Carla Neggers - Cut and Run

But it meant leaving directly from Lincoln Center and making a risky, mad dash down to SoHo.

She had to be crazy.

She’d planned carefully. She’d change into the black dress backstage after the concert and put on her black boots and black cashmere coat. In the cab, she’d pull the turban on over her blond hair, so she wouldn’t have to tint it pink or purple or whatever, and drape Grandmother Fall’s shawl over her coat, to make it look more J.J. Len would recognize cashmere when he saw it, but she’d have to take her chances. Finally, she’d slip into J.J.’s rose-colored shoes and gob on some makeup. She’d already have the stockings on; nobody would see those under the boots.

It was all, she thought, a matter of timing and guts.

But first she had a Beethoven concerto to perform. She breathed deeply, shut her eyes, and focused her energy, and for once the prospect of a memory lapse held no terror for her whatsoever. Forgetting a passage in front of a sold-out Lincoln Center audience, the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, and one of the world’s great conductors, she thought, was the least of her troubles.

“You’ve lit your candle at both ends,” she said to herself, “and if you don’t watch it, your ass is going to get burned.”

Holding his emotions rigidly in check, Ryder survived the first half of the concert. He had cultivated a taste for classical music, but he’d been relieved to see he wouldn’t have to sit through any difficult modern compositions. Even so, he found himself twitching with impatience. He wanted tonight over and done with-another tactical objective achieved.

During the intermission, he resisted looking around for de Geer, uncertain the Dutchman would actually be inside the concert hall. He smiled only briefly at Rachel Stein, trying to discourage conversation. He realized they had nothing more to say until they met with Catharina Fall, a meeting he was confident wouldn’t last long. He was playing a dangerous game, manipulating Rachel Stein, Phil Bloch, Hendrik de Geer. But what choice did he have? Everything would work out.

“Have you seen Juliana Fall perform?” the old woman at his side asked.

Catharina Fall’s daughter. Her appearance tonight had provided him with a convenient way of getting everyone together with the least possible risk. The women wouldn’t have to see de Geer; the Dutchman could see them, from the lobby, from inside the concert hall, or from outside. It made no difference to Ryder. He was quite confident de Geer wouldn’t want to risk a face-to-face confrontation with either woman. It was all so easy. Providential.

“No,” he replied. “I haven’t had the opportunity, although I understand she’s very good.”

“Phenomenal, I’ve been told. So we must pay attention.”

How could he listen to a piano concerto when all he wanted to do was to move on to the next objective? But he knew he had to wait until the end of the concert. He clenched his teeth and said nothing as the pianist strode out onto the stage.

Then he couldn’t have spoken if he’d wanted to.

Juliana Fall. My God, he thought, how have I missed her?

She was a vision. Everything about her was beautiful, elegant, heart-stopping. She was draped in flowing ice blue, her only jewelry a simple sapphire pendant, and her hair, the lightest of blonds, bounced on her shoulders. Her skin was translucent. When she smiled at the audience, it was as if something big and hard slammed into his chest, and he couldn’t get enough air. He forgot about the old woman at his side, about the diamond, about the predicament he was in, about Hendrik de Geer and Phillip Boch and all the sordidness he had to face. Now he couldn’t stop staring. Nothing mattered except the woman on stage.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Rachel Stein said, irritatingly matter-of-fact.

Ryder gave a curt nod. His jaw ached. He took a quick, sustaining breath. Never had he been so affected by a woman.

The crowd settled down as Juliana Fall sat at the piano, and the concerto began. Sam Ryder never took his eyes from her. He studied how her long fingers danced on the keyboard, how her expressive face changed with the music, how she used her entire body to bring forth the incredible sounds from her instrument. Her concentration seemed unshakable. It was as if no one else was there, just her and the orchestra. There was a wildness, a sense of daring to her performance that Ryder hadn’t expected. She seemed always on the verge of going over the edge, of making a mistake that would leave her audience gasping and horrified.

What would it be like to have her concentrate like that on him? To have that wildness unleashed in bed? Ryder felt the stirring of an erection and shifted, hoping Stein wouldn’t notice, and then he realized he’d been biting down hard on a knuckle. He pulled his hand from his mouth, and immediately his fingers formed a tight fist. He shoved his hand into his lap.

He wasn’t aware that the concerto had ended until the people around him were jumping to their feet, roaring and clapping, and suddenly he remembered where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. He rose unsteadily, grasping the back of the seat in front of him.

Hendrik de Geer had found the concert interminable and was glad it was over. He was not a man who endured immobility well-nor United States senators who played games with him. The Dutchman took some small pleasure in observing Sam Ryder’s reaction to Juliana Fall. She was very attractive, but there was something remote and untouchable about her. Yet she had that zany streak that made her paint her hair pink and dress up in strange clothes, nothing like the dress she wore tonight. Hendrik felt a strange protectiveness toward her. He wouldn’t want a man like Ryder to get too close to this unpredictable young woman, this child of Catharina.

Inside him, an alarm went off, and Hendrik reminded himself that he was a practical man. He never permitted himself to let sentiment motivate his actions or force him to make mistakes, although, of course, he understood how well sentiment could motivate others and force them to make mistakes.

Once more he looked across the seats, down from his on the left, and saw Rachel Stein. It would be dangerous, he knew, to let the past influence his judgment of her and the situation. He had never anticipated seeing her again. Hers was a name he had learned not to remember, even in his nightmares. His unconscious couldn’t tolerate the thought of her, of her family, of what he, with all his good intentions, had left happen to them. Yet tonight there she was, so small and self-righteous-and so old. He remembered what a pretty mite she’d been. He used to love to bring her gifts, to see the light in those dark, intense eyes. Now she hated him. There was no forgiveness in her heart; she believed she was the only one ever to have suffered. Such arrogance, Hendrik thought.

Seeing her again, he’d almost lost control of himself. But what would that have accomplished? Senator Ryder had invited Rachel Stein to Lincoln Center tonight for a reason, and Hendrik, too, for a reason. Instead of falling apart, the Dutchman decided to wait and see what those reasons were. He had a fair idea already, but he had to know for certain.

He didn’t join the standing ovation. Ryder would be furious if Hendrik let himself be seen, but he didn’t care. He left the concert hall, moving quickly up the aisle, his eyes focused straight ahead. Catharina would be here tonight. If she saw him, she would say nothing. Hendrik could almost feel her shock, her hatred as he thought of her. His breathing became rapid, and he felt a stitch in his side, but he didn’t slacken his pace.

Trust me, my Catharina.

But of course she never would.