Honeymoon - James Patterson [34]
Jeffrey finally picked up.
“Honey, it’s me,” she said.
“Oh, don’t even tell me you’re not coming.”
She laughed. “Not yet I’m not.”
“Wait a minute, where are you?”
“Take a peek out back.”
She looked up as Jeffrey appeared in the window of his library. His strong jaw dropped, then he started to laugh, which she could clearly hear over the phone.
“Oh . . . my . . . ,” he said.
Nora was naked on the chaise lounge, except for her sling-backs. She purred into the phone. “See anything you like?”
“As a matter of fact, I see a lot that I like. I don’t see anything I don’t like.”
“Good. Don’t hurt yourself running down the stairs.”
“Who said anything about using the stairs?”
Jeffrey opened the window, climbed out, and shinnied down the copper-plated downspout. Very athletic, actually. All to the delight of Nora.
Whatever the world record was for a man shedding his clothes, it was promptly broken. Then Jeffrey slowly crawled up to her on the chaise lounge. He dug his hands deep into the seat cushion and wrapped his muscular arms around her back. He was a sexy man once you tore him away from his computer.
Nora closed her eyes. She kept them shut the entire time they made love. She wanted to feel something for Jeffrey. Anything. But she felt nothing.
C’mon, Nora. You know what has to be done. You’ve been here before.
The voice inside her head didn’t sound like an old friend now. More like an unwelcome stranger, someone she almost didn’t know. She tried to ignore it. It was no use. That just made it louder. More insistent. More controlling.
Jeffrey climaxed, then rolled off her, out of breath. “What a terrific surprise. You’re the best.”
Ask him if he’s hungry, Nora.
She wanted to cry out against the little voice inside. But that would just be a waste of time. There was only one way to make it stop.
And she knew it.
“Where are you going?” Jeffrey asked.
Nora had risen from the chaise without a word. She was already heading inside the house. “The kitchen,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m going to see what I can make you for dinner. I want to cook for you.”
Chapter 44
OH, BROTHER—what to do, what to do? This is a disaster so far.
The Tourist sat alone in the small, dingy room with another Heineken. He’d already had four. Or was it five? At this point, keeping count didn’t strike him as being very important. Neither did the Yankees game droning on his TV. Or eating the sausage-and-onion pizza getting cold on the table in front of him.
On the table were newspaper clippings about the shoot-out in New York. There were easily a dozen articles about the “Sidewalk Showdown.”
The story had legs, which didn’t exactly surprise the Tourist. He’d left behind a host of unanswered questions. A lot of ink was being devoted to conjecture and speculation; some of it credible, most of it wacky. The short note that came with the clippings summed it up. The circus is in town. Keep your head down, Tourist. Will be in touch.
He smiled and re-read the conflicting eyewitness accounts. How was it, wrote a columnist from the Daily News, that the same event could be seen so differently by people who were no more than twenty feet away?
“How indeed?” the Tourist said out loud. He sat back in his chair and put his feet up on the table. He had every confidence that his identity would remain a secret. He’d taken the necessary precautions, covered his tracks. He might as well have been a ghost.
There was only one thing bothering him now, and it bothered him a lot.
What was the list he’d copied off the flash drive all about? All those offshore accounts.
One point four.
Billion.
What about it?
Was it worth some poor schmuck’s life outside Grand Central?
Apparently so.
Was it worth somebody else’s life?
Like his?
Definitely not.
Was it part of a bigger picture that might make sense eventually?
Who could tell? But he sure as hell hoped so.
Chapter 45
JEFFREY PEERED ACROSS the candlelit dinner table at Nora. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“Of course I am,” she said.
“I don’t know, you