“That’s a really stupid thing to say. Who are you flying with?”
She paused, as if savoring the fact that her lawyer wasn’t in on the family secret. “I know you don’t approve, Jack. It probably even makes you feel a little better about yourself to think that tonight’s screwup killed any chance I had at a movie deal or book. For sure, the TV shows tomorrow were supposed to be all about where am I, what am I doing, when will I talk. Now it’ll be nonstop from the hospital about some stupid girl and her costume party. But it’s just a hiccup. She’s either going to get better. . or not. Whichever way it cuts, the spotlight will swing back to me. Whether you like it or not, this is going to make me a rich woman.”
“Don’t kid yourself. That young woman is in the hospital tonight because people thought she was you. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“Yeah. Avoid angry mobs. Got it covered.”
“No, you don’t. The world of public opinion is not a courtroom. There are no rules. You, Sydney, are the hunk of bloody meat in the shark tank.”
“You underestimate me.”
“You underestimate fame.”
“Fame,” she said, a wry smile of satisfaction cutting across her lips. “I really am famous, aren’t I?”
Jack’s gaze shifted again to the man waiting by the plane. “Is that guy with an entertainment agency?”
“You could say that,” said Sydney.
“Well, that’s just beautiful.”
“You got a problem?” she said.
“Sydney, the trial’s over, the cameras are off, and if you’re smart, you’ll thank God you’ve been given a second chance and live your life. Going out of your way to stay in the limelight is a huge mistake.”
She extended her hand, and Jack shook it. “Thanks for everything,” she said. “And thanks in advance for not writing a book of your own about this case.”
“You definitely don’t have to worry about that.”
“I know. Because if you do, you’ll be all over the X-rated chapters of mine.”
“Are you actually threatening me?”
She flashed one of those pouty, bad-girl looks that had generated so much ink in the tabloids. “And people thought you were representing poor, indigent me for free.”
Jack just shook his head. “Honestly, Sydney, I wish I had a REPLAY button so you could hear how ridiculous you sound. You act like someone who thinks she’s living in a reality-TV show. Stop trying to be someone you’re not.”
She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. “I really don’t like threatening you, Jack. But I am deadly serious. It’s
“All true,” said Jack. “But here’s the thing: You’re the only one who wants it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Jack wanted to drill some sense into her, tell her to wake up. But there was only so much he could do. “There’s probably not another person on the planet who would admit this, but a part of me actually feels sorry for you.”
“Whatever. Good-bye, Jack.”
She turned and headed for the plane, gaining speed with each footfall on the asphalt, and finally breaking into a run. She threw herself into the arms of the man who was waiting. Jack watched for a minute, until the embrace broke and they climbed into the plane together. He had no idea where Sydney was headed. No idea who had come to get her.
The engine revved, and the plane started down the runway.
Jack wondered if he would ever see her again. He thought about Emma, thought about the Sydney look-alike in the hospital, thought about the devastated parents who had just gotten the dreaded phone call and learned that their beautiful daughter would be “lucky to be alive in the morning”. . and he wondered if Sydney even cared.
He glanced over his shoulder for one last look as the plane left the runway, the taillights disappearing into the night.
Chapter Seven
It was nine P.M., and Theo was working both sides of the big U-shaped bar. Even on a Sunday evening, Cy’s Place oozed that certain vibe of a jazz-loving crowd. Creaky wood floors, redbrick walls, and high ceilings were the perfect bones for Theo’s club in the heart of Miami’s Coconut Grove. Art nouveau chandeliers cast just the right mood lighting. Crowded cafe tables fronted a small stage for live music.
Cy’s Place was special in Jack’s book. It was the club Theo had always dreamed of owning, and on these very barstools, at the grand opening, sparks had begun to fly for Jack and FBI agent Andie Henning. They’d talked and laughed till two A.M., listening to Theo’s uncle Cy give them a taste of Miami’s old Overtown Village through his saxophone. A few months later, on the second anniversary of Jack’s thirty-ninth birthday, Jack had put a ring on her finger. More than a few pages had flipped on the calendar since then, and still no date for the wedding.
But that was another story.
“Nacho?” asked Theo as he set a heaping plateful on the bar in front of Jack.
“Thanks, man.”
Jack was starving. Since “not guilty,” he’d been paying the sole practitioner’s price for a monthlong trial and countless missed deadlines. He’d caught a few hours of sleep after dropping Sydney at the airport and then headed to the office. Not until he smelled the nachos under his nose did he realize that he’d forgotten to eat since breakfast. He was snagging a fourth chip before Theo could get one.
“Dude, you took the
“There’s no bacon on these nachos.”
“Not bacon,
“Sor-
“You can’t put it back!”
“What do you want me to do?” Jack asked, strands of gooey cheese hanging over the edges of his chip.
A thirsty customer at the other end of the bar signaled for two beers. Theo stepped away to serve him, carrying on loud enough for Jack to hear him say, “Can you believe that skinny piglet over there took my Bacon nacho?”
Jack’s phone chimed with a text message. It was from the other half of the Sydney Bennett defense team.
The victim’s identity had been withheld since the attack. Jack texted back:
The thought of more Shot Mom was enough to bring up his Bacon nacho, but he reached over the bar, grabbed the remote, and tuned to BNN. It was a split screen, with Faith Corso in the studio talking to a BNN reporter who was standing outside the lighted entrance to Jackson Memorial Hospital in Miami. Cy’s Place was too noisy for Jack to hear, but the closed captioning sufficed. In fact, seeing the printed white letters scrawl against the black banner gave the word even greater impact.
COMA.
It felt like a punch in the chest. Suddenly, the closed captioning was garbling every other word. Jack reclaimed the remote and raised the volume. The TV was annoying to the couple seated next to him at the bar, but the TV was competing with crowd noise and music, and the report was wrapping up, so he begged their pardon and cranked it up.
Corso asked, “Is the young woman showing any signs of alertness?”
