by Jason Starr
Forty minutes late and impatient that the elevator wasn’t coming, she took the stairs to the seventh floor. She climbed them two at a time, but wasn’t winded at all when she went past reception, asking Denise, “Is Mr. Kyoto still here?” and even though she was already halfway down the hallway, she heard Denise say clearly, “In the conference room waiting for you.”
Olivia entered and saw the middle-aged Japanese man in a business suit at the conference table with Kathleen, the project manager.
“So sorry I’m late,” Olivia said. “The traffic was insane.”
Mr. Kyoto stood and bowed.
“It’s okay, no problem,” he said. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Ms. Becker.” His English was thickly accented.
“Likewise,” Olivia said, noticing his very masculine scent. It was intense—perhaps because he was nervous about the meeting—and it was the only male scent in the room, which somehow made it even more appealing. When she focused she could detect other odors in the room as well—Kathleen’s Obsession by Calvin Klein, a citrusy scent of maybe Mr. Kyoto’s shampoo or body wash, a strong coffee aroma, her own bacon breath.
“Is everything okay?” Kathleen asked.
Olivia realized she’d probably been flaring her nostrils or making some odd expression while detecting the different scents. She hoped the client hadn’t noticed.
“Oh, yeah, fine,” Olivia said. “It’s just, um, allergies.” She sniffled for emphasis.
“Mr. Kyoto was telling me this is his first time visiting New York,” Kathleen said.
“Oh, is that right?” Olivia said, noticing how good-looking Kyoto was. She liked his slim body and the graying hair at the temples. Even his dorky Woody Allen–style glasses looked sexy. It was strange, because Asian men didn’t normally do it for her. Usually she found their features too delicate; she’d dated a Thai guy for a while and broke up with him because she’d felt like she was kissing a woman. But this Kyoto was having a very different effect on her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten so turned on by a guy she’d just met. But—she reminded herself—this wasn’t just a guy; he was a potential client, a very important potential client. His line of restaurants was a huge account, and she couldn’t lose this deal. She’d already made a horrible first impression by showing up late. Now she had to pull herself together, bring out her A game.
Then she noticed that he was looking back at her expectantly.
“Is something wrong?” Olivia asked, sensing that she’d done something inappropriate.
“Um, the card,” Kathleen said nervously.
Olivia saw that Mr. Kyoto was holding out a business card for her.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Olivia said. “I honestly don’t know where my brain is this morning.”
According to Japanese business etiquette, Olivia was supposed to take the card with her right hand and place it on the table, but she was suddenly distracted again by the scent of Kyoto’s body. She was staring at him and couldn’t help imagining kissing his delicious neck, and she took the card with the wrong hand and put it on the table facedown. Kathleen realized the mistake immediately and turned the card over.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Olivia said.
Smiling, Kyoto said, “It’s okay, no problem.” Then he added, “I brought gift for you from Japan,” and held out a small wrapped package.
Olivia noticed that Kyoto had minty breath, probably from the toothpaste he’d used this morning, but she didn’t know how she could smell his breath so well from several feet away. Then she imagined unbuttoning his jacket and shirt, running her hands over his smooth chest, and then kissing him, running her tongue gently along his skin.
“Thank you,” she said. “This is, um, very kind of you.”
Wondering how his skin would smell from up close, if it would smell even more appealing, she opened the gift—a digital camera—and said, “Thank you so much. I love it.”
Kyoto seemed uncomfortable, and Olivia remembered that according to etiquette she wasn’t supposed to unwrap a visitor’s gift until the visitor had left.
“I’m so sorry, I know I wasn’t supposed to do that,” she said. “Is it hot in here?”
“No,” Kathleen said. “I mean, I don’t think so. Perhaps we should start the presentation now.”
Mr. Kyoto sat at the conference table next to Kathleen.
Olivia began her sales pitch, saying, “First off, thank you for considering Becker Design. We’re a full-service graphic design firm that will satisfy all of your needs, from layout and design to . . .” Then she caught a whiff of Kyoto’s scent and it ignited a fantasy of their naked bodies intertwined and she said, “I’m sorry, what was I saying?” and had to restart her pitch. She stumbled more than once in her presentation. She could tell that Mr. Kyoto was getting frustrated, and Kathleen seemed extremely uncomfortable as well. Olivia knew she was blowing it big-time. But as badly as she wanted to rein in her erotic thoughts, she couldn’t. She remembered Michael warning her, You don’t know how to control it yet, and telling her that she wasn’t human anymore and had wolves’ blood now. Then she had a flashback to last night, Michael appearing like an animal right before he’d bitten her neck.
The crazy son of a bitch. What had he done to her?
Olivia heard herself saying, “We’re a full-service design company that will satisfy all your needs,” and then, overwhelmed by Kyoto’s scent, she said, “I can’t take it anymore. I’m sorry, Mr. Kyoto is just too . . . distracting.”
Kathleen glared at Olivia—maybe confused, maybe horrified—and said, “Um, I think we should take a break for a moment.”
Kyoto stood and said, “So sorry, I go back to my hotel now. Sorry.”
“Please,” Olivia said. “Give me another chance. I told you, I—I’m just not myself this morning.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Sorry. Good-bye.”
He tried to get by her, to leave the room.
“No, you don’t understand, this isn’t me,” Olivia said. “I’m not normally like this.”
She reached out and grabbed Kyoto’s hand, but feeling the warmth of skin against hers, and breathing his scent from up close, was unbearable.
“What are you doing?” Kathleen asked.
Olivia snapped out of it, realizing she was hugging Mr. Kyoto in a full embrace.
She let go of him. His knees buckled and he nearly fell.
“I—I didn’t meant to do that,” Olivia said. “I—I don’t know what’s happening. Are you okay?”
She tried to help him, but he managed to get to his feet on his own. Then he grabbed his briefcase, shouted something at her in Japanese, and left the office.
Kathleen went after him, pleading for him to come back.
Olivia was about to go after him as well, but then she recognized his strong scent lingering in the room and all over her body, and suddenly she didn’t care about losing a major client or anything else.
The scent, and finding more of it, was all that mattered.
TWENTY-THREE
Simon spent the morning calling, e-mailing, and texting Alison dozens of times, but she wasn’t responding to anything. He also contacted everyone he could think of—Alison’s sister, her close friends, people she worked with, neighborhood moms—and they all claimed they had no idea where she was. Alison’s boss, Kevin, her company’s regional sales manager, said that Alison had e-mailed him early this morning, saying she was taking a personal day off from work, but he didn’t know anything else.
Simon had never felt so helpless. All he could do was wait and hope she decided to come back or at least call or e-mail to let him know where she was. But for all he knew they’d left New York, or even the country. What if she’d decided to move to San Francisco, to be closer to her sister? Or Alison’s old roommate from college, Michelle, lived in Adelaide, Australia. For all Simon knew, Alison could have taken Jeremy to Adelaide, and she could be planning to get a job there. Didn’t she always say she wanted to live
in Australia someday?
Suddenly convinced that Alison had run off with Jeremy to Australia, Simon went online to search for contact information for Michelle, what was her last name? Mason, Michelle Mason. Of course, there were a gazillion Michelle Masons, but as he was searching he realized he was jumping to a lot of conclusions. Alison wouldn’t just pack up and leave her job to go to San Francisco or Australia or anywhere outside the New York area. She wasn’t that unstable or flighty; she wouldn’t just run away from her entire life. Several years ago, before Jeremy was born, Simon had brought up the idea of relocating to the West Coast, but Alison was against it because she didn’t want to switch jobs or give up living in Manhattan.
This made Simon feel a little better, but not much.
Simon was so absorbed in trying to track down Alison that he’d nearly forgotten that he was a murder suspect. Finding the blood on his pants had probably been the last straw for Alison, and could he really blame her? Maybe she had done the right thing leaving him. If he’d actually been crazy enough to sic a wolf on Tom, maybe protecting Jeremy and getting as far away from him as possible was the smartest decision she could’ve made.
Then he remembered that the guys were meeting today in Battery Park at noon. All his troubles had started when he’d met them, and though he still didn’t know what, if anything, they had to do with the chaos in his life lately, it was time to finally get some answers.
Without giving it any more thought, he left the apartment and headed toward the subway. Walking along West Eighty-ninth, toward Columbus, Simon kept checking over his shoulder to see if someone was following him. About a third of a block behind him there was a thin woman in her twenties in beige capris and a short dungaree jacket. When Simon turned onto Amsterdam and jaywalked diagonally across the street, he checked again and sure enough the woman had turned the corner, also going south on Amsterdam. Coincidence? Simon didn’t think so, and when the woman continued behind him after he turned onto Eighty-sixth, heading toward Broadway, Simon was convinced the woman was a cop.
Simon had been planning to take the subway, but he didn’t want to be confined, especially with someone following him. Then he had a much better idea.
He turned onto Broadway and broke into a full sprint—first zigzagging by pedestrians, then veering onto Broadway. He ran in the bike lane, keeping up with a bike messenger who was so amazed that he almost lost control of his bike and crashed into a laundry truck, braking just in time. When Simon was passing Zabar’s on Eightieth, he looked back and the woman was nowhere in sight. Cop or not, Simon had left her in the dust.
When Simon arrived at the playground—sweaty but not tired—it was like any other afternoon. Michael, Charlie, and Ramon were seated on their usual bench as their kids ran around playing. They looked like normal dads—even Michael looked harmless, holding a big blue water gun. Despite everything that had happened lately, and everything he suspected had happened, Simon couldn’t deny how being back with the guys—or with “the pack,” as Michael would say—gave him a warm, familiar feeling.
Ramon spotted Simon first—his grin quickly morphing into a perplexed expression.
“Where’s your little man at?” Ramon asked.
“With his mom,” Simon said.
“So you came down here just to hang out with us?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah,” Simon said. “I guess I did.” He looked at Michael. “I mean, I’m part of the pack, right?”
Michael didn’t have a reaction—just his usual blank, distant expression.
“Wow,” Charlie said. “That’s really nice of you.”
Nicky, Charlie’s son, came over and complained that Ramon’s son was pushing him.
“I was not,” Diego said.
“Was,” Nicky said.
“Was not.”
“Was.”
Charlie and Ramon instructed their kids to play nicely and then the kids ran off, resuming their game of tag.
“So, yeah,” Charlie said. “Ramon was in the middle of telling us about his latest girlfriend.”
“Hey, man, I tol’ you, this one’s different.”
“They’re always different,” Charlie said.
“That’s true,” Ramon said. “Women are like trees—no two are the same. But this woman was the most beautiful tree in the forest.”
“Michael set him up,” Charlie said to Simon, filling him in.
“Really?” Simon said.
“Friends do favors for friends,” Michael said, looking right at Simon.
Simon didn’t know if Michael was alluding to the alibi he had given him for the night of Tom’s murder, or if he was implying that he’d killed Alan Freedman and his wife.
“Her name’s Diane,” Ramon said. “She was amazing. Definitely the most sensual woman I’ve ever met. I could make love to her every night for the rest of my life and never get bored.”
Ramon went on, raving about his latest conquest. When he was through, he said to Simon, “So what’s up with you, man? Still having those nightmares?”
Charlie and Ramon smiled.
“Actually, my whole life’s been a nightmare lately.”
Their smiles were suddenly replaced with serious, concerned expressions.
“What happened, man?” Ramon asked.
“Yeah, what’s going on?” Charlie said. “Does it have to do with that thing in Jersey?”
“No, it has to do with another thing in Jersey.”
Michael still didn’t show any hint of emotion.
“What is it?” Charlie asked, concerned.
“Well, I already mentioned this to Michael,” Simon said, “but that night my boss was mauled to death in New Jersey, this other guy—”
“You mean Alan Freedman?” Charlie asked.
Simon glared at Michael.
“There are no secrets in the pack,” Michael said.
“I don’t get it,” Simon said. “You mean you told them—”
“Don’t worry, man,” Ramon said, smiling. “We got your back.”
Simon paused, absorbing all of this. It had probably been a good thing that Michael had told the guys; it was a better alibi if three guys could vouch for the story, and Simon trusted Charlie and Ramon more than he trusted Michael. Still, Simon couldn’t help feeling betrayed.
“So what about Freedman?” Charlie asked. “Did the cops ask you about him again?”
“Different cops, but yeah,” Simon said.
“I don’t get it,” Ramon said.
“Freedman and his wife,” Simon said, “they were shot and killed last night.”
“No way, man,” Ramon said.
“You’re kiddin’ me,” Charlie said.
As usual Michael remained expressionless. If he played poker he could’ve made a fortune.
“Yeah,” Simon said. “It’s horrible. And pretty coincidental too, huh?”
“Wow,” Charlie said. “That is a pretty big coincidence, isn’t it?”
Charlie’s and Ramon’s surprise seemed genuine, but Michael was impossible to read.
“Look, I know this is probably all just a weird coincidence,” Simon said, “but I have to ask anyway.... Did any of you have anything to do with this?”
Ramon did a double take, then said, “You serious? You really think I’d go kill two people?”
Charlie seemed just as hurt, saying, “Yeah, I mean, we’re friends and I’d lie to the police to help you out of a tough spot. But killing people? You seriously think I’d do something like that?”
“I’m sorry,” Simon said. “I just had to ask, that’s all.”
Simon glanced at Michael, waiting for his response, but he was silent.
“What about you? Did you have anything to do with it?”
Short pause, then Michael said, “You’re accusing me.”
“No,” Simon said, “I’m just asking you.”
Long blank stare, then Michael said, “I was with a woman last night.”
“Oh, okay,” Simon said, real
izing Michael hadn’t answered the question. “I was just asking because the police don’t think it’s a coincidence that a guy who just reported seeing me near Tom’s house wound up dead, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence either.”
“He said he didn’t do it,” Charlie said.
“No,” Simon said, “actually he didn’t say that.”
“You should remember who your friends are,” Michael said.
Michael didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t have to because the implication was loud and clear. Accusing Michael of murdering two people was probably a bad idea when he was relying on him as an alibi for another murder.
“Well, I guess last night was just a crazy coincidence,” Simon said, backing off, trying to defuse the tension. “Everything’s been crazy lately.” Then, thinking about how he’d lost his family, maybe forever, he suddenly got emotional. He looked away, not wanting to cry in front of the guys.
“It’s gonna be okay, bro,” Charlie said.
“Yeah, it’s gonna all blow over,” Ramon said.
“My wife found blood on the jeans I was wearing the night my boss was killed. I don’t know if it was my boss’s blood, but who else’s blood could it’ve been? Then the police took me in for questioning and when I came home . . . my wife and Jeremy were gone.”
“Gone?” Charlie said. “You mean like they left you?”
Simon, still managing to hold back his tears, nodded.
“Ah, jeez, I’m sorry,” Charlie said sincerely.
“Yeah,” Ramon said. “I’m really sorry, man.”
“There are many women,” Michael said.
Simon took a few moments to absorb this, then asked, “What do you mean?”
“He’s just sayin’ there’re a lot of fish in the sea,” Ramon said. “And he’s right, you can trust me on that one.” Then Ramon’s attention was suddenly diverted, and he called out to his son, “Hey, Diego, I said no pushing! You don’t want me to have to put you in a time-out, do you?”
