“Alex? It’s Rose. The Boss would like you to phone in immediately. We’re in the office-it’s Sunday afternoon around three. He knows you’re in France but he needs to talk to you.” There was a long pause. “Mr. Battaglia said he’s got only one question for you. He won’t tell me what it is, or I’d let you know, of course. Please get back to me.”
I slumped down against the thick pillows. Ugh. Now I was sorry I’d made the decision to take my phone out of the bag. One caller to go and then I could shut it off and figure out what to do.
“Alexandra Cooper?” Paul Battaglia had placed the call himself. I hadn’t been sure he knew how to do that, since he’d been spoiled for so long by Rose’s efficiency. I sat up straight, as though he was in the room with me. “There’s just one thing I want to ask you, young lady. Do you really think you can hold on to your job by ignoring everyone’s efforts to reach you while the goddamn sky is falling down over here?”
The sound of the receiver hitting the phone cradle as Battaglia hung up on me was jolting.
I got to my feet and walked to Luc’s desk to use the landline to call New York.
“Rose? It’s Alex.”
“I’ll put you right through to him.”
“Is it-?”
She didn’t take the chance of displeasing him further by talking with me.
“Alexandra?”
“Yes, Paul.”
“I got a mess on my hands and it’s your bailiwick. The mayor and most of the media want to know what you figure went on and I can’t-”
“Last I knew, neither you nor the mayor thought too much of my opinion. The archbishop seemed to have had your ear at the time.”
Battaglia didn’t like to be reminded of the few missteps he had made in his long career. I knew he wouldn’t respond to my cheap shot about the last major case I’d worked this winter. He’d rather ignore it.
“Mercer Wallace and his team would like some guidance from you,” Battaglia said. “And so would I.”
“I’m happy to help.”
“This case is more complicated than it looks on the surface. I’ve got the feds interested in the World Economic Bureau implications, the French president pushing me to let the perp out on his own recognizance, the West African leaders-at least those with democratic governments-screaming ‘foul,’ and the Latina Women’s Caucus holding a rally in front of City Hall to empower the victim. I’ve got the country’s pioneering sex crimes unit, but nobody’s here to run it, Alex. When did you make this a part-time job?”
“I’m yours 24/7, Paul. I get it.”
“Rose has you booked on an eight A.M. flight out of Nice in the morning. You’ll connect through Paris on the one-fifty-five P.M., which will have you at Kennedy at four-thirty-five. Port Authority cops will meet you and bring you to the office.”
“Excuse me?” I could hear Luc talking to the dog in the garden below the window. I was doing a slow boil at Battaglia’s presumptuousness.
“Talk to Rose. She’s got all the details. And I told them not to charge you for changing your flight.”
The district attorney put me on hold and Rose picked up. “I’m so sorry, Alex. He left me no choice.”
“Don’t be silly, Rose. I know it’s not your doing”
“There’ll be e-tickets for you at the airport.”
I held my tongue, instead of saying to her that I hadn’t yet decided whether or not I would change my plans. I wanted to get off the phone before Luc came upstairs.
“Thanks. Talk to you tomorrow.” I hung up, put Luc’s laptop back on the desk, and started to make myself comfortable on the bed.
Luc seemed pleasantly surprised to find me awake. “Everything calm, darling?”
“Guess so.”
He took off his clothes and went into the bathroom to shower. By the time he slipped into bed beside me, I had dimmed the lights and propped myself up on the pillows so that we could complete the conversation that Jacques Belgarde had prompted with his mention of what had happened at Brigitte’s house.
Luc took my face between his hands and kissed me-first my forehead, then on each cheek, and then my mouth. He was ready to make love, but I was in another time zone altogether.
“Did you tell Jacques about the guys on motorcycles? About the gun?”
Luc was nuzzling my neck. His muffled answer sounded like yes.
“What did he have to say about that?”
He picked his head up, so that our faces were just inches apart. “He assumes they were just ordinary thugs, looking to steal your jewelry or my sexy motorcycle.”
“But you saw the gun.”
“Maybe a gun, maybe a black glove, maybe a-”
“Maybe what-a baguette pointed at you? You were terrified, Luc, and you scared me to death, too. Something spooked you for real.”
He rested his elbow on the bed and held up his head with it. His other hand was stroking my hair. “Can we discuss this tomorrow?”
“After we talk about what happened between you and Brigitte today?”
He rolled over onto his back, clearly deflated by my cold response to his touch. “Okay, Alex, if that will make you happy.”
I didn’t know what would make me happy at this point, or any time in the immediate future.
“Tomorrow won’t work for me, Luc. I just spoke to Paul Battaglia. I’m going to fly home in the morning.”
ELEVEN
I was in my seat in the business-class section of the Air France flight, about to depart from Charles de Gaulle Airport. I had been texting and e-mailing all morning, confirming that I would meet the team in the office as soon as I got into Manhattan, which I expected to be after six on Monday evening. The BlackBerry vibrated again and I saw Joan Stafford’s name flash. I pressed to answer and held the phone to my ear. “Are you crazy?” she asked me without saying hello or greeting me.
“You have two minutes before they close the door on this plane for takeoff. I am neither crazy nor entirely stupid. You’re my pal, Joanie. You’re supposed to slobber over me with love and support. Don’t lay any more guilt on me than I’m already lugging around.”
“I spoke to Luc this morning. He’s désolé, Alex. I thought you two had a deal.”
“I envy you the writer’s life. You make your own schedule, your work is portable, nobody’s well-being depends on your output. But that’s not the kind of job I have.”
“You promised him-”
“It’s not like I cheated on him, Joan,” I said, drawing a sidelong glance from the man settling in next to me. “Yes, I used my phone. I blew off Mike and Mercer and Vickee and all the peeps I trust in that job. And then Paul Battaglia himself called.”
“He doesn’t own you, Alex. You’re entitled to a vacation. If Battaglia has a primary challenger next year, I’ll bet he’ll step down. How old is he already? He’ll be a lame duck by then.”
“I work for the man, Joan. I can’t just twiddle my thumbs for eighteen months till the next election. He’ll stay in this job till he’s ninety.”
“I still think Battaglia’s lame, whether he’s a duck or not.” She was laughing as she talked. “Do you have any idea what Luc planned to do on your birthday?”
“We talked about a quiet dinner at the house.”
The announcement came on that all electronic devices would have to be powered down in two minutes, when the doors closed.
“Obviously dinner, Alex. I didn’t mean that. What’s happened to your sense of romance? Do you remember that day I took him shopping after you two came back from the Vineyard last month? Do you understand the man has been looking at rings?”
I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.
“Are you still there? Can you hear me? Great big shiny diamond rings, girl. His money, my uncommonly good sense of taste and style. Luc’s madly in love with you.”