Page 91 of Near Miss

“Please come in,” she said.

Peter pushed the door further open and entered the room. The door closed behind him.

“I knew you would come,” she said. “I knew it in the car.”

He turned and saw her standing next to the door, and she was entirely naked.

She quickly closed the distance between them and pressed her body against his. Peter instinctively put his arms around her in a gesture of comfort, but what he felt against him had nothing to do with comfort, and everything to do with lust.

Peter’s relationship with his wife had cooled over the years, and his response was nearly instantaneous. She did something with his belt buckle, and his trousers dropped around his ankles.

“Come,” she said, taking his penis in her hand and leading him toward the bed. His choices were to follow her or to trip over his trousers and fall flat on his face. Before they reached the bed, she had stripped him to the skin, and he fell on the mattress with Olga on top of him. From there, he had only to follow her moves, which he did automatically. She sat on top of him and enveloped him with her thighs.

She was an expert. Again and again she brought him to a near climax, then slowed, until finally, he could hold back no longer, and they climaxed together.

“There,” she said, “that’s so much better, isn’t it?”

Finally, they dressed, and she led him to the limousine parked outside, waved goodbye, and then returned alone to the house. One of the men who had spoken earlier at the family meeting got out of the car and shook Peter’s hand.

“Now she is yours to do with as you will,” he said. The man embraced him. “And you belong to your family again.”

Before Peter could manage a response, he found himself inside the car and it was driving away. He was in a daze and didn’t much care where he was going. Eventually, the car pulled up outside an elegant apartment building where he maintained acomfortable pied-à-terre that he had been steering clear of while hiding from the Greek.

The driver held the door for him and, as he got out, pressed a card into his hand. “This automobile is now yours and is at your disposal. I am Boris, and I am yours, too. You may call at any hour.” He pressed a red iPhone into Peter’s hand. “Use this to conduct business. I will always be nearby. There are two airplanes at Teterboro that are at your disposal as well, one for long flights and a smaller one that can be landed at short fields. I can arrange any flight.”

Peter walked into his building and was saluted by the doorman. He took the elevator upstairs and entered the apartment. He was greeted by a large vase of calla lilies on the hall table, and a card read:From your family. We request a meeting Monday, at noon, unless you postpone. You choose the location. Our number is in your iPhone. The sum of one million dollars has been deposited in your account at the corner bank. You must report it as income on your tax return.

He went to the bar and poured himself a neat Scotch, then sat down in his study and sipped it, reviewing the events of the day. Olga, alone, had not sealed the deal, but she had helped. The car, the two airplanes, and the money had done the rest.

The phone rang. “Yes?”

“It’s Marla, sweetheart,” his wife said. She and his daughters were at the home on Islesboro that Stone had helped them find. “When may we expect you?”

Peter looked at his watch. “Meet me at the airfield at fourpm,” he said. “How is the house?”

“Just wonderful. Stone Barrington sent some lovely yellow roses. See you at four.”

Peter hung up and sipped his Scotch while he thought ahead. If he was going to be in charge of the family, then he was going to do it his way. He would legitimize the family business; it was the only way he could live with his new circumstances. Then there was the business with Barrington. He would have to find a way to deal with that. And finally, there was the testimony he’d given to the FBI. He would call Assistant Director Kinder, see if he could negotiate a deal for time to get the family on the right track.

Chapter 45

Peter called Boris.

“Yes, Mr. Greco?”

“What are the two airplanes at my disposal?”

“A Pilatus and a Dassault.”

“I want to be flown to Islesboro, Maine, in the Pilatus, to land a fourpm. The runway is 2,450 feet.”

“I’ll call you back.” Boris hung up. A few minutes later, he called back.

“Yes?”

“We must leave the apartment at two-fifteen. Your flight will depart at threepm, and you will land at four.”

“See you at two-fifteen.” Peter hung up, then called Stone Barrington’s cell.

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