James Patterson - Tick Tock

"Get some sleep, partner," she said as we departed in the parking lot. "You're going to need it."

I turned down the police radio as I began my drive home and slid in a Gov't Mule CD that I kept in the glove box. A machine-gun roll of skull-whomping drums started up, followed by a soul-piercing electric guitar. The hard-wailing Southern rock turned out to be just what I needed to reduce my about-to-pop blood pressure. I turned it up as high as it would go as I punched my Impala toward the FDR.

My stress felt purged as I pulled into my beach bungalow's driveway an hour later.

"Finally. There you are. I was getting worried," Mary Catherine said as I crossed the porch and opened the front door.

"What's up?" I said.

"Did your phone battery die or something? The phone's been ringing off the hook. Your FBI agent friend said something urgent just came up and to call her right away."

I quickly checked my phone. Emily had left three messages. I must have missed it over my head-banging.

I called her back.

"Emily?"

"You need to come back to the city right away, Mike. Karen from the CIA just called me again with new info that she said might lead us straight to Apt. She's coming to my hotel room. You need to get here as soon as you can."

"On my way," I said before hanging up.

"I take it you're not staying for dinner," Mary said.

I nodded and then glanced beyond the kitchen doorway at all the kids seated at the dining room table. Beside a cauldron-size metal pot, Juliana was passing out plates of pasta. That's when I inhaled the scent of garlic and olive oil.

Sweet glory of angels!

Mary had made a massive batch of her world-famous meatballs and sauce.

I glanced at my phone.

Too bad I was going to have mine for tomorrow's breakfast.

Starving and biting mad, I listened to some more Gov't Mule as I hammered back toward Manhattan's big-city bright lights. It was nine thirty on the button when I rapped on Emily's hotel room door.

She surprised me when she answered it. She was in a bathrobe.

"Hey, Mike," Agent Parker said, hurrying toward the suite's bedroom after she let me in. "Karen isn't here yet. Why don't you have a seat and a drink while I get changed?"

"Twist my arm," I said, spotting a six of Brooklyn Lager on a table by the terrace door.

I rolled open the sliders to her room's small terrace and drank by the rail. The first beer was good. The second even better. Down on the street in front of the hotel, taxis were lined up back to Central Park West. One after the other, they pulled into the hotel's driveway, and well-dressed, smiling folks got into them on their way to a night on the town. With my drink, the sultry night air, and the romantic city lights, I felt like I was having one, too. Almost, at least.

I decided to raise my drink to them and the city at large. I was proud of them. They weren't going to let Apt ruin their night. That's what the Carl Apts of the world didn't understand, I thought as I took an icy sip. New York was just like the human race. Sure you could scare it, slow it down, maybe even halt it for a little while. But it kept right the hell on going. No matter what. That was the best thing about New York City.

"Mike, where are you?" Emily called behind me.

"Out here," I said, turning.

I froze in midspin by the terrace sliders. Inside the doorway, Emily wasn't wearing her usual Fed business getup. She was wearing a midnight blue dress. A short dress that hugged her hips and showed a lot of cleavage. As I failed to close my gaping mouth, she fingered the string of pearls around her neck.

I was still stumped for a verbal reaction when there was a knock on the door.

"Is that Karen?" I finally said.

"I don't know. Go see," Emily said.

It wasn't Karen. It was two white-jacketed room service guys with two white-linen-covered rolling tables. On one table were two silver trays, on the other two silver buckets. They wheeled them both out onto the terrace and brought out two chairs. The older of the waiters smiled at me as he popped the champagne bottle's cork.

"Shall I open the other, sir?" he said to me as he filled two flutes.

"That won't be necessary," Emily said, tipping the man as she shooed him off the terrace and out of the room.

"Um?" I said when she came back.

"I forgot to tell you. Karen's not coming," Emily said as she put a glass of champagne in my hand.

She sat down in a chair above the sparkling city lights and took a sip of her bubbly.

"In fact, she never was coming," she said. "I made it up."

"Why?" I said.

"Several reasons," Emily said, staring at me as she crossed her long legs.

She was wearing high heels, I noticed. Very high, very black, peep-toed ones.

"I'll tell you all of them as we eat, Mike," she said as she lifted the lid of her tray.

"You should see your face," Emily said as I sat.

"I'd rather see yours," I said, shaking my head.

I devoured the dinner. I couldn't decide which was better, the perfectly cooked baby lamb chops smothered in lemon, parsley, and rosemary, or the white truffle-garlic mashed potatoes. The champagne we washed everything down with was cold crisp Veuve Clicquot. After the third glass out in the night air, I could feel bubbles dancing in my bloodstream.

Emily popped the other bottle and filled our glasses again.

"I'm still waiting for those reasons, Agent Parker," I said, smiling at her. "Why am I here? What the heck are you doing? What the heck are we doing?"

She set down the wet bottle carefully on the linen.

"Okay. First," she said. "Happy birthday."

"But it's not my birthday," I said.

"I know," she said, taking a little bow. "It's mine. My thirty-fifth, to be exact."

"No!" I said, reaching over and giving her a hug. "Happy birthday! Why didn't you tell me?"

A huge, beaming smile crossed her face as she gazed out at the city. In the dim glow of the building lights, her face took on an amber cast, as if she were made of gold.

"Ever since I got divorced, Mike," she said, still looking away, "I've dated some pretty great guys. But every time I feel myself getting close, I start thinking about this guy I know. This New York cop who, no matter how wise he is with his mouth, just can't quite disguise the sadness in his pale blue eyes, the light in them that's so bright yet somehow so sad."

In the warm breeze, the candle flame flickered between us and she looked at me full on. Her beauty was always striking, but never more than at that moment. Seeing her face and smile were like looking at a gift I'd given up on getting.

"For my present, I wanted you all alone, Mike, for a couple of hours," she said, standing and lifting the bottle off the table. "No kids. No cases."

Her free hand found mine, and she tugged me up out of the chair and guided me into the room. She set the bottle down, closed the door, and pulled the curtain, and then she was in my arms.

"Just you," she said, kissing me.

We kissed for a while, standing. I could feel the goose bumps on her arms as I touched her. She shivered when I laid my palm on her bare back.

"I want you, Mike," she whispered a few wonderful minutes later. She took my hand again, this time tugging me toward her bedroom.

"I always have," she said.

We kissed on her bed for a while, and then she broke off suddenly and headed for the bathroom.

"Get the champagne from the other room," she said. "I'll be right back."

I went out and took the champagne off the coffee table. I was turning back to the bedroom when I stopped. Suddenly I couldn't do it. I didn't even know why. Pascal said that the heart has reasons that reason itself knows nothing about.