Red Alert(NYPD Red #5)(44)

I waited till we got in the elevator. “Look, Cheryl, I know this sucks. I’m really sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No, but Kylie and I are going to be flying God knows how many hours on this luxury airplane, and…”

“So, then, is this another one of your famous prophylactic apologies? Or are you just projecting that I’m jealous?”

“None of the above, but—” The elevator stopped on the tenth floor, and we got out.

“But what?”

“Are you jealous?”

“Zach, you’re a cop. Kylie is your partner. You spend sixty hours a week with her in the same office, the same car, on stakeouts together, eating meals together—it’s what you do. So what’s the difference if you do it on a private plane? What’s the difference if you do it eight thousand miles and eleven time zones away in an exotic country with gorgeous beaches, exciting nightlife, and luxurious hotels? Why would I be jealous? If I trust you here, I trust you there.”

I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I could wade through the subtext, so I took the high road. I said nothing. I unlocked my door, and we entered the apartment.

As soon as we were inside, Cheryl grabbed me, pressed me against the wall, and kissed me hard. “You realize I’m not here to help you pack, don’t you?” she said, pulling her sweater over her head and dragging me toward the bedroom.

“Packing is highly overrated,” I said, shucking my clothes along the way, my libido kicking into overdrive.

One of the things I love about my sex life with Cheryl is that she has never once been hesitant to let me know what she needs. There are times when our lovemaking is practically puritanical—sweet, slow, gentle. Skin to skin, heart to heart, soul to soul.

This was not one of those times. This was raw sex. Frenzied, loud, primal. I doubt if we lasted more than ten minutes, but they were ten of the most incredible minutes of my adult life.

I lay there on my bed, wrapped in her arms, completely spent, deliriously happy. “That,” I said, still breathing heavily, “was the best going-away present I ever got.”

“Wait till you see the welcome-home present I have planned for you,” she whispered, her tongue teasing my ear, her fingertips making small circles against my nipple.

I felt myself stirring. “You keep that up, and I may not wait till I get back home to collect.”

She kept it up. I collected.

This time the sex was unhurried, sensuous, tender, each of us caught up in the act of making love, neither of us racing to the finish line.

“You’re getting pretty good at this,” she said as we curled up for the second time.

“Thanks. I’d be even better if I’d had any sleep last night. I’ve been up since three.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll sleep on the plane.”

“I hope so. I don’t sleep well on airplanes.”

“You’ll sleep like a log on this one.” She pressed her body closer to mine, and I could feel her warm breath on my ear. “Trust me,” she said. “I’m a doctor.”





CHAPTER 42



Princeton Wells thought of everything. At five thirty I got a call from a man named Matéo, who asked me what I’d care to eat en route.

“I’m easy,” I said. “Whatever you’ve got on the plane.”

“At the moment the cupboard is bare, but I’m about to call our in-flight catering service,” he said. “They feed some of the world’s most demanding clientele, so please tell me what foods you enjoy, and they will be on board.”

I gave him a few of my favorites.

“Is that all?” He sounded disappointed.

“I’m sure my traveling companion will give you a much more challenging shopping list,” I said.

“She already has,” he said. “A car will pick you up shortly. I’ll meet you on the tarmac.”

The car turned out to be a custom-built stretch Bentley complete with the obligatory bar in the back. Kylie had already popped the cork on a cold bottle of champagne, and a crystal flute of golden bubbly was waiting for me as soon as I got in.

“To police work,” she said, raising her glass in a toast. “Somebody’s got to do it.”

Traffic was heavy, and we arrived at the airport in Teterboro, New Jersey, about fifteen minutes before flight time. A no-no in real life, but perfectly acceptable when your limo pulls up to the nose of your Gulfstream G650.

Matéo gave us a grand tour of the aircraft. I’d been on corporate jets before. Comfortable reclining leather seats, highly efficient tables that can be adjusted for work or for meals, a well-stocked bar, and a number of available options for in-flight entertainment. Very corporate chic.

This was not that. This was Princeton Wells’s fantasy bachelor pad with wings—decadence on a grand scale, high in the sky at six hundred miles an hour. The main cabin was a sumptuous living and dining area with some of the same decorating influences I remembered from Wells’s apartment in The Pierre. At the rear of the plane, hidden from sight by a sweeping frosted-glass bulkhead, was a large master bedroom with a king-size bed, and behind that a spacious bathroom with polished marble countertops, a heated floor, and a shower big enough for two.