Chasing Ivan (2 page)

The vertical jeopardy that jump presented would paralyze most people, but competitive climbers are a different breed. We’re born with the ability to disconnect the acrophobia circuit and operate in the air as if on the ground. Put another way, a jump from a ledge is just a jump, if one doesn’t think about the drop.

 
I gave my palms a good wipe on my thighs. Then I crouched down, breathed deep, and rocketed up, my arms swinging into it and adding momentum as my legs exploded and my eyes locked on target. Just as I was pushing off, Oscar’s voice sounded in my ear. “Whom were you talking to?”

The jolt knocked me off balance, just a bit, but enough that correcting it cost me power. My grasp came up a quarter-inch short of the ornamental lip, with my fingertips barely grazing its edge.

Now I was thinking about that drop.

As my upward momentum began the rapid transition to a downward plummet, I seesawed my shoulders, thrusting my right arm up while dipping my left. This practiced move added precisely two-and-a-quarter inches to my extension, enough to get the last digit of two fingers over the lip in time. The moment they touched, I cleared my mind of all other thought. I became those two fingertips, rooting in and holding fast. I remained in that meditative state until the rest of my body stabilized like a coat hanging from a hook. Then, with a slow and steady exhale, I brought my thumb up to crimp the hold, and pulled my left arm up beside its twin.

“Hold on, Oscar,” I said, hoping he’d appreciate the need for my focus to be elsewhere. That wasn’t a given. Oscar had about as much experience in the field as I had managing public relations. Zero.

After a couple of deep breaths, I resumed the hand-to-hand swinging shuffle toward 19-B, still focusing on my fingers but with my ears also primed for the sound of approaching sirens. A few seconds later, I swung my legs forward and dropped onto the proper balcony, relieved and ready for more conventional action.

A fortuitous gap in the bedroom’s beige curtains beckoned, and I advanced with caution. I peered through at waist-level and saw them immediately. Evan and his secret date were naked on the bed.

Bad news.
 

Even in her state of undress, I had no problem identifying the petite redhead. Sarah Simms was a weather girl at one of the local TV stations.
 

Crap.

This wasn’t Ivan’s trap. There was no leverage here. Evan was divorced, and Sarah had just appeared on one of the social rags’
Most Eligible
lists.
 

“False alarm,” I said to Oscar.
 

“Not a teenage boy?” Oscar asked.

“Or a Mafia wife.”

“Drugs?”

“I can’t be certain without breaching, but I think we can assume that Evan is purely testosterone driven. She’s hot. A local weather girl.”

“I dated a weather girl once,” Oscar said.
 

As he continued with a sexual pun, my phone vibrated an alert. I heard a simultaneous beep on Oscar’s end. “What is it?” I asked him.

“Tonight’s the night of Emily’s big date, right? Her first encounter with the mysterious Andreas she won’t stop talking about?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, her phone just went dead.”

Chapter 2

EMILY YELPED AS her cell phone flew from her grasp and sailed out over the boating lake. Rubbing the back of her hand while the oblivious bike messenger zipped on to some northwest London business address, she watched her phone land flat on the still water. For a joyful second, it looked as if it was going to float, but as Emily plunged in after it like a Labrador chasing a stick, her phone went under. By the time she’d snatched it from the lake the display had gone blank. Probably not a good sign, she figured.

Still standing thigh-deep in murky water, she pulled off the protective cover and began shaking it like a maraca, trying to expel water from the speakers and ports, while passers by looked on sympathetically.

“Don’t turn it on!” a red-haired boy of middle-school years yelled from the path. “Give it a couple of days to dry out first. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“Bake it on low in the oven,” his freckled friend added. “That will help.”

She gave them a kind nod. “Thanks.”

Would Jen think she’d hung up on her?
Emily wondered.
Possibly.
 

They’d been at it again over Andreas. Her best friend had been cautioning her for the hundredth time not to get her hopes up, while Emily reasserted her certainty that he wouldn’t turn out to be a gold digger like the others.
 

Emily had argued that Andreas didn’t know her last name. Therefore, he didn’t know who her father was, and thus he wouldn’t have any ulterior motives. Plus, he just felt different. He felt perfect — as if he’d been designed with her tastes and interests in mind. In any case, she’d find out for sure in just a few hours. After two months of online dating, of long emails, and shared secrets, and rising expectations, they were finally going to meet. She’d been thinking about little else for weeks.

Emily was determined not to let either Jen’s cautionary words or a ruined phone spoil her mood. Life only gave you so many magical moments. No sense ruining them with mundane worries. She slipped the phone and cover into her purse, continuing her walk north across the park toward her favorite grocer. Her soggy sandals slapped the pavement with each step, while the water soaking her yoga pants slowly worked its way up toward her crotch. She’d wash both as soon as she got home to get the lake smell out.
 

Her block of flats, Palace Place, wasn’t nearly as regal as its name, but it did have a nice lobby. Comfortable chairs in a window alcove. Decent original oils on the walls. Various English seascapes painted by widow Cooper in 3B. The white cliffs of Dover. The beach at West Wittering. Sunset over the Isle of Wight. Mrs. Cooper had been updating them over time as her skill increased, and now the familiar sight of them was as welcoming as a wink and a smile.
 

Emily winced as the shopping bag shifted while she reached for the handle on the lobby door. The back of her hand was tender where the messenger’s backpack had whacked it. She hoped it wouldn’t bruise and look ugly for Andreas.

“Let me help you with that,” came a voice from behind as a long arm reached past and opened the front door. “After you.”

For a second Emily thought the gentleman might be Andreas, his earliness expressing the eagerness she felt. Dressed in a summer-weight gray suit, he was tall and athletic and about thirty. Check, check, and check. The thick, dark hair wasn’t styled the same as in her suitor’s profile picture, but hairstyles changed. This man’s eyes were the same sparkling blue that had captured her attention. He also had the high Slavic cheekbones. The match was six for six when a distinct chin dimple ruled the gentleman out. “Thank you,” she replied, but heard the disappointment in her voice as the words left her mouth.

Emily checked her postbox while he brushed past with a bow of his head before disappearing up the stairs. She was sure he wasn’t a resident. Probably Justine’s latest. Emily hoped Justine would see Andreas when he arrived. Let her be the jealous one for once.
 

The knock came as Emily was putting the last of her purchases in the refrigerator. Again her mind leapt to an early arrival. She reached for her cell to check the time only to be greeted by a black screen. The clock on the microwave showed 1:48. Andreas wasn’t due to pick her up for another four hours. She slipped off her soggy sandals and crept to the peephole.
 

The man on the other side of the door doffed a chauffeur’s cap with a white-gloved hand as she darkened the lens.
 

What in the world? Was her father up to something
,
or more likely, his slippery campaign manager?

She opened the door. “Yes?”

“Hello, Emily. I’m Michael. Andreas sent me.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and Michael continued before she decided.

“I’m afraid he won’t be able to make it this evening.”

Chapter 3

EMILY FELT HER eyes start to tear as her heart sank. Not again. Not Andreas too. Every time she got her hopes up, they were dashed. Every time. Andreas had seemed so different, but Jen had been right. Well, at least it was a classy letdown. She didn’t know he was wealthy — on top of everything else. More salt for her wound. “Thanks for letting me know.”
 

The chauffeur didn’t move.

Was she supposed to tip this guy?

“Andreas was hoping you could join him instead.”

“What?”

“He’s stuck out of town. He’d love you to join him. He’s really been looking forward to meeting you. Honestly, I’ve never seen him so smitten.”

Emily felt her chest reinflate as a smile lifted her cheeks to the sky. “Where is he?”

“About three hours from here. We’ll need to leave right away. The limo is out front.”

The limo is out front
.
How many times had that phrase passed through her fanciful mind as a schoolgirl imagining her Prince Charming? What was this guy’s name? Had he said Michael?
Feeling disoriented but brushing aside her own queries for now, she said, “I’m nowhere near ready. Look at me.”

“You look lovely, and besides, you’ll have plenty of time to get yourself together on the plane.”

“The plane?”

“Just grab your passport. Andreas has arranged for everything else.”

“What does that mean?” She spoke without thinking, and immediately feared that she’d sounded rude.
 

In response, Michael just smiled.

She began to wonder if the bicycle messenger had hit her head as well as her hand. Perhaps she was in a coma, dreaming all of this. If she was, she hoped she’d make it to the happy ending before waking.
If she wasn’t, would she be crazy to consider this extraordinary proposition?
She knew what Jen would say. Jen would bring up all kinds of horror stories about murders and kidnappings. Emily didn’t want to hear it, but figured she should at least let Jen know what was happening. She’d make it a quick call.

Reaching for her phone, she again remembered the lake. She didn’t have a phone, or even a number without access to her electronic address book.

As she was contemplating this twist to her unbelievable predicament, Michael raised his left hand, presenting a small pizza box made of black leather. He held it there for a second to let her suspense build, then he pulled back the lid to reveal a necklace that glowed like a spring morning. A magnificent golden sun pendant on a platinum rope. The ends of the rope fed through a large platinum moon clasp, and wrapped around a matching pair of earrings — a golden sun, and a platinum moon. “Andreas said you’d know the significance.”

She did. It was her favorite line of poetry, a line he’d referenced in one of their early emails. Tears started streaming down her cheeks as she recited the line. “Tell me the story about how the Sun loved the Moon so much he died every night to let her breathe.”

She reached out with both hands to lift the necklace from the box, fearing that she was about to pop the illusion. It was heavier than she’d expected, and by far the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever touched. Clearly a different caliber from anything else in her modest box. She wasn’t even certain how to work the fancy clasp.

“May I assist you?” Michael asked, holding out his free hand.

“Why don’t you come in,” Emily said, backing into her woefully humble flat. Michael followed and she turned her back to him, lifting her chestnut ponytail while watching him in the wall mirror beside the door.

“The special clasp makes the length fully adjustable. I think that’s about right. What do you think?”

Emily swapped out her simple gold earrings for the celestial bodies, and dropped her arms to admire the complete package. “I think it’s perfect. I don’t know what to say. I really need to change before we go. Although I’m not sure I have anything that will do them justice.”

“That’s all been taken care of.”

Overwhelmed by the situation, she again spoke without thinking. “How is that possible? Andreas and I talked about a lot of things, but my dress size wasn’t one of them.”