STOLEN MOMENTS

by Michelle Martin

  Half an hour later, Harley walked into the Ritz-Carlton, Duncan's large, warm hand holding her hand in silent support. She didn't notice the marble lobby. She scarcely realized an elevator was carrying her back to the twenty-third floor and the start of this amazing tableau. She could only think about Boyd.

  It surprised her how easy it was to set up the man who had micromanaged her life for nine long years and had helped make her a star along the way. It surprised her that all of the pity she had felt for him on Sunday when she had fired him had been burned away by the anger she felt now at being so badly used and for such a terrible cause. What other secrets had she carried around her neck for him? How many people had suffered, maybe even died, because of what her good luck charm had hidden?

  She felt as if the gold chain were burning through her skin, like acid, while she and Duncan were slowly and methodically searched by the four bodyguards posted outside of Boyd's hotel suite. As if they could protect him from Maurizio. Once assured that they weren't armed and that Boyd was indeed expecting them, the guards unlocked the door to the suite and let them pass.

  The resemblance to the suite she had escaped just nine days ago felt like bad déjà vu. She and Duncan walked across marble floors to the pale green carpeted living room. The curtains for the windows and glass terrace doors overlooking south Central Park were drawn. The suite was shadowy and stale from days of fear. Boyd stood at the small wet bar, pouring himself a whiskey. He never took a drink during business hours. The full whiskey tumbler shocked Harley almost as much as his gray face did. He looked like death.

  "Did you decide to come crawling back, Jane, or do you just want to add another charge to my libel suit?" he demanded as he turned to face them. The whiskey glass wobbled precariously between his fingers. He was staring at her pendant. She had worn a black scoop-necked shirt with her black jeans so that he wouldn't miss it.

  "Neither," she answered advancing into the room, feeling Duncan's strength supporting her as he stayed one foot behind her. "We've been through a lot together, Boyd. I don't want us to end badly. I'm going home to Sweetcreek tomorrow and I want to say goodbye properly, with no ugliness between us."

  Boyd considered the amber liquid in his glass. "That's good of you, Jane … I mean, Harley. You've practically been a daughter to me. I'd hate to part as enemies."

  "Thank you," Harley said, making herself walk closer to him even though she was afraid to smell him, to feel the taut energy of his compact body, to touch him. "I was wondering if I could have one of your famous gold pens. You know, as sort of a keepsake, a memento of our time together and all the contracts you've signed on my behalf."

  "Sure," he said, his steel gray eyes burning a hole into her pendant as he reached into an inside coat pocket and pulled out a gold pen. He held it out to her, then pulled it back when she reached for it. "How about a trade?" he said, his tongue darting out nervously over dry lips.

  "A trade?"

  "Keepsake for keepsake."

  "Sure, Boyd. Anything you want."

  "Well, whenever I think of you, I always see you wearing that pendant. How about giving me that?"

  "My pendant?" Harley said doubtfully, though eagerness was singing in her breast. "I don't know, Boyd. It means a lot to me."

  "You bought it when you signed with me; it only makes sense to give it away now that we've … parted company."

  "You're right," Harley said, slipping the pendant over her head and holding it out to him. "Take it with my blessing."

  She saw what an effort it was for him not to snatch it from her fingers. But he held himself back. He gave her the pen; he took the pendant. It was all very civilized.

  His thumb stroked feverishly across the back of the gold note.

  "I hope your future brings you everything you deserve, Boyd," she said quietly.

  "Thank you … Harley. Keep in touch," he said.

  "Sure."

  Somehow she made it back out of the suite. Duncan held her hand, his strength infusing her as they stepped onto the elevator.

  "How does revenge feel?" he asked.

  "Awful," she whispered.

  "I think Agent Sullivan is right," he said, giving her a reassuring squeeze as the elevator doors closed. "You won't have to testify against Boyd in court. The Feds will play him off against Maurizio. He's bound to make a formal confession."

  "It doesn't matter. He really was like a father to me, Duncan."

  She hadn't expected to cry. But then, she had never been betrayed in her life … until now. Until Boyd. It was the ugliest feeling in the world. Duncan wrapped her in his arms and held her, absorbing her pain as she had done for him this morning.

  The elevator doors slid open. They stepped into the small, elegant Ritz-Carlton lobby, and Duncan's cellular phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket. "Hello." He listened for a moment and then hung up, his face expressionless. "Brandon's on his way. We've got to get out of here."

  She raised her free hand and brushed his cheek. "Duncan, I'm so sorry.

  His smile was forced. "It's all right, Harley."

  They took a cab back to the Sentinel Building. Neither of them felt like talking. To get Boyd out of her life by firing him was one thing; to know he'd probably be spending the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary was a whole other ball of wax. It felt horribly permanent. She stared at her life and saw a huge chasm where Boyd had been. She glanced up at Duncan, wondering what he saw. But his stony expression revealed nothing.

  It was a shock when he refused to go back to the penthouse with her.

  "I have to finish my report on this case," he informed her as they stood beneath the domed gold-leaf ceiling of the Sentinel Building's lobby.

  "But it's after six," Harley argued. "Surely the report can wait until tomorrow. You need a break."

  "It can't wait until tomorrow. Your part of the case isn't closed until I write the final report, and I want this case closed. It shouldn't take more than two hours. I'll take my break then. We'll have dinner. Send out for whatever you like."

  Harley stared up at him, trying to understand this wall that had slammed down between them. "What's going on, Duncan?"

  "Nothing," he replied, stepping into the express elevator. "I'm just doing my job. You know, the one I'm so passionate about."

  The doors closed on him and he was gone.

  Slowly she turned to the penthouse elevator and the uniformed guard standing beside it.

  "Evening, Miss Miller."

  "Hi, John," Harley responded, though she barely saw him and wasn't even really conscious of stepping onto the elevator. Duncan was shutting her out when he needed her most, and she didn't know why. Brandon was walking into a noose tonight and that had to be like acid burning Duncan's soul. Why wasn't he letting her give him the comfort he needed? Why was he making the pain worse by fending her off?

  "Why are you doing this?" she demanded hours later as Duncan rose from a dinner neither of them had eaten and shrugged back into his dark blue jacket.

  "Because I have to," he replied.

  She stood before him, holding him, pleading with her whole body. "You don't have to put yourself through so much misery. The FBI will handle Brandon and Maurizio, you don't have to be there."

  "He's my brother, Harley," Duncan said, gently breaking free of her arms. "I have to see him do this thing myself or I'll never really believe it. Besides, I promised Giscard I'd personally take the diamonds in hand and make sure Louis and Desmond get them to the Bartlett Museum safely."

  "Then at least let me come with you."

  "No."

  "Duncan, don't make yourself walk through this alone. Please."

  "I won't be alone, I'll be with Agent Sullivan."

  "You know what I mean!" Harley said, the anger a sudden frenzy in her breast. He was locking her out. He was deliberately locking her out of his life.

  "I'll be fine."

  "You'll be in hell. Duncan, let me help."

  "I said no," he retorted.
He even started to walk toward the front door.

  Harley swore virulently and at length, which got his attention. "What the hell is this?" she finally demanded. "Latent macho tendencies rearing their ugly head? You don't think real men lean on the women in their lives now and then?"

  "Not at all. I just choose not to lean on something that won't be around tomorrow."

  "Yes, I will."

  "I was speaking metaphorically."

  "Dammit, Duncan, let me in!"

  "This is a family matter, Princess," he said in a cold, irritated voice, "and I intend to keep it strictly within the family."

  She felt as if he had just slapped her. She lost her breath for a moment from the shock of it. "And what am I?" she demanded in a low, urgent voice.

  He turned, but didn't quite look at her. "My current lover. There's a difference. But you know that, Princess."

  She forced herself to fend off the pain. She forced herself to think logically, reasonably. "You have never deliberately hurt another person in your life, Duncan Lang. Why are you doing this to me now?"

  He looked at her then, dark eyes bleak. "Because I have to."

  He walked out the front door, closing it quietly behind him.

  * * *

  The cab dropped Duncan in front of his parents' immaculate five-story red brick town house. He stared up at it thinking that it was ironic, really. All he had ever wanted from his parents was love and respect. They had never given them to him, and now he was about to ensure that they never would. He was about to pull their world down around their ears and he hated himself for that, because he knew what it felt like and he would visit that pain on no one.

  He walked up the brick pathway and knocked on the front door. His father had the locks changed every six months. When Duncan had left for prep school at the age of fourteen, Colby had stopped giving him a key to the house. He'd been knocking ever since.

  Johnson opened the door and greeted him with austere surprise. The butler's inference was clear: behold the Prodigal Son come twice to his parents' door in only a week. The Apocalypse must be close at hand.

  "I realize this is Tuesday night, Johnson," Duncan said as he walked into the checkerboard-tiled reception hall, "but I believe my parents are here nonetheless."

  "They are, Master Duncan," the butler replied in his cool English accent.

  "In the library?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I'll announce myself," Duncan said, starting up the stairs. He liked the reassuring feel of the smooth mahogany handrail against the palm of his hand. It almost allayed the chill that pervaded the house and seeped through his jacket and his shirt, raising goosebumps on his arms.

  Harley, he thought with sudden agony and then pushed her image from his mind with ruthless force. He had reached the third floor. He walked slowly down the landing to the library doors.

  He entered the rose and white room quietly, without his usual flourish. There was nothing to defy or celebrate tonight. He walked across the oak parquet floor to the couple seated opposite each other on matching neo-Federal chairs. Elise Lang wore a rose peignoir. Colby wore a paisley silk dressing gown. Both were reading and oblivious to him. He had never wanted to maintain that status quo so much in his life.

  "Good evening, Mother. Good evening, Father," Duncan said.

  They looked up from their respective books, his mother's expression one of surprise, his father's expression one of loathing.

  "You're half dressed, Duncan," Colby sneered. "Where's the habitual woman on your arm?"

  "I felt this should be a private matter between us," Duncan calmly replied. "I've solved the Giscard diamond robbery, Father."

  Colby stared up at him in disbelief.

  "You were right," Duncan said, walking over to the cream-colored armoire and opening the top doors to reveal a large-screen TV and VCR, "it was an inside job. You just picked the wrong son for the thief."

  Shock shimmered behind him.

  "Duncan Lang, I will not have you stand there and slander your brother!" Elise Lang declared in a frigid, shaking voice.

  "I understand, Mother," Duncan replied, pushing the videocassette into the VCR. "That's why I thought it best that Brandon explain things himself."

  Both Colby and Elise Lang began protesting and berating him at once. Then the tape began to play and they saw their eldest son shake hands with Angelo Maurizio. Their sudden silence made the bile rise in Duncan's throat. How in God's name was he supposed to survive this? He stepped to the side of the white video cabinet and watched, not the tape, but his parents. He saw their disbelief, their conviction that this must be some awful fabrication. He understood. He'd felt like a victim of The Twilight Zone himself as he had watched his brother remove a contact lens case from his pocket, open it, and drop the two computer chips into Angelo Maurizio's hand.

  "Delivery as promised," Brandon said.

  "If a little late and on the wrong coast," Maurizio said as he studied the chips. He sat sleek and regal behind a huge mahogany desk, while his golden brother stood before him like a serf.

  "Look," Brandon said, "I can't help it if Boyd Monroe screwed this deal up. I told you I'd bring you the chips and I have. Does this cover the eight hundred grand I owe you or not?"

  "Of course it does," Maurizio said smoothly. "A deal is a deal, after all."

  "Good. Then here's a little something on account."

  Brandon pulled a velvet pouch from the pocket of his Armani suit and poured the Giscard diamonds into Angelo Maurizio's hands. "They're valued at one million dollars," he said. "You can have any expert you want authenticate them. You'll see I'm telling you the truth."

  "They are magnificent," Angelo agreed, holding up one of the largest to examine it with honest appreciation. "These, I take it, are the Giscard diamonds which disappeared on their way to the Bartlett Museum last week?"

  "You don't have a problem receiving a rival's goods, I hope?" Brandon said.

  "Not at all," Angelo expansively replied. "It is a pleasure to hold something of such value to Armand Giscard. Tell me, how did you do it? The police and Giscard's own men are certain that your brother stole them."

  Brandon shrugged. "That's how I planned it. Duncan's past made him the most likely suspect. It was easy to pin the job on him. I used an old magician's trick to make it seem like the diamonds had disappeared when, in fact, they were hidden in a secret compartment in the courier's briefcase all the time. I figured everyone would panic when the briefcase was opened and the diamonds weren't there, and they did. It only took a second to empty the secret compartment's stash into my pocket."

  "You are an impressive young man, Mr. Lang," Angelo murmured from beneath lowered eyes. "I look forward to continuing our mutually beneficial association."

  Brandon grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. "You'll tell your bookies I can start placing my bets with them again?"

  Maurizio smiled. "I'll tell them you've got a million-dollar limit. They should welcome you with open arms."

  Duncan stopped the tape and hit the rewind button. The horror on his parents' faces had turned to numb acceptance. Denial, for once, would avail them nothing. He stood before them, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Quietly, he began explaining the whole convoluted Boyd-Brandon scheme, sparing his brother nothing. "This is only part of the surveillance tape the FBI made today," he concluded. "It will be used in court to convict Maurizio of a long list of crimes."

  "Oh my God," Elise Lang croaked.

  "In exchange for the evidence I had gathered on Monroe and the computer chips, as well as Brandon's testimony against Maurizio and Boyd Monroe, the FBI has agreed to grant Brandon immunity. Fortunately, he really was no more than Maurizio's glorified errand boy on a single job. The FBI has further agreed to tell the media that Brandon, at the solicitation of the FBI, had agreed to act as a double agent to finally get the evidence the Feds needed to put Maurizio away for life. They're taking Brandon's statement now."

  "Oh my God," Elise w
hispered.

  "It's okay, Mother. Brandon's going to come out of this looking like a hero." Duncan couldn't keep his mouth from twisting into a smile. "Why should this job be any different? I gave the diamonds to Giscard's henchmen and they, in turn, delivered them to the Bartlett Museum an hour ago. I've spoken with Giscard and he has spoken with the New York police. The cops have agreed to drop their investigation. I have arranged with Carmine Bellini, an … acquaintance of mine, to pay off Brandon's debt to the Maurizio family so we won't have that connection haunting us."

  "You used Colangco funds without my authorization?" Colby erupted.

  "No, I used my funds from Grandfather's trust."

  "You don't seriously expect me to believe that you didn't run through your trust the day you turned twenty-five, do you?"

  "Check the bank records, Father." Duncan forced himself to smile. "You'll see I'm actually a very good money manager."

  Colby was silent a moment. "You'll be repaid, of course.

  "No." Duncan forced himself to speak calmly, even pleasantly. "I don't want your money, Father, and I don't want to hurt Colangco by denuding its accounts. I think my money was well spent for the lesson learned. So," he pushed on, before Colby could start grandstanding, "only one question remains: what are we going to do about Brandon?"

  "He's safe from the police and that awful mobster," Elise Lang said in a weak voice. "We don't have to do anything with Brandon. We may go on as we've always done."

  "Wrong," Duncan said flatly. "Brandon is a compulsive gambler. He has a big problem that he refuses to acknowledge. Left to himself, he'll get in debt again and use one of Colangco's clients to dig himself back out again. He's a loose cannon. He's got to be plugged."

  Elise hysterically berated him for a full five minutes, flying at Duncan like a mother hen protecting her prized chick. He had expected nothing less. Brandon was her Beloved Boy. She had never tried to hide her preference. Even after having the truth forced on her, even after accepting it, she could not tolerate anything that impugned her son's character.

  "Are you willing to risk Colangco's reputation, even its very existence, on Brandon's ability to choose a winning basketball team, Father?" Duncan inquired as his mother burst into tears and retreated to her chair.