by Jan Coffey
The footsteps of the man coming downstairs sounded like thunder. Cheri laid one hand flat on the table and began applying the translucent polish over each nail.
“I love this smell, don’t you?”
Hawes charged into the kitchen and yanked open the medicine drawer under the liquor cabinet. From where she was sitting, Cheri could see him over the island separating the kitchen from the dining area and living room. With one sweep, he emptied half of a dozen prescription bottles into an open overnight bag.
He came out of the kitchen and looked around. “Where’s your purse?”
“Looking for money? Do I have to pay to have sex with you now?” She laughed at her own joke and carefully tightened the top on the bottle of polish.
“I want the goddamn car keys.” He rumbled past her into the living room like an angry bear. He looked behind the chairs, threw the pillows off the sofa. Nothing.
Cheri sat back and put her feet up on the dining table, admiring her own legs. “You know, I’m tired of this shaving business. I think I’ll go to one of those health spas and start waxing.”
She tried not to flinch as her chair was jerked back roughly and swung around. She looked up into Sanford’s murderous eyes.
“Stop pretending that nothing is happening.”
“Don’t mess up my nails or you’ll pay.”
“I’ll pay? I’ll pay?” he shouted into her face. “Why don’t we just add it to the sixty-seven thousand dollars you charged to my credit card last month?”
“Good idea.”
Hawes looked at her, speechless for a moment. “Sixty-seven thousand dollars! And that’s on top of paying for this house and your sports car and your god-damn food! What the hell do you think you’re worth?”
“You tell me. Do you want some now?” She raised her leg and rubbed her instep against his genitals.
He slapped her foot down and backed away. “We’re done, Cheri. Finished. Do you hear me? I don’t shit golden eggs. I can’t afford you. This ride is over. The house goes on the market in two weeks. You have that long to move your sorry ass out of here and find a new sucker to pay your bills. I canceled that fucking credit card this morning, and I’m taking back the car.”
She looked at her nails. “Sorry, I need at least ten minutes for this to dry. And after that, I still have to apply a clear, glossy topcoat. And another—”
Cheri winced when he took a fistful of hair and dragged her out of the chair and forced her onto her knees. His face had gone white with fury, and she prayed he’d drop dead on the spot.
His voice, though, was low and dangerous. “You have five seconds to come up with those car keys, or you’ll need a lot more than nail polish to patch up your looks.”
Cheri considered calling his bluff. He would never beat her and chance having her press charges. At the same time, she didn’t want to get marked up.
“Four.”
Besides, he was shitting in his pants to get the car back, which meant the old prick was in a serious financial bind.
“Three.”
He couldn’t possibly explain all this to his wife or the director or anyone else. He was in a shitload of trouble and he knew it.
“Two.”
She thought for a second about all the stuff she’d charged to his credit card this month. And then there was the damage to the passenger side of the car from an accident yesterday that he didn’t even know about.
“One.”
Cheri reached inside her back pocket and took out the key ring. She threw it at his feet. Pulling her hair out of his hand, she jumped to her feet.
“Asshole!” she hissed, marching out of the room.
Nate arrived at Pine Street at precisely five fifty-five.
“You don’t have to take everything she says so literally,” Vic told him as he walked through the door into the shop. “You definitely have to allow some play in whatever schedule Ellie gives you. Believe me, she would never think of it herself.”
Nate tossed him the key to the motorcycle. “Is she upstairs?”
“Yeah, getting dolled up, as we speak.” Vic turned the Closed sign outward in the window and grabbed his shoulder bag.
“You mean she’s not ready?”
“She just got back from Sister Helen’s about five minutes ago.”
Nate took the steps three at a time. The door to her apartment was open, as always. He heard the shower running when he went inside. In her bedroom, a sheer, silky red dress and a pair of high heels were on the bed. He took a quick look at the dress. It had cleverly placed bits of lining that covered key areas. He always wondered how that worked. Ellie was still in the shower, so Nate tortured himself for a few seconds, staring at the dress from different angles, imagining where the see-through parts would fit on her body.
His tuxedo and shirt and shoes had been taken out of the bag and were lying on the bed, too. As he peeled off his shirt and kicked off his boots, the water stopped running. He grabbed his shaving bag and knocked on the bathroom door.
“Go away,” she answered.
“I can’t. I have to shave and dress in under three minutes.”
She opened the door, and he was assaulted by a burst of steam and perfume. And then he saw Ellie. Her hair was wet and combed back. Her shoulders were bare and droplets of water glistened on her skin. A big white towel was tucked around her breasts, covering her to below her knees.
She stared at his bare chest for a second before looking up. “Good luck making it.”
“My thoughts exactly.” He leaned down for a quick kiss, but Ellie kissed him back with an unexpected heat that changed all of his plans.
Before he knew what he was doing, Nate was pushing her back against the doorjamb and pressing against her with his body. He couldn’t get enough of her. The way she tasted, the way they fit together was like nothing he’d ever experienced with another woman. Her fingers delved into his hair, and she returned his passion every step of the way.
The friction between their bodies loosened the towel, and Ellie broke off the kiss and caught the wrap before it slid down.
“Your three minutes are up, Agent Murtaugh,” she whispered. She bit on his earlobe and slipped out of his arms. He watched her walk away. The towel dipped dangerously low on her back. He would have liked nothing better than to tackle her onto that bed and give her a lesson or two about the consequences of teasing him.
“And you might want to add a cold shower to your routine,” Ellie suggested, directing a meaningful glance at the front of his jeans. The moment he took a step toward her, though, she ran off into the living room.
“An hour,” he growled at her, turning toward the bathroom. “And I’m planning on spending every minute of it in that shower.”
The subway platform was noisy and swarming with people. Everyone was still celebrating the tenth-inning victory. It had been a pitcher’s duel until the top of the ninth, when the Phillies pitcher had given up two runs. The home team then came back to tie it in their own at bat. Then, in the tenth, a two-out homer had given them the win.
“Stay together,” Ted shouted to his rambunctious group of eleven.
Chris didn’t know the names of the Philadelphia Phillies players. He wasn’t sure who’d pitched or who came in as reliever. He had no clue what slugging percentages meant or what the batting averages were of any of these players. Other than street ball, he’d never been part of a baseball league. He never played T-ball when he was little. The only thing he knew about the sport was from what other kids talked about. But tonight, eating hot dogs and soda and cotton candy as they watched the game from the upper deck, Chris had had the best time of his life.
He saw Ted waving the whole group closer to the tracks. Eager to please, he was the first one standing by the yellow line.
“We’re taking the next train,” Ted announced over the voices. Their group crowded closer behind Chris. “Stay together. Toni, why don’t you come up next to me?”
The twelve-year-old we
aved through till he was next to Chris. “How did you like it tonight?”
“It was awesome.”
“Yeah. It always is.” Toni jabbed Ted in the chest. “Guess we’ll keep this old guy. He’s pretty cool.”
The whistle of the train could be heard down the dark tunnel. Chris was momentarily pushed past the yellow line by the throng behind him, and he scrambled back quickly.
“Be careful,” Ted warned.
“We don’t want to peel your ass off the tracks, Chris baby,” one of the boys behind him taunted.
“Let me fix that hat.” Another boy pulled the baseball hat off Chris’s head and started shaping the brim. Chris never took his eyes off it. The hat was a present from Ellie. She’d brought it over this afternoon, right before they’d left for the ballpark.
“I want everyone to turn to the right when they get on the train. Hear me?” Ted called to the whole group. “I want all of you together.”
Chris watched his hat shaped and rolled and punched. He wanted it back, but he didn’t want to sound like a whiner. The whistle from the train was getting louder.
“Here it is.” The boy stretched it out to him, and Chris reached out. The concrete platform was shaking with the arrival of the train. The screeching noise of the brakes drew Chris’s eyes toward the tunnel.
And then he felt the hard shove from behind.
Nineteen
The sumptuous dinner had been served promptly at eight o’clock. Ellie had been told in advance that there would be nine courses in all, and each one seemed to complement the one before. Of course, that nine didn’t include the hors d’oeuvres carried on gold trays by a legion of waiters and waitresses. Lobster bites and caviar, Scottish salmon dumplings, Oriental-spiced duck liver and a variety of exotic foods only set the stage for the feast Ray was happy to present to his guests.
As with all of Ray’s dinner parties, the attention to detail was unbelievable. Even in the selection and preparation of dishes, the individual tastes of the guests had been considered. Ellie knew the menu had been designed to please everyone.
There were thirty-two guests in all. More than half were new faces for Ellie. The others were Ray’s friends and long-time acquaintances whom she’d met on other occasions. Everyone was dressed to the nines, and Nate looked dashing in his black tux. As they sat together at a small table on the terrace listening to the band play, they watched a number of the guests dancing. Two waiters appeared with coffee and yet another dessert.
There had been a point in Ellie’s life, not too long ago, when this lifestyle of extravagance had been her ideal. She’d learned it from Ray himself, whose credo had always been that to live and be happy, you had to live the life of the rich. She had believed it, too. Up to now, it had been the guiding factor in her life.
Tonight, though, looking at the behavior of these guests from an outsider’s perspective—specifically Nate’s—Ellie could see not just the fraying edges, but the gaping holes in that philosophy. Earlier, as she’d mingled among the different groups chatting by the rock garden or by the fountain, she heard whispered criticisms of Ray’s “gaudy flamboyance,” jokes about his “deviant” sexual preferences and his “sordid criminal connections.” All this while sipping his champagne and eating his food. One couple was even complaining about the wine.
This collection of people included some of the shallowest members of Philadelphia’s Main Line set, and Ellie had early on become conscious of it. As a result, she had been trying hard ever since dinner to keep Nate away from their host. She made a mistake in portraying him as a spoiled trust baby to Ray. He just didn’t come across as self-absorbed or superficial. In this crowd, he stood out like a gold medallion among brass, and even though he’d had no difficulty convincing Vic, fooling Ray would be impossible.
“What do you think my chances are against the competition?” Nate gestured vaguely with his cup before putting it down beside his dessert plate.
Ellie followed the direction of Nate’s gaze. The blond woman who had been manipulating everyone’s attention, including Ray’s, had been holding court on the far side of the terrace since dinner. Kathleen Rivers was in her forties—give or take a tuck or two—and striking to the point of being glamorous. When Ellie had been introduced soon after their arrival, she had not realized that this was their opponent. But then, just before dinner, the blonde had approached Nate, asking about his hobbies and collections and explaining her own fascination with Early Americana. As his potential client, Ray had alerted the woman about Nate. Ellie was certain of it.
“It’s not so much what your chances are against her, but what my chances are against Ray.” Ellie watched her former mentor laugh at something the blonde said, while motioning for more wine to be served to her. “Ray saves this kind of personal attention for important clients. Kathleen Rivers has money and is willing to spend it to win the flag. Otherwise, he wouldn’t waste his time.”
“Would he do that to you? Take food from his protégée’s mouth?”
In a minute, she thought. But Ellie didn’t like to think about the calculating coldheartedness of the people around her—those whom she thought of as family. Ray, in particular.
“It’s not personal, Nate. Just business.”
“I think I heard that in a movie.”
“It’s true.”
He nodded toward Ray. “That’s how cutthroats try to justify their actions.”
“I can be as ruthless as he can.”
“I doubt it.”
She frowned at him. “Do you really think I’m not tough enough?”
“Tough? Yes. Stubborn? Plenty. Tenacious? Absolutely. Sexy? Hell, yes. But ruthless?” He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You have no teeth, baby.”
Ellie caught his smile. “Did you just call me a toothless baby?”
He nodded and put an arm around her. His hand caressed her upper arm. “And I meant it, too. But what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing at present, Mr. Moffet. But you won’t be so safe later on.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” His hand moved down to her waist where the sheer fabric hugged the line of her hip. “And you have to leave this thing on while you’re doing whatever it is you’re going to do to me.”
“Do you like the dress?”
“Too much.” His gaze moved slowly down the front of it. “By the way, are you wearing anything under it?”
“I’m not telling.” She smiled, putting her hand on his knee.
Ellie had dressed and escaped from her apartment while Nate had been in the shower. By the time he’d come down, she was wearing a jacket over her dress. She hadn’t shed that until they arrived at Ray’s. After that, there was safety in numbers.
“I thought you looked like a man with an appreciation for the finer things in life.” Ray placed one hand on Ellie’s shoulder, the other on Nate’s. Neither of them had seen him approach. “Hope you’re enjoying the party, Mr. Moffet.”
“Very much.”
“Glad to hear it.” Ray gazed down the dress of his former protégée. “Well, babycakes, this is quite a little nothing you have on. What do you think, Mr. Moffet?”
Ellie felt her temper begin to rise at Ray’s rudeness. Before she could respond, though, Nate picked up his dessert fork and gently cut through the concoction on his plate.
“I like it. Dense chocolate in pastry with some kind of sorbet underneath.” He moved aside a stack of cookies. “Very clever, chocolate mousse beneath these. I also love these miniature balloons, painted with stars and an American flag. Very patriotic. What are they made out of? Brown sugar?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, they are,” their host answered, laughing heartily. Ray’s hand stayed on his shoulder. Ellie was forgotten. “Mr. Moffet…may I call you Nate?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to spend any time with you tonight. But I was thinking, if you’re available tomorrow, I’d love to take you out on my
yacht and show you—”
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Oh, too bad. What about Sunday, then?”
“Not good, either.” Nate reached across the table and took Ellie’s hand. “You’ve ruined my surprise, Ray, but it was time I told her, anyway.” He brought her hand to his lips. “I’m taking Ellie away for the weekend.”
“You are?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
“That’s too bad,” Ray growled, shooting an annoyed look at Ellie.
Nate placed a kiss on the palm of her hand and looked into her eyes. “I should have told you earlier, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Sure. Whatever.” She’d just have to think of an explanation in case she ran into Ray this weekend.
The older man straightened up, taking his hands off their shoulders. “You’re a quick worker, Mr. Moffet.”
“Not usually. But I do have a taste for the finer things in life.”
A hand had shot out, grabbing a fistful of Chris’s shirt before he hit the gleaming tracks. Chris could feel the train bearing down on him.
He twisted in the air, suspended as the headlights blinded him. His stomach heaved as he felt himself yanked upward. Then, just as the shrill whistle screamed by, his body landed with a bang on the concrete platform, his arms and feet flying clear of the train.
The wind from the slowing subway train forced his eyes shut, but the breeze soon died away as the train came abruptly to a halt. Chris opened his eyes. The steel was only inches from his face. Ted pulled him against his chest, and they were enveloped by voices and hands and arms.
Minutes later, Chris still couldn’t loosen his grip around Ted’s neck. He couldn’t open his eyes. He also couldn’t stop shaking.
Like something from a scary movie, the whole thing was playing again in his head. The ground was shaking. The train was coming. Somebody shoving him from behind, and him going over the edge. Then he was falling into the deep pit where the rails were shining and the train was about to smash him like a bug.
