J. Kenner - Wanted

I eyed him hungrily, noting his erection beneath his shorts before tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “Got any more cream?” I asked, then made a show of licking my lips. “Because if you do, I know exactly what kind of treat I want.”

His laugh reverberated through me. “Sweetheart,” he said as he unbuttoned his shorts. “You can have as much as you want.”

I spent the next few nights on the boat with him, popping into the condo only to reassure Peterson I was alive and get fresh clothes. Most nights we spent on the boat, making love under the stars, relaxing on the deck with wine, or snuggling in the stateroom and watching everything from Terminator to The Hangover to The Untouchables. We settled into a comfortable familiarity that I loved, and the only time I felt unhappy or insecure at all was when I remembered that this was all going to end—and that the end was coming soon.

“Evan,” I’d say, and he would know, just from the tone of my voice. He’d pull me into his arms and kiss me and tell me that the only thing that mattered was the moment. And as he made love to me, slowly and sweetly, I tried hard—so hard—to believe him.

Sometimes, I even came close.

Not that we were complete shut-ins. I joined him one night at a reception for all the students in the art class that Cole taught at a community center right on the edge of Wrigleyville. The center’s walls were now studded with everything from still lifes to graffiti-like murals to delicate pencil sketches. And Cole was making the rounds like a proud parent, with Evan looking almost as proud as his friend.

“So what do you think, baby girl?” Cole asked pulling me into a hug.

“I’m impressed,” I said. “And your students look like they’re having a great time.” It was true. The students, who ranged in age from twelve to eighty, were making the rounds like celebrities. As far as I could tell, Cole’s reception was the highlight of their year. “Where’s Tyler?” I asked, realizing that I hadn’t seen his face among the crowd.

“California,” Evan said.

I remembered the phone call I’d overheard on the boat. “Trouble?”

“Nothing he can’t handle.” He took my arm. “We’re going to go find a drink,” he said to Cole. “Good job, man.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

I glanced around the cavernous room as he led me to the bar. “Maybe I should do something like this for the foundation’s fund-raiser,” I said. “Instead of picking a host, I could just have it on neutral territory.”

“Who’s vying for the honor?” Evan asked, as we waited for the bartender to make our drinks.

“Who isn’t? And the moment I pick someone, I’ve basically said fuck you to all the others. I’m not sure I want to piss off the Who’s Who of Chicago. There’s Thomas Claymore. Reginald Berry. I mean the list just goes on and on. Even Victor Neely is on it, and you know how much I love him.” I made a sour face.

“Sweetheart, I feel just the same.”

“I have to admit he’s not high on my list of potentials. Not only could Jahn not stand him, but the prick isn’t even offering to donate any of his collection to the foundation. Apparently he’s already finalized arrangements to donate his manuscript collection to a museum in Belgium. And I think he’s negotiating with the British Museum about some of his paintings.” I peered at Evan’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’d heard rumors; I didn’t realize the Belgium deal was in the can.”

“You’re thinking of the Creature Notebook, aren’t you?”

His mouth curved up in a humorless smile as he took his Scotch from the bartender and handed me my wine. “How well you know me.”

“Yeah, well, I was thinking of it, too. I’d love to get the original notebook for the foundation. I even asked Esther to approach him about it.”

“You did? What did he say?”

“No go. I wasn’t terribly surprised. He paid a shitload to keep that notebook out of Jahn’s private collection, and I don’t see him willingly donating it now.”

“I don’t, either,” Evan said. His brow was furrowed, as if he was considering a thorny business problem.

“What is it?”

“I just don’t like the guy.” He glanced around the room, and I saw him lock onto Cole. “I need to run something by Cole. Will you be okay by yourself for a moment?”

I laughed. “I’m the daughter of the man who’s going to be the next vice presidential candidate,” I said. “Trust me when I say that I can fake my way through any party on the planet.”

He kissed my cheek. “In that case, I’ll be back in a minute.”

As I watched him walk away, I couldn’t help but wonder what was so urgent that he needed to discuss it with Cole right then—and why the Creature Notebook had reminded him.

Not that I had long to think about it. Cole had done the reception up right for his students, and had invited more than a few of Chicago’s elite, and I soon found myself chatting with Thomas Claymore, who—under the guise of polite chitchat—made his bid to host the foundation’s gala.

I listened politely, then managed to extricate myself, talking first with a young woman who was one of Cole’s students and then with a short man in a perfectly tailored suit who held out his hand in greeting.

“Ms. Raine,” he said, his face bland face. “So glad to see you here.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Larry,” he said, still holding my hand.

I started to gently tug my hand free, but Larry tightened his grip. I frowned, assuming he was one of those men who just never quite managed the art of the handshake. But then his fingers tightened even more, and even before he spoke, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle in warning.

“Tell your boyfriend and his buddies to back off,” he said, without any particular menace in his voice. And it was his pleasant tone that made the conversation that much creepier. “Tell them that if they don’t there’s going to be trouble. More trouble. Tell them that’s a promise. You understand?”

“I—” I wanted to play it cool. To toss some brilliant comeback at him. To show that I wasn’t scared at all. But it wasn’t true, and I wasn’t that much of an actress. So all I did was gape at him, my mouth open like some frantic, hooked fish.

He stared at my face, his previously bland features now turning menacing. “Yeah, I think you do.”

Then he yanked his hand free, tipped his head, and disappeared into the crowd. I stood there, my blood so chilled I felt frozen to the spot. Evan. I willed myself to move. I needed to find Evan. I needed to warn him. To point this guy Larry out to him. To ask him what the hell was going on. Move, dammit, move.

I did. One step, then another.

And then one more until motion felt normal again.

But it wasn’t Evan I found when I finally made it across the room. It was Kevin.

I forced a smile. “Hello. I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Angie,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

I smiled again, feeling awkward, because I didn’t say the expected reply—that I missed him, too.

But I didn’t. I didn’t miss him at all. And the truth was, I wished he’d just move on.

Unfortunately, Kevin was not in tune with what I wanted. That, of course, had been one of our problems all along.

“So who was that you were just talking to?” he asked.

That prickly, fearful feeling returned. “I—I’m not sure. Just some guy.”

“I thought perhaps you knew him,” Kevin said, in the kind of voice that suggested he knew exactly who Larry was—and why Larry’d come here. “He seemed very intense.” He took a step closer to me. “I almost came over to ask if I could help you. Should I have? Did you need help, Angie?”