Lethal Legacy (18 page)

I heard noise from within—a sound like the closing
of a dresser drawer. I began to back up, wondering for how long the building’s
entrance had been unsecured this afternoon, and whether someone who didn’t
belong here had gotten inside. My thoughts flashed to members of the Latin
Princes gang, whose leader I had successfully prosecuted, and who had stalked
me relentlessly during the summer.

I scrambled to retrace my steps to the front door,
and as I turned, the long strap of my tote caught on the door handle of the
guest bedroom. The contents dumped out as I bent to unhook it, and the
drugstore purchases scattered onto the floor.

I let go of everything and dashed to the foyer. I
could hear the bedroom door opening and my adrenaline kicked in as I ran
faster. In that short sprint, I was breathing as rapidly as if I’d completed a
5K race. I pulled on the doorknob just as I heard the man’s voice.

“Alexandra?
C’est toi?
”

I exhaled and steadied myself against the door,
throwing my head back, thinking how unnerved I’d been by the thought of an
intruder.

“Have I upset you,
mon ange
? This was meant
to be such a great surprise,” Luc Rouget said as he stepped over the packages
to make his way toward me, wearing only the towel that was draped around his
waist. “Are you all right, Alex?”

I nodded and smiled. He wrapped me in an embrace
and I held on to him with all my strength.

FIFTEEN

We were still in bed together nearly an hour
later, Luc cradling me in his long, slender arms, laughing about the fact that
Joan Stafford’s wonderful plan to help him surprise me had almost back-fired.

“I’m telling you, we both thought it was
foolproof,” Luc said. “I had to be in Washington last night to meet with some
investors, so we took the shuttle up together today and had lunch around the
corner at Swifty’s. So perfectly American, that place. Then Joan brought me up
here to settle me in.
Faites comme chez vous,
she told me, and so I
did.”

Joan and I had always had keys to each other’s
apartments, and the doormen knew her as well as they knew my parents and
brothers.

“I’m delighted you made yourself at home,” I said,
kissing the tip of his nose.

“We did all the shopping at Grace’s Marketplace so
that I could fix you a delicious dinner by the time you got here from the
office. But Joanie said you never, never get out before seven, eight o’clock.
Jamais,
jamais.
”

“I rarely do. But we were working on an
investigation uptown, not far from here. I’ve had a few late nights this week,
so it was a treat to be early. I don’t know why I was so jumpy.”

Luc brushed back the curls from around my forehead
and kissed me on the mouth, long and tenderly. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Like a different person.”

“I don’t want you to be someone else, Alexandra. I
made love to you, not to any other woman.”

“I’m not the least bit confused about that,” I
said, rolling onto my side to sit up.

“Because if you are, then I’m happy to try to
remind you.” Luc reached up and playfully pulled me down beside him. He ran his
finger slowly down my spine, then along the back of my leg, kissing the crook
of my knee. “Looks exactly like you, feels exactly like you, and tastes
deliciously the same as you did last time.”

“I might taste even better after I clean up.”

“Take one of your luxurious bubble baths, darling.
I’m going to start preparing dinner.”

“Will I be the guinea pig for any new tastings?”

Luc’s father, Andre Rouget, was a great French
restaurateur who’d changed the culinary scene in New York City when he founded
Lutèce in a townhouse on the East Side. Luc had followed in his father’s
footsteps in a French village called Mougins, where his elegant four-star
restaurant was a destination for locals and travelers in the south of France.
He’d been courted by several backers to reopen Lutèce and restore the
reputation of the famous eatery, and was making frequent trips to America to
move the plan forward.

“No, no. I’ve had my nose in so many French menus
these last few weeks that I decided to cook Italian tonight.
Ça va?
”

“
Ça va bien.
Anything I can do to help?”

“In the kitchen?” Luc asked. “Then I would really
be concerned I was with an imposter. You just relax, Alexandra. I don’t need a
sous-chef; I need a hungry woman.”

I went into the bathroom and ran the hot water,
sprinkling in bath salts that I’d brought back from Paris.

The relationship with Luc had no emotional
complications. He was mature at forty-eight and quite direct. Divorced after
fifteen years of marriage to an unfaithful woman, Luc was devoted to the two
children whose custody he shared with his ex. I liked that about him, and
looked forward to meeting the boys he so adored.

The only issue that nagged at me as I found myself
falling in love was what Nina teasingly referred to as his “GU”—the geographic
undesirability of his faraway home. Luc’s spending so much time in the States
as he explored his new business venture made it easy for me to stay focused
between his visits, but the reality was that most of the time we were separated
by an ocean and the craggy foothills of the Maritime Alps.

When I finished bathing, I pulled on a pair of
leggings and a five-year-old navy blue sweatshirt with Jeter’s name and number
2 on the back. If I couldn’t be at the Yankee game, at least I could carry the
colors. I swept my hair into a ponytail and dabbed Luc’s favorite perfume
behind my ears and on my throat.

The telephone rang as I was about to leave my
bedroom. Luc came toward me from the kitchen. “You want me to answer?”

“I’m just screening,” I said. “I’m hoping it’s not
business.”

It took most of the guys I dated a while to
understand that whenever senior prosecutors were working investigations, phones
and beepers went beyond the boundaries of eight-hour workdays.

“I’m at the stadium, Coop.” Mike’s voice talking
to my answering machine jolted me as though he had just stepped into the
bedroom between Luc and me. “Can’t find a frigging television anywhere. If you
haven’t left for Joan’s yet, be sure you catch
Jeopardy!
for us. I’ll
speak to you tomorrow.”

I took Luc’s glasses off the bridge of his nose
and kissed his forehead.

“Ah, that’s one of your detective friends,
non
?
You and Joan have talked about him. He calls about this trivia game, too?”

I continued down the hallway toward the kitchen,
changing the subject. “The sauce smells fabulous. What is it?”

“He’s the one Joanie told me—how do you say?—has a
crush on you.”

“We’ve been friends since my rookie year in the
office. I think he’d laugh out loud at that suggestion.”

“I’d like to meet these guys who get to spend so
much time with you,” Luc said, reaching around me, as he kissed the nape of my
neck, to put out the wineglasses.

“Next time you’re here we can do that,” I said,
dreading the thought of my favorite alpha-dog detective going head-to-head with
my very confident French lover. “That way maybe I can get an actual arrival
date from you.”

Luc turned me around and pulled me in, kissing me
again and again. “So much for my surprise.”

I wrapped my arms around his slim shoulders and
kissed him back. “I love your surprise. I’m very happy tonight.”

“Then I’ll let you in on my schedule. On Saturday
I fly to San Francisco. I’ve got meetings in Napa and Sonoma, with vintners.
Then to Los Angeles, Houston, Atlanta—”

“Food tastings everywhere?”

“Poor me, right? And then I’m back here in about
ten days. You think you can get away for a weekend on Martha’s Vineyard? You
tend to the fireplace and I’ll keep you well fed.”

Luc didn’t want to hear that my answer depended on
the progress of the investigation.

“That gives me something to dream about.”

He took me by the hand and led me back to the
kitchen. “I know this isn’t your forte, but I’m going to give you this wooden
spoon and have you stir for me while I check on the chicken.”

“I didn’t think you trusted me enough to let me
near one of your creations.”

“I’ve got a lot riding on this dish, Alexandra.
You know put-tanesca sauce?” Luc asked. “Named for the Neapolitan ladies of the
night. Legend has it that when these women brought home sailors to entertain,
this recipe was used as an aphrodisiac.”

“Then I’ll stir more vigorously,” I said.

Over dinner, I told Luc some of the details of the
case. He had used his warmth and charm, ever since we met months earlier, to
get me to open myself to him.

“You’re not drinking,” he said. “Won’t you have
some wine?”

“I’m so tired after this crazy week we’ve had.
Just these few sips are enough.”

“How’s my sauce working?”

I rubbed my stomach and nodded. “Those girls in
Naples knew exactly what they were doing.”

Luc stood up and blew out the candles. “I think I
know what I’d like for dessert.”

I led the way back to the bedroom and we undressed
as though we’d been apart for weeks, making love again before falling asleep in
each other’s arms.

When the telephone rang, I could see the time on
the clock radio next to my bed. It was after one in the morning and I grabbed
the receiver before the second ring.

“Sorry to wake you, Coop.”

“That’s all right. I fell asleep early.”

“Before we gave up the grand slam in the top of
the eighth, I hope.”

“Yeah,” I said, sitting up to get my bearings,
knowing that Mike wouldn’t be calling at this hour unless there was a break of
some kind in the case. “I was exhausted.”

“I got worse news than the loss, kid,” Mike said.
“Tina Barr is dead.”

Luc grabbed my hand and squeezed it when he heard
me groan.

“They found her body wrapped up in a tarp, just
off Sixth Avenue, inside Bryant Park.” That was less than a city block away
from the rear door of the New York Public Library. “She’s been dead for at
least twenty-four hours, Coop. Looks like a dump job.”

SIXTEEN

Crowds lined the sidewalk at the intersection
of Sixth Avenue and Forty-second Street, even though it was two o’clock in the
morning. The uniformed cops who had picked me up at my apartment muscled
through the onlookers and lifted the yellow police tape that kept them out of
the park so we could duck under it.

Huge bright floodlights were mounted on a metal
catwalk that framed an enormous JumboTron screen. Below the massive structure,
dozens of NYPD men and women were still scrambling to secure the perimeter of
the crime scene and push back the cameramen who were trying to climb the low
wall to photograph the activity.

“Over here, Alex,” Mercer called out. “Watch your
step.”

The old cobblestone-and-gravel path was littered
with debris, and on both sides of it there were tall stacks of folding chairs
and wheeled pallets loaded with objects covered with canvas and strapped in
place. Fall plantings had been trampled and expensive landscaping would have to
be restored.