Most Wanted (18 page)

“Okay. So are you really gonna sit there all night?”

“I was planning to.”

“Didn’t we agree we would go to Otisville first thing, so we’d have time to interview Delvis Diaz before Rosario’s grand-jury testimony?”

“Yeah, so? I was gonna pick you up at your office at eight. But I’ll just pick you up here instead.”

“But then you won’t get any sleep. You won’t even have a chance to shower.”

“You’re a very high-maintenance girl. Expect a guy to sit up protecting you all night and still find time to shower and shave and show up looking fresh as a daisy.”

She giggled. “I have high standards. We’ll have to see if you measure up.”

“Okay, then. I guess once it’s light, I better head home for some grooming.”

“Seriously, you should go home. I’m fine, really. I feel better now that we talked.” Now, why did she say that? She didn’t want him to leave. She felt so much safer knowing he was out there. But she had to put a stop to this. Every second they talked was drawing them closer, and she felt it.

“I feel better, too,” he was saying. “It’s good. Talking to you, I mean.”

“So you’ll go home?”

“I’ll hang out till I’m sure it’s safe. Then I’ll go clean up and pick you up at your office at eight. Me and Randall, okay?”

“Okay.” They were both silent for a moment. She didn’t want to hang up any more than he did, but she’d make herself do it. “Hey,” she said.

“What?”

“Thank you. Really.”

“Don’t mention it. Sweet dreams.”

She hung up, smiling again. But then the smile faded as she wondered what the hell she was getting herself into with him.

“HELLO? HELLO? WHO’S THERE?” MELANIE HAD said.

Sophie Cho opened her mouth to answer, but no words came. Before she even realized it, her finger moved to the button and clicked off the phone. She couldn’t do it. She’d decided she would, but when the moment came, she just couldn’t.

She sat on the glossy hardwood floor and looked around her completely empty apartment. Her furniture was gone, taken away by the moving truck that afternoon. The problem seemed too big, so she’d pretty much made up her mind to run away from it. It was the only solution she could think of. Eventually it would come out, what she’d done, but she was a minor enough player in this drama that she had to think the police wouldn’t bother pursuing her. So long as she went far enough away and left no forwarding address.

The possibility of anyone other than the police coming after her never entered her mind.

But even as she put her escape plan into action, she wavered. She was not an adventurous person. The thought of leaving behind everything she knew and starting over in some new, foreign place held not the slightest whiff of romance for her. It seemed horrible, in fact, like being sentenced to exile. When she really thought about it, was staying here and facing prison really any worse?

Such thoughts made her consider the possibility of confessing to Melanie. Surely Melanie, who knew her so well, could argue for leniency on her behalf. After all, who could have imagined such severe consequences flowing from one small, unorthodox bit of architecture? Sophie herself had never imagined it, let alone intended it. All she had tried to do was please a client. And yes, admittedly, she had filed false documents at his behest. Which was wrong. And certainly a breach of professional ethics. But anyone who knew Jed Benson would understand. Because he wasn’t just any client—he was a particularly persuasive and persistent one.

It was her inability to say no to Jed that had caused this terrible problem. She hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth, berating herself silently in her mind. Why had she agreed? Why, why, why had she been so weak? Was it that he’d turned her head? Such a handsome and powerful man, paying attention to her? This was very unusual in her experience. But no. She was realistic enough about her own modest charms to understand immediately that Jed was merely adding another inducement to the package, along with the monetary compensation and the promise of future referrals. So why, then?

In the end she had to come back to her upbringing. She was raised to place politeness above all other qualities. To say no to a patron, one older than she was and male, would have been unthinkable. So she’d said yes.

And now it was done, and the consequences were what they were. She could bemoan and agonize as much as she liked, but she had a choice to make. Run—or stay and face her punishment. She hid her face in her knees. She would sit here all night, if necessary. But by the time the sun came up, she must make her decision.

IN THE LIGHT OF DAY, THE DESPERATION OF THE night before seemed alien to Melanie. Her fear had vanished, and with it the strange intimacy she’d felt as she lay in her darkened bedroom talking to Dan O’Reilly on the telephone.

Steve had something to do with that. He had woken her up, banging on the front door just as the sun was rising.

“Melanie!” he called. “The chain’s on! Let me in!”

She jumped out of bed and hurried to the foyer in nightgown and bare feet. Tiptoeing up to the door, she peered through the peephole. Better make extra sure it was really Steve. After last night she couldn’t be too careful.

The face was distorted by the lens, but definitely his. Not that that meant she should open the door. Steve was dangerous in his own way.

“Mel, I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there.”

She opened the door a crack, leaving the chain on. Steve was one of those rugged, sporty-looking blonds who tanned. Like Robert Redford in his glory days, Steve always looked as if he’d just climbed off the back of a horse or been squinting into the prairie sun. Okay, so he really caught those rays on the tennis court. But, hell, that turned her on, too.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” She made her voice as cold as she could manage. She knew she was vulnerable.

“Didn’t you get my message? I took the red-eye. My plane just got in.”

“So? Go to your parents’. You don’t live here anymore.”

His face fell. She noticed suddenly how exhausted he looked, unshaven, pale beneath his tan, his fine blue dress shirt creased from sleeping on the plane. She un-fastened the chain and opened the door a little wider.

“Are you okay?”

“Please, Mel?” He sounded hoarse, even choked up. “Can’t I come in? Can’t I come in for just a minute and see you and Maya? I miss you guys so much!”

Didn’t she miss him, too? And long for things to be how they were before?

“Okay,” she said, opening the door, telling herself she’d probably regret this.

He rushed in, grabbed her, and held on like his life depended on it, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t push him away. He buried his face in her neck. She reached up to hold his head, to comfort him. His hair was shaggy, flowing over his collar. She used to remind him when he needed a haircut, but she’d stopped doing that after she found out about Samantha. It wasn’t like him not to take care of himself. It meant he was suffering. She felt his pain as if it was her own. Wait a minute, it
was
her own! He was the one who hurt
her
! What was she doing comforting
him
?

“Steve—”

“No, please,” he said, touching his fingertip to her lips. “Please, don’t say anything. Let’s pretend for a minute that this never happened. I miss you so much, Mel. I just need to hold you for a minute like normal, okay? Please?”

He looked into her eyes. Then he started to kiss her, slowly and deeply, until they were both breathing hard and his hands were wandering around under her nightgown. Before she knew it, they were doing it standing up against the wall in the entry foyer.

Okay, they always had amazing sex. Especially the make-up sex—
increíble
. Out-of-control crazy. She remembered a time on their honeymoon, on an overnight train in France, after a terrible argument. They’d practically wrecked their sleeper compartment, knocking an open bottle of red wine onto the carpet, breaking the folding bunk. He could always get her with sex. That and his sweet talk. But now, even with her behind bumping against the wall, her legs up around his waist as she cried out with pleasure, she couldn’t forget all that was wrong between them. He
was
gorgeous. He
was
incredible in bed. He
did
push her emotional buttons. Trouble was, she couldn’t forget he’d shared all that with another woman.

“Steve?” she gasped, her nails digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt. “This…is…
not
…a…good…idea.”

“Ohhh, baby, you are so hot!”

Okay, maybe this was not the moment for serious discussion. She’d use him for sex, talk later. A girl has needs, after all.

When they were finished, he carried her into the bedroom and dumped her onto the bed, then collapsed beside her.

“God, I’m an idiot!” he cried. “What a tragedy.”

She sat up on one elbow and studied him. Was it possible he shared her anguish? That he felt the same sadness she did, having sex, with their estrangement weighing them down? Maybe this guy was really ready to work on things.

“Why do you say that?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Because.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You are the hottest thing on this planet. That face, that body. Wild in the sack. What was I thinking, when I had this at home?”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. So if she had a bad hair day or gained a few pounds, he’d be out there looking for someone better?

“Steve, you’re not an idiot.” She paused. “You’re an asshole.”

She marched into the bathroom, slammed the door, and locked it.

“Melanie,” he called a minute later from the other side of the door, “I’m sorry! It came out wrong, okay? I’m exhausted. I’ve been up for thirty-six hours straight. All I meant was, I’m crazy about you and I can’t believe how I screwed up. Melanie?”

She turned the shower on full blast to drown out his words and stood under the scalding spray. She’d been so happy with him, and he had to go fuck it up just when they should’ve been closest because of the new baby, just when she needed him most. She knew she wouldn’t stay with him if it wasn’t the right thing. Where children were involved, she believed in forgiveness. But not if he kept acting the way he just did, like he truly didn’t get it. And yet, what would happen if they couldn’t put it back together? All her white-dress dreams would be over. She always promised herself that, no matter what, she’d never get divorced. She’d give Maya a better childhood than she’d had.

By the time she came out of the bathroom, Steve had crawled under the covers and fallen dead asleep. She looked at his handsome face and felt her heart break all over again. How many times had she watched him sleep, secure and happy in the knowledge that he belonged to her? Now he felt like a stranger.

She got dressed quickly. If she didn’t leave right away, she’d go totally
loca
. Work was the answer. Work was always the answer. She’d go check out that new lead. Steve could stay with Maya until Elsie showed up.

She was heading out of the room when it struck her. Today was the day. She’d declare independence, then figure things out from there. She had to tug hard to get them off. She left the wedding and engagement bands on the bedside table, right where he couldn’t miss them.

MELANIE WALKED THROUGH DAPPLED LIGHT ON a leafy block in the East Sixties, checking the numbers on the beautifully maintained brownstones. She found Sarah van der Vere’s building and studied the names written beside the intercom. Sarah lived on the second floor, but Melanie didn’t want to announce herself if she could possibly avoid it. Peering through a pane of etched glass set into the wooden door, she saw a mom in shorts and running shoes in the foyer loading her baby into a jogger-stroller. The mom turned and opened the front door. Melanie held it for her so she could maneuver the stroller through.

“Thanks,” the mom said, looking at Melanie questioningly.

“I’m a friend of Sarah’s,” Melanie explained. “Two, right?”

“Yup, parlor level.”

Whoever had taken the evidence from her bag last night knew that, too. She hoped they wouldn’t decide to pay Sarah a visit, because the security here was nonexistent. With her black pantsuit, heels, and briefcase, Melanie looked plenty respectable, but still …The mom had let her in without checking at all. Life without a doorman. The place was beautiful, though, the foyer cool, elaborately wallpapered. In Manhattan real estate, you made trade-offs.

She walked up the stairs and pressed the buzzer outside Sarah’s door. No answer. She buzzed again, holding the button down longer.

“Who is it?” a voice answered warily after a couple of minutes.

“Melanie Vargas from the U.S. Attorney’s Office, Sarah. We met in the elevator at your firm yesterday. I’m here to talk to you about Jed Benson’s murder.”

Complete silence. A moment passed, then another.

“Sarah?” she called, more insistently this time.

“You have the wrong apartment. Go away.”

“I know I’m in the right place. If you don’t open the door, I’ll have to come interview you at work.”

Melanie held her breath, listening. A moment later she heard the sound of the chain being removed. Sarah van der Vere opened the door and stepped aside, frowning. Still in her bathrobe, wet hair streaming over her shoulders, she looked young, yet firmly in possession of herself.

Melanie walked past her into a large, loftlike space. The internal walls had been removed from what had once been a one-bedroom floor-through. Light streamed in through tall windows at either end of the apartment, reflecting off lovely hardwood floors. In the front part of the space, two love seats were arranged before a charming old mantel. Opposite, a sleek kitchen opened to the room, divided off by a marble breakfast bar and two high stools. At the far end, a queen-size bed stood against one wall, its rumpled sheets telling of a fitful sleep.

Melanie gestured toward the seating area. “Let’s talk,” she said.