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Payne, watching Camilla Rose walk away and noting that she again moved in her usual graceful fashion, wondered: Does she really believe her brother put a hit out on Austin? Or is this just an opportunity to use me to stick it to him?
He felt his telephone vibrate once more. He pulled it from his pocket and read the glass screen. Below a text message from Amanda, and another from Camilla Rose, he saw that the newest had been sent by Rittenhouse Realty.
He first read Amanda’s text. If you can get out of anything you might have planned tonight, I’d appreciate it. I’d like for us to have some quality time together.
Then his eyes went to the other text. Mr. Payne, an update, as you requested. We have an application for the unit. You’re welcome to view the condo tomorrow and complete paperwork as the back-up applicant for it. I highly encourage you to do so, as it isn’t unusual for there to be a problem with the other’s credit, references, et cetera. Thank you.
He went back and reread Amanda’s message.
Quality time? he thought.
She’s been in such a funk, I cannot imagine she’s thinking about getting naked.
I really want to surprise her with the damn condo. We can’t live in that one-bedroom of hers. Not if there’s going to be three of us. Or more.
And how would she not love The Rittenhouse?
I’ll do anything to get her past this, get her happier.
Including not letting work interfere with tonight’s “quality time.”
Better give Tony a heads-up.
He thumbed a speed-dial number, and when Harris answered, Payne said, “Two things. First, in case I get hit by a bus or suffer some other calamity, let me share with you what Camilla Rose just told me . . .”
II
[ ONE ]
The Hop Haus Tower
Northern Liberties
Philadelphia
Thursday, January 5, 7:55 P.M.
Matt Payne, having showered at the garret apartment and changed his bloodstained bandage and clothes, walked across the brightly lit marble lobby of the luxury condominium high-rise. He wore woolen slacks—his Colt pistol tucked inside the waistband at the small of his back—with a camel hair blazer, crisp dress shirt, and striped necktie. Cradled in the crook of his left arm were two dozen long-stemmed red roses wrapped in a fine ribbon of white linen.
At the far end of the lobby, he approached a pair of sliding glass doors outside the bank of four elevators. He waved the electronic fob that hung from his key ring at a reader device. The enormous doors whooshed aside.
One elevator stood waiting with its doors open. He stepped on, swiped the fob at another reader device on the panel, and when the green light above it lit up, he pushed the 21 button.
As the elevator began its ascent to the penthouse floor, he could smell the delicate fragrance of the flowers. And that caused his mind to drift back to two weeks earlier.
—
Matt had been released from Temple University Hospital on the previous day. Amanda had brought home with them a few of the enormous floral arrangements that well-wishers had sent. In total, there had been more than a dozen, and as the newer ones had arrived, and begun to pack the room, Matt had insisted that their cards be kept but the flowers be distributed anonymously around the hospital for others to enjoy.
Now floral fragrances filled the condominium.
In the dining room, there was also the smell of beef tenderloin. Matt and Amanda had just finished a fine Chateaubriand with béarnaise sauce that she had prepared, knowing it was one of his favorites.
Matt marveled at the woman who was carrying his child. Amanda Law, who had just turned twenty-nine, was the chief physician in the Burn Unit at Temple. She stood five-five and weighed one-ten, and had an athlete’s toned body. Thick, wavy blonde hair hung to her shoulders, softly framing her beautiful face and intelligent eyes.
Early in the meal, Matt had recognized that the conversation had been somewhat stiff and had tried to lighten it by again discussing the various plans in preparation for when the baby would come.
