Not exactly an improvement, she thought ruefully.
* * *
When Grace and John came into the office on Monday morning, Kat looked up from her desk with a grin. "The place has been hopping today. Mr. Lamont has already stopped by twice. There are ten messages for you to return. Oh, and the caterers called. They said Fredrique had come by and discussed the Gala menu with them. They seemed a little confused, but they're sending you a first pass on the food anyway. I think they were under the impression he wasn't involved this year."
"He isn't." Grace swallowed her irritation.
"Oh, and one more thing. A Lieutenant Marks just called you from the NYPD. Said you'd know what it was about."
Smith's cell phone went off and he put it up to his ear.
Grace felt her stomach flip-flop.
As they stepped into her office and closed the doors, she heard him say, "Yes, I'm with her now."
Grace watched Smith anxiously as she sat down. He was on the phone for a few more minutes but she couldn't tell anything by his monosyllabic responses.
As soon as he hung up, she said in a frozen voice," Who?”
He came around the desk, getting closer to her than he had for days. His eyes were gentle and that terrified her.
"Who?" she repeated.
"They won't release the name because they're still trying to notify the family. It happened last night. A maid found the body."
Grace shut her eyes.
She felt his hand cover hers and thought it was the first time he had touched her since that awful scene on the night of her birthday.
"It's a good thing we're going to Newport this weekend, isn't it," she said with false bravado. "They all seem to die in New York."
She tried to smile gamely and couldn't pull it off. Grimly, she glanced over to the windows so he wouldn't see her fear.
"Look at me. Grace?" Reluctantly, she shifted her eyes to him. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
"I want to believe that."
When Kat buzzed in that her first meeting had arrived, John went over to the conference table.
Grace pressed the intercom button and said she needed a moment.
She was thinking of Mimi Lauer and picked up the phone. The idea that Isadora could be dead was horrifying and she needed to talk with someone who knew firsthand exactly how out of control and saddened she felt.
When voice mail kicked in, she left a message.
As she hung up the phone, she felt a fine sheen of sweat break out across her forehead. A wave of dizziness followed closely on the flash of heat in her body, turning her vision into a checkerboard. Trying to draw breath through lungs that had turned to stone, she told herself she wasn't going to die. Nobody died because of anxiety. You'd just rather be dead.
She winced, thinking of the killer and the woman who had just been murdered.
That was one expression she wasn't going to use anymore.
chapter
14
That night, Grace could not get to sleep. After an hour of trying in vain, she wandered out to the kitchen.
Earlier that evening, she'd taken a couple of potential donors to the Congress for dinner, in hopes of securing an auction piece. Trying to concentrate on business had been impossible and maybe that was why she'd been turned down when she'd asked the Staffords for their collection of Early American needlework. The samplers would have been a good auction item. Even though they weren’t as flashy as the Franklin/Jefferson letters, the pieces were still noteworthy for their rarity and excellent condition.
She opened the refrigerator and thought of Smith. The shelves were full of fresh vegetables, meats, and cartons of orange juice and soy milk. She figured the appliance was probably grateful for being used as more than a graveyard for condiments.
She was on the way back to her bedroom after having had a sandwich, when the phone rang. Smith materialized in the doorway as she reluctantly picked up the receiver in the living room.
"Grace?" It was a male voice. A shakey, grief-stricken male voice.
"Yes?"
"It's Ted Lauer."
She felt the blood drain out of her head. "Oh, God no..."
"Mimi is ... she's gone, Grace ..." Ted choked and cleared his throat.
Letting out a small, wounded sound, she collapsed into a chair, picturing Mimi as the woman had left Bo's suite. The; idea that she'd been dead when Grace tried to reach her that morning was horrifying.
She tried to imagine Ted having to tell their son that his mother wasn't coming home ever again.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked.
"There's nothing anyone can do."
When she finally put the phone down, after offering words of condolence and sorrow that felt pitifully insubstantial in the face of the man's suffering, she looked up at Smith.
"That family's life is ruined. Her son ..." She stood up, shaking her head desolately. "We can't go to Newport. The funeral's this weekend."
"I don't want you to go."
"To the funeral?" She frowned. "How can I not?"
Smith shook his head. "I'm not taking chances."
"But I'll be perfectly safe. You'll be with me—"
"It's going to be a mob scene. I told you, no big crowds if we can avoid it."
"But she was my friend." Grace crossed her arms over her chest, battling tears of rage and frustration and fear.
"Grace, we've got to be reasonable."
"They'll be plenty of policeman there. You manage to protect political figures, right? People like the ambassador," she shot back. "So why is it any different for me? "
"That night, I had the Plaza crawling with my men."
"So bring them on, make me a damn coat out of them, I don't care."
His eyes grew dark. "We have an agreement. You'll do what I say is right."
Grace started shaking her head. "This isn't fair. I have to go."
"It's got nothing to do with fairness. This is about risk and going to that funeral is an avoidable one. Serial killers enjoy seeing the aftermath of their work. There's a good possibility he'll be somewhere in the crowd and I don't want you anywhere near him."
"So what's next? Are you going to tell me I can't go to the Gala?" When he didn't answer her she thrust her chin out. " I'm going to the Foundation's Gala, John. No matter what you say."
"Then we may have a problem."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean? Are you threatening to leave?"
"I told you from the beginning. I'm here only on my terms."
She was ready to argue with him when a surge of hope broke through her anger. "But maybe he'll be caught by then. Maybe this will be all over in a couple of weeks."
"Maybe."
His tone was more along the lines of maybe not.
"The Gala is still over three weeks away," she said. "Can we at least discuss this later?"
"You can't bargain with me."
She cursed out loud. "Fine! Can I yell at you, then? Because I'm getting pretty sick and goddamn tired of having no say in my life."
She felt wetness on her cheeks and realized she'd begun to cry. Impatiently, she wiped under her eyes.
"Christ," he muttered, holding out his arms. "Come here."
Grace hesitated and then went to his embrace, collapsing into his strength, laying her cheek on his wide chest. He held her for a long time, stroking her back with his big hands.
"I despise you right now," she said against his shirt.
"I know."
* * *
Smith cradled her in his arms for some time, trying to ease some of her frustration and fear. He'd decided even before Mimi Lauer's death that he might have to pull Grace out of the Gala and knew the conversation was going to be a tough one.