Bannerman's Law (39 page)

“
An actor
,”
came Nellie's voice.
“
He was very rug
ged. But a sweet man
.”

“
Oh
,”
Barbara muttered.

“
Alan
?”
Nellie again.
”A
word with you, please
.”

Weinberg excused himself. He went into the bedroom
and stood over Nellie. Her eyes not moving from the
screen, she reached for the flesh of his arm. She pinched
him, hard, and he yipped. She reached for him a second
time. He tried to back away but she seized his shirt, pull
ing him closer.

“
Did you tell her she's beautiful
?”
Nellie whispered.

“I...ah,
was going to
,”
he said. ”I thought we
might take a quiet walk after you fall asleep
.”

She cocked her head toward the briefcase.
“
But not
until you've played with those papers some more
,”
she
scolded.

“
Well
.
.
.
actually
,”
he said, stammering,
“
there's
something in there that I need to discuss with her
.”
That
name
.
.
.
Marek, who the other one, Harry, said was
injured, possibly dying. He had seen that name.

Nellie reached for the briefcase. She placed it on her
lap, then put her salad on
top of it.
“
It can wait
,”
she
said firmly.

At the Los Angeles airport, Molly Fa
rr
ell waited among
the relatives and limousine drivers as Lesko and Elena
passed through customs and proceeded to th
e
international
arrivals gate.

She had called their aircraft in flight. She had told
Lesko very little because, she suspected, ground to air communications on commercial flights were routinely
monitored. But at least they would know that there were
dif
fi
culties,
and they would know to look for her.

She spotted them easily as they approached the heavy
glass doors. Lesko pushing a cart. Elena helping to guide
it. More than a year had passed since she last saw him.
They both had changed. Remarkably.

Lesko had lost weight. It became him. His color was
better, his taste in clothing had improved, and the expression on his face had noticeably softened. It was always a
good face, very strong, but one that looked intimidating
even in repose. He had perfect teeth. They flashed when
he spoke and he had a habit of standing very close, devel
oped, no doubt, during his years as a New York City
detective. Those he questioned must have thought that the
y
were about to be eaten.

But now much of that menace seemed gone. Elena
'
s
influence, certainly. Molly had to smile. A kinder and gen
tler Lesko. God save us.

The change in Elena was equally striking. She had full
use of her arms, for one thing. When last Molly saw her
they were both in slings; machine gun bullets had shattered
one arm and one shoulder and others would surely have
kill
e
d her had they not been stopped by Gary
Russo's
body.

She was a small woman, not as small a
s
Ca
rl
a, but she
seemed a child in contrast to
Lesko's
bulk. And yet there
was something larger than life about her. She was dressed
in a Chanel suit, very little jewelry, hair in a careless
shag cut, trim figure. Quite attractive. And the money and breeding showed. But there was something else that made
people take a second look, as other deplaning passengers
were doing now. A certain serenity. A strength. Molly had
not seen it before.

It seemed that more than her arms had healed. There had always been a certain sadness to Elena. It would be,
on meeting her, one's first impression. Now, Molly saw
no sign of it. Molly remembered the way she used to look
at Lesko. It was a look which, for all her wealth and
power, seemed to say,
/
know that you can never love me.
But perhaps you can forgive me.

That too was gone. In its place was a look of utter
trust and comfort. She adored him. And he did love her.
Sometime in the past year, thought Molly, he must have
even brought himself to say it.

Molly knew that look. She'd had it herself, she felt
sure, during her early years with Paul. And probably still.
Even after Susan.

Lesko spotted her and pointed.

Elena waved.

She came forward
,
her smile genuine, offering her
cheek. Lesko waited his turn. When it came, he said that
he was pleased to see her again. He bowed at the waist
and shook her hand.

Lesko bowing?

A year ago, thought Molly, his greeting would have
consisted of
“
How's Susan? What difficulties
?”
and he
would have stepped closer, slowly baring his teeth, as she answered. About halfway through, one hand would have
balled into a fist and he would have said,
“
Fucking Ba
n
ne
r
man. Where i
s
he
?”

But this, it seemed, was a new Lesko. Housebroken. With some manners. Perhaps even eager to display them for Elena's benefit.

Count your blessings, thought Molly. Maybe the ride
back to the hotel wouldn't be so dread
f
ul after all.

She began briefing them as they approached Yuri's car.

Weinberg had taken Barbara's hand. She allowed it,
not responding, saying little. They walked for a whil
e
through the hotel grounds, past the outdoor pool, through
a garden. Weinberg saw the entrance to a hotel lounge
called The Greenery. He led Barbara through the door. He
ordered two cognacs.

It was, he realized, not the wisest thing to do. His face
was not quite right. But the room, intimately lit, was fur
ther darkened by the shadows of giant tropical ferns and
hanging plants. The waitress had hardly glanced at him.
This was not unusual. People rarely noticed him when he walked throug
h
a door with Barbara. All eyes went to her.
Women's eyes as well. Even women who were younger,
prettier, men hovering about them.

But none were so elegant. None stood so tall, so grace
ful, so serenely confident. And, of course, none was so
dangerous.

Weinberg shook his head, frowning. No, he thought.
Danger had nothing to do with it. These people did not
know that she was Bonnie Predd. Then Bonnie St
r
eicher.
She would have the same effect, no doubt, as Barbara
Weinberg. Surgery did nothing to mute the
...
electricity
she gave off.

Nor, in fact, was she all that dangerous. Certainly not
in the same sense as a Ca
rl
a Benedict. Ca
rl
a had always
been a ticking bomb. Insult her, slight her, and your life could well be in danger. Not so with Barbara. Insult Bar
bara and you might very well hurt her, even move her to
private tears, but you could not provoke her. In most cases.
She was too self-possessed. Most of the time.

This, apparently, he thought, was not one of the times.

”I have met someone else
,”
he told her, sipping his
He
nn
essy.
”
I intend to have an affair with her
.”

She looked at him, lips parted
,
as if she had not
heard correctly.

“
There was a time
,”
he said,
“
when I thought that
Bonnie Predd was the loveliest, the most exciting woman
I've ever met. It is no longe
r
true
.”

A shy smile. Barbara hoped that she knew what was
coming.
“
This other woman
,”
she asked quietly.
“
Is her
name Barbara, by chance
?”

Weinberg made a show of considering the question. He
waggled a hand
,
then gestured dism
i
ssively.

“
Who, then
?”

He did not answer.

“
Would you like this cognac poured over your head
?”
she asked.

He ignored the threat. He looked away.
“
Her name
,”
he said,
“
is Gabriella. Shall I tell you about her
?”

The smile returned.
“
If you feel you must
.”

Weinberg held nothing back. Her full name, he said,
was Gabriella Cansino, and she was staying in this very
hotel. She was a married woman, or possibly divorced
,
not that it mattered to him either way because he was
hopelessly enchanted by her. She was one of those pas
sionate, fiery Latin types. Not at all like those cold Anglo-
Saxon ice maidens and fatuous Jewish princesses he'd
been accustomed to.

Latin or not, she had golden hair and soft blue eyes to
die for and yet her skin was deeply bronzed, healthy, glow
in
g—n
ot the pale and pasty flesh one finds in no
r
thern
climates. Her breasts were high and firm and perfec
t—
unlike a certain buxom and pendulous B
runhi
lde he once knew. Her body, thus far, was an unexplored treasure. It
would have none of the markings that he knew so well
and had wearied o
f.
He hoped, he said, to explore it that
evening, button by button, inch b
y
inch, except that Gabri
ella seemed to be traveling with a
daughter
. Might Barbara, he won
dered, have a suggestion?

“
Passionate, you say. Is she athletic
?”

“
She
.
.
.
gave herself to an entire soccer team once
.”

“
Adventurous
?”

“
The
y
were scuba diving at the time
.”

Barbara was grinning.
“
Button b
y
button, you said
.”
“
And inch by inch
.”
“
How does she feel about leather
?”

“
It depends. For wearing or whipping
?”

“
Backseat leather
.”
She dangled the keys to the Dun
vi
ll
e Mercedes.
“
Pay the check, Mr. Bancroft. I have fan
tasies of my own
.”

The grin stayed on her face as she led Weinberg
through the doors of The Greenery, past the pool and,
somewhat carelessly, across the open expanse of the park
ing lot.

She didn't care. She felt like a teenager again. Hot,
eager, mischievous, that same dim thumping deep in her
belly as glands opened and flowed. She felt his hand. It
explored her hip, her waist, her back as they walked. His
fingers closed over a button of the loose silk dress that she wore. It fell open. His hand moved on to the next.