Love Story (3 page)

Because he was undercover at the Met, as Nick Caseman, part of a citywide task force that dealt with problems at major sites, like the Met. And if Elizabeita Ludzecky was involved in the threat to the museum, he might just have to arrest her.

Magdalena could barely contain herself. They walked into her mother’s house, now technically belonging to Rafe and her sister Nia, with the biggest and best surprise of their lives to reveal to everybody.

“They’re in the family room,” Logan whispered, kissing her lips. “Are you nervous?”

“No. Excited to share this with them.”

His expression turned so sober it made her want
to cry. “How did I get so lucky to have a woman like you, who would, as you’ve shown, do anything for me?”

“Hush. I’m happy.” She led him to the kitchen which faced the family room. From the windows, she could see some of her clan was out back. Their surprise would come in stages. “Hi, guys.”

“Hey, Mags.”

“Hi, Sis.”

“Where’s Logan?”

“Right behind me.” She turned and winked
at her husband. He came into view of those gathered.

Nia said, “Oh, wow.”

Lizzie, “Super!”

“Already?” This from Paulina.

Ana got up and rushed to her. “Mags, is this who I think it is?”

Logan held up the child, nestled in his arms. He was only ten days old. “Yes, this is my son, Jacob Donald Peter.”

Nia and Paulina gasped.

Ana cooed down at the baby as her hand went
to her own almost-seven-months’ pregnant belly. “I can’t believe you got to take him out so soon. That Teresa let you. He’s still a newborn.”

“About that,” Magdalena announced. “You want to tell them, Logan?”

Her wonderful husband got more teary than Nia. “I’m not sure I can get it out.”

“I can. Everybody, Jake is our baby now. Teresa decided after being home with him for a few days
that she wasn’t cut out for motherhood.”

Bounding up, Lizzie came in closer. “So she
gave
him to you?”

“Pretty much. We didn’t have any lead time, either. She showed up at our house yesterday with him and the baby stuff she’d bought.”

Logan swallowed hard. “It’s a miracle.”

Frowning, Lizzie touched Mags’s arm. “This okay with you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m deliriously happy.”

“Isn’t she something?” Logan commented.

The back door opened and in came Luke, also carrying an infant who’d been born last month. He stopped short when he saw Logan. “What’s this?”

Magdalena took the baby she already loved to pieces and brought him to Luke’s son. “Jake, meet your new cousin, Renny.” Named after Kelsey’s father.

Luke asked. “Is it Price, or whatever Teresa’s name
is?”

“It’ll be Ludzecky-Price.”

Their big brother frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“He’s ours,” Magdalena said. “All ours.”

“And I’m taking a leave from my job, Luke, like you did, to take care of him.”

Her big brother rolled his eyes. “Maybe we can have playdates.”

Elizabeita laughed out loud. “Now, this is the way the world should be.”

o0o

On Saturday night, because
she had a second infant in the family to worry about, Elizabeita showed up at High Tops. She stood in front of the very tall building in the Bronx and took a quick peek at her watch. Right on time. She’d come home from her family’s get-together and gone on the dark web, called this because it wasn’t searchable. She’d been lucky to have met someone when she was car racing who’d recommended her for
acceptance to the site.

As instructed, she wore loose-fitting clothes, elastic, no zippers, and had brought the cash. One hundred dollars for fifteen minutes, so she’d better get inside. The reception area was clean and functional, like all the fronts of the interesting places she’d visited. This one had pictures of the Flying Wallendas on the walls. A woman stood behind the desk.

“Elizabeita
Ludzecky?” Lizzie nodded. “May I see your identification?” She whipped it out of her pocket. “If you’ll sign this waiver saying High Tops is not liable for any physical or mental injury, that you’re aware we carry no insurance on customers. That should you have an accident, you accept full culpability.”

Nothing she hadn’t signed before.

The woman pointed to the clock. “It’s nine on the
nose. Go in.”

Lizzie heard a lock click. Inside the large arena were ten sets of ropes hanging between pillars, set up at a variety of heights. The lowest was twenty feet. Beneath every other one were nets.

“Lizzie Ludzecky, welcome back.”

She approached one of the attendants, a beautiful Vietnamese woman with hair down to her butt. “Hey, Cam.”

Cam scrolled through her tablet.
“Let’s see how far you’ve gotten.”

“Rope 4. The next is without a net.”

The woman’s eyes smiled. “Ah, a big one. You ready for this?”

“Yep.”

They walked down the line of ropes and stopped at 4. A man was climbing off the ladder.

Cam said, “Great job, Paul.”

“Thanks.”

When he left, Elizabeita looked after him. “He’s a little green.”

“First time without a net. Men
seem to get more scared than women here.”

“Won’t happen to me.” Grasping the rungs of the ladder, she began her ascent. When she reached the top, she lifted the nine-foot-long pole and fisted her hands around it. After taking two deep breaths, she put one foot on the rope, then the other in front of it. Calmly, she proceeded to cross the high-wire with her body erect, her steps light.

For several minutes, the risky situation breathed new life into Lizzie. Her head filled with power, her heart with self-confidence. Gone, completely gone, was the anxiety and depression that had plagued her all her life. As she reached the end, she was on solid ground again, metaphorically and literally. She needed this. For a lot of reasons.

Before school on Monday, Nick sat with Mellie while she ate a breakfast of yogurt, blueberries and whole-grain toast. Grandma had taught her to eat well. Nick was shoveling sugary flakes soaked in milk into his mouth.

“So,” he said when he finished, “another big day in first grade.”

He paid megabucks for her private school, but it was worth every penny, mostly
because of the special monthly events. This field trip to the Bronx Zoo was an example.

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s yucky that the animals are caged up.”

“Nana thinks so too.”

“I wanna be a teacher like her.”

“You know your mother taught at the police academy for three years before she had you.”

“I know, Daddy.” Her bottom lip came out. “I wish she hadn’t died.”

“Yeah,
baby, I do, too.”

On their drive to her school, Mellie perked up. “Guess what. We’re going to an art museum next month.”

Hmm. “Which one?”

“I don’t know. A big one.”

He’d have to ask the teacher where they were planning to go. He’d email her today because he needed not to be recognized at the Met. When he kissed his daughter good-bye, his heartbeat ratcheted up. His gaze followed
her into the building, her cute ponytail swinging as she walked. She was the most important thing in life to him.

After he dropped his car off back at home, he jogged to the nearest subway station and took the train and then a bus to the Met. Nick Casella might have a car, but Nick Caseman didn’t want to be traced, which was why he’d also changed his last name. He walked inside and found Delores
Martin waiting for him at the Building and Maintenance office.

“Hello, Delores.” Her eyes were troubled and she was fidgety. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re the first one here. You have to clean up something outside before patrons arrive.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll show you.” She led him back out a door, to a side of the building that bumped up to the Contemporary Art division. Spray painted
on the cement, in red, was, “The wrath of God will be visited upon heretics.”

He sighed. “When did this happen?” “Last night. I don’t work on weekends, but when security did their walk around at the end of Sunday, this wasn’t here then.”

Shit! He wondered why Will Davidson, the director of security and the only person here who knew Nick’s real identity, hadn’t phoned him earlier when the
attack was discovered.

“Clean it up fast.”

He didn’t much like the head of the Contemporary Art division, but he had to tread carefully with her in order to stay in her good graces. “Of course. But don’t you think we should call the police first?”

“Security already did. They’ve been out taking pictures.”

“Why isn’t this taped off as a crime scene?”

“It was. I took it down.
I won’t let our patrons see this desecration. I don’t want a scandal. And if the lunatic gets inside one of these nights and defaces a van Gogh because it isn’t godlike, the museum will be out millions, not to mention the aesthetic loss the world will suffer.”

Nick wasn’t worried about any of that. He was more concerned that a living, breathing person could get hurt, rather than any damage
that might be done to a canvas somebody threw paint on.

Still on a high from her experience Saturday night, Elizabeita entered into her office, her steps light. The buzz from challenging herself to the hilt and succeeding stayed with her for a long time. A light blinked from her phone, so she called for messages. “Meeting this morning with Delores Martin,” the voicemail relayed.

Carrying the cup of coffee she’d stopped for, Elizabeita headed to the conference room. Most of the staff were assembled. This time the Building and Maintenance people also were attending. She refused to search for Nick. Elizabeita was very skilled at blocking, but there were times over the weekend when she thought of how he’d gotten into the kiss, held her tight and seemed to soak her in.
Not appropriate thoughts to have about a coworker, but that was what happened.

Dee stood up front. Her hair was askew, and she wasn’t as put together as usual. “I’m afraid we had an incident last night.” She went on to describe the message on the side of the building.

“Was anyone hurt?” Elizabeita asked.

“Luckily, no.”

“Have we had vandalism like this before?” Jay Landon asked.
He was outgoing and frequently participated in meetings, which was unusual for an intern.

“Yes. But this is a threat of sorts, and its exact wording was used on some of the emails sent to our department.”

“Seems to me we should all be on guard, given the new development.”

Elizabeita recognized the husky timbre of that voice. Remembered it saying angrily,
Hell, woman, have you no sense,
kissing a stranger?
And just like that, she was back on the pavement in front of her building, feeling his body pressed to hers. She’d wondered how she’d react to seeing him today, and now she knew.

“We’re putting in place some new rules,” Delores went on. "And though they may be inconvenient, we’d like you to adhere to them. Once you leave work—this applies to punch-card employees and salaried
staff—we’re asking you not to return after six unless it’s previously cleared with security. For instance, if you’re in the process of preparing an exhibit, and have to run out for a bit, let Director Davidson know.”

Some mumbles. Ellen, who was beside Elizabeita murmured, “I’ve been working here longer than she has.”

“It’s precautionary.” Elizabeita knew it would be a pain, because that
meant no more quick visits to pick up her laptop. Which, considering how
that
evening ended, perhaps was fortunate.

When the meeting broke up, she waited for Nick outside the door. He exited last and stopped short. For a minute, when he caught sight of her, there was pleasure in his eyes. But it abruptly turned to exasperation. “I hope we’re not going to do a postmortem on Friday night.”

“No,” she said sunnily. “We aren’t. But you can lose the attitude because you participated, too.”

He grunted.

“I wanted to talk to you about the setup for the Dali/Picasso exhibit.”

“Am I assigned to that?”

“Your name was on the list.”

“Did you put it there?”

Now she laughed. Genuinely. “Don’t flatter yourself because of Friday night. I was having fun, we got along,
and you’re pretty hot. But the last thing I want is to drop my panties where I get my paycheck.”

His mouth gaped. Good. She’d intended to shock him. He could have been more polite about Friday.

“In any case, I’d like to go over some things with you.”

“I’ll be free anytime you need me, Ms. Ludzecky.”

“Come to my office after lunch?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now who’s being sassy?”
she quipped as a parting shot.

As Nick made his way to Elizabeita’s office, he wasn’t happy about this meeting. His curmudgeonly persona seemed to emerge whenever he was with her. But it was more than that. He’d dismissed her as a suspect after reading online her lengthy bio, which highlighted her family connections. Now, with the threatening tone of the vandalism, and the
act itself, he worried she might be in danger. He worried about everybody else, too, he chided himself. Sure, that was it. He was concerned about her as one of many.

From the doorway, he studied her. Head bent, she was pouring over an open book. Her hair was down today, clipped back on the sides. Gone were the blue streaks. But her suit was navy, worn with a prim white blouse.

As if she
knew he was there, she looked up. “Hi.”

“Hi. You said to come after lunch.”

“Yeah, have a seat.” She picked up the book she’d been perusing and sat next to him on one side of the conference table. Immediately, the scent she wore wafted up to him, reminding him
again
of what she’d felt like in his arms Friday. And that her scent had been left on him.

“I thought we’d go over the paintings
in the exhibit.”

He scowled. “Why?”

“Because I want you to know what they are when we’re deciding how to set up the whole thing, including what colors to paint the walls.”

“You choose what to hang where. I’ll put them up. I’m not much of a connoisseur of art.”