Under the Same Sun (Stone Trilogy) (40 page)

chapter 38

T
he city shone across the water right into their darkened bedroom; the warm night air, smelling of the river and the trees on the Promenade, drifted in through the open window.

Jon had brought a bottle of champagne and two glasses up with them and opened it while Naomi sat on the corner of the bed, watching him. The box with the new rings sat on the bedside table, the bow still around it, and she reached out for it; but Jon shook his head.

“Patience. Wait.”

Once the wine had settled he held out his hand to her, and she rose.

Ceremoniously, slowly, he unwrapped the rings and took the smaller one out. For a moment he stood, facing her, collecting himself.

“With this ring I thee wed.” The famous voice spoke the eternal words slowly, thoughtfully, well modulated; and it sent a shiver down her bare arms. “You are my music; you are the melody of my life. I need you every day, every moment. Without you, there is silence and sadness. With you, I’m whole.”

Just as he had done during their wedding a year ago in the small church in Halmar, Jon took her hand and put the ring on her finger, a small smile on his lips. He kissed her palm before he let go.

That instant came back to her, those minutes when they had stood just like this before the altar, she in her white dress and Jon so beautiful in the cutaway, as elegant as she had ever seen him. She could smell the roses from her wreath and feel the cool Norwegian summer air; it was all there. Deep down inside, in a hidden nook she had almost forgotten about, the memory of delicious happiness unfolded and blossomed into a luxurious, beautiful flower, its perfume nearly overpowering.

Carefully, her fingers unstable, Naomi took the other ring from its white satin bed.

“With this ring I thee wed,” she spoke the old formula. “You are my life. Without you, there is nothing. Nothing at all. I promise to love and hold you forever.”

There were no bells, no cheering family and friends, and Jon was in jeans; but the feeling was just the same, the wild burst of love, the joy 
and headiness. Nothing had changed; he was still as entrancing as he had always been.

“I’m allowed to kiss you now. I remember quite clearly there was something about kissing the bride.” His arms came around her, drawing her into an embrace. “I recall taking that wreath off your head and opening the sash of your dress. You were quite wild; your hands were all over me. You couldn’t wait.”

“Yes.”

“You made me wait for you. You made me go without you for weeks. You have no idea how that felt.” His fingers were tugging at the zipper in the back of her dress. “I could hardly watch you walk by without thinking of holding you in my arms, and you, all soft and yielding, all mine. My only love.”

“You, my only love.” Her words were like an echo, an afterthought.

“I laid you down on that bed, crushing all the petals on it, and I claimed you, my bride; I made you mine.” The dress came off and floated to the floor like a rose cloud. “And that night, at last, I gained what had been missing all my life. That night, when we got married, my life finally was what it was supposed to be. You and me, babe. It comes down to this; it’s all about you and me.”

“It’s about you and me, yes.” The new ring glinted in the lights from the Promenade as she began to open the buttons of his shirt and run her fingers over his chest. “You’re the most beautiful man I know.” It was barely more than a whisper. “How I adore the shape of your mouth, your eyes, even the arch of your brows. You know you can make me wilt with desire with only a glance, by speaking my name, by standing close to me.”

“And you.” He kissed her, holding her tightly, inhaling her breath, his body pushing against hers, passion rising.

Naomi laid her arms around his neck and surrendered.

J
on brought her coffee.

He sat on the edge of the bed and held the cup close to her face until she woke, stretching like a cat, and blinked at him, drowsy and tousled.

“Don’t get up,” he said. “It’s still early. The FBI was here.”

Leaning against the headboard, Naomi sipped her coffee and listened as he told her about the visit from the FBI.

“I don’t know how to tell you.” Jon ran his hand over the quilt. “They came to inform us that Parker has been found.”

She gazed at him, mug to her lips, waiting. The morning sun was shining on her, highlighting her hair, making her skin glow; and for a moment Jon forgot what he had come to say, the memory of last night flooding his mind.

“Do you feel married to me again?” he asked. “Does it feel real? Did it feel real to you?”

A faint blush crept up her throat. “Yes, pretty real. It always feels real, Jon.” She shifted to make more room for him. “Are they gone? The FBI? Or are they waiting downstairs while we talk about last night? That would be embarrassing, I think.”

“They’re gone.” His attention was wavering, seeing the way the sheet was slipping when she moved, exposing more skin. “They left right away; we are all alone again.” Hopefully, he tugged at her cover, but she clamped down on it. “What if I came back to bed? What if we just stayed in bed all day?”

“You can hop back into bed,” Naomi replied, “but I’m getting out in a moment. I’m starving. I want breakfast, and I’m in a mood for some shopping. It’s time we got this house in shape, and I’d like to get some things done before we go on tour again. There isn’t a whole lot of time left.”

It was true, and he sighed. The desire to go back on the road was minimal.

“So what did they want?” She pushed her foot against his thigh to wake him from his thoughts. “Jon, tell me why they were here!”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “This is a bit difficult. They found him, but they didn’t arrest him.”

The coffee sloshed dangerously when she sat up. “What? He’s still free? They didn’t throw him in jail?”

Just like that, the romance of the moment was blown away.

“No, they couldn’t.” Jon took the cup from her. “He’s dead.”

Naomi didn’t reply but waited, as pale as the sheet now, her hands in a tight knot around her knees.

“They said he had an accident at JFK, where he was trying to get on a plane to London. He didn’t even try to hide his trail—bought the ticket with his credit card and all—as if he was totally unaware of what he had done.” He took a sip of her coffee. “As if he didn’t realize that he committed a major crime by abducting you. He must have been deranged big-time. Crazy, he never seemed that way. Obnoxious, yes. But as batty as a loon? No.” His hand cupped her knee and pressed it gently.

“An accident? How can you have a fatal accident at an airport? I’m not getting it, Jon. Was he run over by a plane?”

That made him chuckle. “No, not run over by a plane, even though I must say I like that image. You do have a cruel streak under that gentle and fragile exterior, don’t you? No.” Serious now, Jon went on. “Apparently, he fell down an escalator. No one knows how it happened. There were other people around, but no one saw it happen. It was just an accident.” He didn’t say that he thought it was really strange, and actually much too good to be true. Olaf’s words and the cold, calculating expression on his face after their drive back from Jane’s came to his mind, but he closed that door right away. Not even Olaf, not even Olaf in his anger, Jon was certain, could have somebody killed just like that.

“I’m sorry.”

Her soft tone made him look up.

“I’m sorry for him. What a wasted life. What a misguided, wasted life. To this day, Jon, I don’t even know if he really wanted me or if I was a means to get to you. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh.” Rising from the bed, Jon patted her knee. “That’s totally clear. He wanted you. He wanted you with the same deep desperation that I feel, Naomi. It was quite obvious during that interview in London. He wanted you the way I had you last night. Yeah, babe. That’s what he wanted. And he’ll never get it, poor asshole.”

“Jon!”

He grinned insolently. “What? Can’t I call the man who abducted my wife an asshole? Come on and get out of bed if you want to go downtown. It’s a beautiful day: not too hot, not too humid. I know because I went out to get you cinnamon rolls.”

“I still think it’s strange.” Naomi began to peel herself out of the bed, but when she saw him watching, his smile turning into an interested, intent gaze, she stopped. “Go away. You’re staring. You’re making me nervous with your stare.”

Jon put his hands on his hips. “I’ll stare all I want. You’re married to me, and twice. I have a right to every inch of your body.”

“And I yours. Watch your mouth, husband mine.”

Perched on the edge of the bed, she took a deep breath, the ease of the moment gone. “Jon, I can’t wrap my mind around it. He was so nice. Funny too. He made me laugh with his audacity. And now he’s dead? Is he dead because of me?”

“No, of course not.” The curtain was stuck, and he busied himself with getting the chords untangled, his back to her. “Of course he’s not dead because of you. He had an accident. It’s weird, that’s all. Now what do you want to do today, dear heart? Where do you want to go?”

“Even when we were at the fast-food place, even then, after he had taken my sandals, my phone, everything, he was so courteous, so kind; he never said an unfriendly word. Everything was polite, friendly, delivered in a light voice.” She paused. “I think that was the scariest part: the difference between his words and his actions. He would say such nice things, so polite, so gentle, and at the same time rob me of my things, one by one. I didn’t want him to take my rings. I struggled. He hurt me.”

On the river a barge passed by, a few gulls lazily drifting in its wake. The sky was blue with a few stray clouds in it. The city gleamed in the sunlight. Out on the Promenade, a couple of young women walked, pushing strollers, chatting, laughing. Jon noted these things, saw how the morning unfolded, how everything seemed peaceful and serene while those words rolled in his head, growing, taking on a momentum of their own. She had said it so calmly, as if it didn’t matter at all, but those three little words made his stomach roil and his blood churn.

“Well, he’s dead now.” Surprisingly, his voice sounded calm, even detached. “He’ll never hurt you again.” Suddenly, quite urgently, he felt a need to see Olaf and look into those icy blue eyes, share the anger and hate with him. It was such a weird, unaccustomed feeling that Jon shook himself.

“I’d like to ask something of you, Jon,” Naomi was saying, and he turned his attention to her. She was still sitting in bed, the sheet held up over her breasts, gazing at him.

“Baby, anything you want, you know it. You don’t even have to ask.” He sat beside her and ran his hand down her bare shoulder, along the length of her arm.

Naomi pursed her lips. “Actually, I don’t have to ask you. I can do this on my own. I keep forgetting that I’m as stinking, filthy rich as you are.”

“Probably a whole lot richer,” Jon mumbled, and gave the sheet a hopeful tug, but she held on.

“I want our friends living close to us. Sean, Art, Russ, Sal. I don’t want them spread out all over New York. Don’t you think we could do that? I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe, if we helped them or bought condos somewhere in the vicinity. It would be nice to have them around.”

“Yes.” He loved the way her shoulder fit into his palm. He could cup it, hold it securely, and it felt a little as if he was enveloping all of her, her essence. “We could offer them that. I have a memory though of Sean saying he wanted to move to New Jersey, quite close to where you…” The name would not pass his lips. It stuck in his chest like a wad of clay: sour, clogging, suffocating.

“Jon.” She laid her hand on his chest, on the skin where his shirt was open. “Jon, it’s over. We’re here. I’m here. Everything is over.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” With a deft flick of his wrist, the sheet came down. “A few things are so totally not over.”

A
s far as they were concerned, the FBI had told him, the case was closed. They had found his car with her purse and sandals in the trunk, and they would be returned in a couple of days; but there would be no further investigation.

It was over, indeed, like a bad nightmare, as if it had never happened, and only the feel of the new, different ring on his finger reminded Jon of the night he had spent waiting for her in agony, feeling the weight of guilt on his back and Olaf’s suspicious stares like needles stuck into his face.

Naomi, when she came down and joined him for breakfast, looked fresh and calm, just like she had looked before the shooting. The blue dress she was wearing gave her skin the pearly luster he so loved seeing on it, and it had an enticing neckline. She was wearing a single strand of pearls with it,  and she looked as lovely as a summer day.

“I want to see Joshua today,” she announced while she slipped into matching shoes. “I’m still not pleased about the whole thing.”

Jon put down his coffee cup. “You said you had forgiven me!”

“You, yes. My father, no. He’s done something unforgivable. They came here for just that reason, Jon, to entice Joshua away. I haven’t spoken to him about this yet, but it’s time.”

“He was here all night when you were gone,” Jon said. “He was so worried, and so furious. He came out to New Jersey with me and Sal to get you; he wouldn’t hear of staying behind, and he pulled some strings to get information from the airports. I don’t think the FBI would have been there if not for him. You know the police don’t do anything when an adult goes missing, not for two days or so. I don’t know who he called, but it worked.”

Naomi shrugged, unimpressed. “Probably his friend the mayor, or his friend the police commissioner, or the attorney general, or even the governor. I have no idea, but you can bet it’s one of them. If anyone knows how to pull strings, Jon, it’s my father.”

“Strange.” He put the cup into the sink. “And I always thought it was me who ruled the world. Seems I’ve found my master.”

“Oh, don’t put it like that!” She picked up a pink purse from the counter. “I hate that idea! I hate the idea of you admiring my father for his clout when I thought you had way more than he!”

Thoughtfully, Jon gazed at her. “Your father was wondering about my clout too. It’s really strange. You and your father, you’re the only two people in the world who I’ve ever heard use that word. It sounds weirdly old-fashioned, like something out of the Roman Empire, and I think it’s very scary to measure a man by it.”

Naomi shrugged. “I think it’s very sexy. And I hate to think of my father like that. I don’t mind it in you at all though.”