She was thinking about O’Hara.
She paused before reaching for her cell phone. She cautioned herself: she couldn’t let on what she knew.
Finally she dialed and hit SEND.
“Hello?” Well, well, it’s the bad boy himself.
“Is this my phone-sex partner?” Nora asked.
He let go with a chuckle. “Mom, is that you?”
In spite of everything, she laughed.
“Oh, that’s gross.”
“I was going for funny.”
“So, Mr. Craig Reynolds, why didn’t you call me from Chicago? Too busy?”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he said. “I got caught up with the seminar.”
“That must have been some seminar. You were good, huh? Showed your stuff?”
“You have no idea.”
Nora suppressed a snicker. I’ve got more of an idea than you think, John O’Hara.
“Listen,” he continued, “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Yes, you will. What are you doing tonight?”
“The same thing I was doing all afternoon. Work.”
“I thought that’s what your trip was for.”
“Believe it or not, I have to write a report on the seminar. I’m up to my ears in it as—”
“Bullshit!” Nora interrupted. “I can see you right now. You’re watching television. Looks like a baseball game, if I’m not mistaken.”
He was two words shy of speechless. “What the…”
“Look out your window, Craig. See the red Benz? See the beautiful girl in the front seat? She’s waving to you. Hi there, Craig.”
Nora watched as O’Hara appeared in the window, looking as stunned as he sounded. “How long have you been there?” he asked.
“Long enough to catch you in a lie. Baseball? You choose baseball over me?”
“I was taking a break from my report. That’s all.”
“Sure you were. So, can Craig come out and play, or what?”
“Why don’t you come inside?”
“I’d rather we go for a drive,” she said.
“Where to?”
“It’s a surprise. Now turn off your work.”
“Speaking of work…” He stopped her.
“What is it?”
“I’m afraid the circumstances of our relationship have been starting to get to me,” he said. “You’re technically a client, Nora.”
“It’s a little late for technicalities, don’t you think?”
He didn’t say anything, so Nora pressed on. “C’mon, Craig, you know you want to be with me—and I want to be with you. It’s really pretty simple.”
“I’ve just been thinking about it.”
“And I’ve been thinking about you. I don’t know what it is exactly, but you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” she said. “I feel like I can tell you anything.”
There was a pause on the line.
He sighed. “A drive, huh?”
Chapter 94
I WASN’T REALLY in the mood for a moonlit ride, but there I was anyway. Just me and Nora Sinclair.
The convertible top was down and the night air whipped by, cool and crisp. The road, the signs—everything a blur. Nora was turning the backcountry roads of Westchester into her own personal autobahn, and I was just along for the ride.
What the hell am I doing?
That was the immediate question. Too bad I didn’t have an answer.
The information so generously supplied to me by attorney Steven Keppler of the bad comb-over had been handed off to Susan. She’d given it to the computer wizards at the Bureau, who were going to hack their way into Nora’s offshore account and trace her deposits and transfers. All of them. Who knew how many there were? They’d be keeping a particular eye out for anything involving one Connor Brown. Both before and after he died. Give them twenty-four hours, Susan said. Thirty-six, max.
In the meantime, all I had to do was one thing: stay away from Nora.
Yet there she was, sitting right next to me, more beautiful, more alluring, more intoxicating than ever. Was this one last hurrah?
Was it denial?
Or temporary insanity?
Was there a part of me hoping the computer wizards wouldn’t find a link, wouldn’t find a thing? That maybe she was innocent? Or did I want her to get away with murder?
I turned toward her. “I’m sorry…. What?”
She was saying something, but I couldn’t hear her over the roaring engine of the Benz, and the even louder noise inside my head.
She tried again. “I said, ‘Aren’t you glad you came?’”
“I don’t know yet,” I replied in a near holler. “I still don’t know where we’re going.”
“I told you, it’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“No,” she said. “You just don’t like it when you’re not in control. That’s good to know.”
Before I could say anything back, she barreled into a sharp turn, her foot nowhere near the brake. The tires screeched as the convertible lurched and seemed to have thoughts of flipping over.
Nora tilted her head back and laughed into the wind. “Don’t you feel alive?!” she shouted.
Chapter 95
IT TOOK A red light for her to finally slow down.
After driving a little more than half an hour, we came upon the small town of Putnam Lake. There was one intersection, and we were the only car stopped at it. It was a little before nine. I remember every detail.
“Are we almost there?” I asked.
“Almost,” she said. “You’re going to like this, Craig. Relax.”
I glanced to my right while she fidgeted with the radio. There was an old man at a Mobil station, wearing a UConn cap, filling up his Jeep Cherokee. For a second our eyes met. He kind of looked like my father. Things aren’t always as they appear.
The light flashed green and Nora gunned it again.
“You in a hurry?”
“Yep. I’m a little horny, actually. I missed you. Miss me?”
We drove a few miles without saying anything, the blaring radio competing with all eight cylinders. I could barely make out the song, but then it clicked for me—“Hotel California.” The way Nora was driving, it should’ve been “Life in the Fast Lane.”
We turned again.
There was no street sign I could see, and the road was narrow and dark. I looked up at the sky. Whatever light had been shining from the crescent moon was now obscured by the towering trees. We were officially in the woods.
“I’m going to rule out Disneyland,” I said.
She laughed. “That’ll be our next trip.”
“You do know where we’re going, though, right?”
“Does someone not trust me?”
“I was just asking.”
“Sure you were.” She paused. “I was right, by the way.”
“About what?”
“You really don’t like it when you’re not in control.”
A minute later the paved road ended, but we kept going. There was nothing except dirt and loose rocks under the tires, the road even more narrow. The convertible made for a lousy SUV, and as it rattled along I turned to give Nora a silent, sideways stare.
“It’s only a little farther,” she said, her smile unchanged.
Sure enough, within a few hundred yards we came to a clearing. I tried to make out the silhouette before me. Some kind of small house—and behind it, a lake or pond.
Nora pulled up close to the front steps and shifted into park. “Isn’t this incredibly romantic?”
“Whose place is it?” I asked.
“Mine.”
I looked at the cabin. My eyes were beginning to adjust, and combined with the high beams of the Benz, I could make out the long, thick logs of the frame. It was rustic but well kept, though not a place I’d expected Nora to own.
“Surprise!” she said. “It’s a nice surprise, no? Don’t you like my little home on the water?”
“I do. What’s not to like?”
She cut the engine and we stepped outside. It was a beautiful spot all right, just about perfect. But for what?
“You know, I didn’t exactly pack a toothbrush,” I said.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it all covered. I’ve got you covered, Craig.”
She pressed her remote and the car trunk opened, right on cue. What little “cargo area” the convertible offered was loaded. Not an extra square centimeter to be had.
“You did come prepared,” I said, staring down at a duffel and small cooler. Prepared for what?
“All the fixings for a terrific late supper. Plus a few odds and ends—including, yes, a spare toothbrush for you. So what are you waiting for?”
Back up, I wanted to say.
I grabbed the duffel and cooler, and we climbed a set of old wooden stairs. Once inside, I shook my head and smiled. From the outside, the cabin looked like Abe Lincoln’s childhood home. On the inside, it was a spread from a designer magazine. I should’ve known.
“This place belonged to a former client,” Nora said as we unpacked the food. “I knew he liked the decorating job I did. I was stunned when he left it to me.”
She walked over and wrapped her arms around me. As always, she smelled great, felt even better. “Enough about the past, though. Let’s talk about the future, as in what we should do first. Make love, or make dinner?”
“Hmm, that’s a tough one,” I said straight-faced.
Of course, it wasn’t supposed to be. She knew it and I knew it. What she didn’t know was that I was actually telling the truth. Sooner or later, the sex had to end.
You can’t keep doing this, O’Hara. Stop!
It was easier said than done. Her body pressed against mine. My thoughts raced, the temptation too much to bear.
“Call me crazy, but I haven’t eaten anything since this morning,” I said.
“Okay, you’re crazy, but we’ll eat first. There’s just one teensy problem.”
“What’s that?”
She turned and looked at the stove. It was a wood-burning one, and there was no wood. “Outside around back. There’s a shed about fifty yards away. Could you do the honors?”
I grabbed a flashlight from the hallstand by the front door and walked out toward the shed. Even with the flashlight it was dark out there. I don’t spook easily, but I heard a loud rustling in the bushes along the way and I wasn’t thinking Bambi.
Where the hell is the shed?
Should I be out here like this?
I finally found it and piled wood in my arms, enough to last the night. Then I started back toward the cabin. As I said—spooky. Maybe it was the old man I’d seen back at the gas station in town. Whatever it was, I couldn’t help thinking about my father again. Things aren’t always as they appear.
Chapter 96
I RETURNED WITH my arms full of wood and got the stove going. Then I asked Nora what else I could do to help.
“Absolutely nothing,” she said with a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll handle everything from here.”
I left Nora to herself in the small kitchen and relaxed on the living-room sofa with the only reading matter there, a four-year-old issue of Field & Stream. In the middle of a deadly article on salmon fishing at Sheen Falls Lodge in Ireland, Nora called out, “Dinner’s served.”
I returned to the kitchen and sat down to pan-seared scallops, wild rice, and a romaine and radicchio salad. To drink, a bottle of pinot grigio. Very Gourmet magazine.
Nora raised her glass and toasted. “Here’s to a memorable night.”
“To a memorable night,” I echoed.
We clinked glasses and started to eat. She asked me what I’d been reading and I told her about the salmon article.
“Do you like fishing?” she asked.
“Love it,” I said, telling a little white lie, then found myself elaborating on it. Story of my relationship with Nora. “Let me tell you, when you finally reel in that big fish—the one you’ve been waiting for—it makes it all worthwhile.”
“Where do you like to go?”
“Hmmm. There are some good lakes and streams right in the area. Trust me, you can catch a big one around here. But nothing compares with the islands. Jamaica, St. Thomas, the Caymans. I assume you’ve been down there?”
“I have. Actually, I was in the Caymans not too long ago.”
“Vacation?”
“A little business.”
“Oh?”
“I was decorating a beach house for some financier type. Gorgeous place on the water.”
“Interesting,” I said, nodding. I took another bite of the scallops. “By the way, this is delicious.”
“I’m glad.” She reached out and laid her hand on top of mine. “So, are you having a good time?”
“I am.”
“Good, because I was a little worried—what you said earlier about my being your client.”
“It really has more to do with the context,” I said. “Let’s face it, if it wasn’t for Connor’s death, we wouldn’t be here.”
“That’s true, I can’t deny it. But…” Her voice trailed off.
“What were you going to say?”
“Something I probably shouldn’t.”
“It’s okay,” I told her. I glanced around and smiled. “Ain’t nobody here but us.”
She half smiled back. “I don’t want this to sound insensitive, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my profession, it’s that you can fall in love with more than one house. Isn’t it naive to think the same wouldn’t hold true for people?”
I looked deeply into her eyes. Where was she going with this? What was she trying to tell me?
“Is that what this is, Nora? Love?”
She held my stare. “I think it is,” she said. “I think I’m falling in love with you. Is that a bad thing?”
I listened to her say the words and I swallowed hard. And then it was as if everything about the strange night exploded in my stomach.
I suddenly felt sick. A reaction to what she’d said?
Keep it together, O’Hara.
I thought about what had happened the last time she cooked for me. How could I blame this on a bad scallop?
So I said nothing. I hoped it would pass. It had to.
But it didn’t.
Then, before I knew it, I couldn’t speak at all. I couldn’t breathe.
Chapter 97
NORA SAT AND WATCHED as O’Hara toppled helplessly off the chair and cracked open his skull on the hardwood floor, the blood instantly spilling out from above his right eye. It was a nasty gash, yet he didn’t seem to notice. Clearly he was more concerned with what was going on inside him.
They always were.
Still, of all the men—including Jeffrey, Connor, and her first husband, Tom Hollis—this was proving the hardest. Her attraction to the man she knew as Craig Reynolds had been real, the chemistry always there. His wit, charm, his looks. The cleverness, so much like her own. He was the best in all ways, and already she was missing him, regretting it had to come to this.
But it did have to come to this.
He was writhing and choking on his own vomit. Then he tried to stand but couldn’t make it to his feet. The initial drug wasn’t going to kill him, just set the table. But now she worried she’d used too much.
She told herself to say something, to act concerned. She was supposed to be the innocent bystander who didn’t know what was happening. Her panic had to seem real to him. “Let me get you something. Let me help.”
She hurried to the sink and filled a glass with water. From a vial in her pocket, she poured in the powder. Tiny bubbles shot to the surface, like champagne. Nora turned from the sink—and he was gone.
Where’d he go?
He couldn’t have gotten very far. She took two steps and heard the slam of the door down the hall, the lock turning. He’d made it to the bathroom.
Nora ran down the hall, glass in hand
. “Honey, are you okay?” she called. “Craig?”
She could hear him retching, poor guy. As horrible as it sounded, it was a good sign. He was ready for the bubbly. Now if she could just get him to open the door.
She knocked gently. “Honey, I have something for you. It will make you feel better. I know you don’t think so, but it will.”
When he didn’t answer, she called out again. When that didn’t work, she pounded on the door.
“Please, you’ve got to trust me.”
Finally, in between heaves, he yelled back, “Yeah, right!”
“Seriously, Craig, let me help you,” she said. “All you have to do is drink this. The pain will disappear.”
“Not a fucking chance!”
Nora fumed. So, that’s how you want to play it, huh? So be it.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Are you sure you don’t want to open the door… O’Hara?”
She listened to the silence that followed, imagining his complete surprise. Oh, how she wished she could have seen the look on his face.
She taunted him from her side of the door. “That is your real name, isn’t it? John O’Hara?”
That ended his silence. “Yes,” he hollered back in anger. “As in Agent John O’Hara with the FBI.”
Nora’s eyes went wide, her suspicions realized. Of all things, however, she started to laugh. “Really? I’m impressed. See, I said you were cut out for something better than insurance! I think—”
He cut her off, his voice gaining strength. “It’s over, Nora. I know too much—and I’m going to live to tell about it. You killed Connor for his money, just like your first husband.”
“You’re a liar!” she screamed.
“You’re the liar, Nora. Or is it Olivia? Either way, kiss all your money in the Caymans good-bye. But don’t worry—where you’re going, the room and board are free.”
“I’m not going anywhere, you asshole! But you are!”
“We’ll see about that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a call to make.”
Nora listened to the three high-pitched tones coming from inside the bathroom. He was calling 911.