by Andrew Gross
The look in his eyes was determined and unbending. The shining blue in them had hardened into more of an intractable gray resolve. For a while the two of them just sat there, Hauck bristling.
Then slowly Karen smiled. “You said ‘probably.’”
“Yeah, probably.” Hauck nodded. “And while I’m at it, probably a little jealous, too.”
“Of Charles?”
“Of eighteen years, Karen. This is the person you built your life with, whatever the hell he’s done.”
“That part is over, Ty.”
“I don’t know what’s over.” He looked away for a second, then sucked in a frustrated breath. “Anyway, I said it, stupid as it sounded, what the hell.”
Karen reached over to his hand. She pressed his palm inside both of hers, massaging the soft cushions. Eventually he met her eyes.
“You know, I probably love you, too.” She shrugged. “Or something close.”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“But if we do this, Ty, we can’t do it like that. Please. This is the most important thing for me now. That’s why I’m going down there. Afterward…” Karen pressed her thumb into his palm. “Afterward we’ll see. Is that a deal?”
He wrapped his pinkie around hers and granted his reluctant agreement. “Do you know this place?”
“The St. James Club? We were there once. We pulled in at the dock for lunch.” She saw his concern. “It’s like in Condé Nast Traveler, Ty. It’s not exactly the setting for an ambush.”
“So when do you go?”
“We go, Ty. We. Tomorrow,” Karen said. “I already booked the tickets.”
“Tickets?”
“Yeah, Ty, tickets.” Karen grinned. “You honestly think I thought you’d ever let me go down there on my own?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Rick and Paula were away. As were Karen’s kids. She e-mailed the lodge where Sam and Alex were staying and told them she would also be away for a few days. She realized she should let someone know where she was going. She dialed a number and a familiar voice picked up, at home.
“Saul?”
“Karen?” Lennick sounded surprised but pleased. “How are you? How’s that gang of yours?”
“We’re all good, Saul. It’s why I’m calling. I’m heading out of town for a few days. The kids are off in Africa, if you can believe it. On safari. Sam’s graduation present. With my folks.”
“Yes, I remember you talking about that,” he said blithely. “It certainly pays to be young now, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Saul,” Karen said, “I guess it does. Listen, they’re a little hard to reach there, so I left your office number at their next lodge. You know, just in case anything comes up. I wasn’t sure who else to call.”
“Of course. I’m delighted, Karen. You know I’ll do what I can do. So where are you heading? Just in case I need to reach you,” he explained.
“Down to the Caribbean. The British Virgin Isles….”
“Excellent. The island are nice this time of year. Any specific place?”
“I’ll leave my cell number with you, Saul.” She decided to hold the rest back. “If you need me, you can reach me there.”
Saul was Charlie’s mentor. He had overseen the shutdown of Charlie’s firm. He had learned things about him. Archer. The offshore accounts. He’d never said anything about it to her. With a chill, Karen suddenly wondered, Does he know it all?
“I know that Charlie was up to some things, Saul.”
He paused. “Just what do you mean, Karen?”
“I know he was handling a lot of money. Those accounts we spoke of, offshore. That’s what those passports and the money were about, weren’t they? You never got back to me, but I know you know that, Saul. You knew him better than I did. And you’d protect him, Saul, wouldn’t you, if something came out? Even now?”
“I never wanted to worry you, Karen. That’s part of my job. And I’d protect you, too.”
“Would you, Saul?” Suddenly Karen felt she understood something. “Even if it threatened you?”
“Threatened me? How could it possibly threaten me, Karen. What do you mean?”
She was about to press him—ask him if he knew. Did he know that her husband was alive? Was Saul part of it? Part of why Charlie was hiding or, as a foreboding thought flashed through her, even the person he was running from? Was he a part of what came between them? Saul? He would have known about Jonathan Lauer. He never told her about that. Karen felt a nervousness snake through her, as if she had crept into a forbidden space, a closed vault, chilly and tightly sealed.
Saul cleared his throat. “Of course I would, Karen.”
“Of course you would what, Saul?”
“Protect you, Karen. And the kids. Isn’t that what you asked?”
Suddenly Karen felt sure. He did know. Much, much more than he was telling her. She could feel it in the quiver of his voice. Saul was Charlie’s mentor.
He knew. He had to know.
And now Saul knew that she knew, too.
“You never told me.” Karen wet her lips. “You knew that Jonathan Lauer had died. You knew he’d tried to contact me. You knew that Charlie was handling this money. Charlie’s dead, right, Saul? He’s dead—and you’re still protecting him.”
There was a pause.
“Of course he’s dead, Karen. Charlie loved you. That’s all you should be thinking about now. I think it’s best to keep it like that.”
“What did my husband do, Saul? What is it with you people? Why are you holding things back from me?”
“You enjoy yourself down there, Karen. Wherever you’re heading. You know I’ll take care of whatever needs to be done up here. You know that, don’t you, dear?”
“Yes,” Karen said. Her mouth was dry. A chill of uncertainty passed through her, a window left open to a world she once trusted.
“I know that, Saul.”
PART FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
The twelve-seater Island Air Cessna touched down on the remote island strip, its wheels barely finding the slip of land in the green-blue Caribbean Sea. The small plane coasted to a stop at the terminal, basically a Quonset hut with a tower and a wind indicator.
Hauck winked to Karen across the aisle from him. “Ready?” Two baggage handlers in T-shirts and shorts ran out as soon as the propellers stopped.
The young pilot in wraparound sunglasses helped passengers out onto the tarmac at the bottom of the landing steps.
“Nice flight,” Hauck said.
“Welcome to paradise.” He grinned back.
They had taken the morning flight down to San Juan from JFK, caught the American Eagle connection to Tortola, and now the cramped puddle jumper over the glasslike sea to St. Hubert. Karen had been quiet for much of the trip. She slept, fidgeted through a paperback she’d brought along. Anxious. To Hauck she could not have looked prettier in a tight-fitting brown tank and white capris, an onyx pendant around her neck, and tortoiseshell sunglasses perched on her head.
Hauck helped her off the steps and flipped down his own shades. Whyever they had come here, it was beautiful. The sun was dazzling. A cool trade wind off the sea caressed them.
“Friedman? Hauck?”
A local representative from the resort, dressed in an epauletted white shirt and holding a clipboard, called out to them.
Hauck waved him over.
“Welcome to St. Hubert.” The young black man grinned amiably. “I’ll be taking you to the resort.”
They loaded their bags into a hotel Land Cruiser. The island seemed barely more than a large ribbon of sand and vegetation in the middle of the sea. Only a few miles from end to end. There was a small mountain splitting the island, some makeshift food stands, locals selling fruit and homemade rum, a few goats. A couple of colorful billboards for a local rent-a-car service and Caribe beer.
The trip to the hotel took a little more than fifteen minutes of bouncing over the uneven road. Soon they were pulli
ng into the St. James’s resort.
The setting was beautiful, lush with vegetation and tall palm trees. It took about two seconds to establish that this wasn’t the type of place Hauck could afford on his own. A week here probably cost more than a month’s pay. At the open-air front desk under a thatched roof, Karen asked for the two adjoining rooms she’d reserved in the hotel part of the resort. They had discussed it. That was okay with Hauck. This wasn’t a holiday. It was important to remember just why they were here.
“Any messages?” Karen inquired as they checked in.
The pretty island desk clerk behind the counter scanned the computer. “I’m sorry, Ms. Friedman, none.”
A bellman took them out to their rooms, each tastefully decorated with a large canopied bed and expensive rattan furniture. A large marble bathroom with a big tub. Outside, palm trees swayed right up to the terrace, which looked over the perfect white-sand beach.
They met on their adjoining decks, gazing out at the sea. There were a few tented cabanas dotting the beach. And a gorgeous white thirty-foot yacht moored at the pier.
“It’s beautiful,” Hauck said, looking around.
“Yeah,” Karen agreed, inhaling the ocean breeze, “it is.”
“No point in just sitting around until you hear from him.” Hauck shrugged. “Want to meet for a swim?”
“What the hell?” Karen smiled. “Sure.”
A short while later, Karen came down in a stylish bronze one-piece and a tie-dyed sarong, her hair pinned above her head. Hauck had on a pair of “designer” Colby College shorts.
The water was warm and foamy. Tiny white waves lapped at their feet. The beach was pretty much deserted. It was June and the resort didn’t seem exactly filled. There was a small reef a couple of hundred yards out, a handful of sunbathers camped out on it. A young couple was playing paddleball. The sea was almost as calm as glass.
“God, it’s gorgeous.” Karen sighed, as if in heaven, wading in.
“Man,” Hauck agreed, diving into the surf. When he came up, he pointed. “Want to swim out to that reef?”
“Swim? How about I race you?” Karen grinned.
“Race me? You know who you’re talking to, lady?” Hauck laughed. “I’m still the third-leading all-time rushing leader for Greenwich High.”
“Oh, I’m quaking.” Karen rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “Watch out for sharks.”
She dove in gracefully ahead of him. Hauck let her get a couple of strokes’ head start, then went in after. He pulled hard, a few small waves breaking against him. Karen cut through the surf in an effortless crawl. He wasn’t gaining. No matter how he pushed he couldn’t seem to make up ground. Once or twice he tried to lunge and grab her legs. It took about three minutes. Karen beat him to the reef by a mile. She was already waiting as he climbed out, sucking air.
“I’ve been had.”
She winked. “Atlanta AAU twelve-and-under freestyle champion.” She shook the water out of her hair. “What the hell took you so long?”
“Ran into a shark,” he snorted, grinning coyly at her.
Karen lay back on the fine sand. Hauck sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, looking back at the thatched roofs and swaying palms on the beautiful tropical isle.
“So what else do you do well?” he asked, feigning dejection. “Just so I know.”
“Chili. Tennis. Large donors.” She grinned. “I’ve been known to successfully raise a few bucks in my time. You?”
“Clear out a hockey crease. Get cats out of trees. Munch on doughnuts,” he replied. “Catch the occasional blue.”
“You paint,” Karen said encouragingly.
“You saw it.”
“That’s true.” She poked at him playfully with her toe. “You could call it that!”
Hauck watched the beads of water drying on her wet skin.
“So what happens?” Karen asked, her tone suggesting that the subject had changed. “After?”
“After?”
“After I see Charles. Then what happens to him, Ty? All those things he’s done…”
“I don’t know.” Hauck exhaled. He shielded his eyes from the sun. “Maybe you can convince him to turn himself in. We found him—someone else could also. He can’t run forever.”
“You mean go to jail, right?”
Hauck shrugged.
“I don’t think that would happen. I don’t see that, Ty.”
He tossed a pebble into the water. “First let’s see what he has to say.”
She nodded. They looked at each other a few seconds, neither of them wanting to put into words their fears for a future they didn’t know. Then Karen prodded him again with her toe, smiled. “So…uh, double or nothing on the way back?”
“Not a chance. You should know, I don’t take defeat very well.”
“Your loss!” Karen chimed in with a conspiratorial grin, looking back at him as she pushed herself up and into the waves.
He jumped in after her. “On the other hand, I don’t take being shown up particularly well either!”
Later they met for dinner. The dining terrace overlooking the cove was barely half filled. A few honeymoon couples and a couple of European families.
Hauck ordered a local spicy fish dish; Karen had lobster. Hauck insisted he pay, and ordered a fancy bottle of Meursault. Karen, already slightly tanned, was dressed in a black lace dress. Hauck knew the ground rules, but he could hardly keep his eyes off her.
Afterward they walked back along the pathway to the front desk. She checked her BlackBerry, disappointed. Then she asked at the desk for her messages.
Nothing there either.
“This was a nice day,” he said.
Karen smiled sweetly. “Yeah.”
Upstairs, he walked her to her door. There was an awkward moment until Karen leaned close and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.
She smiled at him again, with a grateful twinkle and a wave of a finger, as she closed the door. But Hauck could see the worry in her eyes.
Still no word from Charles.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
There was nothing the next day either. Karen grew increasingly tense.
Hauck felt it, too. In the morning he went for a run outside the grounds, then came back and lifted some weights. Later he tried to distract himself with some departmental reviews he’d taken with him before he left.
In her room Karen checked her BlackBerry for messages a hundred times.
What if she had scared him off? she wondered. What if Charles had gone back into hiding? He could be a million miles away.
He would let her know, she told herself. He wouldn’t torture her again.
In the afternoon Hauck swam out to the reef again, floated on his back for what seemed an hour. He thought about what Karen had said, what he would do regarding Charles—after. Back at home.
He knew he had to lay it all out. Dietz. Hodges. The money offshore. The empty tankers. Pappy Raymond. The hit-and-runs.
Everything.
Even if she begged him not to. There’d be an investigation. Into Hauck’s behavior. He’d be suspended for sure. He might even lose his job.
He put it off and went back up to the room and lay down on the bed. His insides felt as if a jagged wire had been dragged through them. Charles’s silence was killing both of them. And the thought of “what after.” All of a sudden, the future, and everything it held, didn’t seem so far off.
He tossed the stack of work papers onto the bed, slid open the sliding door, and stepped out onto the balcony.
He spotted Karen across from him on her terrace. She was facing the ocean, doing yoga, in tight leggings and a short cotton tank.
He watched.
She was graceful, moving from one pose to another as in a dance. The curve of her finely cut arms, her fingers reaching toward the sky. The steady rhythm of her breaths, her chest expanding and contracting, the delicate deep arch of her spine following the movement of her arms.
His blood stirred.
He knew he was in love with her. Not probably as he had kidded—but completely. He knew she had awakened him from a deep slumber, the sweet lure of something that had been dead inside him for a long time.
It was bursting through him now.
She didn’t notice him at first, so intent was she in the precision of her movements. The arc of her leg, the lift of her pelvis, stretching. Her hair tumbling forward in its ponytail. The glimpse of her exposed midriff.
Goddamn it, Ty….
She brought her arms back in a wide semicircle and seemed to open her eyes. Their gazes met.
At first Karen just smiled, as if she’d been exposed in some private ritual, like taking a bath.
Hauck saw the blotch of sweat on her top, the shoulder strap off her shoulder, the wisp of honey-colored hair that had fallen across her eyes.
He couldn’t stand it anymore. It was like a fire blazing through him. Through the urgency of his nod. They didn’t say a thing, but something wordless and breathless was communicated between them.
“Karen…”
He was at her door the very second that it opened, pushing it wide, taking her and forcing her back inside the room and up against the wall before she whispered, “What the hell do you want from me, Ty?”
He pressed his mouth on hers, stifling any objection, tasting the sweetness of her breath. Karen pulled his shirt out in the same necessity, tugging at his shorts. He cupped his rough palm to the curve of skin underneath her leggings, heat radiating out of every pore, unable to stop himself.
Her chest heaved. “Jesus, Ty…”
He yanked down her leggings. Her skin was slick and sweaty from outside. He lifted her there, setting her straight against the weight of the high-backed rattan chair, hearing her murmur, her arms around his neck, lifting, until he was inside her, like two starved people ravaging for food, her legs straddling his thighs.
This time there was no softness, no tenderness. Only a yearning that rose up from deep within their core. She buried her face in his chest and rocked in his arms. He clung to her as tightly as he had ever held anything in his life. And when it was over, with a last, unembarrassed gasp, he continued to hold her, pressing her shape against his, and letting her drop easily into the big chair, Hauck leaning up against the wall, sliding to the floor, spent.