Crime & Counterpoint (44 page)

They stopped at a Duane Reade’s once back in Manhattan for ambiguous reasons. Zach kissed Shelley’s wedded hand and said “I’ll be right back” before bolting from the Audi R8 – which Henri had insisted they take. Too dazed to question him, Shelley admired her
husband
as he strode tall and broad-shouldered towards the entrance to the drugstore. She noticed several pedestrians give him a similar appraisal. He
was
a rare specimen.

And he was finally hers. She still couldn’t quite grasp the concept, but the blue diamond she wore at least confirmed it.

Once he was out of sight, she stared at the stone, mesmerized by the way the light refracted within the gem. Then, fatigued, she touched her fingertips to her lips and leaned her head back against the seat, watching the traffic and perpetual late-night activity. Her stomach still had that feeling of knots. She assured herself it would be different tomorrow. Settled.

Closing her eyes, she sighed long, wondering if this night was ever going to reach a finale. But just as wakeful dreams swam into view, she heard a vibrating from the console – Zach had left his phone.

Without thought, she swiped her finger across the screen and let her bleary eyes adjust to the brightness.

One new message.

Sender: unknown.

Congratulations. I wish you both eternal love and happiness. – The Red Fisher.

Stunned, Shelley stared at the words for a while, uncertainly. But the driver’s side door opened, and she jumped, accidently erasing the message.

Zach maneuvered himself into the supercar and dropped a small plastic bag into the backseat. Shelley scarcely noticed, staring at him with large eyes and anxious comport.

But he reached over and took her jaw in his hand, turning her face to him. He studied her. “What’s wrong?”

Smoothly, she leaned close, returning the cell to its dock, and kissed him. “Can we go home now?”

He smirked, loving the sound of that. “Yes, baby, we can.”

In the elevator of his new apartment building, Zach held a very tired Shelley in his arms. He was reminded of the time she’d been stone-cold drunk. She wasn’t acting all too different now.

Arriving on the nineteenth floor of the doorman-guarded edifice, Zach led her to their door and carried her over the threshold much to her drained delight. She giggled as he kicked the door shut and set her carefully on her feet.

She breathed in the warm and welcoming fragrance of the pleasant environs. Unfurnished, though it was, she felt an immediate sense of belonging. From the recessed lighting in the ten-foot ceilings to the wooden flooring to the picture windows revealing sweeping views of Central Park East, she was enchanted though it was all quite modest. “Oh, I love it!”

“Really?” he asked with such uncertainty that she shot him a look.

She went to him and encircled his neck. “I think I could live pretty much anywhere with you.”

He smiled gratefully. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you much of a choice, but I figured you could furnish it however you wanted. And I got you something to make you feel more at home.”

He led her by the hand, past an open fireplace. She glanced at the mantle and – she could scarce believe it – the gourmet chocolates that Carrie had given them from
her
wedding sat alongside a football trophy. She gasped. “Is that your Heisman?”

Sheepishly, he nodded. “Carrie dug it out and insisted I put it up long enough for you to see it. Now that you have…” He went to take it down.

“What?! Don’t even think about it,” she said sternly. “I want it there.”

“Shelley, please–”

“
Zach
.” She crossed her arms, daring him to defy her.

A tense second passed, but he gave in. “Okay. As you wish.”

A smile blossomed on her face, and he thought to himself for that look he would do almost anything.

Their journey then continued to an alcove hidden from the main living area of the apartment and a step higher than the floor. It had French doors that didn’t quite match the rest of the flat.

He could tell by her “oh my God” that she knew exactly what giant piece of piano-shaped furniture hid not so discreetly under that tan cover.

She pulled away from him and practically ran to uncover it. “You bought me a baby grand?!”

“How else were you going to teach me?” he teased.

“There are literally a hundred ways. Cheaper, I might add.” She lifted the lid to reveal brand new, glossy white and black keys. Without even sitting down on the padded bench, she played a full-bodied jazz chord. The treble and bass tones rang out in delicious euphony, sounding powerful in the apartment. But loud. She shrunk a little and looked at him. “Are you sure we’re not going to get nasty complaints if I play?”

“This floor here,” he tapped his foot on the wood, “has additional insulation. And I had them put it in the walls here too. I already tested it out. With the doors closed, the neighbors said they can’t hear anything.”

“You did that? For me?” She beamed excitedly and threw her arms around him. “I’ll play for you whenever you want.”

“I expect daily lessons.”

“
Mai ouis, monsieur.
” She pulled his tie, encouraging his head to come down to her level, her breath mingling with his. She pressed against him. “Do we have a bed, or did you spend all of your money on the piano?”

His gut clenched. “No, your highness. There is a bed. But first, you have to eat something.” Seeing she was about to protest, he added, “For me. You’re trying to starve yourself.”

Her jaw dropped open. “I am not.”

“I can feel the difference,” he said, sliding his hands along her waist. “And I heard you were sick for weeks.”

“It’s called a spring cold. It happens.” She framed his face.

A darker emotion flitted across his features. “I know.” He kissed her forehead and then half-dragged her into the medium-sized kitchen with stainless-steel appliances, granite counters, and modern cupboards. He fished out of the fridge a bag of juicy, red grapes.

She frowned. “Are those for me?”

“I saw you eat them at Ramone’s a couple times on your breaks.”

She looked at him with dawning understanding. “You watched me?”

“On occasion,” Zach replied with a nod, taking out a bowl.

The gold flecks in her eyes sparkled. “How many occasions?” she asked, hands sliding around his bicep, slowing his progress as he plucked grapes.

“I don’t know, baby.” He stepped towards the sink and the water gushed from the faucet, dousing the fruit.

“You never talked to the guys you sat at the bar with,” she said, leaning her hip against the counter, a smile on her pretty mouth as she studied him.

“Now, who was watching who?” He shut off the tap.

“You were in my line of sight. At least once a week. For over a year.”

His eyes flickered as he set the wet bowl in front of her. “You’re trying to get me to admit something.” He cornered her with one hand gripping the counter to either side of her. “But I’d appreciate directness.”

“Alright.” Lovingly, she kissed him, making him burn. Pulling back a breath’s distance, she uttered, “I’ll eat the grapes.”

“So do you think you’ll find another job? You’re going to get bored of me after a while,” she intimated, drawing lazy circles on his scarred, sweaty chest as he lay beside her in their bedroom.

“And clearly you’re bored of me already or you think this is somehow sex talk.” He slid his body over hers to smother any response with a heady, scorching kiss. She slipped her fingers into his near-black hair as his mouth brushed her neck and collarbone. His ministrations both roused and soothed.

Lifting his head, he gazed at her shimmering face as she closed her eyes, full lips parted, and snuggled into him. There was something he wanted to bring up, but… tomorrow was soon enough.

Sleepily, she murmured, “I can’t call you detective anymore.”

He smirked. “You can call me anything you want, baby. But since you mentioned it, I have a confession to make…”

Her eyes fluttered open – “Confession?” – as he eased away and went to his discarded suit, withdrawing some hard and fast credentials. Returning to the bed, he presented them to her very naked body.

Smiling with curiosity, she took the folded creds and opened them as he stretched out next to her again. He watched her carefully as she examined the insignia on the badge and then the second item which was the real matter of importance. Her eyes nearly doubled in diameter.

“Department of Homeland Security?!” she fairly squealed. “Oh my God! You’re a Special Agent?”

Her response gratified. “In ICE – Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Includes arms trafficking, human trafficking, immigration fraud, narcotics. Everything I’ve already been investigating.”

“That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you!” she exclaimed in loving earnest, throwing her arms around his thick neck and squeezing tightly.

He grinned, her words pleasing him more than he thought possible.

She released him and cradled his face, trying not to look at his bullet scars. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, smoothing back her hair. “I have motivation now.”

Satisfied, she turned her attention to the credentials, reading them again. “Have you started?”

“I passed my SSBI last week. So I’ll begin my one year probationary period in April. Eventually, if I do well enough, I’ll be eligible to apply for the SES as an SAC.”

She pouted becomingly. “Are you going to be talking in acronyms all the time?”

“Why?” He rolled to his side and drew a line of fire down her body with his index finger. “Does it turn you on?”

“I don’t know.” She frowned and shifted on the pillow, crossing one leg over the other. “What’s the SES?”

“Senior Executive Service.”

“And an SAC?”

“Special Agent in Charge.”

She smiled broadly then, eyes dancing. “Mmm.” She discarded his creds on the side table and turned to crawl on top of him. “Now that
does
turn me on.” She bent to kiss him deeply, filling his mouth with delight as his arms wrapped securely around her silky curves.

Adoring her response, he flipped his love onto her back again and mounted her with a playful growl, which elicited a mellifluous stream of giggles from her. The world was but a shadow as he gave himself to her devotedly. And when the night sustained its final sleepy note and Shelley drifted off in Zach’s protective arms, their shared dreams burst forth in symphonic color and vibrant hope. And nothing would separate them again.

Zach couldn’t have been more annoyed at being called in on the weekend only a few days after his official start date with Homeland Security Investigations. But his new immediate boss, an SAC, said it was a residual matter from his previous job with NYPD. “I’m gonna let you take care of it.”

Thus, Zach dragged his butt out of the apartment after an invigorating morning with his bride to handle a minor development concerning the soon-to-be-incarcerated daughter of Viktor Ilyich Maximov – Interpol’s number one most wanted criminal in Europe.

The legalities took most of the Sunday, and by the time Zach returned home after meeting with “Mr. Grant” of MI-6 and several power-wielding cogs of the judicial system, it was well-past five. Now, he had not only missed church with his grandmother but brunch with the in-laws.

So all in all… not a bad Sunday thus far.

He walked into his now-furnished, rose-scented apartment, ravenous. He could practically taste the leftover eggplant parmesan Shelley had made and fully planned to head for the kitchen, but upon spotting taupe heels on the woven mat at the front door, he realized his wife was not still at her parents’ estate as he’d presumed. He smiled, deciding he’d rather see her than satiate his hunger.

Then, again, they were rather one and the same.

“Hey baby, I’m back,” he called as he made for their bedroom. “Hope I didn’t ruin your day. It was a freak thing I got pulled into. But it’s all squared away now.”

He stopped, realizing she wasn’t replying. In fact, upon sweeping his gaze about the room, he couldn’t see her. His blood pressure rippled out of habit. “Shelley?” There were only so many places to search in a thousand square feet.

Backtracking, he figured out that there was one place he didn’t check. Rushing to the alcove, he found, sure enough, his lady love. She was in a yellow, summery frock which gave her tanned skin a healthy, radiant glow. The soundproofed French doors were closed, which explained why she hadn’t responded to him in the first place.

But he hadn’t heard
her
. And that was a shocker. Every time she was in there, it was because she was playing. However, as he neared, he saw her head resting on her arms upon the piano, her lengthy chocolate curls shaking with her shoulders.

Crying.

Alarmed, he didn’t even rap on the pane before yanking open the door.

She looked up half in shock, half in mortification. He kneeled close to her by the bench, taking her waist.

“Baby, what’s the matter? Are you sick?”

Shaking her head, she reached for him pathetically. He ended up with his back against the wall and his flushed, teary wife in his lap.

Perplexed, he nevertheless tried to soothe her, searching his mind for the explanation. She texted him earlier. So then… “Did something go wrong at brunch?”

“No.”

“I’m really sorry about being gone all day.” She didn’t say anything to that, and his right side started to cramp and roil, thinking it was him after all. “Are you not happy here?” He swallowed. “With me?”

For that, she looked at him and wiped at her wet cheeks. “No. I mean, yes, I am. But that’s just it, I don’t understand.” She sobbed.

He frowned and slipped his fingers into her hair, massaging the back of her slim neck. She felt hot. “Don’t understand, what?”

“Why I feel like this. Like – like I’m dying.” She burst into more tears.

He was torn between worry and relief. He
hadn’t screwed up this marriage already. Then, he remembered something he’d been putting off for three weeks and had happily forgotten about until now. He patted her back, encouraging her to get up so he could as well. “Come on. There’s something I want you to do.”

Still steeped in heavy depression, she followed him unquestioningly into the bedroom and then their bathroom where she caught her first glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror. “Oh my God, I look horrible.”

“Stop it.” He crouched down and opened up a cupboard, rifling through boxes, digging all the way to the back. Shelley was too busy trying to fix her Rudolph-red nose and swollen eyes to ask him what he was doing. Only her hair was in good order. She smoothed her hands over the full skirt of her rose-yellow dress – the color she knew Zach loved on her.

Finally, he pulled out a small plastic bag from Duane Reade’s pharmacy and stood, facing her. “Now, listen. Don’t get mad, but I bought you a pregnancy test.”

Her watery eyes rounded. “What? When?”

He didn’t immediately reply. “The night of our wedding.”

“Are you kidding me?” She turned almost scarlet.

He caught her wrist before she could run away. “It wasn’t even a thought in my head. Your mom’s the one who told me.”

“She told you but not me?!” She jerked back. “And you didn’t say anything?!”

His lips parted twice before he could form a good response. “You were exhausted, remember? I didn’t want to stress you out.”

“That was three weeks ago!”

“Yeah, so? We’d been apart for over two months, I just wanted you to myself. Can you blame me for not wanting to ruin anything?”

Her mouth opened in horror. “You think a baby would ruin things?!”

“Shelley,” he groaned. “That’s not what I’m saying–”

“You don’t want children, that’s what you’re saying!” She started crying again, and Zach just wanted to pass through the floor or strangle himself for his lack of verbiage.

So he just grabbed her and kissed her hard to reassure her and also expend his frustration. He accomplished both with lips and tongue to spare. Breathing his love into her, he said near her ear, “Any child from you, I
want
.”

She melted and hugged his neck, unable to speak.

“You don’t have to take this test if you don’t want to, but I’d like to know.” He pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you?”

Zach paced the bedroom, waiting for his wife to emerge from the bath. It didn’t take long. She came out with a tentative look on her face and the pregnancy test in her hand. Approaching him, she eased onto the edge of the bed, and he joined her, nervous but doing his best not to show it.

“Three minutes,” she said softly.

“The pharmacist said this was the best because it not only tells you if you’re pregnant but it’ll estimate how far along you are too.” He felt like an idiot immediately after the words left his acid-tasting mouth. Obviously, she’d read the giant ads on the oblong box.

Zach watched the time. Who knew three minutes could be so long? His leg started jackhammering.

Shelley laid her hand on his knee to stop him. She gave him a nervy sort of smile and leaned her head against his shoulder.

He told himself regardless of the result, he was going to be supportive. But then he realized he had no idea if she even wanted a baby or not. Did he console her if the test came out positive? Or did he console her if it was negative? His stomach began to hurt with his rising anxiety.

“Shelley, I–” he began, but she gripped his hand just then, and his gaze shot to her face – her unadulterated, impulsive, honest reaction. She was smiling at the test. Brilliantly.

He was afraid to look at the digital readout.

Speechless with ecstasy, depression magically gone, she threw herself at him and climbed into his lap. “I love you.”

As he tumbled with her onto the bed, he just barely managed to get a peek at the pregnancy test before she grabbed his face and kissed him passionately. But he’d made out the numbers. And as they sank into his psyche, he began to catch the fever of her joy. He’d braced himself for this, and now he was absolutely prepared.

“Are you happy?” she asked between breathless ecstasies.

“As long as I’m the father.”

She tensed. “Who else would be?”

“I can think of two other possibilities. Maybe even three.”

She gasped, offended. “Just for that, I won’t tell you the truth.” She slid out from under him and bound off the bed, trekking to the dresser to brush her mussed hair.

He sat up and watched her perfect figure, biding his time, letting her think she was getting away with it. He rose to full height and stepped up behind her, following her curves with his fingertips. Her skin formed goose bumps, reacting to his touch though her face refused to yield.

“Do you want a boy or a girl?” he asked, nuzzling her hair.

But she pulled her head away from his lips and set her brush down hard, ripping her bare body from his mind-altering caress.

Suppressing his irritation, he stalked after her. “Alright. I give. What’s the truth?”

She whipped around and glared. “Who’s the Red Fisher?”

An immediate scowl hardened his eyes. “Where’d you get that from?”

“Your phone.”

He blinked. How? He’d erased all the messages and certainly none of them said anything about Cervenka. “I’m not following.”

“Hmm. Your grandma said you were a terrible liar.” She smiled flatly and snatched up her dress, steaming past him.

He pulled on his pants, angry, and marched after her. “You’re acting like a child, and where the hell are you going?”

“To the kitchen!” she turned long enough to retort. She slipped her dress over her head but left it unzipped.

“I thought you were happy,” he growled.

“Not with you!” she bit off as she pulled out the eggplant parmesan.

“Great. How long has that been on your chest?”

“You wanted directness, remember?” She yanked open a drawer and clattered the silverware in search of a fork.

He fisted the drawer shut and pressed a palm upon the counter, staring at her profile. She stabbed the fork into the dish and stuffed a bite into her mouth. His expression altered. “What happened to I feel like I’m dying?”

She didn’t answer and kept eating, her whole personality shifting again like Doppler radar.

His ire diffused, and noticing the still open back of her dress, he swept aside her tresses, and zipped up her frock, thinking as he did so.

His baby was having a baby.

Softening, he slid his arms around her slender waist, pressing his hands against her still-flat, very warm stomach. He rested his chin on her head. “I hope it’s a girl,” he said, breaking the silence. He felt the silent hitch in her breath. “Because I want her to be just like you.”

She turned her head a little. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. She leaned back against his solid chest and closed her eyes, suddenly drained. The fork slid to the bottom of the glass baking dish. They lingered in amiable silence. “You were my first, Zach.”

He frowned, not sure he understood.

“Not Jared. Not Carter. You.”

She faced him and gazed up into his skeptical face with earnest brown eyes. “Why do you think Jared cheated on me? Why do you think Carter was so willing to stay loose?” She fingered his jawline. “Whoever the Red Fisher is, he told you congratulations. And he wished us eternal love and happiness.”

Zach covered his reaction well, working hard to fight apprehension.

“I hope his wish comes true,” she said, soft hands encircling his neck.

But Zach barely heeded her words. With dark thoughts revving in his mind, marring the singular moment, he held on to his wife and unborn child, anticipating rough rapids ahead. But her satin kiss doused the kindling blue fire, distracting him yet again. For now.