Twenty Hours in Boston

by Priscilla Darcy

  "What did you do with my hair clip?"

  "What?"

  "I'm not angry with you about it."

  "Well, thank God for that. Can you put your shirt on for me?"

  "I thought you wanted to have sex."

  "I changed my mind about that."

  "Because Paul got married?"

  "I don't give a damn whether or not Paul got married. I want to have sex with you, yes, but I want you to have sex with me because you want to have sex with me, not because you want to get back at your ex-husband."

  She put her arms through the shirt sleeves and he breathed a sigh of relief. “I guess you're right,” she decided glumly. “Do you like it when I take my shirt off?"

  "What kind of stupid question is that to ask me?"

  "Brandi has big breasts, don't you think?"

  "Brandi struck me as having nothing but big breasts."

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I'm glad we're not having sex right now ... because I don't think I like that comment."

  "I meant that she's obviously a complete idiot, and if Paul is marrying women for their breasts, then he's even more of an idiot. But then, he already proved that to me, because he evidently let you go."

  What he was saying penetrated to her only dimly. She was feeling cold and tired and stunned. “I need some chocolate,” she decided. “I'm going to go back to my room and have some chocolate."

  "Stay here. I'll get you some chocolate here."

  "You don't want me around. I'm completely irrational. I—” He was leading her out of the room, down the hallway. “Gray—” Pushing her down onto the couch.

  "Stay there,” he told her firmly.

  She curled up into a corner of the couch and stared out the window, trying to make sense of this whole enormous mess. Paul had got married. To his stupid blonde model. And Aubrey was still completely alone.

  Except for a man who thought she'd be a fun time for a little while.

  And who reappeared in front of her with a box of chocolates in the shape of a heart. “Can I get you anything else?” he asked anxiously.

  The chocolates actually made her laugh. “Do you keep these in reserve?"

  "For situations just like this one, yes.” He sat next to her on the couch. “We need to talk."

  "Gray, I can't talk right now. I'll go back to my room and I'll—"

  "Why didn't you tell me you were married?"

  "Did it ever come up?"

  "Aubrey."

  She exhaled sharply. “It's not exactly my most shining moment, Gray. Nor is it the most pleasant topic of conversation. And I don't really want to talk about it now."

  "How long have you been divorced?"

  "It was a year in December."

  "Are you still in love with him?” He didn't know why, but he found himself holding his breath.

  "What?” Wide-eyed, Aubrey stared up at him. “No. What would make you think that?"

  "If you're not still in love with him, why do you care if he got married again?"

  "I ... I don't love him, Gray. That's not why I'm upset."

  He believed her, and he stopped holding his breath. He let her sit in silence for a second. She opened the box of chocolates and rustled around for one. “Do you want to talk about it?"

  "What do you like, cream or caramel?"

  "Cream."

  "Me too. Dark or milk?"

  "Dark."

  "There we differ. Here you go.” She handed him a chocolate and then shrugged as she bit into her own chocolate. “I don't love him. But that doesn't mean it doesn't still ... Such an enormous failure.” She sighed.

  "It would have been a failure if you were still married to him.” To her surprise, his hand started pulling through her hair. It was a soothing, comfortable action, and she decided she'd let him do it for a little while.

  "You would think that. That's because you don't believe in marriage. I believed everything I told him. I wish I'd known before I went into it all that he didn't believe it."

  "Marriage is hard. I believe in it. I don't believe it's for everyone. I know happily married people. And I also know people who are better off apart."

  "You're right. We are better off apart."

  He said nothing for a moment, watched his hand smoothing over her hair. “Can I have another chocolate?"

  She handed him one wordlessly and he popped it into his mouth.

  "I wish you'd told me,” he said after another second. “I would have done a better job making him jealous if I'd been prepared."

  "I'm sorry that I ... kissed you."

  "Oh, don't apologize for that. And we can have sex in front of the Gainsborough, you know. And in a museum. And anywhere else you like, I swear it. Even my office."

  She looked at him, which surprised him, because he half-expected her to try to put him off the whole subject. And what she said was, “Thank you."

  "For what?” he asked in surprise.

  "You could have ... I mean, when I started taking my clothes off—"

  "Look, I let you seduce me once and got excoriated for it. I'm not about to make the same mistake twice.” He leaned his head a little closer to hers. “Why don't you tell me what you want me to do?” he asked in a low voice.

  "What do you mean?” she whispered.

  "I will do anything—anything—so that the next time I kiss you, you don't go running away."

  "Gray—"

  "You're right about the set pieces. You are right about that. And it's all well and good to make me work for it. You're probably right to make me work for it. But I just want to say that you make me ... clueless. Absolutely clueless. And, Aubrey, you...” He sighed. “Forget it. I have nothing else to say. I have no idea what else to say. This is the point you have me at."

  "You want me that much?"

  He wanted to tell her yes. Surely that was true. And on some level it was true. But it was different ... something very different from physically wanting her. It would be not quite true to tell her that he wanted to have sex with her that much. He wanted, just at that moment, for her to stay right where she was. He just wanted her not to run away. “I don't know what I want,” he realized truthfully.

  "Huh,” she said.

  "What?"

  "That's the first time you've ever really, truly surprised me. I mean..."

  The phone rang. He swore and looked at it.

  "Answer it,” she said.

  "No. Forget it—"

  She clambered over him to get at it, saying, “Hello?"

  There was a moment of reaction time. “Miss Thomas?"

  "Yes."

  "Is Gray around? Tell him it's Danny."

  She held the phone out to Gray. “It's Danny."

  Gray was looking a little panicked. “You can't sit like that."

  "Oh.” She slid off him.

  He hissed a brief prayer that the woman not totally kill him. “What!” he snapped into the phone.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. We've got a problem with the slot machine returns."

  "Can't it wait?” Gray looked at Aubrey, who had wandered away from him.

  Danny hesitated. “Yes. I suppose so."

  "All right. I'll be down a bit later.” He hung up.

  Aubrey turned back to him. “You should go now."

  "It's not a big thing."

  "No, you really should go now, Gray."

  "Wait for me. I'll take care of it and I'll be back and I—"

  She sighed and to him it seemed almost like a sob. “It's been a long day..."

  "You're absolutely right. There's bubble bath in there. And more chocolate in the kitchen. Sophie keeps it stocked.” He stood up, looking cool and confident and put-together again, and she thought she preferred him struggling for words, a little incoherent. “Will you stay?” he asked, stopping in front of her where she was standing looking frightened and uncertain.

  "Gray—"

  "Stay,” he said. “When I get back, I'll take care of you. I'm very good a
t that, you know.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead before heading out.

  Aubrey sighed. Great. Just what she wanted. To be yet another female for Gray Delamonte to take care of.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Place should be reserved, however, for the achievement of the switch-hitting Red Sox infielder Bill Mueller, who twice hit home runs from different sides of the plate in the same game. The second time he did this, against the home-team Texas Rangers, the dingers—first right-handed, then left—came in consecutive innings and were both grand slams. Never before—never nearly before.

  —Roger Angell,, The New Yorker November 24, 2003

  "I think I just made a tactical error.” Danny walked into the Bienvenue's main security room and dropped into a chair next to Mark.

  Mark glanced up from the television monitor where he was watching an endless loop of camera views. “Why is that?"

  "I may have just inadvertently interrupted progress Gray was making with Aubrey."

  "Oh. Yes, you're probably right about that. They shared quite the kiss in the lobby a few minutes ago.” Mark nodded toward the monitor.

  Danny groaned. “He's going to fire me."

  Mark was amused. “He's just going to be less than pleasant. They were in his office?"

  Danny shook his head. “His suite. I was trying to find him. When no one picked up at his office, I called his suite. Aubrey picked up the phone."

  "Why were you trying to find him?"

  "We've got a problem with the slot machines,” Danny said grimly. “I just finished going over them with a rep the manufacturer sent out."

  "What's the problem?"

  "Okay. I'm here. Talk to me,” Gray commanded brusquely, sweeping in the door. He looked presentable, but just. Somewhere he'd lost his jacket, his shirt was barely tucked in, and his tie was a crooked mess.

  Danny winced at his appearance. “Look, I didn't mean to—"

  "What's the problem?” Gray repeated, leaning against the wall and folding his arms.

  "I just finished talking to the manufacturer's representative about the slot machines. We have a real serious problem with them, Gray. Someone's changing their programming."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean I watched the guy fix them the last time. He changed the code. And this time the code wasn't the way he'd left it. Someone got in and changed the code."

  "Why would someone do that?"

  "Did I tell you that I was manually counting the slot machine takes?"

  "What? No. Why would you—"

  "The slot machines aren't paying out 3% more. They're paying out exactly what they've been programmed to pay out. The computers are just telling us that they're paying out 3% more. Just like the computers are also telling us that more money's going into the slot machines than is actually going in."

  Gray was still for a moment. He kept his eyes fastened on Danny, but he was thinking. He shifted his gaze to Mark. “Why did you ask me about money laundering that day?"

  "Gray—"

  "Why? Who do you think is doing this?"

  "I don't have any idea,” Mark told him honestly. “I mean it, Gray. None. I just asked because of Dennis Halcourt being around."

  Gray looked back at Danny. “That's what this is, right? Someone's using the slot machines to launder money."

  Danny shrugged. “That's what it looks like to me."

  "Who has access to computer programming like that? I mean, if it was you or me doing some money laundering, we'd just change the numbers in the books, right? This guy's changing the actual underlying programming."

  "Obviously because it kept us off the scent for a long time, Gray. We've been wasting time running around looking at programming errors."

  Gray swore, ran his hands through his hair, and paced in a tight circle.

  "How long have your returns been off?” Mark asked.

  "I don't remember,” Gray answered.

  "A while,” Danny contributed. “I was talking to you about them in October, remember? Right before you left for Boston. And then it had been a few months, because we'd been waiting for them to straighten themselves out."

  "That's right,” Gray recalled.

  "In fact,” Danny continued, “we were really starting to worry about the slot returns right about the time Lucy said Dennis Halcourt wanted to come play."

  Gray was silent for a moment. “You're right."

  "Oh, this isn't good,” Mark decided. “We have to figure out who's doing this, and we have to do it quickly."

  "Who could it be? I mean, it couldn't be just anyone, with the programming ... Could it be someone from the slot machine company itself?"

  "I thought the same thing,” said Danny.

  "But if it was, why the Bienvenue? Why not every casino in Vegas?"

  Danny shrugged a little. “Too obvious? Too easily caught? You run this scam on every casino in Vegas, you've got a bunch of people looking at the same thing. The odds are that at least one of them will catch on, pay more attention than the rest of us. If you only have one casino looking at it, your chances are a lot better that they'll let it go."

  "Okay. So why us, then? We don't exactly have a reputation for being a lax casino. One of the lower ends—"

  "First place the Feds would look,” said Danny.

  "If the object of the game was to keep the Feds from looking, Dennis Halcourt blew that wide open,” Mark observed.

  There was a moment of silence. “Maybe Halcourt isn't connected to this,” suggested Gray. “Maybe he's a red herring in this whole thing."

  "Or maybe he's purposely trying to bring you down. Now would be the time to tell me, Gray, if there's any reason at all why Dennis Halcourt should hate you."

  "Dammit, Mark, I keep trying to get you to realize that I don't even know Dennis Halcourt. The first time I met him was when he showed up here to play in—when was it, Danny?"

  "It was December. We were watching that stupid A-Rod trade clock in your office."

  "Right. Yes. December. I can't imagine Halcourt wanting to go after me personally."

  Mark let silence reign for a moment. Then he said, “All right. Look. This is my area. Let me handle it."

  "The hell I'm letting you handle it. Does that bastard really want to take Gray Delamonte on? I'll—"

  "Stop it, would you?” Mark snapped. “You're going to make it worse. Trust me here. This is delicate. And you're out of your league. The guy has hitmen in his pocket who could take you out in one shot from a hundred yards away. And you've just started making headway with your lady love. Now is not the time to do something foolhardy. We need to keep our heads."

  Gray sighed. “She isn't my lady love."

  "What's your plan?” Danny asked Mark.

  "I don't know yet. I need a little time to think. Give me the afternoon. Could we reconvene around six o'clock or so?"

  "That's fine,” Gray agreed. “Six o'clock. And if I don't like the plan, I have veto power."

  "Uh-huh,” Mark said, having no intention of agreeing to that particular clause. Gray started walking out the door. “Tell your lady love we say hi."

  "She isn't my—” Gray called back, and then, sighing, decided maybe it wasn't even worth it anymore.

  * * * *

  Aubrey wasn't anywhere in his suite. That was probably to be expected. The woman normally seemed to bolt away from him given the opportunity. And he hadn't exactly done anything yet to change her mind about that. And he had no real plan how to change her mind about that, except to keep on doing what he was doing.

  Surely the more time they spent in each other's company, the better he would get at wearing down her defenses. He'd been dreadfully close in the office, before he'd made that strange misstep and suggested the suite. He had to make note of that for next time.

  Kissing, licking, biting: good. Talking: very, very bad.

  The phone rang just as he was on his way out the door to try Aubrey's suite. That was the most obvious place she would go. The
refore, if she was trying to keep a few steps ahead of him, she probably wouldn't go there.

  On the other hand, maybe she was counting on him dismissing her suite out of hand. Might as well at least give it a try.

  He looked at the phone and decided to answer it. He wasn't going to solve Aubrey's riddle in the next few minutes. He might as well tackle whatever else came his way first.

  He leaned down to pick up the phone and spotted the note at the same time. One sheet of heavy Bienvenue stationary, folded in half, with his name written on the outside. He pulled it toward him as he picked up the phone. “Hello?” he said as he scanned the few lines written inside.

  Thank you very much. You've been very understanding. I need a little time alone.

  Gray's eyebrows drew together. Thank you very much? You've been very understanding? She was actually writing him hollow platitudes like that? And “understanding?” What the hell was that? The most impersonal word she could have chosen.

  "Gray, are you listening to me?"

  He became dimly aware of his mother's voice and put the note down. “What? Of course."

  "I know for a fact you're not, because there's no way you should be as calm as you are. Sophie is in the hospital."

  That did get Gray's attention. “What?"

  "Yes, she—"

  "How is she? How is the baby?"

  "Everything's fine, but it was a fright, and she's a little hysterical—"

  "Calm down. Slow down. Tell me from the beginning."

  "Gray, I need to fly out to see her. I must—We must bring her home. We cannot leave her at school."

  His mother might actually be right about that. Maybe that had been a mistake. He rubbed at his temples. “Okay. Yes. I'll go with you. I'll charter us a jet and then I'll stop by your suite to pick you up."

  His mother hung up without telling him good-bye and Gray immediately called Marjorie to get her to charter a flight, then called Mark to tell him he wouldn't be around for the six o'clock meeting. Then he stopped by Aubrey's suite and knocked on the door. Not there. Or didn't answer.

  Either way, he didn't have time to track her down at that moment. He felt in his pockets for a piece of paper, came up with business cards, turned them over and started writing. Sophie's in the hospital. Back of the card filled, he slid it under her door and went on to the next one. Had to go see her. Slid that one, took a new one. Will talk to you later. Then, that taken care of, he went to his mother's suite.