"But why did Abreu try it there?"
"Just what Mercer thought. The stuff of instant legends in the twisted world of the Latin Princes. What could be more macho than trying to take out the prosecutor Posano hates most at a police shooting range, with scores of cops around? Prove yourself to the man in the black hole. Maybe step up a rank in the organization."
"Well, I think Mike's worried about you. About letting Rasheed get so close. About what almost happened to you. He was giving me that stuff about getting you right back in the saddle with another case so you don't get too frightened to try again."
"I'll tell you something I didn't tell the shrink, Joannie. I couldn't even think of doing my work without the relationships I have that keep me grounded-Mike and Mercer, you and Nina, my friends in the office, and now Luc. I think of what Troy Rasheed did to the women whose paths he crossed and I know how blessed I am to be alive, to be unscathed.
"But now I need a few days alone, some time to see if I can ride the horse again without the help of anyone else. I need to test my own fortitude, my own resilience."
Joan's tone changed. "I understand, of course. I'm sure Mike will, too."
"We've spent so much time together since these killings started that Mike's just having separation anxiety," I said. "He'll get over it."
"Sure he will. And you know Jim and I are here for anything you need, Alex."
"Some of my best thinking happens underwater, Joannie. I'll be fine. Speak to you later tonight."
I put the portable phone on the sink, tested the temperature again, and lowered myself into the tub. I slid down, rested my neck against one end, and lifted my toes above the bubbles at the other. My thoughts drifted from the horrors of the last ten days to plans I had made for a September weekend on the Vineyard. I soaked for almost an hour, until my fears had lost their edge and the water had cooled enough to remind me to get out and dry off.
I draped a bath sheet around me and went into my bedroom. Luc's package was addressed with stickers that repeated the words priority and urgent on every side.
The tab stripped open easily and I removed a thin box, wrapped in white satin ribbon, from the carton.
I untied the bow and opened it. Inside was a short silk robe, the same aqua shade as the dress I had worn the last time Luc and I were together. It was trimmed with a delicate strip of ecru lace. As I picked it up, my towel slipped off onto the floor, and I wrapped the soft, sexy dressing gown around me, tying it with the aqua silk belt.
There was a card nestled in the tissue paper on the bottom of the box. I climbed onto my bed and lifted the flap.
Another key, this time a shiny new one, not a flea market antique like the first one he sent me. The end of it was tied by a ribbon to an airline ticket, one way, first class, to Paris.
"Dearest Alex. Come soon. Stay as long as you like. Meet you at the Plaza Athénée on my side of the ocean. Room 888-the most beautiful view of the city and the Eiffel Tower. Bonne nuit, ma princesse. Luc."
Those were the words he spoke when he kissed me good night for the first time, after Joan's wedding, at my Vineyard home. Every time I thought of him, called up his voice saying them to me, I smiled.
I was determined not to waste time worrying about the bad memories that were competing for space against so many strong, vibrant ones. I settled back against my pillow and dialed Luc's number.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It seems that every day the city of New York reveals to those who love her some of the secrets that she has harbored for centuries. Whether it's her mean streets, ghost islands, or historic landmarks, I never tire of exploring her mysterious past.
I am grateful to the National Park Service and the Governors Island Preservation and Education Corporation for the introduction to their magnificent citadel, a hidden jewel for more than two centuries. As always, the New York Times archives have been an invaluable resource, as has Seitz and Miller's The Other Islands of New York City.
The New York City Police Foundation has done extraordinary work to make possible so many innovative programs for the NYPD. I thank them for the tour of Rodman's Neck and for instruction from the great men and women of the Firearms and Tactics Section, especially Joseph Agosto and Elizabeth Mayer-Feinberg.
Abbie Shoobs of Tiffany and Company was gracious enough to tell me the history of the West Point rings and miniatures made by the great jeweler and of the West Point Ring Recovery Program, dedicated to returning these treasures to the families from which they've been separated.
This novel tells part of the story of a character called Kerry Hastings. I have taken the liberty of drawing some of her traits from the woman to whom this book is dedicated: Kathleen Ham. It is impossible to imagine the courage of Kathleen without letting her look you in the eye and describe in her own words what the personal toll of her battle has been. For thirty-two years her rapist was on the loose, and Kathleen lived in what she called her own private jail. The case went cold, but her courage never did. The man's conviction-and her willingness to go public about her ordeal-brought some measure of justice to Kathleen as well as inspiration to crime victims all over this country.
One of my proudest legacies at the office of the New York County District Attorney was the establishment of an offshoot of the Sex Crimes Prosecution Unit that I led for twenty-six years. The cold case unit is composed of two great prosecutors and friends-Martha Bashford and Melissa Mourges-who have mastered the art of solving violent crimes long after traditional investigative techniques have been unsuccessful. They and their devoted partners in the NYPD and the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner have used DNA to revolutionize the way rape cases can be prosecuted.
Thanks to Kerry O'Connell, another former colleague and friend, who tries a superb case and also introduced Coop to her Cohiba.
Every minute of working with Colin Harrison was an enormous joy for me. He is a master of his craft, generous of spirit, and wonderfully supportive. I shall always relish his check marks-and the occasional double checks-with which he so kindly edited my manuscripts.
Phyllis Grann has long given me the gift of her friendship. I'm enormously proud and pleased to be in her professional hands now, too. I'm thrilled and honored to be welcomed so enthusiastically at Doubleday by Steve Rubin, for whom I have such great respect.
Esther Newberg gets all my gratitude for covering my back and easing my transition to a new home with her usual wisdom and humor. Thanks, too, to ICM's Kari Stuart and Chris Earle for their competence and good cheer.
Special appreciation to my mother, Alice, and all my family and friends, who understand my time spent at the keyboard talking with Coop, Mike, and Mercer.
And to Justin Feldman-my very own comeback kid-you're all heart.
