The Maid's Diary(64)
As Mal heads back downstairs to finish her wine by the fire and to mull things over, her cell rings. It’s Lula.
“Hey, Lu,” she says tiredly as she reaches the kitchen. “What’re you still doing up?”
“Likewise, boss. This could wait until our six a.m. briefing, but I figured you’d want to know right away.”
“What is it?”
“We’ve located Vanessa and Haruto North with assistance from Interpol. We—”
“Interpol?”
“The Norths are in Singapore. At their primary residence. Northview is their second home. They acquired the house just over eight months ago. I spoke with them by phone while they were in the presence of law enforcement on the Singapore end, so we can be confident their IDs are solid.”
“How—when did they depart for Singapore?”
“They claim to have been in Singapore at their primary residence for the last six months plus a few days.”
“Both of them?”
“Both of them.”
Mal’s brain reels. “Beulah Brown says she saw a pregnant Vanessa North next door last week.”
“And here’s the kicker,” Lula says. “Vanessa North is not pregnant.”
“What?” Mal says.
“Vanessa North is not pregnant. She’s in her midforties and says it would be a miracle if she was.”
JON
October 28, 2019. Monday.
Three days before the murder.
Jon sits with Mia in a discreet booth. It’s 9:34 p.m., and they’re in a small piano lounge downtown. He’s got a buzz on from the drinks he downed before he arrived, and from the cocktails he and Mia have already shared. A hot, sexual energy crackles over his skin. Daisy and the unborn baby are fast fading to a peripheral wilderness in Jon’s mind. His focus is solely on the seductive woman in his presence.
This place was Mia’s suggestion, and it’s perfect. Tucked away. Private. Jon feels safe in this dimly lit cocoon of elegance. No tacky Halloween-season decor. Soft jazzy piano tunes. A lounge singer with a voice like smoke and whisky. Miles away from where he told Daisy he would be with prospective TerraWest investors from China.
“So how did you find my number?” he asks Mia, who is even more beautiful than he remembered. She wears a ruby-red velvet dress with her hair loose over her shoulders. The dress shows off the green of her eyes.
She smiles, sips her martini, and says softly, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?”
He smiles. That this siren hunted him down is intoxicating. That she wants his body is driving him nuts.
She leans forward and his breathing quickens. “You know what that’s like, don’t you, Jon? Having a hunger? Relentlessly pursuing, taking what you want, what should be yours?”
“Is that how it is for you in banking?”
“It can be a mercenary business.” She traces the back of his hand with her fingers, her gaze locked on his. “What is it that you want right now, Jon, right at this minute? What is it that should be yours for the taking?”
He swallows. His skin goes hotter. “I think you know.”
She angles her head. The candlelight shimmers on her hair. Her green eyes bewitch him. “I mean, beyond sex. What do you feel is missing in your life right now? Because on the surface you seem to have it all, right? Attractive wife with a family fortune to her name. A baby on the way. And resort industry buzz says you’re tipped for the new COO position at Claquoosh Resort when it comes on stream.”
Jon feels a discordant clang in his head at the mention of Daisy, their unborn son, and the job that is no longer guaranteed him. He breaks her gaze and reaches for his drink, sips. For a moment he watches the singer near the grand piano. She’s crooning lyrics about taking risks in love.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I hit a nerve.”
“No. No, it’s fine.” He meets her gaze again.
She leans closer. Jon notices her cleavage. Heat pools in his groin—a throbbing kind of heat that makes him so hard it’s exquisitely painful. She feathers her fingers across the back of his hand again.
“I won’t go there again. Won’t mention your family. I just want to be clear about our parameters, Jon. I’m aware you’re a well-married family man. Yet here you are. And I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot and lead you to believe that there is something more . . . you understand what I mean?”
“I—”
But she silences him with her finger on his lips. “I, too, have a comfortable life.” She hesitates, as though unsure whether to divulge more. “A relationship. I want to keep that relationship intact, yet here I am. But I am clear in my own mind on the reason I’m here. Physical connection, no strings. How about you?”
His heart thuds like a drum. It sends blood pumping through his veins with a rhythmic pulse. It throbs with the same rhythm in his groin. He’s dizzy. Oddly dizzy. Like his entire world is narrowing onto just this siren named Mia in a ruby-red dress, and he can’t seem to think in a bigger picture. He feels woozy.
“Shame thing,” he says. “I mean, same thing. No shtrings.” His words are slurring. How much have they both had to drink anyway? How many drinks did he have at dinner with the clients before he arrived? Still, he feels like another one, and he raises his hand to order refills.