A Dangerous Widow (A Dangerous Series) (17 page)

“Would you like to take them off?” he asked.

“I would.”

“Then take them off.”

Oh, Christ…

Gingerly, I slipped my fingers beneath his
underwear’s waistband and then, after a moment’s hesitation, I pulled them
down, allowing him to spring free.

How in the hell am I
ever going to take that again?
I
wondered.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said.
 
“Stand up.”

I stood, and he went to his knees and
removed my panties.
 
And then his
mouth connected with my sex.
 
As his
tongue plunged into me, I gasped and began to shudder from sensations I’d long
since forgotten.
 
I then put my
hands on his shoulders to steady myself as my first climax struck.

“Take me,” I said to him.

He swept me up in his arms and led me over
to the bed before crawling on top of me.
 
In my ear, he said, “Just remember in the morning that you’re the one
who asked.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When morning came and I woke to find my head
resting against Ben’s bare chest and his arm curling me close against him, I
knew with certainty that the dynamic had shifted dramatically between us.
 

Who were we now?
 
Long-ago lovers who had simply enjoyed a
one-night stand?
 
I already knew
better than that, because what I felt ran far deeper than that.
 
Was I in love with Ben again?
 
I wasn’t sure.
 
But I couldn’t deny that something rare
and special had occurred between us last night.

“Good morning,” he said when I stirred.

I glanced up at him and saw him smiling down
at me.
 
“You’re awake?”

“Light sleeper, I guess.”

I remember when you used to sleep until
noon.

But maybe, like me, he had a lot on his mind
right now.

“I should make coffee,” I said.
 
“And breakfast.
 
Are you hungry?”

He grabbed my ass.

“Define hunger…”

“You’re impossible.”

I tried to extricate myself from him, but
Ben was having none of that.
 
He
pulled me toward him and kissed me on the lips.

“Kate, about last night.
 
I need to know whether you have any
regrets.”

Did I have any?
 
Not now.
 
Would I?
 
Time would tell.
 

“Not one,” I said.
 
“I wanted to make love to you
again.
 
We’re no longer a couple of
teenagers, Ben.
 
I knew that I was
taking a huge risk last night—that we both were—but I’m happy that
I took it.
 
I hope that you also
are.”

“More than you know,” he said.
 
With an ease that surprised me, he
lifted me on top of him and kissed me deeply.
 
When our lips parted, he pressed his
forehead against mine and held me so securely in his arms, I just melted into
them.
 

“I’m worried about you,” he said.

“I know you are.
 
I’m aware of the potential
repercussions.
 
But I also know that
you’ll protect me if there’s anything to this.
 
I know that you’ll see me through it.”

“But that’s what concerns me, Kate—I’m
not perfect.
 
I’m only human.”

“But you’ll do your best—and that’s
all I ask.”

He looked at me for a moment, and then he
just sighed.
 
“If you don’t mind,
I’d love some coffee,” he said.
 
“In
the meantime, where is your computer?”

“In my office.
 
I’ll take you to it.”

“Before I call Nick, I want to check the
papers and assess what’s being reported.”

“Who’s Nick?”

“Nick Martinez.
 
Former SEAL.
 
Buddy of mine.
 
Owns one of the best private security
firms in Manhattan.
 
He’ll lead the
team that will protect you.”

“OK…”

“And by the way, you’re going nowhere today
until I can get Nick here—is that understood?”

“Understood.
 
I’ve set the spark, Ben, but I’ve
already told you that going forward, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

“Well, that’s a blessing, I guess.
 
Because, if someone did murder Michael,
they likely are powerful, and they likely have means.
 
And they will employ those means to
silence you so that you’ll never pose a threat against them.
 
My gut says that’s about to happen.
 
Even though I know that’s what you want,
let’s just pray that we can deal with all of it when it comes.”

*
 
*
 
*

Before I took Ben to my office, I slipped
into an ivory-colored silk robe while he stepped into all he had with
him—his underwear.
  
With
his hand pressed just a few inches above my butt, he gave me another kiss
before I led him to my office.
 
There, I showed him to my computer and then went down into the kitchen
to make us coffee.
 

I remembered that, like me, Ben enjoyed his
coffee black.
 
So, when it was
ready, I poured each of us a cup and brought them to my office, where he was
sitting at my desk, leaning toward the screen.

“You got your wish,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re the news.
 
You’re everywhere.
 
Hell, even the AP picked up the
story.
 
Essentially, most of the
headlines can be boiled down to this:
 
‘Kate Stone, Widow of Billionaire Michael Stone, Questions
Late-Husband’s Death.’
 
When it
comes to the local papers, which matter most to us, there are a host of
variants.
 
The
Post
has a photo of you on its front page with this headline:
 
‘Kate Stone: ‘My Husband Was
Murdered!’
 
In other words, written
in typically scandalous
Post
style.
 
The Daily News
asks this: ‘Was Michael Stone Murdered?
 
Kate Stone Investigates!’
 
And then there’s this from the
Times
,
where you’ve also made the front page, though the story is below the fold:
 
‘A Mogul Murdered?
 
His Widow Seeks the Truth.’
 
They also have a photograph of you with
Michael.”

“Which photograph?”

He leaned back in his seat.
 
“Have a look.”

I did.
 
And when I saw Michael and me together again, it was like someone had
shoved a knife into my heart.
 
In my
entire apartment, I had only two photographs of him—one in my office, and
one that I’d placed on a corner table in a room I rarely used.
 
A year ago, I came to the conclusion
that, if I continued to surround myself with photographs of him and of us
together, I’d never be able to move forward and get to the healthy emotional
state I was in today.
 
And so I’d
packed away all but two photos.
 
And
it had worked.

But now, suddenly, here we were again,
dressed to the nines for some sort of party or event that I had no memory
of.
 
In the photograph, Michael’s
arm was wrapped around my waist and he was kissing my cheek while I smiled for
the cameras.
 
It was clear from the
brightness in my eyes and from the smile on my face that I was over the moon because
the love of my life was kissing me.
 
God, how we were in love.
 
Just seeing us together like that again was practically enough to do me
in.
 
But Ben was with me now, and we’d
made love only the night before.
 
I
was making an effort to step into a new phase of my life, and so I reminded
myself that I needed to honor that.

I had loved Michael, but after five years of
solitude, I was ready to love someone again.
 
Would that someone be Ben?
 
I wasn’t sure, but what I did know was that,
after last night, we owed it to ourselves to take things slowly and to find
out.

I handed Ben his coffee, but he didn’t take
a sip.
 
He was so focused on the
news he was reading that he put the mug down on the table in front of him, went
back to Google News, and continued to scroll through the stories that had been
written about me.
 
I pulled up a
chair beside him, sat down, rested my hand on his thigh, and began to read some
of the reports along with him.
 
And
as I did, Ben put his arm around my waist.

“So, you see,” he said after we read through
several articles.
 
“This has become
serious.”

“Which is what I wanted.
 
So, what do we do now?”

“I’ll call Nick and ask him to meet with
us.
 
Is it all right if he comes
here?”

“Of course it is.”

“Let’s finish our coffee.
 
Then, let’s take a shower and get
dressed.
 
When Nick arrives, we’ll
strategize.
 
He’s one of the
brightest people I know.
 
If I’ve
missed something when it comes to any of this, he’ll think of it.
 
So, let me call him and set this
up.
 
Because right now we need him,
Kate—before it becomes too late.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

As Ben and I showered together in my master
suite, both of us were so lost in thought, nothing physical occurred between
us.
 
We just went through the
motions of washing and then dressing ourselves before Nick arrived.

In my bedroom, I slipped into a pair of dark
blue skinny jeans and a white T-shirt, but Ben only had one choice—what
he’d worn last night.
 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said as I watched
him put on his shirt.
 
“When did
your chest become as broad as the map of America?”

“Very funny.”

“You always were athletic, but nothing like
this.
 
You’re like Iron Man now.”

He flexed his pecs for me.
 
“You like?”

“I wish I could do that with my boobs,” I
said.

“That wasn’t the reaction I was going for.”

“Still.”

“And by the way, your breasts are as fantastic
as they ever were.”

“Please—everything’s starting to
drop.”

“Not on you, it isn’t.”

“So, you also need glasses?”

He laughed at that just as his cell
rang.
 
He removed it from his pants
pocket, checked who was calling, and then answered it.
 
“Nick,” he said.
 
“Thanks for calling.
 
You’re here?
 
Good—now I’ll know for sure that
it’s you.
 
See you in a few.”

“That was quick,” I said.

“Nick’s efficient—and your intercom is
about to go off.
 
Let’s go
downstairs.”

After I answered the intercom in the foyer
and asked the doorman on duty to send Nick up, it wasn’t long before a knock
came at the door.
 
Ben peered
through the peephole, and then, with a smile, he unlocked the door and opened
it, revealing a strapping, striking man somewhere around our age who, despite
the few pockmarks on his face, was devastatingly good looking.
 

Nick Martinez was like an even larger
version of Ben, which seemed somehow unnatural to me.
 
What did these men eat?
 
Nick’s thick, wavy black hair was cut so
close at the sides, it accentuated his strong jawline and the dimple in his
chin.
 
His eyes were so dark, they
seemed like liquid pools of black to me.
 
Already, I could sense that this man was no one to fool with.

“Thanks for coming,” Ben said as they shook
hands.

“Anything for a friend.”

“Nick, this is Kate Stone.
 
Kate, Nick Martinez.”

I shook his hand, which engulfed mine.
 
“It’s nice to meet you, Nick.”

“The pleasure’s mine, Kate.”

“Were you able to read the papers before
coming here?” Ben asked.

“I read enough,” he said.
 
And then he looked at me.
 
“You’ve received some interesting press
today.
 
Care to tell me what’s
behind it all?”

“How much time do you have?”

“As much time as it takes.”

“Well, it might take awhile,” I said.
 
“So, why don’t we go into the living
room?
 
Would you like a cup of
coffee, Nick?
 
Some water?
 
Juice?”

“I’d love some coffee.
 
Black would be perfect.”

“Then please, both of you get comfortable,”
I said as we left the foyer and moved into the living room.
 
“Ben, would you like another cup?”

“I’m good.”

“Then I’ll be right back.”

*
 
*
 
*

It took me a solid hour to tell Nick my
story, and by the end of it, I was exhausted.
 
Throughout it all, he asked me an
intense host of questions, with Ben sometimes interjecting several questions of
his own.
 
We only stopped when my
intercom sounded again.
 
Since I
wasn’t expecting anyone, I screwed up my face at each of them before I went to
answer it.
 

Ben and Nick followed.

“Mrs. Stone?” a man said when I answered.

I could tell from his voice that it was
Christian.
 

“Yes, Christian?”

“A package was just delivered for you.
 
Shall I bring it up?”

I looked at Ben before I answered.
 
“I’m not expecting a package,
Christian.
 
Can you tell me who it’s
from?”

“It doesn’t say, but it’s pretty clear what
it is.
 
It’s a long white box
wrapped in a red ribbon, so I’m thinking it’s likely from a florist.”

“Is there a card?”

There was a pause before he said, “Actually,
there isn’t.
 
But there might be one
inside.
 
I’ll bring it up to you,
Mrs. Stone.”

“Tell him that Ben and I will be down to
accept it,” Nick said.

“But he’s happy to bring it up,” I said.

“That box stays in the lobby.”

“Why?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Are you saying that something other than
flowers could be in that box?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“This place is a hive of gossip,” I
said.
 
“If you two show up to
retrieve it for me, questions will be asked.
 
After the press I’ve received today,
I’ve given the fine people at the San Remo enough to talk about.
 
At the very least, I need to go down
there with you.”

“Out of the question.
 
You stay here.
 
Tell him that Ben and I will be down to
retrieve it.”

“Fine.”

But when I pressed the button to reach out
to Christian again, he didn’t answer.
 
I pushed the buzzer a few more times before another man answered.

“Yes, Mrs. Stone?”

It was the other doorman, Robert.

“Robert, I was trying to reach
Christian.
 
He said that I’d just
received a delivery of some sort.
 
We were just on the line together.”

“He’s bringing that up to you now, Mrs.
Stone.”

“But I didn’t ask him to.”

“Then he must have misunderstood.
 
Because he’s on his way with it.”

*
 
*
 
*

When the knock came at my door, it was Nick
and Ben who insisted upon answering it.
 
And when they did, there stood poor Christian, who was holding a long
white box in his hands that indeed was adorned with a large red ribbon.
 
He looked questionably at Nick and Ben
until he spotted me standing behind them.

Oh, look, Christian
, I thought.
 
It’s me, and with two hulking, threatening-looking
men no less.
 
Perfect!
 
This should make the rounds, shouldn’t
it?

“Christian, this is Ben Cade and Nick
Martinez,” I said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet each of you,”
Christian said.

“The pleasure’s mine,” Ben said as he
accepted the box from Christian.
 

“Do you happen to know who delivered it?”
Nick asked.
 
“What florist it came
from?”

“Actually, it arrived by taxi.”

“By taxi?”

“That’s more common than most people
think.
 
If a florist is overwhelmed with
deliveries and someone wants something delivered immediately, they sometimes
use a taxi service instead.
 
In this
city, you can imagine how many florists and other businesses need that kind of
assistance.
 
For instance, take-out
is delivered to the San Remo by taxi every day.
 
If a customer is willing to pay the
premium, so be it, I guess.
 
I see
it all the time.”

Since I’d already become part of the day’s
news and didn’t want to raise any other red flags with the door
staff—assuming they’d even had time to read or hear of the news—I
intervened before Christian was questioned any further.

“Thank you, Christian,” I said.
 
“Ben, after last night’s party, this is
probably from the Witherhouses, don’t you think?”

He caught my eyes when I said that, and
nodded.
 
“Could be,” he said.
 
“Probably some roses.
 
Let’s enjoy them.”

*
 
*
 
*

After Nick closed the door and locked it,
Ben placed the box gently on the entryway’s side table.

“Why are you handling it so carefully?”

“Because it could be more than just a box.”

“What else could be inside?”

“How about plastic explosives, Kate?”

My eyes widened when he said that.
 
“Plastic explosives?”

Before Ben could respond, Nick reached into
his pants pocket and pulled out a small device just slightly larger than a BIC
lighter.
 
“This is a FidoX
Explosives Trace Detector,” he said.
 
“It’s small, but it’s powerful.”

“You carry a bomb detector on you?” I asked.

“What choice do I have?
 
Look at the world we live in now,
Kate—terrorist threats hit often and hit hard.
 
If I’m to protect my clients, which
include high-level elected officials and well-known CEOs of major corporations,
I need to be prepared for anything that might affect them.
 
Trust me, this is far from the first
time that I’ve used this.
 
So, let’s
have a look.”

He powered up the device, and circled it
around the box.
 
After a moment, he
turned to Ben.

“We’re good.
 
Let’s open it.”

When Ben untied the red ribbon and removed
the lid, we were met with folds of bright red tissue paper—and then, when
Ben parted them, the dead yellow canary that rested within.
 

When I saw the bird, I covered my mouth with
my hand.
 
“Oh, my God…”

A white card was pinned to the canary’s
breast.
 
When I saw the blood on the
card, I knew that this pin was how the bird had died.
 

Ben removed the card and read it.

“What does it say?” I asked him.

He showed the card to Nick before turning to
me.
 
“It says, ‘I’ve been hired to
kill you at once, Kate, but for the sheer sport of it, I think I’m going to toy
with you for a bit.
 
So, good luck
with that.
 
Because you’re going to
need it.
 
—W.’”

“Who is ‘W’?” I asked.

“Good question,” Ben said.

“Then this confirms it,” I said.
 
“Michael
was
murdered.”

“The only thing this confirms is that
someone has just scared the hell out of you,” Nick said.
 
“This city is filled with sick
individuals.
 
Maybe one of them read
what was written about you today and got off on sending you something like
this.
 
It’s no secret where you
live, Kate—it was, after all, noted in most of the articles I read this
morning.”
 
He motioned toward the
box.
 
“This might be the end of
it—a one-off prank.
 
But we
can’t count on that, can we?
 
We
have to consider this as a credible threat.”
 
He looked at Ben.
 
“What do you have in mind going
forward?”
    

“Depends,” he said.
 
Ben turned to me.
 
“Does Lydia still have family here in
New York?”

“Yes—I send a Christmas card to David
and the kids every year.
 
They live
in the Bronx.”

“David was her husband?”

“He was.”

“I need you to set up a meeting with him.”

“Why?”

“Because I still find it strange that a
woman in her mid-forties died at the Witherhouses’ mansion when Bill was
present.
 
I want to find out from
David if Lydia had any health issues that might have led to her death.
 
Can you make that happen?”