Unbidden, an image of Simone bloomed in his brain, her thick red hair flowing over one shoulder to lay against one breast, the tight control in her blue eyes. But it wasn’t her hair or her eyes, nor was it her pale skin that was absolutely covered in freckles. There was an honor, and integrity, in the way she moved, the way she handled herself, in the way she looked at the clothes she made. She was authentic. He couldn’t even remember authentic.
Apparently satisfied, Logan picked up his cell phone and lifted it to his ear, listening to the voice mails that accumulated during the presentation. As Ryan watched, his face changed, the veneer of professional dispassion melting into something shockingly close to anguish. “Christ,” he said as he dropped his shoulder. His phone slid to his lap as he swung his laptop around and pulled up a travel Website. “Oh, Christ. Not now.”
Ryan felt his eyebrows war between shooting up in surprise and drawing down in disbelief. He’d been working with Logan for weeks now, and unlike many of his law enforcement colleagues, never heard him swear.
“What’s going on?” asked the Jock.
“My wife’s grandmother just died. I need to get to London,” he looked at his watch, “shit, right fucking now, one seat left.” He pulled out his wallet and fumbled a personal credit card from the leather slots, entered the credit card number, then grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts. Before he could tap the call button, Wilson wandered up to see what was going on.
“Logan?”
“I need personal leave, sir. For a funeral.”
Wilson looked around the packed room. “Where? I hope you mean in the Bronx.”
“England. Cornwall.”
“England? Now? After you made such a big fucking deal about being in on this? No.”
“Sir,” Logan said, and the way he was clinging to his temper reminded Ryan of Simone. This was someone who understood what mattered. “Three days. My wife’s grandmother, the woman who raised her, has died unexpectedly of a pulmonary embolism. I’m going to the funeral.”
The whole room went quiet. Ryan waited until it was clear that either Wilson backed down or Logan would quit, then said, “Charles and Don are flying to France for vacation,” he offered into the tense air. “Nothing’s going down until they get back.”
“Go,” Wilson said, his jaw tight.
Daniel hit the call button on his phone. “I need a ride to Kennedy,” he said, and rattled off the building’s address.
Whoever was on the other end didn’t say anything. Logan shoved his laptop into a bag, then bolted for the stairs. The sound of sirens wailed in the distance. Like lemmings to a cliff, the remaining agents and Ryan gravitated to the front windows. At street level Daniel burst out of the building’s doors and hurled himself into the open passenger door of an NYPD cruiser parked at the curb, sirens wailing. The door still open, the car screamed off into traffic, running the red light and taking the corner, tires squealing.
“What’s the fastest time to Kennedy?” someone further down the line asked.
“Whatever it is, I bet he beats it,” said a woman standing next to Ryan.
The phone Logan gave Ryan vibrated in his pocket. Don’t do anything I’m going to regret while I’m gone.
Understood, he texted back.
No one could regret him spending more time with Simone. She fit right into his life of beautiful women in exquisite lingerie, and with a family reputation that would gather attention, God knew sex sold like gangbusters. His stomach flipped at the thought; part excitement, part disgust at himself, but he shook it off. He would keep her out of the public side of his life, keep her out of the world that he lived in, and visit Simone in hers. The FBI owned his ass for the rest of the summer, longer than that if he were honest with himself. But Simone would be his, all his, the one thing in his life that was for him alone. Because, for the hour he’d spent in her shop, he hadn’t felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin.
Like the rest of his life, the motivation worked as long as he didn’t examine it too closely. He wanted to see her again. Alone. If he needed an excuse, he’d compliment her on how well she’d dealt with Jade, how beautiful her designs were. That was truth enough, for now.
***
Ryan pushed the button for Irresistible’s showroom and waited. A few moments later Simone’s smooth voice burbled from the speaker. “Mr. Hamilton,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“You could start by letting me in,” he said, flashing a rather charming smile at the camera set in the intercom.
“It is Sunday, and I am closed.”
He wore a pair of jeans too well washed and faded to be stylish, and a black cotton T-shirt free of advertising. Maybe he needed the hand-tailored suit, the silk tie, the custom wingtips, the aura they created. “I’ll make it worth your while.”