A Dangerous Year

by Kes Trester

  My phone played the short tune announcing a Skype call. “Hi, Dad,” I said, moving my knight to check Sam. “Can I call you back? I’m in the middle of a few games.” I countered Von’s move. If he reacted the way I predicted, check was two moves away.

  “Oh? Who are you playing?” I turned the phone and made the introductions. Both Sam and Von politely said hello. Turning the phone back, my dad grinned mischievously. “Do they know you’re a chess champion?”

  “Oh, come on!” Von jumped from his chair while Sam started to laugh.

  I pretended to scowl at my dad. “Thanks a lot. I’ll deal with you later.” I hung up the phone, cutting him off mid-chuckle.

  Turning back to my opponents, I did my best to appear apologetic. “Shall we call it a draw?” I didn’t want them to feel like they’d been suckered.

  “No way,” Sam protested. “This is actually kind of cool.”

  Von resettled himself and leaned over the board. “There will be no draw,” he said with a sparkle in his eye. “I will learn your moves, and next time I will win.”

  We’d see about that.

  It was later that night when I called my dad back. He wasn’t going to be thrilled with the idea of letting me loose on the streets of New York, but he had to understand I didn’t have a choice.

  It was Saturday morning there, and he was already dressed for the day and in his office. His hair, usually so effortlessly groomed, looked like it had been styled in a wind tunnel. That’s when I realized he must be wearing yesterday’s clothes and had never made it to bed.

  “Hey, kiddo, did you win?” he asked cheerfully, his tired eyes searching my face for clues to my wellbeing.

  “Dad, what’s wrong?” Only the threat of imminent violence would keep my father at his post all night. “Is that why you called earlier?”

  He swiped a hand through his hair, and the results were no better than before. “Nothing you haven’t seen or heard a hundred times before.”

  I stared him down. He loved to talk about his work and approached each new challenge as a learning experience for me. It was unlike him to be evasive. “What is it? Does it have anything to do with what happened before I left?”

  He broke eye contact and glanced away, a dead giveaway I’d guessed right. “You’re safe, and the girl you rescued is safe. That’s all that matters.”

  Not if my interference had resulted in more people getting hurt. New York was suddenly trivial, and the problems consuming me meaningless.

  He changed course. “So how’s school?”

  I shrugged. “It’s okay.” I’d debated all day whether to tell him what had gone down between Quinn and me. Dad, especially in his exhausted state, might not understand that I’d been forced to take such drastic measures.

  “Hayden Frasier is going to New York this weekend,” I volunteered.

  That woke him up. “What about security?”

  “She refuses to have a bodyguard, but it’s not like I can stop her from going.”

  He nodded. “Do you have reason to believe she’s in any danger?”

  “I don’t know,” I hedged. “Probably not, but she invited me, and I think I should go with her. Her dad’s got a suite at the Four Seasons, and it would be cool to shop in a real store for a change.” Online shopping was my favorite thing in life, but I longed to stand in the middle of Barney’s shoe department once again and revel in the smell of fine leather.

  “You want to go?” he asked.

  “You’d let me?” I couldn’t believe how easy he was making this.

  “I trust you to make smart choices. It’s not like we’re talking about a weekend in Baghdad here.” Maybe not, but this was a big step for him.

  “Would you email school and tell them I can go?”

  He nodded, pleased to see my face light up with excitement. Benson popped up over my dad’s shoulder. “Darlin’ girl! Did your friend like the treat?”

  Dad sent him a curious glance. “What did you send?”

  “Ah, you know, mate, stuff she’s been homesick for,” he answered vaguely. “A pound of Turkish delight, some of Nadira’s walnut baklava, you know, that kind of thing.”

  “Yeah, it was great. One of the girls I shared the baklava with was completely knocked out by it.” I could tell Benson got the message by his wolfish grin.

  My dad rubbed his chin, sure he’d just missed something of significance but not certain what to make of it. The three of us chatted easily for a few more minutes, but then my father’s phone rang, and he switched into work mode. With a final reminder to be safe, he ended the call.

  I composed quick emails to Major Taylor and Karen, alerting them both that Hayden was spending the weekend in the city, and my dad had given his permission for me to accompany her.

  With all my duties fulfilled, I ran to my closet to decide what to pack. In less than twelve hours, my American Express card and I would take New York by storm.

  he star treatment began the moment Hayden’s little Mercedes pulled up to the limestone fortress known as the Four Seasons Hotel in Manhattan’s Midtown. Uniformed bellmen and parking valets descended as Hayden swung her long legs out of the driver’s seat and accepted the proffered hand of an attractive doorman.

  I’d dressed for shopping in fitted black jeans, a cropped pullover, and red Chuck Taylors. Hayden had tossed comfort out the window in plastered-on skinny jeans, tan Givenchy pumps, and a khaki varsity jacket. She looked ready for a photo shoot.

  “Good to see you again, Miss Frasier,” the doorman murmured deferentially.

  Throwing her shoulders back, she accepted the greeting as her due. “Thank you, David. The bags are in the trunk.” She strutted into the foyer, ignoring a couple of tourists who pulled up short at her entrance. Perhaps they didn’t recognize her, but they knew she was Somebody.

  The girl who strode through the hotel’s elegant lobby bore only a passing resemblance to the girl who walked the halls of Harrington. This version of Hayden had the confidence of a runway model, aware of turning heads but accustomed to the attention. She was in her element, slipping into an atmosphere of money and privilege with the same comfort I felt in my oldest pair of trainers.

  “Miss Frasier.” The obsequious man at the front desk practically bowed. “It’s always a pleasure to welcome a member of your illustrious family. Why, your mother stayed with us for the Tony’s just a few months back. I’m terribly sorry she didn’t win this time.”

  Hayden shrugged it off as of no importance. There was always next year.

  The clerk waved over an eager bellman. “Please see the Frasier party to their suite.”

  In moments we were on an express elevator shooting up fifty floors, our ears popping as we soared into the clouds. If the moonfaced bellman accompanying us was tempted to make small talk, the impulse was stifled by Hayden’s supreme air of boredom when he opened his mouth. I felt sorry for the guy, but we were in her world now and would play by her rules. I schooled myself to appear unimpressed by our opulent surroundings.

  Breaking my vow immediately, I gasped when our escort swung open the door of the Frasier suite. I am not ignorant of the world, or the extravagant habitats of the rich and famous. I have visited royal palaces and presidential estates, but this place was something special.

  “I know,” the bellman winked conspiratorially. “This place gets me every time.”

  It was a crisp fall day in New York. Muted sunshine illuminated the city skyline sprawled at our feet. Giant windows and glass balconies offered spectacular views from one end of Manhattan to the other. The interiors were equally stunning. Crystal chandeliers, hand-lacquered walls, exquisite artwork, and designer fabrics blended artfully into a rich tableau, clearly conveying no expense had been spared or detail overlooked.

  “Would you like me to show you around?” The bellman, whose nameplate identified him as Gordon, was delighted to prolong his visit.

  “Thank you, that will be all,” Hayden sniffed.

  Our bag
s arrived moments later. I’d brought along the Prada tote filled with gadgets, so it along with an overnight bag were stowed in a cavernous bedroom that could probably sleep six. The adjacent bathroom was done in wall-to-wall marble and was large enough to host a handball match.

  “C’mon,” Hayden urged. “You can unpack later. There’s a new boutique in Soho everyone’s talking about. Maybe we can find something new for tonight.”

  On the drive in, she’d called some exclusive midtown restaurant on the car’s speakerphone and been immediately connected to the owner.

  “Darling! It’s Hayden,” she’d gushed. Apparently there was only one Hayden in all of Manhattan that mattered.

  “Angel! I’ve missed you dreadfully!” His Italian accent was so thick, I only caught every other word.

  After professing their undying love for one another, she informed him we’d be coming in for dinner that evening. From his outsized response, the news was more exciting than if life had been found on other planets. For all I knew, we were on another planet. When she finally hung up, she seemed amused by my faintly nauseated expression.

  “Welcome to my world,” she’d said knowingly.

  With a fresh coat of lipstick and a toss of my curls, I met Hayden back at the elevator. She dug an oversized pair of dark sunglasses out of her bag as we zoomed back down to the lobby. It was a pleasant day outside, but hardly glaring beach weather.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  She slipped on the sunglasses and allowed just the faintest of smiles. “You’ll see.”

  As soon as we stepped out onto the pavement, I did see. Word had gone out among the city’s paparazzi that Hayden Frasier was in town. Two or three guys who all looked like they’d slept in their clothes and had gone days without shaving loitered on the sidewalk. With multiple cameras slung around their necks, they called to Hayden and began flashing away.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” one of them called to me. “Are you famous?”

  “Not even if you paid me,” I muttered, stepping into a cab that had immediately pulled over. Nothing like the flash of celebrity to open doors and stop jaded taxi drivers.

  The shopping trip went pretty much the same way. Photographers followed us, adolescent girls asked for selfies with Hayden and even me, and sales clerks fell over themselves to be of service. We spent about fifteen minutes trying on sunglasses to add to Hayden’s collection, and the paparazzi ate it up. From a security standpoint it was a nightmare, but at least if she was kidnapped it would be photographed from about a hundred different angles.

  We staggered back into the suite just as the sun started to set, and ribbons of orange-colored clouds streaked across the sky. Loaded down with beautiful shopping bags almost as gorgeous as the clothes they contained, I admired one made of fabric with silken handles and another of creamy, textured paper with flowers pressed into the weave. This never happened with online shopping.

  “Be ready at eight,” Hayden called out, as she and her multiple bags disappeared into a separate wing.

  “No problem. That’ll give me plenty of time to swim laps in the bath.” I’d seen backyard Jacuzzis smaller than the tub in my bathroom.

  The time flew by as I enjoyed every amenity the room offered. The array of bath soaps arranged on an onyx tray filled the air with scents of green tea and lavender, and a thick loofa polished my skin until it glowed. On a silver hook a snowy white robe waited to wrap me in luxury. I could get used to this.

  The two women who later stepped into a town car were worlds away from the high school girls we’d been just hours before. I’d shimmied into a midnight blue silk cocktail dress with a matching coat and a sky-high pair of Jimmy Choos. A dramatic sweep of eyeliner and a lush red lipstick aged me a few years, and Hayden nodded in approval. She’d gone the polar opposite in head to toe white, pulling off the image of icy blonde to perfection.

  “Whatever happens tonight, just go with it,” she said. “If you don’t know what to say, say nothing. Got it?”

  “I have been off the farm once or twice in my life,” I said dryly, having attended state dinners since the age of ten.

  “Not like this,” she promised.

  The driver’s friendly dark eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Good evening, ladies. My name is Steve. Where may I drive you this evening?”

  His accent told me his name was probably Tariq or Malik, but it certainly wasn’t Steve. Hayden gave him the name of the restaurant, and we were on our way.

  Dimitri, the Italian restaurateur, swooped in as soon as Hayden made her entrance. We were whisked to a large table in the center of the room where we were put on display like cattle on an auction block. No I.D. was required for the vodka tonics she sipped in a steady stream, though I stuck to club soda.

  Dinner, such as it was, involved tiny bits of food artfully arranged on huge plates the size of hubcaps. I didn’t know whether to eat it or hang it on a wall. Dimitri checked back so often, it was like a threesome. His personality was bigger than the portions.

  The rest of dinner passed in a blur of smiling faces, air kisses, camera flashes, and ready laughter. Our party swelled with the addition of four or five of Hayden’s society friends who latched on somewhere between the restaurant and our arrival at a trendy nightclub. Their collective attitude straddled the line between excess and boredom, dressed up in the most expensive designer clothing with apparently nowhere of interest to go.

  As we crammed into the town car, a guy wearing a shiny suit and way too much hair product gave me such a thorough once-over, I wanted to punch him.

  “Who are you, sweetmeat?” he asked.

  Hayden shot me look that caused me to bite back the nasty retort waiting to fly. “Er, Riley Collins, and you are…?” Not that I cared.

  “Ty Overstreet.” Despite his weary expression, he keenly observed whether I recognized the name of one of New York’s oldest and richest families. It was a curious test, making me wonder which reaction would get him to back off. I feigned ignorance, glancing out the window as Steve drove us south to the trendy Meatpacking District.

  It was the wrong choice. Ty grabbed my hand as we jumped from the car. I shot a desperate glance at Hayden, but photographers were already surrounding her. Dozens of people watched sulkily as we immediately bypassed the long line waiting behind a velvet rope. A leggy hostess in black leather shorts led us past the dance floor where sweaty bodies writhed and strobe lights flashed in time to the pumping music. Once we’d all jammed into a tiny booth, Ty flicked a credit card at the hostess and barked an order for champagne.

  The blaring music limited conversation to screaming into each other’s ears, so I retreated into the role of observer. The more my companions drank, the more desperate they seemed in their quest for fun. Ty draped his arm around my shoulders. I stiffened, but since we were all packed together there was no way to gracefully extract myself.

  This wasn’t what I expected and, frankly, it was boring. I had been Hayden’s plus one only until she hooked up with the group of rich kids she called friends. It was a rude reminder I had a job to do.

  From our vantage point on an elevated platform we had a panoramic view of the entire crowd, so like a good secret agent I checked out the little dramas happening all around. The girls on the dance floor losing themselves in the music, and the high-fiving boys anticipating an easy score; the steady stream of people to and from the DJ’s booth—a sure sign the guy was dealing in more than music—and the two stiff, unsmiling men who were obviously club security. They lurked at the end of the bar like they were on a stakeout. One, wearing a cheap navy suit, had a broom-like mustache that concealed his entire upper lip; the other sported horn-rimmed glasses and khaki pants more fitting for a computer store salesman.

  Benson often lamented the biggest hindrance to his team assimilating into native populations was the rigid posture instilled into all military personnel. These guys had bigger problems than that, but hopefully their mark, most likely the DJ, wouldn’t be as obser
vant.

  Ty decided that would be a good moment to stick his hand up my skirt. Years of being trained to instantly act upon a threat kicked in without thought.

  “What the hell?” If the table hadn’t been bolted to the floor, it would have overturned when he hurdled out of the booth, clutching his nearly dislocated thumb. The music drowned out the rest of his rant against my virtue and parentage, but the meaning was clear as he hopped about in pain, though I knew it wasn’t that bad. The same thing happened to me when I was learning how to use a crossbow. With a bit of ice and some Tylenol, he’d be perfectly fine in a day or two.

  I turned back to my tablemates to find Hayden calmly studying me. She was more clear-eyed than I would have expected after all those vodka tonics, making me wonder if she’d switched them out for plain soda water long ago. I glanced at her in query, and she responded with a head jerk to indicate we should bail.

  I tried to brush past Ty, but his mouth twisted into an angry sneer as he roughly grabbed my arm. The boy was obviously a slow learner, but this time I took a moment to consider that inflicting visible damage on the scion of an important family would probably come back to bite me. The fist that should have hammered his nose sunk into his fleshy middle instead, and all color drained from his face as he sank to his knees.

  This time it was Hayden grabbing my arm as she tugged me through the steamy crowd and into the brisk night air. Steve had illegally parked the car across the street and leapt into action when he saw us coming. He yanked open the back door and peeled out as soon as we dove inside.

  Hayden burst into peals of laughter. “Did you see the look on Ty’s face?” She cracked up again. “He didn’t see that one coming.”

  I impatiently brushed the hair out of my eyes. “You don’t mind that I handed your friend his ass on a platter?”

  “Oh, puleeze,” she drawled. “We’re not friends. He just wants to make the tabloids, and I’m his best shot at getting anyone to notice. Ty The Upskirter’s had it coming for a long time.”