Fifth Ave 01 - Fifth Avenue (54 page)

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It was in the cab that Michael proposed.

After she told him about the gun, the note and the contact Eric Parker put on her, he surprised her by removing two airline tickets from his inside jacket pocket.
 
“You know I love you,” he said.
 
“You’re too smart not to know it.
 
Marry me.
 
We’ll fly to Europe.
 
You’ll be safe there.
 
You’ll be safe with me.
 
We’ll get away from this and we’ll be happy.
 
I promise.”

 
It was all so easy.

Leana was so frightened by what was happening in her life, so confused and worried about her future, she realized that she wanted to leave New York, that she didn’t want to return until Eric Parker--and his contract--had been dealt with.
 
She would be too scared living there otherwise.

Without giving it another thought, she took the small Tiffany box he gave her, opened it and found inside one of the largest solitaire diamonds she’d ever seen.
 
“Of course, I’ll marry you.”

It was morning when they arrived in Nice.
 
Rested from the trip over, they rented a car, drove the short distance to Monte Carlo and checked into their hotel suite only long enough to take a shower.
 
It was then, while Michael undressed, that Leana noticed the dark bruises on his back, stomach and shoulders.
 
Alarmed, she asked him what happened.

“I was mugged,” he said simply.

“Mugged?
 
When?”

He put a finger to her lips.
 
“It happened yesterday morning.
 
Three guys jumped me on Avenue B.”
 
He shrugged.
 
“They didn’t get much money and I’m still alive.
 
That’s what matters.”

“What were you doing on Avenue B?”

“Research for a book.”

“You’re taking this awfully calmly.”

“Don’t forget I’m an actor.”

She put her arms lightly around him.

“Did you go to the police?”

“What good would that have done?”

He was right, of course.
 
Leana recalled her own experience when the man harassed her in Washington Square.
 
She felt the same as Michael.
 
The police could do little in situations such as this.
 
There were too many people in the city and not enough officers to make a difference.
 
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” she asked.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You should have,” she said.
 
“Are you all right?”

“In a few hours we’ll be married,” he said.
 
“I’ve never felt better.”

“You'd better not be acting now,” she said.

At Cartier, they bought their wedding rings--two simple bands of platinum.
 
At a men’s clothing store, Michael found a charcoal-gray suit and black loafers.
 
And at a small boutique, Leana bought a simple yet elegant white silk dress.
 
Although it was not the wedding dress of her childhood dreams, she accepted this because she knew now that dreams rarely came true.
 
And so what if they didn’t?
 
Too many things had gone wrong in her life.
 
She felt lucky to have found a man who wanted to spend his life with her.

When they had everything they needed, they went to the crowded port, chartered a yacht and were wed by the yacht’s captain in international waters at sea.
 
Now, as dark clouds moved in from the west, eclipsing the setting sun, Leana left the balcony and stepped into the bedroom, her hair stirring in the rising breeze.

She closed the French doors.
 
Michael was still asleep.
 
Despite the diminishing light, she could see the bruises on his back and thought how painful they looked.
 
She wondered how he could move, let alone sleep.
 
But as she stood there looking at him, she realized just how tired she was.
 
For the first time since their arrival, she felt as though she could actually sleep.

She checked her watch and decided to lie down for a half hour before calling the front desk and making dinner reservations.
 
She removed her black silk kimono and snuggled into bed beside Michael.
 
His body was warm, his breathing heavy.
 
She closed her eyes and began to drift.

*
 
*
 
*

She was awakened hours later by the sound of rain beating against glass.

Leana stretched in the dark and checked the digital clock on the bedside table.
 
Three hours had passed.
 
She closed her eyes with a groan.
 
“I can’t believe I slept this late,” she said aloud.
 
She turned to wake Michael, but his side of the bed was empty.
 
She sat up, looked around the dark room and saw a flag of light coming from beneath the closed bathroom door.
 
She heard running water.
 
He was in the shower.
 
She was tempted to settle back onto the warm sheets and go back to sleep, but they hadn’t eaten since morning and she was hungry.

She turned on the lamp beside her and looked through the windows.
 
Rain was whipping against the glass.
 
There was no going out in this weather.
 
Although the hotel had a restaurant she loved, she didn’t feel like putting it together and leaving their suite.
 
Room service it is
, she thought, and reached for the phone.

As she lifted the receiver to her ear, she didn’t hear a dial tone, but a male voice saying: “...paid Santiago half this morning.
 
He’ll get the rest of the money you owe him when you finish the job and kill her father--”

The voice abruptly stopped.
 
Leana sat there, puzzled--she knew that voice.
 
She strained to hear something more, but only the hum of static was left on the line.

“Michael?” she said.
 
“Are you on the phone?”

There was silence, then the sound of someone taking a breath.
 
Leana replaced the receiver.
 
She sat motionless and felt uneasy.
 
The voice she heard wasn’t Michael’s, yet she was almost certain she had heard it before.
 
But where?

She quickly picked up the phone and held it to her ear.
 
Now, there was nothing but a deep dial tone.
 
Whoever was on the line had hung up.

Her kimono was at the foot of the bed.
 
Leana put it on and went to the bathroom door.
 
She listened.
 
She could hear Michael humming, could sense the moist heat in the room beyond.
 
She tried the doorknob, turned it and found it unlocked.

She was surprised by this.
 
For some reason, she was expecting to find the door locked.

She opened the door.
 
Steam poured out of the bathroom and curled around her feet.
 
Leana stepped quietly into the room and looked at the phone that was on the wall beside the shower.
 
She checked it and found that it was dry.
 
She looked at the shower.
 
She could see Michael beyond the frosted glass doors, could see him rubbing a washcloth over his muscular frame.
 
His back was to her and he continued to hum, seemingly unaware of her presence.

Leana was about to tap on the glass and ask him what was going on when the phone suddenly rang.
 
She drew a sharp breath.
 
Michael stopped humming and turned off the water.
 
She watched him open the shower door and leisurely fumble for a towel on the rack outside.

There were none.
 
They had used both towels earlier that morning and they were now lying across the room in a wet heap.
 
The phone rang again.
 
Michael said, “Shit!,” and started to push open the glass separation.
 

“Do you want me to answer it?” she said.

“Jesus!” His hand jerked back and struck the shower door. “Leana?
 
What are you doing in here?
 
I thought you were asleep.
 
Christ, you scared me.”

The phone entered its third ring, began its fourth. The sound echoed in the large bathroom. “Can you get that?” he asked.

She was confused.
 
She was certain he was going to insist on answering it himself.
 
Had the lines somehow gotten crossed in the storm and she heard someone else’s conversation?
 
She couldn’t be sure, but she knew she’d heard that voice before.

The phone rang again.
 
Michael said tentatively, “Honey...?”

Leana reached for the phone, not sure what to expect.
 
The press had tracked them down earlier, but the front desk had been given specific instructions to screen all calls.
 
Mr. and Mrs. Archer did not wish to be disturbed by any member of the press.

Then who is calling? Nobody knows we’re here.

She answered the phone.
 
A man’s voice.
 
“Leana?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Harold.
 
Thank God, I found you.”

“Harold?”
 
She looked at Michael.
 
“Is something wrong?”

“You need to come home immediately.
  
Something terrible has happened.
 
Your parents need you.”

“Since when?”

Harold paused.
 
“It’s your sister, Leana.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

He entered her apartment not as guest, but as intruder.
 
It was an odd feeling and one he wasn’t comfortable with.
 
The woman, after all, was in love with him.

With the help of one of his crutches, Eric eased the door shut behind him and listened.
 
He was standing in the foyer of Diana’s apartment and he could hear a television playing in the distance.
 
It sounded as if it was coming from the kitchen.
 
Or from one of the rooms upstairs.

Was she home?
 
She said she would be out most of the day.
 
If you’re going to stay here, I’m going to have to buy food?
 
What do you want?

He made a list and she left.
 
It was then that he phoned Louis Ryan and left for their appointment.

He moved out of the foyer and into the living room, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror she had taped a list of his faults to.
 
He looked tense beneath the purplish bruises on his face, and if she was here, he knew she would notice and ask him what was wrong.