Part 15 (1/2)

Heather took a deep breath to steel herself before she opened the door to her brother's room. She never knew what to expect on her visits. Some days, Adam looked pretty good, all things considered. And he'd sounded strong and like his old self that morning on the phone. But too often in recent weeks she'd arrive to find him in the midst of another crisis: weak from vomiting, or with his hands, feet, and face so swollen she barely recognized him. And increasingly, she'd arrive to find him numbly incoherent because of the drugs he was taking.

However he appeared, she had to remain upbeat and positive.

She forced herself to smile and went inside.

Today was a good day. Adam was sitting up in bed watching television. His color was normal, and he was devoid of the IVs that seemed a semi-permanent fixture in the room. He grinned when he saw her and flicked off the set. ”Hey, H.” She kissed him and pulled up a chair. ”Hey, Bro. You're looking great.”

”Ate a big lunch,” he reported. ”And they actually agreed to let me order pizza tonight. Delivery guy will be here in a little.” Adam had lost a third of his body weight in the last year because he so often had trouble keeping food down. Any time he had an appet.i.te was welcome news.

”Extra cheese?”

* 121 *

”Of course. Now, fill me in. What's happening in the outside world? How did you meet my favorite author?” Brett. Heather couldn't stop thinking about her. She'd told her brother very little, except that she'd run into the woman who created Landor the Demon, and she'd promised to give her an autographed copy of the next issue. ”I met her at a club when I was out with a couple of girls from work.” She told him most everything about that night, except how attracted she was to Brett and how she couldn't stop thinking about her. But her brother knew her well and evidently sensed there was more to the story than she was letting on.

”Why don't you give her a call?” Adam asked.

”First of all, I don't have her number, and second, I don't want to push. How desperate is that?”

”Desperate? You sound like I asked you to call her for a date.” Heather's cheeks warmed. ”Yeah, well-”

”So she did ask you out.”

”No, she offered a signed copy.”

Adam picked up the last issue of Landor the Demon from his bedside table. She knew he'd read it many times, but it was still in pristine condition, kept in a plastic sleeve. ”Funny how I a.s.sumed the author was a dude.”

”That's pretty s.e.xist.”

”Come on, H, you know better. It's just that whenever I Googled the name Cooland, nothing showed up except for his...her works and an article about how the author never does public appearances or signings. No Web site, no pics, nothing. So I a.s.sumed it was some huge, pimpled-a.s.s guy.”

”Not the case. She's a very attractive woman.” He looked at her curiously. ”Do you wish she'd asked you on a date?”

”What's up with all these questions about my love life?”

”It's just that...well, you never seem to go out with anyone.

Last time you mentioned a girl was what, two or three years ago? I don't know, H. Can't be normal for an okay-looking woman to go without...you know.”

* 122 *

”s.e.x?” If only Adam knew the only thing not missing from her life was s.e.x. The wrong kind of s.e.x-meaningless encounters with men, purely a means to support her brother's needs. And working for Direct Connect had crushed her need to get close to another woman. Not only because she feared they would find out about her secret life, but also because she'd have to eventually explain and deal with the consequences. s.e.x was once an exciting way to express emotions, but it had turned into an obligation, a duty that left her feeling drained and often disappointed in herself.

Heather seriously doubted she could ever get intimate with anyone again and not feel as though they could see right through her.

How could they resist thinking of her without attaching a label that fit what she did? Prost.i.tute. Hooker. Wh.o.r.e. What she did wasn't who she was, but how could anyone ever believe that or want to stick around long enough to find out the truth? ”I'm too tired to even think about s.e.x, Adam.”

”But I'm not just talking about s.e.x. It's like you don't hang out with anyone but me. Don't get me wrong. I love you and your company, but ever since Dad died, you've deprived yourself of a life. I know I'm to blame for the most part-”

”Stop that. I love you and I want to take care of you.”

”I know, H. But you need to take care of yourself, too. Putting your life on hold is only making me feel like a complete loser. It's not what I want and it's not what you deserve. I know you need more. Unless, of course, you've decided to join some kind of freakish cult.”

”I just don't have-”

”Oh, my G.o.d,” Adam said with feigned shock. ”You have.

You've gone all-”

Heather laughed. ”Cut it out. It's simply a matter of not enough time. I want a career and that has priority right now.”

”Since when does one exclude the other? I'm not saying you need to get married or look into artificial insemination. I'm just talking about a date.”

”And this has nothing to do with getting an autographed Landor the Demon?”

* 123 *

”Maybe a little.” He smiled. ”But you said yourself, she's a knockout.”

”And very charming. And smart. And funny.”

”And give me a break.” Adam rolled his eyes. ”Go out with her already.”

”She hasn't called,” Heather said.

”She will.”

”Oh, really?”

”Who wouldn't? You're a catch, and not just because you're my sister.”

”I'm flattered, your Greatness.”

”You should be. Now where the h.e.l.l is the delivery dude? It's been twenty-”

Someone knocked on Adam's door.

Heather smiled and got out her wallet. ”Looks like he heard you, your Highness.”

Greenwich Village, N.Y.

Next day, November 20, 5:30 p.m.

Chase crept along in b.u.mper-to-b.u.mper traffic, her frustration growing with each yard of progress. The drive between Heather's home and workplace had become a metaphor for their mission. They were getting nowhere fast in their effort to track down Heather's mysterious john or determine whether she was involved in the transfer of money to Andor Rozsa.

Jack was even more on edge. She was chain-smoking at every opportunity-outside the acute-care facility last night, during the routine surveillance at Heather's apartment afterward, and again this morning. And while they'd sat all day at the restaurant again watching Heather's building, Jack had stepped outside for a cigarette so many times she'd lost count.