Say the Word(135)

Bash grinned roguishly. “I can think of several ways.”

“Well, think long and hard. I want you to feel like you’re getting your side of the bargain.” With a tinkling laugh, I pressed another kiss to his lips and winked at him. “See you in a few, handsome.”

“Come on, lovebirds, time to break it up.” Fae snapped her fingers in the space between our faces. “The shrew is closing in — any more of this sappy banter and we’ll never get away.”

I blew Bash a kiss as Fae and Simon tugged me from him. We rushed for the bathrooms on the other side of the hall, quickly losing sight of Bash in the crowd. Mercifully, no one we knew was in the ladies room to eavesdrop and no one made a fuss about Simon’s presence. A few models and makeup artists chatted by the small mirrored lounge area, but otherwise it was surprisingly quiet. Then again, I suppose it wasn’t such a surprise — trays of appetizers had just started floating around the crowd and most people were out gorging themselves, descending on the cater waiters like scores of vultures on a single dead carcass.

“We have a few minutes. Jeanine can talk for at least a half hour without coming up for air,” Simon said, chuckling at the thought. “Poor Sebastian. He really must love you, if he’s willing to put up with her.”

I smiled and a happy flush warmed my cheeks.

“What did you do today?” Fae asked me. “No work again, right?”

My smile faded slightly. “No, Conor said I shouldn’t go.”

Fae rolled her eyes at the FBI agent’s mention.

“I met with Conor, watched four episodes of Say Yes to the Dress on TLC, ate an entire bag of Doritos, and forced myself to read last month’s issue of Luster — which nearly sent me over the edge. I mean, I know we’re a ‘women’s magazine’ but, seriously, who the hell approved that story about cup size directly correlating to marital satisfaction?” I huffed.

Simon and Fae glanced at each other. “Jeanine,” they chimed simultaneously.

“Of course,” I muttered.

“Why’d you meet with Agent Gallagher?” Fae asked, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

“He wanted to discuss the surveillance plans for tonight. Apparently, he ‘has a man on me’ somewhere inside the gala. He also insisted I wear this,” I gestured to the simple bracelet on my right wrist. “Just as a precaution.”

“What’s that?” Simon asked, leaning closer to examine the silver chain.

I grinned. “Supposedly, it’s a tracking device. So they can find my body when it washes up on the beach after I’m abducted and killed.”

“Not funny,” Fae murmured, leaning close to stare at the bracelet. “It doesn’t look like a tracker. Maybe Gallagher just gave it to you so you’d feel better about the prospect of another abduction.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Well, it sounds like you had a very fulfilling day,” Simon said, laughing.

“Oh, that was all before noon.” I studied my cuticles. “This afternoon I got bored, so I spent the rest of my day writing a story.”

“For next month’s issue?” Fae asked.

I shook my head.

“For the December 100 Years issue?” Simon’s brows raised in curiosity.

I shook my head a second time. “No. It’s something I’ve been working on for a while now, just a bit at a time. It’s about my investigation. Details about Red Hook, Labyrinth, the auction, the missing girls. Photographs, to substantiate everything.”

“But…why?” Simon asked, his brow furrowed.

“I want you to publish it if…” I trailed off and cleared my throat. “Well, if for some reason Conor doesn’t come through on his word. Or… if something happens to me.”

Fae and Simon stared at me with serious expressions.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Fae said, her tone firm. “And Conor might be an ass, but he’ll follow through.”

“I hope so,” I said in a quiet voice. “But, if you’re wrong… The file is on a memory stick in the lockbox. Just make sure it finds its way into the hands of someone at the Times. Please.”

Simon nodded. “You know we’d do anything for you, baby. But I don’t like you walking around worried you’re going to disappear.”

“I know. I’m just being paranoid. Let’s head back, I bet Bash is in need of an intervention by now.” I forced a smile, pushing down the strange feeling I’d been carrying around all night. I couldn’t explain it — this wary, foreboding sensation deep in my core — but I couldn’t dismiss it, either.

We were halfway back to the bar when I felt my phone buzz in the confines of my small purse. The bag was tiny — a jeweled, ice blue clutch that Simon had designed to perfectly match my dress. Nearly half the inside compartment was occupied by the clear plastic “emergency kit” Simon put together and insisted I bring. The small zip-lock bag was stocked with makeup brushes, the tiniest mascara bottle I’d ever seen, a nail file, a tiny sewing kit for dress malfunctions, breath mints, and even a miniature pair of razor sharp scissors. I’d laughed when I’d first seen it, complaining there was barely enough room for my cellphone. Privately, I’d been amused by his utter preparedness to handle anything that could possibly go wrong tonight.