“Trying to hide?” a voice said behind him and a pair of hands ran over his shoulders. “Not a great place to hide though,” the voice said, whispering and simultaneously breathing gently, making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.
“Hi, Frankie,” he replied, tilting his head backwards to look at her.
“Hi!” she chirped and ran round the bench to sit down next to him. “Saw you on television. This Justine Lavoie is a bit of a handful, isn't she?”
Donovan let out a deep sigh.
“But she's not whom you're hiding from, is she?”
Donovan didn’t answer; he just looked Frankie in the eyes.
“Must be her PR chick. I heard she was involved with someone behind her husband's back.”
“How can you have heard that?”
“Gossip travels quickly in this town.”
“You mean you dig around to find the gossip before anyone else?”
Frankie grinned. “Something like that.” She leaned in. “Well, she's married, you can't have her. If you're lonely, I might be tempted to give you a freebie.”
Donovan smiled and ran a hand over her cheek. “A freebie eh?”
Frankie leaned her head into his hand. “Yes.”
Donovan sat up straight and pulled his hand away. “By the way, what are you doing at this party? Weren't you supposed to be with your fiancé?”
Frankie sighed and dropped back in the seat dramatically. “Boring!”
“Dinner with your fiancé and some of the leading businessmen of the city is boring?”
Frankie nodded fervently. “Yep. Boring as fuck. Besides...” She cast a quick look around and leaned closer again. “The mayor is a bit of a client of mine. Not sure it would have gone well.”
“He's a very loyal client?”
“Yes. Not my favorite client, though.”
“Oh?” Donovan didn’t ask her who the favorite client might be. He reckoned he knew from her behavior what the answer was.
Frankie turned toward the door. Justine Lavoie was just coming out onto the terrace. She was feeling up her bodyguard again, but it seemed Naomh Walsh was keeping her from doing anything more. She pretty much slapped her client back into line now.
Frankie frowned as Justine turned her bare back toward them. “When did she get that eagle drawn on her back? Don't remember it being there the last time I saw her.”
Donovan veered up. “What did you just say?”
“Don't remember it being there the last time I saw her?”
“Before that.”
“When she got that tattoo?”
Donovan shook his head. “You said it differently. You asked when she got that eagle drawn on her back.” He got up and pulled out his phone. He walked into the shadows of the trees and called Albert.
“Fucksake. I know you know how late it is, Donovan,” Albert answered. He sounded out of breath, rather than like someone who was just woken up.
“The wife let you have some ass tonight?”
“What do you want?”
“Frankie just said something interesting.”
“What the fuck do I care what Frankie-fucking-Saunders says? And I thought you were doing this public relations bimbo?”
Donovan blinked. “Take it easy...” he admonished his old partner. “She just asked when Justine Lavoie had an eagle drawn on her back.” He heard the rustling of sheets and knew Albert had sat bolt upright. “She's from Québec as well.”
“Huh...” Albert muttered. “Interesting. I'll look into it in the morning.”
“Yeah, I thought it was an interesting play of words. And she's definitely loony.”
“I'll look into it in the morning. Right now I have more pressing matters to attend to.”
Donovan grinned unseen. He recognized where that phrase came from and how it had slipped into Albert's vocabulary. “I'll let you get back to crushing your wife under your big belly.”
“Donovan...”
“Yes?”
“Fuck you.”
Donovan laughed and wished Albert a good night.
Frankie was still on the bench when he came back. He sat down next to her and smiled. In a sudden impulse, he kissed her. “Thank you.”
She was taken aback and left gasping for air. She wanted to lean into him and kiss him back, but just then someone crawled toward Donovan.
Justine Lavoie had noticed him and she rambled on about wanting to thank him for his services as she crawled toward him. She sat down on her knees before him and tried to get to his zipper.
“What the fuck?” Donovan pulled away and sat up on the back of the bench. Naomh Walsh came to the rescue. She pulled the pop star to her feet and began marching her away. It was as she walked away that Naomh noted that the man Justine had been after was Donovan. “Oh, hi,” she greeted him feebly.
“Hi,” Donovan replied. “Thanks for that.”
“Welcome.” She sounded shy. She looked away. Just then her husband came out through the doors. Donovan sank back onto the bench. He watched her as she went back to her husband.
A hand touched his knee. “That freebie is still on offer.”
Chapter Eleven
Donovan woke up in the middle of the night. There was a scream in the house. A prolonged scream. He immediately felt around the bed. He sighed when his hand rested on Frankie Saunders's breast. He reached into the nightstand and pulled out his old Sig Sauer nine millimeter. He checked the magazine and threw back the sheets. He looked around on the floor for a moment, looking for his pants. He put his boxers back on and quietly walked to the door. There was no sound now. He opened the door a crack and looked out. There was no one there.
He went back to the bed and took his phone from the nightstand.
“Again? Fuck off!” Albert's sleepy voice answered.
“There was a scream. Somewhere in the house.”
“Not Frankie Saunders pretending to be in ecstasy? Or was it that Walsh woman?”
“Serious. Get the fuck over here.”
“Still have your gun?”
“Yeah. We'll be fine, but I'm not moving away from here.”
“Yeah, stay in the bedroom. I assume that's where you are.” There was a moment of silence on the line. “Anyone there with you?”
“Frankie.”
“Keep her safe. We're lucky these murders have escaped the press so far. Frankie Saunders being mutilated by a lunatic serial killer would really make the shit hit the fan. And I doubt your business would benefit from it. I'll be over in a few.”
The line went dead. Albert must be getting dressed.
Donovan sat down on the bed and shook Frankie's shoulder. She shot awake. “What...?” she asked him sleepily. Donovan placed a finger on her lips. “There's someone in the house. I've got help coming.”
She lay back in the bed and looked at him. Her hands ran over the front of his boxers. He shook his head, lifting the gun. “I don't know what's going on out there, best keep alert.”
Donovan watched the clock's hands move a very slow half an hour before Albert called to gain access to the property. He opened the gate with his phone and a few minutes later Albert ran up the stairs. “You alright?” he demanded, popping his head into the bedroom on the top floor. “Miss Saunders.”
Frankie gave him a polite nod.
“You stay here; I have a few people searching the house.”
He disappeared, but showed up again almost immediately. “Put some damned clothes on and follow me.”
It was the housekeeper, Miss Graeme. Her blood stained the white carpet on the floor of her own parlor. The butler had been off for the night and had spent the night with his cousins in the Bronx. There had been no one else in the house. The cook was gone for the evening and of course, Donovan and Frankie had been upstairs.