A Dangerous Widow (A Dangerous Series) (3 page)

“I tried to call his parents, but I got no
answer.”

“His parents are mall walkers,” Kate
said.
 
“They walk three miles every
day around this time, so they very well might be at the mall and unaware of any
of this.
 
And I hope that’s the
case.
 
I want to tell them
myself.
 
But right now, if it’s OK,
I’d like to be alone with my husband.
 
Has everyone here finished?
 
Can I go over to him now?
 
Touch him?
 
Be with him?”

“You can.”

“Would it be too much to ask for the room to
be cleared so Michael and I can be alone together?”

“I’m afraid that, due to protocol, at least
one of us needs to be here.”

“Can that person be you?”

“It can.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Then let me take care of that.”

When Anna did, Kate walked over to the sheet
covering Michael.
 
At first, because
there were so many people in her house—strangers she didn’t know or want
to know—she thought that she might get through this without completely
breaking down.
 
As a New Englander,
it was in her roots not to do so.

But that wasn’t the case now.

The moment she touched Michael’s back and
felt the chill of his skin through the thin sheet, she put her hand to her
mouth and began to cry in ways that she hadn’t cried since…ever.
 

With heaving sobs—and with the reality
that the love of her life was dead because of some fucking accident with their
dog—all she could do was lay herself over the sheet, and press herself
against Michael’s body.
 

She draped herself over him, and when she
did, she felt how stiff his body already was becoming, which stabbed at her
heart again.
 
She then gently lifted
the sheet away from his face and saw his dead eyes, wide open and staring at
some point just beyond her.
 
Gone
were the deep blue eyes she knew so well—now, they were only wide pools
of black as his pupils had become fully dilated in death.

“Michael,” she said.
 
“Oh, my God, Michael…”

“Kate,” Anna said.
 

“Please leave me alone,” Kate said in
despair.
 
Her heart was literally
breaking at that point.
 
Tears
streamed down her face as an overwhelming sense of grief overcame her.
 
“Let me have this moment alone with
him.
 
Please!”

“Of course,” Anna said as she retreated to a
corner of the room.

But Kate barely heard her.
 
She pulled the sheet back farther and
saw how Michael’s neck was bent in an unnatural position.
 

“I’m so sorry,” she said as she cried.
 
“I’m so sorry, Michael.
 
How am I to carry on without you?
 
How am I even to wake up without you by
my side?
 
Why did this have to
happen to you?
 
To us?
 
We haven’t even had a child yet!
 
That was to come this year!
 
Why the fuck has this happened?!” she
screamed.
 
“It’s not
right—it’s not fair.
 
I love
you, my darling.
 
I hope that you
know that—that you can hear me even now, wherever you are, hopefully in
this room with me.
 
I will love you
until the end of my life.
 
And when
that day comes, we’ll be together again.
 
I can promise you that.
 
So,
go,” she said.
 
“Set yourself free.
 
I know how you are—you’re only
going to worry about me.
 
You’ll
want to stay near me.
 
But
don’t.
 
Somehow, I’ll get through
this.
 
Go and live out the rest of
your life in the afterlife.
 
See
your family and friends again.
 
Tell
your grandparents that I love and miss them.
 
I’ll be with you soon enough.”

After the long moments it took for her to
collect herself, Kate Stone lowered her lips to her husband’s cool lips, and
she kissed him in death while her gut clenched in despair.
 

When she finished, she placed the palm of
her hand on the floor to steady herself, carefully wrapped the sheet around his
body in such a way that cradled him as he lay there, and then bowed her head
and burst into the sort of tears, grief, anger, and loss that would echo
throughout her heart for the rest of her life.

BOOK ONE

FIVE YEARS LATER

KATE’S STORY

CHAPTER ONE

New York City

May

After a long, cold winter and an unreasonably
chilly spring, I woke with a smile, knowing that at last it would be in the
high seventies for the rest of the week.
 
Finally, we were in for a great stretch of weather.

And I was psyched for it.

I got out of bed, went straight to one of
the bedroom’s two windows, whipped aside the curtains, and looked out at the
Park.
 
The sky was blue.
 
The sun was bright.
 
And when I placed the palm of my hand
against the window, I could feel the day’s warmth pulsing against it.

Lunch with Laura at noon?
 
Bring it on.

I showered, went down to the kitchen, made
coffee, read bits and pieces from the
Times
, and
then went into my office to read and answer a host of emails from the team I
managed as Director of Corporate Gifts at the Red Cross in Manhattan.
 

When I sat down at my desk, I caught sight
of the photograph of Michael sitting next to my computer—and once again
felt the sting of his loss.
 

Five years might have passed since his
death, but I still loved him, I still missed him, and even though years of
therapy had helped me to realize that I must move on with my life, I had to
wonder whether I’d ever meet anyone as magnificent as he had been.
 
I doubted it, but I knew that if Michael
were to whisper into my ear right then, he would have told me that I should
have moved on years ago.

“I can understand mourning me for a year,”
he would have said with that sly sense of humor of his.
 
“I mean, I’m totally worth that.
 
But five years?
 
Come on, Kate—I’m gone now, and
it’s time for you to move on and find somebody else.”

Could I?
 
There were times when I struggled with
the idea of being with someone other than Michael.
 
A part of me wanted to be married again
and to raise the family that Michael and I had been robbed of having, but there
was another part of me that felt like if I did, it would be a kind of
betrayal.
 

Which Michael would have considered
ridiculous.

While I looked at him, I thought of how
radically my life had changed since his death.

For the past four-and-a-half years, I’d
lived in one of the two triplex penthouses at the San Remo on Central Park
West.
 
Retaining the townhouse on
Park was out of the question because it reminded me too much of Michael’s death.
 
So I sold it and moved to the San
Remo.
 
And because I knew nothing
about the encryption software market, I had no choice but to also sell
Michael’s company in an effort to protect his legacy.

StoneTech went to QuantumCo, an industry
force whose team hadn’t just impressed me with their knowledge of the software
Michael had built and perfected.
 
In
a two-hour meeting, they’d also shown me in a series of presentations how they
could expand upon Michael’s vision—and lift it into the
stratosphere.
 
Four billion dollars
later, I began a new phase of my life—one filled with focus and purpose.

I’d become an unlikely philanthropist.
 
Four billion dollars was a ridiculous
sum of money for one person to have in their possession.
 
So, to honor Michael’s life, I’d set up
a trust and created the Stone Foundation, which would use most of that money to
improve people’s lives long after I was dead.

“Your name will live on,” I said, glancing
back at the photograph.
 
“I’ve made
certain of that.”

I checked the time on the computer and saw
with a start that my lunch date with Laura was only ninety minutes away—and
I wasn’t even dressed.

You need to hustle
, I thought.

And I did.

 
*
 
*
 
*

The restaurant Laura chose for us was called
“The Chubby Italian,” which was an adorable little hole in the wall on Prince
Street.
 
Laura had been raving about
the place for weeks “because the lasagna is to die for, Kate.
 
You have no idea.”

But I was about to find out.

When I paid the driver, stepped out of the
cab, and entered the packed space, I went up to the Rubenesque, fortysomething
woman standing behind the front counter with her hands on her hips.

“You’re here for the lasagna, aren’t you?”
she said.

“I—how do you know that?”

“Everyone comes for the lasagna.
 
Total no-brainer.”

“In fact, that is why I’m here.
 
I’m also here to see my best friend.”

“Who’s your best friend?”

“Laura Sanders.
 
Do you happen to know if she’s here?”

“The mouthy one?” the woman said.
 
“Oh, she’s here—and we love that
girl.
 
I think she’s been here four
times this month for the lasagna alone.
 
She’s in the back.
 
Tarted up
to the nines as usual.
 
Come with
me, hotness.
 
I say that you start
with the house red, which is as full-bodied as me—if that’s even
possible.”

“I’m a martini kind of girl.
 
Wine makes me sleepy.”

“Then you
must
be Laura’s friend.
 
She’s already on
her first.”

“Dirty, I assume?”

“Filthy.”

“Well, goodness,” I said as I followed her
through the narrow space.
 
“What a
surprise.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You know, I might also need a martini,” I
said.
 
“But just with a twist.”

“You got it,” the woman said as we
approached Laura’s table.
 
When she
saw me, Laura lifted her martini to me before taking a sip from it.
 
“And there’s your friend,” the woman
said.
 
“Look at her.
 
Nothing but pure trouble, this one.
 
Her eyes have become saucers filled with
the promise of homemade lasagna.”

“I live for your lasagna,” Laura said.
 
“Have you two been introduced?”

“We haven’t,” I said.

“Kate, this is Patrizia Abbadelli.
 
She and her two sisters—Ambra and
Genoveffa—share ownership of this wonderful place.
 
In my eyes, all of them are
bellissima
.”

“I see what you’re up to, Laura,” Patrizia
said.
 
“Being as sweet as
Genoveffa’s cannoli isn’t going to get you an extra portion of lasagna.
 
Just so you know.”

“Damn it!”

“But good try.
 
Here, love,” she said as she pulled out
my chair for me.
 
“Have a seat.
 
I’ll get you that martini.
 
Gin?
 
Vodka?
 
Any preference on the brand?”

“Oh, vodka,” I said.
 
“Do you have Grey Goose?”

“We’ve got the Goose.”
 
And then her eyes sparkled.
 
“So, let me just be clear here.
 
I’m about to give you a goose with a twist?”

I laughed when she said that.
 
“I suppose you are—and since it’s
been a while since
that’s
happened, please give
it all you’ve got.”

“Careful what you wish for.
 
Now, if you want to waste some time,
have a look at the menu.
 
I’ll be
back with your martini in a second, and then I’ll take your orders for the
lasagna.”

“She’s fantastic,” I said as Patrizia walked
away.

“She’s one of the reasons we live in this
city.”

“How are you?”

“I’m a third of a martini down and spring
has finally sprung.
 
I’m great.”

“You certainly look great.
 
I love it when you wear your hair in a high
ponytail.”

“Today called for it.”

Like me, Laura Sanders was thirty-five, but
she didn’t look it.
 
She was blonde,
petite, and pretty, with fair skin that needed only the lightest touch of
makeup to brighten it.
 
Her eyes
were blue—and filled with mischief.
 

Unlike me, Laura Sanders also was Fifth
Avenue royalty.
 

Her father was a renowned developer who had
single-handedly helped to change much of Manhattan’s skyline, and her mother
was an award-winning plastic surgeon noted for her work with burn victims—and
because of that, Laura had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth.

Not that you’d ever know it.
 
Her sense of humor and humility were
just two reasons why we had clicked when we met four years ago at the Red
Cross.
 
We’d been like sisters ever
since.
 

“So, come on,” I said.
 
“Spill it—you know that I’m dying
here.
 
How was your third date with
Jack?”

“Look, it’s still early days, but all of it
continues to look positive.
 
Sure,
he’s a dentist, which sounds dull as hell, but I’m telling you, Kate—that
man has a quick wit, he happens to be built like a Roman god, and he’s
smart.
 
I think I might have met my
match.”
 

“I really hope that you have,” I said.

“I’m about to find out in about two hours.”

“What does that mean?”

“Here comes Patrizia with your martini.
 
Give me a minute to order for both of
us, and then I’ll tell you about the after-lunch surprise I have in store for
us.”

“You have an after-lunch surprise?”

“I do,” she said as Patrizia put my martini
in front of me.
 

“Have you two knock-outs decided on what
you’d like for lunch?” Patrizia asked us.
 
“As if I don’t already know…”

“We have decided—and you do know.
 
Two lasagnas, your lovely non-fattening
breadsticks, and likely another martini for each of us—but after we’ve
finished these.”
 
Laura shot me a
look.
 
“Do you want an
appetizer?
 
Calamari?”

“I’m hungry, but not that hungry.”

“I’ll bring you some anyway,” Patrizia
said.
 
“It’s on me.
 
You two have already brightened my
day.
 
And by the way, Laura, Ambra
and Genoveffa send their love.”

“Give them a big smooch from me.
 
I love all of you girls.”

When Patrizia stepped away, I looked at
Laura.
 
“What’s this about a
surprise?”

“Is your afternoon free?”

“Yes, I freed it for you.
 
I thought we might do some shopping or
something.”

“Here’s the deal, and trust me on
this—as wacky as it sounds, it’s going to be fun.”
 

“When you say words like ‘wacky,’ why do I
want to toss back my martini…?”

“No idea.
 
Anyway, the suspense is killing me.
 
I need to know now where this is going
with Jack before I get too involved with him.
 
You know, should I protect my heart or
just hand it over to him—that kind of thing.
 
To find out, we’re going to see Rhoda Burns.”

“Who’s Rhoda Burns?”

“The psychic I’ve been seeing for the past
three years.”

“The what?”

“You heard me.
 
Stop judging.”

“Since when do you see a psychic?
 
You’ve never mentioned that to me
before.”

“We all have our secrets and
idiosyncrasies,” Laura said lightly.

“I hope that she isn’t bilking you.”

“She isn’t.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Rhoda is the real thing.
 
You’ll see.
 
Because when Rhoda seeps her magical
psychic powers into you, you won’t even know what hit you.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t…”

“Oh, yes, I did.
 
I also made an appointment for you,
which comes right after mine.
 
And
trust me on this—I’ve told Rhoda nothing about you.”
 
She genuflected.
 
“In fact, I swear to God that I
haven’t—and I mean that.
 
Zip!
 
She doesn’t know who
you are, where you came from, or what your story is—
nada
.
 
This will be a clean reading.
 
But just you watch—Rhoda is so
good, it’s kind of scary.
 
So, you
know, you kind of need to be ready for that, because after lunch, shit’s going to
get real.”