Honeymoon

by James Patterson

  “All day long,” I said.

  “Did she see you go inside the apartment?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is she still outside?”

  I gave her an exaggerated yawn. “Does that mean I actually have to get off the couch and look?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “Take the couch with you.”

  I smiled to myself. I’ve always loved a woman who can give as good as she gets.

  The window next to the couch had a ratty old roller shade that was drawn all the way. Carefully, I pulled back one of the edges and sneaked a peek.

  “Hmmm,” I muttered.

  “What is it?”

  Nora had parked about a block down the street. Her car was gone.

  “I guess she’d seen enough,” I said.

  “That’s good. She believes you.”

  “You know, I think she still would’ve believed me if I had a decent apartment. Maybe something in Chappaqua?”

  “Is someone complaining?”

  “It’s more like an observation.”

  “You don’t get it. This way she thinks she’s got something on you,” said Susan. “Dressing and driving beyond your means makes you more human.”

  “Whatever happened to just being nice?”

  “Nora comes across as nice, doesn’t she?”

  “Yeah. Actually, she does.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “Did I mention the yellow Formica countertops?”

  “C’mon, the place can’t be that bad,” Susan said.

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to live here.”

  “It’s only temporary.”

  “My saving grace. Hell, that’s probably the real reason for this apartment,” I said. “It’ll make me work faster.”

  “The thought did cross my mind.”

  “You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

  “Not if I can help it,” she shot back. “Seriously, though, good work today.”

  “Thank you.”

  Susan gave me an end-of-the-day sigh. “Okay, it’s official. Nora Sinclair has gone backstage on Craig Reynolds. Now what?”

  “That’s easy,” I said. “Now it’s my turn.”

  Chapter 38

  THERE WAS ONLY one empty seat in the first-class cabin. Under normal circumstances, Nora would’ve regretted that it wasn’t the one next to her. Then again, normally she didn’t have such a cute guy sharing the same armrest. From the side, he kind of looked like Brad Pitt, only with no wedding ring on his finger, no Jennifer on his arm.

  During takeoff Nora—sans her own wedding ring—checked out her window-seat companion with a furtive glance. She was pretty sure he was doing the same with her. Of course he is. What man wouldn’t? When the captain turned off the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign, she knew the guy was ready to make a move.

  “I’m a stacker myself,” he said.

  She turned with the coy pretense of just now realizing she wasn’t alone. “Excuse me?”

  “On the coffee table there.” He smiled broadly and nodded at the Architectural Digest open in her lap. On the right-hand page was a picture of a spacious living room.

  “See how the magazines are spread out?” he said. “Fact is, there are only two types of people in this world… stackers and spreaders. So which one are you?”

  Nora stared him right in the eye, unblinking. As conversation starters went, she had to give him a few points for originality. “Well, that depends. Who wants to know?”

  “You’re absolutely right,” he said with an easy laugh. “You shouldn’t reveal such personal information to a complete stranger. My name’s Brian Stewart.”

  “Nora Sinclair.”

  He presented his hand, strong-looking, nicely manicured, and they shook.

  “Now that we know each other, Nora, I believe you owe me an answer.”

  “In that case, you’ll be pleased to know I’m a stacker.”

  “Knew it.”

  “Oh, did you?”

  “Yep.” He leaned in slightly, but not too much. “You come across as very put together.”

  “That’s a compliment?”

  “For me, it is.”

  She smiled. Maybe the real Brad Pitt was better looking, but Brian Stewart certainly was charming. Reason enough to keep the conversation going for a while.

  “Tell me, Brian, what’s waiting for you in Boston today?”

  “A dozen venture capitalists. And a pen.”

  “Sounds promising. I take it the pen is for your signature.”

  “Something like that.”

  Nora was expecting him to elaborate, but he didn’t. She grinned. “To think I revealed myself as a stacker, only to have you turn bashful on me.”

  He shifted in his window seat, clearly amused. “For the second time, you’re absolutely right. Okay, last year I sold my software company. This afternoon I’m about to launch my new one. Bor-ing.”

  “I don’t think so. Anyway, congratulations! And those venture capitalists—they’re investing in you?”

  “The way I see it, why put up your own money when others are willing to put up theirs?”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Now what about you, Nora? What’s waiting for you up in Boston today?”

  “A client,” she said. “I’m an interior decorator.”

  He nodded. “Is your client’s home in the city?”

  “It is. Except that’s not the one I’m decorating. He recently built a villa down in the Cayman Islands.”

  “Beautiful place.”

  “I’ve yet to go myself. But I will shortly.” Nora opened her mouth as if to say something else. She stopped.

  “What were you going to say?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s silly, really.”

  “Go ahead, try me.”

  “It’s just that when I mentioned this client to one of my girlfriends, she said the reason he was building down in the Caymans was probably so he could keep his eye on the money he was hiding from the IRS there.” She shook her head with a convincing naïveté. “I mean, I don’t want to get mixed up in anything I shouldn’t be.”

  Brian Stewart smiled with a knowing look. “It’s really not as sinister as you may think. You’d be surprised at how many people have offshore accounts.”

  “Really?”

  He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. “Guilty as charged,” he whispered. He picked up his champagne glass. “We’ll make that our secret, okay?”

  Nora picked up her glass, and the two of them clinked. Brian Stewart was shaping up to be someone she might want to get to know better.

  “To secrets,” she said.

  “To stackers,” he said.

  Chapter 39

  “WHAT CAN I GET for you?” she asked.

  I looked up at the flight attendant—tired, bored to tears, trying to be nice anyway. She and her drink cart had finally made it back to me. “I’ll have a Diet Coke,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I ran out of those about ten rows ago.”

  “How about ginger ale?”

  Her eyes darted around the open cans on top of the cart. “Hmmm,” she muttered. She bent down and began pulling out one drawer after another. “I’m sorry, no ginger ale, either.”

  “Why don’t we try this the other way around,” I said with a forced smile. “What do you have left?”

  “Do you like tomato juice?”

  Only with a lot of vodka and a celery stalk sticking out of it. “Anything else?”

  “I’ve got one Sprite.”

  “Not anymore, you don’t.”

  It took her a second to realize that was my way of saying “yes, please.”

  She poured about half of the Sprite and handed it over with a small bag of pretzels. As she wheeled the cart off I held up my plastic cup. If I squinted enough at the bubbles, it almost looked like the champagne Nora was probably drinking up in first class.

  I popped a minipretzel into my mouth and
tried to move my legs. Wishful thinking. With my tray table down, they were wedged in from every angle. Complete loss of circulation to all lower extremities was only a matter of time.

  Yes, indeed. It was right about then that I realized what the common thread of this assignment was so far. In a word, cramped.

  Cramped office, cramped apartment, cramped seat in the last row of coach that had me breathing in the odors of the cramped bathroom directly over my shoulder.

  Not that all was lost.

  The one good thing about tailing people on an airplane is that you never have to worry about losing them during the flight. At 35,000 feet, no one is about to slip out the side door.

  I glanced up at the royal blue curtain way, way, way down the aisle. While the odds fell somewhere between slim and none that Nora would have any reason to venture back and mingle with us poor slobs in coach, I still had to stay on my toes.

  Not that I could feel them anymore.

  Earlier at the Westchester airport, I was sure Nora hadn’t spotted me before the flight. Well, she might have seen me, but for sure, she didn’t recognize me. Besides my Red Sox baseball cap, dark glasses, jogging suit, and gold chain, I’d broken out the fake mustache. Throw in a Daily News that was never farther away than twelve inches from my face and I’d pretty much cornered the market on incognito.

  No, Nora had no idea she had company on the flight. That much I knew. Of course, what I didn’t know was the question of the day.

  What’s in Boston?

  Chapter 40

  I FOLLOWED NORA and her smart little suitcase on wheels down an escalator and past the baggage claim area. As always, she looked good, front and rear view. She had this way of walking—and a great smile when she needed it. She never once looked up at a sign for directions. Safe to say, this wasn’t her first trip to Logan Airport.

  She walked outside and came to an abrupt stop—looking around. What for became clear after a few minutes.

  It wasn’t a cab and it wasn’t a friend’s car. It was the shuttle bus for Hertz.

  As soon as she hopped on, I made a dash for the cab line.

  Taxi!

  “Take me to the Hertz lot!” I barked at the back of the driver’s head.

  He turned around, an old-salt type, his face a road map of wrinkles and creases. “What?”

  “Take me—”

  “No, I heard you just fine there, pal. What I’m saying is, they have shuttle buses for that.”

  “I don’t like waiting.”

  “Neither do I.” Jabbing his finger, he pointed out the back window. “You see that line of cabs behind me? I didn’t wait in it for no three-dollar fare.”

  I looked up ahead at Nora’s shuttle bus getting farther and farther away. “Okay, give me a number,” I said.

  “Thirty bucks. That’s my final offer.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Deal. Drive.”

  Chapter 41

  THE GUY SPED OFF and I immediately began to work my phone. I had the number for every airline, hotel chain, and rental car company already programmed in. It was a job prerequisite.

  I called Hertz. After suffering through a minute of automated prompts, I got ahold of an available agent.

  “And when will you be needing the car, sir?” she asked.

  “In five minutes. Maybe less.”

  “Oh.”

  She promised to do the best she could. In case it wasn’t good enough, I told the driver he might be spending some more quality time with me.

  Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.

  Nora’s shuttle driver had a helium foot. With him puttering along, we actually passed the bus before we got to the lot. By the time Nora climbed into a silver Sebring convertible, I was behind the wheel of my minivan. That’s right, a minivan. I mean, who’d ever expect to be followed by someone driving one of those?

  Just the same, I was sure to keep a little distance between us. That was until Nora made it clear she was no shuttle bus driver. Formula One racer was more like it.

  The more I gunned it, the faster she seemed to go. Instead of blending in with the other cars, I was forced to blow by them. So much for my inconspicuous minivan.

  Shit.

  A red light. I’d already sailed through an earlier one, but this one was at an intersection. Nora made it through and I didn’t.

  As she became a speck in the distance, I could do nothing except curse and wait. The thought of having flown all that way only to lose her was turning my stomach.

  Green light!

  I hit the gas and my horn at the same time, tires screeching. The game had changed to catch-up and I was in serious jeopardy of losing. I glanced down at my speedometer. Sixty, seventy, eighty miles an hour.

  There! I spotted her car up ahead. I drew a sigh of relief, slowed down, and tried to pull closer. I had two lanes to work with and the traffic was cooperating. I could move back and forth without being too obvious. Things were looking up.

  If only I’d been doing the same.

  Chapter 42

  I SHOULD’VE SEEN the split coming, where the road divided. I was too busy staring at the big Sealy mattress delivery truck ahead of me, preparing to overtake it.

  Bad decision.

  With my right foot pressed to the floor, I pulled up alongside the truck. It blocked my view of Nora. Edging forward, I strained my neck to see where she was.

  But it was something else I saw. Big, bright yellow drums! The kind they fill with water and stack before concrete dividers so instead of going splat, you go splash.

  I looked over at the delivery truck. We were neck and neck, the driver peering down at me.

  I glanced at those big yellow drums. They were getting very close, very fast.

  The lanes were about to split. I was in the left one, Nora in the right. I needed to get over.

  The goddamn truck!

  As soon as I nosed out in front, the driver sped up. I jammed on my horn while flooring the accelerator.

  Up ahead, Nora passed the yellow drums and shot off to the right.

  I was still stuck in the left lane and running out of real estate. Fast.

  Fuck it.

  I slammed on the brakes. If I couldn’t cut in front, I’d duck in from behind. All two tons of the minivan began to swerve wildly as I watched the Sealy mattress truck—an easy ten tons—start to veer. That’s when I realized he wanted into my lane.

  I couldn’t hear the horns behind me. Or the screeching of tires. The only sound was my heart pounding as the nose of my minivan kissed the truck’s back, metal against metal.

  Sparks flew. I lost control of the wheel. I spun out wildly, nearly flipping over. I would have were it not for one small detail.

  Splash!

  My face hit the air bag, and the yellow drums did the rest. It hurt like hell, but I knew right away. I was one lucky son of a bitch.

  Traffic started to move again as I stepped out of the minivan. Like me, everyone else had survived with barely a scratch. There was water everywhere, pools of it, but that was it.

  Idiot. I was furious with myself. Finally, I collected myself and made the call.

  “I lost her.”

  “What?!” snapped Susan.

  “I said—”

  “I heard you. How could you lose her?”

  “I had an accident.”

  Her register immediately shifted to concern. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “In that case, how the hell could you lose her?”

  “The woman drives like a maniac.”

  “What, and you don’t?”

  “I’m serious. You should’ve seen her.”

  “I’m serious, too,” she barked. “You should’ve never lost her.”

  I was pleading with myself to stay calm. However, Susan wasn’t exactly making it easy. As tempting as it was to grab her anger and throw it right back, I realized I’d be better off just taking it on the chin.<
br />
  “You’re right,” I told her. “I screwed up.”

  She calmed down a bit. “Do you think maybe she spotted you?”

  “No. It wasn’t like she was trying to lose me. She just drives fast.”

  “How much luggage did she have?”

  “A small roller. She carried it on.”

  “Okay, then. Cut your losses and come on back to New York. Wherever she’s going, it’s safe to assume she’ll be returning to Connor Brown’s house soon enough.”

  I decided that it was a good idea to change the subject. “Did we get the okay on the dig?” I asked.

  “Yes, the dig is a go. The paperwork should come soon,” she said. “I’ll let you know.”

  I said good-bye, and that should have been it. But this was Susan I was talking to. In case I wasn’t absolutely clear about her disappointment, she gave me one more shot.

  “Have a safe flight home,” she said. “Oh, and try not to screw up anything else today.”

  I listened as she hung up and then I shook my head slowly. I started to pace, trying to burn off the anger. It wouldn’t burn off. The more I paced, the worse I felt. The tension began working its way through my body, and before I knew it, it all collected in my fist.

  Smash!

  And like that, my rented minivan had one less window.

  Chapter 43

  NORA TOOK ANOTHER LOOK in the rearview mirror. Something had happened back there, maybe an accident.

  If that’s what it was, she assured herself that it was merely a coincidence and had nothing to do with the weird feeling in her stomach. The one she had had after leaving the Hertz lot. The “I’m not alone” feeling.

  Now, as she arrived in the heart of Back Bay, it seemed to disappear.

  The traffic on Commonwealth Avenue fell somewhere between a slow crawl and a parking lot. There was some protest march over on Newbury, and every other street was paying the price. Nora lucked out and found a spot after circling only three times.

  She’d put his wedding ring on while riding the shuttle bus at the airport. After her customary look in the car’s vanity mirror, she was ready to go. The suitcase came out; the convertible top went up. It’s showtime, babe.

  As usual, Jeffrey was working when she let herself in. She’d come to realize there were only three things that took him away from his writing. Food, sleep, and sex, not necessarily in that order.