chuckled. “This is the best invitation I’ve had in a while.”
“It is for me, too.” Molinari smiled.
Suddenly his cell phone beeped. He reached in his pocket. “Sorry …”
Whoever it was seemed to be doing most of the talking. “Of course, of course, sir … ,” Molinari kept repeating. Even the deputy director had a boss. Then he said, “I understand. I’ll report back as soon as I have anything. Yes, sir. Thank you very much.”
He flipped the phone back into his pocket. “Washington … ,” he apologized.
“Washington, as in the director of homeland security?” It gave me a bit of a kick to see Molinari as part of a pecking order.
“No.” He shook his head and took another bite of his fish. “Washington, as in the White House. That was the vice president of the United States. He’s coming out here for the G-8.”
Chapter 51
I can be wowed.
“If I wasn’t a Homicide lieutenant,” I said, “I might believe that line. The vice president just called you?”
“I might press *69 and show you,” Molinari said. “Except that it’s important we begin to establish more trust.”
“Is that what we’re doing tonight?” I asked, smiling in spite of myself.
Whatever was starting to happen, those little pinballs pattering inside were now crashing around my ribs like the drums in “Sunshine of Your Love.” I was aware of the tiniest film of sweat at my hairline. My sweater was starting to feel prickly. Molinari reminded me of Chris.
“I hope we’re starting to trust each other,” he finally said. “Let’s leave it at that for now, Lindsay.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” I said.
He paid the check, then helped me on with my jacket. I brushed against his arm and, well, electricity flared. I glanced at my watch. 9:30. Forty minutes to the airport to catch that flight I needed to be on.
Outside, we walked a block or two along Vine Street. I wasn’t really paying attention to the shops. The night was cool but very pleasant. What was I doing here? What were the two of us doing?
“Lindsay”—he finally stopped to face me—“I don’t want to say the wrong thing.…” I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to say next. “My driver’s down the block if you want.… But there’s always the six A.M. flight.”
“Listen …” I wanted to touch his arm, but I didn’t. I’m not even sure why not.
“Joe,” he said.
“Joe.” I smiled. “Was this what you meant by being out of the field?”
He took my bag and said, “I was just thinking it’d be a shame to waste a perfectly good change of clothes.”
I do trust him, I was thinking. Everything about Joe Molinari inspired trust. And I definitely liked him. But I still wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, and that told me all I needed to know for right now.
“I think I’m just gonna let you think I’m a bit harder to get than I really am”—I bit my lip—“and make that flight at eleven.”
“I understand.…” He nodded. “It doesn’t feel right to you.”
“It’s not that it doesn’t feel right.” I touched his hand. “It’s just that I didn’t vote for your administration.…” Molinari laughed out loud. “But just for the record, it wasn’t the wrong thing to say.”
That made him smile, too. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I have some things to attend to up here. I’ll be seeing you soon enough.”
Then Molinari waved down the block for his car. The black Lincoln drove up. The driver climbed out and opened the door for me. Still not completely sure that I was doing the right thing, I got in.
Suddenly something hit me and I rolled down the window. “Hey, I don’t even know what flight I’m on.”
“Taken care of,” Molinari said. He waved and slapped the side. The car started to pull away.
As soon as we were on the highway, I shut my eyes and began to review the day, but mostly my dinner with Molinari. After a while the driver said, “We’re here, ma’am.”
I looked outside and saw that we were at some remote part of the airfield. Yep, I can be wowed. Waiting for me on the tarmac was the Gulf stream G-3 jet I had flown up in that morning.
Chapter 52
Jill had it all planned out. And in her mind, it was going well.
She had come home early and prepared one of Steve’s favorite meals, coq au vin. In truth, other than half a dozen kinds of eggs, it was the only thing she knew how to cook—or at least that she was confident about.
Maybe tonight they could talk about how to proceed. She had the name of a therapist that a friend had given her and Steve had promised he would actually go this time.
She had vegetables simmering in the pan and was about to add wine when Steve came home. But when he walked up the stairs, he seemed to look right through her. “Look at us,” he said. “You’d think we were an ad for domestic bliss.”
“Trying,” Jill said. She was wearing pressed jeans and a pink V-necked T-shirt, and she had her hair down the way he liked it.
“Just one thing wrong.” Steve tossed his newspaper down. “I’m going out.”
Jill felt her stomach sink. “Why? Look at me, Steve. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”
“Frank needs to bounce a proposal off me.” Steve reached across to a fruit basket and took a peach. There was a part of him that seemed almost to be gloating, amused that he’d ruined the evening.
“Can’t you see Frank at the office tomorrow? I told you, there was something I needed to talk about. You said okay. I’ve got all this food.”
He took a bite out of the peach and laughed. “You break one night before eight and get it in your head to play Alice on The Brady Bunch, and I’m the one blowing the script?”
“It’s not a script, Steve.”
“You wanna talk”—he sucked out another bite of the peach—“go ahead. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s still my check that pays for those Manolo Blahniks. The market the way it is these days, the only thing scarcer than the Ice Queen with an urge to have sex is a promising deal. Given the odds, I’ll throw in with the deal.”
“That was really cruel.” Jill glared at him. She was determined to hold herself together. “I was trying to do something nice.”
“It is nice.” Steve shrugged, took another bite. “And if you hurry, you might still catch one of your girlfriends to share this special moment with you.”
She saw herself reflected in the window, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “You’re an incredible bastard.”
“Aw …” Steve whined.
Jill flung the spatula down, grease splattering over the counter.
“That’s a five-thousand-dollar slab of limestone you’re redecorating there,” Steve said.
“Goddamn you,” Jill cried, her eyes starting to well up with tears. “Look what I’m trying to do for you.” Everything had fallen apart. What was she trying to hold on to anyway?
“You belittle me. You criticize. You make me feel like crap. You want to walk out that door, go… Get out of my life. Everyone thinks I’m crazy for wanting to keep this together anyway.”
“Everyone…” She saw the venom in his eyes, the switch suddenly tripped. He grabbed her by the arm and squeezed it hard, forcing Jill down to the floor. “You let those bitches run your life. I run your life. Me, Jill …”
