poured over Marta's head from the house. She hurried along the wall, reached the front of the mansion, and peeked around the corner. The facade of the house was even grander than the back and its frontispiece was an immense wraparound porch. A bank of arched windows dominated the front wall and light shone through them, illuminating a living room.
Bookshelves filled the room, showcasing fussy leather volumes of red and brown. Victorian couches and antique chairs surrounded a carved mahogany coffee table. There wasn't a TV in sight; it wasn't Steere's taste, maybe it was a decorator's or Alix's. On the other side of the fireplace was a darkened dining room and a kitchen presumably beyond; Marta had shopped for enough old houses to know. Alix was nowhere in sight, at least from a parallax view. Marta would have to move center to get a better look. Small dunes nestled in front of the house, and Marta spotted one that sat about thirty feet from her. Wind off the ocean roared at the dune and blew snow from its crest in a frosty fan.
Marta scrambled for the dune and was in front of the porch when she was jerked back suddenly. Her coat was caught on a wooden fence. She pulled but it wouldn't come free. Marta was in plain view of the living room, standing in a square of light. She tugged her coat and looked at the window, then froze.
Inside the house, entering the living room from another entrance, was Bogosian. Marta almost screamed. Bogosian was right across the porch on the other side of the glass. He could see her if he looked out to sea. His head was swiveling left and right. He was looking for something. Someone.
Marta panicked. She yanked her coat with all her might, but it was still caught on the post. She was totally exposed, struggling with the fucking fence. If Bogosian spotted her she'd be dead. She tore at the coat and was about to slip it off when the fence shuddered violently and the coat came free. Marta fell backward into a chilly snowdrift and lay still as a dead snow angel, her thoughts feverish.
Where had Bogosian come from? Had he driven here? Where was his car, the garage? Marta hadn't bothered to look for tracks in the snow, she'd been too distracted by Alix. She hadn't seen Bogosian following Alix, so he must have been here already. Waiting. Maybe he'd figured Marta would try to search Steere's beach house. Or maybe he'd arranged to meet Alix here.
Marta was too frightened to answer the questions. Snow froze her neck and fell behind her ears. She lay perfectly still so she wouldn't draw Bogosian's attention. Still, she had to find out where he was. She gathered her courage and peered over her boots at the house. The living room was empty. Where was Bogosian? Was he coming after her? She could make a run for the truck.
She started to go, then stopped. Bogosian stood on the stairway to the second floor. Marta shivered with fear and cold. She flashed on the bloodied security guards. She had to get a grip. What was Bogosian doing? She had to see.
Marta flopped over, chin in the snow, and crawled the few feet to the small dune. She crouched behind it, wind pummeling her back. Her hair lashed her cheeks and she shoved it away with a snowy glove. The surf crashed on the beach, a deafening white noise. Bogosian was motionless in the middle of the staircase. He seemed to be squinting up the stairs.
Marta looked up to the second floor of the mansion. A light blinked on in a far window, where a bedroom would be. It was too high for Marta to see inside. On the stair, Bogosian cocked his head like a pit bull, his large hand resting on the banister. Whatever was going on, it didn't look like Bogosian and Alix had arranged to meet here. An ominous feeling rumbled in Marta's gut.
The light in the second-floor bedroom snapped off. A split second later, a light appeared in the window next to it. Alix must have been going from one room to the next. Marta craned her neck but still couldn't see anything. What was going on? She had to move back if she wanted to see upstairs.
Marta edged from the dune toward the ocean, low as a snow crab. She backed against another dune and ducked behind it. From her new perspective, she could see Alix's head and shoulders in a room on the second floor. Alix appeared to be searching for something in an exercise room, with a Stairmaster and a Lifecycle. Marta watched as Alix opened a cabinet in the room and rifled its contents. White towels and Evian bottles fell to the floor. What was Alix looking for?
On the stairs, Bogosian took a step up, running his gloved hand on the banister.
Marta looked up again. The exercise room went dark. In the next minute a light went on in the middle of the second floor, where a set of French doors opened onto a wooden deck. The French doors gave Marta a full view and she could see Alix was in a home office. She was tearing open file drawers and ransacking them. Papers sailed to the carpet. Alix kept searching. What was she looking for?
A sudden movement on the stairs caught Marta's eye. Bogosian eased his Magnum from his shoulder holster.
My God. Marta looked up at Alix. She was still searching the files, on her knees in front of the file cabinet.
Bogosian started up the stairs with his gun drawn. Did he know Alix was up there? Did he mean to kill her? Why? Marta didn't know what to do. Panic constricted her chest.
Alix was tearing at a cardboard box with her nails. She kept clawing at it, then grabbed a scissors from a desk and slit it with the scissor blade.
Bogosian reached the top of the stairs. Marta felt her heart thundering though her thick coat. What could she do? She had to do something. She couldn't let Bogosian kill Alix. No one was around. It was the middle of a blizzard. Marta couldn't make it inside the house in time if she tried. She rose to her feet, unsteady in the fierce wind.
Alix was kneeling in front of the cardboard box, reading its contents. Bogosian appeared in the office doorway and aimed his gun point-blank at her forehead. A wave crashed loud as a thunderclap, and Marta heard herself screaming even over its roar.
32
Snow swirled around the steel skyscraper that served as a platinum setting for the city's largest and most expensive law firm, Cable & Bess. Light sparkled from its emerald-cut windows like a diamond choker strung around the building's neck. A sterling-haired attorney sat in a corner diamond talking on the telephone. A trim sixty-two, John LeFort remained composed and professional, even though it was past midnight and on the phone was the fifth unhappy banker he'd spoken with. All of them were lenders of LeFort's client Elliot Steere.
'I assure you, the Steere debts are under control,' LeFort was saying. He ran a forefinger over one of his dark eyebrows, which sheltered his light eyes and fine features like a sturdy roof. A Harvard graduate, LeFort was the consummate banking lawyer, so he didn't judge his clients. Some became rich, some failed, and all tried again.
'The debts are not under control, to my mind,' the banker responded. This time the banker was Morris Barrie at First Federal. LeFort had dealt with Mo Barrie many times over the years and knew him well. The men spoke the same language, so this conversation, which could otherwise be ugly or profane, would be quite civilized.
