1 3 7 – ZOË

by C. De Melo

  “If you’re referring to the company your brother keeps when he’s in Rio-”

  “That’s exactly what I’m referring to,” Lance hissed. “She doesn’t need to know sordid details.”

  “Maybe she does.”

  The door opened suddenly and Brady ran right into me. Lance looked at me with an exasperated expression and said, “It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

  I shrugged. “Nor is keeping me in the dark about something I have the right to know.”

  “I need to confirm if he’s checked into the hotel. He may just hop a flight to D.C.,” Brady said picking up a tiny recording device.

  “I want to go with you,” I said.

  Brady nodded. “You can see the door of your husband’s suite from the safety of the hotel stairwell. There’s a thin panel of mirrored glass. He’ll never know you’re there. You coming, Adams?”

  “Of course, I’m coming,” Lance replied, irritated. “I’m not letting Zoë out of my sight.”

  We walked out of the room and down the hall, bypassed the elevators and slipped into the stairwell. We went up one flight and waited just inside the door, staring out the four inch wide rectangular glass panel above the door handle. The entire length of the hallway only displayed four doors, which meant the hotel offered four luxury suites.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Now we wait to see if he shows up,” Brady replied.

  “Which one is his room?” I asked.

  “The farthest on the right with the ocean view.”

  We waited for about twenty minutes before hearing the muffled ping of the elevator. We watched in silence as the elevator doors opened. Sure enough, Michael walked out. He looked awful; his shirt was wrinkled and there were dark circles under his eyes. Al Majed followed him out of the elevator. Michael placed his hand on the encoder panel outside the door and it clicked open. He was about to step inside when he realized he’d dropped his wallet. As he bent to pick it up, a striking young woman came to the door dressed in a trashy red lace getup.

  “Querido,” she said sadly when she saw how exhausted he was. Her eyes then fell on Majed, who glared at her in disgust.

  “Nos vemos depois,” Michael sternly told the woman.

  Both men walked into the room. A moment later the woman walked out wearing a trench coat and fumbling with a large purse. Brady had recorded everything. He placed his finger to his lips and pointed to the stairs. We crept back to our hotel room.

  “I cannot believe our good luck! Majed is here,” Brady said incredulously. “We’ve definitely got enough proof to start a formal investigation.”

  “Who is that woman?” I asked.

  “He has a favorite he sees whenever he’s in town,” Brady explained.

  I was stunned. “A prostitute?”

  Brady nodded as he fidgeted with the device in his hands. “Expensive call-girl, actually.”

  “Nothing but the best for Michael Adams,” I said sarcastically. “Terrorist, prostitute, I’ve seen enough for one night.”

  Lance was staring at me. “I tried to warn you.”

  Brady walked to the corner of the room to make a few calls, affording Lance and I a bit of privacy.

  “I want to file for divorce the minute we get home,” I said softly.

  He shook his head. “Don’t.”

  I looked to him in surprise. “Why not? After what you confessed to me on the plane, you should be the last person to object.”

  “Nothing would make me happier than to have you all to myself, but it will look suspicious. For your own safety, please wait.”

  Brady walked back to where we stood and announced, “My contact just found out that Michael called the lab and told one of his men that he’s taking the next flight back to D.C. The jet is being refueled as we speak.”

  “Shit,” Lance said under his breath. “We just saw him going into his room with Majed.”

  “Well, apparently he’s changed his mind. He must be getting ready to leave. Majed is probably flying with him. We need to go.”

  The sun was slowly rising in the sky as we took a cab back to the airport. Brady explained there were several daily U.S. flights in and out of Rio de Janeiro since it took over São Paulo as the nation’s financial capital. Brazil’s economy had risen to the point of competition with international markets, including the U.S.

  The next flight out was in less than two hours. Despite being exhausted, we were alert and on edge. We managed a few hours of sleep after our plane took off.

  When we deplaned, Brady said, “Sorry, but I can’t drop you off at home, Mrs. Adams. Your husband may already be there.”

  “Right” I agreed, knowing my Mercedes was parked in front of the house.

  “I’ll take her home,” Lance said. “I can always say I picked her up and took her to lunch or something.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Brady agreed.

  He dropped us off in front of a brand new high-rise in Capitol Hill. After bidding us farewell and promising to get in contact with me soon, he took off down the street.

  “My car is parked in the underground garage,” Lance said.

  I craned my neck to look up the steel and mirrored glass edifice. “This is where you live?”

  “That’s right,” he said in realization. “You’ve never been to my place.”

  “I remember your old condo. It was nice,” I said.

  “Do you want to come up? I mean, if we’re going to lie about me taking you out to lunch we may as well take advantage of the situation.”

  “Sure, but I may fall face first on your sofa and pass out from exhaustion,” I warned.

  “The thought of you sleeping over is tempting, but I’ll make us some coffee instead,” he teased. “Best to be alert when you face Michael later.”

  We entered the lobby and I was impressed to see vegetation everywhere. It looked like a jungle inside, complete with a water fall and a rock climbing wall for residents. In the center of all the greenery located behind the waterfall was a super-fast elevator made of glass. We rode it to the top.

  “Penthouse?” I asked as we stepped out of the elevator.

  “Yes, I like the view,” he said, removing a sleek key card and opening a brushed metal door.

  I walked into a big open space full of light. To my left was a glass wall with a sweeping aerial view of the city and to my right was Lance’s contemporary furniture. The condo was tastefully furnished with modern pieces and abstract artwork.

  Lance was watching me expectantly. “What do you think?”

  “It’s lovely,” I said.

  “Please make yourself at home. Are you hungry? I can make sandwiches,” he said as he walked into the kitchen and started making coffee in a French press.

  “Actually, I’m starving. I barely touched the food on the plane.”

  Several minutes later, I was handed a steaming cup of black coffee and an organic peanut butter sandwich on multigrain bread. It tasted divine.

  “This is a lot of space for just one person,” I commented before taking a sip of coffee.

  Lance shrugged and bit into his sandwich. After a few chews, he said, “I’ve always hoped that someone special would eventually share it with me.” He met my gaze and added, “I’m relieved that you like it.”

  I blushed like a schoolgirl at his insinuation. “I do, very much. This western exposure must provide you with some exceptional sunsets.”

  “Hmm-hmm,” he nodded, still chewing.

  “You’ve got a big outside terrace, too.”

  “Wraps around my entire condo and great for parties,” he said. “I share this floor with only one other apartment.”

  I turned to notice that the glass walls only went around three sides of the space. The bathrooms and bedrooms were built off the solid back wall. There was no second level, which allowed for several well placed skylights and a modern slate fireplace.

  “Maybe you’ll invite me to one of your parties someday,” I teased.
<
br />   “Or maybe you can host one,” he retorted with a wink.

  We finished our sandwiches and I felt much better. Lance stood and took my plate and cup. As he placed them in the sink, he said, “I should take you home now before I get tempted to seduce you.”

  I stood and nodded for lack of a response. “Thank you for the coffee and sandwich.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said, grabbing his car keys.

  He dropped me off in front of my house, and I noticed Michael wasn’t home yet.

  Lance walked me to the door. “I wonder where he could be.”

  “Maybe he stopped by his office? Or the White House?” I offered. “Do you want to come in?”

  “Better not.”

  My wrist-phone went off. It was Michael. Lance nodded for me to answer as he stepped away and watched in silence. I was careful to point my wrist only at my face.

  “Sorry I’m still not home, princess,” he said. “Too much rain in London caused some chaos here at Gatwick. Control wouldn’t clear my jet for take-off. What a mess!”

  “I thought London was one of the countries with CCT,” I pointed out coolly.

  Michael shrugged. “Must be a malfunction.”

  It was amazing to me that he could fabricate a lie so effortlessly.

  “I should be home soon and I want to take you out for a nice dinner. What do you say we try that new Ethiopian restaurant everyone’s been talking about?”

  I gave him a fake smile. “Sounds good.”

  “I can’t wait to see you, princess. Love you.”

  I paused before replying, “You, too.”

  The screen went blue. I felt sick to my stomach at the prospect of having dinner with him.

  “You did great,” Lance said.

  “I want to throw up right now.”

  “Just be your charming self and everything will be okay. I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay.”

  He turned to go and then stopped and came back to the front door. Without a word, he bent his head and kissed my lips. Thankfully, Carlos was not outside to witness the bold act.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t resist.”

  Maria looked at me strangely from the kitchen as I walked into the house. It was Juana’s day off.

  “Hello, Mrs. Adams. You had me worried.

  “Whatever for?”

  She stared at me knowingly. “I noticed you didn’t sleep in your bed last night.”

  I stared back at her defiantly. “You’re quite observant, aren’t you, Maria?” Without another word, I went upstairs to my room.

  ***

  Michael was in a cheerful mood when he arrived. Since I only managed a few hours of sleep after Lance left, my mood was foul. Thankfully, there was little dialogue between us; he was in a hurry to shower and change for dinner. We rode in silence to the restaurant.

  “You’re rather quiet,” he commented, placing his hand on my knee and tossing a smile in my direction.

  “Oh, just a bit tired, that’s all.”

  “Working too hard at the gallery?”

  “Yes,” I lied.

  “We’ll get some food in you and you’ll feel better.”

  I forced a smile. “Sounds good.”

  After ordering for both of us, Michael proceeded to share mundane details about his trip. Knowing he was lying, I listened quietly and refrained from asking questions. He looked at me oddly when he finished speaking.

  “Anything happen while I was away?” he asked.

  I shook my head and took a sip of water. “Nothing.”

  The waitress came out with our meals and I ate hungrily. I caught his eyes on me more than once and I couldn’t read the expression on his face. It made me uncomfortable.

  During the drive home, Michael suggested we take a vacation in the near future. I barely joined the conversation as he discussed the pros and cons of various Caribbean islands. The evening ended uneventfully, with both of us wanting to do nothing more than sleep.

  ***

  I spent the next day working at the gallery. Michael had several meetings and wouldn’t be home until late afternoon. Lance came by the gallery at noon with Chinese takeout for lunch. The gesture was both sweet and thoughtful. We dined in my office while Suzie kept watch out front. The hour flew by fast as we talked and laughed, and he kissed me goodbye with a promise to call me later.

  It was almost seven o’clock when I received a call from Michael. I could see from the background he was standing in the kitchen. “Hey princess, are you still at the gallery?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I got caught up with work…sorry. If you’re hungry, Juana left food in the fridge.”

  “How much longer will you be there?”

  I shrugged. “Couple of hours.”

  “Why don’t you take a break? I can meet you at that little place a few doors down,” he suggested.

  “The Irish pub?”

  “That’s it. We can grab a burger and you can go back to work afterward.”

  “Okay,” I agreed reluctantly.

  “I’ll be right over. You can meet me at the pub,” he said before ending the call.

  I finished up what I was working on and shut down the computer. I went into the bathroom, freshened up and locked the gallery. It was a nice evening with a cool breeze. I walked up the block to the quaint pub on the corner and went inside. Happy Hour was still in effect and the place was moderately filled with college students and professionals. There were only two vacant seats at the bar and I nabbed them quickly. I ordered a glass of wine and waited for Michael. He showed up ten minutes later.

  “You’ve been busy today, haven’t you?” he asked after ordering a martini.

  I sipped my wine. “Yes.”

  “Getting prepped for that upcoming exhibition without Nancy’s help must be tough,” he commented.

  His martini arrived and he took a sip. I couldn’t help but think of my mother whenever I saw this particular cocktail.

  “It’s added quite a lot to my workload, that’s for sure,” I replied.

  We ordered two burgers and spoke of the gallery. Michael was familiar with many of the artists we represented and offered his predictions on which pieces would sell first. He was cheerier than usual, and it appeared to be forced. He seemed apprehensive. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was hiding something.

  “Are you okay, Michael?” I asked.

  He looked genuinely surprised. “I’m fine, Zoë.” My eyes narrowed at him and he continued, “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Well, you just seem…nervous.”

  “Nervous?” he guffawed and then laughed. “What would I be nervous about?”

  I shook my head dismissively. “Nothing; must be my imagination.”

  “You’re tired, overworked,” Michael said. “I’m the one who should be worried about you.”

  I feigned a smile. “You’re right. Sorry.”

  After we finished our meal, he walked me back to the gallery. We went towards the back door where my car was parked. “Are you coming home now?” he asked.

  “No. I’m afraid I still need to work for about another hour,” I replied as I unlocked the back door.

  He gave me a peck on the lips. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  I locked myself inside the gallery and went into my office to enter some data into the computer. Michael called me barely a half hour later.

  “Our house has been broken into,” he said anxiously.

  “What?” I demanded, surprised.

  He was breathing heavily and looked distressed. “It must have happened while we were having dinner at the pub. I just called the police.”

  “I’m leaving the gallery right now,” I said as I stood up from my desk.

  I saved my work, shut everything down and left the gallery. How could someone have broken into our house? We had the latest in security systems and an enclosed, impenetrable wall around the entire property. Our home was practically a fortress. I arriv
ed to see our front yard lit up by the flickering red and blue lights of police cruisers. As I got out of my car, I noticed that the front door appeared to have been forced open. The wood around the door frame was splintered.

  “What’s going on?” I asked of Michael, who stood just outside the doorway.

  “I told you…someone broke in,” he replied distractedly.

  “Mr. Adams, you said you were home a couple of hours ago?” a policeman asked.

  “Yes, I called my wife and met her at a downtown pub. She’s standing right here if you need any verification,” Michael said pointedly. “I came home to this.”

  I approached the door and a policeman barred my way, explaining that the house was being scanned for prints. We wouldn’t be allowed inside until their work was finished. I watched as two policemen walked through the house with an ultra sensitive device that picked up any foreign DNA samples like hair, fingernails, semen or blood. The device could also detect foreign fingerprints. It was the latest in crime-fighting technology.

  “Are you cold, princess? Do you want my jacket?” Michael asked, placing an arm around me.

  “No, I’m fine. Did you say the house was untouched when you arrived earlier?”

  “Yes, everything was fine before I left for the pub.”

  “So this just happened,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  I frowned. “What about the alarm?”

  Michael shrugged and looked uneasy. “I have no idea how anyone could bypass that.”

  Twenty minutes later an officer told us we could go inside. Strangely, the only room that was disturbed by the intruder was Michael’s office. A tablet was broken and some new model pen-drive keys were missing. Files had been tampered with on his computer.

  “God damn it,” Michael cursed under his breath.

  “I assume this is your home office, Mr. Adams,” an officer asked.

  “It is,” Michael replied with a concerned frown.

  The officer was taking notes on a small electronic tablet. “Can you think of any reason why this happened?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I gave my husband a sidelong glance. I knew he wasn’t being honest.

  “Where do you keep your jewelry, Mrs. Adams?” the officer asked.

  “In my bedroom,” I replied.

  The officer cocked his head to the side. “The rooms upstairs have already been swept for prints and DNA samples. They appear to be untouched, but we need to check if anything is missing. Would you mind doing that for us, Mrs. Adams?”