married, his wife a good-looking woman with high cheekbones and knowing eyes she burned into the back of her husband’s head as he and Abby embraced. At least that was the way Mason read the scene. He suppressed his jealousy, hopeful that Abby wouldn’t sleep with a married man, especially one who was her boss and a United States senator.
None of which made Mason look forward to the meeting that was about to happen. Seeley rose from his chair. He was taller than Mason, his silver hair, blue eyes, and dimpled chin straight out of central casting. Mrs. Seeley kept her seat, the temperature at her chair hovering at the freezing mark.
“Abby,” the senator said, grasping her by the shoulders, then quickly letting go when his wife shot him a glance. “Wonderful job on the arrangements, as always. Introduce me to your friend.”
“Senator and Mrs. Seeley. I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Lou Mason.”
“Boyfriend,” Seeley boomed, shaking his hand. “Good for you, Mason. I was worried that Abby was going to wither away in the service of my constituents.”
Seeley had been a wealthy businessman before running for the Senate, his first shot at elective office. Some said he bought the election. Others said every candidate buys their election; Seeley just used his own money. Seeley was in his early sixties, the current Mrs. Seeley his second wife and ten years his junior. Mason wondered if she’d earned her position at the expense of the first Mrs. Seeley, making her naturally suspicious.
Mason didn’t blame her, especially since Abby had never once introduced him to anyone as her boyfriend. It was a term he bet she hadn’t used since the eighth grade, and her use of it now made him feel the fool, more so in light of their recent rocky history. She had brought him to the dinner to calm the fears of her boss’s nervous wife. He didn’t know whether the fears were justified, only that he wanted no part of this charade. He wondered if their afternoon delight had been part of the script or whether Abby had ad-libbed that to give her performance tonight the ring of truth.
He wanted to punch the senator in the mouth, yank Abby off the stage, and get the hell out of Dodge, with apologies to Mrs. Seeley. Abby slid her arm around his, squeezing it. He felt the plea in her grip and swallowed hard.
“Nice to meet you, Senator,” he said, matching Seeley’s grin and grip. Turning to Mrs. Seeley, he added, “A pleasure,” and offered her his hand.
She looked up at him, her lips pursed. “You’re the boyfriend?”
“So I’m told.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” she said and turned away.
Abby murmured to him as they walked to their table. “Thank you. I’ll explain later.”
He didn’t reply because a formal dinner with one thousand of his closest friends was not exactly the time or place for a come-to-Jesus session with Abby. He chewed his food slowly so that he wouldn’t drink as much as he wanted to, though getting drunk was more appealing than the chicken Kiev he was pushing around his plate.
Lari Prillman was the other reason he didn’t get drunk. He surveyed the room, catching a glimpse of her at a table several rows away from his. Al Webb sat next to her, their heads tilted together, Lari pointing her index finger at his chest like it was a steak knife. He looked their way again somewhere between the salad and the chicken. Webb was gone.
He kept tabs on Lari throughout the evening but still maintained a passable line of small talk with the accountant sitting on one side of him while avoiding eye contact with Abby. Dessert was served at ten o’clock, the speeches moments away. Lari stood and looked directly at him as if she’d been watching him the entire evening as well.
“Is that her?” Abby asked.
“Who?”
“The woman who just gave you that look. Is she the lawyer you were talking with earlier?”
“I didn’t realize you were paying such close attention.”
“Since you’ve hardly spoken to me all evening, I’ve got to pay attention. What’s eating you?”
Mason pushed back from table, dipping his chin, keeping his voice low. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Seeley…”
“Nothing’s going on!”
Mason nodded, trying to read her, afraid that he couldn’t. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go. You’ll have to take a cab home,” he said, getting up.
She stood next to him, taking his hand. “Will you call me?”
He squeezed her hand and let go without answering.
THIRTY-FIVE
Mason pulled Lari Prillman’s business card from his pocket, pleased that her office was in one of the Crown Center high-rises. He could walk there, maybe even get back before the speeches were over and sort things out with Abby.
Lari was waiting for him outside the ballroom, a fur coat slung over one arm. She held it out to him so he could help her put it on. It was a polite gesture he couldn’t refuse and a subtle reminder that this was her show, not his.
“I hope I didn’t disrupt your evening,” she said as they walked outside, the air sharp, the afternoon warmth an uncertain memory, distant stars lost in a fog of ground light.
“Not at all.”
“Your friend didn’t look too happy to see you go.”
Mason let out an exasperated breath, the cold crystallizing, then vaporizing his frustration. “How do women do that?”
“Do what?”
“I told the woman I was with-her name is Abby-that I’d talked with a lawyer, a woman lawyer, earlier in the evening about a case. She saw you stand up and look at me, and she knows you were the woman. You take one look at her and tell me she isn’t happy.”
Lari laughed. “Women pay attention to things men don’t.”
“Like what?”
“The way a man looks at a woman or tries not to look at her; the way a man talks to a woman or avoids talking to her.”
“You were paying attention, weren’t you?”
“I pay attention to everything. That’s why I’m letting you look at my files. I’ll be surprised if I’ve missed something important. If I did, I’d rather know now than after the police have their look.”
Her office was on the twenty-ninth floor, the name of her firm-Prillman amp; Associates-scripted in gold leaf on the double glass doors. She knelt to unlock the dead bolt at the base of the door. She steadied herself with one hand on the glass, nearly falling over when the door gave way before she could insert the key into the lock. Mason grabbed her by the shoulder, helping her steady herself. They stepped inside, stopping at the reception desk, listening to the silence.
“One of your associates working late?” Mason asked her.
“Not unless we’re in trial, and we aren’t.”
“Do you have an alarm?”
She shook her head. “The building is secure. You have to sign in after hours and you can’t get to our floor without knowing the security code for the elevator.”
“Maybe the last one to leave the office today forgot to lock the door.”
“That was me and I didn’t forget.”
“How much space do you have?”
“Four attorney offices. Mine is the corner office at the back. Two paralegal offices, secretarial stations, filing room, and kitchen. About twenty-five hundred square feet altogether.”
“Room to roam. Let’s call the security desk. Have them send someone up before we go wandering around.”
