“So what does Epstein want you to do for him?”
He shrugged, the game back on, took a bite of the BLT.
“Right,” she said. “Well, not for nothing, but I hope it’s something you can live with, and if it is, I hope you do it. And then I hope you take advantage of the chance you’ve got here.”
“Here being…”
“New Canaan. I know there’s more on your mind, Nick. Things you’re not telling me. But this place, it really can be a fresh start. You can be whatever you want to be here. And be welcome.”
He smiled—
Does she know?
No. Suspects, maybe. Fear.
And she called you Nick.
—and said, “Well, that’s the plan.”
Shannon nodded. “Good.” She pushed her plate forward. “You know what? I’m not hungry after all.” She wiped her hands on her napkin, tossed it on the plate, and kept her eyes off his. “Tell you what. Once you’ve given Epstein his pound of flesh, if you do start up a new life, maybe you and I can continue this conversation.”
He laughed.
“What?”
“It’s just—” He shrugged. “I don’t have your phone number.”
She smiled. “Tell you what. Maybe I’ll just appear. I know you get a kick out of me doing that.”
“Yes,” he said. “I really do.”
She slid out of the booth, and he joined her. For a moment they faced each other, and then he put up his arms and she slid into them. A hug, nothing sexual, but there were hugs and hugs, and this was the latter, their bodies close, testing the fit, and the fit was good. When she let him go, he felt the absence like a presence.
“So long, Cooper. Be good.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You too.”
She walked out with a sway he could tell was calculated, but no less powerful for that. Didn’t look over her shoulder. He watched her go and felt a tug in his chest, a yearning. She really was something. It was like meeting someone exceptional while you were married; the yank of possibility, the realization that here was another path your life could have taken.
Only, you’re not married. You could be with her. It’s just that she’ll hate you.
He sat back down, feeling heavy. Finished his BLT. When the waiter came round, he thanked him and asked for a refill of coffee. No, nothing wrong with the burger, turned out his friend hadn’t been hungry after all. Just the check, when you get a second.
After the guy filled his coffee and set the bill on the table, Cooper reached for the briefcase. The calfskin was so soft it seemed to hum beneath his fingers. He set the case on the table and took a casual glance about. No one watching. Popped the latches, raised the lid a few inches.
Onion-skin papers, an envelope, a set of car keys. He opened the envelope, discovered it was an itinerary. Someone was arriving at a particular address the day after tomorrow. He had a good guess who that someone was.
The car keys had a tag with an address on it.
The onion-skin was schematics for a building.
And underneath them, nestled in foam eggshells, was a .45 Beretta. The same weapon he’d preferred.
Back when he’d been a DAR agent.
The address on the car keys turned out to be a parking lot on the outskirts of Tesla, a ten-dollar cab ride. When he arrived, he repeatedly thumbed the unlock button on the remote and followed the honk to a truck, not one of the electric cars but an honest-to-God gas-guzzler, a spotless four-by-four Bronco with heavy tires and power to spare. Cooper climbed in, adjusted the mirrors, opened the briefcase, and started reading.