THE TAINTED TRUST: A DOUGLASS CRIME AND ROMANCE THRILLER SERIES (THE KING TRILOGY Book 2) (25 page)

“I was wrong. I thought saving face was your motivation.”

Visconti glanced at the empty jug. “My goodness. The slushies are gone. Time to make another batch.”

“No,” Kerri retorted, her head spinning. “That stuff is delicious but it’s lethal. I think I’m smashed. I can’t even form my words.”

“Then they worked.”

“What worked?”

“The slushies. They took your mind off what happened to you tonight.”

Visconti was right. Kerri had, for a brief wonderful interval, actually forgotten her ordeal. She raised her empty glass and smiled. “Thanks to you.”

“We should get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s a busy day.”

Kerri welcomed the suggestion. She climbed from her stool and watched as Visconti placed the glasses and jug in the sink, then turn and reach for her hand.

“May I walk you to your door?” he asked.

A sudden wave of consternation swept over Kerri. All evening she had assumed Visconti would sleep in a separate bedroom. Perhaps her assumption was wrong. Maybe he was planning to sleep with her. She stiffened as she accepted his hand. He led her up the spiral staircase and stopped at the door to the master bedroom. “I’m serving breakfast in the kitchen at nine. Would you like a wake up call?” he asked.

“No thanks. I’ll be there on time.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Just knock if you need anything. I’ll be right next door. Sleep well. You’re safe now.” He kissed Kerri’s forehead, then turned and walked to the door to the adjacent bedroom.

Within minutes, Kerri had washed, brushed her teeth and removed all of her clothing. Happy and naked, she climbed into the warm comfortable bed. She reached to turn off the final light, one of the two beautiful, cut glass lamps flanking the bed, then flopped her head onto the fluffiest of the many pillows. Sleep was seconds away.

CHAPTER 64

Kerri awoke to a glorious morning. She leaped from the bed, hurried to the windows, pushed aside the drapes and exposed her naked body to the skyline of the Upper East Side and sections of the East River beyond. Sunlight poured onto her and into the most beautiful bedroom she had ever seen. Stretching and breathing deeply, she felt wonderful, revitalized. She was going to see Manhattan today. With her bare feet sinking into the deep soft carpet, she turned and hurried to the lavish bathroom, to pamper herself and prepare for a day she planned to savor against her palate and swallow like a rare wine.

Thirty minutes later, she entered the kitchen, looking radiant in her pink Lizsport. The smell of burning bacon and toast invaded her nostrils. She found Visconti on his knees and attempting to clean up a splattered egg. “Looks like you could use some help,” she said with a sympathetic grin.

“Obviously I’ve got everything under control,” Visconti retorted with a pained grin, then continued his cleaning.

Kerri rushed to the stovetop to turn the bacon, seconds before it blackened. Next, she popped the toaster, seconds before its contents burst into flames. She broke the remaining four eggs into a bowl, whipped them with a fork, then heated and stirred them in a pan.

Visconti finished his cleaning, then stood. “Thank you,” he said, embarrassed. “Cooking’s never been one of my strengths, but if you’ll trust me, I think I can manage from here.”

Kerri took several steps backward and surveyed Visconti while he leaned over the stove. He looked youthfully svelte in his tight black track suit. She resisted an urge to throw her arms around him, hug him and thank him again for rescuing her, for being there, for making her happy, for everything. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, feeling redundant.

“You can take a seat at the bar,” Visconti offered. “Breakfast is about to be served.”

“I’m not going to let you serve me,” Kerri snorted. She snatched the spatula from Visconti’s hand and moved to the stove. After filling both plates, she placed them on the bar.

Visconti sat on one of the captain’s chairs and studied his plate. “Not only is she beautiful and intelligent, she’s independent,” he said, his voice crackling with sarcasm.

Kerri sat beside him and grinned at her host. “I wasn’t going to stand around and let you do all the work.”

Visconti placed his hand on top of Kerri’s and smiled. “Thank you for your help, and thank you for being here. I can’t tell you how delighted I am to have someone to share breakfast with me. It’s been too long… Did you sleep well?”

Kerri nodded. “Your slushies put me in a coma.”

“Wonderful. Then you should be ready for an action packed day. We’re going to jog after we eat all this cholesterol. You still game?”

“Definitely. I can’t wait to get outside.”

Laughing and joking, Kerri and Visconti jogged in Central Park, then strolled through a melange of fountains, ponds, statues and monuments. They passed numerous park benches lined with old men reflecting on their pasts and speculating on their limited futures. They continued past families and groups of people playing softball, pitching horseshoes, riding the merry-go-round, flying kites or rowing boats, all enjoying the marvelous hiatus from their week long hibernation.

When they arrived at Conservatory Pond, they stood and watched a group of boys racing their model sailboats. A short distance around the shore, a jazz band wailed, while two stilt-walkers, dressed in black top hats, white t-shirts and multi-colored super-long trousers, attempted to dance to the music.

“Are you at all interested in art?” Visconti asked.

“I won a coloring contest in public school,” Kerri replied with a modest smile.

“Wanna see some?”

“Sure.”

“You could spend a lifetime on either side of this park and never see it all. A lot of it’s world class.”

“Let’s see it all,” Kerri urged, excited, and running ahead of Visconti.

After two hours of walking, mingling and pushing with crowds, both agreed they were hungry.

Following a long relaxing lunch at Tavern on the Green, they rented a carriage and took an old-fashioned leisurely turn around the park. After stepping from the carriage, they ran back to Visconti’s car and spent the remainder of the afternoon touring Manhattan and shopping.

At five, they delivered their bounty, the prize of which was Kerri’s white silk and cashmere pullover and matching skirt, to Visconti’s apartment. With breakneck speed, they showered, changed, raced back to the car and drove to Pier 83, at 43rd Street and 12th Avenue. They boarded a Circle Line boat, barely in time for the dinner cruise around Manhattan.

The boat glided from the dock, then headed down the Hudson, passing the enormous Jacob Javits Convention Center, the 14th Street Meat Market, then on to the twin towers of the World Trade Center and Battery Park City. When the boat rounded the southern tip of the island, it was time for dinner, at a table for two on the upper deck, which afforded a wonderful view of the Wall Street skyline and the Statue of Liberty.

The five piece band, set up at the far end of the upper deck, began to play “America the Beautiful”, inducing everyone to stand and sing in unison. When they rounded the Statue of Liberty, the band continued with “Pretty Woman.”

Kerri was thrilled, exhausted, excited and deliriously happy. Never in her life had she so thoroughly enjoyed a day and the company of one single individual. Never had she been so totally captivated. She reached across the table and held Louis’s hand. “Am I dreaming, or am I going to wake up and discover that I’m not really here?” she asked, her mind blissfully detached from her unhappy past.

Visconti smiled. “It’s all real, Kerri. Very real.”

The boat turned and headed up the East River, passing under the Brooklyn, Manhattan and Williamsburg Bridges, then past the United Nations Headquarters. Visconti was catapulted into a state of melancholy when the boat glided under the Queensboro Bridge. Ugly memories of the crash of eighty-seven invaded his mind.

“Where have you gone, Louis?” Kerri asked, miffed by his failure to respond to her conversation.

Visconti gave Kerri an empty stare with saddened eyes. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“Something’s wrong. What is it?”

Visconti pointed to the bridge. “That bridge reminded of the dumbest thing I ever did in my life.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Visconti slumped forward, covered his face with his hands and exhaled. “You asked me about it last night. I had just returned from spending the weekend in the Bahamas with a woman who meant absolutely nothing to me. I can’t even remember her name. I just needed to get away and wanted company,” he said, almost apologizing.

“The day the market crashed?” She knew it was, but wanted him to talk about it.

“Yup. In October of eighty-seven. I was right on the edge when I left New York on that Thursday night. I was convinced I had developed a sick dependency on communications. I had to escape. I needed a place with no telephones, no computers, no video ticker-tapes, no newspapers, no television. Nothing but wind, sun and water.”

Kerri reached for Visconti’s hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said.

“I want to… We were stuck in traffic up there and the driver mentioned something about people jumping off the bridge, so I asked him to explain.” Visconti closed his eyes and shook his head. “In the few seconds it took him to tell me the stock market had fallen further than ever before in history, I saw my whole life flash before my eyes. I thought my heart was going to pound its way out of my chest. Before we got off that bridge, I actually considered jumping.”

“What stopped you?” Kerri asked, then realized the incredible insensitivity of her question.

Visconti smirked. “I can’t stand cold water. I realized that in the unlikely event I survived the jump, I would be compelled to flounder around before I perished from hypothermia.”

“Really?”

“No. It was logic, pure logic. I drew strength from the knowledge that the losses sustained by my clients were not the result of my poor investment decisions. They occurred because I was gone, out of touch, powerless to do anything about them.”

A wave of appreciation swept through Kerri. The apparent honesty of Visconti’s admission had given her a much deeper insight into his character. He was indeed human, fragile, normal. He had courageously revealed the existence of simple human frailties. She concluded, naively, that it was not greed or avarice that had nearly destroyed his reputation and his life. It was merely human requirements. She felt like a kindred spirit. “We’re alike, you and me,” she said.

“How so?”

“I was powerless to do anything about my husband’s problems, and those problems came very close to destroying me.”

“What was the source of your strength?”

“You,” Kerri replied without hesitation.

“You give me too much credit.”

“I don’t think I’ve given you enough. You were there for me when I needed someone. You’ve taken me from the depths of despair to the point where I realize that there’s life after first love. For the first time in at least six months I’m happy. I wouldn’t be without you.”

“Would you like to dance?”

Kerri nodded.

She immediately submitted to Visconti’s arms when they reached the dance floor, oblivious to the sights and sounds around her, aware only of Louis Visconti, and that she was where she wanted to be.

The music stopped when the cruise ship had moved within sight of its point of origin. Disappointed, Kerri lifted her head from Visconti’s chest. She stared at the shore, then at him. “Let’s go around again. I could dance forever.”

He held her tighter and kissed her forehead. “I’ve got a better idea… Let’s go home and dance.”

CHAPTER 65

With soft music and chilled pinot grigio the two resumed their dance in the darkened living room of Visconti’s apartment. They continued until Kerri’s yawn induced Visconti to glance at his watch. “Time for your beauty sleep, young lady.”

Kerri nodded, feeling disappointed, yet reckless and impulsive. She placed her hand at the back of Visconti’s head and pulled until his lips touched hers. She pressed her body against his. “I’m not going to let you out of my sight tonight,” she whispered, then kissed him, with intent.

He led her up the winding staircase, into her bedroom and to the edge of the marble pedestal. He took her in his arms and whispered, “You sure?”

Without a word, she pulled Visconti closer and kissed him hard. While they kissed, they struggled to remove each other’s clothing. He lifted her onto the bed, then lowered her head to one of the pillows. She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said.

“We’ve been given a second chance, Kerri. Never forget it,” Visconti said, then made slow deliberate love to Kerri, taking her to physical heights she had never before experienced.

Kerri opened her eyes for the first time at eight-thirty. She stared out the window at a dark rainy day and grinned. The weather didn’t matter. It could be snowing. She was happy again, a renegade from propriety and responsibility, preposterously, deliriously and utterly happy. Denying that her transformation was the result of a rebound, Louis’s wealth and charisma, or the father figure he represented, her happiness was as certain as their proximity at that moment. Naked. No conditions. No representations. Now she was complete. At last she had found what had been missing from her life for so long.