Lisa Miscione - Twice

Eleanor looked at her watch suddenly and rose.

“I have to collect my lawyer and see Detective McKirdy to give my statement,” she said, turning to Jeffrey. “I’m sure you’ll recap our conversation for Ms. Strong and contact me to let me know if you’ll accept this case. You realize, of course, that money is not an issue.”

“We’ll contact you by the end of the day today,” answered Jeffrey.

Lydia stood and shook Eleanor’s hand again, saying nothing. The older woman’s hand was as cold and hard as a corpse. She turned toward the door with a sweep of her coat.

Jeffrey escorted Eleanor to the elevators and Lydia watched as they exchanged a few more words while they waited in the lobby. She could hear the cadence of Jeffrey’s deep voice even though she couldn’t understand his words. The elevator doors slid open and Jeffrey held them as Eleanor stepped on. Lydia always admired the way Jeffrey treated people, with a kind of courteous distance. He wasn’t cold, but he wasn’t falsely intimate. There was a quality about his manner and his voice that communicated authority. There was something about the gaze of his hazel eyes faceted with gold and green that could be in turn withering or understanding, loving or just plain dangerous.

When Eleanor disappeared behind the stainless steel, Jeffrey turned to face Lydia, raising his eyebrows and giving her a small smile. She knew he couldn’t see her, but that he was aware of her watching, observing them. The thought made her smile.

In the cab on the way up, Lydia had checked the news headlines on her cellular phone. Remembering Jeffrey mentioning the Julian Ross case of ten years ago to her more than once, she had deduced immediately what was up. Though she certainly hadn’t expected Eleanor Ross would be sitting in his office when she arrived.

She hadn’t been blowing smoke up Eleanor’s ass, not that she was above it. She truly had been a fan of Julian Ross’s work for quite some time. It was grim and violent, alive with a raw passion that moved Lydia. She’d thought more than once of buying an original piece but could never quite bring herself to part with the small fortune it would cost. Besides, there was enough violence and passion to be found on the landscape of her own inner life to keep her occupied.

Eleanor Ross made quite an impression herself. Lydia could tell that she was a formidable woman, strong and domineering, intelligent, and not to be fucked with. But she could also see Eleanor was hiding something, something that frightened her very much. Lydia could sense that by the way the older woman’s hands were ice-cold and shook almost imperceptibly, by the way she shifted her eyes quickly between Lydia and Jeffrey, by the way she slipped behind a queenly façade when Lydia mentioned the first murder case. The buzz was so loud it sounded like blood rushing in her ears.

Jeffrey returned to the office and shut the door behind him. He wore a thin black Armani sweater with three bold horizontal gray stripes across his broad chest, over charcoal wool flat front pants. A pair of black leather boots was the perfect finish. His sandy brown hair was cut short with a stylish bit of length on top. He was the only straight man she knew who loved designer clothes and good hair as much as she did.

“What did you think of her?” he asked, knowing by the look on her face that she’d already formed an opinion.

“Freaky,” she said with a smile. Lydia stood and Jeffrey pulled her in to him. She took in the scent of his cologne, feeling his warm hard body against hers and the stubble on his chin against the soft smooth skin of her face. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“How’s everybody?” he asked, pulling back from her and patting her still-flat belly. Then, not waiting for her to answer, “I really don’t think it’s a good idea to be running, do you?”

She bristled a bit, never liking much the suggestion that he knew better than she what should and should not be done.

“Maybe not, but it’s not even a month yet,” she said with a shrug, moving away from him and heading toward the couch.

He smiled and said nothing, knowing by now the futility of trying to tell Lydia what to do. He pulled a bottle of water from a small refrigerator under the bar on the far wall of his office and tossed it to her. She pulled it from the air and they sat on the cream chenille sofa arranged to look out onto his spectacular view of downtown Manhattan. She put her feet up on the glass top of the chrome-and-bleached-wood coffee table and hugged a rust-colored pillow to her chest as he filled her in on the rest of the conversation with Eleanor and some of the more relevant details of the earlier case.

“What about those hairs? Any chance they’re still floating around somewhere? DNA technology has come a long way.”

He shrugged. “Anything’s possible. I left a message for Ford McKirdy.”

“So what do you think?”

He drew in a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’d like another crack at this,” he said thoughtfully. “There are too many unanswered questions. I know Ford feels the same way. At least, if we get involved, we know we can count on his cooperation.”

“You really think there was someone else there that night… you know, back then?”

“I really do. I’m not saying she was entirely innocent. But there was definitely someone else there. There’s more to what happened than we were ever able to piece together. I just have a strange feeling that what happened last night will shed some light on the past.”

He got up and walked across the elaborately patterned Oriental rug to the window.

“Just one thing, Lyd. Don’t get pissed.” His voice was tentative as he watched her from across the room.

“What?” she said, looking up at him with a frown.

“I only want your brain involved in this. You leave the legwork to the other people on the team.”

She nodded, since they’d already agreed that she’d do nothing to put herself in danger while she was pregnant and until they had captured Jed McIntyre. But the resentment she felt was already a stone in her heart. It pulled down the corners of her mouth and creased her brow. He walked back over and sat down beside her, putting his arm around her shoulder.

“I know this is hard for you. But it’s not forever.”

“Is there any word?” she answered, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to reveal how constantly she wondered where Jed McIntyre was.

“There’s no sign of him. The FBI has people watching us, watching your grandparents on Kauai. There’s an alert at airports and at bus and train stations. If he makes any kind of a major move, chances are we’ll know about it. He’s going to have to take a risk sometime.”

She nodded, knowing he was right. But the waiting was like a physical pain, invading her sleep, keeping her from peace and comfort. The sense of something dark and angry at her heels was always with her.

“How are your grandparents doing?” he said, trying to lighten the subject that was casting a pall over their days.

“Great,” she said with a forced smile. “They love it there. They’re looking forward to seeing us.”

They had sent Lydia’s grandparents on a “vacation” indefinitely to Hawaii after their brush with Jed McIntyre early last month. There they would stay under FBI surveillance until Jed McIntyre was behind bars again. Or until he was dead.

“Did you tell them?” he asked, and she knew he was talking about her pregnancy.

“No, I’ll tell them when we go to visit in February,” she said, leaning into him. She looked into his eyes and smiled, running her fingers though his thick hair. “It’s too soon. And I want them to hear it from both of us… together.”