Professor Silver paced the basement floor from wall to wall, puffing smoke that gathered thickly under the low ceiling. In his haste, he had rolled the joint with too much hashish. The glue parted, and he kept it together with the fingers of both hands like a flute.
“Chill out,” Al said. “Get her next time, promise!”
Silver wanted to stub the crumbling joint in the Jew’s eye. Or better yet, finish him off with the hunting knife, a quick slash across the throat. He drew deep and shot the smoke at Al’s face. “You send a snake to kill her? Who do you think you are? Harry Potter?”
Al snorted. “Made her piss in her panties, that’s for sure.”
“Enough! From this moment on, you’re not lifting a finger without my explicit permission! Understood?”
Al leaned back in the armchair, his short legs forward, his hands locked behind his head. “Suffered a minor setback. So what? Got to roll with the punches, lose a battle, win the war, you know?”
Silver threw the burning cigarette at Al. It bounced off his bald head and landed on his shoulder, smoldering.
“Shit!” He jumped, brushing it off. His hairy neck and bulging eyes contrasted with the childish hurt on his face. “You crazy?”
Coming from Al, the accusation almost made Silver laugh.
“Combating is like that! Win some, lose also, real life, not like your books.” Al touched the pin on his chest, which Silver allowed him to wear in the basement. “Action is my specialty. Not like you. A bucket of words. Professor.”
“Are you trying to insult your commanding officer?” Silver sat on the sofa, leaned back, and watched the smoke rise from his mouth to the ceiling. Rajid had ordered him to monitor Masada and Al, but that was a death sentence to his eyesight. That’s why Masada had to die. “What’s your plan?”
“Burn the bitch,” Al said, “with her house.”
The doorbell rang.
“Did I wake you up?” Masada walked in. She was wearing a gray jumpsuit, running shoes, and a baseball cap over hair collected in a bun.
Silver glanced at his watch. 6:05 a.m. “Old men rise with the sun.”
He led her to the kitchen, and she sat at the table. “Cute house.”
“I don’t need much.” The house was a rental, arranged by Rajid through a Canadian straw company. Silver poured coffee, placing a mug in front of her. She seemed tired. Surviving the rattlesnake attack must have kept her awake for the rest of the night, just as her survival had kept him and Al up. He sat across the table, facing Masada and the only door.
She took a sip. “This is good.”
“I make real coffee.” He chuckled loudly to hide the squeaks from the basement stairs.
She took another sip and licked her upper lip. Even in her current state, tired and anxious, Masada was still gorgeous. Pity she had to die.
Al appeared in the doorway behind her, the hunting knife in his hand. He raised it over her head. Unaware of his presence, Masada brought the mug to her lips for another sip. Silver glared at Al, shaking his head.
Al smiled, showing his yellow teeth, and grasped the long knife with both hands, ready to stab downward.
Putting down her coffee, Masada said, “I found a rattler in my bed last night.”
“A snake!” Silver assumed an expression of outrage and glanced up at Al to indicate that his anger was directed at him. Al shrugged, rolling his eyes.
“I never knew rattlesnakes grew so big,” she said.
“How did you kill it?” Silver had heard from Al that she had tossed the dead snake over the back fence.
She gave him a surprised look. “How did you know I killed it?”
Behind her, Al tilted forward, looking at Silver for a go-ahead.
“It was either you or the snake, and here you are.”
“I was lucky.” She sipped coffee.
“Oy vey! What a thing to experience!”
“The Israelis crossed the line. I’m going to expose-”
“But meidaleh, we’re in Arizona. I had a rattlesnake in my backyard one time.”
“Not in your bed.”
“But your bed was outside. The snake must have slipped under the covers.”
“Inside a spray-painted a pillowcase?”
“God in heaven!” Silver snatched the morning paper from the end of the table and put it in front of her. “Look at this,” he pointed vaguely at the front page. “The world’s gone mad.” He walked around the table. “I’ll be right back.” He closed the door, coughing to mask the noise, and pushed Al down the stairs to the basement.
Masada skimmed the front page of the Arizona Republic. A piece about Mahoney’s funeral regurgitated the high points of his life-fighting in Vietnam, Purple Heart for surviving three years in captivity and torture without betraying secrets, recovering from his injuries, running for the Senate as a straight-talk rancher, riding into Washington on his horse to clean things up, his tough foreign-policy legislative record, presidential run, and the tragic-yet-heroic end of his life, sparing the nation a scandalous trial. Tough to the bitter end!
Since watching the short video clip, Masada had wondered: Why would a shrewd politician take a bribe from an unknown Jewish organization? Why had he ignored the risk of a setup, especially after the recent lobbying scandals in Washington? Unfortunately, the clip had been filmed from an angle that only showed Mahoney, and without sound.
She pushed the paper aside. Silver’s kitchen was neat, especially for an elderly man living alone, but the air was smoky. When Silver reappeared, she shook a finger at him. “Naughty boy.”
He paled. “What do you mean?”
“I can tell Marlboro from hash.”
The professor laughed and pinched her cheek. “When you grow up, I’ll let you try.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Masada said, playing along. “Tell me, when that Judah’s Fist guy called you, what exactly did he say?”
The black-rimmed glasses slipped to the tip of his nose. Silver pushed them up. “He was traveling for a Jewish charity and needed a place to stay.”
“July eleventh, correct?”
“I think. Yes. The eleventh.” Silver seemed unsure. “He mentioned my friends in Toronto.”
“Which friends?”
“The Solomons. Bernie and Sally. No, Sarah. We attended services together at Temple Young Israel years ago. Lovely people. So I invited him to stay. Why not? How could I know this person was going to bribe a senator?”
“And he told you his name.”
“Fred Sheen. Came on a blue SuperShuttle van.”
“Bags?”
“We’ve been through all this,” Silver protested.
“Indulge me.”
He sighed, looking up, tilting his head. “A gym bag and a hard suitcase with wheels.”
“Any stickers on the suitcase? Airline tags?”
“I saw the red leaf inside a circle, and we spoke about Canada.”
“Describe him, physically. Tall, short, young, old?”
Silver sighed. “Is this necessary?”
“Do you want a snake in your bed?”
“That wouldn’t happen.” He chuckled. “Let’s see. He was tall and thin. Gray hair. Brown suit. In the morning, he borrowed my Cadillac for about two hours, took the black gym bag but returned without it. Then the SuperShuttle van came for him, and that’s it.”
“And you found the memory stick.”
“Between the seats. I was looking for my eyedrops.” Silver tugged at his goatee. “Should have thrown it in the trash, but I was curious, so I stuck it in my computer and the video popped up, the senator counting money out of that gym bag. They put me in an awful position-an accomplice to bribery!”
Masada pitied him, a retired history professor, ill-equipped to deal with the real world. “Found anything else in the car? Cigarettes? Papers?”
Silver shook his head.
“Let’s search your car again. Maybe you missed something.” Masada headed down the hallway to the garage.
“Wait!” Silver chased her. “It’s not the same car! The accident, remember?”
“Oh, I forgot.” To the right she saw a dining room, furnished in plain oak pieces. On the left was a small living room with red sofas, green drapes, and a black rug. There were no family photos. A poster of the Temple Mount hung on the wall. She opened the front door and felt the day’s heat, already rising. “Thanks for indulging my questions, Levy. I’ll check with SuperShuttle and Air Canada, just in case, but I’m sure he used a false identity.”
“The depravity humans are capable of!” He clicked his tongue and pecked her on the cheek. “Keep safe, meidaleh.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
Rabbi Josh Frank scraped the bowl of oatmeal and held up a heaped spoon, but Raul turned his head away. “My friend Adam said that only babies cry.” He had woken up crying, and was embarrassed about it.
“You cried because you’re brave enough to show your feelings.”
“That I feel sad about Shanty?”
“Exactly.” The rabbi put away the food and embraced his son, kissing him with loud, sucking noises until the little body was trembling with laughter and broke free.
“Want to play?” Raul ran to the living room, where a train set occupied most of the floor. “Come, Dad!”
At the Channel 6 office in downtown Phoenix, Tara was waiting in a conference room. Masada wasted no time. “I’d like to work together on the Mahoney affair. I’ll do print, you do TV. We’ll air simultaneously when we agree the story is solid.”
They shook hands.
Masada locked the door and pulled up her pant sleeve, exposing the brace. She fumbled with the tiny toggle under the brass knee cover. It was made of two pieces, molded to fit over her kneecap, with a small storage compartment in-between. She handed the memory stick to Tara.
In a windowless lab in the rear of the building, Tara introduced Masada to Priest, a wiry youth in black coveralls. His grin exposed a steel-capped front tooth. He spun around on his swivel stool and inserted the memory stick into the USB port on his computer.
Senator Mahoney appeared on the screen, facing the camera, his lips moving. He paused for a moment, listened, and shook his head, lips moving again. A black bag landed in his lap. Mahoney pulled out a thick bundle and browsed the bills. He dropped it back and put both hands on the bag in a gesture of ownership. He said something, listened, nodded, mouthed another short sentence, and extended his hand, shaking again. He laughed, made a mock salute, and got out of the car.
Tara whistled. “This is explosive.”
“My source is nervous as hell.” Masada turned to Priest. “I want to know everything you can glean from this clip-car model, time of day, what he had for breakfast, and so on.”
Priest hit a bunch of keys rapidly and handed her the stick. A second later, he was already dividing the screen into small windows, each with a frozen frame from the video.
Back in the conference room, Masada stashed the memory stick back in the brace. She gave Tara the date Fred Sheen had arrived on Air Canada and the approximate times he was on the SuperShuttle van.
Tara was writing furiously. “What’s the address in Scottsdale?”
“Can’t tell you. It’s my source’s home. Get me a record of all their Scottsdale drop-off and pick-up addresses that day. It’s a small chance, but there’s something amateurish about this Sheen character. Maybe he was stupid enough to use his real name.”
Elizabeth got in early and tried to work on court briefs, but her mind kept wandering to the new life growing inside her, a child, a wonderful fusion of David and her. It was a far cry from the four pregnancies that afflicted her youth, the products of a loveless imposition. She cringed, recalling the dread of each evening when her husband returned from his butcher shop with mocking laughter and grabbing hands, his heavy bulk smothering her against the hard floor, his bloody apron in her face, pain searing between her legs.
She brushed off the memories. David was the opposite, gentle from the start, taking his time, courting her so subtly that it had not occurred to her that this young lawyer, new to the department, harbored more than a yearning to learn the craft from a senior lawyer. With tentative gestures and sincere interest in her feelings, he had wooed her out of an emotional shell and gave her physical and emotional joy that ended her loneliness and snuffed out her distrust of men. And now, she was no longer barren!
She called David.
His secretary answered. “He’s gone to up to see the director before the senior staff meeting.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth hung up. Director Simpson was probably telling David he was the new chief counsel due to her promotion to deputy director. She smiled into the small mirror, freshening up her lipstick.
Her line rang.
“Good morning.” The professor’s voice was soothing. “How are you, Elzirah?
She swallowed her anger. There was no point in provoking him. “Unfortunately, I’m about to be assigned to a position outside the legal department and will no longer have the ability to assist you. I’m sorry.”
“I’m also sorry. Is this reassignment due to your Wednesday night trysts?”
She bit her lips. “If you really must know, I’ve been promoted.”
“Wonderful! Greater bureaucratic powers mean greater ability to assist me.”
Elizabeth realized he had tricked her. “It would only hurt your cause if I interfered. In any event, you must apply through the regular channels.”
“You really don’t want me to go through the regular channels.”
“I can’t help you. Please believe me.”
“You have misconstrued my good manners as weakness. I’ll fix that. Good day and Goodyear.”
Elizabeth put down the phone, her hand shaking. She stood and inhaled as deeply as she could, smoothed her dress, fluffed her hair, and marched to the door. She would not be intimidated by the oddball professor on this happy day, even if he had somehow befriended Father.
The senior staff was all there, sitting at the conference table. Director Simpson stood by the window with David, laughing at a private joke. He waved at her and led David to a vacant chair near the head of the table. “Now that we’re all here,” he said, “it is my pleasure to announce my choice for the new position of deputy director for interagency coordination. We’ll have someone right here in the building to blame for any problems with the Border Patrol.”
Everybody laughed.
“That’s right,” the director announced, “we’ve got to keep Washington happy, keep our sister agencies at bay, and keep all these aliens in Mexico. In that, I owe special gratitude to Elizabeth McPherson who, as you know, has served the agency longer than any of us, rising to chief legal counsel three years ago.”
Her face warm, Elizabeth smiled.
“What I admire most about Elizabeth,” the director continued, “is her ability to train young lawyers, not only in law, but also as practical, creative administrators, just like her. This kind of approach is commendable. It is therefore credit to Elizabeth that we are able to fill this new position internally, without having to accept an outside appointee from Washington or from another agency.”
Elizabeth said, “Thank you, Mr. Simpson. Your confidence in me is the greatest reward, and I will not disappoint you.” She clasped the armrests, ready to rise for a formal handshake.
“As a team,” Director Simpson said, “we’ll make this new position a success, and make the DHS agencies work better together.”
Elizabeth stood up, extending her hand, but the director turned the other way and announced, “Congratulations, Deputy Director David Goodyear!”
Professor Silver opened the basement door, letting out a cloud of smoke. “If you’re going to disobey my orders again,” he said to Al, “the National Council will hear about it.” He filled his voice with anger. “You play around with snakes and cookies, making me look like a fool. Then you take my knife without permission and attempt an unauthorized execution inside my home? And you call yourself a soldier?”
The stocky Jew shot to his feet, red in the face. “Better soldier than you!”
Struggling not to laugh, Silver thought, Who said Jews were smart?
“Way better!”
“Better at what? Dereliction of duty?”
Al clenched his fists, his head bowed like a raging bull. “Did not der-lee-cate my duty!”
“Then how did Masada El-Tal find out about Mahoney and the cash?” This was a spur-of-the-moment idea, to make Al so defensive he would not even think of suspecting Silver. “Did you betray us? Did you give Masada a video clip of the cash delivery to curry favor with her?”
“No!”
Silver pointed at the stairs leading up from the basement. “Were you going to kill her so she wouldn’t tell me that you were her source?”
The accusation, which Silver uttered while a grin was fighting its way to his lips, deflated Al’s belligerence. He sat down and pressed his fisted paws to his temples.
Silver stood over him, enjoying the irony of the situation. “You know what happens to traitors?”
Al groaned. “Got a temper, I do, but I’m no traitor. She rejected me before you even told me about the Mahoney operation. Called the cops on me!”
“So what?” Silver kept at him. “You were still crazy about her. You hoped to win her heart by betraying Judah’s Fist, right?”
“No!”
“You preferred your dick to your duty.” Pleased with the clever wordplay, Silver searched for further inspiration. “You’re a disgrace to the Jewish race!”
“Don’t say that,” Al begged. “On the souls of my comrades, just as I didn’t betray them in Nam, I’ll die before betraying Israel!”
“Then why are you disobeying my orders?”
“Pain, Levy, I’m in pain. Inside. It’s crazy.” Al pounded his head. “Was always a good soldier, am a good soldier. Being part of this, it’s great. Not sitting around anymore, playing bingo with folks whose teeth go in a glass every night. Not waiting to die. No more. Being a fighter again. Got to believe me! Won’t fail, not again!” He buried his face in his hands. “Won’t fail!”
Silver rubbed his goatee. The pathetic Jew was sick in the head. It was time to put him out of his misery. “Are you a real soldier?”
Al’s eyes lit with hope. “Tell me what to do! Just tell me!”
“Pull yourself together. We have a traitor to punish.”
Masada heard the news and drove to Temple Zion, finding a police car and a few members of the congregation in the parking lot. The rabbi joined them a moment later. He looked as if he’d cried. “A swastika,” he said. “Can you believe it?”
She took his arm, pulled him away from the group, and told him about the rattler and the yellow fist, spray-painted on the pillowcase.
He was horrified. “Someone’s trying to kill you!”
“Yeah, someone from Israel.”
“Can’t be! Israel would never hurt a Jew for political reasons. It’s contrary to its very ideology. Judah’s Fist is a front for something else!”
His passion was endearing, but he was naive. And uninformed, because she had told no one about her encounter with Colonel Ness and his agent on Camelback Mountain. But this wasn’t the time. She took a deep breath. “There’s more bad news. I called the vet. Shanty. They couldn’t save her.”
Rabbi Josh groaned and looked away. “My poor Raul. It’ll break his heart.”
When David entered, Elizabeth looked up from her desk. He left the door open and showed her a bundle of phone-message notes. Six were from her, and she was ready to explode. How could he ignore her like that, after all she had done for him?
He dropped into a chair. “Simpson doesn’t leave me alone. He briefed me for two hours, took me to the Border Patrol command, then to lunch with Senator Mitchum-”
“Don’t apologize.” The sight of his boyish smile melted her. “It’s your big day.”
He sheepishly looked at her from under his shock of brown hair. “You’re not angry?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m so proud of you!”
“That’s my Ellie.” He grinned. “I knew you’d understand.”
“Understand?” She went to the door and closed it. “I was just anxious to congratulate you, my love. This is so wonderful.” She hugged him, which was awkward as he remained seated. “I praised you to Simpson, told him how bright you are, how capable and talented.”
“I know. He truly respects your opinion.” David got up, and she wanted to hug him again, but now the chair separated them. “I owe it all to you, Ellie.” He went to the door. “My phone is ringing off the hook.”
“I’ll see you tonight, my love.”
“Oh, gosh. It’s Wednesday already?” He looked pained. “We’ll have to skip it. My wife invited a few friends to celebrate.”
“So? Tell her the new job requires you to work late.” Elizabeth smiled, touching her ample breasts. “It’ll be fun.”
His eyes dropped to her chest. “I wish, but-”
“I’ll fix us something to eat,” she said, “and we’ll talk about the future. I have a huge surprise for you!”
The bell rang while Professor Silver was making himself a cheese sandwich. As he opened the door, the mailman drove off. A package was left on the doormat. He tore it open and found the manuscript of his second book, which the publisher was returning with a brief letter: We thank you for submitting your book manuscript, ‘South Africa as a Blueprint for International Sanctions Against Abusive Regimes.’While we agree that economic sanctions were instrumental in ending apartheid, your book overemphasizes cynical political machinations inside international organizations while understating the genuine devotion to human rights that is essential to such an effort. We thus decline to publish your manuscript.
Silver was disappointed. A published book would have buttressed his credibility when time came to launch Phase Two-the international campaign for imposing sanctions on Israel. On the other hand, Mahoney’s suicide had put Phase One on steroids, instigating an explosion of hostility to Israel, much greater than he had expected to achieve by exposing the bribe.
He put the manuscript aside and bit into his sandwich while reflecting on the challenges ahead. Masada still had the memory stick hidden somewhere in her house, which would be searched again upon her death. Al’s proposed plan must therefore mimic an accident that would eliminate Masada and destroy her house.
Elizabeth uncorked the wine and inspected the dinner table one last time, making sure she had not overlooked anything. They would raise a double toast-to David’s promotion and to their baby. Picking up a knife and polishing it with a napkin, she reminded herself there was no reason for disappointment about being passed over. As David’s future wife, she shared his success. Better yet, his promotion ended her supervisory authority over him. She would have to continue to guide him. He was so devoid of political skill, so transparent-a handsome boy in a man’s body.
She replaced the knife by his plate and went to the kitchen to check on the stew. It was simmering, and the apartment filled with the smell of home. The wall clock showed 9:22 p.m. David must have been delayed by his wife-the tyrant.
Elizabeth settled on the living-room sofa, her feet on a pillow, and closed her eyes. Soon David would move in permanently. She could hear children laugh.
Masada took the remote from Raul’s hand and aimed it at the TV, where Eddie Murphy, as Dr. Doolittle, conversed with various animals until he was finally able to communicate with his rebellious-yet-idealistic teenage daughter. Masada shut off the TV, and the sleeping boy stirred, opened his eyes, and said dreamily, “Is it over?”
“Thank God.” Masada patted his hand. “Go back to sleep.” She glanced at her watch. Rabbi Josh had gone to pick up Shanty and buy what he needed to bury her. Masada had volunteered to watch Raul, who didn’t know yet that his dog was gone.
The boy turned on his side, facing her, and took her hand.
As soon as his small fingers touched her palm, she tried to pull away. He held on, his eyes closed.
A few moments passed.
Her leg began to ache. She wanted to lie down on the cot across the room and shut her eyes. But when she tried to dislodge her hand, Raul’s little fingers gripped her with determination. His freckled face remained serene.
Breathing deeply, shifting in the chair, Masada waited. When his sleep deepened, she would free her hand. He must be dreaming of something that required keeping a tight grip.
She watched their interlocked hands. His hand was delicate, pinkish under the translucent fingernails. Hers was almost gaunt, dotted with a few sunspots. She had written often about children, but it had been a lifetime since she had held a child’s hand.
An image came to her. She was holding Srulie’s hand while their parents’ bodies were lowered into the ground at the kibbutz cemetery. The image was followed with another: She was holding his bloodied hand, begging him to live.
Masada tried to pull her hand away, but Raul twitched, and she relented. Pressure rose behind her eyes, and she shut them, throwing her head back. She blinked a few times, looking up at the ceiling. She willed herself to think about the investigation. What would she do if the video clip didn’t produce any clues? Could she set a trap for Ness’s agents?
Raul’s eyelashes flickered, but he kept his grip.
She tried to reclaim her hand. Raul’s left hand emerged from under the covers and rested on top of her already captured hand.
Sweat covered Masada’s forehead. Why was the room so hot? She glanced at Raul, who looked comfortable, breathing slowly, a slight smile on his face. She inhaled deeply and exhaled, looking away from their joined hands.
She realized her right eyelash was weighed down by a tear. She jerked her hand from Raul’s and stood up, wiping her eyes on her shirtsleeve.
“Dad?”
Masada turned away from him. “Go back to sleep.”
He sat up in bed. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying. I’m coming down with a cold or something.”
He lowered his legs to the floor. “I think I need to go.”
“Go where? It’s nighttime.”
“Pee-pee.”
“Oh!” She held his elbow and guided him to the bathroom.
Raul pulled down his pajama pants and sat on the toilet. “You can close the door.”
She stood outside the door and listened as he did his business noisily.
“I’m better now,” he said.
“Good.”
“Are you better?”
“I’m fine.”
The boy was silent for a moment. “Why did you cry?”
“I wasn’t crying.”
He passed gas. “Sorry.”
Masada lowered herself to the floor, sitting with her back to the wall next to the bathroom door. “I’m just very tired. It’s been a rough week.”
“Dad says it’s good to cry.”
“How come?”
He gassed again. “Sorry.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
“It’s like, when your belly hurts? So if you let the stinky air out, then you feel better? Same when you have pain in your feelings. If you cry, the pain goes out with the tears.”
“Your dad said that?”
“Kind of.” Raul hesitated. “Dad said that if you cry it means you are brave enough to feel your feelings.” He flushed the toilet and washed his hands. Then there was silence.
“You can come out,” Masada said. “I’m not brave enough yet.”
The ringing alarm woke Elizabeth up. She rolled off the sofa onto the carpet. Smoke was everywhere. She crawled toward the door, certain that the building was on fire.
The putrid odor made her pause. It didn’t smell like a fire.
In the kitchen, the pot of stew was emitting white smoke. She snatched it from the stovetop, crossed the living room to the balcony, and put it outside. Then she opened all the windows and turned off the smoke alarm.
A glance at the time shocked her. She had slept for more than two hours. Had David rung the bell while she slept? Impossible! She would have heard it!
A sense of doom flooded her. David had an accident! She tried his mobile. No answer. She grabbed her car keys and ran.
Indian School Road was deserted, its six lanes dimly lit by store signs and street lamps. She pushed the old Camry as fast as it would go. In Arcadia, a family neighborhood of citrus trees and large lawns, she turned left, racing up Fifty-fifth Street.
The curb at David’s house was lined with cars. The windows were alight. People stood on the front lawn, chatting.
She entered a cozy foyer. Country music played loudly. She saw her reflection in a full-body mirror. The knitted red dress clung to her, the cleavage deep. She had never stepped out of her apartment in this dress.
“Ellie!” David came toward her, touching the wall for support. He gulped down a glass of urine-colored liquid. “You look hot, boobs!”
She took the glass from his hand, pushed him into a den off the foyer, and closed the door.
“What’s this smell?” He sniffed her. “Phew!”
“It’s our dinner.” She wanted to hit him. “I fell asleep and it burned.”
“Oops.” He collapsed into a chair. “I completely forgot. Anyway, it’s a great party. Go mingle!”
“I was expecting to mingle with you.” She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. It was time he took responsibility. And the drinking would have to stop-she would make sure of that. “And share some wonderful news.”
“That’s nice,” he said cautiously, as if expecting something bad. “What news?”
She smiled, trying to cheer up the occasion. “A miracle happened to me. To us. You see, we are exp-”
“Daddy?” A blonde girl in pink pajamas appeared in the door.
“Hey, princess!” David swept her in his arms. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
The girl crinkled her nose. “It’s too noisy.”
He kissed her. “You just want to have fun with the grownups.”
A big smile appeared on the girl’s face. “With you!”
He swiveled around, making his daughter yelp and giggle. She let him do as he pleased without fear-the total trust a little girl could only place in one man in the whole world. It put Elizabeth’s skin on fire. Her own father used to dance with her, hug and tickle her, throw her up in the air. She turned away, the sight of them together unbearable.
“Samantha?” David’s wife entered, holding a glass. She noticed Elizabeth. “Miss McPherson. What a surprise.”
“Mommy, I want to stay.” The girl clung to David. “I’m not tired.”
The likeness of daughter to mother was striking-the light complexion, skinny frame, and storybook features.
David handed his daughter to his wife. Elizabeth saw their eyes meet and knew instantly that they shared a bond of a type she would never enjoy with David.
He closed the door behind them and tried to smile. “What a crazy day.”
“Your wife seemed hostile.”
He went to the desk and sat on the edge. “Someone called earlier and told her we’re having an affair. I denied it, of course, but she’s suspicious. We’ll have to lay low for a while.”
Elizabeth went over and took his hand. “She’s the mother of your daughter. You have feelings for her. I understand. But that’s exactly why you should tell her the truth about us.”
He pulled away, crossing the room to the opposite wall. “I can’t do that. Not now.”
“Why?”
He avoided her eyes. “A scandal would ruin both of us. We’ll lose our jobs.”
“I’m willing to lose my job for a life with you.”
He didn’t answer, which was worse than a slap on the face. Elizabeth wanted to smack his beautiful lips, kiss him, punch him, fall on the floor, and cry. Instead she pulled back her shoulders, stuck out her chest, and walked to the door. “You’re not the man I thought.”
“Ellie-”
She went to her car, blinded by tears.
David caught up with her, a paper tissue in hand. Always the gentleman.
She got into the car.
“You said something about news?”
Elizabeth wiped her eyes. “It’s not important anymore.”