Twenty Hours in Boston

by Priscilla Darcy

  "A-Rod playing third. Stupid Aaron Boone. I could kill Aaron Boone. He ... I mean, after we worked so hard to get this deal through...” She sighed heavily.

  "We need some drinks,” said Gray.

  She remembered, suddenly, that she was trying not to be friends with him. That she was standing too close to him. That his hand was hot and so much bigger than hers that hers was swallowed in it. That he smelled like an expensive cologne that he had not been wearing the first time she had met him.

  Drinks, she thought, were definitely not what they needed. They needed space. A whole continent's worth of space. That was what they needed.

  She took an abrupt step back, pulling her hand out of his. “I have to go."

  He had no idea what to say. Should he apologize? For what? He wasn't the only one responsible for the throb of sexual awareness between them.

  But he took too long to try to decide what to say, because she was gone. Just like that. And he was standing alone in the lobby like a complete idiot.

  "You okay, Gray?"

  He jumped, startled, looked at Lucy. “What? Yes. I'm fine. Why? Don't I look fine?"

  "I don't know how you look. Just a little ... stunned."

  Stunned. Yeah, that boded well. He tunneled two restless hands through his hair, wishing he could swipe Aubrey from his mind just as easily. “What's up?"

  "Just wanted to thank you for asking Mark for the extra security for my VIPs. I appreciate that.” She tilted her head. “Sure you're okay?"

  "I'm fine."

  Lucy looked pretty skeptical. Gray wondered what it was he looked like that made Lucy so suspicious of him. He probably looked confused as hell, and confused was something he usually made a point of not being in front of employees. “Okay,” she said after a second. “You done for the night?"

  "Yes. Just finished my walkthrough. Everything's quiet."

  "Good. Let's hope it stays that way. Enjoy your Valentine's Day."

  "My what?” he asked blankly.

  "Valentine's Day. It's Valentine's Day,” she reminded him.

  "Oh. Right. Thanks. You too."

  "You might have a concussion, Gray. You might want to stop by the emergency room or something.” She grinned at him.

  He scowled. “I'm fine, dammit."

  "Oh, the Chairman doth protest too much, methinks,” Lucy called out gaily as she walked away.

  Chapter Ten

  "Everything changed after the ball went through Buckner's legs, and that's because nothing changed."

  —Glenn Stout and Richard A. Johnson, Red Sox Century

  February 16, 2004

  "Dennis Halcourt is coming back,” Lucy announced.

  It was early on Monday morning. Gray was presiding over the biweekly meeting that he, Lucy, Mark, and Danny took part in. Danny was busy smothering yawns, the result of working all weekend and being substantially jet-lagged. Mark had been paying very little attention to the conversation, but he looked up abruptly at Dennis Halcourt's name. Gray had thought he would. Mark had been in law enforcement too long.

  "I wasn't sure how you wanted me to handle it,” Lucy continued. “I know you weren't too thrilled about it last time."

  "And I thought he would be deterred by our less-than-welcoming welcome—no Bienvenue puns, Danny—and never come back. My luck is apparently not that good."

  Danny yawned. “I'm too tried for Bienvenue puns."

  "You need to be awake to make one of those awful puns?” drawled Lucy. Lucy was not a fan of puns. “He's back, and he's trying to book rooms."

  "Fine. Let him. Treat him cordially but coolly. Hopefully he's deterred this time."

  "You're letting him come?"

  Gray turned toward Mark, who had his head tilted and was watching him steadily, sharply, with intense interest. “I can't turn guests away just because I don't like them."

  "As long as it's not on a discriminatory basis—"

  "I'm not setting a precedent for the Bienvenue to arbitrarily turn away guests, especially not high-roller guests."

  "He's a criminal, Gray. Maybe you want to start a precedent of turning away known criminals."

  "He's not a known criminal until you get your former colleagues to arrest him and then you get a conviction."

  "Just because he has lawyers who can run circles—"

  "I need a conviction, Mark. And even then I'm not sure I'm going to establish a policy of checking criminal records at the door unless I think the rest of my guests are at risk. Chances are pretty low that Halcourt's going to open fire in the casino or something. So Lucy will be cordial but cool, and hopefully he'll get the hint."

  Gray thought Mark would say something else, but he fell silent, looking more thoughtful than displeased.

  "Anything else?” Gray asked, looking in Lucy's direction, because Danny was half-dozing through the meeting and whatever Mark might have on his mind Gray thought was better said in private.

  She shook her head.

  "Alright. We're done here. Danny, stick around?"

  Danny leaned back in his seat, watching Gray idly. He covered another yawn while Lucy and Mark filed out.

  "I wanted to thank you,” said Gray, “for helping me out in St. Paul. I heard everything went like clockwork, and I know that's because you were behind the scenes doing everyone's job for them."

  Danny shrugged. “It really wasn't hard. Diane runs the hotel well."

  "You know,” Gray said seriously, “I'd give you your own hotel if I had anyone else who I felt could run Vegas as well as you do. But it's so complex, and when I'm not around—"

  Danny interrupted him with a smile. “Don't apologize. Believe me, I don't envy Diane St. Paul, Minnesota. I like it just fine here."

  "Okay. I just feel guilty sometimes that you're always working with me looking over your shoulder."

  Danny shrugged again. “I just ignore you. Doug did well, you know."

  Gray blinked. “Really?"

  "Everything I asked of him. No complaining. No sulking. I don't think he really wanted to be in St. Paul, but at least he did as I asked instead of, you know, doing anything else. So, even if it was a spur of the moment decision predicated by the fact that he was taking your girl out for a night on the town—"

  "She's not my girl,” Gray insisted, shocked that Danny would even suggest it.

  "—it worked out well. Maybe Doug's turned over a new leaf."

  Gray paused for a second. “She's not my girl."

  "You said. Try to figure out why your brother's suddenly turned over a new leaf.” Danny stood up.

  "You think I need to watch my back?"

  "I don't think he's coming after you. But I think it's suspicious that he's suddenly being obedient. You should maybe look into it, find out what's going on with him."

  "All right,” Gray agreed. “Take a few days off."

  Danny shook his head. “I'll be fine once I get a bit of sleep."

  "Yeah, but you worked all weekend, over Valentine's Day, as a favor for me.” Gray rose to his feet. “So take a few days off."

  "Far be it from me to argue with your wisdom,” Danny replied as they headed out of the room together. “Who would schedule a trout fishing convention over Valentine's Day weekend?"

  "Men with very angry wives. Or very angry girlfriends. I have recently been told by a married friend that Valentine's Day is more important to dating people, not married people."

  "I believe that."

  "The slot machine returns are still off,” said Gray.

  "I know. I haven't had a chance to—"

  "It's fine. Not top priority. Just throwing a reminder in there. If I get a second I'll take care of it before you get back."

  "No, don't do that,” Danny said quickly.

  Gray glanced at him in surprise. “Why not?"

  "Because when Gray Delamonte starts calling around, there are whispers all over the place. I'm nice and anonymous."

  "Good point.” Gray stopped outside Mark's office and turne
d to Danny. “Go home and sleep."

  "I'm planning on it. Call if you need me."

  Gray grunted a reply and opened Mark's door, knocking on it as he did so.

  "Hey,” Mark said, glancing up from the library of tapes on his bookcase.

  "I thought you'd want to have it out,” said Gray.

  "Have it out over what?” asked Mark, sounding genuinely surprised.

  "Dennis Halcourt,” Gray answered simply, sitting in Mark's chair because Mark was still standing by the bookcase. “You're not pleased about Dennis Halcourt."

  "No, I'm not pleased about Dennis Halcourt,” Mark said to the videotapes, “but I told you I wasn't pleased about Dennis Halcourt and you didn't seem too concerned so I assumed the subject was closed."

  "Watch him like a hawk. The instant he does anything wrong, tell me, and I'll gladly throw him out. But I cannot throw people out of this casino because I don't like them. Believe me,” he added dryly, “I'd love to close the Bienvenue to Rosie, but I'm not going down this path."

  Mark looked up at him then, eyebrows drawn, and demanded, “Are you laundering money for him?"

  Gray blinked up at him, feeling a little battered about the head by the straightforward disapproval in the question. “What? No!"

  Mark didn't take his eyes off him. “You're not."

  "No. Why would you think that?"

  "Why do you think I would think that?"

  "What the hell kind of conversation is this?"

  "Look, casinos are ideal places for money-laundering. There's so much money going in and out every day, almost impossible to account for it all, unless someone thinks to take a closer look—"

  "You're absolutely right. But I'm plenty rich enough. I'm not money-laundering for Dennis Halcourt or anybody else."

  Mark tilted his head.

  "You're trying to figure out whether you believe me or not,” Gray realized in disbelief.

  After a moment Mark sighed. “No, I'm not. Not really. I'm sorry, Gray. I had to ... I mean, I had to ask."

  "All right. It's all right. Is there something going on that makes you think I'm money-laundering?"

  This got Mark suspicious again. Gray could see it. “Why do you ask?"

  "Because I should look into it. I might not be money-laundering but that doesn't mean that one of my employees isn't. You're right, you know, about casinos. A lot of money going in and out every day."

  "I haven't seen anything that makes me suspicious,” Mark admitted. “I'll tell you if I do."

  "Okay.” Gray stood. “Glad we got this out of the way."

  "How was your date?” Mark asked.

  "What date?"

  "That good, huh? Your date with Hannah Dunbar. Didn't you take her out to dinner on Valentine's Day?"

  "Oh. Yeah."

  "And look at that. You don't have that smug just-had-sex smile. You really are losing your touch."

  "I'm not losing my touch,” Gray retorted sulkily. “I treated her like a lady."

  "Ladies are boring as hell. And so was your date, wasn't it?"

  "Yes,” Gray admitted. “Well, I mean, not as bad as you're making it sound, but not—"

  "Have you been through these tapes?” Mark waved a hand toward the bookcase.

  Gray froze. “What?"

  "The tapes,” Mark repeated patiently. “Have you been through the tapes?"

  Gray smiled jovially. “Whatever would make you think that?"

  Mark blinked. Then he burst out laughing. “My God, are you a dreadful liar! Just ask her out, for God's sake."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You have been spying on what time your brother brings Aubrey home. Furthermore, you're probably trying to figure out if they're sleeping together."

  "They're not."

  "Obviously because you've ruined her for all other men."

  "How do you know that's not true?"

  "So ask her out already."

  He had, and she'd turned him down, and he didn't think it was necessary to pass that information around. “I'll be in my office."

  Mark knew when he was being dismissed. “Fine,” he said, sitting behind his desk.

  Gray hesitated half a second, then decided that another word about Aubrey would make it seem like he was obsessing about her. So what if he had snuck into Mark's office to watch Doug drop Aubrey off at her hotel room? It was important that he know what his brother was up to.

  "Miss Lowenby's in your office, Mr. Delamonte,” said his secretary Marjorie as he passed by her desk.

  Gray drew up. “I'm sorry?"

  "Your sister,” she repeated as if he was an idiot. “She's in your office."

  What the hell was she doing in there? Walking in, he saw that it was true. Sophie was huddled in a little ball on his couch, watching a talk show on television.

  "Why aren't you at school?” he asked instantly.

  She looked up and he repented of the abrupt question, because she had obviously been crying, her eyes red and raw. She sent him that pure sunshine smile she had, but it barely made a dent through the misery of her expression.

  He felt his jaw drop open. “Sophie, what—"

  She launched herself off the couch, cuddling into his arms, snuffling inelegantly against his shoulder. Gray, without dislodging her, reached over and swung his office door shut, then made nonsensical whooshing sounds to soothe her, running his hands over her blonde hair. “What's wrong, love?” he asked, softly, trying not to dread the answer. “Tell me what it is."

  "Oh, Gray, you're going to be so mad,” she choked out against him.

  "Of course I won't be mad. Don't be silly, Sophie."

  "Promise you won't be mad,” she said.

  Oh, damn. Sophie always said that right before she delivered particularly unpleasant news. Like how she had let some random boyfriend borrow his Mercedes in high school and somehow the car had ended up trapped in some distant valley, ruined by a flash flood. Or how she had “accidentally” spray-painted the first tuxedo he had ever bought an appalling shade of chartreuse.

  "Of course I won't be mad,” he said again, because he always said that to her. He usually ignored this once he heard the news.

  She raised her head and looked up at him, taking a deep breath. Then she wailed, “Oh, I can't. I can't. You're going to be so mad."

  "Oh, Sophie, for God's sake.” He sighed in exasperation and shook her a little. “Just get it out already. I'm going to find out sooner or later."

  "I'm pregnant,” she said, and then burst into hysterical sobs all over his chest.

  Gray felt his eyes widen. He felt his hands drop from Sophie's shoulders. And he felt a little strangled. He tried to have a reaction, but he couldn't get anything out. He thought he must have stood there for a good minute before he finally nudged Sophie over to the couch, where she collapsed unceremoniously.

  "Stop it,” he said severely. “Stop crying and pull yourself together so we can discuss this. We need a drink. Or I need a drink. You need a little bit more common sense, young lady.” Better to treat this like one of Sophie's more common pranks instead of a baby.

  A baby! Dear God.

  Gray poured a generous amount of Scotch and gulped it. He glanced over at Sophie. She was trying to obey him, still curled into a ball but at least not sobbing hysterically. “Of all the stupid—” He poured himself more Scotch. “Absolutely idiotic—” He tossed it back. “Sophie. What could you possibly have been thinking?"

  "I didn't want to get pregnant,” she answered in a small voice.

  "Well, it's good to know you had at least that much common sense.” Gray abandoned the Scotch, went to loom over Sophie by the couch.

  "I didn't know ... I mean, I'm sorry ... I guess we weren't that good at it."

  "Who? Whose baby is it?"

  "It's Dirk's."

  "Oh, naturally."

  "I thought Dirk knew what was going on. I mean, with...” She let herself trail off.

  "Why weren't you o
n the pill?” Gray demanded.

  "Do we have to talk about it?"

  "I guess not. Because the best time to talk about it would have been before you got yourself pregnant.” Gray sighed. There was silence for a moment. Then he decided that Sophie probably didn't need him yelling at her. She was probably scared witless, and his lectures were doing both of them very little good after the fact.

  He sat beside her on the couch and she regarded him warily, as if she couldn't decide whether she was getting Good Gray or Bad Gray. He smiled at her to show her Good Gray and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “What is it that you want to do?"

  She hiccupped. “D—do?"

  "Yes."

  "I don't ... I mean, I haven't really..."

  "You're sure you're pregnant?"

  She nodded. “I took three pregnancy tests just to be sure. I didn't want to come tell you unless ... well, unless I absolutely had to."

  "Well, you're going to have to see a doctor. I mean, if you want to have the baby. What does Mom say?"

  She leaned forward in panic. “Oh, Gray, we can't tell Mom. You can't tell Mom. Promise me you won't tell Mom."

  "Sophie...” he said in bewilderment.

  "She'll be so disappointed in me. So disappointed in me. You've always thought I was an idiot, it doesn't matter—"

  "I never thought you were an idiot, Sophie,” he protested.

  "But Mom was always warning me ... I mean, always trying to warn me ... She so didn't want me to make her mistakes. She's going to be so disappointed."

  "She won't be, Sophie. She loves you. You're her daughter. My God, we both adore you. You have us wrapped around your little finger, and don't pretend you don't know it and use it mercilessly."

  He was trying to tease her, wanted a smile, and he got it, but it really wasn't much of one. “I know she loves me. That doesn't mean she won't be disappointed. Please, Gray. Please. I can't tell Mom right now."

  Gray took a deep breath. “Okay. We won't tell her then. I mean, not right now. Why don't you go up to my suite, and you can take a bubble bath, and you can think about what you want to do, and whatever you want to do—whatever you want to do—we will support you. Surely you know that.” He gave her an intense look.

  She offered him a tremulous smile in return. “You have bubble bath in your suite?"