The Apartment (24 page)

She called the lieutenant with a shaking hand and waited with bated breath for what he had to tell her. As always, he was blunt.

“We got him. Apparently Jean-Pierre cheated someone in an arms deal, and shaved off a bigger commission than they'd agreed on, and delivered second-rate goods. Payback time. They had him killed. Thanks to one of our informants, we got the guy who did it, and the French have the man who ordered it. They won't extradite him to us, but they'll try him in France. We have the killer here. He's in custody, and we're keeping him. I don't think they were ever after your sister. But we couldn't know. We had to play it safe, for both of you. We'll release her in the morning, and you can take off your contact lenses and grow your hair.” He laughed. More important, they were safe now. “I'll pull my guys off tonight, if you want.” Sasha had gotten used to them. There was a rotation of eight men who had been protecting her. They were nice to everyone in the apartment, helped wherever they could, and were friendly to the nurses at work.

“We're going to miss them,” Sasha said kindly, and he laughed.

“So will your sister. But that's a whole other story. She's a handful,” he commented, and Sasha wondered what she'd been up to. “A handful” was an understatement, as she knew too well. It was her bad behavior and dangerous choices that had gotten them into this mess and put their lives at risk for the past two months. Sasha thanked him and called Alex in neonatal ICU as soon as she hung up.

“They got the killer,” she said, exhaling audibly, and Alex closed his eyes. He had never been so stressed in his life, worrying about her. Even the undercover cops with her around the clock didn't completely reassure him.

“Thank God.”

Ten minutes later the two men on duty that night came to say goodbye to her. Lieutenant O'Rourke had already called them and relieved them of duty. Sasha thanked and hugged them both, and they left. The nightmare was over, as swiftly as it had begun. And she sent both her parents a text to tell them. After that, it was up to Valentina to contact them, to apologize for what she'd put them all through, but she probably wouldn't, if she knew her sister. Valentina never apologized for anything.

But if she got involved with someone unsavory again, Sasha was going to tell her that she couldn't see her anymore. She had made the decision in the past two months. She couldn't do that to herself, or Alex now. She had seen what a toll it took on him. He had said nothing to his parents, so as not to worry them, but that was hard on him too, since they were very close, and they would have been terrified for him and Sasha, and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. No one in their family had been involved with a nuclear arms dealer, or a hit in an assassination. Valentina had gone way over the line this time—she'd come close to it before, just not to this degree. In this instance, she had inadvertently put her twin at risk too, although Sasha was sure she had never considered the possibility of that when she got involved with Jean-Pierre and closed her eyes to what he was doing. His dangerous lifestyle was written all over him. But Valentina liked all the luxury that went with it. And Sasha found it interesting that the two fabulously rich, lavishly generous men they'd come into contact with recently, Jean-Pierre and George, were high-level criminals. Sasha was grateful and happy with Alex on a much more human scale. If Valentina wanted a decent life, she'd have to find someone like him, which Sasha knew she'd find boring.

Valentina had developed dangerous tastes and habits and connections with her modeling career. Not everyone used it that way, but Valentina did. It was a high price to pay for expensive thrills. And Jean-Pierre's fleet of bodyguards and armed thugs should have warned her about what he was.

She and Alex went home from the hospital together that night and talked about it. They were both sobered by the experience, and relieved that the drama was over.

When Valentina called her in the morning, tears sprang to Sasha's eyes when she heard her. In spite of the trouble she had caused, for everyone, and for Sasha specifically, they were still twins, with an unseverable bond between them.

“I missed you so much,” Sasha breathed into the phone, as tears rolled down her cheeks. “We were all so worried about you.”

“So was I,” Valentina said flippantly. “Shit, they sent me to a monastery in Arizona. Not even a dude ranch with cute boys, except for the cops they sent with me. A monastery with priests and nuns. I had to wear a habit, and work in the vegetable garden. Some days I was sorry the guy didn't shoot me.” As expected, she didn't say a word about Sasha, and the trouble she'd caused her.

“I'd love to see you in a nun's habit.” Sasha laughed at her and wiped the tears off her face.

“Don't count on it. Besides, I have to give it back when I leave. They think it's magic or something.”

“They probably don't want you turning it into a miniskirt, and wearing it with no underwear and high heels.” Her twin was capable of it, as they both knew.

“I wish I'd thought of that. I've been wearing sandals that give me calluses and blisters. My feet are a mess.” It was all she could say after two months of hiding from a killer. But she sounded in good spirits, and was thrilled to be coming back to New York. “They're flying me back today,” she said nonchalantly, as though she were coming back from a magazine shoot for
Vogue.

“I can't wait to see you,” Sasha said with feeling. “It was hard not being able to call you.”

“I know. It was for me too,” Valentina admitted. “Are you working today?”

“Not till tonight.” They talked for a few more minutes and hung up.

Claire and her mother were going over spreadsheets later that afternoon, sitting on the couch. Abby was packing in her room, which she had been doing for weeks, when she wasn't writing. Charlie was lying in a patch of sunlight near the window, and Morgan had just come in with groceries, when the doorbell rang, and Sasha opened it, and Valentina was standing there in all her glory, in a short black leather skirt, a red sweater, and thigh-high boots with stiletto heels. The two sisters flew into each other's arms in a crushing embrace, and then Valentina let out a scream, as she looked at her twin.

“What happened to your hair?” It was still short and dark brown.

“You did. They had to change my looks,” Sasha said. It was the first day she hadn't worn the blue contact lenses in two months, and she'd thrown them away.

“That
is
a sacrifice. Alex must hate me. You look like shit with dark hair.” She grinned.

“Thanks.” She noticed that there was a man standing behind her sister then, looking awkward. He was a strong, handsome guy with huge shoulders, and a young face. He was wearing a white T-shirt, jeans, and scuffed cowboy boots, and a windbreaker with an NYPD patch on it, and a suspicious bulge under it, which Sasha recognized now as a shoulder holster, and had hoped never to see again. “Do you still need protection?” she asked her in an undertone. Lieutenant O'Rourke had said it was all over, but Valentina clearly had a cop with her, still.

“A girl always needs protection,” Valentina said as she smiled coyly over her shoulder. “This is Bert. He was on the detail in Arizona, dressed as a priest. We looked pretty cute together, as a priest and a nun.” She laughed, and he smiled at her adoringly, and then nodded at Sasha. He looked about six or seven years younger than her sister. And it was suddenly obvious what he was doing there. She had brought him home as the spoils of war. As Sasha looked at him, she remembered the lieutenant's cryptic comment about her sister, that she was a handful. Now she could see why he'd said it. She was involved with one of the cops. Sasha was sure they'd appreciated it at the monastery. Valentina was incurable. There was always a guy, preferably with a gun. But at least this one was on the right side of the law. Sasha wondered what she would do with him now that she was back in her own world. The fast lane would provide its lures very soon, with all the flashy people she knew. Her young cop in the T-shirt would last about five minutes in her world. Sasha invited him to come in and sit down, and he hesitated and then went to pet the dog. Men seemed to love Charlie—every male in the room always gravitated to him.

Abby came out of her room and saw them then, and gave Valentina a hug. And Claire and her mother had done the same. It was always odd seeing her—it was like seeing Sasha, and yet totally different, but you expected them to be the same person. And they were anything but that.

“Welcome back,” Abby said warmly, trying not to stare at Bert and wondering who he was. He was actually older than he looked but not by much.

“Do you want me to leave you alone with the girls?” he asked Valentina politely, as they exchanged an intimate look that told the whole story of the past two months and what she had done at the monastery for entertainment. She had switched partners, but not her game.

“Sure,” Valentina said easily. “Do you want to come back in half an hour?”

He looked easygoing about it and followed her lead. “Can I take the dog for a walk?” he asked with a grin.

“He'd love it,” Abby answered as the dog sat up and gave Bert his paw, who shook it solemnly.

“I worked with a German shepherd for a while,” he said seriously, “in narcotics. He was great, but he got shot, and they had to put him down.”

“Lucky we didn't do that to you,” Sasha said to her twin pointedly as Abby handed Bert the leash, and he and Charlie left. Sasha turned to her twin with a stern expression. “What in hell are you doing? How old is he?”

“Twenty-nine. He just looks like a kid. He's an adult. Very much so.” She gave her sister a lascivious look, and Sasha groaned.

“What are you going to do with him now? The poor guy will get eaten alive in your world.”

“I've changed,” Valentina said demurely. “I don't want to mess around with bad guys anymore. And how much better does it get than a cop? He's one of the good guys, playing on the right team. And I feel safe with him.” Sasha was sorry to hear it, although he was admittedly an improvement over Jean-Pierre, who was as bad as she could have found.

“What about a doctor or a lawyer?”

“Yeah, or that nice guy Morgan worked for, who's going to prison for the next hundred years. Not all the bad ones are so obvious,” she told her less-worldly sister. Sasha had led a protected life, by choice. And initially, Valentina had too. She'd gotten lost somewhere along the way, when money and fame and the fast track hit her too soon. “I like Bert. He makes me happy, he's a sweet person. He takes care of me. He's not complicated. He doesn't care who I've been with or why. He lives for today.”

“Do you really want to be with a cop? Is he quitting the force for you?” Sasha hoped not, because Valentina would dump him in a hot minute when someone more exciting came along. She was sure her twin was going to break his heart, and possibly destroy his career, and she wouldn't care a whit about it. She did whatever suited her, in the moment, with total disregard for the damage she caused. Sasha loved her sister, but she knew how selfish she was. She was a narcissist through and through.

“I don't care what he does for a living. He's nice to me,” she said simply.

“And he's poor,” Sasha reminded her. “You don't like poor men.” That was part of the problem too. She sold out for money every time, and most of the men whom she met with that kind of money were questionable or dangerous. At least he wasn't.

“I have enough for both of us,” Valentina said casually, and then sat down near Claire and her mother. Abby had gone back to her room to continue packing. “What's everyone been up to?”

“We're starting a shoe business,” Claire told her. “My mom came to help me, and she's living here now. And Abby is moving to L.A., to work on a movie for a year.”

“That's a big change.” Valentina looked surprised. The cast of characters at the loft had been stable for years. It was shocking to think of one of them leaving, and then she realized her sister would too when she got married. “How's the wedding coming?” she inquired.

“It's in June. In New York. You're the maid of honor,” Sasha informed her. “The girls are my bridesmaids. June fourteenth. You'd better be there,” Sasha said seriously.

“Can I bring Bert?” Valentina asked innocently.

“If he's still around by then,” which she doubted. It was three and a half months away, a long time for her twin to be with the same guy.

“We'll see,” Valentina said vaguely. Bert came back with the dog then, and kissed her lightly when he walked in.

“Great dog! We should get one like that,” he told Valentina, and she nodded. She looked like she was ready to do anything for him. Sasha remembered that Patty Hearst had married one of her police bodyguards, so people did sometimes, and got attached to the men who protected them. Maybe it worked. Valentina kissed her and then left with Bert to go to her apartment, in Tribeca. Jean-Pierre had been murdered at his place, not hers, so her apartment was pristine. Bert had brought some things over that afternoon, and she had invited him to move in. The detail was over, but their life together was just beginning. Sasha was still shaking her head when they left, and Claire grinned at her knowingly.

“At least he's gainfully employed and won't go to prison,” she commented. It was more than she could say about the man she'd been in love with, who was out on bail, still leading the high life, according to Page Six. He was getting money from somewhere. She went back to work on the spreadsheets then, and Sasha helped Morgan put the groceries away, thinking about Valentina and Bert. It was nice to have her back.

When Abby left at the beginning of March, it was heart-wrenching. They all felt as though they were losing a leg, or an arm, or some essential part of them. Abby was an integral part of their self-made family, and had been there for nine years with Claire. They all cried and were depressed for days afterward. Abby was staying with her parents in L.A. but was planning to get her own apartment. She said she'd move back in a year, but no one believed her. She would get entwined in the life of Hollywood, particularly if Josh's indie film was a success, which sounded likely.