Sidney Sheldon's Chasing Tomorrow (Tracy Whitney #2)(61)
He never spoke about his work, although Veronica knew he was in town for a job. He came to New York about twice a year and always looked her up. Perhaps it seemed odd to say so, but Veronica considered Jeff a friend.
“Listen,” she said. “It’s Christmas in a few days. You probably have plans, but if you’re on your own, you’d be very welcome to join me. My sister’s coming over with her boyfriend. I make a mean pecan pie.”
“You’re so sweet to offer.” Jeff kissed her on the cheek. “But I have plans.”
He picked up his watch from the bedside table and fastened his cuff links while Veronica fixed her makeup in the bathroom. Remembering he’d left his tie on the countertop, Jeff walked in to find her snorting a freshly cut line of coke on the side of the bathtub. He froze, frowning.
Veronica looked up. Misinterpreting his expression, she said, “Sorry, sweetie, did you want some? I should have asked.”
Jeff shook his head. “I’ve gotta run. I’ll call you, okay?”
“Okay,” Veronica called after him. “And thank you so much for my present. I love it!”
OUTSIDE, THE CITY LOOKED like a fairy tale. Two feet of snow had fallen during the night, frosting Central Park like a wedding cake and casting a brilliant, white glow over every street and car and building. Christmas music was being piped out of every store, and the window displays shone and glittered with multicolored lights and toys and candies, making Jeff wish he was eight years old again.
Jeff buttoned his overcoat against the cold, and against his own anger.
Why would a beautiful girl like Veronica touch that stuff?
It didn’t bother him that she sold herself for sex. In Jeff’s worldview there was an honesty to prostitution, to the simple transaction between man and woman in the pursuit of pleasure. But drugs? That was something else. He had seen what drugs did to people. Seen how they reduced human beings to immoral beings, cringing slaves prepared to do anything and betray anyone for their master.
Disgusting.
Tracy had never done drugs. They were always around. The circles that she and Jeff used to move in were extremely decadent. But, like Jeff, Tracy had never been interested. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear her voice now.
“Why would I need ecstasy, my darling, when I’ve got you?”
“Why indeed.”
Jeff always missed Tracy more at Christmastime.
Still, this was no time to be getting maudlin. Jeff loved visiting New York, especially when the trip combined business and pleasure. He was staying at the Gramercy Park under the name of Randall Bruckmeyer, an old-school Texas oilman and one of Jeff’s favorite alter egos. Randy lived up to his name, and had helped Jeff out on a number of jobs that required the seducing of one or more women. In this case, the target was a gorgeous Russian socialite, Svetlana Drakhova, who was in New York to attend the famous Winter Ball at the Botanical Garden with her boyfriend. In addition to her busy career as a professional partier/slut, Svetlana also happened to be the latest, very young mistress of Oleg Grinski, a Russian oligarch with a penchant for anal sex, torture and Byzantine treasures, not necessarily in that order. Preposterously, Oleg had given the scheming Svetlana a priceless collection of coins minted during the reign of the Emperor Heraclius in 620 as a gift. Knowing Svetlana as he now did, Jeff, aka Randy Bruckmeyer, was convinced it was only a matter of time before she melted them down or turned them into a pair of novelty earrings. As much a stranger to taste as to basic human decency, Svetlana was as ugly inside as she was beautiful outside, and that was saying something. Jeff was not enjoying sleeping with her, hence today’s trip to Veronica’s place. He was, however, looking forward to robbing her, and to handing the coins over to the charming Spanish collector who’d commissioned him. They had agreed on a fee of $1 million, a fraction of what the coins were worth, but enough to make the job worth Jeff’s while. The main thing was that the coins would be in safe hands once again, cherished and appreciated as they should be. These days, Jeff Stevens felt a closer connection to ancient objects than he did to people. Unlike people, they never let you down.
Jumping into a cab to Lexington, Jeff got out a block before his hotel. Randall Bruckmeyer III always stayed at the Gramercy Park. The Ritz might have grander rooms, but this was the only place in town with access to its own, private park and with genuine Warhols and Basquiats hanging on the walls. You got what you paid for at the Gramercy: glamour, luxury and exclusivity.
Slipping into character was second nature to Jeff, like putting on an old familiar sweater.
“Afternoon, ladies.” He offered his arm to two overly made-up women in ankle-length minks as they approached the lobby doors. “Are y’all in town for the Winter Ball?”
“That’s right.” The first woman looked up coquettishly at the handsome Texan, almost blinding him with the diamonds that were swinging around her neck like golf balls. “How did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess. I’m invited myself, as it happens.”
Randall Bruckmeyer was invited to the annual Botanical Garden event, but he wouldn’t be going. He had a rather more pressing engagement arranged for that evening. Svetlana Drakhova would be attending, along with her repulsive sugar daddy, Oleg, hopefully for long enough to allow Jeff to do what he needed to do. The ball provided the perfect cover, not least because every cop, fed and private security firm was going to be all over the event like bees around a honey pot. After last year’s spectacular thefts—not one, but two multimillion-dollar jewel heists had gone down, one of them involving a very high-profile Hollywood actress and a sapphire bracelet that used to belong to Grace Kelly—no one was taking any chances. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, rumors abounded that another big job was being planned. Every con artist in the Western world worth their salt was in Manhattan right now, wondering whether to try their hand.