Most Wanted (17 page)

“Why wouldn’t he? You’re a fancy white girl in a hot
boricua
body,
mami
. He gets an exotica trip in the bedroom and an Ivy Leaguer with an A-plus résumé to hostess his dinner parties, all in one package.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” Linda eyed her skeptically.

“Well, maybe,” Melanie conceded. “But it’s not like he’s the only one at fault. I mean, sometimes I think
I
picked
him
for the wrong reasons.”

“Sex and money,
chica
. Ain’t nothing wrong with that where I come from.”

“Sex, I grant you. But money had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, come off it! The way he wined and dined you. Took you to Paris for that long weekend a month after you met.”

“That wasn’t about money, Lin. It was about romance. It was about
culture
. I mean, Steve didn’t just take me to fancy restaurants. He knew what wine to order and what fork to use. And afterward he’d take me to the opera and translate the German for me. Culture means a lot to me, with where we’re from.”

“What does it matter when the guy doesn’t treat you right? You’d be better off with a blue-collar schmo who really loved you.”

“Steve
does
love me! He’s trying to make it up to me. Maybe with time I can forgive him.”

“Well, if you’re telling me your heart still skips a beat when he walks into the room, I guess I can understand that.”

“Of course it does.” She paused. “Because I’m thinking about killing him.”

Linda laughed. “Now, what about this FBI guy? Does
he
make your heart skip a beat?” Melanie thought about that one a second too long. “Wow, I’m starting to think you’re falling for him, Mel.”

“Will you shut
up
about him already? I already told you, I would never do anything about it. Just because Steve was an asshole, doesn’t mean I should sink to his level. Plus, this guy would never mess around with a married woman. He’s incredibly sweet and decent. And he has sad eyes, like he’s been hurt before.” Linda looked at her dubiously. “I’m telling you, he’s not interested in me. I mean, you should see him, he is so hot. And I have child-bearing hips.” Melanie lifted Maya from the bath and, wrapping her in a hooded towel, carried her back to the changing table in her bedroom. Linda followed.

“You’re kidding me, right? Is your mirror broken or something? You’re totally gorgeous. You were before Maya, and you’re even better now. You’re all voluptuous, and you have that glow.”

“I have ten extra pounds on me.”

“So? Baby got back! Men love that.”

“And you said yourself I don’t do myself up.”

“You could dress a little sexier, is all I meant.”

“I can’t dress like a hooker when I might get called to court any minute. Besides, my clothes are nice—they’re just professional. I always wear lipstick and
tacones
, see?” She pointed to her sexy high-heeled shoes.

“I do see! Mr. FBI hunk is gonna be down on his knees begging for it.”

“
¡Dios mío
, the mouth on you,
chica
! Nothing is ever going to happen, okay, so never mention it again.”

“Why not? Hey, maybe he could move in here and guard you. Just like in
Someone to Watch Over Me
.”

Melanie threw the wet towel at Linda’s head.

BY THE TIME LINDA LEFT, MAYA WAS FALLING asleep in Melanie’s arms. Melanie carried her to her room, lowered the crib rail, and gently tucked her in. Little baby, so tiny and vulnerable. She said a silent prayer that Maya would always be safe. Then she went to her room, put on an old cotton nightgown, and stepped into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Her face in the harsh fluorescent light was drawn, dark circles under dark eyes. But the thought of sleeping made her nervous.

She stood in the middle of her bedroom floor and looked at her king-size bed with its many pillows and fluffy comforter, feeling the silence of the apartment all around her. Who, other than her baby daughter, would hear her if she screamed? She hated to admit that she was afraid to go to sleep, but what other explanation could there be, when she was so exhausted and the bed was so inviting? Maybe if she played the TV or slept with the lights on.

Instead she decided to walk around the apartment and double-check all the locks. Always best to take action. Her stomach fluttered with nerves as she made her circuit. She tried to tell herself it was just hunger. Speaking of which—that arroz con pollo would sure make her feel better. She got to the kitchen and turned on all the lights, then headed straight for the refrigerator. Diet be damned. She was sad, tired to the bone, and
scared
. She needed comfort, which unfortunately she only got from starchy Puerto Rican food. Why couldn’t she come from a culture where comfort food was steamed broccoli or something?

The plastic container was way in the back, hiding behind the little jars of baby food. She maneuvered it out and stuck it in the microwave. Waiting for her food to heat, she saw the light blinking on the answering machine. Two messages. Of course Linda hadn’t bothered to answer her phone.

She hit “play,” tensing up as the sound of Steve’s voice filled the room.

“Hey, it’s me. Listen, I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I really need to talk to you, Melanie. Please stop screening my calls. Okay?
Please
? I’m about to catch the red-eye, and who knows if I’ll be able to reach you from the air. Please pick up. I know you’re there, Melanie. It’s after ten. Where else would you be?”

Linda was right. Steve took her for granted. She’d been in the file room getting chased at ten o’clock, not sitting home like some submissive wifey, but he would never believe that, not even if she told him. It was time to show him a new side of her. Maybe revenge
was
in order here. Hell, maybe she should just dump the son of a bitch and be done with it.

She jabbed the “delete” button angrily before the message was finished, then instantly regretted it. What if his plane crashed and that was the last she ever heard from him? Now she wanted the message back. He was trying hard to fix things, and she was giving him no hope. She thought about how sweet he’d been when she was pregnant—massaging her feet, carrying the sonogram pictures around in his wallet. But—who knew?—he could have been messing with Samantha already. Asshole. Just because he said it only happened a couple of times. Why should she even believe him? She hoped the plane fucking crashed. She’d get the insurance money and never have to see his lying face again. That’s what he deserved. But the thought of him dead brought her up short. Oh, God, she really just didn’t know
what
she felt these days, except that she’d better get started figuring it all out.

The microwave beeped. She grabbed a fork and stood there eating the fragrant, steaming rice straight from the container as she listened to the next message. It was from Sophie Cho.

“Melanie, it’s Sophie. Listen, I really need to talk to you about something. It’s very important. Please call me as soon as you get this message.”

Sounded urgent. Melanie put the container down. The clock on the wall read 12:10, but she was tempted to call despite the late hour. Maybe Sophie had some information about the Benson case? Sophie had requested an immediate callback, and she hadn’t put a time limit on it.

Melanie dialed Sophie’s number and stood listening to the unanswered rings. She counted ten, then hung up and tried again, to be certain she hadn’t misdialed. Again nobody answered, not even a machine. Sophie must have turned off the ringer for some reason. Melanie fished through the utility drawer, pulling out her address book, and looked up Sophie’s cell-phone number. She dialed it and got voice mail.

“Hey, Soph, it’s Melanie. It’s Tuesday night…well, Wednesday morning really, about a quarter after twelve. Got your message, tried to reach you, but now I guess I’m going to sleep. I’ll try you in the morning. But…um, if it’s really an emergency, you can call anytime. I’m home now, okay? Bye.”

It worried her that she couldn’t reach Sophie. She threw the rest of the arroz con pollo into the trash, then double-locked the service door off the kitchen. In the foyer she double-bolted the front door and put the chain on. Turning out lights behind her, she went to her room and snuggled beneath the covers, leaning over to snap off her bedside lamp.

The second the lights went out, she knew she wouldn’t sleep that night. She lay there, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. You never get true dark in a New York City bedroom without blackout shades, which she didn’t have. Dim bluish gray light filtered through the drawn blinds, allowing her to see just well enough to set her nerves on edge. Familiar pieces of furniture seemed to loom at her like attackers. Every creak from the old walls echoed in her ears like footsteps.

The sudden shrieking of the phone on her bedside table startled her. Heart racing, hands shaking, she grabbed for the receiver and nearly dropped it.

“He-hello?” she said, breathing rapidly.

Dead silence on the other end.

“Hello? Hello? Who’s there?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. She could hear someone breathing, then a click, and the line went dead.

Now she was really scared. She sat up and looked at her digital clock. Jesus, it was almost one o’clock in the morning. Who would call her and hang up at this hour? The caller ID was lit up in the dark room; it read “Private Number.” It couldn’t have been Steve. Or Sophie. They would never hang up like that. Slice? Light-headed with fear, she sat paralyzed on the edge of her bed for a long time, afraid to breathe, watching the red numbers change on the clock. She couldn’t even bring herself to get up and turn on the light. She knew this feeling too well. Years of it. Insomnia, terror. After her father was gone, when she was still living in that same apartment with her mother and sister. Not like Bushwick had gotten any safer. Every night, lying awake in the top bunk listening to Linda breathe, thinking about the office downstairs, the place where it happened. Wondering when that animal would come back.

IT WAS NEARLY ONE-THIRTY WHEN MELANIE GAVE in and dialed Dan O’Reilly’s pager number from the phone on her bedside table. She couldn’t handle the anxiety any longer. He called back immediately.

“You’re still awake,” she said, relieved. She got under the covers, pressing the receiver to her ear in the darkness. It felt good to lie down.

“Melanie?”

“Yes.”

“I almost didn’t return the beep. I didn’t recognize the number. We need a beeper code, you know.” His voice was low and husky. She wondered if he’d been sleeping or if that was just how he always sounded late at night.

“Beeper code? Isn’t that for drug dealers?” she asked.

“Nah, it’s for anybody who uses pagers a lot. That way you can beep me to any number and I’ll know it’s you. This is your home phone, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not sleeping? Because your lights are out.”

“I’m in bed, but I couldn’t sleep. How do you know my lights are out?”

“Really? You’re lying in bed right now, while we’re talking?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“But I couldn’t sleep. Listen, I beeped you because I’m scared.”

“Where’s your husband?”

“Mmm, traveling.”

A flirtatious note crept into her voice despite her best intentions. Lying in the dark, overwrought, terrified, she was too weak to fight it. Talking to him made her feel so much better. She curled and uncurled her toes under the blanket.

“He left you all alone?” Dan said. “A very foolish man.”

Her heart raced, in an exciting way this time. She should hang up. But what the heck, they were just talking, right? What harm could it do?

“Yeah, well, anyway, I’m by myself. I got scared of Slice coming after me. I figured I’d call so you could tell me I shouldn’t worry.”

“You shouldn’t worry.”

“Why shouldn’t I worry? I have good reason to, don’t I?”

“Because I’m sitting right out here in front of your house, watching the door.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. I dropped you off before and never left. Think I’m gonna take a chance on you ending up looking like Jed Benson?”

“You’re really in front of my building?”

“Yes, ma’am, and the service entrance is visible from here, too. So nobody can get in without me seeing.”

“You’ve been sitting there all this time? You’re crazy!” It moved her deeply, that he would spend his own time watching out for her like that.

“What’s the big deal? Sitting up all night in my car is what I do for a living. Besides, after what happened tonight, this is probably the best spot to catch the bad guy.”

She laughed breathlessly. “Oh, thanks a lot! You’ll give me nightmares.”

“I don’t wanna give you nightmares. Only sweet dreams. Hey, think you’ll dream about me?” His voice as he asked the question was endearingly nervous, as if he feared he’d gone too far. He
had
gone too far, and it surprised her. Could he really be interested in her like that? Wow. But if he was, she really shouldn’t lead him on.

“Dream about you? We only met this morning,” she said.

“Huh, that’s right! We only met this morning. It’s funny, I feel like I’ve known you for a long time. Do you feel that, too?”

“Well, it’s been a long day. So in a way, it has been a long time.” She yawned, exhaustion catching up to her. “Listen, I should get to sleep.”

“Don’t hang up. We can just talk until you fall asleep.”

“What, and leave my phone off the hook? I can’t do that.” What if Steve called and couldn’t get through? Hah, it would serve him right! But really, how would she explain it? Didn’t she have enough problems?

“You really know how to shut a guy down, you know that?” Dan said. But she could hear a smile in his voice.

“Good night, Agent O’Reilly,” she said, unable to resist smiling herself.

“Wait, don’t go,” he said. “What’s your favorite number?”

“Um, I don’t know. Seven? Why?”

“Lucky seven. I like that, too. So that’s our code. If you feel scared, you beep me, put a seven in, and I’ll rush up there and rescue you, okay?”