“No,” he said. “It’s… why I’m here, you know? In New York. To work and, um … Vlachic—Tony—actually had plans for tonight, so … That’s how we’re going to do it until the security systems are in place. Three of us on, one off. At night. During the day we’ll … probably do two off, two on, because Sam and the team leader will be around.”
She nodded as she shut the top of her laptop. “Well, that was … really very sweet of you,” she said. “To let Tony have the first night off.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Dan said. In truth, he had nothing to do with it. It was entirely Alyssa Locke’s decision. But sure, if Jenn wanted to give him credit for it… He’d take it.
She laughed with both derision and genuine amusement. “Tell me that again, later, when you’re trying to sleep on my kitchen floor.”
“Trust me, I’ve slept in plenty worse places,” he told her.
“I bet,” she said, and behind her glasses, her eyes softened. “Tony told me you just got back from … well, he didn’t say exactly where, but…”
“Yeah, we can’t…” He shook his head. “Talk about that, but… Hey, I was thinking,” he said, “that if you haven’t eaten, we could, I don’t know, get some take-out. Maybe … rent a movie?”
He’d said it in a manner that was completely casual and totally friendly, but the look she gave him was a mix of amazement and disbelief, with a little bit of disgust thrown in, as if he’d instead suggested take-out followed by her dancing naked for him, culminating in a BJ.
And that was—okay, he’d admit it—the subtext of his suggestion, because yes, he wanted her mouth on him, but in a vast variety of interesting and creative places.
“Or not,” he continued. “I just… don’t get a chance to see a lot of movies while I’m … overseas.”
Her suspicion and doubt was instantly erased, and he knew that all he had to do was whisper the word Afghanistan—or even imply it—and victory was within easy reach.
Because now she was apologizing to him. “Sorry. I’m just… I’ve got about an hour more of work to do,” she told him. “I’m writing this … Well, it’s going to take at least an hour to finish and … I lost a lot of my workday today, so …”
“Oh, right, of course,” he said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” she cut him off. “Please. If you rent something that I’ve already seen, then I can kind of do both at once.”
“If it’s only an hour,” Dan told her. “I can wait. You’ve got a lot of books on your shelves. I’ll borrow one”—women always liked men who read their books—“and stay out of your way.” He laughed. “Or at least try. You know, until you’re done. But I’ve really got to eat first. Or at least get something to tide me over if you’re not hungry—”
Her stomach growled, and she rolled her eyes. “There’s your answer to that.”
“Let’s get take-out,” Dan said again. “We can eat and then you can get back to work, and when you’re done, if there’s time—if we want—we can rent a movie.”
She smiled at him then, those dimples appearing. “How’s Chinese sound?”
“Sounds pretty perfect,” he told her, smiling back, testing his theory again by adding, “Not a lot of Chinese food where I’ve been lately, either.”
And oh, yeah. Sing alleluia and praise the Lord. He was totally getting some tonight.
“If we call ahead, it’ll be ready when we get there.” She pulled a take-out menu from a file on top of her desk and held it out to him. “My treat.”
That wasn’t going to work. “Not a chance,” he said as he glanced at it. It wasn’t too pricy, but still … “I’ve seen where you live, Jenn. This one’s definitely on me.”
She laughed, but she shook her head. “Dutch, then,” she said.
Dan glanced up from the menu and into her eyes, and he knew with the instinctive certainty that had rarely failed to guide him into a woman’s willing arms, that this was not a point to push her on. He’d let her win—this one. “Fair enough.” He reached for his cell phone. “You want me to call …?”
“I will,” she said, already dialing the office phone. Obviously the restaurant was on speed dial. “They know me. They’ll throw in extra rice.”
“Extra rice?” he scoffed. “Come on, LeMay. Get ’em to give you the good stuff. Extra fortune cookies. I want at least three.”
“You can’t have three fortune cookies,” she said in obviously mock outrage. “I mean, is that even legal? What do you do with three fortunes? Average them?”
“No,” he said, laughing, too, teasing her back. “You pick the best one and throw the others away. Didn’t your multitude of brothers teach you anything?”
“Apparently not,” she said. “Their brotherly advice handbook didn’t include a chapter on fortune cookies.”
“Then thank God I’m here,” he told her. “And not a moment too soon.”
“Believe me, I really don’t need another brother,” Jenn told him, but before he could respond, she turned her attention to the phone. “Yes, hi, Mrs. C., it’s Jenn. I’d like to place an order for takeout. No, I’ll pick it up. And oh, the gentleman I’m dining with tonight? He’d like three fortune cookies, so we’ll need four altogether.” She smiled at him, and those dimples reappeared. “He likes a choice when it comes to his destiny.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Maria Bonavita caught him getting all weepy.
It was embarrassing as shit, and he should have known better, because babies were total chick magnets. Izzy had learned that truth long before he’d learned the true value and power of actually having a chick magnet at his command.
Women loved to hold babies, to hug them, to smell them. It was, Izzy was pretty certain, a biological imperative, a brain-stem reaction—particularly among women in their early thirties, such as the assemblywoman.
Izzy had brought Ash into the kitchen to get out of Maria’s way. They’d come over—Maria lived just down the hall from Savannah’s condo, so it wasn’t much of an “over”—when Alyssa found out that Tony Vlachic had tickets to see Avenue Q. Tickets, plural. The kid had a date, too, with the same “friend” he’d been seeing off and on for the past year.
Not that Izzy’d asked and not that Tony had told.
But everyone knew, and he’d even made plans to meet his “friend” here in town, so. … In order to not let the T-man get hosed for the outrageous price of two seats in a Broadway theater, Alyssa had given the tadpole the night off.
Which meant that Izzy was doing double duty here with Ash in Maria’s condo, until Sam and Alyssa got back from their visit to Maggie Thorndyke’s townhouse, because she and her cell phone still hadn’t turned up.
Ash had gotten fussy, so Izzy’d adiosed him out of the living room and into the kitchen, which was when Maria had announced that she was taking a shower.
But it seemed as if she were that amazing and rare creature: a person capable of taking a true five-minute shower. And not five minutes under the spray. Five minutes from disappearance to reemergence. Pretty dang impressive.
He’d just given Ashton a bottle, and the little guy’s eyes had rolled back in his head as he’d fallen into a post-feeding, full-belly coma of happiness. So Izzy’d sat there, at Maria’s kitchen table, holding the sleeping baby in his arms, looking down into that happy, chubby little face as Ash occasionally, dreamily sucked on some giant, perfect, invisible breast.
Izzy had smoothed back the baby’s hair, and touched the unbelievable softness of his cheek, aware that Eden’s baby—had he survived—was supposed to have had this same perfect, smooth, mocha-colored skin and dark curly hair.
Which was when Ash, no doubt now dreaming of his mommy or daddy, had smiled in his sleep—a big, goofy baby smile. And he’d sighed and nestled even closer to Izzy.
And the possibility of everything that might have been had rushed through him, and he’d gotten all teary-eyed.
Which, of course, was when Fiv
e-Minute-Maria waltzed into the room.
“Oh,” she said as she realized that Ash was asleep, and she cut herself off, whispering, “Sorry.”
It was obvious that she was apologizing, too, for walking in on Izzy while he was on the verge of sobbing like a little girl.
He turned his head away from her so he could wipe his eyes, which was idiotic because as long as he didn’t wipe his eyes, he could’ve pretended that he wasn’t crying—that is, as long as he could keep his head turned away until his cheeks air dried. But it didn’t matter, because he did wipe his eyes, so now there was absolutely no doubt in the assemblywoman’s mind that he was, himself, a total baby.
But she was a highly skilled people person, and she didn’t catapult herself from the kitchen, screaming “Oh my God! A crying man is in my kitchen! Someone make him stop!” Instead, she turned her back on him, giving him privacy of sorts, murmuring, “Just getting some tea,” as she quietly got a mug from the cabinet and put some water on to boil.
His embarrassment was stupid, because it wasn’t as if she’d walked in on him in the bathroom, taking a dump or even jerking off.
Both of which he did on a fairly regular basis. Although, come to think of it, crying over Eden and Pinkie—which was the baby’s in utero name even though he was a boy—was also something Izzy did with some regularity, but usually always in the bathroom with the door securely locked.
The silence was awkward, so Izzy broke it. “I fell in love with this girl who was pregnant,” he said, “and convinced her to marry me, but the baby was stillborn.”
Maria turned to face him, surprise and sympathy in her eyes. She had her hair up in a ponytail and she was wearing a Union College T-shirt with a baggy pair of sweatpants. With her face clean of makeup, she was freshly, gleamingly, classically beautiful like some thirteenth-century Italian painting come to life.
“I’m so sorry,” she said so sincerely that he kept going, even though he knew that he’d already said more than enough.
“I thought I was going to have this,” he admitted, gesturing to Ash, “but now … They’re both gone.”
And now the silence was even more awkward, and he knew he should turn away—maybe say Excuse me, and take Ash back into the living room, where Lopez was sitting by the door.
But before he could move, she spoke. “Both?”
Izzy nodded. “She, you know, split. She didn’t love me—it was kind of obvious and … I’m sorry—you must think I’m, like, a creepy TMI guy, sitting and crying in your kitchen. I’m usually less of a load.”
“No,” she said, laughing quietly, so as not to wake the baby. “It’s actually … No. It’s refreshing. You’re … Irving, right?”
“Well, that’s what it says on the birth certificate.” He looked down at Ash again. “I must’ve been one butt-ugly kid. Can you imagine looking at something as beautiful as this and going I know, let’s name him Irving.”
She laughed again. “Is it a family name?”
“Yeah,” he told her. “Although that makes it even worse. My maternal grandmother had a brother named Irving who died before his first birthday. I know, let’s give the kid the name with the built-in curse of doom.”
On the stove, the kettle started to sputter, and Maria quickly took it off the flame before it woke Ash.
“I used to think it was wishful thinking on my mother’s part,” Izzy mused. “I was pretty much an accident. An afterthought, but… Now I know that’s not something you wish for. Not ever.”
His dickhead brother-in-law, who was none other than his teammate and nemesis, Danny Gillman, had made the mistake of uttering the sentiment that maybe it was for the best when Eden had miscarried. Maybe it was for the best? Holy Christ. At the time, Izzy had come close to beating the shit out of him.
It was only in hindsight that Izzy realized that Danny had no frame of reference. He and Eden were far from close. Same with Izzy and Dan, so … Dan had no clue what it felt like to want something as much as Eden had wanted Pinkie; as much as Izzy had wanted both Eden and Pinkie—regardless of who the baby’s father was—to be part of his life.
“The peeps call me Izzy,” he told Maria. “From my initials—I.Z. I also answer to Zanella and hey you. And a bunch of other things, too, but you’re unlikely to use such crass language, so I won’t bother listing ’em.”
Her smile was lovely.
“You want to hold him?” Izzy asked her.
But she actually seemed startled, and shook her head. “I don’t want to wake him,” she said. “I’m not very good with …”
“That’s how you get good with ’em,” he pointed out. “You get to practice on other people’s kids. You sit, so there’s no chance that you’ll drop him and—”
“Is that how you got so good at it? Practicing on other people’s babies?”
He nodded. “It’s not a skill set I get to use too often in the Navy, but I also answer to Uncle Izzy. You know, it’s probably not a good idea to let him sleep too much now, or he’ll be up all night, so it’s okay if you—”
“No,” she said, all but making the sign of the cross. “Thank you, but… No.” She turned away and poured herself a cup of tea. “You want some?”
“Despite my tendency to weep at the sight of sleeping babies, I’m not really much of a tea guy. But thanks for asking.”
“You know, a long time ago,” Maria said, with her back still to him, as she added some sugar to her cup and stirred, “I ran away from someone because … everything seemed so complicated, but… I wanted to be followed—chased—pretty desperately.” She took a sip, turned to face him. “Are you sure that your wife—”
“No,” Izzy said. “Believe me, I chased her.” He shook his head.
“Is she … with someone else?”
“No,” he said. “But she’s in Germany. She’s doing some kind of nanny thing for a friend—some woman who just had twins. She’s getting room and board and …” He looked down into Ash’s serene face. “She doesn’t need me. She won’t see me, but she’s been pretty clear about the not needing me thing, so …”
“I’m sorry,” Maria said again.
“Best I could do—via e-mail to her friend—was talk her into not immediately filing for a divorce or an annulment or whatever—I don’t even know which it would be. We were only married for, like, two days.”
“It could be simple. And inexpensive,” Maria said. “If you need a lawyer, I could—”
“No,” Izzy said. “Thanks, but…” He shook his head.
“If she doesn’t love you,” she said, not unkindly, “she’s probably not coming back.”
“I’m aware of that,” he told her. “Which is why I go to see her every few months or so. Not that I actually see her, but… I try. I’m going there in about a week. Depending on how long Troubleshooters needs me here, you know.”
It was much cheaper to fly to Europe out of New York. This unexpected trip east was a godsend.
Maria was looking at him, sipping her tea as she leaned against her kitchen counter, speculation in her extremely pretty brown eyes.
“You think I’m a loser,” he said. “That’s okay. I definitely am, so …
She laughed. “Part of me is still waiting to be chased—waiting for that I can’t live without you proclamation that another, more sane part of me knows I’m never going to hear. So if you’re a loser, honey, I’m one, too.”
Izzy nodded and gave her his valley girl imitation. “Then, you’re, like, totally a loser. Ew. Don’t, like, talk to me. Loser.”
Maria laughed—a burst of amused surprise, that of course woke Ashton, who started to cry.
“Shoot,” she said, wincing. “Sorry. I’m so sorry—see? I’m terrible with kids.”
“Shhh,” Izzy told Ashton, bringing him up onto his shoulder as he got to his feet. “It’s okay, little boy. Everything’s okay. Just because I’m a loser and the loud lady is a loser doesn’t mean you’ll grow up to be one, too. Both your mom and dad are rea
lly, really cool.” He looked down at Maria, who was shorter than she’d seemed when he was sitting down. “I want to give her time—my wife—but I don’t want to become the creepy ex who just never goes away. The stalker ex, you know?”
She nodded. “I had one of those once. It wasn’t a lot of fun, for either of us.”
He rocked back and forth—a move that never failed to quiet even the fussiest of babies. And sure enough, Ash gave him a huge burp and a little frothy regurge, and then settled down.
“I think this might be my last trip to Germany,” Izzy said, as he used a paper towel to clean the baby-blurp from his shoulder. He’d been thinking about it for a while, but this was the first time he’d said the words aloud, and he couldn’t stop the rush of tears to his eyes.
“That sounds like a healthy decision,” Maria said quietly. “Made by someone who’s definitely not a loser.” She gave him a sad smile. “Good night, I.Z.”
“Good night, Assemblywoman,” he answered as she left the kitchen, as he held tightly to Ash, as he breathed in the baby’s sweet, warm scent.
And he knew that he’d return from Germany as he always did—empty-handed, save for his crushed and broken heart.
But the truth was that he’d already lost everything, months ago. He’d simply refused to believe it, to acknowledge it. Which made him the biggest loser of all.
“There was nothing unusual about it at all,” said the head doorman of Margaret Bell-Thorndyke’s apartment building, on Central Park. “She left as she always did, around nine, nine-fifteen. She had her bag for the gym—the one with the wheels. She was pulling it behind her. She was underdressed as she always is, and we had our usual chat about the weather as I called her a cab. Cold one this morning, Miss Maggie, and you without a coat… I could always tell when she was planning to come straight home from the gym. She wouldn’t take a coat, and she wouldn’t take Lulu.”
“Lulu?” Alyssa asked, looking from him to Margaret’s obviously worried personal assistant, who’d joined her and Sam there in the sitting area of the ornate lobby.
Sam kept shifting in his seat like his side was hurting him, but at least he wasn’t in jail. And yes, she had just thought that. At least Sam wasn’t in jail. Of course the day wasn’t over yet.
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