Telling Lies
Page 12
But now she wondered if Jeff had come back to New York before today and if he’d been spying on Monica. Monica had finally started to get her life back. She and Brianna were happy now. Laurel gasped. Her body suddenly felt clammy and she held on to the sink to keep her balance. Brianna. Jeff didn’t know about Bree. Unless he’d actually come back before and seen Monica with their little girl. Monica hadn’t told him she was pregnant. She had been saving the big news until after the deal with Moto was done and Jeff returned from Japan.
Laurel’s mind was whirling. Did he know he had a child? If so, what would he do? “Oh, God,” Laurel whispered. If he didn’t know about Brianna, he couldn’t be allowed to find out. He just couldn’t. Laurel steadied herself and grabbed her robe from the hook on the bathroom door. She’d have to warn Monica. But that meant telling her that Jeff was alive. It was a mess. A horrible mess.
She rushed toward the phone. Dad and Helen would just have to wait.
Aaron, please be there, she prayed silently. And please pick up. He’ll know what to do, she thought as she punched in his number.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Pasta Pesce Restaurant
New York City
Helen fiddled with the silverware as Mike left a message for Laurel.
“Hey, baby girl. It’s me, again. Helen and I are at Pasta Pesce waiting for you.” She watched him checking out the diners lined up at the tiny busy bar, shooting him nasty looks. “We’ve been here for an hour, honey. Hope you get here soon, or we may have to give up the table.” Helen smiled inwardly as he lowered his eyes to avoid a very pointed look from a dressed-to-the-nines Sutton Place matron. Despite her wrinkle-free face—the result no doubt of Botox, laser surgery and one too many nip-and-tucks—she managed to move those muscles that let her scowl at him. “The natives are getting restless,” he whispered into his phone.
He flipped it closed and shrugged. “She’s probably on her way.” Helen knew that he was much more worried about Laurel’s whereabouts than he was about missing dinner at his favorite Italian bistro, but she understood his passion for the place. Located on the corner of Fifty-ninth Street and First Avenue, it had a regular following of neighborhood residents who patronized it in equal parts for the excellent food, warm atmosphere, and personal attention of the chef.
Mike had taken Helen to Pasta Pesce on their first date, and they’d been back several times since. With his dark Italian looks and rugged features, Mike had appealed to Helen immediately. She recalled how his deep brown eyes had betrayed his nervousness that evening and how he kept tapping his temple to cover it. Helen smiled.
“What?” he asked quizzically.
“Nothing. Why don’t we order some antipasti while we wait?” She gestured to a sideboard that was stacked with dish upon dish of delicious Italian delicacies. “And another bottle of Chianti, too.” She raised her empty glass, hoping that eating would take his mind off Laurel and the unfortunate series of events in Italy. Or, at least delay any more questions she didn’t want to answer.
Helen had spoken to Aaron as soon as he got back to the squad room and heard the story of what had happened with Sargasso at the airport. Or, what hadn’t happened. She frowned. She’d gotten a blow by blow of Laurel and Aaron’s argument, as well. Was there some law of nature that she didn’t know about that applied to these two, some attract/repel formula built into their genetic codes? Aaron had been very angry, angrier than she’d ever seen him, and that was saying something. She wouldn’t be surprised if Laurel had gone too far, making Aaron break it off for good. That would be a shame.
“Helen?” Mike turned to her and she vaguely registered that he had dispatched the waiter with their antipasti and wine order. “I want you to tell me everything that went on in Italy. I know you know more than you’re saying.”
“You know everything.” Helen watched his eyebrows knit with consternation. “Laurel told you about Jeff Sargasso and the girl who was killed. That’s the whole story.” The lie slipped easily from her tongue.
“But, is Laurel safe?” Anxiety filled his voice. “That guy, Sargasso, they didn’t find him in Florence. What if he follows Laurel to New York and comes after her?” The worry lines on his face that she found so endearing deepened with each word.
Helen gulped. “That’s not going to happen.” God, how she hated to be so evasive with this kind, sweet man, but if she told him Sargasso was already in the city, he would totally freak out.
As one waiter slid between the tables to set down their antipasti and another poured the ruby red Chianti, Helen realized just how angry Mike would be with her if he knew that she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. But more than that, he’d be hurt, something she realized would bother her quite a bit. Oh, oh, girl, you’re really starting to like this guy aren’t you, her little inner voice whispered. Better watch out; it could get serious. Tell me something I don’t know, Helen almost said out loud, then caught Mike looking at her oddly between mouthfuls of stuffed zucchini. She was just about to say something about the food when Laurel came rushing through the door and made straight for their table.
Swooping down, she kissed her father, said hello to Helen, then hovered on the edge of a chair, like a bird ready to take flight at any second.
Mike didn’t waste any time. His third degree flew in like a gust of wind about to push her off her perch. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried about you.” He looked at Helen imploringly to try to enlist her aid in his argument.
“Dad—”
Laurel was interrupted immediately. “What’s going on?” Mike demanded. “Is it something with Sargasso?”
This time it was Laurel who looked over at Helen with obvious concern in her eyes. Helen shook her head imperceptibly, and Mike, who was totally focused on Laurel, didn’t catch the motion. “Well?” Concern filled his voice. “Tell me.”
She reached over and grabbed an olive from his plate. Helen assumed she was trying to keep the mood as casual and low key as possible. “Nothing’s wrong. Really. It’s just that I can’t stay for dinner.”
“But,” Mike threw up his hands. “I haven’t seen you for weeks. I … we,” he gestured at Helen, “but … we need to talk about Italy.” His voice trailed off.
“I’m sorry; Helen can’t stay either.” She pointedly looked at the other woman, who raised her eyebrows questioningly. “We have a meeting with Aaron in half an hour.”
“Fine.” Mike put down the Brussels sprout he’d just speared and gestured for the check. “We’ll all go.”
Laurel reached over and put her hand on his arm. “No. Just the two of us.” She could see the look on his face turning from confusion to anger. Before he could explode, she said, “I promise, I’ll tell you everything when I’m done meeting with Aaron. This is something the three of us need to discuss. Please, try to understand.”
Helen leaned over and squeezed his arm in supplication.
“I guess I’ll have to,” he said dejectedly as both women rose and left the table.
* * *
Outside, as the taxi sped down Second Avenue toward the station house, Helen exploded. She’d complacently followed Laurel from the restaurant, holding back her wrath for Mike’s sake. But now she let it all out. “Jesus, what the hell is the matter with you? Couldn’t you see how hurt your father was? What the hell are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” Laurel rested her head in her hands and rubbed her temples. I just don’t know.”
“Well, you’d better figure it out. First Aaron and now Mike. Are you trying to alienate everyone who cares about you?” Helen ran her hand through her hair in frustration. “Because, I think you’re succeeding, royally.” Helen was just warming up, momentum taking her words and flinging them across the cab’s seat. “You know, in about five minutes, Mike is going to realize how really, really livid he is and come after us.”
Laurel peeked through the fingers still cradling her head. “Oh, God, I hope not. He can’t know about this.”
Laurel took a deep breath. “When I was getting ready to meet you, I was thinking about Jeff and all his reasons for coming here.” She sighed in frustration. “He feels safe, Helen, untouchable. He must, or he wouldn’t have taken the chance.”
Helen tried to hide her own frustration. “We know that already. The man is an egomaniac.”
“But, what if there’s more to it? What if he feels secure enough to see Monica? Check out where she’s living, spy on her?”
“And?” interrupted Helen. “I don’t think he’ll just waltz up to her and say ‘Hi, honey, I’m home. Did you miss me?’ ”
“No. But he might see Brianna,” Laurel said softly. “And God knows what he’d do then.”
“What do you mean? She’s his child.” Helen’s confusion colored her words. “He knows he has a child, doesn’t he?” In that moment, the truth dawned on her.
“No. That’s why we have to talk to Aaron right away,” Laurel said, desperation in her voice. “In Florence, after I saw Jeff, Aaron suggested at first that Monica might be protecting him, that she knew he was alive.” She slumped back against the taxi’s seat. “After Jeff disappeared and the Hammersmith deal came to light, the FBI hounded her. They checked her bank accounts, followed her every move. She didn’t know anything. She believed that Jeff was dead.” Laurel shook her head. “I know she did. I do. She had Brianna and tried to get on with her life.” Laurel turned and looked out the window, watching the lights of the city fly past. “We have to figure out how to protect Monica and Brianna from Jeff.” Her voice was hesitant. “Dad would just think that I was putting myself, and all of us, in danger. He wouldn’t understand that somehow—because I recognized Jeff in Florence—I set all this in motion,” she gestured in frustration. “I feel responsible for Monica.” Laurel turned back toward Helen. “I’ll make it up to him, I swear.”
Helen met her gaze. “No, you’re not responsible. You didn’t steal that money or make a deal with the devil for some God-knows-what painting. I think that’s why Sargasso is really here. Not because of you or Monica.”
Helen leaned back against the cab’s seat. This just keeps getting more complicated. She glanced toward Laurel, who was staring straight ahead. She knew Laurel well enough to understand that she probably felt guilty about Fredericka Bellabocca’s death.
Helen didn’t really believe that was the case, although making Laurel see that would be difficult. Sargasso had been getting ready to make his move and the girl just got in his way. She sighed aloud, thinking about their upcoming meeting with Aaron. At least he was willing to help, but still, it wouldn’t be easy. No, she said to herself, imagining Mike sitting alone in the restaurant, dejected and angry. She could see him sipping the fruity, dark wine they’d ordered. No, not easy at all.
Chapter Twenty-Five
New York City
Lior tossed back his vodka and placed some bills on the bar. He nodded to the bartender that they were even and slipped out of the restaurant behind McCorkendale and the girl. The 4Runner was parked outside in front of a hydrant, a ticket tucked under the windshield wiper. Snatching it away, he climbed in and tossed the ticket into the glove compartment along with the other ten or so that resided there. I’ll have to get someone at the consulate to pay them soon. I can’t take the chance of this truck being towed. If the New York City Police ever searched it, they’d find gadgets they’ve never seen before. That wouldn’t do anybody any good. He unconsciously placed his hand on the center console where the pseudo palm pilot was stowed.
Lior turned over the motor and let it idle as he watched the women hail a taxi. He slid into the flow of traffic a few cars behind them, just making the light on First Avenue. They traveled uptown two blocks and turned left on Sixty-first Street, then left again on Second Avenue, moving into the downtown traffic.
Traffic was light, and Lior stayed well back as he thought about Laurel Imperiole, whom he had seen in person for the first time tonight. He’d read her file and the words “stubborn, impulsive, and tenacious” came to mind, a combination that had gotten her and McCorkendale into some pretty deep shit a few months ago.
After she’d joined her father and McCorkendale at the restaurant, things had heated up, and Lior had heard enough of the conversation to know that the two women were meeting Aaron Gerrard. He was hoping it would be at McCorkendale’s house, where he could monitor their discussion through the spy pens still in place.
As he drove, he wondered what could have happened to make Laurel Imperiole so fired up tonight. Her father had been interrogating her like a seasoned Mossad operative working over a Hamas terrorist. Lior could tell that he was determined to find out what was going on.
They passed the turnoff for Helen’s house on Thirtieth Street and the cab eased over to the right lane. When it turned right onto Twenty-first Street, he realized that the women were meeting Gerrard at the 13th Precinct. “Shit.” He banged the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. He couldn’t follow them inside or loiter in front of the station. One look was all Gerrard would need and he’d make him as the rich art collector he’d seen at Delrusse’s gallery. Rebecca was right, I should never have let him see us. It was a stupid move, and I only have myself to blame. Too much chutzpah. Getting in Gerrard’s face could have put the mission in serious jeopardy.
Lior drove slowly past the station’s entrance, turning his head to watch the women enter, the green lights bracketing its doorway reflecting briefly on their somber faces.
No, I’m not going to get anything more tonight. He cruised to the corner and signaled a turn. He’d figure out what prompted this emergency visit by McCorkendale and Laurel Imperiole to Gerrard. He could be sure of that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kips Bay
New York City
Helen was tired, annoyed, and starving. Stomach-rumbling starving. She yanked open the refrigerator door and surveyed its contents, which were meager. A little leftover pasta from last night’s dinner with Aaron, a piece of pecorino Romano, some mesculin greens, and not much else. She sighed and thought about food shopping, You remember food shopping? You leave the house, walk into a supermarket, and put yummy-tasting things in a cart. Maybe you can go between bouts as a referee for Aaron and Laurel. Helen shuddered at the argument she was having with the inner Helen, turned her off, and started assembling her makeshift dinner.
While the microwave hummed quietly and the pasta spun around inside, Helen grated some pecorino on top of the greens, added a few drops of virgin olive oil, and waited for dinner to heat. She sat at the kitchen table and poured herself a glass of Chianti. “To sanity.” She lifted the glass in a mock toast. “We sure could have used some of that tonight.”
Aaron had known something was wrong the moment she and Laurel had walked into his office. Helen could read the “What now?” look of disgust that flashed from his eyes to hers like a laser pointer homing in on a pie chart. Putting her anger at Laurel aside, she had sat calmly and listened as Laurel stridently reiterated her concerns for Monica and Brianna’s safety. And, let’s not forget, the need to find Jeff Sargasso as soon as possible.
Aaron had sat listening and nodding, rather agreeable for a guy who for all intents and purposes had, a few short hours ago, had his balls put in a vise by the woman in front of him. Helen hadn’t liked this new, gentler Aaron. She hadn’t trusted him. She needn’t have worried. The old, harder Aaron had come roaring back the second Laurel finished.
“Let me ask you something.” He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Do you think I’m a complete fool? An idiot? A total incompetent?”
“No, of course not.” Laurel appeared startled. “I just wanted to make sure we were all caught up with everything.” An edge had crept into her voice. Aaron just stared. “You know …” Sh
e waved her hand ineffectually in a gesture that encompassed the three of them.
Helen had begun to enjoy this. With all the attitude she’d been spouting, Laurel deserved a touch of the treatment Aaron usually reserved for the perps.
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Aaron turned his attention to Helen and virtually dismissed Laurel.
Rising and pacing behind his desk, he ticked off his points in rapid succession, like a time bomb counting down to a blast.
“We’ve got men watching Monica and Brianna twenty-four seven, so if Sargasso goes anywhere near them, we’ll have him.
“We’ve posted his photo and vitals in every precinct, along with the aliases he’s been using. The FBI has this info, too, and asked Immigration to issue a warrant for illegal entry into the U.S. So, once we get him, we can hold him.
“My own guys, Detectives Waxman and Fareri, are watching Delrusse’s gallery, so ditto if he shows up there.