AMANDA and Marc stared at the door.
What if Trask had seen them on TV? Surely he must have with the coverage they’d gotten on every local station. Amanda thought Marc had looked particularly fetching on the amateur video with the blurry pixels scurrying to keep his naked body acceptable for family viewing.
Christine had been smart enough to keep moving. Every shot of her was fuzzy or her face obscured by her swinging arms trying to punch the cameraman.
Amanda looked incredibly shrewish. Cissy had put the picture from the front page ofThe News on the fridge. If the sight of her fury could displace a shot of a handsome, well-built, naked man in full attack mode, she knew she didn’t look like herself. And that was what she and Marc had counted on: that when he arrived at the hotel room, Trask wouldn’t instantly recognize her.
“Antonio” had been unceremoniously un-wigged in the middle of 72nd Street, though today he hardly resembled the blue-eyed, horn-rimmed private investigator. However, Trask might have made the connection.
Hopefully, the stock manipulator had continued to think Amanda and the European art buyer were two separate people. The television coverage of the shootings had been totally confusing and the New York papers’ account of the incident just as obscure, even forThe Times. If Trask had believed the proprietor of Pinks that the European Art-Buyer and her male accomplice had somehow obtained the final Michelangelo drawing, he might come to the Plaza hoping to make a buy or a deal.
If he believed the couple were Marc and Amanda he might come in with a much deadlier purpose.
It had only made sense to Amanda that she be the one to serve as the bait.
Marc had raged and refused, but she had calmly convinced him that nothing so far had indicated the big bruiser was a killer. He had roughed up Marc but had left him more or less in one piece when he had gotten what information he could. He had not pulled the trigger himself that downed Nathan and had probably “only” spewed terrifying threats into Professor Angeli’s ear that had shoved the unhinged artist over the edge and prompted his self-destruction.
Amanda swallowed and took a breath to calm her thundering heart. There was another, more urgent knock on the door. She assumed her pose and glanced over at Marc who, looking grim and determined, nodded he was ready.
If anything happens to this woman…How could I have let her convince me to allow her to be in this position? We only have a moment to react. What if we’ve miscalculated? Who knows for sure what’s coming through that door?
She’s smart. She’s clever. Cracker-jack mind. Whip sharp reactions. She’d make a terrific addition to the team. This time, she’s right and she knows it. And she wouldn’t let me screw it up by acting like a macho, ego-pumping male. If anything happens to her…
Amanda tossed her head- the damn slouch hat shifted and she grabbed it and resettled it- and assumed her accent. “Come in.”
Trask cautiously opened the door. Across the room he saw an attractive woman in a very short skirt and a slouch hat lounging seductively by a large window overlooking the early evening spring haze of Central Park.
Amanda spread her hands effusively. “Ah. It is he. Welcome, Mr… Trask.” She pronounced the name with loving viciousness as the large man stepped inside.
Marc released the heavy metal weight he had borrowed from the gym and had rigged above the door. It hit Trask squarely on the head. The large man dropped satisfyingly, like a stone.
As the professor had done.
WHEN THEY left the police station, Marc reminded Amanda the room at the Plaza was still theirs for another twelve hours.
“You really are loathsome.” Amanda was in no mood to play footsie.
I’ve had all the realizing that he’s going to be gone within days, if not hours, I can take. It just hurts too much to be reminded how much I’m going to miss him.- Yeah, well look in those eyes; nothing wrong with a little farewell loving.- My God, my own mind is as loathsome as his!
“Okay, no problem about the room. What about a carriage ride?”
“Now that’s just perfect. Why not wreck that memory, too? You betcha, big buddy, let’s go. And you can regale me with tales of how great it is being a hot-shot private eye in Raymond Chandler territory and I’ll do my Ayn Rand impersonation about how effectively I’m clawing my way to the top.”
God, she’s gorgeous when she’s angry. Feisty. Stubborn. Her eyes like erupting volcanoes. Man, they’re sure melting me.
“The white one wasn’t even available,” Amanda grumbled, snuggling under his arm and pulling the blanket tight under her chin.
“Yeah, I hope the horse knows what the hell he’s doing, because I think the old guy holding the reins is already asleep.”
“He’s probably just resting his eyes. You always think the worst.”
“And you always think the best. You’re gonna make some kid…”
“Marc.” She stopped him and became all business. “There’s a lot going to be going on in the next few days with the arraignment, the funeral and…” She took a very deep breath and pressed herself even closer to him. Maybe she could melt into him. Become one. He would have to take her with him. Career be damned.
“Yeah?”
“And I’d like to say…” She paused, unable to go on for a moment. “Knowing you has been…”
A moment of ineffable loss flickered in his eyes, before it was quickly replaced with, “Yeah? Yeah? Wait, wait! Could you speak into the microphone?”
She sat up and punched him in his rock-of-Gibraltar chest. “You are such a clod. I’m not about to say all the nice things I had planned to say. You’ll just have to come back someday and beg me. And by then I probably will have forgotten all about you.”
She turned away haughtily, arms crossed, and leaned back against him contemplating the passing trees lit by the street lights, even more lush with fresh new leaves.
A rain would have been nice.
“Amanda, will you marry me?”
Uh, oh. She had flipped out.
“I know it’s asking a lot. I mean, I’ll really miss the coast but there’s got to be surf off the Jersey shore, right? And I’ll probably gripe about it a lot, how great LA is and how unlivable Manhattan is. Maybe we could get a little place upstate in the country or something, whatd’ya think, for the kid’s sake, except I’m not sure how having a private eye for a dad is going to set with the P.T.A. Do they still have P.T.A.s?
“And with you climbing the corporate ladder we’ll probably have to have a couple of kids so they can look after each other, right? Like you and your brothers and me and my brother. I mean, all in all we didn’t turn out too bad, all things considered. Our kids will have a mom and dad who’ll love ‘em like crazy, even if she’s Ms. CEO and he’s Mr. Head-of-his-own-Outstanding-Investigation-Firm who is willing to go all the way for his clients.”
He wiped her tears and they kept flowing, happily, joyously, unbelievingly. It probably would never work, they were so different.
I mean, he loves that God-awful herb tea stuff and I can’t start the day without…
Her mouth hit his like a freight train. To drink him deep. To pour herself into him. Forever.
He pried his grinning, self-satisfied, handsome, magical mug away. “Does this mean you’ll think about it?”
She jumped on him.
The driver of the hansom cab woke with a start. “Hey, what are you two doing down there? You’re gonna scare the horse!”
He chuckled and drove the bouncing carriage on into the sparkling night.