T. Bunn - Winner Take All

Kirsten gestured at the suitcases. “When is your flight to New York?”

The manager sucked in his breath, but Erin merely smirked her response. “You and your meddling lawyer are in for a great astonishment.”

Reiner protested softly. “Erin.”

The diva ignored him. “You think me helpless? You assume you can waltz into my world and attack me at will?” She noticed the bandage on Kirsten’s neck, and lifted her smile until she revealed small perfect teeth. “You think I am without friends? Without power?”

“Erin, enough.”

“You have been neutralized, my dear. Phone your darling little lawyer. Hear what he has to say.” She glanced over to where the three detectives were exchanging a few parting words. “While you’re at it, call off your toothless dogs.”

As they started away, Kirsten called after them, “Where did you hide the child?”

Erin hesitated, but was drawn forward by a hiss from her manager. Kirsten raised her voice. “I’ll find her, you know.”

The diva was kept from turning back by the manager reaching over and gripping her arm.

Kirsten watched the pair slip into a new Mercedes sedan and drive away.

The detective appeared at her elbow. “We should move away from here.”

“Just a minute.”

He reached for her. “It is far too exposed.”

She shook her arm free. “Wait.”

The minutes ticked by, until Kirsten thought she might have been mistaken. Finally Erin’s front door clicked open and a fearful gray head peeked through. “The madame, she is gone?”

“Yes.”

Apprehensively Goscha crept outside. She began rubbing the brass banister with a cleaning rag and spoke without looking directly at Kirsten. “She has said nothing more about the child.”

Kirsten made no move to approach any closer. “Where is she staying in New York?”

“The Plaza. Always the Plaza.”

Kirsten turned to the detective. “Give me one of your cards.” She took it and started toward the front steps. Goscha watched with fearful eyes but did not retreat. Kirsten slipped the card into her apron pocket. “If you find out anything more, call this man.”

The detective drove her to the airport. He accompanied her to the check-in counter, a gray-suited appendage attached to her left shoulder. As she checked her bag and received her boarding pass, he draped one casual hand upon the counter and leaned in close. The professional bodyguard doing his best, even if it was a day late.

She turned from the counter and offered her hand. “Thank you for everything.”

His grip was cool, small, and tungsten hard. “I should have been there last night.”

There was nothing to be gained by agreeing. “You will fax me any further information?”

“There is little to go on, unless the housekeeper discovers where they took the baby.”

Kirsten headed for the customs barrier. The airport’s ultramodern interior was softened by a brilliant sunset. The clouds had parted sufficiently for all the colors of heaven to escape, reflected inside the hall by marble and steel. Kirsten passed one of the multifloored openings that transformed the airport’s upper tiers into giant balconies. Only when she smelled the downstairs restaurants did she realize she had eaten nothing since the previous evening.

The airport elevators were glass pillars that appeared to support the upper tiers. She watched a flock of pigeons wheel above the sweeping expanse of glass overhead, then stepped into the elevator.

And smelled the man.

It was the same odor as the previous night, a repulsive blend of body odor and oily spice, like a hair pomade from the last century. Kirsten gripped the steel balustrade. The glass cage trapped her utterly.

The descent took long enough for a thousand gasping breaths. As the lower floor arrived, Kirsten unclenched her grip on the railing enough to turn and scout in all directions. The restaurant alcove was off to her left. Arrivals and baggage claim to her right. Directly ahead were the rental car and limo booths. People strolled and chatted. She saw no one who might be the menace in tweed. Yet he was here. There was no doubt whatsoever.

She exited the elevator sensing two forces at direct conflict within herself. She wanted to flee, to turn away from the terrors and the trouble, just as she had done all her life. To look for the safe corner, to hide and never show herself to whatever new evil was stalking her. But there was a new sensation as well. One that defied the fear and the stalker both.

A pair of middle-aged gentlemen were walking toward her, dressed in high German fashion, giving her the eye. For once she did not turn away from them either. Instead she flashed her most winning smile and said, “This is just an amazing place, isn’t it.”

They both showed surprised delight. The taller one said, “You are American?”

“I most certainly am.” She sidled in close beside him. “I used to model here, but I haven’t been back since they opened this place.”

The other man inquired, “ Eine Modelle? ”

“ Natürlich .” The younger man said to Kirsten, “My friend, he speaks no English, I am happy to say. Please, you will take a glass of Sekt ?”

“I would love one.” She allowed herself to be guided over and seated at the long restaurant bar, one man to either side. She smiled at their comments, spoke a few words, and scouted.

She was about to rise and head back upstairs when she spotted him.

The man wore a bulky navy jacket. One far too heavy for the cool German afternoon. A baseball cap was pulled down so far as to mask his entire face. He leaned over the third-tier balcony and stared straight down at her. When she looked up, he drew back. But not fast enough.

Kirsten rose from her seat, flashing the smile perfected before a thousand cameras. “This has been just lovely.”

“But you have not touched your Sekt .”

She slid the glass over in front of the man who spoke no English. “Why don’t we let your friend finish it, and you walk me to the departure lounge?”

“By all means.” The man insisted on toting her carry-on, which left her with a hand free, which she draped over his elbow. The man moved in closer than the detective and announced, “I am Joachim.”

“Kirsten.”

“You will be returning often?”

“You never can tell.” She found herself unable to step back inside the elevator, even with the man standing beside her. “How about if we take the escalator?”

By then the man would have trekked the Gobi for her. “Whichever is slower.”

She spotted the watcher again midway up the stairs, a swiftly moving blur in blue. There was still nothing to be seen of his face. He kept his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched such that nothing was visible save the tip of his nose and the brim of his cap. Though he did not glance her way she felt his eyes drift over her, leaving blisters and clammy skin. He was one tier lower now, directly above the customs barrier, walking from left to right. Just another stranger on the move.

She realized the man beside her had halted in his monologue and was looking at her, waiting for a response. She said the first word that came into her head. “Certainly.”

He gave an utterly boyish grin. “Most excellent.”

When they stepped off the escalator, he shifted her carry-on to his other shoulder, and found great delight in how she refused to release his arm. “Please, you will take my card and you will call me the minute you know when you are next coming to Düsseldorf.”

“We better hurry, I’ve just heard them call my flight.”

“This is as far as I can go, I fear. Only ticketed passengers can cross through customs.” He gave a stiff-backed bow and kissed her hand. “Such a pleasure you cannot imagine.”