, “Thanks,” and ran a hand over the top of his head. It came away wet with sweat, and he stared at it for a moment, as if not sure what he was seeing. Then he dropped his hand and swallowed hard. “I just, I don’t know where to—I mean how to, uh—” He glanced down at his lap, clenching his hands into fists. Then he looked directly at Katrina. “I just came from the district attorney’s office,” he said. He looked even more worried. “They, they—she asked me about the alarm? A lot of—I mean, the alarm at your house?”
He waited; Brilstein nodded, and Randall went on. “A lot of questions—and it’s like, they think it means something, what I said about the alarm, and, and . . . She said that I was the final proof, a witness that—” He swallowed audibly and looked at his hands again. “She, uh—I mean, the DA? She said that unless I testify—and I mean, if I did, what I said would prove—I mean, to a jury, not—but that any jury would believe that you . . .” He shook his head, his face a mask of bewildered anguish. “But if I don’t testify . . . Katrina, if I don’t testify for the prosecution, I am looking at fifteen years in prison? Uh . . . accessory something?”
“She’s exaggerating,” Brilstein said. “Probably more like five to seven, with time off.”
Randall didn’t look reassured; he went right on, as if he hadn’t heard. “And she said if I refuse to say anything, it’s obstruction of justice, and that’s almost as bad, and—and I thought, I can’t do that. Fifteen years? That’s—but I could never . . . I mean, but how could I live with myself if anything I said might, you know—if it could hurt you?”
Randall looked at her pleadingly, and Katrina felt her heart go out to him. But she felt Brilstein’s hand clamp down on her arm, and she said nothing. “Go on,” Brilstein said.
Randall’s glance flicked to him, then back to Katrina. “Katrina, I—I could never hurt you. But to go to prison for . . .” He swallowed hard again and dropped his eyes. “I—I—I tried to think of what I could do that might—but everything seemed like it was either . . .” He looked up at her and quickly down again. “I couldn’t see any way out of— I mean, either you go to prison or I do—or both of us—and that was . . .” He took a deep and very shaky breath. “And then I thought, um . . .”
Randall jerked abruptly to his feet, glanced at Katrina, and wobbled over to the window. He stood there for a moment, looking out while he clenched and unclenched his fists spasmodically. “Okay, I know this is . . . I mean, I know we’ve never talked about our feelings or anything, so it just seemed so—and it hasn’t been that long, either, so . . .”
He turned and looked at her, and for the first time he met and held her eyes. “Katrina,” he said in a wounded-puppy voice. He walked jerkily back toward her and stood in front of her, swaying slightly. “I could never—really! I can’t testify against you—but I can’t go to prison, either, and the DA is—I mean, it’s like—”
Randall shook his head with a rapid, jerky motion. “I don’t know, maybe this is stupid, I’m really sorry, but—I had this idea? It was in some old movie, I can’t remember what the—but I Googled it? And it’s true! It would mean they couldn’t compel me to testify, and I mean I’ve been thinking about it anyway, just not so soon, but now it’s like—”
Once again he swallowed, swayed on his feet—and then abruptly lurched over onto one knee. “Katrina—will you marry me?”
Katrina could only stare. She felt her mouth moving open and closed, like a fish out of water, but no sound came out, and anyway, she wasn’t supposed to speak at all unless— She glanced at Brilstein. To her astonishment, he was beaming, a huge smile. And he nodded at her happily.
Katrina looked back at Randall and took a ragged breath. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will.”
CHAPTER
20
Monique could feel herself getting fat and lazy. If not literally, physically fat—no more than maybe a pound or two?—then mentally fat. Because she had just been sitting here waiting for Riley, and she hated being idle. She’d never really learned how to do nothing. She couldn’t stand to watch TV, and she had no training in how to relax, kick back, mellow out—and no desire to learn. She had been a relentless worker her entire life. If she was not working on something, she started to go crazy after just a few days. And it had been far too long since Riley’s last visit. She had received a half dozen calls absolutely begging her to take a job—but how could she take on any new projects when Riley might show up at any minute with the job of a lifetime? Whatever it was—
And that was another thing making her buggy. What was it?
Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have mattered. She’d never asked him for details before—it didn’t seem all that important. But this time . . . the way Riley had been acting, not just mysterious but hesitant, as if this time there was some doubt in his mind. Riley Wolfe never felt doubt. If he was feeling it this time—why? What did Riley want her to make that could command that much money? Hundreds of millions of dollars—and Monique knew how Riley worked. His payout was usually from the insurance, for much less than full value. That way the settlement was quick and painless for both sides. So if he expected a few hundred million, then whatever he was after would be worth three or four times that much. Which meant . . . a billion dollars?! Two billion? There were no more than a handful of objects in the entire world worth that kind of cash. And Monique couldn’t think of one of them that was even a remote possibility.
