Джеймс Паттерсон - Killer Instinct

“Nice to see you, Mr. Mayor,” I said, after being led into a parlor off the foyer of Gracie Mansion by a member of the house staff. If there was one thing about this impromptu cocktail party that the mayor actually welcomed it was the cocktails. Comfortably ensconced in his second term, and with the press nowhere in sight, he was happy to throw back a few.

Not as much as the man of the hour, though.

Deacon shook my hand and immediately walked me over to Alexandrov, who seemingly had the mayor’s wife cornered by the bar. Or maybe it was the bar he had cornered.

“Viktor, I want you to meet a friend of mine, Dr. Dylan Reinhart,” said Deacon.

“Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Reinhart,” said Alexandrov, sloppily moving a martini glass from his right hand to his left so we could shake. He already reeked of vodka and was about to slurp some more when he stopped and cocked his head. “Wait, you’re that professor, aren’t you? The Dr. Death guy!”

“Yes, he is,” said Deacon. “This is the man who tackled me on the first-base line of Citi Field and saved my life last year.”

“A real American hero,” said Alexandrov. “In that case, it’s even more of a pleasure to meet you. An honor, actually.”

The guy was a charmer. I could give him that. Now with one step to my left, I was about to give him a perfect view of the entrance to the parlor.

Take it away, Elizabeth…

Chapter 72

ELIZABETH TAPPED the toe of her left Louboutin on the sidewalk outside Gracie Mansion as if keeping time. There was a window to staggered entrances, a sweet spot between too short and too long, and she’d know it when she felt it.

Here we go, she told herself. She’d felt it.

Beginning her walk up to the front door, she couldn’t ignore the irony. Her job tonight was the one thing she’d promised herself she’d never do in her career. Exploit her looks. But if there was ever a night to make an exception, this was it.

Forget about all the research, the cramming she’d done only hours before as if she were back in college at Maryland during finals week. It simply didn’t matter how fluently she now could speak about the ins and outs of the art world. None of that jibber-jabber would matter to a guy like Alexandrov unless she herself was a work of art. She needed to be something he absolutely, positively had to have.

Elizabeth stopped for a second and glanced down at the plunging neckline of her dress, checking her cleavage. Jeez, did I really just look to see if my boobs are straight?

It would be a night of firsts, all right.

Part one of the plan went straight out the window when she was shown into the parlor. Playing it coy at the start and keeping her distance from Alexandrov was replaced by Dylan immediately coming over to her.

“Someone wants to meet you,” he said, cracking a smile. “And he wasn’t terribly subtle about it.”

“Does he recognize me?” asked Elizabeth.

“That’s the even better news,” said Dylan.

There was a chance Alexandrov had seen the video of Elizabeth in Times Square on the news. Even if he had, the odds were slim that he’d make the connection. The Elizabeth in the video looked nothing like the dolled-up Elizabeth he’d seen walking into the parlor. Still, Dylan had made sure.

“I told him you were an interior designer,” he said.

“I thought we agreed on lawyer,” said Elizabeth.

“We did, but I called an audible. That dress doesn’t say attorney. Besides, think of the money you saved on law school loans.”

“Very funny,” she said. “Now shut up and take me over to him.”

“Actually, I told him to wait a bit before coming to us.”

Elizabeth glanced over Dylan’s shoulder. “So much for his waiting.”

Seconds later, Alexandrov practically pushed Dylan aside. The only thing staggered about the Russian’s entrance was his walking. “Are you going to introduce me to this beautiful woman, Dr. Reinhart, or do I have to do the honors myself?” he asked.

“Please, allow me,” said Dylan. “Viktor Alexandrov, I’d like you to meet Elizabeth Johnson.”

The first rule of fake names when working a mark is to keep your first name the same. The second rule? In the age of Google, make your second name as common as possible.

Not that Viktor was listening all that intently. He was too busy staring at Elizabeth’s cleavage. Subtle, he wasn’t. Even less so when he told Dylan to get lost.

“The mayor said he wants to speak to you, Dr. Reinhart. Right away, I believe.”

“Of course,” said Dylan. He gave Viktor a pat on the back and shot a wink to Elizabeth. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”

Chapter 73

“WHERE HAVE you been all my life?” asked Viktor.

One cheesy line deserved another, thought Elizabeth. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she replied.

“Yes,” he said. “But this time I actually mean it.”

He was tall and handsome, although his Russian accent was straight out of a James Bond movie. And if that was cologne he was wearing, it was eau de Stolichnaya. Is he already drunk?

“So how do you know the mayor?” asked Elizabeth.

“He’s looking to make a significant art purchase. That’s what he and I were talking about. I’m an art dealer.”

“Really?” said Elizabeth, feigning amazement. Eyes fluttering, she tried to look as if she were meeting a rock star. “You’re an art dealer?”

“Does that turn you on?”

Did he really just ask me that? Yeah, he’s drunk, all right. Drunk and horny…

“Well, art does excite me,” said Elizabeth, playing along. “Especially modern.”

Viktor grinned. “Modern is my specialty.”

What a coincidence. Elizabeth proceeded to showcase the rest of her research, discussing trips she’d taken to various museums around the world. The way she talked about the time she got lost in the Louvre, she was almost starting to believe it herself.

“There’s one museum still on my bucket list, though,” she said. “I imagine you’ve been.”

“I’ve been to them all.”

“Given your accent, I mean.” There were a lot of museums in Russia, sort of like there were a lot of guys named LeBron who play basketball.

“Ah, the Hermitage,” said Viktor. “I was actually raised in Saint Petersburg. I know the museum like…” His voice trailed off as he showed her the back of his hand. He then lightly stroked Elizabeth’s arm with it.

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” she said playfully.

“I’m only just getting started. What are you doing after this?”

“That depends. What do you have in mind?”

“Whatever you want. Dinner? Dancing?” He watched Elizabeth frown. “What? What did I say wrong?” he asked.

“I already told you what excited me,” she said.

“You want to see some art?”

Elizabeth bit her lower lip and nodded as if the word art were code for the craziest, kinkiest sex act a man like Viktor could ever imagine.

He glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist. “I can think of only one place that’s still open at this hour,” he said.

“A museum?”

“Actually, it’s more of a gallery. At least it doubles as a gallery.”

“What is it when it’s not a gallery?”

“My apartment.”

“We just met and already you’re inviting me back to your place?”

“Like I said, I’m only getting started.” Viktor leaned forward, whispering in her ear, “Do you want to see my Picasso?”

Chapter 74

ELIZABETH CRANED her neck as she stood outside the door of Viktor’s penthouse apartment in SoHo while he fumbled with his keys. There was no hallway. It was more like an oversized foyer, which made little sense given there was only one other apartment on the floor. The rich really know how to waste space.