'Alone?'
'Sort of. I came with a friend, but we're not together.'
'Good,' she said, emphasizing her satisfaction with a slight squeeze of his arm.
'How about you? Are you flying solo too?'
'I'm afraid so. Not many men are anxious to be seen with me these days, especially since my last date didn't live through the night.'
'I suppose that would scare some guys away.'
They had reached what was, in the mind of a fanciful architect, the prow of the boat. It was an elongated triangle that reached out over the Missouri River, ten feet wide at its base, narrowing to a couple of feet at its farthest point and enclosed by a four-foot wrought-iron rail. Pale blue Christmas lights strung along the rail provided the only illumination. They walked out onto the end of the prow and leaned on the rail as the chill breeze blew off the river.
'How about you, Lou? Are you afraid of me?'
He shook his head. 'I don't scare so easy.'
Beth eased her back against his chest and he slipped his arms around her middle. She covered his hands with hers, neither talking, until fireworks launched from the parking lot announced the arrival of the New Year. Tracers of red and streaks of blue arced high into the sky. Green and white clusters exploded overhead, raining glowing cinders into the swiftly moving current twenty feet below.
Beth rolled in Mason's arms, her lips brushing his. 'Don't let me scare you.' She pressed herself against him, kissing him softly, tentatively.
She pulled away for an instant, long enough to let him see in her quivering lips how much she wanted him, to let him feel the surge of need in her body for his.
Mason was lost in the moment, intoxicated with her taste, a series of small shudders building like shifting fault lines in his groin and belly. In that split second, he saw all that he wanted and all that he could lose and let her go.
'I'm sorry, Beth. I'm truly sorry. Maybe when this is all over, but not now.'
The fire went out of her face as swiftly and coldly as the fireworks when they hit the water. She stepped back toward the deck, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
'Well, that's one way to start the New Year. Humiliate myself like a horny middle-aged broad who can't get laid.'
'Don't do that, Beth. You're better than that.'
'Am I?'
She didn't wait for Mason's answer, leaving him alone at the end of the prow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Mason stayed where he was, perched like the lookout on the Titanic, staring across the Missouri. The wind was brisk, but he wanted to give Beth time to leave the casino without another embarrassing encounter.
She had locked onto him like a heat-seeking missile. She couldn't have known he was at the casino, let alone where to find him, unless someone told her. Only Ed Fiora could have done that. The more intriguing questions were why he'd pimp her out like that and why she'd let him do it.
He looked at the river, surprised at how far out over the black, swirling water the prow extended, when he heard a sharp crack, like a firecracker, and felt something ricochet against the railing, knowing but not believing it was a bullet. He whipped around in time to see a muzzle flash from the shadows of the deck, another bullet pinging off the rail.
He couldn't have been more exposed if he were doing backflips naked down Broadway. Two more shots careened around him, sending him crashing back and forth in the corner of the prow like a pinball and showering broken Christmas lights at his feet.
Stay where he was and the shooter would find him. Run and he'd catch a bullet. The river was his only option. Crouching and coiling his legs, hands gripping the wrought iron, he vaulted the rail, letting go as a bullet singed his side.
He hit the river at an angle, slapping his face on the water before the current swept him under. The icy water flash-froze him, his hands going numb as he fought to get out of his jacket, afraid it would drag him down. Kicking ferociously, he managed to break to the surface, gasping for air and treading water, trying to get his bearings.
The casino was already a hundred yards behind him, grim testimony to the swift current that had carried him to the center of the river, the bank too far away to think about. Swimming across the current would exhaust him before he got close, so he tried to cut it at an angle. That would keep him in the water longer but give him a better chance of reaching shore if he didn't freeze to death first.
He pressed one shoe against the other, slipping it off, doing the same with the other to give him a better kick. The cold was toxic, his arms and legs growing heavy, each stroke harder than the last. He was getting light- headed, the bank a distant blur.
Weariness crept into his bones and muscles until he couldn't lift his arms or summon more than a weak flutter from his legs. He was going to drown, and in that moment he smiled, the prospect somehow peaceful, the end of his struggle welcome. He closed his eyes and slipped beneath the water.
A raspy chopping sound stirred him as hard steel banged against his spine, caught his collar, and yanked him to the surface.
'Gotcha!'
Rachel Firestone dropped the fishing gaff she'd used to snag him, slipped her hands under his shoulders, and hoisted him over the side of the small boat, the effort putting her on her butt. Mason was facedown, half in and half out of the water. She rose to her knees, grabbed him by the belt, and dragged him the rest of the way into the boat, falling backward again and pulling him on top of her.
She squirmed out from under him, rolled him over, and opened his mouth, making certain his airway was clear, doing chest compressions until he coughed up river water and started breathing.
'When I told you to meet me at midnight, this is not what I had in mind,' she said.
When Rachel got Mason to dry land and into her car, he refused to let her take him to a hospital. 'I don't want to explain to an emergency room doc what happened,' he said through chattering teeth. 'Somebody will call the cops; then the press will get ahold of it.'
'Fine. You'll probably catch pneumonia plus ten different diseases from the crap in the river, and it looks like you've been shot,' she added, pointing to a red stain on the left side of his tuxedo shirt. 'And in case your brain completely froze while you were in the water, I am the press and I've already got ahold of this story.'
'You forgot our deal. Everything's off the record unless I say otherwise.'
Rachel rolled her eyes. 'Men are too dumb to live.'
She draped her mink coat over him. 'Take off your clothes.'
'Does this mean you've changed teams?'
'Not in this lifetime. I just don't want you to freeze to death in my car. Makes a lousy obituary.'
She drove and Mason did as he was told. The heater and the fur coat restored the feeling in his hands and feet by the time they reached his house. He got another chill when he saw an unfamiliar car parked in front.
'Don't worry,' Rachel said. 'She's a friend of mine.'
Rachel's friend turned out to be a doctor who made house calls before sunrise on New Year's Day. She had a soothing, confident touch as she palpated and prodded him, not once asking him what had happened. He followed her instructions to take the hottest shower he could stand, after which she dressed the wound in his side, gave him an injection of antibiotic, and left samples of more antibiotics, to take over the next five days.
Mason dressed in sweats and heavy wool socks before coming downstairs to thank her, only to find that she had left. Rachel was alone in the kitchen, sitting at the table with two large mugs of steaming tea.
'Where's your friend?' He sat at the table and took a sip from his mug. 'I didn't get to thank her.'
'I thanked her for you.'
'She didn't even tell me her name.'
