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I STARED AT the door the same way I had just stared at the phone.
Gail knocked again. “Michael. I can feel you on the other side of the door. I know you’re there.”
I sat a moment longer.
It must have been that I was so stunned with the situation with Mack and the publisher that I’d completely tuned most of my senses out.
Nobody whose scent I knew, particularly someone like Gail, whose scent had an intimate familiarity, had ever been able to sneak up on me.
My sense of smell was so heightened, so in tune with the world around me that, I should have been able to smell Gail the moment the elevator doors opened.
I took a breath in through my nose.
Gail’s sweet scent . . . that alluring mixture of Sandalwood mingled with her sweat.
I can’t remember how many times after she’d broken it off with me that I’d be sitting here and hear the elevator doors open, and desperately pray that it would be her scent I’d smell.
But alas, it never was her, and that desperate longing would send me into a tailspin. Send me packing a lunch and an overnight bag on an extended pilgrimage down memory lane.
I breathed in her warm, spicy scent again, then got up and walked to the door.
Leaning against the door, the tips of my fingers and my forehead against it, I breathed her in again.
Impossible to believe how close we had been at one time.
Incredible to know she was just on the other side of that door. But even worse, that, despite how she’d come back into my life, I didn’t want to hurt her with what I had to tell her.
“Michael?”
Mingled with her warm and woody fragrance was the smell of underlying stress and concern.
Her heartbeat raced as I turned the handle. It almost skipped a beat as we came into sight of one another.
Then again, that might have been my own heart skipping a beat.
She stepped in through the doorway, looking at me with a tentative and hopeful look on her face.
I couldn’t help myself as I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around her.
Her scent immediately gave off a bit of an eau de confusion to mix with the concern, but she accepted my embrace.
It seemed her body practically melted into mine, all those familiar comfort points melding so perfectly together, like we were made for each other. I was intensely aware of every single point of contact between us as I held her. I had to control how tightly I hugged her, ensure I didn’t crack her ribs.
Her scent overwhelmed me as we held each other, the feeling of her racing heart against my chest made me feel more connected to her and more at home than I think I’ve ever felt in this city.
I wanted to run a hand over the back of her head, tell her I had some bad news but to just breathe, that things would be all right. I was here and would protect her and nothing bad could happen while she was in my arms.
But instead I remained silent, uncertain what to do.
And her scent grew more confused, more concerned.
She was the first to break our embrace, gently pushing back with her hands on my shoulders.
“Michael. What is it?” Her heart skipped a few more beats then began to race more quickly than before. The scent of worry and concern completely overpowered the calming affect her perfume always had on me.
I shook my head, swallowed, wasn’t able to speak.
“You’ve got to tell me. What happened? How is . . .” she gasped and stepped back, her beautiful lips forming a perfect round O as she brought a hand up to touch her lips. “Is Howard . . . dead?”
I shook my head again. “No,” I managed to breathe. “No. Howard is not dead. He’s fine.”
Her heart raced again as a wave of relief flooded her. “He’s fine? He’s fine?”
“Yes.”
She cast her eyes around the apartment, looking behind me to see if I was alone. “Where is he? What happened?”
I just stared at her.
“What?” she said, her heart beginning to race again, worry, concern, stress beginning to rise again.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Gail.”
“Tell me what? You just said he was fine. Now tell me, what happened? Who took him? Where is he now? Why hasn’t he called me?”
“Okay,” I took a deep breath. “Give me a minute. There’s a lot.”
“A lot of what?”
“A lot to tell you. I honestly don’t know where to begin.”
She then stepped forward and slammed a hand against my chest. “Dammit, Andrews. For God’s Sake, just tell me already. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been when I never heard back from you? Why didn’t you call me when you got back?”
“I-I just got back,” I stammered. “I was just about to call you.”
“Where is he? Where is Howard?”
I figured I’d answer that question with as much honesty as I could muster. “Likely either in the back of a paddy wagon if he’s not already at the station being booked.”
Her eyes opened wider than I’d ever seen on her face before.
“What?” She slammed a hand against my chest again. “What the hell happened? What the hell did you do?”
“Listen,” I placed my hands on her shoulders, looked her square in the eye, and thought how stupid it was when people said things like that. For the past minute she had kept asking me to explain what was going on, was already fully prepared to hear what I had to say, so I didn’t need to ask her to listen. She was listening. I realized it wasn’t really one of those words you use to communicate to the other person that they should attend to what you’re saying. It was one of those pause words that bought the speaker a bit of time when formulating what they were trying to say. It was also a word that didn’t really instruct the other person that it was important to be attuned to the next words, but rather, that the next words would likely be something, of themselves, rather important and potentially something coming right out of left field.
And this one, I was pretty sure, was not only out of left field, but would completely clear the park.
“Howard isn’t the person you think he is.”
She stared at me waiting for me to continue. I honestly couldn’t figure out what scent was coming off her. Confusion? Anticipation?
The phone began to ring. I suspected it was Mack, calling to confirm I’d be leaving for the Letterman show. I did my best to ignore it and continued to stare at Gail.
“The people who took him, the criminals who kidnapped him. They weren’t, ah, after his financial expertise, Gail. They were acquaintances of his.”
“I don’t understand. People from his office? People he worked with?”
“Yes, people he worked with. But not from his office. They were criminals, thugs, some sort of organized crime ring.”
“How did . . .?”
“Howard was working with them, Gail. Working for them.”
The phone stopped ringing.
“For them?”
“Yes. They were using his financial connections to siphon funds from various accounts. As best I could understand it, he has helped them steal millions of dollars in the past couple of years.”
“Past couple of years?” The air filled with the distinct scent of disbelief. “But he . . . but I . . .”
“I don’t know how he got mixed up with them, but I’m pretty sure . . .”
“Maybe they tricked him. Got him to do things without realizing.” Her heart raced quickly as she looked for the possibilities of it being a misinterpretation. “Then blackmailed him. Maybe there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“No Gail. I overheard them talking. I overheard him talking with them. There’s no misunderstanding. He’s mixed in with them pretty deep.”
I paused, squeezed her shoulders.
“What else aren’t you telling me, Michael?”
I nodded. “Yeah. There’s more. And I really don’t know how to say this, Gail.”
“What do you mean? You just told me that my fiancé has ties with organized crime – that he’s been working with them for years. After that, what in hell do you think you can’t tell me?”
I shook my head.
“That isn’t the only thing he was lying to you about.”
“No?”
“No. And I wish I wasn’t the one to tell you this, Gail”
The pained look in her eyes revealed she knew where I was heading before her scent did. “No.” She pushed my hands off her shoulders and turned away, taking a few tentative steps back down the hallway. “No way.”
“I wish it weren’t true.”
“I bet you do,” she said. “You’re probably laughing your ass off about this, aren’t you?”
“Gail, no. It ate me up inside to learn this. I want to tear his head off for hurting you. I wish I could change it, make it not true. But it was there – all the evidence was there. In his office, on him. On . . . her . . .”
I pointed to my nose to indicate my wolf sense, but then I realized there was no need to indicate how I knew to her. She understood perfectly well.
She stood with her back to me as the reality of what I was trying to tell her properly sunk in.
“Who,” she said, turning to face me. “Who is she?”
I took a step forward, trying to figure out how to explain.
“No, you don’t need to tell me, Michael. I already know.”
I looked at her, stunned.
“It’s that skank of a secretary of his, isn’t it? Susie fucking Kern. I should have known, the dumb slut!”
She paced back and forth in a tight and frenetic shuffle.
“Stupid damn slut. I’ll tear out her damn fake blonde hair strand by strand from her big fat skanky head. I’ll– ”
At that point she broke down, collapsed into my arms and started to cry.
I rubbed my hands over her hair, across her back.
“Gail. I’m so sorry. I wish this wasn’t true. I wish I could make it all better, make it all go away.”
I kept rubbing her back, and yes, despite the fact that my main purpose was in comforting her, a part of me still clung to the concept of simply cherishing being able to be this close to her, to hold her in my arms, just like I used to be able to do.
We stood like that in the hall just outside my doorway for several minutes. Then the elevator door opened and out stepped a tall man in a crisp, dark uniform with black leather gloves and what smelled like freshly polished black shoes. He held a small, peaked cap in his hands and gave off a surprised scent at seeing us standing together in the hall.
He took a few tentative steps forward, glanced at my door number, then spoke. “Mr. Andrews?”
Gail quickly composed herself and stepped back. Our moment over.
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m the driver here to pick you up to bring you to the Ed Sullivan Theatre on Broadway for your 4 p.m. appointment. I was sent by the Halpin Agency.”