“Will you tell me anything then that you won’t tell me now?”
“Probably not. But you’ll take it better after you’ve rested.” He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Now, I’d better get out of here while I still can.”
“Wait.”
She placed her towel of ice on the table and took his hand, pulling herself to her feet. She brushed his mouth with the tips of her fingers, cold from the ice, and then followed with her lips, kissing him softly, sinking against his chest just for a moment. His arms went around her, and she could have stood there all night.
He kissed the top of her head, said, “Mollie, you need that glass of wine.”
“And the good night’s sleep.” She smiled, pulling back. “I know. Thanks for your help tonight.”
“We’ll talk soon.”
She nodded, and he left. She wondered if his sense of honor was at work again-she was in pain, in shock, out of balance, and he wasn’t going to take advantage-or if he simply wanted to make sure she hadn’t ripped a necklace off her own neck before he got into bed with her. The Tabak-as-rogue of her imagination would have capitalized on her trauma and stayed the night, eliciting every bit of information he could in the process.
This complicated, honorable Jeremiah Tabak had her mystified. And frustrated. How much easier to get her addled brain around a driven, unethical skunk of a reporter than the man she’d encountered tonight. Irreverent, suspicious, intriguing.
She returned to the kitchen and added more ice to her sopping towel before wandering into the den, not sure what to do with herself. She put on the fourth movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony with Leonardo as the tenor soloist. She turned up the volume, the entire apartment pulsating with the rich, swelling sounds of orchestra and chorus, the emotion and passion and wonder of a piece written more than two hundred and fifty years ago by a dead man.
Tears streamed down her face.
She collected up her darts and threw them one by one, hard, her aim off, but she gathered them up and threw them again, harder this time, her aim truer. It was the aftereffects of the shock of the attack, the confusion of dealing with Jeremiah and his jewel thief, the realization that she was alone, alone, alone.
At the end of the symphony, she was singing along like a maniac, and it was just as well her godfather was on another continent.
But she felt better. This, she thought, was what she’d needed. And maybe Jeremiah knew it.
She aimed a final dart, threw it, and stuck out her tongue in defiance when it went wild and hit a lamp. She returned to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of wine, and sat out on her deck, letting the sounds of the Palm Beach night soothe her tattered nerves and absorb her soul.
When she finally ventured to bed, she had it solid in her head once more: It would be stupid to fall for Jeremiah Tabak all over again.
Griffen and Deegan stopped by first thing Saturday morning with muffins, coffee, and the Palm Beach Daily News, or the Shiny Sheet, as the locals called it. They dragged Mollie out to the pool and made her sit in the sun. She noticed how the morning light intensified the yellows, pinks, oranges, and reds of the impatiens, hibiscus, begonias, and bougainvillea and brought out the nuances in all the different shades of green of the palms and live oak and shrubs, even the grass. She seemed hyper-aware of everything, and the smell of fresh, warm blueberry muffins struck her as perfection.
Griffen spread the muffins and coffee on a small table and mock-slapped Mollie’s hand when she started to serve herself. “You are going to sit back and be pampered-at least for ten minutes. Let’s see this neck,” she said, and winced when Mollie peeled back her polo shirt. “Ouch.”
“It only hurts when I touch it.”
Deegan made a face. “Nice color, anyway.”
“I consider myself lucky,” Mollie said. “He could have slit my throat.”
Griffen shuddered. “Don’t even think about it. I’m sorry we weren’t there to provide moral support, but we’d already made our exit. I’ve had my fill of Granny Atwood, that’s it, I’m on the move.” She handed Mollie a generously buttered muffin, coffee, and a napkin. “Sorry the napkin’s not cloth, but we have to work with what we’ve got.”
Deegan helped himself to a muffin. “You must have been scared shitless, Mollie. I can’t imagine. I’ve never been attacked like that.”
“It was pretty scary, but I’m feeling much better now.”
“Here we were thinking we had kind of a fun jewel thief on our hands-daring but nonviolent. Nobody sees him, nobody gets hurt. Now…” He shrugged, tearing open his muffin. “I don’t know.”
“Yeah,” Griffen said, “last night changes everything. I don’t think this guy’s in it for the money. It’s not greed with him, it’s the thrills. Maybe he changed his MO to get a bigger thrill. You know, go extreme.”
“What’s the Shiny Sheet say?” Mollie asked, biting into her muffin, trying to stay focused on the present, not relive last night.
Griffen showed her the article, which was short, stuck to the facts, and had nothing to report that Mollie didn’t already know. “It was silly of me to wear that necklace,” she said.
Griffen didn’t argue. “Have you told Leonardo?”
“Not yet. He’ll be very understanding-this’ll just confirm his suspicion that that necklace was jinxed. Deegan, how’s your grandmother? The attack really ended her party on a sour note.”
“I haven’t talked to her, but she’s an old pro. She’ll find a way to work it all to her advantage. My bet is she’ll throw it off onto the hotel. You’ll notice the article says you were attacked at the hotel, not at Gran’s pre-ball cocktail party. It doesn’t even mention the party, just says you were at the Sands for the charity ball.”
“I keep thinking if I’d been more alert…” Mollie sighed, sinking back into her chair with her muffin and coffee, the warmth of the sun on her. “If I’d at least gotten a good look at him.”
“Did you see him at all?” Griffen asked.
Mollie shook her head. “There wasn’t enough time. I tried to get back up on my feet-” She stopped, her stomach lurching at the memory. “I guess I didn’t really know if he was finished with me.”
Griffen shuddered, plopping down on a chair next to her. “Jesus, Mollie.”
“Well. It all worked out in the end.”
“I heard Jeremiah Tabak got to you first.” She angled Mollie a look. “You sure there’s nothing between the two of you?”
“Yes, I’m sure there’s nothing between us, but I guess-well, we did meet before, when I was in Miami on spring break in college. It was pure happenstance that we ran into each other again.”
“You’re kidding.” Instantly intrigued, Griffen sat up straight, muffin crumbs falling on her lap; she had on one of her many sundresses, looking exotic and beautiful even on a Saturday morning. “Must have been a hell of a spring break for you to remember each other.”
Mollie ate more muffin, welcoming the sweetness of the blueberries, noticing everything about this moment. The flowers, the sun, the slight breeze, the birds. If she could stay in the moment, she could keep herself from spinning totally out of control. She debated how much to tell Griffen about her past relationship with one of Miami’s more famous reporters, “I sort of got caught up in a drug-dealing story he was working on. I wasn’t involved or anything. Anyway, it ended up on the front page after I headed back to Boston.”
“I see,” Griffen said, dubious.
“It’s true.”
“I’m sure it is, as far as it goes.” She reached for another still-warm blueberry muffin and placed it on Mollie’s lap. “You need to eat. You’re still pale as a damned ghost. I wished I’d run into that thief last night.” She squinted up at Deegan, who was eating his muffins and drinking coffee on his feet. “We’d have nailed his ass, wouldn’t we, Deeg?”