Nick hesitates. “I was wondering,” he starts.
“What?”
“Maybe you should stay at my place a few nights.”
I stare hard at him and let out a laugh. “Uh, I’m happy to do the buddy movie montage with you, and I’m happy to share a little stress relief on the side, butshacking uptogether?” The idea of a week playing house with Nick Fontana is shockingly appealing. And that’s why it can’t happen.
We come to a halt again in the traffic and Nick turns to look at me while we wait. “Believe me, it’s the last thing I want, too. But if someoneistargeting you, it makes sense to go dark for the week. Until we find this blackmailer and I ki—talk to him.”
The statement makes me wince. “First of all:talkingto someone is, once again, theonlything I want to hear about you doing. Second of all: no hiding, not more than we have to. It’s too much, and we have literally no reason to think I’m a target.”
“Except the fact that a Gee hitman tried to kill you.”
I ignore that. “Yougot the blackmailer’s note. And we don’t even know if itisa blackmailer; it might not even be about the Hamptons. He’s just letting you know thatheknows something.”
“Or she.”
“What?”
“Could be a woman. Don’t be so sexist, Harvard. Look at Sophia Vicente. She was willing to do whatever it took for the Family.”
I roll my eyes. “So your next plan is to write down all the women you’ve wronged and paythema visit tomorrow? No. Tomorrow we do it my way, like you agreed.” The traffic picks up and Nick eases on down the street. We’re only a block from the office now and I’m getting antsy to check on everything I’ve missed today. “Pick me up at seven tomorrow from my apartment,” I say when he pulls into the drop-off bay in front of the building. “And give me my fucking phone back.”
* * *
The reception areafor Bianchi and Associates, when I reach it, is locked and deserted. My phone, which I turned on in the elevator, is starting to buzz with all my missed messages, calls and emails, but I’ll get to it soon enough. I pause, looking into the empty reception area, before I swipe my passkey to let myself in. There are usually a few clients waiting to see someone, and definitely at least two receptionists until seven-thirty. The phones run hot and fast at the firm, and I lean over the high front of the desk to make sure our receptionists are not lying dead on the floor behind it.
I’m only half-kidding.
But my eyes don’t meet some gruesome scene, just the landline phones flashing wildly. The lights indicate that they’ve been forwarded to the boardroom one floor up. I know we didn’t have a meeting scheduled today, so what the hell is going on?
Sure, it’s just past seven, but these are prime hours for our firm.Everyoneworks late. Everyone has hours to make up, hours to get ahead on, and I know for sure one person at least who’ll be here—Miranda Winter. If she’s not in her office, I’ll know for certain the place has been cleared for a bomb threat or something equally drastic.
The whole place is quiet as the grave as I make my way down the hallway to her office, but when I get closer, I can hear Miranda’s voice, though not the words, and the click of her desk phone as she hangs up. I knock and push open her door, only to meet her staring, wide eyes as she shoots to her feet from the chair behind her desk.
“Thank Godyou’rehere,” I tell her, grinning. “I thought for sure something—hey, are you okay?”
She’s gone dead white, her hand flying up to her neck. “Carlo? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, see, Iworkhere.” I’m starting to worry now. “Where is everyone? Is—is my father—”
She shakes her head, smooths down her skirt, and walks around the desk to me, crossing her arms. “Your father is fine. You, on the other hand—you are insomuch trouble.”
“What the fuck is going on?” I ask, bewildered.
“Why weren’t you answering yourphone?” she shoots back, already settling into her Ice Queen persona, though she still looks rattled. “We’ve been calling all afternoon, emailing you—”
“Itoldyou I was going off-line for a few days,” I protest, unwilling to admit what really happened to my phone. “I’ve been working from home most of the day. I stepped out for a few hours, that’s all. What’s the problem?”
She picks up her landline receiver like she’s about to clout me over the head with it. “I was just trying to call you again, right then,” she says fiercely. I pull out my phone automatically to check, but she grabs my wrist. “Working at home is not an excuse to go completely AWOL. And it hasn’t beenjustme trying to find you, it’s—God, it’severyone. The whole firm. An hour ago, your father insisted everyone stop what they were doing and find you, no matter what it took. The police have been looking for you, too.”
“Thepolice?” I try not to let my voice betray any alarm, but it’s hard. “What do they want?”
“Your apartment,” she says, shaking her head in wonder. “Don’t you—don’t you know? Someone kicked in your front door, messed your apartment up.” Someone broke into my apartment? I feel a sense of outrage at the idea of someone going through my things, but it begins to curdle into fear. “When no one could get in touch with you,” Miranda goes on, “we all feared—God, we thought you weredead, you stupid, selfishidiot!”
“Wow. And everyone was real broken up about this stupid, selfish idiot being dead?”
She bites her lip. “I was slightly concerned,” she says stiffly. She swallows, and although the color is coming back into her face, I can see she really has been stressing out. Aboutme? I genuinely did not think she cared that much. She sucks in a breath, puts back her shoulders and gives me her usual glare. “You need to go see your father. Right now.”
