Fifth Ave 01 - Fifth Avenue (74 page)

“No,”
the woman
said.
 
“That isn’t
necessary.
 
It’s just that
I’ve
been
invited
to
that
party
tonight.
 
Leana Redman and I are friends.
 
She
invited
me herself.
 
It’s important
that
I
attend and help her through what likely will be a difficult evening.”

His
gaze
met
hers
levelly.
 
Unflinchingly.

The woman
sensed
he didn’t believe
her.

“Look,”
he
said.
 
“If
this party
means
so
much
to
you, I
wouldn’t mind coming
here alone
tonight
and
checking
out
the
view for
myself.
 
Just
give me
a
key
and
I’ll
return
it
to you
tomorrow
morning,
before
my
plane
leaves.”

“That’s actually against the law,” the woman said.
 
“I’m not allowed to do that.”

“It’ll just be me.”

“I could get into trouble,” she said.
 
“I could lose my license.”

“Or you could make a $2 million commission.
 
Who will know?”

“The doormen.”

“Doormen can be dealt with,” he said.
 
“A little charm, a lot of money--and they become your best friends.”

She thought about this and made her decision.
 
“All right
,”
she
said.
 
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.
 
And if this stays between us.”

“Of
course
,”
the
man
said,
gazing
across at
the
hotel.
 
“Just between us.”

*
 
*
 
*

They
awoke
in
each other’s arms
to
the
abrupt
sound
of
music.

Michael
lifted
his
head
from
the
pillow
and glanced at the
clock
on the bedside
table.
He
would
have
given
anything
to
have awakened
anywhere in the world but here.
 
He knew Leana had to get ready for the day and so he let the music play.
 
She
moved closer
to him and
murmured something.

Michael
put his
arm around
her
and
gently
kissed the back of her neck
.
 
Neither
had slept
well.
 
More
than once
in
the
night
he
turned
to
find
her
looking
at
him,
her face pale and
watchful
in
the
moonlight,
her eyes heavy and
dead
with
memories
of Harold
and
Celina.

Yesterday
morning,
at
her sister’s
funeral,
he
stood alongside
her and her parents at
an
elegant
Connecticut cemetery.
 
He was a
fraud grieving
for
a
woman
he hadn’t
known,
yet easily could
have
saved.

Yesterday afternoon,
while
Leana
tried to
rest,
Louis
phoned,
again
threatening
him
with
Santiago.
 
Silently, bitterly, Michael
listened, but what Louis didn’t know is that Michael knew that Santiago didn’t exist and that Michael no longer believed that George Redman killed his mother.
 
Meeting the man and seeing how he spoke about his mother altered the landscape.
 
He wanted to confront his father
with
his lies,
but
instead
he spun
some
of
his
own,
reassuring
Louis
that he
also
wanted
Redman
dead, that
meeting
the man had
solidified
his
resolve.

His
words
still
lingered
in
his
mind.
 
“I
asked
him,
Dad.
 
I
asked
him how
Mom
died,
and
you
should
have
seen
the
look
on his
face.
 
It
was
as
though I
had accused
him of
murder.”

“And
that surprised
you?” Louis
said.

“I’d
be
lying
if I
said
it hadn’t,”
Michael
said.
 
“I don’t trust you.
 
I never
have and--after this experience--I never will.
 
But this is now personal for me, too.
 
W
hen
I
saw
the
look
on Redman’s
face, I
knew
he
pulled
that
trigger and
I
want
him
dead for it.
 
What you need to understand is this
--
once
it’s
over,
I
never want
to
see
you
again.
 
You’ll
pay off Santiago--just as you promised--and you will
give
me money
to
start
over
with.
 
A lot of money.
 
Those
are
my
terms.
 
Either you
meet
them or
I’m
out of
here.
 
Now,
tell
me
what you want me
to
do
and
I’ll
do
it.”

There was a silence,
almost
as
if
Louis
had been
expecting
something different
from
his
son, perhaps another
disappointment, certainly not this.

“All right,” Louis
said.
 
“I’ll call you
tomorrow.
 
We’ll
discuss
everything
in
detail then.”

Momentarily
relieved,
Michael
hung
up
the phone,
knowing
that
if
his
plan
was
going to
work,
if
he was
going to protect
Leana
and
her
family,
he
would
have
to
assume
the
role
of
a
lifetime and
convince
his
father
that
his
resolve was
genuine.