T
hey were halfway to the clubhouse when Tatyana stopped in her tracks. She reached into the pocket of her pinstriped jacket and came up with her phone, which buzzed quietly. “Kuchik.” She listened a moment, then said, “You’re certain? No, Chief. I did not mean to question either you or your men. But the information I had was very specific. Yes. My source is valid. Yes. I vouch for the description I gave you. No. I can’t explain it either. Thank you for checking. Good night.”
She snapped the phone shut and said, “There was no visitor’s pass issued to a tall African-American in a dark suit. And yours was the only board-level pass today.”
“What does that mean?”
“A board-level pass is granted in exceptional circumstances only. A senior executive is required to personally explain why the visitor does not need to go through the normal screening process.”
Wayne signaled his understanding with a nod. “You photograph all normal visitors.”
“We go much further. First-time salesmen are vetted. Passes are coded to certain areas within the building. Visitors are required to be accompanied by their host. Failure to monitor a visitor is a firing offense. Two of our divisions handle matters related to Homeland Security. We are extremely careful.”
The remnants of daylight mingled with the city’s lights, granting the sky a dour glow. “I’m telling you the truth, Tatyana.”
“I believe you.”
In the gloaming, her hair was a dark veil parted precisely in the middle and falling in soft waves on either side of perhaps the most beautiful face he had ever seen. The gathering night was oppressive with a growing need for rain. Wayne tasted the air, savoring the calm certainty with which she had spoken. He said, “I might have received a nicer compliment. But right now I can’t remember when.”
The club entrance had a broad three-story portico designed to keep arriving guests dry in the worst of gales. They were just outside the perimeter when Tatyana drew up a second time.
“What’s the matter?”
“That’s my ex-husband.”
Three limos had pulled up in a line, the drivers scurrying to open the rear doors. A bevy of people disembarked. One man stood out. An older gentleman, probably in his early fifties. Sleek as a desert cat, king of the corporate maze. Everything about him, from his coiffed silver hair to his alligator shoes, was perfectly groomed. He spotted them, took a pair of steps away from his entourage, and said in a voice as well modulated as a professional announcer, “Good evening, Tatyana.”
“Eric.”
He dismissed Wayne with one tiny flicker of a glance, a fractional raising of his chin. He then snubbed his former wife with a smile. “You’re working late.”
When Tatyana did not respond, the man smirked once, then turned back to his waiting guests.
Wayne noted the hesitant way Tatyana followed the group into the club and said, “We can go somewhere else if you want.”
“He is not chasing me away from here or anyplace else,” Tatyana said. “Not ever again.”
“I like that.”
Even though her cat’s eyes were tightened in cautious inspection, even though the gaze was directed down the chandeliered hall, Wayne sensed she was really thinking about him. So he said what came next to his brain. Knowing it was a risk.
What he said was, “I’ve got my own stories, Tatyana. The kind that leave me feeling like I’ve gargled acid after I’ve told them. However you want to make this play out. Just say the word.”
The lady stopped a third time. And inspected him very carefully.
Wayne kept his eyes focused steady upon hers. Which, given the way this lady looked, was about a billion miles away from punishment detail.
Tatyana reached some internal decision. She nodded once, to herself. She took a half step toward him. Close enough he could hear her breathing. Feel the occasional brush of her shoulder upon his arm. She kept tight hold of his gaze as she reached over, her hand searching out his own.
The instant her fingers touched his, Wayne felt the charge. Like he was standing not in the foyer of some fancy club but a power station. And himself straight into the main grid.
Her fingers were surprisingly long. Her touch amazingly soft for a woman with so many barbed edges. She spoke in a voice Wayne had not heard before. “All right.”
“You ready?” He did not need to say it. But the moment and this side of her took some getting used to. Not to mention the fact that his body practically
hummed
.
“I think …No. Yes.” She actually moved in closer still. Reached over with her
other
hand. And took a grip of his arm. Just
molded
to him. So tight he could feel the hem of her skirt, the press of her calf upon his, the bone of her hip. She said, “I’m ready.”
Wayne took it very slow. Not really walking. More like floating down a cloud carpeted by Persia’s best and lit by crystal. A couple of the old guys with their wives dripping jewels as big as life’s mistakes paused to watch them. Wayne resisted the urge to look down, see if his feet were actually connected to the earth. He’d just let the lawyer lady take care of such details. As in, the lady who matched her stride to his, who breathed as slow as their tread, who made the walk into a dance that went
way
beyond cheek to cheek. Yes
sir.
They passed through a bar filled with people who had boardroom training in gawking without showing it. But they were watching. Wayne was certain of that.
The headwaiter stood like a dislocated prince behind the little wooden station. He gave them a professional smile and asked, “Do you have a reservation?”
Wayne did not realize Tatyana was leaving it up to him until her head leaned against his arm. His voice actually shook a little when he said, “Afraid not.”
“Are you members?”
“The name is Kuchik. We’re here as guests of Easton Grey.”
“Ah. Of course. We’re very busy tonight but I’m sure …Yes. Table fourteen. Right this way.”
They continued their weightless waltz across the oval restaurant, with tinkling silverware and soft conversation for music. Wayne knew he was taking everything in. Knew also he’d lay in bed that night and relive it and see things he was missing right now. But for the moment, his attention, his entire
being
, was focused on the lady walking next to him.
The headwaiter led them to a table by the outer wall. To his left, cream drapes framed twenty-foot windows. When the headwaiter reached for the back of Tatyana’s chair, Wayne said, “I’ll handle that.”
“Of course, sir.”
He selected the chair so that Tatyana’s back would be to her ex. Tatyana released him with a dancer’s grace, her lingering touch the finest thank-you he had ever known. When he was seated, the head guy offered Tatyana a menu only slightly smaller than the table. She waved it away. “The gentleman will decide.”
The gentleman agreed to basically everything the headwaiter suggested, which was Wayne’s only choice, since he couldn’t understand most of what was on the menu anyway.
They were seated at an angle to each other. Not touching, but within groping range. That is, if the lady in question had ever in her entire life done anything like grope. If Tatyana had looked over her right shoulder, she would have been able to return the glare her ex was speeding across the room. But she didn’t. Wayne knew, because he did not turn from her, not even to
blink
.
She said, “We need to talk business for a moment.”
“Sure.” He started to draw away, move back into a professional distance. But she made no move herself. So he remained close enough to taste her perfume with every sense, every pore. “Fire away.”
“Can I ask you what you found?”
“You can ask me anything you want.”
A waiter came and poured something and stood by Wayne’s chair, clearly expecting him to do something. Tatyana looked up and said, “That’s fine.”
“Thank you, madame.”
She had tiny flecks of golden in her dark grey eyes. Or perhaps it was merely that her gaze was made for crystal and candlelight and silver. “I trust you, Wayne Grusza.”
He had no response to that one.
“You asked me who else I had working on the inside, inspecting the company’s books. There are two others. An accountant and an aide to the board.”
“They didn’t find a thing.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Your company’s books are totally clear, Tatyana. If people wanted to hide something, they’d start by shutting off some segments. Tangling up fragments of real stuff with myth. Weaving in knots and convolutions. There’s nothing. The data couldn’t be any more well laid out if it had been carved into the crystal block over the security desk.”
This time, she leaned back. “That is what Easton wanted. A company without financial secrets. Books that would say to anyone who looked, This is who we are.”
“You like him.”
“More than that. He gave …” She breathed hard. “Easton gave me my life.”
“Can I ask something that isn’t business?”
She nodded slowly. “I don’t want to talk business anymore. I haven’t had a night away from work since …”
“Since Easton met the man, whoever he is.”
Laughter boomed from the long table running by the side wall. Tatyana’s gaze started to shift over. She held herself back with a strength of will that turned her rigid. “Longer than that.”
Wayne closed the distance between them. “I haven’t had a date since my wife divorced me.”
That turned her focus back to the table and to them. Which was the only reason Wayne had said what he did. She asked, “How long ago was that?”
“Almost four years.”
She did not respond, unless a blink was communication. But her silence was as nice as a caress. “What did you want to ask me?”
“Where are you from?”
“I was born in Kamchatka. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes.” Matter of fact, he had actually touched down at an air base on the peninsula once. He had a fleeting image of ochre hills with razor edges, so high and sharp they threatened to shred the sky. Or shatter the dreams and hopes of small girls.
“I came to America when I was eleven. Easton had set up a charity for adopting …”
The laughter sounded like a barrage. Artillery fired by human throats, intended to break the moment apart. Wayne heard a voice rise above the others, and knew who it belonged to by the way Tatyana winced.
She kept her focus on him, though. And she waited. Her expression was open enough to reveal two things. First, she would tell him whatever he asked. Second, to speak about it would hurt her badly.
So Wayne leaned a fraction closer still. Even though it hurt him to do so. Even though he knew he would wake up in the middle of the night now and remember not the good times, but how he had opened the raw boiling pit and showed it to another. For no good reason. Because no reason was good enough, no matter how nice the moment might be.
What he said was, “When I got out of the service, all I had was a pocketful of back pay and a kit bag full of stolen munitions. I had some crazy idea of heading to Florida and doing the job on my wife’s new guy. Instead, I spent two years minus two weeks avoiding the place. Bumming rides and sleeping rough.”
“You were a hobo?”
“Nowadays the word is homeless. But the answer is yes.”
Her gaze knitted back together. Almost as though he had actually come up with the right thing to say. No matter that it left his chest feeling like he’d used a power mower on his heart. The way she leaned forward, forgetting the questions he was not going to ask her was enough.
Almost.
“What was it like?”
“Good in some ways, bad in most. The worst thing is how you start to believe what people say or don’t say with their eyes. How you’re not worth anything. How you’ll never …”
Wayne stopped because her hand reached over and settled upon his. Then the other. Even though the waiter chose that moment to approach with their dinner. She did not move, did not even shift her focus. She just held him with her hands and her eyes and made the waiter work around them. When they were alone again, she said, “Tell me you no longer believe those lies.”
For some reason, he felt his eyes burning. As in, if they had not been surrounded by a roomful of money and power and witnesses, he would have broken down. He clenched down. Just gritted everything.
Tatyana must have noticed. Which would have shamed him terribly. Except for the fact that she reached across the impossible distance. And kissed the point where his lips joined his cheek. A soft gesture of a caring friend. He told himself that in a mental shout, a quick reality check. Her gift worked, because when he lifted his gaze he was able to see her without the burning sheen.
She saw he was okay, and gave him a very peculiar smile. One that did not touch her lips, and scarcely showed in her eyes. But one he knew was there.
She said, “Let’s eat.”
A
s luck would have it, they left the clubhouse the same moment as Tatyana’s ex did. Which, truth be told, Wayne did not mind at all. Because Tatyana kept a double-handed grip on his arm as they stepped into the night.
Which was when the idea came to him.
Tatyana started down the stairs, taking aim for the distant lot. But Wayne stayed immobile upon the bottom step. Tatyana halted in the process of walking away and gave him a questioning glance.
The valet chose that moment to appear.
Wayne took in the white jacket with the ridiculous gold braid and the shorts and the running shoes, just the sort of getup some rich lady would design because she liked the idea of handsome youths doing a cabaret. He drew the key from his pocket and said, “It’s the red one in the far lot.”
The guy’s eyes went round at the sight of the prancing horse upon the gold-plated seal. “For real?”
“Tell me you can handle a stick.”
The kid beamed. “I’m a fast learner, sir.” He did not run. He vanished.
Tatyana rewarded him with a chuckle so low and throaty Wayne felt it in his gut. He had never heard her laugh before.
A man’s voice rose from the group to Wayne’s left. It was the voice of someone who never asked twice, never waited for anything. “Where are my limos?”
In response, a motor whined into life. One moment the Ferrari was out beyond the light’s perimeter. The next the valet was popping out the door and springing out and racing around to open the passenger door.
The door into which Wayne helped Tatyana settle.
Wayne reached into his pocket and handed the kid a bill he did not bother to look at. The kid pocketed it without taking his eyes off the car or the lady. “My dad’s always telling me to find a goal in life.”
As Wayne settled behind the wheel, a petulant voice behind them yelled, “Can we have some
service
here?”
He revved the motor a little more than was required, then eased away at a crawl. Tatyana rewarded him with another of those laughs. One drawn from Siberian honey and dust the color of unrefined gold.