Page 29 of So Close

“I …” I’m speechless.

“Exactly,” he says stonily. “She owes me answers, but I can’t and won’t badger her for them and cause her any further stress. She knows me better than anyone. She knows what I need and where I am. I can only wait.”

There is so much fear and pain entwined with their love. Whether they acknowledge it or are conscious of it, their instincts are aware of the danger.

What was it doing, or would it do, to Lily?

“I could kill her for making me need her this way,” he whispers, staring into his glass as if he’ll find something there.

His confession chills me.

Is greed a factor, that ravenous monster? Or is her incredible beauty feeding jealousy and the all-consuming desire to possess? Perhaps it’s a little of both. Maybe her money was consolation for everything he couldn’t have from her.

It tears at me to have these doubts.

Mr Black finishes his drink and glances at the cocktail trolley. Silently, I hold out my hand for his glass. He sets it in my outstretched palm with his brow arched mockingly. I’m relieved to have deterred him from drinking more. He is already too volatile and his wife too vulnerable.

“You should eat,” I tell him.

Turning his back to me, my employer returns to the window. “Enjoy your evening, Witte. I won’t be needing you any further tonight.”

As I leave the room, my watch signals an incoming text.

I pull out my mobile as I walk towards the kitchen.

ID confirmed Midtown West. Continuing canvass.

Pausing on the living room threshold, I debate returning to my employer’s office and sharing the update.

The address on Mrs Black’s counterfeit identification was discovered to be a bodega in Gramercy. Days were spent canvassing the area while the facial recognition search was narrowed to cameras on and around the Crossfire Building where Baharan is headquartered, and she was discovered. It’s been learned that Lily Black had been passing the building regularly, and once she was identified, it was possible to follow her route.

Clandestine inquiries have now led to someone who recognized her in a photo. Eventually, we’ll know where and how she’s been living, hopefully opening new avenues of investigation. The going is slow because discretion is paramount. It is always an exercise in patience when a search for buried secrets requires the search itself also to be a secret.

I wonder if answers gleaned through investigation will finally bring peace to Mr Black. I fear only Lily’s confessions will soothe him.

Making sense of the confounding nature of her return is difficult and now complicated by questions regarding how – and perhaps why – she left in the first place. The fear I witnessed on her face, the shocked recognition and her uttering of his name are still unexplained. There’s no question the sight of him filled her with terror and caused her to flee, heedless of the danger. Why then would she prowl the environs of the Crossfire with regularity, chancing discovery on a near-daily basis?

Ultimately, I slide my mobile back into my pocket and carry on. Tomorrow will be soon enough to discuss the latest with my employer. He has enough demons to wrestle tonight.

21

LILY

There’sa discreet knock at my bedroom door, which I leave ajar as an invitation that has yet to be accepted. The cadence of the rapping knuckles tells me it still isn’t you.

Night has fallen on the other side of my enormous bedroom windows, turning Manhattan’s concrete forest into a blanket of stars. I’ve lost track of the days since I was released from the hospital, but separation from you makes it feel like an eternity has passed.

“Yes, Witte?” I exit the cavernous closet. I’ve spent a small fortune on clothes and accessories, yet even with all of Lily’s garments, handbags and shoes – it’s a painful convenience that you’ve held on to everything – there are racks upon racks and shelves upon shelves that are empty.

Witte waits in the doorway, the very definition of debonair. His remarkable sophistication has rubbed off on you over the years of his employment, helping to create a man who can move in all social circles. Still, your rough edges haven’t been completely polished away. You’re still a dangerous man; you are simply dangerous in different ways than before.

“You have an outing tomorrow morning, leaving at ten to meet with your doctors. Mr. Black will be accompanying you.”

“Calling a trip to the doctor an “outing” makes it sound so much more charming. A savvy word choice, Witte.”

His mustache twitches with a suppressed smile. “Thank you.”

I have to make small talk and keep it light, or I’ll cry. It’s agonizing that we can’t pass such everyday information to one another directly, as if you can’t tolerate even a second in my presence.

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