The other was John.
He intended to get both.
Chapter 16
New York, early June 1990
Hillary stared at Cutter.“I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged, raised his champagne glass to his mouth, and sipped the sparkly as his eyes skimmed the crowd.
Her eyes didn’t leave his face.She was trying to find some sign that he was putting her on.“John wouldn’t do that.”
Cutter remained silent.After a minute he gave another elegant shrug.
“Say something, Cutter.Tell me that of course he’d do it, because he’s a monster at heart.”
He looked at her with what she thought was a flicker of pity.In an instant it was gone, replaced by the hardness that attested to the truth of his words.“It’s not my place to tell you what to think, Hillary.You asked why Ideserted Pam while I claimed to love her so much, and I answered.”
“You never mentioned it before.”
“You never asked before.”
“But it was such a significant thing.If what you say is true, he left you for dead.”
“I didn’t die.”
“You could have.You could have bled to death, or frozen to death.”
“I didn’t.”
“Because Bumble was there.”
He nodded his head subtly.“And because I made up my mind not to die.”He extended his hand to the man who approached.“Steve.”He introduced Hillary, then gave the connection: “Steve and I lost money together in a fiasco in Kansas City last year.”
If true, Hillary decided, it had to have been a rare experience for Cutter.Barring those few months when he had first come to New York, Cutter had managed to make money hand over fist.Looking at him now, at the way he held himself with his shoulders back and his head at a confident angle, at the comfortable way he wore his tuxedo and handled both the slim, fluted glass and his erstwhile partner, it was hard to believe that he had dropped out of school at sixteen and spent eight years in the mines in Maine.
“… read everything he’s written,” Cutter was saying as she tuned back into the conversation.That she believed.He was as voracious a reader as ever.She might be the writer, but he was the one who had received the engraved invitation to the reception they were attending.It was inhonor of the newest Fletcher Grady thriller, which, rumor had it, was about to debut at the top spot on thePublishers Weeklybestseller list.Not that Cutter had been invited simply because he read Fletcher’s books.The two were good friends.
Hillary marveled at Cutter.He wasn’t showy or gregarious.But something about his silent way spoke of competence and dignity, plus an independence that intrigued people.As a kid, he had had a renegade streak.Now, softened, it worked in his favor.He was nearly as charismatic as John.
“The figures are impressive,” his friend was saying.
“It’s a solid company.Efficiently organized and well run.A good investment, Steve.”
“Ten grand worth?”
“More.”
Steve’s eyes widened, and Hillary was about to ask what the investment was, thinking that maybe she’d chip in a little herself if the company in question was so solid, when Cutter caught her eye.
“Sorry.Didn’t mean to talk business.It just creeps up sometimes.”To Steve he said, “Talk with you next week?”
The man nodded, smiled at Hillary, and moved on.
“His business is…?”she asked.
“Commercial appliances.He supplies some of the largest hotel chains.”
