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"No. I didn't even remember his name until he told it to me."
"What was it?"
"Moratelli. Vincent Moratelli. He was very pleasant and he seemed to have figured out that I was trying to get away from this other person, so when he made it sound as if he'd been looking for me, I went along with it. He asked me if I'd like some champagne and I said I would and he took me over there and we started to talk and, oh God, Conor, he said—he said, did I like the little present he'd sent me?"
"What present? Miranda, you've got to..." Conor's face went white. "The picture?"
"Yes," she whispered. "He asked me if—if it had excited me. He said he hoped it would, that he wanted me ready before he—before he—"
Her voice broke. Conor cursed and drew her close against him. He was offering comfort but she could feel the anger vibrating through his body. When he finally pulled back and held her at arm's length, what she saw on his face was terrifying.
"What does he look like?"
"I don't remember."
"Think, Miranda. What does Vincent Moratelli look like?"
"He's tall," she said slowly, "but not as tall as you. Five ten, five eleven, maybe. I'm not sure. Average build. Dark hair and eyes. A pleasant face, nothing unusual."
"Stay here."
"No!"
"I've got to find this bastard, Miranda."
"You'll never find him," she said, her hand clutching his sleeve. "Not in that mob. And I don't want to stay here by myself."
He knew she was right. He'd never find the son of a bitch, not this way. How could you search for one man in a room packed with hundreds? Her description wasn't enough to go on and besides, she was right about something else, too. He couldn't leave her alone. He wouldn't, not for any reason.
"Conor?" She looked up at him, and he had all he could do to keep from taking her in his arms. "Please," she whispered, "get me out of here"
He nodded. "Where's your coat?"
"I checked it." She opened the silver purse and dug out the claims ticket. "Here. It's black velvet, with a hood and a silver trim."
"I know what it looks like."
"You do?"
"I saw you and Nita going out tonight."
"Then, where..." She flushed. Where were you? she'd almost said, why did it take you so long to come to me?
"The damn car quit," he said, his eyes on hers. "And then I couldn't get a mothering taxi or I'd have been right behind you."
She tried to smile. "I'm just glad you showed up when you did."
Conor cleared his throat. "Okay," he said gruffly, "you wait right here."
"No."
"I'm just going to get your coat." He looked at her, saw the determined tilt to her chin, and gave up the fight. "Fine," he said, and held out his hand. "We'll get it together."
* * *
There was a line of taxis waiting outside the hotel but Miranda said she didn't want to go home and be alone, not just yet.
Conor started to reply but thought better of it. She wasn't going to be alone, not tonight, but there was no sense in telling her that and getting into a quarrel before she'd calmed down.
