“But you can’t do that!”
“Watch me,” he said, with uncharacteristic curtness.
The nurse dashed back to the desk, grabbed a sheet of paper, and returned while they were waiting for the elevator. She thrust the paper at him, along with a pen.
“If you insist on leaving against medical advice, you have to sign this waiver.”
“And if I don’t, what will you do? Have me arrested?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Nicole said. “Quit being so cranky and sign it. The poor woman is just trying to do her job.”
Reinhardt took the form, held it against the wall and scribbled something illegible on it. He handed it back to the nurse.
The elevator arrived, and the two of them stepped on. They were silent as they rode down. A small throng of reporters were milling about just outside the door. A car was waiting at the curb, the driver standing beside it.
“Mister Reinhardt?” he said.
The reporters barely glanced at Reinhardt. They didn’t notice that Nicole was behind him. Nor did they spot her slipping into the backseat.
Reinhardt got in next to her. Once the car drove off, Nicole reached forward and closed the partition between them and the driver. She picked up their conversation where it had left off back in his room.
“Let’s give it another try. Explain again what you do for a living.”
“I already told you.”
“I still don’t understand. Let’s start with an easy question. Who do you work for?”
He looked at her for a long time.
Finally he said, “Let’s talk about this when we’re alone. Not here.”
Once they were in his flat, he collapsed on the couch. She could tell the trip home had exhausted him.
“Yo was right in that I’m a covert operative. That’s all I’m going to say about my work. But I’ve been thinking of leaving for quite a while. I was ready two years ago when you got mixed up in that murder case and I came to Los Angeles. But you were engaged to that bloke Jake—”
“Josh.”
“Josh. That dashed my hopes, so I went back to my job, but the thrill wasn’t there. I was just going through the motions. This past week—finding you again and then getting shot and almost killed—these were decisive moments. But I’d made up my mind before that. I used to love my work. For years the excitement made up for how alone I felt at times. More than that, it was my whole identity. But I’ve considered it from every angle, and leaving feels right. I love you and I want to share a life with you, a normal life where I come home every night to you and—eventually—our children.”
“Really?” Nicole felt a mix of joy and disbelief.
Was this really happening?
“Can you just quit? What about your ongoing cases?”
“No one is indispensable. They’ll find someone else. I’ll need to go through a period of debriefing to get the agency up to speed on my work and hand my cases over to other operatives. Once I’ve finished I can get an appointment at the British Consulate in L.A. I’ve always liked L.A. I have an idea! Let’s go out to dinner to celebrate our engagement.”
She studied his face. He was serious, which made her wonder if his injury was affecting his judgment.
“You’re supposed to be resting, and you haven’t even proposed!”
“I’m not getting down on one knee. But here it is. Nicole Graves, I adore you. Will you marry me?”
“Hmm. Maybe we should wait until you’ve recovered.”
“Do you think I’m delusional?”
She laughed. “Possibly. Are you sure you’re ready to walk out on your career? Because I’d never marry a covert operative.” She made air quotations around the words.
“I’m absolutely certain.”
“I believe you are at the moment, but I think we should wait before making a final commitment. When you get to L.A., we’ll see how things work out.”
“Then the answer isn’t no. It’s just that you don’t believe I’m actually going to take this step.”
Nicole nodded, and Reinhardt smiled.
“Then there is cause for celebration. Get out the champagne. There’s a bottle in the refrigerator.”
She found the champagne, wondering when he’d put it in the fridge and whether he’d been planning to propose before he was injured. She located two champagne flutes and went back to the living room. He was fast asleep. She woke him and helped him take off his jacket and shoes. He stumbled into the bedroom, got into bed, and was instantly asleep.
Nicole was thinking about his proposal as she made a sandwich for her dinner. She looked at the open bottle of champagne. Too bad it wouldn’t keep. She took the sandwich into the living room, picked up the flute of champagne and gave a silent toast. It went something like this—Thank God this episode is over.
She turned on the evening news, but hardly listened. She was still considering Reinhardt’s proposal and his willingness to give up his work.
She loved him. She truly did. And she wanted to marry him—she always had. But there were questions. Was he really ready to quit the career he’d loved, or was he simply reacting to the trauma he’d been through? Would he find other work that fulfilled him? And if he didn’t, would he blame her?
Epilogue
Three months later
Nicole, juggling a bag of takeout food and a bottle of wine, rang her sister’s doorbell. When Stephanie opened the door, she had the phone to her ear and was frowning.
Nicole took the salad and wine into her sister’s kitchen and went into the living room to wait for Steph to hang up. She seemed to be having an argument with whoever was at the other end.
Finally Steph slammed down the phone. “Men!”
“What’s going on?” Nicole said.
“The usual—with Dan,” Steph spat.
“I thought you broke up with him.”
“I did. I told him, but he won’t listen. What a baby.” Steph sighed. “Oh, no! I almost forgot. Happy birthday. Have you heard from Reinhardt?”
“He sent a super-gorgeous flower arrangement to the office, and another was waiting for me at home—both with balloons and birthday cards.”
“Wait. Doesn’t he send you flowers every week or so? He’s got a personal assistant or something who arranges this stuff. I don’t think that’s any substitute for a call wishing you happy birthday.”
“I didn’t get a call, but I did get a note.” Nicole pulled a folded piece of paper out of her purse and began to read aloud.
My Love:
First of all, happy birthday. I wish I could be with you. But I’m stuck finishing up a case I worked on for years. I have to see it through and have no idea when I’ll be done. I thought I could hand over my cases and walk away, but it wasn’t possible. I’ve broken my promise that I’d join you in a few weeks, and I’m sorry. But I’ll be there as soon as I can. Please don’t give up on me.
Love,
Reinhardt
“Did he mail it or what?” Steph said.
“It was delivered to my office by messenger. The receptionist handed it to me as I was leaving. She had no idea what service the messenger was with, and I didn’t have a chance to question him.”
“I hate the way this guy is keeping you dangling. Last week you were super-depressed because you hadn’t heard from him since you left London, except for the flowers. You said he’d never be able to give up being a spy, and—”
“Wait. I told you I thought he might be a spy. He never said he was any such thing.”
“I know. But what else could he be doing if he can’t tell you about it?”
“Well…he could be a hired assassin, or a member of the criminal underworld.”
“Whatever,” Steph shot back. “Maybe he met someone else. He could have died, and no one would bother notifying you because you’re not next of kin. This is the first message he’s sent since you last saw him, and he’s still not making any promises.”
“You’re right. But to
day’s my birthday, and I feel hopeful. This note says he’s thinking of me. I have the feeling that he’s going to eventually show up.”
“And you’re planning to wait indefinitely?”
Nicole laughed. “Until I’m ninety? Probably not. I’d say yes for the foreseeable future.”
“But—”
“Shut up, baby sister. Can’t you see I’m happy? It’s going to work out, one way or another.”
Acknowledgments
First of all, I want to thank my husband, Bill, who read every draft of this book and helped me shape the plot and the characters. Thanks to my technical advisors, real-life PI Cathy Watkins, my brother-in-law Jeff, a retired criminal defense attorney, and Kevin Duckett, a former police officer in England. Thanks to my early readers, who gave me ideas and caught plot glitches: Jeannie Hahn, Sue McGough, and Spencer Michaels. Special thanks to my sister Susan Scott, who read the book several times and made excellent suggestions. And, of course, thanks to my family, Jennifer, John, Anabelle, and Lila, whose support keeps me going.
About the Author
Nancy Boyarsky is the award-winning author of the Nicole Graves Mysteries. Her books have been compared to Mary Higgins Clark and are praised for contributing to the “women-driven mystery field with panache” (Foreword Reviews) and their “hold-onto-the-bar roller coaster” plots (RT Book Reviews).
Nancy coauthored Backroom Politics, a New York Times notable book, with her husband Bill Boyarsky. She has written several textbooks on the justice system, as well as written articles for publications such as the Los Angeles Times, Forbes, and McCall’s. She also contributed to political anthologies, including In the Running, about women’s political campaigns, and The Challenge of California by the late Eugene Lee. In addition to her writing career, she was communications director for political affairs for ARCO. Her debut novel, The Swap—book one of the Nicole Graves Mysteries—won the prestigious Eric Hoffer Award for Best Micro Press Book of the Year.
Nancy is a graduate of U.C. Berkeley, with a major in English literature. She lives in Los Angeles. Readers can connect with her online at her website nancyboyarsky.com.
The Nicole Graves Series
by Nancy Boyarsky
“Nicole Graves is the best fictional sleuth
to come down the pike since Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone.”
–Laura Levine, author of the popular Jaine Austen Mysteries
“Nicole Graves is a charming and straight-shooting heroine”
–Foreword Reviews
“Boyarsky’s weightless complications expertly combine menace with bling, making the heroine’s adventures both nightmarish and dreamy.”
–Kirkus Reviews
“Liar Liar creates exquisite tension…”–Midwest Book Review
The Swap - Book 1
The Bequest - Book 2
Liar Liar - Book 3
The Ransom - Book 4
The Entitled Page 23