by Meg Tilly
“I’m going to loosen your tie.” She was still talking overly loud, couldn’t help herself. Was overenunciating, too. “Okay?” Sarah didn’t wait for a response; she tugged at his navy silk tie, which was dotted with gold bumblebees. She loosened the knot, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. “There you go. Better?”
He nodded and smiled wanly, blinking his watery eyes. “Much better. Thank you.” The color was starting to return to his face. He was able to hold the water glass on his own now.
“Take another sip,” Sarah urged. Her voice was more normal now, but her heart was still racing. He raised the water glass and took another sip. There was something so vulnerable and almost childlike about his acquiescence. Then he placed the water glass carefully on the desk in front of him. Both hands wrapped around it, his eyelids half-shut, as if he were too weary to raise them.
“I’m a foolish old man.” His voice was barely audible, his shoulders were rounded, and the expression on his face made him look as if he were a million years old.
“Uncle Phillip, I don’t understand why you think Vicki would—”
“Sit.” He waved his hand toward the chairs in front of his desk. “You, too,” he said to Mick. “This might take a while. I have a lot to apologize for. You see . . .” He stared at his desktop, gathering his thoughts. “I was passionately, deeply, and totally in love with Vicki. Have been for the last twenty-eight years.” His voice was low and filled with sorrow. “I will go to my grave loving her. She is my beloved. But.” He lifted his head, and Sarah could now see silent tears were sliding down his face. “That doesn’t mean that I am blind to the uncomfortable truths that now face us. Vicki has left me. And, Sarah, it breaks my heart”—he squeezed his eyes shut, paused as if bracing for a physical blow, reopened his eyes, his expression resolute—“to be the bearer of bad news,” he continued. “But I’ve recently learned why. My precious Vicki has been carrying on a covert affair with your husband.”
“With Kevin?” Shock caused her voice to leap a half octave.
“Yes.” He swiped the back of his shaky hand across his damp eyes. “I don’t know how long this has been going on. However”—he jabbed his forefinger onto the top of his desk with a good deal of force—“I recently discovered him sneaking out her back door. Now. It is very possible she was the one who gave him your information. Not out of malice, mind you. My Vicki doesn’t have the capacity for that kind of betrayal. Kevin must have woven some kind of spell on her, as he did on you. I remember clearly how concerned your parents were.” He shook his head, briefly lost in memories. “All of us were. I hadn’t mentioned your parents’ concerns about Kevin, or my own deep misgivings, to Vicki. You had already gotten married. The deed was done. Client confidentiality and all that.” He sank back in his seat, a broken man. “I wish to God I had. It might have saved her from becoming entrapped in the center of this mess. I am worried, Sarah. I am worried for her safety.”
“As well you should,” Sarah murmured as a shiver of fear slithered down her spine. “He’s a monster.”
“I’m begging you. Please. Speak with Vicki. Warn her of his true nature. She won’t listen to me. Vicki believes I am delusional, am speaking from a place of jealousy. And yes, the loss of her love breaks my heart, but even more important than that, I want her safety.”
Sarah’s tendency was to leap into the gap and rush in and help. No. You’re too soft, she told herself sternly, clamping her mouth shut. That’s how you ended up married to Kevin. Take a moment to sort this through before you speak.
“I can’t sleep,” he continued. “Can’t eat.” He tugged the waistband of his slacks from his body. “See here. I’ve lost seven pounds in the last five days. Seven pounds and I’m skinny to start with. I’m sick with worry.”
Sarah held up her hand to interrupt the deluge of words. Phillip stopped talking. His eyes fixated on her like a starving mongrel. “I’ll think about it.” Phillip opened his mouth. “I’m not done.” His lips snapped shut so fast, it was almost humorous. His expression reminded her of a toad who had just captured a fly. “I’m not making any promises. First there are some things I need sorted out. As I mentioned to your secretary when I came in, I want the notarized copies of all my identification documents you have in your files: passport, social security card, birth certificate, driver’s license. Secondly, your secretary needs to draw up the petition for my divorce. Once we have signed, notarized, and mailed it, I will be able to contemplate whether or not I’ll feel comfortable having a conversation with Vicki—”
“But drawing up the documents will take a while, my dear. Vicki could be in extreme danger.”
Sarah felt her mouth tighten. Uncle Phillip might be an old family friend, but he was selfish asking her to visit Vicki, especially if her ex was lurking around. “Believe me, Uncle Phillip. I understand the gravity of the risk Vicki is putting herself in, being involved with Kevin. One could say I have firsthand knowledge of said danger, considering the abuse I and my baby incurred at his hands. Not to mention, I’ve been on the fucking run for the last four years.” She heard Mick’s phone buzz again, but she kept her eyes locked on Phillip’s. Could see in her peripheral vision Mick glance at the screen and then flick it off. “So, you see, Uncle Phillip, my priorities are a little different from yours. Until my petition for divorce is filed, until I have proof of my identity in my hands, I am not going to do a damned thing.”
“Maybe you could see her while we work on the documents?”
“No. I’m sorry, but this is nonnegotiable.”
“But Vicki . . . ?” There was a tremor to his voice, and urgency. His eyes filled up again. “Time is of the essence.”
“I agree,” she replied, hardening her heart. “Time is of the essence, so you and your new secretary had better get working.”
Phillip’s mouth tightened fractionally. He was not accustomed to taking orders. Nevertheless, he jabbed the intercom button. “Hannah,” he barked. “I need you in my office, pronto.”
Sarah could hear the sound of scurrying feet. Mick unlocked and opened the door. The new secretary, Hannah, rushed in. She looked a little disheveled. “Mr. Clarke, I was looking—”
“Hannah. I need you to clear our schedule for the next few hours. We need to write up and file a petition for divorce for my client Sarah Rainsford Hawkins from her husband Lieutenant Kevin Hawkins. Also, I want you to go into the files and get the copies of Ms. Rainsford’s ID.”
“That’s just it, Mr. Clarke. I’ve been searching all over for them, but they aren’t there. Not only are the copies of her ID missing, but there are no legal or financial papers either. It’s the darnedest thing.”
Sarah met Mick’s eyes over Hannah’s head. He looked grim.
40
“I still can’t believe it,” Sarah said. Mick glanced at her. She had been dead silent since they’d gotten in the taxi at Lexington and East Forty-Fourth, deep in thought. “It will take a while for the divorce to come through. I’m sure Kevin will fight it, and there will be financial stuff for the lawyers to quibble about, but at least it’s finally in the works.”
“I didn’t think it was possible for that old man to move so fast,” Mick said. “Those papers were flying across that desk at record speed.”
“I feel lighter now that the process has started. Feel so much better in here.” She placed a fist over her heart.
Lighter was good. If Mick was being honest, he’d nudge his feelings past “lighter” to bordering on celebratory. As if delicate champagne bubbles were coursing through his bloodstream. With Sarah’s divorce petition signed, sealed, and sent off, she was a free woman. What was that she’d called him? A prudish country vicar . . . Mick grinned. Not for much longer. “You deserve to feel good. You were amazing. Kicked some serious butt.”
“I did, didn’t I?” She grinned back at him, a spark of joy in the dim light, and then she fell
into a brooding silence again. The darkness of the Queens Midtown Tunnel combined with the overhead lights had lit the interior of the cab a greenish-yellow tint. “Now all I have to do is get my damned ID. Uncle Phillip sure freaked out when he realized Vicki had cleared the office of all my files. I have so many questions zipping through my brain. Did she bring them home with her? Is she planning on using them to blackmail Uncle Phillip? Or maybe she’s planning on selling them to Kevin? And the strangest thing is, it’s hard to imagine her doing these things. You’ll see when you meet her.” Sarah shook her head. “What if she won’t hand them over? That is what’s worrying me the most. I can’t get ID without having ID to prove I’m who I say I am. It’s a catch twenty-two. If I don’t get this mess sorted out, Sarah Rainsford could literally cease to exist. But then I circle back to why would Vicki do that? What’s in it for her?”
Mick could conjure a million reasons why someone would want to make an incredibly wealthy heiress disappear. Maybe that person was Vicki. Maybe it was someone else. More information was necessary in order to have clarity. Hopefully, Vicki would have a reasonable explanation for why Sarah’s documents were at her home and would be happy to hand them over.
“I’ve got to confess, I’m still reeling from the unwanted image of the two of them getting it on.” Mick wasn’t sure which possible affair Sarah was referring to. “I’d seen them at the office and at social functions as well.” Ah. Clarke and Vicki. “I had no idea they were having an affair, and for all those years. I wonder if his wife knew, if my parents did.” She shook her head in disbelief. “It’s true Vicki was always there in the background, like a comfortable bookcase or old slippers, but Uncle Phillip seemed so solidly married.”
“You called him that in the office as well. I wasn’t aware he was your uncle.”
“He’s not. It was an honorary title, I guess, from way back as long as I can remember. No blood relation. They were just Uncle Phillip and Auntie Jane. His wife is lovely. They’ve been married forever—thirty-five, forty years. Have two grown sons. There were photos of his family on his desk. Did you see them? Looks like there is a granddaughter now, too. He always carried photos of them in his wallet. How can he betray Auntie Jane like that? And how can she? Vicki deals with his wife all the time, making travel plans, dinner reservations . . . How can she look Auntie Jane in the face, knowing . . . ?”
Mick snagged her hand in his. “For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t.”
Sarah exhaled. Curled her fingers around his. “Me either.” They sat for a moment, hand in hand in quiet comfort. “Do you think he was telling the truth? He is getting old. Maybe he’s confused—”
“If I were a betting man, I’d say the odds are they were involved. There were too many concrete details, no hesitation. Although, he could be an incredibly skillful con man.”
“Yeah. I’m clutching at straws. Looking back, it seems so clear. Of course they were having an affair. You want to know what’s grossing me out. He’s old enough to be Vicki’s father. And . . .” She attempted to suppress a shudder. “Now I’ve got this image of them”—she wafted her free hand in the air with a grimace—“getting it on. The more I try not to think about it, the deeper it gets embedded in my brain. And then there’s . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“What Clarke inferred about your ex and Vicki?”
She nodded, subdued.
“Do you think it’s a possibility?”
“I don’t know. If you’d asked me yesterday, I would have said the idea of Vicki and Uncle Phillip was far-fetched.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Vicki’s really not Kevin’s type . . .”
“But if he wanted something from her?”
“If he wanted something from her, then all bets are off.”
“From what you’ve told me, it sounded like Kevin was obsessed with having the ability to dominate and control you. What if this is a trap? What if Clarke and Kevin are working together, and this whole ‘talk to Vicki’ thing is a setup?”
“You spoke to Kevin yesterday.” Sarah was gazing out the side window in a seemingly nonchalant manner, but her eyes narrowed slightly and her lips had compressed together. “He’s in LA.”
“As were we. And now we are in a cab on our way to Brooklyn.” He lifted their entwined hands and turned hers over, his thumb gently grazing the delicate skin of her inner wrist. Then he replaced his thumb with his lips, imprinting the sweetness, the taste of her soft skin in his memory bank. He had her attention now. “Let me drop you off at a coffee shop.” His voice was husky with longing and need. Her close proximity overwhelmed his senses, and the merest of tastes made him ravenous for more. He turned his head, laying his cheek against her soft skin, then exhaled slowly and lowered her hand. “Seriously, Sarah. I think it would be safer that way. You can write down what you want me to say to Vicki, the questions you have. I will get the information for you and return, pronto.”
A tender smile gently curved her lips, her eyes soft. “I can’t do that,” she said. “Thank you for the offer though.”
“Why?”
“Because if you—a total stranger—show up on her doorstep demanding she turn over my documents, she’ll kick you to the curb. More to the point, she would be correct to do so. She’d have no way of knowing you were connected to me. Not only that, as far as she is concerned, I am missing, and possibly dead. No, the only way we have a shot at retrieving them is if I go. More telling than the words that will come out of her mouth is the smaller details, the emotional and physical clues. That is where the truth resides. I need to be in the room.”
Sarah was right, of course, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. She faced forward again. There was something about the sight of her profile against the glistening white, blue, and gold tiles whizzing past, so determined and strong in the face of such adversity, that moved him on a profound, fundamental level. But is that who she really is? the cynic in him whispered. Or are you falling into that old childhood trap of idealizing and whitewashing because you’d rather live in a fantasy world than face the hard truths? He released her hand, rubbed his face, trying to exorcise the unwanted thoughts. It didn’t work. “Sarah?”
“Mm . . . ?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” She turned to face him. “What’s on your mind?”
“You’ve mentioned your baby a couple of times.” He hated himself for the flash of sorrow he saw in her eyes, but he needed to know to put the demons to rest.
“Ah . . .” Her voice came out as softly as a leaf falling to the ground. She nodded. “Sorry. I kind of left you hanging, didn’t I?” Her gaze dropped to her hands lying empty in her lap. Sarah exhaled as if steadying herself. “She didn’t make it. Was stillborn. I was out cold when she was born. I didn’t get a chance to hold her little lifeless body, to tell her I loved her. I would have liked to have been able to do that, but when I finally gained consciousness, she was already gone.”
He felt like such a dickhead for bringing it up. “I’m sorry.”
She reached over and patted his hand. “It’s okay. The passing of time helps soften the jagged edges.”
“Still.” Mick turned his hand over so they were hand-clasped again.
Sarah managed a smile, a slight shadow of sorrow lingering in her eyes. She exhaled again and then turned to look out of her window, so he turned to look out of his window as well, both of them lost in their thoughts as the tunnel walls whizzed past. There was a hint of sadness, but mostly it was a sense of tranquility, a feeling of trust, friendship, and something more, that filled the silence that surrounded them.
In the distance, a small circle of daylight was approaching faster and faster, growing in size until finally their taxi shot out of the tunnel, leaving them squinting in the bright sunlight.
Mick’s cell phone started buzzing. He glanced at the screen. “Peterson. Again. The man is
like a dog with a bone.”
“You better answer it. Otherwise he’ll just keep on calling,” Sarah said, still gazing out the window.
Mick sighed, swiped to answer. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” Peterson was definitely freaking out. His voice was an octave higher than normal. “I’ll tell you what the fuck is going on. Harmony’s dead.”
“Wait.” Mick’s lungs suddenly felt like they were embedded in ice, and his brain seemed to be having difficulty processing. “Back up. It sounded like you said Harmony’s—”
“Dead. That’s right, d-e-a-d. What are you, fucking deaf? Why didn’t you pick up your goddamned phone? We’ve got a movie opening in eight days, and nobody’s in the office! Lois is in the hospital, Harmony’s dead, you’re out of town, and I’m having to spend my fucking morning at your house dealing with the cops.”
“My house?”
“Yeah, they are swarming all over the place. Harmony drowned in your pool. This is not going to look good in the press, dude. Naked secretary found facedown in your pool. You better really be in New York and have a fucking good alibi . . . Oh shit! I don’t have a fucking alibi! I spent the night alone, with my dick in hand, watching reruns of Be-fucking-witched. Oh Jesus. I’m screwed.” Peterson let out a low moan.
“Paul, I don’t understand. What the hell were you doing at my house in the first place?”
“Harmony didn’t show up at work this morning. Thought nothing of it. Figured she’d been waylaid, had the flu, some such shit. Called her phone. Got diverted to voicemail. I’m in my office, trying to work, but your damned phone kept ringing. Somebody’s calling. Hanging up. Calling. Hanging up. Can’t take it. Answered the damn thing. It’s your gardener babbling at me. Can’t understand half of what he’s saying. Called Bob the intern in to translate. The gardener and his crew arrived to discover a dead woman floating facedown in the pool. I told him not to touch anything, called the cops, and met them at the property. I’m being a good guy, you see? I’m helping my friend who is out of town. You can imagine my shock when the cops flipped her over and I saw Harmony’s face. Shit.” Peterson’s voice broke. “And you know the worst part of this whole clusterfuck? When I hired her . . . I’d had hopes of someday seeing her naked . . .” He was sobbing now. “But not like this. Didn’t want to see her naked like this . . . Can’t dislodge the image from my brain . . .”