Fifth Avenue wst-1

by Christopher Smith

  Eric leaned forward. The group of reporters he passed earlier were still gathered in front of the building’s entrance. Although he wasn’t sure why they were there, he assumed it had to do with the takeover of WestTex.

  “I want you to help me destroy George Redman,” Louis said.

  Eric looked at the man, not sure if he had heard him right. Louis was still facing the windows. The sun beating through the glass turned his silvery crown of hair to gold.

  “You’ll be paid an obscene amount of money for what little I want from you,” Louis said simply. He left the window and reclaimed his seat. “In fact, even after you pay off your hospital bills, refinish your apartment and replace your neighbor’s paintings and her Henry VIII furniture, you’ll be set for life.”

  Eric was speechless. How did Ryan know about his apartment? About the destroyed paintings and furniture? The pipes burst only that morning.

  Louis opened a desk drawer and removed a slip of paper. He handed it to Eric and Eric saw that it was a check. His eyebrows rose-the amount was indeed obscene. “And how will I earn this?” he asked.

  Louis sat down. “I need you to confirm some information I received concerning the takeover of WestTex Incorporated. All you have to do is copy a few files for me and that check is yours.”

  “Confirm?” Eric said. “Then you’ve already been in contact with somebody from Redman International?”

  Louis casually waved a hand.

  “Who?”

  “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I don’t trust this person. Unlike yourself, he doesn’t want to see Redman burn.”

  So, it’s a man. “What makes you think I do?”

  “Because you hate George,” Louis said. “I think we both know that Redman has destroyed your reputation. You couldn’t get a job in this city even if you wanted to flip burgers. It’s also obvious that Redman is behind the pipes bursting in your apartment. He canceled your insurance for a reason. He wants you out of his building and out of New York.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  Louis sipped his drink and met Eric’s gaze levelly. “There’s nothing I don’t know about you, Eric. Not the beating you gave Leana Redman the night of Redman International’s opening, nor the contract you put out on her while you were in the hospital.”

  Eric could only stare. If the man wanted to, he could blackmail him with this information.

  “So,” Louis said. “We have a deal?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  From the great semicircular balcony of their corner suite at the Hotel de Paris, Leana stood looking down at the crowded port of Monte Carlo. It was late afternoon, the sun was setting and in the distance on a jutting, rocky promontory, she could see the Palace, framed beyond by a deepening-blue sky and the Mediterranean.

  The air was cool, clean and smelled of salt. Dozens of yachts and sail boats were returning to the harbor after a day at sea. All around her, the charming Edwardian villas she had come to love as a child were a refreshing change from the skyscrapers of Manhattan.

  It was still difficult for her to believe that only yesterday she had been in New York, single and living a nightmare.

  Behind her, she heard a faint groan and the rustling of sheets. She turned to look across the room at the bed and found Michael settling onto his stomach, his arms outstretched, his face turned to hers. He was breathing soundly and Leana thought that he was beautiful.

  She was glad he could sleep. For her, sleep hadn’t come. Everything that led to them coming across the Atlantic to this hotel room was still whirling in her mind.

  It seemed unreal that she married Michael only that morning and that they made love all afternoon. Last night, Mario nearly killed him. If she hadn’t looked up from the car’s back seat and seen Michael standing in traffic, if she hadn’t screamed for Mario to not shoot, she knew that either he or one of his men would have done so.

  And Michael would be dead now.

  The idea that her association with Mario might have led to Michael’s death was something she didn’t want to face. Michael came into her life at its darkest point and he lifted it. All those days they spent cleaning and painting her apartment-and going out on the town when they were too exhausted to continue-meant the world to her. He had changed her life for the better and she loved him for it.

  Today, marrying Michael had felt right, regardless of how briefly she’d known him. Leana knew she would never have a relationship with Mario. She knew he would never leave his wife for her. His father wouldn’t permit it. If she had gone with him to the apartment he offered, if she had allowed him to come in and out of her life as he had in the past, she knew she would have been miserable.

  And so she left with Michael. To her surprise, Mario didn’t put up a fight. Instead, he held her, kissed her and told her that the situation with Eric Parker would be taken care of while she was gone. Leana knew what that meant and the thought chilled her.

  Mario was going to kill him.

  It was in the cab that Michael proposed.

  After she told him about the gun, the note and the contact Eric Parker put on her, he surprised her by removing two airline tickets from his inside jacket pocket. “You know I love you,” he said. “You’re too smart not to know it. Marry me. We’ll fly to Europe. You’ll be safe there. You’ll be safe with me. We’ll get away from this and we’ll be happy. I promise.”

  It was all so easy.

  Leana was so frightened by what was happening in her life, so confused and worried about her future, she realized that she wanted to leave New York, that she didn’t want to return until Eric Parker-and his contract-had been dealt with. She would be too scared living there otherwise.

  Without giving it another thought, she took the small Tiffany box he gave her, opened it and found inside one of the largest solitaire diamonds she’d ever seen. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”

  It was morning when they arrived in Nice. Rested from the trip over, they rented a car, drove the short distance to Monte Carlo and checked into their hotel suite only long enough to take a shower. It was then, while Michael undressed, that Leana noticed the dark bruises on his back, stomach and shoulders. Alarmed, she asked him what happened.

  “I was mugged,” he said simply.

  “Mugged? When?”

  He put a finger to her lips. “It happened yesterday morning. Three guys jumped me on Avenue B.” He shrugged. “They didn’t get much money and I’m still alive. That’s what matters.”

  “What were you doing on Avenue B?”

  “Research for a book.”

  “You’re taking this awfully calmly.”

  “Don’t forget I’m an actor.”

  She put her arms lightly around him.

  “Did you go to the police?”

  “What good would that have done?”

  He was right, of course. Leana recalled her own experience when the man harassed her in Washington Square. She felt the same as Michael. The police could do little in situations such as this. There were too many people in the city and not enough officers to make a difference. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” she asked.

  “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “You should have,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  “In a few hours we’ll be married,” he said. “I’ve never felt better.”

  “You'd better not be acting now,” she said.

  At Cartier, they bought their wedding rings-two simple bands of platinum. At a men’s clothing store, Michael found a charcoal-gray suit and black loafers. And at a small boutique, Leana bought a simple yet elegant white silk dress. Although it was not the wedding dress of her childhood dreams, she accepted this because she knew now that dreams rarely came true. And so what if they didn’t? Too many things had gone wrong in her life. She felt lucky to have found a man who wanted to spend his life with her.

  When they had everything they needed, they went to the crowded port, chartered a yacht and were wed by the yac
ht’s captain in international waters at sea. Now, as dark clouds moved in from the west, eclipsing the setting sun, Leana left the balcony and stepped into the bedroom, her hair stirring in the rising breeze.

  She closed the French doors. Michael was still asleep. Despite the diminishing light, she could see the bruises on his back and thought how painful they looked. She wondered how he could move, let alone sleep. But as she stood there looking at him, she realized just how tired she was. For the first time since their arrival, she felt as though she could actually sleep.

  She checked her watch and decided to lie down for a half hour before calling the front desk and making dinner reservations. She removed her black silk kimono and snuggled into bed beside Michael. His body was warm, his breathing heavy. She closed her eyes and began to drift.

  She was awakened hours later by the sound of rain beating against glass.

  Leana stretched in the dark and checked the digital clock on the bedside table. Three hours had passed. She closed her eyes with a groan. “I can’t believe I slept this late,” she said aloud. She turned to wake Michael, but his side of the bed was empty. She sat up, looked around the dark room and saw a flag of light coming from beneath the closed bathroom door. She heard running water. He was in the shower. She was tempted to settle back onto the warm sheets and go back to sleep, but they hadn’t eaten since morning and she was hungry.

  She turned on the lamp beside her and looked through the windows. Rain was whipping against the glass. There was no going out in this weather. Although the hotel had a restaurant she loved, she didn’t feel like putting it together and leaving their suite. Room service it is, she thought, and reached for the phone.

  As she lifted the receiver to her ear, she didn’t hear a dial tone, but a male voice saying: “…paid Santiago half this morning. He’ll get the rest of the money you owe him when you finish the job and kill her father-”

  The voice abruptly stopped. Leana sat there, puzzled-she knew that voice. She strained to hear something more, but only the hum of static was left on the line.

  “Michael?” she said. “Are you on the phone?”

  There was silence, then the sound of someone taking a breath. Leana replaced the receiver. She sat motionless and felt uneasy. The voice she heard wasn’t Michael’s, yet she was almost certain she had heard it before. But where?

  She quickly picked up the phone and held it to her ear. Now, there was nothing but a deep dial tone. Whoever was on the line had hung up.

  Her kimono was at the foot of the bed. Leana put it on and went to the bathroom door. She listened. She could hear Michael humming, could sense the moist heat in the room beyond. She tried the doorknob, turned it and found it unlocked.

  She was surprised by this. For some reason, she was expecting to find the door locked.

  She opened the door. Steam poured out of the bathroom and curled around her feet. Leana stepped quietly into the room and looked at the phone that was on the wall beside the shower. She checked it and found that it was dry. She looked at the shower. She could see Michael beyond the frosted glass doors, could see him rubbing a washcloth over his muscular frame. His back was to her and he continued to hum, seemingly unaware of her presence.

  Leana was about to tap on the glass and ask him what was going on when the phone suddenly rang. She drew a sharp breath. Michael stopped humming and turned off the water. She watched him open the shower door and leisurely fumble for a towel on the rack outside.

  There were none. They had used both towels earlier that morning and they were now lying across the room in a wet heap. The phone rang again. Michael said, “Shit!” and started to push open the glass separation.

  “Do you want me to answer it?” she said.

  “Jesus!” His hand jerked back and struck the shower door. “Leana? What are you doing in here? I thought you were asleep. Christ, you scared me.”

  The phone entered its third ring, began its fourth. The sound echoed in the large bathroom. “Can you get that?” he asked.

  She was confused. She was certain he was going to insist on answering it himself. Had the lines somehow gotten crossed in the storm and she heard someone else’s conversation? She couldn’t be sure, but she knew she’d heard that voice before.

  The phone rang again. Michael said tentatively, “Honey…?”

  Leana reached for the phone, not sure what to expect. The press had tracked them down earlier, but the front desk had been given specific instructions to screen all calls. Mr. and Mrs. Archer did not wish to be disturbed by any member of the press.

  Then who is calling? Nobody knows we’re here.

  She answered the phone. A man’s voice. “Leana?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Harold. Thank God, I found you.”

  “Harold?” She looked at Michael. “Is something wrong?”

  “You need to come home immediately. Something terrible has happened. Your parents need you.”

  “Since when?”

  Harold paused. “It’s your sister, Leana.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  He entered her apartment not as guest, but as intruder. It was an odd feeling and one he wasn’t comfortable with. The woman, after all, was in love with him.

  With the help of one of his crutches, Eric eased the door shut behind him and listened. He was standing in the foyer of Diana’s apartment and he could hear a television playing in the distance. It sounded as if it was coming from the kitchen. Or from one of the rooms upstairs.

  Was she home? She said she would be out most of the day. If you’re going to stay here, I’m going to have to buy food? What do you want?

  He made a list and she left. It was then that he phoned Louis Ryan and left for their appointment.

  He moved out of the foyer and into the living room, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror she had taped a list of his faults to. He looked tense beneath the purplish bruises on his face, and if she was here, he knew she would notice and ask him what was wrong.

  Calm down.

  The living room was empty. To his right was the winding staircase that led to the second-floor bedrooms and Diana’s office. Eric looked up and called her name once, twice, but there was no reply.

  The kitchen was at the end of a long hallway. Awkwardly, he moved toward it, the rubber tips of his crutches catching on the carpet, the sound of the television growing louder. There was no one in the dining room as he passed it. He opened a door and saw that the bathroom was empty.

  When he reached the kitchen’s closed swinging doors, he listened and heard not only the television, but also running water. He closed his eyes. She was home. She was fucking home. Now what was he going to do? Ryan wanted that information immediately.

  He turned and looked back down the hallway, toward the living room. For a moment, he considered sneaking into Diana’s office, locking the door behind him and getting the files Ryan needed. But that would be stupid. If Diana ever went to her office and learned what he was doing, his ass would be behind bars for the next twenty years. He would have to wait and get the information later.

  Parting the kitchen doors with his shoulder, he stepped through.

  Tried to step through.

  In front of the doors was an overturned bag of groceries, their contents spilled. Eric looked around the room, saw a small wooden table on its side and another bag of groceries on the floor. Alarmed, he went to the island that was in the center of the kitchen and turned off the running water-the television seemed to grow louder. He looked at the screen, saw that she had it on CNN and clicked it off. It wasn’t until he turned to look once more around the room that he saw the note stuck to the refrigerator.

  He plucked it off. In a hurried scrawl, she’d written these words: “George called an emergency board meeting. I don’t know when I’ll be home. Call me immediately at the office.”

  Eric read the note twice, wondering what had happened and why George would call an emergency board meeting on a Saturday afternoon. He
was tempted to call and ask her what was going on, but there was no time. He dropped the note into a wastebasket and left the kitchen.

  As fast as he could, he moved down the hallway toward the living room. Leg throbbing, head aching, one single thought revolved in his mind: The sooner Ryan has that information, the sooner that check is mine.

  In the living room, he was faced with his first obstacle-the tall, winding staircase.

  Eric looked up at it with dread and wondered how he would get to the top of it without falling and breaking his neck. He took one stair at a time, moving carefully, his crutches slipping twice on the varnished wood.

  By the time he reached the upper level, four minutes had passed and he was out of breath. His forehead shimmered with perspiration and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. Her office was through the door to his right. Eric glanced at his watch and wondered how much longer she would be. Hours? Minutes?

  He stepped into the sun-filled room. File cabinets were along the wall to his left. At his right were bookcases filled with law books. On gleaming glass tables were computers, printers, telephones, fax machines and photocopiers. The office was large, but it wasn’t overdone. Like Diana, it was practical and efficient. Essentially, it was a smaller version of her corner office at Redman International and Eric knew that everything she kept there, she had files of here. For convenience.

  He went to the computer that was in the center of the room.

  As he sat in the leather chair and lowered his crutches to the floor, it occurred to him once more how ridiculous this was. There was not one thing Eric didn’t know about the takeover of WestTex Incorporated. He and Diana discussed it every day. If Ryan had only listened to him, he now would have the information he needed confirmed. But the man trusted no one. He insisted on having hard copies of every file Eric could get his hands on-and Eric was in no position to argue.