Man in the Middle (18 page)

He took her hand and led her to the sofa. A smile spread across her face, giving him additional resolve. When guided to the floor, she had put a hand through his thinning hair and combed his scalp with her slim fingers. He closed his eyes, amazed at how wonderful the gesture felt. She leaned over and kissed his ear. He turned and looked at her through moist eyes.

It had begun slowly—like a ballet, he imagined. An hour later, she engulfed him and he felt only contentment. He had never imagined he might bring pleasure to another person. From that moment, they spent every night together.

Now, Saturday morning, a week into their new lovers’ routine, Angela’s head rested on Dawson’s slim chest. “You aren’t angry I went ahead with the transfer, are you?” she said.

At first Dawson had tried to talk her out of changing departments. Now he was glad he had failed. While nobody would care if two ugly duckling co-workers dated one another, it was easier this way. On the one hand, she was still in the building, so they could see each other on an intermittent basis during the day. On the other hand, their relationship was not the subject of lewd speculation.

“No,” he said. “I agree. It’s better this way.”

“Monday, I start my new job. I’ll miss being outside your office, but I’d trade that for seeing you, touching you, having you in this way, any day of the week.”

Her words aroused Dawson. As if she sensed his need, she reached under the sheets and touched him. “Oh my. I do believe you like me, Agent Dawson.”

Oliver Dawson spent the next hour proving her correct.

 
P
ETER AND
K
ATE AWOKE
,
STILL ENTWINED
. T
HEY TOUCHED
,
KISSED
,
THEN
gave in to their passions all over again. Afterwards, Kate pushed herself from the bed. Peter watched her float towards the bathroom, naked and wonderful. Henry, grateful for the restored peace, reclaimed his spot at the foot of Peter’s bed. For Peter, a tinge of guilt lingered. When Kate gave him the option to hold her all night and not make love, he had intended to do just that.

“This is a problem, and I’m an idiot,” he said to himself as Kate disappeared around the corner.

Peter sank into his down pillow, fingers laced behind his head, sheets pulled mid-chest. What the hell had he gotten himself into? If it had just been a casual acquaintance, like that salesperson from Gordon, Ashe, the uneasiness might quickly pass. But this was different, and he felt the guilt leaking from his brain to his heart. He cared for Kate. Did he want this relationship to progress? Peter suspected the question wasn’t easily answered. Something intimidated him—the C-word. Commitment. She’d want that. So would he, in time.

Was he ready? No, he didn’t think so. The timing was bad. His career had just taken off. For the first time in his life, he was making significant money. He had freedoms he never imagined. He could travel and eat at the best restaurants any time he wanted. Later today, he would move into a new, expensive co-op with an ocean view. He drove a fancy new car. He knew famous people in the investment world. One day he might do multimillion dollar trades, even take part in some esoteric billion-dollar transaction—similar to cornering a Treasury auction like Stenman had done a few years earlier, after which Kate’s father deflected the SEC’s investigation. A serious relationship now could steal hours from his work, cause him to get soft, make him lose the edge he had. He wanted badly to win at this game of making more money than anyone else. He’d try not to hurt her, but he might need to distance himself from her for awhile.

He heard the toilet gurgle, water splash against the porcelain sink, and then her footsteps leading away from the bedroom, in the direction of the kitchen. When Kate re-entered the bedroom several minutes later, she was dressed and casually sipping from a cup of steaming tea. Peter felt disappointment. He sought to look through her clothes and imagine the body that had so energized him last night and this morning. Her dark brown nipples and small white breasts. The long, delicate ribcage that stretched when they made love. The intimate spot on her neck—just below the left ear lobe—that elicited a groan when he kissed it. All of this held his imagination. With a will of their own, his eyes moved to her hips and those legs that had wrapped around his waist and hugged him deeper, refusing to let go, even when overcome with physical exhaustion.

“I’ll be leaving.” She put her mug on a copy of a
Sports Illustrated
lying on his dresser.

Peter refocused on the rumpled suit shielding her flesh. The starch in her white blouse was limp. She hadn’t bothered to put on pantyhose—but her legs, he thought, looked better for the oversight. Had he known she intended to come back clothed, he would have followed and watched, enjoying the reverse strip-tease and memorizing every detail.

“I’ll shower when I get home,” she said. “I’ve already called a taxi. It’ll be here shortly.”

“We could shower together—or take another bath,” he said, not certain whether he wanted her to say yes or say no. “I’d rather not.” Peter jerked himself upright. “Don’t you want breakfast? I’ll get dressed. We’ll go out.”

“You’re so old-fashioned, Peter. Somebody must have told you that after sex, the boy has to buy the girl breakfast.” Peter tried to sound jocular: “You mean we don’t? Heavens, all that breakfast money wasted?”

Kate sort of smiled. “Good for the service economy.”

“I’ll call you.”

“You forget, Peter. I know that’s just a line guys use—especially the morning after. I’m glad we got to talk last night about . . . about your tenant and our parents. Thanks for caring enough to ask why I was sad.”

Peter nodded, but he was thrown aback. She acted like she didn’t expect anything more—not even another date. Her flippancy made him a little uncomfortable, like he had no control over what was happening.

“You leave on Wednesday?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ll be working on the textbook and studying for the bar. If I pass the first time—and I’d better—I’ll become a full-fledged attorney by yearend. If you turn to a life of crime, give me that call you alluded to.”

“I’d like to take you to dinner, before you go.”

I’m begging, Peter thought. Why? I’ve been plotting to distance myself from her. Now she’s handing me an opportunity on a solid gold platter.

“We’ll see,” she said, smoothing her jacket with her flattened palms.

He squinted with an unspoken question.

“I needed this closeness,” she explained. “I took advantage of you. I know that. And thank you.”

“For what?” Peter asked.

“You’ll think I’m perverted—maybe I am . . . I shouldn’t say this, but I’ve never had an orgasm before.” Her candor dumbfounded Peter. He couldn’t even nod his head. “I don’t mean I haven’t been with a man,” she continued, “only that I’d never felt the earth move before, so to speak. And though it’s not for me, I guess I now understand why some people have sex just for the fun of it. And relax, Peter, I don’t expect you to feel the same way I do. In fact, I’m not sure how I feel. I’m confused about everything.”

Numbed, Peter watched her take several rapid steps toward the bed. She kissed his cheek, then gave a gentle brush across Henry’s flank. Inhaling, she said, “I can still smell our lovemaking. Sorry about your sheets . . . we made quite a mess.” She laughed lightly. “See you, lover.” She began to pad away from the bed.

Henry stretched, sprang to his feet, hopped down, and followed.

“Kate?” Peter asked. She turned her head. “Let’s see how we feel over the next few weeks. While you’re away, let’s talk, email, see each other a few times. When you come back as a high powered legal-eagle, can we revisit our feelings?”

Million-watt delight lit up her face. “Yes. I’d like that.” She took several steps away from him before halting in mid-stride. She turned one last time, and said, “No. I’d love that.” She blew him a kiss, then disappeared.

An hour later, Peter sipped coffee and pondered how this had turned out the way it did. Far from clinging, Kate was willing to blow the whole thing off as a needed emotional interlude. If nothing else, she was capable of keeping him off-guard.

“I think you’d have gone with her, old man,” Peter said to Henry.

A knock came from the direction of the kitchen, in the back of his apartment. Peter looked at his watch, puzzled over who might be visiting at such an early hour and why they chose the rear door, rather than the front door. “Come on, Henry, let’s see who’s a-visitin’ us this fine morn’.”

Once inside the kitchen, Peter saw a man’s head through the glass door-panes. A combination of shadow and a tilted Cubs cap hid the face. The man held up a clipboard for Peter to see. In a voice loud enough to carry through the glass, he said, “Got a delivery from a . . .” the man squinted at the writing on a slip of paper. “Can’t read the name, but delivery’s for a Mr. Peter Neil.”

Peter immediately guessed that Kate had sent him something. Flowers? Candy? He felt like a cad. He should have been the one to send something. Still, it was typical of her. Sensitive and kind. Peter nodded. When he unlocked and opened the door, he saw a second man, his features also hidden, standing behind the first, three steps down.

With the swiftness of an athlete, the first man struck Peter across the neck. By the time he hit the linoleum floor, Peter was unconscious.

“We reported four hundred twenty-two million, one hundred-fifteen thousand, three hundred-fourteen this week.” Sarah Guzman calculated the numbers a third time as she spoke into her speakerphone. “I checked with Howard and we are in agreement.”

“How is the marketing campaign progressing?” Morgan Stenman asked.

“We have reached agreement with the second of the four cartels in Colombia, and made contact with the others,” Sarah said, removing her reading glasses and setting them on her desk. “They are interested in an arrangement similar to our Mexican clientele.”

“That you could organize the enemies of your dead husband and make them eat from your hand is impressive.” It was a rare Stenman compliment.

“Not so much so, but thank you. Giving up our share of the north-south traffic, then burying our organization, was an enticement. Your financial sophistication has simplified my efforts.”

“Please,” Stenman said, “finish your report.”

Sarah replaced her glasses and looked back at her numbers. “If we can close on the three organizations we are pursuing, we will double our take. But can you can handle this many transactions?” Sarah heard Morgan exhale filtered cigarette smoke.

“We can,” Morgan answered. “I will get our attorneys to set up additional accounts.”

“How is the flow from your end?” Sarah asked.

“The Russian money is impressive. It is convenient. The politicians, like those in your world, are participants.”

“And there are no developments with the Neil situation?” Sarah asked.

“No, but we shall all continue to monitor the one person likely to find anything, if it exists. Now, I must go. Thank you for the update. Things are good.”

“Yes,” Sarah agreed. “Good.”

Once they disconnected, Sarah Guzman pulled up the computer file on Hannah Neil. She read: