“I know you’re sorry. I do,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head just once.
“Tell me we’re going to be okay,” Sheila said into the soft wool of his overcoat. “Tell me we can get past this.”
Morris broke away. He didn’t answer, but his jaw was working tightly. Finally he sighed. “I don’t know. Give me a few days.”
A glimmer of hope blossomed in her heart, so small she thought it might dissolve if she took another breath. She nodded before he could take it back. “Whatever you need.”
“I’ll be back from Japan on Sunday morning and we can talk again then. I don’t…” He paused, and his face showed a sudden tenderness that killed her. “I don’t want to make any hasty decisions. Because I do think it says something that you told me after all. You didn’t have to. You could have waited till after the wedding, or not told me ever. Truth be told, I wish…” His voice trailed off and he sighed again, the weight of it all bearing down on him.
The sentence hung in the air. Sheila didn’t ask him to finish it.
“We have an appointment at the Fairmont on Sunday at two,” she said quietly. “To finalize arrangements for the reception. Should I cancel?”
Morris ran a hand over his face. “No. Wait till I get back from Japan and then we’ll decide. In fact, let’s meet there, at the Fairmont on Sunday. At noon. We’ll have lunch, talk, decide what we want to do. If we decide to postpone, at least we’re there to tell the caterer in person. We’d lose a lot of money, though,” he said with a grimace.
“I’ll pay you back. I will.”
She felt almost dizzy with relief. He’d said postpone, not cancel, and if we decide, not if I decide, and that meant things might still be okay. Things weren’t irreparably broken if he was using those words. Morris would never say anything to her he didn’t mean.
Another tear fell freely down her cheek. He reached out and wiped it away. She grabbed his hand and kissed it.
“I do love you.” His smile was faint and sad. “Maybe it’s not enough.”
“Morris-”
He pulled his hand away. “I gotta go,” he said, the words catching in his throat. “Sorry about your wall.”
He didn’t look at her as he stepped past her into the chilly afternoon air.
Sheila watched him get him into his car and drive away. She had no idea whether she’d done the right thing. Maybe all she’d done was transfer her terrible burden over to Morris.
But, incredibly, it wasn’t over yet. There was still a chance she and Morris could work this out. Sunday at noon at the Fairmont. There was still hope.
Her BlackBerry pinged from the floor where she’d dropped her purse. Reaching down to pull it out, she checked and saw that she had one new e-mail, sent to her personal account. She halfheartedly clicked on it. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw whom it was from. The message was simple.
Subject: (None)
Dr. Tao-I’m told you are looking for me?
Randall Gardener
Sheila’s heart leapt and she smiled for the first time in days. She might not be able to fix her relationship with Morris right now, but she might be able to help him out with his son. That she could definitely do.
She headed down the hallway to her study and opened her e-mail program. She had a lot to tell Randall Gardener.
CHAPTER 12
K idnapping Sheila, Ethan knew from experience, would be the easy part. It was what came after that was always difficult. There were so many ways to get caught-DNA, trace evidence, eyewitnesses…
The mind-fucking was officially over. It had been fun while it lasted. It was time to get to work.
He stood naked in front of the full-length mirror inside his walk-in closet, wearing only a nylon skullcap. His face, neck, and shoulders had been dusted with talcum powder, an absolute necessity for keeping his skin dry under the silicone mask.
The inner wall of the closet showcased a dozen masks on wooden busts, lined up precisely along a wide metal shelf. He allowed himself a moment to admire his collection. He’d amassed quite a few over the years, and special memories were attached to each of them.
He already knew which one he would use tonight. With dexterous fingers, he peeled the chosen mask from its stand. Good-quality silicone masks-the kind used in movies and by hard-core costume lovers at Halloween-could be bought on the Internet for about $600, and they looked surprisingly real. In contrast, this mask had cost him $6,000.
It was a work of art, custom-made to fit his face, and constructed out of the thinnest silicone money could buy. He’d worked closely with the owner of Professional EF/X Masks in Hollywood to design one that looked so real that the owner’s wife herself couldn’t tell it was fake from six inches away. Even its surface felt like real skin. Unlike makeup, it wouldn’t melt under hot lights or from excessive sweating.
Facing another full-length mirror, he placed both arms inside the mask all the way up to the elbow. He stretched it gently, width-wise, as far as he dared go, careful not to stress the delicate facial features. Ducking his head, he slipped it over his skullcap, pulling it down over his nose and mouth. When it was properly positioned under his chin, he slid his arms out, allowing the mask to close snugly around his neck and shoulders.
Watching his reflection, he pressed the silicone into his cheeks with clean fingers, smoothing away every bump and crinkle. He took extra care around the openings of his nostrils, where the product was very thin. The mask fit him so well, the silicone actually wrapped around his nostrils, extending a few millimeters into his nose to brush up against the tiny hairs inside.
He did the same around his eyes, pressing the whisper-thin silicone into the skin below his eyebrows and underneath his lower eyelashes. His natural lids would remain exposed.
It was common for masks of this quality to include lips, which would wrap around the wearer’s own. But he couldn’t stand the way those masks felt. Or tasted, for that matter. This mask had been specially made without lips, with the silicone thinning to almost nothing as it neared his mouth.
Stepping back, he appraised himself. He looked incredible. The sight of a face that wasn’t his own never failed to thrill him.
But the face staring back at him wasn’t perfect yet. Peering at himself closely under the harsh lights of his workroom, he could detect a subtle color difference around each eye where the silicone rested next to his real skin. No problem. Selecting the correct shade of foundation from his makeup kit, he blended his real skin with his fake skin.
His lips posed a different problem. Because they were exposed, even the best-fitting silicone would separate a tiny bit if he smiled or spoke.
No worries, he had a solution for this as well. A small amount of skin adhesive, purchased at any store that sold wigs, worked well to keep the latex tight around the mouth. And, to be on the safe side, facial hair was always a good idea.
Picking through another box of supplies, he selected a thick, dark goatee made of real human hair that matched the coarse texture of the mask’s hair and eyebrows. He studied himself for a moment, then applied a small amount of lip stain to better match his lips to his new complexion.
Concentrating on his reflection, he started to make a variety of different facial expressions. This exercise was critical-one should never assume that everything was in place until one had tested it properly. He lifted his eyebrows, and the skin of his forehead wrinkled naturally. He grinned, and his cheeks moved with him. He opened his mouth wide, and the silicone around his lips stayed put.
The mask was perfect, right down to the last detail. His left earlobe even had a hole, in case he wanted to wear an earring. And just under his right eye was a small but discernible scar, which added a bit of edginess to his face.
