Chasing the Wind (42 page)

"Bingham's not going to like that, Rebecca."

Behind him, Ashley Elizabeth grimaced.

"It won't take long." Rebecca walked him to the elevator. When he pressed the call button, she waited, praying that Amalise wouldn't step out when it arrived.

"Well, hurry it up, will you. He's not leaving until those agreements are done."

She could hear the elevator grinding up from a lower floor.
Please don't let Amalise be inside.
The bell rang and she watched the doors part.

Without another word, Raymond stepped inside. As he leaned forward and pressed the button for the eighteenth floor, Rebecca slowly began to breathe again. She watched the doors close and stood there for a moment staring at them. Then she turned toward Ashley Elizabeth's desk and signaled her.

Ashley Elizabeth picked up the purchase agreements that Rebecca had given her earlier from Amalise's desk and headed for the typing pool while Rebecca returned to her office. She figured another forty or fifty minutes to complete the rest of Amalise's unfinished work.

At one minute after midnight, the
start of closing day, Bingham strolled the circumference of the conference table, hands behind his back. Things were taking shape, although that pretty redhead had been off the mark on the purchase agreements. He wouldn't care, except that he was tired and ready to hit the sack.

Beauty's negligence was Mangen & Morris's problem, not his. Amalise was here now, probably had been here all along despite Robert's paranoia. Still, even now Robert was watching every move she made, streaming his dislike. He felt the tension between them in this room like a physical thing.

So Bingham cruised the table, keeping his eye on Amalise and Robert under his lids and watching her worry. Well, he told himself, a little concern right now wouldn't hurt Miss Catoir, after what she'd pulled.

Robert would hang around all night, he supposed, stalking her. Because his hand was in the monkey pot, reaching for those nuts. And nothing in the world right now could free him. Bingham almost smiled at the thought.

Raymond looked up when Bingham reached him and said it would be a long night. Bingham agreed. Jingling the change in his pockets, he wandered over to the windows. To the right he watched a well-lit tug pushing a loaded barge downriver. Slowly it glided out from under the bridge, heading for the Gulf. He watched until it curved past the Quarter, then the river went dark.

A flash of
deja vu
struck him. Once again he was on the edge, looking out into a deep, dark void. But darkness was his friend.

Turning, he signaled Robert that he was leaving.

The operation at Touro Infirmary had taken almost three hours from beginning to end. Luke was asleep by the time Jude reached home. The night had turned cold, and one of the nurses had lent him a fresh blanket, which he'd wrapped around Luke.

Flicking on the living room light, Jude carried Luke upstairs to the guest room next to his own. He pulled down the quilt and gently laid him on the bed. He picked up a pillow, fluffed it, and wedged it against the casted leg. He wished he'd thought to get a teddy bear or something at the hospital gift shop, something Luke could hold onto when he woke up.

Jude went into his bedroom, picked up a straight-backed wooden chair, and brought it into the guest room. There he placed it beside the bed at an angle and sat. He stretched his legs out and rested his feet on the board beneath the mattress, clasped his hands behind his head, and leaned back.

He could hear Luke's breathing, soft and even as he slept. Jude gazed out the window. From where he sat he could see down into his neighbor's yard, a small, neat square of grass divided from his own by a mutual fence. The yard was a well-kept place, not an unruly jungle of banana leaves and ginger like his own. He yawned. Clearing that out would be his next task. Soon.

His eyes roamed past the other neighbors' yards, all quiet now and dark, to the strip of indigo sky sprinkled with silver stars above the rooflines.

Luke moved, restless in sleep, and Jude's closing eyes snapped open. His feet dropped to the floor and he bent forward. Leaning over the child, he placed his hand on the bony shoulder, studying the face of this boy whom Amalise loved. His lips were moving, as if whispering to himself in dreams. A tiny furrow had dug in between his brows. Jude patted his shoulder, wanting to take away the pain this child had endured.

Sitting back again, Jude slid down in the chair until his weight settled on the small of his back. He rested, elbows on armrests, chin braced on his hands as hours passed. Once, Luke cried out, rolling his head to the side, eyes wide and frightened.

Jude sat there watching over Luke, until at last his own eyes closed.

Two hours later Luke woke up in the big bed and stared at the ceiling. His leg felt strange. He moved and felt the weight, testing. Lifting himself from the pillow, he braced on his elbows and looked down at the leg that had hurt so badly last night. He took in the solid white bandage wrapped around it, starting just below his knee and ending just before his foot. He wiggled the toes. They worked.

So he lay back down, head on the pillow, telling himself that
she
would come. Mak would come. Tears slipped down his cheeks. He lay very, very still.

Sometimes when he waited for Mak, he got confused, remembering another face from long ago in another world. But he couldn't hold on to that face. Sometimes he could feel his hand in hers, and then her hand slipping away. Then would come a rush of fear, and he would think that maybe, this time—like then—Mak would not come back, after all. And then the drumbeat would start in his chest.

Sometimes when he struggled to remember, he could hear the voices screaming again—those high, chattering, faceless sounds—and he would feel again the forest of legs closing in, and the hot itching crust of sweat on his skin. And then he'd fight to breathe, wanting to call out, but knowing she wouldn't hear. Because she hadn't, had she?

He blinked and turned his head to the door. For a moment he was startled, seeing the man sitting there, head lolling to one side. But he was sleeping, and Luke remembered his kindness earlier that night. But where was Mak?

He thought of her eyes that smiled at him. The soft voice, the way she held him close. Yes, she would come. Slowly he began to relax, watching the open door in this strange room. If he was very still and very good, maybe she would come.

At last his eyelids grew heavy, fluttering. He fought to stay awake for Mak.

And then he slept.

Bingham woke smiling. He'd left the
curtains open in the bedroom, and he lay there watching sunshine streaming through the windows. Today was the day.

Tossing the covers aside, he stood and stretched, looking out over the expanse of the city. The city looked fresh in this first light, gilded with a rosy, golden glow. He could almost feel the cold breeze sweeping across the water on Lake Pontchartrain, chopping the small swells into frothy white lines that appear and disappear before you're sure you've seen them.

Except for the lunchtime excursions he'd directed to various exquisite restaurants throughout the city, he'd been trapped in that stuffy conference room for the past six weeks, cut off from the world. Cut off from fresh air and sunshine, from people who thought of life as a stream of boundless beauty and joy, instead of something to be described word by exacting word on endless reams of paper.

Feeling fine, he showered and dressed. Picked up the phone and ordered coffee, orange juice with lots of pulp, and toast. Nothing too heavy today—he wanted to hold onto this feeling of lightness and freedom. Wishing for a pair of khaki pants and a loose-sleeved shirt, he instead pulled a navy-blue suit from the closet, along with a stiff-collared and cuffed white shirt and a burgundy striped tie. Everyone was expected to dress for a closing. Not much longer, he told himself, whistling.

Robert had planned a celebration after the funds arrived, a late lunch for the whole team at Arnaud's that was sure to stretch into the evening. Spicy Shrimp Arnaud to start, and then pecan-crusted speckled trout, potatoes au gratin, bread pudding, and champagne. Plenty of the bubbly. Bingham smiled, turned before the mirror for a last inspection. Then he went to the desk in the living room, opened the drawer, and pulled out a sheet of paper.

Briefly he thought of Amalise Catoir. He'd left her beavering away with everyone else last night. He considered having a talk with Robert about the futility of revenge, then thought better of it. She'd be all right. The outcome was inevitable, either way.

Breakfast arrived. He gave the waiter a large tip and received a big smile in return. Gulped down the juice. Sipped the coffee and ate a few bites of toast. Then he folded the clean white napkin just as it had come and placed it carefully down on the table beside the plate.

Whistling again, he headed for the door.

Amalise had changed into the clothes she'd brought to the office Tuesday morning. A gray-skirted suit with a short jacket and pleats around the hem, a white silk blouse with pearls, and black pumps. She'd freshened her makeup and brushed her hair. Now, back in the conference room, she made one last round of the table, checking everything against the closing list.

Every piece of paper was in place. Signature lines were marked with tabs for the clients, who were now drifting in. Laid out on the credenza were sugared beignets from Café du Monde, bagels with cream cheese, a cut-glass crystal bowl of fresh fruit, a shining stainless steel pot of steaming coffee, and a silver tray with cans of Coca-Cola and Tab beside a full ice bucket. Doug had just arrived, and he and Preston now stood in the corner conferring.

Rebecca walked in and caught her eye. Amalise lifted her hand, and Rebecca came her way. Amalise admonished herself for the rivalry and jealousy she'd felt toward Rebecca in the last few weeks. Filled with remorse, she prayed to Abba to forgive her.

"Heard anything about Luke?" Rebecca whispered, standing with her back to Doug and Preston.

"Jude left a message around midnight. It's a broken leg. He's taken Luke home with him, and I'll pick him up there this evening when we're through." Amalise leaned toward her, lowering her voice. "Thank you for saving me last night, Rebecca. For calling Jude. For what you did with the purchase agreements."

Rebecca gave her a quick look.

Amalise smiled. "I'll explain everything later. But . . . I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

Rebecca shrugged. "We're the Silver Girls, remember?"

Before Amalise could say anything, Rebecca swept back her hair, lifting it with both hands as she looked around. Tom walked in and she turned, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders. With a grin, he headed in their direction, eyes on Rebecca, and Amalise moved away.

Tom was a fresh reminder of Robert's threats. Amalise walked over to the windows and gazed out over the business district, wondering if this was her last day with the firm. The odds were against her, she knew. She'd involved herself in a situation that wouldn't survive a complaint from a major client. She'd fight with everything she had, but in her heart she knew Robert would have his revenge.