The Midnight Club_ A Novel - James Patterson [82]
“I love you. I missed you every single day on our trip. Promise you won’t leave me, okay?”
He raised his small, fragile arms toward her, and Sarah had to stop herself from crying. Suddenly she wished that the problems between herself and Roger could have been worked out. Sam deserved to have a father.
After Sam was finally tucked into bed, Sarah went around the apartment straightening up. If it hadn’t been for her housekeeper, Annie Leigh, the apartment wouldn’t have been much different from a crash pad shared by a couple of bachelors.
More often than she liked to admit, Sarah slept collapsed on the down comforter on her bed, in her clothes. She also played a lot of Spite and Malice with Sam, and occasionally solitaire, with the TV turned on. Late at night, she practiced an old Fender guitar in her room, playing Ry Cooder and Muddy Waters songs at two in the morning. She’d learned the blues in Washington Square in Stockton.
Sarah liked Stefanovitch a lot, and that was something she wouldn’t have thought possible a few weeks before.
She had questions, lots of questions, but she was intrigued. So much so that when he’d called from Police Plaza and asked if he could come over for a while, she said yes, even though she was exhausted. Now she couldn’t wait for him to arrive.
Sarah couldn’t make up her mind about Stefanovitch, but she knew one thing: she liked being with him more than she’d enjoyed being with anybody for a long time. He kept surprising her, revealing new layers of himself.
Stefanovitch knew about things that were fresh and interesting to her. He talked about his police job sometimes, but also about her job; about politics in the world; even unlikely subjects like his cooking theories, child psychology, modern art. He read more than she did; he enjoyed classical music, jazz, and rock. He was familiar with fashion designers, even the names of the top New York and Paris models. He told her that a lot of cops were pretty well read, and had varied interests. They just happened to be cops.
Most important, John Stefanovitch thought that she was beautiful, inside and out—and she needed to be told that very much right now. Sarah needed to believe it about herself again.
When they had kissed at her beach house, Sarah had actually experienced some light-headedness. She hadn’t felt that way in years; and she found that she’d missed it a lot, more than she had known.
79
THE ELEVATOR EASED TO A stop and the polished oak door slid open noisily. Sarah smiled when she saw Stefanovitch. This was like a date. How many people their age were dating nowadays? A lot, she suddenly realized.
He had obviously spiffed up after work. His thick brown hair was combed; his faded blue work shirt looked pressed. He would always seem a little Pennsylvania-barnyard, but there was also a subtle polish to him, something that went beyond Minersville, a dash of Manhattan cynicism. And he definitely was handsome, even in the Chair.
“Hello there, Stef.” She suddenly felt shy, the way she did whenever she overthought a social situation. “How’d it go?”
“Well, it was a long day, but a pretty good start.” He immediately retreated into talk about work.
So did she. “How was Isiah Parker? How was he to be with?” she asked. It was partly a nervous question, but she did want to know.
“A lot better than you and I on our first day.” Stefanovitch smiled. “I like him. He wants St.-Germain. His brother was a lot of his life. There’s something else, though, something Parker’s not willing to tell me yet.”
It had suddenly occurred to Sarah that they were holding this conversation in the hallway, where they were easy prey to eavesdroppers.
“Should we go inside?”
“It’s a nice hallway and all, but I guess we should move inside. Sam Snead, winner of three Masters and three PGAs. Is he still up and around?”
“He went off about an hour ago. Will you have a drink with me? I have some wine.”
He liked the way she looked in jeans, bare feet, and a faded Western print shirt. “If I have that drink, I