His capitulation came in the form of a sigh. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
She straightened and traced the bandage covering the nine stitches running along the base of her skull. Although the doctor had shaved her hairline slightly higher, the hair’s trailing edge remained long enough to cover the scar. The local anesthetic was beginning to wear off, and the residual fear throbbed with her pain. “Just tell me what to do.”
“All right. First off, you’ll need to go to the Manhattan offices of the INS. Speak with their staff attorney and request that they issue a detaining order against Erin. The child has U.S. citizenship, she’s been abducted, the mother has failed to appear as the court instructed. INS should be willing to help. Do you know where Erin is staying?”
“I’ll try to find out.”
“Don’t go there yourself, Kirsten.”
“Is that all you want me to do?”
“Call me with your hotel. I’ll have the name of a local attorney. Give him the casework I fax you and the INS detaining order if you can get one. He should take all this to the district court and request the local police take Erin into custody. Am I talking too fast?”
“No. Go on.”
“The attorney will request the court’s assistance based on the Full Faith and Credit Clause of the U.S. Constitution. This says that each state agrees to recognize and enforce the rulings of other states’ courts. The judge will do what’s called domesticating the judgment, which means the local sheriff is then required to enforce the order.”
“All right. I’ve got that.”
The silence was cut by a series of staccato pulses, as though the distance was magnified by their quarrel. Marcus said quietly, “This is not what I had been hoping we’d be talking about.”
Kirsten was clenched by a sudden desire to reveal her feelings, to confess her need for this man. “I have to go.”
She slammed down the phone with the force of all the rage she felt against herself. She sat there for what seemed like hours, warring with her own burning urge to lift the receiver and call him back, the only outer sign her tight gasping breaths.
When the phone rang, she jerked her hand away from the sudden heat. But it was only the detective. “I am in the lobby,” he barked. “You will please come down?”
The German detective was so furious he stalked the empty hotel bar like a gray-suited beast. “This is not how it is done.”
Kirsten touched the bandage. She had decided not to take any painkillers. The cut throbbed with exquisite precision. “You don’t believe me?”
“Of course I accept this. But not coming from a company like Steinhauser. Even if they were not behind the attack, they should have seen it and stopped it.” He glared at her as though it was her fault the codes had been broken. “This is not cowboy land. We do not carry guns at our hips. We do not draw and shoot the first chance we get. We do not attack our suspects in dark corners.”
Kirsten felt the night’s grainy quality deep in her bones. “You’ll put a bodyguard on me?”
“Of course. But it is too late now, yes?”
“I hope so.”
“Describe this man again, please.”
“I didn’t see anything except his sleeve and two gloved hands.” And the knife. She shuddered at the taste and the scent of him. “He wore a heavy coat of some rough weave. He was much taller than me, and very strong. He sounded American.”
He showed doubt. “It is unlikely that a German woman would bring in talent from outside the country.”
“American,” Kirsten insisted. “And he wore the most awful cologne I’ve ever smelled.”
He made careful notes. “You did well, Ms. Stansted.”
She stood and reached for her purse, then winced as the motion pulled upon her cut. “I need to get some sleep.”
“And tomorrow?”
“I’m booked on a midday flight to New York. But first I want to have a word with Erin Brandt.” She traced her hand along the bandage, wishing there were some way other than drugs to take the edge off the pain. “And I want you to make sure she is good and ready when I get there. Her and that insect of a manager.”
The detective took careful measure of her. “Tell me what you want doing.”
CHAPTER
———
29
THE MORNING’S PAPERS were flung about Erin Brandt’s front parlor. A very private tornado had entered this room and torn the calm to shreds. Reiner watched Erin stride to the front window once again. This was what his career had come to. Twenty-nine years of clawing his way to the top, axing the competition, and kowtowing to a multitude of egos, so that he could sit in Erin Brandt’s front parlor and watch her come undone.
“Why are they staking out my house?”
The previous night he had finally done the unthinkable and confessed to his wife that she had been right all along. Taking on Erin Brandt had been the worst mistake of his entire career. He had said this not to grant his wife immense satisfaction, which it most certainly had. He needed answers. He was at the end of his rope, dangling over a precipice, millimeters away from the fall that would send his career crashing upon the rocks. His wife had no answer save a scream very much like the one he was hearing now.
“I asked you a question!”
“They have staked out my house as well.”
“Did I ask for information about your health and well-being?”
Erin struck the window so hard it was a wonder the glass did not break. “I want to know what you are going to do about that man!”
He walked over to join her by the window, wondering how many other fingers had itched to wring that alabaster neck. “Is that him there?”
“Are you intent on being perversely dense this morning? How many hulking strangers do you see outside my door? Of course that’s him!” She stamped her foot. “I want him gone!”
Reiner returned to the sofa, distancing himself from the impending cyclone. “Erin, I forbid you to go to New York.”
She tore her attention away from the window. “What?”
Reiner gave himself time for a long look. He took in the imperious chin, the power that defied her diminutive form. The regal bearing that translated so forcefully to the stage. He had gained much from this connection. But lost far more. Gradually his other top singers had grown resentful of playing second fiddle to Erin’s star. For three years now Erin had been his only client. A disastrous state of affairs. “You can’t possibly go to New York.”
“Can’t I.”
“You’ve lost your case in North Carolina. They can arrest you. The lawyer said traveling to America at this point would be insane.”
She treaded across the Chinese silk carpet, alighted upon the sofa next to him, and took his hand. “Shall I tell you what is insane?”
Reiner fought against the urge to rip his hand away. He knew that soft, melodious voice. It was the viper’s hiss. “Please, Erin, I’m thinking only of your welfare.”
“Oh, I know all too well how you look after me.” She stroked the veins running down the back of his hand. “For example, I know about the secret accounts.”
“I … What?”
She took hold of the flesh between his thumb and forefinger and pressed delicately. “The accounts, dear Reiner. The ones where you slip in the extra five percent of my earnings. Above the ten percent written into our contract.”
She gripped more tightly now, searching for a hold on his racing pulse. “Not to mention the percentage you add to everything you acquire for me. This house, for example. How much was your secret take on this? A hundred thousand?” She used her fingernails to clench the sensitive flesh. “Two? Four?”
“Erin, please, you’re hurting—”
“Now I shall tell you what you are going to do.” As she gave her instructions, she continued to tighten her pincher hold, until he could feel her talons actually join together. “Is that all clear?”
He gasped, “Perfectly.”
“
I’m so glad.” She released him and rose to her feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go see to my packing. Goscha has been of no help whatsoever since the child departed.”
Reiner stared at his hand. The raw quarter moons bled softly and ached as though he had been branded. His gut churned so that the words emerged as a plaintive moan. “Why did you bring the child back at all?”
“That is not your concern.” She swept open the doors like a queen taking her leave. “Your concern is making safe my journey to New York.”
Kirsten exited the hotel in the company of an extremely vigilant detective. Traffic thundered and the trolleys clanged metallic music as they walked toward the river. Overhead the sky had darkened to a gun-metal hue. The city’s muted pastels and prismatic grays were now matched on all sides. A chilly yet harmonious order hemmed in this very German world. Only the trees and flowers shouted defiant accolades to a summer now lost.
The Schwanenspiegel lakes and their whimsical bridges were as colorless as the sky. When they approached the line of houses on the lakes’ other side, the detective pointed her toward a jewel box of a house in powder-puff blue. A cupola adorned the upper floor, opening into double French doors and a tiny balcony painted a very feminine ivory.
As they started across the street, the detective made a sharp drumming sound deep in his throat and veered off to their right. Kirsten hesitated, feeling very exposed. The detective aimed straight toward a watcher who had suddenly appeared beside a Mercedes van. The observer was caught off guard, and momentarily debated the wisdom of flight. But the detective was too swift. He gripped the man by his lapels and roared an extremely German invective.
A woman Kirsten had not noticed before raced across the bridge they had just crossed and tried to move in between the two men, both of whom were now shouting. Kirsten’s detective shoved the woman so hard she bounced off the Mercedes and sprawled on the pavement. She scrambled to her feet and added her own shrill cries.
A voice behind Kirsten demanded, “How dare you show your face at my house.”
She turned to confront an irate Erin Brandt. Her manager hovered in the background, three suitcases at his feet. Kirsten told them both, “I just wanted to make sure you realized your attack didn’t succeed.”
Erin showed bitter amusement. “My attack? Darling, you vastly overestimate your importance.”
Kirsten switched her attention to the manager. From behind his electric blue spectacles, gray eyes shot venom her way. “Your lackey, then. It doesn’t matter. You both failed.”
“Oh, so someone else is after you? How utterly comforting.” Erin fingered the diamond pendant draped about her neck. “Is this a gift, how you manage to create enemies in every new town? Does the grass also wilt beneath your tread?”
Kirsten gestured at the suitcases. “When is your flight to New York?”
The manager sucked in his breath, but Erin merely smirked her response. “You and your meddling lawyer are in for a great astonishment.”
Reiner protested softly. “Erin.”
The diva ignored him. “You think me helpless? You assume you can waltz into my world and attack me at will?” She noticed the bandage on Kirsten’s neck, and lifted her smile until she revealed small perfect teeth. “You think I am without friends? Without power?”
“Erin, enough.”
“You have been neutralized, my dear. Phone your darling little lawyer. Hear what he has to say.” She glanced over to where the three detectives were exchanging a few parting words. “While you’re at it, call off your toothless dogs.”
As they started away, Kirsten called after them, “Where did you hide the child?”
Erin hesitated, but was drawn forward by a hiss from her manager. Kirsten raised her voice. “I’ll find her, you know.”
The diva was kept from turning back by the manager reaching over and gripping her arm.
Kirsten watched the pair slip into a new Mercedes sedan and drive away.
The detective appeared at her elbow. “We should move away from here.”
“Just a minute.”
He reached for her. “It is far too exposed.”
She shook her arm free. “Wait.”
The minutes ticked by, until Kirsten thought she might have been mistaken. Finally Erin’s front door clicked open and a fearful gray head peeked through. “The madame, she is gone?”
“Yes.”
Apprehensively Goscha crept outside. She began rubbing the brass banister with a cleaning rag and spoke without looking directly at Kirsten. “She has said nothing more about the child.”
Kirsten made no move to approach any closer. “Where is she staying in New York?”
“The Plaza. Always the Plaza.”
Kirsten turned to the detective. “Give me one of your cards.” She took it and started toward the front steps. Goscha watched with fearful eyes but did not retreat. Kirsten slipped the card into her apron pocket. “If you find out anything more, call this man.”
CHAPTER
———
30
THE DETECTIVE DROVE HER to the airport. He accompanied her to the check-in counter, a gray-suited appendage attached to her left shoulder. As she checked her bag and received her boarding pass, he draped one casual hand upon the counter and leaned in close. The professional bodyguard doing his best, even if it was a day late.
She turned from the counter and offered her hand. “Thank you for everything.”
His grip was cool, small, and tungsten hard. “I should have been there last night.”
There was nothing to be gained by agreeing. “You will fax me any further information?”
“There is little to go on, unless the housekeeper discovers where they took the baby.”
Kirsten headed for the customs barrier. The airport’s ultramodern interior was softened by a brilliant sunset. The clouds had parted sufficiently for all the colors of heaven to escape, reflected inside the hall by marble and steel. Kirsten passed one of the multifloored openings that transformed the airport’s upper tiers into giant balconies. Only when she smelled the downstairs restaurants did she realize she had eaten nothing since the previous evening.
The airport elevators were glass pillars that appeared to support the upper tiers. She watched a flock of pigeons wheel above the sweeping expanse of glass overhead, then stepped into the elevator.
And smelled the man.
It was the same odor as the previous night, a repulsive blend of body odor and oily spice, like a hair pomade from the last century. Kirsten gripped the steel balustrade. The glass cage trapped her utterly.
The descent took long enough for a thousand gasping breaths. As the lower floor arrived, Kirsten unclenched her grip on the railing enough to turn and scout in all directions. The restaurant alcove was off to her left. Arrivals and baggage claim to her right. Directly ahead were the rental car and limo booths. People strolled and chatted. She saw no one who might be the menace in tweed. Yet he was here. There was no doubt whatsoever.
She exited the elevator sensing two forces at direct conflict within herself. She wanted to flee, to turn away from the terrors and the trouble, just as she had done all her life. To look for the safe corner, to hide and never show herself to whatever new evil was stalking her. But there was a new sensation as well. One that defied the fear and the stalker both.
A pair of middle-aged gentlemen were walking toward her, dressed in high German fashion, giving her the eye. For once she did not turn away from them either. Instead she flashed her most winning smile and said, “This is just an amazing place, isn’t it.”
They both showed surprised delight. The taller one said, “You are American?”
“I most certainly am.” She sidled in close beside him. “I used to model here, but I haven’t been back since they opened this place.”
The other man inquired, “Eine Modelle?”
“Natürlich.” The younger man said to Kirsten, “My friend, he speaks no English, I am happy to say. Pl
ease, you will take a glass of Sekt?”
“I would love one.” She allowed herself to be guided over and seated at the long restaurant bar, one man to either side. She smiled at their comments, spoke a few words, and scouted.
She was about to rise and head back upstairs when she spotted him.
The man wore a bulky navy jacket. One far too heavy for the cool German afternoon. A baseball cap was pulled down so far as to mask his entire face. He leaned over the third-tier balcony and stared straight down at her. When she looked up, he drew back. But not fast enough.
Kirsten rose from her seat, flashing the smile perfected before a thousand cameras. “This has been just lovely.”
“But you have not touched your Sekt.”
She slid the glass over in front of the man who spoke no English. “Why don’t we let your friend finish it, and you walk me to the departure lounge?”
“By all means.” The man insisted on toting her carry-on, which left her with a hand free, which she draped over his elbow. The man moved in closer than the detective and announced, “I am Joachim.”
“Kirsten.”
“You will be returning often?”
“You never can tell.” She found herself unable to step back inside the elevator, even with the man standing beside her. “How about if we take the escalator?”
By then the man would have trekked the Gobi for her. “Whichever is slower.”
She spotted the watcher again midway up the stairs, a swiftly moving blur in blue. There was still nothing to be seen of his face. He kept his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched such that nothing was visible save the tip of his nose and the brim of his cap. Though he did not glance her way she felt his eyes drift over her, leaving blisters and clammy skin. He was one tier lower now, directly above the customs barrier, walking from left to right. Just another stranger on the move.
She realized the man beside her had halted in his monologue and was looking at her, waiting for a response. She said the first word that came into her head. “Certainly.”
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