saying ‘be honest’—”
“Go be honest out in the hall. I’ll catch up to you in a sec,” she ordered.
“Feel better, man,” Vic called as he sauntered out.
“If he doesn’t go home soon,” Gina said, “I may be facing homicide charges. You should hear some of the things he’s asked Jules.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s been trying to get him to admit he’s not really gay. ‘Catherine Zeta-Jones, man,’ ” she imitated her brother’s voice. “ ‘You come home from work and she’s naked on your bed—are you really saying you’re going to walk away from that magic? And if you do say it, you expect me to believe you?’ ”
Max smiled, but it was still pretty grim. “You should’ve just let me kill him for you.”
“It still really freaks you out,” Gina asked. “Doesn’t it? What happened to me on the plane.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “You should’ve seen how tense you got when he made that stupid comment about the settlement. We really should talk about it sometime. Like, in two weeks . . . ?”
She’d hoped her reference to their earlier conversation would make him smile again, but he just ground his teeth even harder.
She leaned across the table to kiss him. He didn’t exactly respond, but he didn’t pull away either.
“His plane leaves at twelve-thirty tomorrow,” Gina told him. “I’ll be dropping him at the airport in the morning. I’ll meet you in your room after your pool game. You won’t have any trouble recognizing me—I’ll be the soon-to-be-naked woman sitting on your bed holding a picnic lunch.”
She kissed him again, and headed for the door before he could argue.
It was, of course, entirely possible that he wouldn’t show up. That he would—how had Victor said it?—just walk away from that magic.
But Gina looked back and saw that heat in his eyes.
And she knew he’d be there.
C HAPTER F IVE
H AMBURG , G ERMANY
J UNE 21, 2005
P RESENT D AY
Gina’s body was being held at the airport.
Upper-echelon FBI team leader Walter Frisk himself met Max at the plane—which had to be Jules Cassidy’s doing.
Frisk didn’t do more than shake Max’s hand, murmur something extremely brief about sorrow and loss, and then use his local clout to lead the way unchallenged through customs, through the terminal, and down into the airport morgue.
All of that was Jules’s doing, too. The junior agent had balls, that was for sure. When they arrived at the door to the room where the body was being held, Jules thanked Frisk and then politely but firmly dismissed the man, telling—not asking—him to wait outside in the outer hall with the security guard.
Giving Max privacy to go in on his own.
Which he did. On legs that were suddenly leaden. As bad as the past twenty-odd hours had been, these next few minutes were going to be worse, and he steeled himself.
Gina wasn’t alone in the holding area. There were dozens of the white space age–looking body boxes tagged and stacked against the wall. They belonged, no doubt, to the other victims of the terrorist attack, along with tourists who’d had heart attacks and car accidents, as well as a few expats who were finally ready to return home.
Someone had moved Gina’s open container—Max just couldn’t bring himself to think of it as a
coffin
—to a table in the center of the room. They’d also pulled a white sheet up and over her face. He just stood there, staring at the profile of her face beneath that shroud.
Her prominent nose.
Gina had laughingly called it her beak. Her passport to an extra large piece of tiramisu when she had dinner in Little Italy.
He’d never told her that he thought it made her face even more exoti-cally beautiful. He’d never said just how much he’d loved it.
How much he’d loved her.
Time passed. Minutes. Many, many of them.
And Max didn’t lift that sheet. He could not make himself move.
He didn’t want to see her dead.
Yet he knew he had to look. He
“Go be honest out in the hall. I’ll catch up to you in a sec,” she ordered.
“Feel better, man,” Vic called as he sauntered out.
“If he doesn’t go home soon,” Gina said, “I may be facing homicide charges. You should hear some of the things he’s asked Jules.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s been trying to get him to admit he’s not really gay. ‘Catherine Zeta-Jones, man,’ ” she imitated her brother’s voice. “ ‘You come home from work and she’s naked on your bed—are you really saying you’re going to walk away from that magic? And if you do say it, you expect me to believe you?’ ”
Max smiled, but it was still pretty grim. “You should’ve just let me kill him for you.”
“It still really freaks you out,” Gina asked. “Doesn’t it? What happened to me on the plane.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “You should’ve seen how tense you got when he made that stupid comment about the settlement. We really should talk about it sometime. Like, in two weeks . . . ?”
She’d hoped her reference to their earlier conversation would make him smile again, but he just ground his teeth even harder.
She leaned across the table to kiss him. He didn’t exactly respond, but he didn’t pull away either.
“His plane leaves at twelve-thirty tomorrow,” Gina told him. “I’ll be dropping him at the airport in the morning. I’ll meet you in your room after your pool game. You won’t have any trouble recognizing me—I’ll be the soon-to-be-naked woman sitting on your bed holding a picnic lunch.”
She kissed him again, and headed for the door before he could argue.
It was, of course, entirely possible that he wouldn’t show up. That he would—how had Victor said it?—just walk away from that magic.
But Gina looked back and saw that heat in his eyes.
And she knew he’d be there.
C HAPTER F IVE
H AMBURG , G ERMANY
J UNE 21, 2005
P RESENT D AY
Gina’s body was being held at the airport.
Upper-echelon FBI team leader Walter Frisk himself met Max at the plane—which had to be Jules Cassidy’s doing.
Frisk didn’t do more than shake Max’s hand, murmur something extremely brief about sorrow and loss, and then use his local clout to lead the way unchallenged through customs, through the terminal, and down into the airport morgue.
All of that was Jules’s doing, too. The junior agent had balls, that was for sure. When they arrived at the door to the room where the body was being held, Jules thanked Frisk and then politely but firmly dismissed the man, telling—not asking—him to wait outside in the outer hall with the security guard.
Giving Max privacy to go in on his own.
Which he did. On legs that were suddenly leaden. As bad as the past twenty-odd hours had been, these next few minutes were going to be worse, and he steeled himself.
Gina wasn’t alone in the holding area. There were dozens of the white space age–looking body boxes tagged and stacked against the wall. They belonged, no doubt, to the other victims of the terrorist attack, along with tourists who’d had heart attacks and car accidents, as well as a few expats who were finally ready to return home.
Someone had moved Gina’s open container—Max just couldn’t bring himself to think of it as a
coffin
—to a table in the center of the room. They’d also pulled a white sheet up and over her face. He just stood there, staring at the profile of her face beneath that shroud.
Her prominent nose.
Gina had laughingly called it her beak. Her passport to an extra large piece of tiramisu when she had dinner in Little Italy.
He’d never told her that he thought it made her face even more exoti-cally beautiful. He’d never said just how much he’d loved it.
How much he’d loved her.
Time passed. Minutes. Many, many of them.
And Max didn’t lift that sheet. He could not make himself move.
He didn’t want to see her dead.
Yet he knew he had to look. He
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