The Siren
“She’s stark raving mad, and I’m terrified of her. How are you?” he asked again and winced. He really was making an idiot of himself.
“I’m in the dark, quite literally, I’m afraid. I just walked in the door and all the lights are out. I can’t find the torch anywhere. I’m just glad I had my mobile with me.”
“Is it a blackout or just our house?” Zach winced again. Was he even allowed to say “our house” anymore?
“Blackout, I think. The whole street is dark. I called the power company. Should be on again by morning, but until I find the bloody torch, I’m afraid to move.”
Zach imagined Grace sitting at the kitchen table in the dark debating whether or not it was enough of an emergency to call him. She said she’d just gotten home. But it was nearly midnight in London. He didn’t want to imagine where she’d come from.
“Let me think. Did you try the drawer?”
“By the stove? Yes, I looked there first. Found everything but the light.”
“No, it isn’t there. You’re right. It’s in the cupboard in the utility room. I remember stashing it there now.”
“I’ll check.”
“Be careful.”
Zach heard Grace’s tentative footsteps and the sound of a door opening.
“Found it. Second shelf near the back.”
“Good,” Zach said, desperate to find a way to keep her on the line a little longer. “Be careful if you light any candles.”
“I will be,” Grace replied, a faint note of amusement in her voice.
“If the lights don’t come on soon, stay the night at—” Zach stopped and swallowed. “Stay with a friend. If the lights are off, the alarm might be, as well.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive the night.” He heard the smile in her voice. “If I need more help, I’ll ring you again.”
“Please do.” Zach rubbed his face. “Did you need me? Need anything else?”
Zach heard that pause again. He needed her. He needed her to say she loved him, or that she hated him, or that she wanted a divorce or wanted him back or wanted him dead or wanted him home right now rescuing her from the dark like any good husband would. He needed something from her because he could not and would not go on like this anymore.
“No,” Grace finally said. “I have the torch now. Thanks again.”
“Sure. Right then,” Zach said, his stomach falling and taking his heart with it. “Of course.”
Zach didn’t hang up the phone. He held his breath and listened, waiting for that awful little click. When it came he flinched as if he’d heard a gunshot. He held the buzzing receiver until the line died and then finally hung it up.
25
Nora woke up on Thursday morning with a smile on her face. She dressed in her favorite suit—her business kink black skirt, her knee-high black boots and a white blouse with a black tie. She heard a whistle as she walked past Wesley’s door.
“Did you just whistle at me, young man?” Nora asked, pausing in Wesley’s doorway.
“I did,” he said as he stuffed his laptop into his backpack. “Where are you going today looking so nice?”
Nora came close to blushing. She knew Wesley was attracted to her. He was nineteen, after all, and she wasn’t hideous. But he always tried to treat her as just a friend and roommate. But since their intimate encounter Monday night, he’d been more playful with her, more flirtatious. She was starting to like it.
“I’m going to Kingsley’s.” Wesley’s smile faded. “To tell him I’m quitting.”
The smile came back.
“Zach signed the contract?” Wesley looked so happy and hopeful it broke her heart.
“Not yet. But he will.”
Wesley came over to her with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked so cute and young right now with his baseball cap on his shaggy hair that she wanted to throw him down on his bed and put her tie to better use.
“I’ve gotta get to class. But maybe we can hang out later today. We should celebrate you quitting your job.”
“What did you have in mind?” Nora stepped closer to him. In her heels she was tall enough to kiss him.
Wesley leaned close and put his mouth to her ear. “I was thinking…we could…”
Nora held her breath.
“…rent a movie.” Wesley slapped her playfully on her bottom and brushed past her.
“Sadist!” she yelled out and took a breath, her heart racing. The door opened and closed and Wesley’s car started. She tried to remember what she was doing. Kingsley—that was it.
Nora drove the Aston Martin to one of Manhattan’s oldest and most elegant town houses. It wasn’t just a private home but the headquarters of New York’s most thriving underground business. She handed the keys to the doorman and climbed the front staircase to the third floor. Striding down the hallway, she went through the double doors at the end without knocking.
Four huge black Rottweilers charged at her.
“Down, kids.” She laughed as she petted the massive beasts.
“Brutus, Dominic, Sadie, Max, down,” the man behind the desk ordered tiredly and snapped his fingers. All four dogs sat and stared up at Nora as if waiting for her to countermand the order.
Nora left the whimpering dogs by the door and headed to the ebony desk. Behind it reclined a man she knew no one would believe owned such a posh establishment. He’d pulled his long dark hair into a low ponytail tied with a black silk ribbon. He wore a stylishly rumpled black Victorian-era suit with a long tail and a black vest with silver buttons. His cravat was carelessly tied but that was nothing unusual. On his feet he wore his signature black riding boots. He looked like a handsomely roguish pirate someone forced into a suit and acted liked one, too—the one and only Kingsley Edge in person.