"Good to know. What do you think?"
Smith blew out his frustration. "I don't know. The victims have been killed in their homes and I'm pretty sure the guy works alone. You need to get a sense of the space before you decide. If you think you can keep her safe, it would mean a lot to her to be able to go."
"Will you be reachable?"
This was something Smith had been debating. If he wasn't on the job, he shouldn't be floating around in the background. One person, and only one person, had to be in charge and there was no way he could play second fiddle, even to Tiny, in a situation involving Grace. The best course of action was for him to get the hell out of town, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. Not until the Gala was over and she woke up the next day safe and sound.
"I've booked a room nearby. You can reach me anytime and I'll be there in a heartbeat if things head south."
"Sounds good to me."
"Vic," Smith paused. He never used Tiny's given name. "Take good care of her."
Crackling came over the line and then his friend said, "Look, I've got to ask. What's this woman to you, anyway?"
Everything, Smith thought.
"Just another client." He stabbed out the cheroot.
"Yeah, sure, Boss. In five years of working with you, I've never seen you like this."
"All you have to do is make sure she stays alive, okay? Do that and I might even promote you."
"To what?"
"Maybe I'll start calling you Medium."
Tiny laughed.
As soon as the call ended, Smith dialed another number. Senator Pryne's private line was answered briskly by the man's chief of staff.
"It's Smith," he said. "When does he want to leave?"
"Will you be able to be in Washington the day after tomorrow?" The smoothness of the woman's voice, the diction, the stench of political power made Smith sick.
"Yes."
"Good. The senator will be pleased. You come highly recommended, Mr. Smith."
As he hung up the phone, his heart ached as if he'd been shot through the chest.
* * *
The next morning, Grace made a decision. She was going to call Blair and ask the woman to come take a look at her father's office. Her office. It was time to make that space her own. Lighten up the walls. Throw some drapes around the windows.
She'd already ordered a replacement desk. It was going to take two months to make but it was just what Grace wanted. Made of pale yew wood, it had clean lines and drawers on rollers so she wouldn't feel like she was going to dislocate her shoulder trying to get at her files. The chair was likewise on wheels and kitted out in cream leather.
And there were some other things she was going to do. She'd always wanted a dog.
A golden retriever, she thought. Something big and happy.
Her father had disapproved of owning a sporting dog if they weren't used to hunt. Her mother had despised anything that made noise or shed fur and, for his part, Ranulf hadn't wanted anything that competed for her attention.
That's what she wanted. A dog.
As she fantasized about floppy ears and kindly brown eyes, Grace realized she was finally taking control of her life. Courtesy of the change, she was reexamining everything she'd once simply accepted as the way things were. She'd lost her father's domineering hand when he'd died and now she was questioning everything she'd ever known about him. She was slowly learning to stand up to her mother. And thanks to-what John had dug up about Ranulf and the von Sharones, she'd gotten a divorce settlement that seemed reasonable.
The losses that came with the recent events in her life were hard to bear, but they were balanced by her sense that it had all been inevitable and overdue. And she'd definitely take the hard truth over appearances any day. Like youth, illusions faded and withered, but the trade-offs, of wisdom and independence and freedom, were well worth the degradation of a pretty exterior.
Buck up, Starfish. Let's see that smile.
"Not anymore. Not unless it's real," she said out loud.
She picked up the dress she was going to wear at the Gala and her jewelry case, and left her room. John was waiting in the foyer, and she walked by him with a stiff nod. She kept expecting his partner to arrive at any moment and felt as though the netherworld of him being on the verge of leaving would never end.
They got in the Explorer and she made an effort to chat with Eddie about his writing. He'd started a manuscript as his final project, a children's book about safety, and she told him she knew an agent who might read it when he was done.
Grace spent all morning down in the atrium, supervising the arrangements for the Gala. The audiovisual people had erected a small stage near the entrance to the museum and brought in a screen on which to show the brief homage to her father's life. The caterers were milling around, setting up tables for the food and bars, and the florist had arrived with thousands of fragrant blooms.
It was early afternoon by the time she was satisfied with how things were progressing. After a quick lunch with some members of the press, she and John went back up to her office.
The elevator doors had just opened when his cell phone rang. She didn't pay much attention to what he said until she heard, "You have him in custody?"
She stopped walking as John's eyes bored into hers.
"When did you apprehend him?" There was a period of silence. "Can you make it stick?"
As soon as he hung up the phone, she said, "Did they find..."
He nodded and she was surprised when he didn't look relieved.
"So tell me," she prompted, feeling a sweet rush of release.
"Isadora came around early this m orning. She identified the man who attacked her as an associate of her husband's. Marks and his boys arrested the guy."
"Who is it?"
"Someone named Margis. You ever heard that name before?"
She nodded, dumbstruck by the news. "Of course I have. He's an investment manager and a real bon vivant. He was always chasing after women, especially the richest ones. I know he worked with Mimi's husband on a deal and I think he took care of some of Cuppie's money. I'm not sure if Suzanna had any contact with him but it wouldn't have surprised me if she had. As for Isadora, he was very close to Raphael Cunis. They were partners."
"What about you? Did you ever deal with him?"
Grace thought for a moment.
"Now that you mention it, he did approach me right after my father's death. He told me with the change in my net worth, I needed more personal attention and he wanted to take care of things for me. I told him no. I'd heard that his firm was struggling because of the downturn in the markets and there was something I didn't trust about him."
John seemed to be thinking deeply.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Marks says that Isadora admitted to having had an affair with the guy. Evidently, she was trying to break it off, which was why she came back to town. That's a very personal connection, unlike the business ones Margis had with the other women. Although I suppose it's possible he'd been having affairs with them, too."
"His name was on the list," Grace blurted. "Those lists from the buildings—I saw his name on them that day you were looking at them."
"Yeah. Marks's boys checked and the man had been in van der Lyden's and Lauer's buildings on the days of those murders."
"Well, I'm relieved," Grace said. As she measured John's expression, she felt almost defensive about her optimism. "What does Marks think?"