Declan nods and turns to leave, but I stop him.
“One more thing. Find out where she’s going to be in the next few weeks. Public appearances, family events, anything where I can get access.”
“You want to approach her.”
“I want to see her. Talk to her. Understand why she lied about who she was and where the hell she’s been for six years.”
“And if she doesn’t want to talk?”
“She doesn’t get a choice.”
Declan leaves, and I’m alone with the surveillance photos spread across my desk.
Aurelia Vance.
Catherine.
The woman I spent one night with six years ago, the woman who’s been in my head ever since, the woman who disappeared without explanation.
She’s back. And she’s going to give me answers whether she wants to or not.
Three days later, Declan returns with information.
“She’s attending a charity gala in two weeks,” he says, handing me a printed invitation. “The Vance family is one of the major sponsors. Julian will be there with his wife, and Aurelia is expected to attend as well. First major public appearance since she returned.”
I study the invitation. Black tie, exclusive venue, five-hundred-dollar-a-plate minimum donation. A gathering for New York’s elite to congratulate themselves on their generosity while drinking champagne.
“How do I get an invitation?”
“That’s the problem. It’s invite-only. The guest list is controlled by the event organizer, a woman named Margaret Kovac. She’s very particular about who gets in.”
“So buy my way in.”
“I tried. She’s not interested in money. Says the event is at capacity and she’s not adding anyone else.”
I set the invitation down. “Then we have to find another way.”
“What do you have in mind?”
I think about Margaret Kovac. The name is familiar, and it takes me a moment to place it. Then I remember. Her husband runs an import business that operates in gray areas. Not quite illegal, but not entirely legitimate either. We’ve crossed paths before.
“Set up a meeting with David Kovac,” I say. “Today, if possible.”
“You think he can get you in?”
“I think his wife will do whatever he asks if the alternative is worse.”
Declan’s expression shifts. “You’re going to threaten him.”
“I’m going to make him an offer. What he does with it is his choice.”
David Kovac agrees to meet me at a restaurant in Chinatown. It’s neutral ground, public enough that violence is unlikely but private enough for honest conversation. I arrive early and take a table in the back corner where I can see the entrance.
Kovac shows up exactly on time. Mid-fifties, well-dressed, moving with the extreme caution of a man who knows he’s walking into a situation he doesn’t fully control.
He sits down across from me without shaking hands. “Mr. Rourke. I was surprised to get your call.”
“I need a favor.”
