The Angel
Page 66
Suzanne wanted to flinch, to hide, to turn away, to run…but something held her there, something kept her from running. Yes, he intimidated the hell out of her. But beyond that stone wall that was Father Stearns, she caught a glimpse of something else, someone else that lived behind that pristine collar. She had to see him, had to know him.
“Tell me more about Eleanor,” she said, somehow intuiting that to know her would be to know him. “Nothing secret. Nothing personal. Just about her. What’s she like?”
“What is Eleanor like?” He nearly laughed the question. “You might as well ask me what God is like. She’s not God, but she’s nearly as difficult to explain. It could take all night.”
Suzanne sat back in the chair and studied him…his aquiline nose, his strong masculine jaw, those strangely sculpted lips. Her eyes moved to his hands. A pianist’s hands, graceful, agile, precise. What would they feel like on her…in her? She did want to see him weak. She wanted to see him any way she could.
“I have all night.”
* * *
Outside of Sin Tax, Nora grabbed a cab and gave the driver an address in Manhattan.
“You sure about that?” the driver asked. “That’s no—”
“Just go,” Nora ordered and the driver promptly shut up. In a few minutes they pulled up to a black-and-white three-story town house. Nora threw money into the front of the cab and got out without a word. She raced up the front steps and through the doors. At once four rottweilers charged at her. “Shh…down, kids.”
All four dogs whimpered and sat on their hind legs at her words. Usually she took the time to play with the dogs, who had a fearsome reputation but a deep love of affection. Nora headed up to the third floor and down the hallway. At the end of the hall she opened the door to Kingsley’s private office.
Files…she needed files. Nora scanned the office. So many filing cabinets. She hardly knew where to begin.
She opened the top drawer of the first cabinet and found rows of files neatly labeled with names—last name, comma, first name and a number. In the third cabinet in the second drawer from the bottom, she found Railey, Wesley (John), 1312. Nora flipped the folder open.
“God f**king dammit.” She closed the folder, slammed the drawer and leaned against the heavy ebony wood of the cabinet. She’d forgotten Kingsley encoded all his files. No, she corrected, Kingsley and Juliette encoded his files. And Juliette, Kingsley’s beautiful Haitian secretary, loved doing anything she could to piss her boss off. That would certainly include helping Nora decode one of the files. Flipping open the file again, Nora counted the pages—four. Surely Juliette could…
“Chérie? What are you doing here?”
Nora didn’t even glance up.
“It’s midnight, King. Isn’t Juliette going to get cold without you on top of her?”
“She’ll survive a few moments without me. And you haven’t answered my question.”
“Needed some light reading.” She flipped again through the file, hoping to make some sense of it. “How did you know I was here?”
“I alarmed the office.”
Nora looked up sharply at Kingsley. Alarm? Kingsley never even locked the doors at the town house, much less alarmed it. He loved flaunting his sense of security. All of New York, at least the criminal element, knew better than to cross Kingsley Edge.
“Whoever stole my file…you’re scared of him, aren’t you?” Nora asked.
“Oui. And that means you should be scared too. That means you shouldn’t be in town without your master’s permission.”
Kingsley stood directly in front of Nora. Over the top of the file she saw Kingsley’s bare chest—olive-skinned, handsomely muscled and riddled with old wounds, inside and out. Kingsley took the file from her hands, and Nora reluctantly met his eyes.
“Why are you here?” Kingsley asked, his voice soft but not unthreatening.
Nora said nothing at first.
“Answer me,” Kingsley said. Nora glared at him. She took orders from Søren these days and no one else. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be upstate with Griffin. Not in my office in the middle of the night.”
Nora said nothing. Kingsley, wearing nothing but dark gray trousers and an unbuttoned white shirt, glanced down at the label.
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “I see. Your pet…you miss him.”
“Wesley was my best friend and my roommate and my intern. Not my pet. And tonight we saw a pony show and I started talking about horses and Wesley and Kentucky and Griffin—”
“And Griffin knows. And now you do too.”
“Tell me who my intern is,” Nora demanded. “Griffin showed me a picture of him. He was at the Kentucky Derby talking to Prince Harry. The Prince Harry. And the caption on the photo said—”
“‘The Prince of Kentucky compares racing forms with a Prince of England,’” Kingsley finished for her as he flipped open the file to the last page and showed her that very photograph. “I’m quite familiar with it.”
“Goddammit. You knew. You knew who he was and you didn’t tell me. How could you do that?”
“He never told you. It was his choice. It was not my place to tell.”
“It is now. Tell me who my intern is.”
Kingsley walked to the desk and sat at the edge.
“First, tell me why you want to know. You sent him away. He’s gone.”
“Tell me more about Eleanor,” she said, somehow intuiting that to know her would be to know him. “Nothing secret. Nothing personal. Just about her. What’s she like?”
“What is Eleanor like?” He nearly laughed the question. “You might as well ask me what God is like. She’s not God, but she’s nearly as difficult to explain. It could take all night.”
Suzanne sat back in the chair and studied him…his aquiline nose, his strong masculine jaw, those strangely sculpted lips. Her eyes moved to his hands. A pianist’s hands, graceful, agile, precise. What would they feel like on her…in her? She did want to see him weak. She wanted to see him any way she could.
“I have all night.”
* * *
Outside of Sin Tax, Nora grabbed a cab and gave the driver an address in Manhattan.
“You sure about that?” the driver asked. “That’s no—”
“Just go,” Nora ordered and the driver promptly shut up. In a few minutes they pulled up to a black-and-white three-story town house. Nora threw money into the front of the cab and got out without a word. She raced up the front steps and through the doors. At once four rottweilers charged at her. “Shh…down, kids.”
All four dogs whimpered and sat on their hind legs at her words. Usually she took the time to play with the dogs, who had a fearsome reputation but a deep love of affection. Nora headed up to the third floor and down the hallway. At the end of the hall she opened the door to Kingsley’s private office.
Files…she needed files. Nora scanned the office. So many filing cabinets. She hardly knew where to begin.
She opened the top drawer of the first cabinet and found rows of files neatly labeled with names—last name, comma, first name and a number. In the third cabinet in the second drawer from the bottom, she found Railey, Wesley (John), 1312. Nora flipped the folder open.
“God f**king dammit.” She closed the folder, slammed the drawer and leaned against the heavy ebony wood of the cabinet. She’d forgotten Kingsley encoded all his files. No, she corrected, Kingsley and Juliette encoded his files. And Juliette, Kingsley’s beautiful Haitian secretary, loved doing anything she could to piss her boss off. That would certainly include helping Nora decode one of the files. Flipping open the file again, Nora counted the pages—four. Surely Juliette could…
“Chérie? What are you doing here?”
Nora didn’t even glance up.
“It’s midnight, King. Isn’t Juliette going to get cold without you on top of her?”
“She’ll survive a few moments without me. And you haven’t answered my question.”
“Needed some light reading.” She flipped again through the file, hoping to make some sense of it. “How did you know I was here?”
“I alarmed the office.”
Nora looked up sharply at Kingsley. Alarm? Kingsley never even locked the doors at the town house, much less alarmed it. He loved flaunting his sense of security. All of New York, at least the criminal element, knew better than to cross Kingsley Edge.
“Whoever stole my file…you’re scared of him, aren’t you?” Nora asked.
“Oui. And that means you should be scared too. That means you shouldn’t be in town without your master’s permission.”
Kingsley stood directly in front of Nora. Over the top of the file she saw Kingsley’s bare chest—olive-skinned, handsomely muscled and riddled with old wounds, inside and out. Kingsley took the file from her hands, and Nora reluctantly met his eyes.
“Why are you here?” Kingsley asked, his voice soft but not unthreatening.
Nora said nothing at first.
“Answer me,” Kingsley said. Nora glared at him. She took orders from Søren these days and no one else. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be upstate with Griffin. Not in my office in the middle of the night.”
Nora said nothing. Kingsley, wearing nothing but dark gray trousers and an unbuttoned white shirt, glanced down at the label.
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “I see. Your pet…you miss him.”
“Wesley was my best friend and my roommate and my intern. Not my pet. And tonight we saw a pony show and I started talking about horses and Wesley and Kentucky and Griffin—”
“And Griffin knows. And now you do too.”
“Tell me who my intern is,” Nora demanded. “Griffin showed me a picture of him. He was at the Kentucky Derby talking to Prince Harry. The Prince Harry. And the caption on the photo said—”
“‘The Prince of Kentucky compares racing forms with a Prince of England,’” Kingsley finished for her as he flipped open the file to the last page and showed her that very photograph. “I’m quite familiar with it.”
“Goddammit. You knew. You knew who he was and you didn’t tell me. How could you do that?”
“He never told you. It was his choice. It was not my place to tell.”
“It is now. Tell me who my intern is.”
Kingsley walked to the desk and sat at the edge.
“First, tell me why you want to know. You sent him away. He’s gone.”
