ERICA FLOATS INTO HER APARTMENT on the trail of the kiss. She feels light and electric and alive, so alive. In the bedroom she takes off her clothes and slips into a robe. She walks into the bathroom, grabs a towel, and dries her hair. She looks at herself in the mirror and smiles—It’s happening, Erica, it’s really happening.
Her phone rings. Who could that be? Greg wishing her good night?
“Erica, it’s Mark.” He sounds agitated.
“I guess our work is done.”
“Not exactly. I never take authority at its word, so when the ISIL news broke today, I kept working.”
“And?”
“I’ve uncovered something. Something important.”
It takes Erica a moment to switch gears, to accept the news. The kiss fades to a distant memory as she slots into work mode. “What is it?”
“Erica, as we discussed, the deeper I get into this, the more chance there is that the terrorists will sniff me out. Which puts me in serious danger. And by extension, you. We have to be more careful. I’m calling you from a prepaid phone. Buy one yourself. We’ll use them for all future communications. Meet me at six tomorrow morning at the Starbucks at Fifty-Second and Eighth.”
“I’ll be there.”
“And, Erica, don’t tell anyone about this call. Anyone.”
Erica hangs up, reaches into her bag for her playing cards, sits on the couch, and deals a hand of solitaire on the coffee table. What could Mark have uncovered? And why is he suddenly so worried about their safety? Just when she thought that the ferry story was out of her hands, she’s suddenly back in the mix. Neck deep.
She tosses down the cards and stands up, looks out the window—the rain is over, the streets are crowded again, but now the city looks hard-edged, unrelenting, overwhelming. Who knows who is out there, and what their motives are? She draws the curtains as a wave of fear sweeps over her. She begins to pace with one thought in her mind: a drink.