Ann and Jonathan collected their luggage in the lobby of Felicia’s building and, as they left, Jonathan discreetly tipped the doorman.
“What now?” Ann asked as they hit the street.
He knew what she was asking. “My place,” he said after a moment. “I have furniture.” Why did it feel like a commitment, like the very thing he’d fought tooth and nail against all his unattached, muse-driven life?
“I have all the furniture that counts,” Ann pointed out.
He stepped into the street to hail a cab. “Ah, but you don’t have beer.”
“You don’t have Scotch,” she countered.
“Sure I do.”
Her eyes widened. “You do?”
He’d bought an expensive bottle of Macallan in a crazy moment several years ago and had never opened it. “Live dangerously and find out.”
Settled in the cab, Jonathan felt the full effects of jet lag taking hold. He looked at his watch—a little past 9:00 P.M. It was ten o’clock the following morning in Hong Kong. He should feel as if he had just woken up. Instead, his eyelids were heavy and he felt like hell.
“So what’s it going to be, Ann?” he asked when they turned the first corner. “Your place or mine?”
“I don’t need you,” she said. “But … your cool moves are really something.”
He half smiled. “That’ll do.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence. Ann nodded off and then he did the same. When they arrived at his loft, the cab driver had to wake them both.
Upstairs they barely had the strength to undress and go to bed. Jonathan slept so solidly he did not hear Ann get up and leave in the morning. He came out of a deep sleep and was surprised and disappointed to find her gone. He made himself breakfast, showered and shaved. The cobwebs wouldn’t leave him. Traveling all that distance was not something he wanted to do again, anytime soon.
Despite how discombobulated he felt, a certain sense of urgency crept up and spurred him to action. Two phone calls later he was on his way to the Metropolitan Hospital to pay Verna Sallinger a visit.
Jonathan asked himself what he hoped to accomplish. It wasn’t like him to act in haste. Was it clarification he was seeking? Edification? He didn’t think Verna was in cahoots with Edmund Chow. But he had a hunch she could shed some light on their situation and at this point that was all that mattered.
Cal had arranged for Dr. Phil Steinberg to take Jonathan into the intensive care unit. Verna’s condition had improved but he would only be allowed a few minutes with her.
The blinds were drawn and it was dark in her room. The beeps and blips of various machinery jumped out of the shadows like an arcade game with a nervous kid at the controls. They were mostly green, but one screen showed red numbers. Jonathan moved to the bed, looked down, and flinched a little.
He had always found Verna Sallinger to be an attractive woman; seeing her this way brought bile to his throat. She was hardly recognizable. What had been done to her face was beyond comprehension. He would give anything to get his hands on the SOB responsible.
He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Are you awake?” he whispered softly.
Verna’s eyelids fluttered.
“It’s Jonathan Morhardt. I want to ask you a few questions.”
The woman’s eyes opened briefly, found him, and closed again.
“I know you want to save Pat from his problems,” he said.
Verna finally spoke, her eyes still closed. “I … told them,” she said. “He didn’t … do anything.”
“We know that. I want you to help me understand what happened, help me catch whoever did this to you.”
Verna’s entire body started to spasm. Jonathan looked around for the emergency cord. Before he could pull it, however, she calmed down. Then, still with eyes closed, she began to speak. It was barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t want to cooperate with him but Vincent threatened my mother.” Tears began to leak from her eyes. “Everything is my fault,” she continued in the same, barely audible tone. “I would never do anything to hurt Patrick, yet not only did I get him to keep drinking, it was me who called the cops. I knew he would get caught with what I had planted in his briefcase. And then I stole the contract for Baby Talk N Glow. I brought it home with me. I lied about it and wouldn’t hand it over, but Vincent barged into my apartment … and that’s the last I remember. When I woke up, I was here, in the hospital.”
Jonathan could not imagine her making up this story. And more than anything he wanted to find this Vincent fellow.
Suddenly, as if reading his mind, Verna opened her eyes and looked at him. “Don’t even think of going after this guy,” she said. “He’s … the devil!” She shut her eyes tight.
Jonathan felt the impact of her words. He rose to his feet and thanked her, told her he would return when she was feeling better. “We’ll see you through this,” he promised.
Outside the hospital, Jonathan found his anger returning. Despite the fact that it was snowing, he broke out in a sweat. He ducked into a Starbucks on First Avenue, purchased a cup of Columbia Narino Supremo and took a seat at the back, away from the few other customers.
He sipped slowly, then pushed the coffee aside. From his jacket pocket he removed a small notepad and pen.
At the top of the page he wrote the name, Baby Talk N Glow. Then he drew a line straight down from just beneath the center of those words to the bottom. On the left side he made his list of bad guys, from Edmund Chow, to Richard Salsberg, to Mr. Vincent. In the center he wrote the names of those he wanted to trust but was still uncertain about: Koji Sashika, Charles Ling, Patrick, and Verna Sallinger. The list he completed on the right only included Felicia and Ann, the good guys.
Without thinking about it he started to sketch their faces. Although he wasn’t a portraitist by nature, his drawing of Ann showed a real likeness.
Jonathan now thrust his pen in mid-air as if he suddenly realized what he was doing. He looked down at his list of names. When he came to Verna’s, he paused. Had she been a means to an end, he wondered, or the prime target?
Edmund had disappeared with their money. The contract for the doll was most definitely in the hands of Mr. Vincent. Neither action had proven fatal because they had found the inventor of Baby Talk N Glow and he was willing to grant them the rights.
This left the attack on Ann in Hong Kong. And that was the part that disturbed Jonathan the most. Stealing the doll away from Hart Toy was one thing; hurting Ann was quite another.
Ann wanted this doll to succeed because she knew it would please Felicia. But what if the doll’s introduction was only a side issue? What if someone out there was using Baby Talk N Glow to mask his true motive? What if Ann was the real target?
Goosebumps attacked Jonathan’s skin as he jumped to his feet. Intuition was telling him he was on to something. If he did nothing else, he would have to protect her, at least until this mystery was solved.
Forgetting his favorite Columbian blend, he hustled through the coffee shop and out the door. The snow had picked up. He walked a few blocks before finding a taxi. He took out his cell phone to call Ann, to tell her to wait for him, to not move from her office until he got there …