The Flight Attendant(91)

She almost told him the truth. She almost said that she had worried at first that she had, but she hoped that she hadn’t—and now she was sure that she hadn’t. But she needed to keep her stories straight. And so she answered, “When I left the hotel room, he was still alive. He was about to get dressed and get ready for his meetings in Dubai.”

“So someone killed him after you left.”

“That’s right.”

“And now you are asking me for a gun.”

“I am.”

He raised a single eyebrow. “I don’t think you plan to kill me.”

“No. Never.”

He took a deep breath. He met her eyes. “I will get you that gun.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“You know, there might be Italian reporters who will want to talk to you. Do they know your hotel?”

“According to my lawyer, they’ll find it. But no one approached me today in the lobby. No one, at least this afternoon, was staking out the front entrance.”

“One more reason I am very glad we are going back to my apartment.”

She felt a small pang at the way she was going to disappoint him. She looked down at her hands in her lap, gathering herself. This would all be so much easier if she could have a drink. Even one. But if she had a drink, she would have two, and then once more she would be in his arms and his bed. “We’re not going back to your apartment,” she said. “We can’t. I can’t.”

He looked crestfallen. “Why?”

“I don’t want to endanger your brother and your friend. I don’t want to endanger you.”

“So we’ll go back to your hotel room?” She could tell that he hadn’t really misunderstood what she was saying, but he was grasping for any small thread that gave him hope. She was flattered.

“No,” she said firmly. She picked up the cappuccino and studied the swirl of milk for a moment, a little hypnotized by its allure. She took a sip. “We won’t. I will. I’ll go there alone. We’ll get the gun, and then you’ll walk me back to the hotel—the lobby. Please. And tomorrow morning I will leave the gun for you in a box or package of some sort when I check out. I’ll leave it for you at the reception desk.”

“I think you need me.”

“Oh, I need a lot of things, Enrico. I really do. Trust me: The things I need? It’s a very, very long list. But I can’t let you take that risk. I just can’t. And…”

“And?”

“Things have changed since last week.”

“Because of the newspaper article?” he asked.

“Because there’s another man.”

“There wasn’t last week?”

“There was, but it wasn’t like it is now.”

He nodded. His disappointment had deepened, but she had a feeling that he wasn’t hurt. There was a difference. “I could still stay with you,” he insisted.

“No. I wouldn’t allow it. I won’t stay with any of the other flight attendants for the same reason. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Is there any chance you’re worried for nothing?”

“There is,” she said, but she didn’t believe that. She thought of what her lawyer had told her when they had spoken that afternoon. She knew what she herself had sensed when she had been on that subway platform in Manhattan the other day. They were out there. They were. But for Enrico’s sake, she continued. “That has certainly crossed my mind. Let’s hope that’s the case.”

He took another sip of his Bellini and seemed even less satisfied by it now than he had been originally. She doubted he’d bother to finish it. “I have one more question for you,” he said. He looked very serious.

“Ask me anything.”

“Has it ever crossed your mind, maybe, you drink too much?”



* * *



? ?

Her phone rang almost the moment that they left the bar and started the short walk to Enrico’s uncle’s apartment. She saw it was her sister and took the call, motioning to Enrico that she was going to stop and focus. She recalled reading Rosemary’s e-mail on the plane last night over the Atlantic, and realized with regret that she had never responded. As soon as she had said hello, Rosemary started speaking.

“I just had two FBI agents at my house,” she said, her fury evident over the phone. “Dennis just had two FBI agents and a pair of MPs show up at his office at the base. At. The. Base. How the hell bad is this, Cassie? What have you done?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I should have answered your e-mail. I just…”

“You just what?”

I just got sidetracked when I nearly tackled some woman at the airport in Rome who I thought I had seen in Dubai. I just got maced. I just lost track of time when I was interviewed by Fiumicino Airport Security. I just collapsed into a deep sleep. I just talked to my lawyer. I just convinced an Italian bartender to get me a gun.

But she said none of that. Instead she walked a few feet away from Enrico and said, “I just forgot.”

“The FBI, Cassie. The FBI.”

“What did they ask you? What did they ask Dennis?” She saw that Enrico was watching her. He looked concerned.

“They wanted to know what the hell kind of relationship you have with my husband. They wanted to know if you’ve ever discussed money problems with me. With him. With us. They wanted to know if you’ve been acting weird lately. Or ever. They wanted to know how much you drink. I could go on.”