The Lady Vanishes

by Nicole Camden

  SATURDAY MORNING, Milton jogged down the small set of stairs at the front of his brownstone, shrugging on his winter coat in a deft move. He’d intended to go to Harvard Square and practice his sleight of hand with the crowds there, but Roland had just gotten back from D.C. and had called and left a message asking him to come to work instead.

  Shane was waiting at the curb as usual, the tailpipe of the limo sending up clouds of smoke, but upon seeing Milton, he stepped out and made his way around the front of the vehicle. He was wrapped in his thick wool coat, but he wasn’t wearing a hat, and his ears were tipped red from the cold.

  “My mom would tell you that you’ll catch your death, not wearing a hat in weather like this.”

  Shane shrugged. “My ma would say the same.”

  Milton grinned. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  Shane looked around at the mushy gray snow and gray clouds. “Just beautiful. Roland’s called for you three times. He says you’ve forgotten your cell phone.”

  “I haven’t.” Milton produced it from the pocket of his coat. “I’ll talk to him when I get to the office.”

  Shane nodded and opened the door in the back.

  Milton tapped his fingers restlessly and looked out the window. He’d continued to look into Regina Burke’s background last evening. Everything he’d read and seen of Dr. Burke indicated a woman who admired competence. The journal articles she’d written were well researched and precise, her tone even and clear. She was commended for her work at Harvard University. Her professors had described her as focused, hardworking, but she didn’t seem to have many friends. No Facebook page or any other social media, either, though he’d found her sister, Celeste.

  He’d sent Celeste a friend request, and had been surprised and faintly disapproving when she friended him immediately. She didn’t post many photos of her with Regina, only one at a birthday party. She had given him Regina’s number, though, without any hesitation at all. He felt like maybe he should warn Regina about her sister, but thought it would end up being counterproductive.

  He hadn’t found anything to give a clue as to what she liked, what she found attractive. Flowers. Women liked flowers. He bought flowers all the time. He frowned; it didn’t seem like enough. Diamonds? Jewelry? He supposed he could ask Roland. Roland was always giving women gifts. She had been rich before, was probably aware that having a ton of money didn’t mean much. Does that mean I shouldn’t buy her gifts?

  Shane drove the limo with effortless skill, negotiating the narrow streets, avoiding pedestrians, parked cars, and bicyclists with ease. The offices of Accendo were located in a new glass-and-steel tower near Faneuil Hall Marketplace. A pub called the Hairy Lemon was located across the street, along with a Starbucks and a flower shop named Samara. Shane pulled into an empty space in front of the flower shop that was marked as a loading zone. Milton didn’t wait for Shane to get his door.

  “I’ve got it.” Milton stepped lithely out of the limo, managing the icy sidewalk with a dancer’s grace.

  He could see Maria shaking her head at him over the flowers in the shop window, her face caught somewhere between amusement and resignation.

  “Maria,” he said, opening the door with one hand and removing his fedora with the other, letting it twirl to the tips of his fingers. He let it linger there a moment, watched her eyes follow the movement, then swept it across his body as he gave her a sweeping bow. “A pleasure to see you as always.”

  Maria Sanchez, a matronly woman with dark hair and dark red lipstick, removed her reading glasses and set aside the paper she’d been reading. “Mr. Shaw, you know you can’t park there,” she said in an accent that slid between Costa Rica and Boston.

  Milton straightened, and the hat, which had been in his hand, was gone, replaced by a bouquet of pink roses, their delicate petals barely unfurled.

  Unimpressed, Maria folded her arms over her bosom. “Send your secretary, like everyone else. Don’t block my delivery van.”

  Unconcerned, Milton gathered another bouquet. “It’s Saturday. Besides, then I wouldn’t get to see your smiling face.”

  Maria sighed as she always did, as if she found him tiresome, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

  Milton set the bouquets on her counter. He pointed at an enormous mixed bouquet of anemones and white winter roses. “Does that bouquet say, ‘I think you’re amazing’?”

  She glanced down at the flowers, surprise clear on her face. “You have a girl?”

  Milton shifted his feet. “Not exactly. Not yet.”

  She pressed her lips together in an effort to conceal her smile, but she failed even as she gathered the bouquet in her generous arms. “Where am I sending it, and what is the lady’s name?”

  He gave her Regina’s name and address and waited impatiently, absently twirling his hat to the tips of his fingers and making it disappear again. He wasn’t sure if she would be at the hospital today. He’d asked Jackie and had received a noncommittal grunt in reply, so he’d dug around for a few minutes online and found her home address.

  She wrapped the other bouquet in wax-lined brown paper before handing it over to him.

  “Any message?”

  Milton frowned. What had she said at the hospital? Something about not trusting strange men and flowers or something. “ ‘I like surprising you with flowers. I’ll call you today.’ ” He wanted to make a study of her mouth, trace its shape with his fingertips and then his lips, but all that wouldn’t fit on the card.

  “That’s different.” Maria poked out her bottom lip. “It’s good. It’s nice.”

  “Okay. Say that, then. And put my name.”

  “Okay, Mr. Shaw. Anything else?”

  “Send the usual to my mother, white this time. Charge my account for both, please,” he told her, slipping the hat back on his head and blowing her a kiss.

  Ten minutes later, he exited the elevator doors at the offices of Accendo, and stepped into the modern lobby. The floors were light gray Italian porcelain, the administrative assistants’ desk a glass-and-steel monstrosity that reminded Milton of a shiny insect. Black leather chairs and glass-and-steel tables constituted the other furniture. To his right, a glass door separated the executive offices from the lobby. Roland was standing there, looking at his watch as if Milton were late for something. It was Saturday, for God’s sake.

  Milton removed his messenger bag and his coat, studying Roland’s face. Something was up; Milton wondered what he’d done now.

  “Welcome back,” Milton offered. He hadn’t seen Roland in a week. He’d been in D.C., trying to convince the government to give them a little more time to test a new security software they were working on.

  Roland snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. He was wearing a suit, something Italian, tailored and fitted to his wiry, lean frame, but he’d taken off the jacket, as he usually did, and rolled his sleeves up his forearms. A shiny gold Rolex gleamed on his wrist.

  Milton had opted for jeans, a thermal undershirt, and boots, since he wasn’t going to perform today—may as well be comfortable. His jacket, a thick dark brown wool, and the fedora that gave him so many options for tricks were two of his standard winter choices.

  Roland raised exasperated eyebrows over his deep-set light blue eyes. He had an expressive face with pale skin and well-defined cheekbones, but it was his eyes that held people’s attention. His dark hair was graying at the temples, though he was only thirty-eight, three years older than Milton. “Where the hell have you been? I got back from D.C. and James is telling me they’re waiting for you on an algorithm.” James was the VP of development. Owning the company hadn’t stopped Milton or Nick from designing software or writing code, but Roland spent most of his time managing the business, which was fine by Milton.

  Milton grimaced. He’d intended to take care of it yesterday, before he’d left for the hospital, but h
e’d gotten caught up designing the new trick. “I’ll take care of it this morning.” Roland walked by him to go to the windows. Milton looked down at his watch, only to realize that it was gone.

  He looked up and Roland was holding it up in front of his face. “It’s ten o’clock. Morning is almost over.”

  Pursing his lips in admiration, Milton accepted the watch back. He’d studied and studied Roland . . . watching countless hours of film, and he hadn’t been able to master the perfection that seemed to come so naturally to his friend; it was like obfuscation and deception had been bred into his bones.

  Milton glanced at the security cameras, thinking that if he could just capture how Roland did it, he’d be able to duplicate it. “I’m going to dump the security cameras,” he said. There were three in the room, one mounted above the elevator, one above Zach’s—their assistant’s—desk, and one above the windows on the wall facing his desk, pointed at the three offices.

  “Milton, you may as well give up,” said Nick from the glass doors. “Roland is just flat-out sneakier than you are.”

  Nick, wearing one of his usual fisherman’s sweaters and jeans, was frowning at Roland. Nick hated it when Roland played his little tricks on him; it messed with his tidy, organized world and his insistence that he be in control at all times.

  Roland held up a hand. “Don’t get distracted. Go write code. We have to get that software working.”

  Milton shrugged. Software was easy. Code was easy. People were difficult. “Sure. I will.”

  Roland narrowed his eyes. “You’re thinking about something else. What is going on?”

  Both Nick and Roland were staring at him. Milton shifted his bag on his shoulder and shoved his free hand into his pocket. Without even realizing he was doing it, he pulled out a coin and began rolling it over his knuckles. “Nothing.”

  Roland and Nick exchanged a look. Milton scowled.

  “How did the testing of the hospital security system go?” Roland pressed. He had the instincts of a damned detective.

  “All testing passed,” Milton answered. “I’m going there on Monday to make sure all goes well.” Accendo had donated a new secure patient record system to the hospital, and even though Milton hadn’t participated in the design, he’d kept track of the progress.

  “That’s dedicated of you,” Roland said, his eyes narrowed.

  Milton shrugged. He made no secret of his dedication to the hospital. Roland and Nick knew why, and they supported all the time and money he gave. He was glad that his friends were willing to help him. But . . .

  “Of course.” Milton made the coin disappear impatiently. “I want them to be happy with the software.”

  “They should be,” Nick chimed in. “I think it’s pretty sweet, and I don’t even like messing with patient record systems.”

  “Well, try to focus on the work for D.C., okay?”

  Milton nodded, but his thoughts were already elsewhere. He knew she’d suggested he call her on Friday, but he was hoping to see her sooner. A visit to check on the testing of the new software at Boston Children’s was reason enough.

  “Milton, are you listening?” Roland asked impatiently.

  Milton glanced up, flashed a quick grin, and tossed the coin to Roland. Roland caught it in midair, but Milton was already brushing by him and Nick, headed toward the relative peace of his office.

  “It’s a woman,” he heard Nick explain as he shut the door and Roland’s answering groan.

  AFTER A TWO-HOUR BIKE RIDE, and an hour sitting in her favorite coffee shop, Regina came home to a quiet house. Celeste was no longer on the couch, but a brief check of her room showed she was asleep in her bed. Regina showered, changed into jeans and a sweater, and grabbed her purse, intending to go grocery shopping for the week. While she was pulling on her boots, the doorbell rang. Regina finished tugging on her boots and stood, hoping that Celeste hadn’t ordered a pizza for breakfast again.

  She opened the door to an enormous bouquet of white roses and pretty white flowers with purple centers.

  “Ms. Burke?”

  “Yes, that’s me.” She took the clipboard that he handed her and signed for the bouquet, a vague feeling of dread filling her. She would bet anything they were from Milton Shaw. She’d suggested that she might see him on Friday, but he didn’t really seem like the patient type.

  “Here you go.” The kid, dark-haired with a small mustache, handed her the bouquet with a wink.

  Regina closed the door, carrying the flowers to the sink. She didn’t know quite what to do with them—she’d used her only vase for Corbin’s flowers and wasn’t sure it was big enough for this bouquet anyway.

  “Who are those from?” Celeste asked, shuffling into the kitchen in her pajamas, her blond hair tousled. Her tone was just a little too knowing.

  “I’m betting you know who they’re from,” Regina muttered.

  “You should totally go out with him.” Celeste grabbed a coffee mug from the cupboard. “Not only is he ridiculously rich, he tips good, so he’s not an asshole.”

  “Great. If I were a waitress or a whore, I’m sure I’d find that valuable advice.”

  “God.” Celeste sniffed and loaded up the coffee machine. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

  Regina ignored the comment. She was being a bitch. She’d behaved completely out of character, grinding herself against him, and it had felt so damn good. Damn it.

  “Nothing. I need a bigger vase.”

  “Use that pitcher with the big sunflower on it.”

  It was a good idea. Setting the flowers down on the counter, Regina located the pitcher in a cabinet under the silverware. “Before I knew who he was, I told him I would likely see him on Friday. He doesn’t have my number,” she said, filling it with water.

  Celeste made a noise that sounded like a bird with something caught in its throat.

  “What?” Regina asked, removing the brown paper from the bouquet.

  Celeste added some creamer to her coffee and stirred it meticulously before turning around, mug cupped in both her hands. “Well, it just so happens that he friended me on Facebook and asked me for your number.”

  “And you gave it to him.” Regina stuffed the vase with a little more force than necessary, jabbing herself with a thorn. “Of course you did.”

  Celeste rolled her eyes. “Quit acting like a drama queen. A rich, handsome man asked me for your number, and I gave it to him. You should thank me.”

  Regina didn’t respond to that idiocy. Their father had been rich, handsome, and completely unprincipled. Other than his performing magic for kids at the hospital, she hadn’t seen any indication that Milton Shaw wouldn’t screw her over once he lost interest.

  “Not all rich men are bastards, you know.” Celeste moved so that she was leaning on the counter next to Regina. “You’re too smart to think they are.”

  Regina set the vase on the counter and eyed her sister. “I don’t think that. You’re too smart to think that a man with money is going to solve your problems.”

  Rolling her eyes, Celeste straightened. “And that’s my cue. You know, sis, you used to be fun. Remember how we used to get the limo driver to take us into the city, and then we’d walk around for hours eating ice cream and shopping in those street markets?”

  Regina had forgotten that. It had been shortly before her dad’s indictment, when she was fifteen and Celeste was about nine.

  “I got in a fight with that girl,” Regina remembered. The little bitch had tried to pick her pocket.

  Celeste grinned. “She didn’t know who she’d messed with.”

  Regina felt her own lips quirk. She remembered how she’d been back then, fearless and spoiled, certain of her own power in the world. That girl seemed like a stranger.

  “You should just have a little fun, and Milton Shaw looks like he’d be a lot
of fun.”

  Regina didn’t disagree, but she also didn’t think they had much in common, or that dating him was worth the risk of getting dragged into the public eye again. But he definitely seemed like fun, and fun had been missing from her life for a long time.

  “I’ll think about it,” she muttered.

  Celeste grinned. “Good. And if you decide you aren’t interested, let him know that I’m available.”

  “Ugh.” Regina shoved her sister. “You are as crazy as a house rat.”

  Celeste tilted her head to the side with an arrogant pout. “As long as the house is a mansion, I don’t care.”

  THERE WERE SKETCHES of her strewn across Milton’s desk, most of them of her face, or just her lips, but there were some with her tied, arms over her head, against a post. She was wearing something like a bathing suit, only it was sparkly and had a garter belt. He often sketched designs for his tricks. He preferred black and white and had a faintly anime style that he’d learned from comic books.

  Tapping his pencil against the drawing of her lips, he pushed away from his desk and traded his pencil for a stress ball. He tossed it in the air, but made it seem like it disappeared before he could catch it. The ball appeared again in his other hand.

  He had her number, but she hadn’t given it to him. He hadn’t called her, because he wanted her to get the flowers before he did that. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on the project for Roland, not when all he could think about was her mouth.

  With a flick of his wrist, Milton made a flower—just like the one he’d pinned to Regina Burke’s chest—appear in his hand. He set it next to a framed photograph of his family and stepped back to his desk to pick up his phone. He held it for a moment and then called Shane.

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Shane. Can you pull the car around?”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Thanks.” Milton snapped his phone shut. He wasn’t going to call her and give her the chance to tell him no. He wanted to see her. Now he just had to get out of the office without Roland jumping on his case.