Just Like a Man (24 page)

She said nothing, but she dropped her hands to the table-top and sat up straight, curling her finger around the handle of her mug once again. She seemed to want to pretend the last few minutes hadn't happened, so Pax did, too. And like Selby, he hooked a finger through the handle of his mug and lifted it to his mouth for a sip. But he nearly spat out the mouthful of coffee when Selby asked him what she did next.

"So what do you do for a living?"

Damn. He should have realized their conversation would eventually turn to him. But he hadn't been prepared for that at all. Somehow, he swallowed his coffee, but it was with obvious difficulty, something Selby noted.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

Pax quickly shook his head. "No, not at all. It's just that I… um… ah… I mean…"

Realization seemed to dawn on her then, because she blushed again, albeit less furiously this time. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I mean, if you're unemployed, that's—"

"I'm not
unemployed,"
Pax said, stung that she would think such a thing. Jesus, he was considered one of the hardest-working men in America. He headed up a Fortune 100 company. He'd built it up from scratch, practically with his bare hands, and he toiled ninety hours a week sometimes to keep it running. How could she possibly think he was
unemployed?

Gee, Einstein, maybe because you're in an adult returning education class, and you've deliberately misled her about your true identity, and given her absolutely no reason to think otherwise?

Mmm, could be.

"I mean," he tried to recover, "it's just that… um… ah… I mean…" Okay, so maybe his attempt at recovery failed abysmally. At least he'd tried. Not that he usually had to even try, since, normally, he could bluff his way out of anything. With Selby, though, his brain had turned to oatmeal. That was probably significant, but he didn't want to think about why.

"That's okay, Thomas," she said, calling him by the name no one else had ever used until now. "You don't have to be embarrassed. There's no shame in being unemployed in times like this. At least you've gone back to school for your diploma. That will make you a more desirable prospect."

"Will it?" he asked, hoping she meant what she surely did not.

"For employers, I mean," she said.

"Oh."

"I, um, I should go," she said abruptly. "It's late, and I have to work tomorrow."

She stood, obviously intending to call it a night. So Pax stood, too, wishing she'd end it with him, knowing that wasn't likely. Not yet, anyway. Though he was confident he'd be spending the night with her soon. And not just one night, either. But as many nights as he wanted. Until he grew tired of her and moved on to someone else, which was what invariably happened.

For tonight, though, he resigned himself to going home alone. Not that he could take Selby home with him, anyway, because then she'd find out who he really was, and he couldn't have that. He intended to only enjoy her for a short time, after all, and then toss her aside like yesterday's newspaper. He needed for her to know him as Thomas Brown, jobless high school dropout, not T. Paxton Brown, billionaire. Because if she knew he was T. Paxton Brown, billionaire, she could come looking for him after he was finished with her and demand retribution of the financial sort. No way was he going to get bogged down in something like that again.

It had nothing to do with his suspicion that if Selby knew he was T. Paxton Brown, billionaire, she wouldn't like him, the way she might like Thomas Brown, jobless high school dropout. And Pax decided not to wonder why that bothered him so much.

"Here, at least let me get the tip," he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out four quarters, then tossed them onto the table.

Selby watched the shiny silver coins skitter across the Formica, then she looked up at him, her lips parted in surprise.

"What?" he asked.

She pointed at the quarters. "Earlier, when I needed to make a call at the pay phone, you told me you didn't have any change."

This time it was Pax's turn to blush. What was weird was that he hadn't blushed in nearly twenty years, and this was such a minor infraction, it hardly called for such a thing. "Uh…" he said.

But to his surprise, Selby smiled. That same dazzling smile to which she had treated him when talking about how much she enjoyed teaching. She said nothing, though, only turned and made her way to the diner exit. Having the advantage of surprise, she was through it before Pax could even shrug on his jacket and make a move to catch up with her. And by the time he stepped outside, the street was empty, save a couple huddling in a doorway across the street. But whether they were saying good night or conducting business, Pax couldn't have said. It was just that kind of neighborhood. Neither of them was Selby, however, of that he was certain.

He looked at the building directly in front of him across the street, at the one to his left, and at the one catty-corner to where he stood. And he waited. After a minute, in the one to his left, on the sixth floor, a light went on in a window, drawing his gaze. And then a woman moved to that window, silhouetted against the light. A woman in a bulky denim jacket, he saw before she drew the curtains together. A woman with chin-length black hair. Selby Hudson had made it home safely after all.

And now Pax knew exactly where to find her.

The week that followed Michael's self-inflicted outing at Hannah's house was damned near the worst week he'd ever endured. Worse than the one he'd spent holed up in a stinking ghetto while keeping tabs on a potential defector. Worse than hell week at the end of basic training for OPUS. Worse than any given week while Alex had had colic. Worse, even, than the week he had discovered that his wife was having an affair with what had passed for his best friend. Because in the week that followed Michael's self-inflicted outing, he had to watch Hannah cozy up to Adrian more and more every day. And he learned pretty quickly that he cared a lot more for Hannah than he'd begun to suspect.

What the hell was she thinking, to insist on being part of this thing? he asked himself for perhaps the millionth time since that fateful afternoon at her house. He still couldn't believe she had been so determined to wedge herself into the operation. And he really couldn't believe the One Whose Name Could Not Be Spoken had gone for it. Michael had done his best to talk the guy out of it, but noooooo…

Hell, he'd thought he would be called to the mat by his boss for telling Hannah the truth. He'd figured the guys upstairs would want his head on a platter, and that they'd for sure relieve him of his duties. Not that
that
had had anything to do with his decision to tell Hannah the truth about the situation, no way. But No-Name had been even more determined to include Hannah directly in the operation than Hannah had been. He'd pointed out there was no agent who could get closer to Adrian than Hannah. Since she'd be there at Adrian's invitation, there was little chance he'd become suspicious of her presence. No-Name had thought Michael was nuts for taking exception to the plan.

So now here Michael was, sitting in his van again, listening in on Hannah's life again. But this time, she knew he was listening, because she was wearing the microphone he'd planted in a strand of phony pearls. And unlike before, Michael didn't want to hear what was going on. Because she wasn't splashing in the bathtub. And she wasn't singing the birthday song to herself. She was having dinner with Adrian at a five-star restaurant, and the guy couldn't have been more obvious if he'd affixed a lit neon sign to his forehead that blinked off and on with the message,
I want to diddle you.

So far, Adrian had fed Hannah oysters and caviar by hand, had insisted they share an order of truffles, had ordered—for both of them—the salmon, with artichokes and asparagus, and had opted for the cherry chocolate torte for dessert. According to Michael's admittedly limited knowledge of aphrodisiacs, they ought to be rutting and bleating like mountain goats under the table any minute. And that was something Michael
really
didn't want to listen to.

He hated this. Hated it even more than when Hannah hadn't realized he was listening in on her. Because he didn't know Adrian anymore, and hadn't for years, and he couldn't be sure how far the guy would go. Even when the two of them had been partners, Michael had never completely trusted him.

And before that, when they were kids, he'd always felt like there was something in Adrian that was just… wrong. He'd been such an angry kid, so resentful of everyone else. A lot of that was due to his upbringing, Michael knew. Adrian had never known his father, and his mother hadn't been home much. She'd worked as a salesclerk during the day, and at night… well, as an adult man, Michael realized she'd been working then, too. But when they were kids, he and Adrian both had figured she was out on dates. One date after another. With a different man every time. And if Michael had eventually figured out what she was really doing, he was certain Adrian had, too.

Still, a lot of the kids at their school had come from lousy neighborhoods and broken homes, and they hadn't become criminal masterminds. Adrian, though, had always felt as if he deserved so much more than he had. So much more than anyone had. No, he'd felt as if he were
entitled
to it. And maybe he had deserved more, Michael thought. But that didn't mean it was okay for him to go out and take whatever he wanted.

Which was what he had discovered Adrian was doing one day when they were both around twelve. They'd gone into a drugstore to buy comic books. Well, Michael was going to buy them, since Adrian didn't have any money. Adrian never had any money. But that was okay, because Michael, the dutiful son who completed all his chores, always had his allowance. And he was always willing to share whatever he bought with his friend.

That day, though, Adrian hadn't wanted to share. He had wanted comic books, however. And even though he hadn't had any money, he'd helped himself to a few anyway. Michael had watched in astonishment as his friend slipped three of them under his jacket and started to make his way to the front of the store. He'd gotten caught by the owner on the way out, naturally. And Michael had been fingered as an accomplice. That day, they'd gotten off with a warning and a report to their parents, and an admonition to never set foot in the store again. That hadn't kept Adrian from stealing, though. He'd just opted for other venues.

They'd been forced to put their friendship on hiatus when Michael went to Princeton and Adrian stayed in-state, at IU in Bloomington. Truth be told, though, by that point Michael had needed a break from Adrian. Adolescence had brought a wildness to his friend, an almost amorality that had manifested itself in reckless, even dangerous behavior. Adrian had always been in some kind of trouble, whether at school or at home or at the computer store where he had worked. Michael knew for a fact that Adrian had become a regular lawbreaker, everything from stealing cars to burglarizing homes to taking home smuggled stock from the store where he worked. But not once—not once—did he get caught.