Tristan had been right, after all. I had pretty much come to that conclusion anyway. It wasn't about the union at all. It was about Tristan and his money.
Tristan stood up and walked over to the window. "I'm so sorry, Don, Raina. I've brought trouble to your family. I can't begin to tell you . . . oh God, I can't believe I allowed this to happen."
"You couldn't possibly have known," my father replied. But of course, I knew better. Tristan did know what kinds of things happen to billionaires and the people they care about. I felt chilled thinking about it. What kind of life would it be to have to look over your shoulder all the time? Much as I cared for him, was I willing to risk not just my safety, but that of the people I loved the most to be part of his life?
What about the future? What if we did move forward and made a life together? What about children? How did the very rich stand it? In an instant, I knew that my fantasies about Tristan were never going to become reality. How could I subject myself, my family and even my yet to be born children to a life of bodyguards and precautions, security systems and stealth?
It was all too much to think about. My mother was the focus of the moment. Not tomorrow, not yesterday. I summoned up all the strength inside me and turned my attention to the only thing that mattered. "Tristan, what's the next step?"
***
All sorts of uniformed and plain clothes folks had gathered at our kitchen table by eight o'clock. The general consensus was that there would be no contact for 24 hours, just as the voice on the phone had said. Other than getting the cash together, there wasn't much that their combined investigative power could do. A quick check of the cell phone indicated that the call had come from one of those pay as you go mobile phones, now likely at the bottom of the Hudson River.
"Those phones are a criminal's best friend. Used to be we could check phone records, and even if a perp used a public phone the location would give us something to go on. With these disposable phones, we got bupkis." The detective shook his head sadly. "I hate waiting."
I hated waiting, too. By nine, the house had cleared out pretty much. Just Dad, Tristan, the three bodyguards and I remained. Tristan had been on the phone, presumably to his banks, to arrange for the cash.
"If they were real pros, they'd have asked for a lot more and by wire transfer." Archie had remarked on his way out the door.
Of course, to me, a million sounded like a hell of a lot of money. Tristan didn't even bother to discuss that part. His biggest concern was having to wait 24 hours and his worry about my mother during that time.
My father was pacing like a caged animal. He announced that he was going to work because he had to "get the hell outside" and do something physical or he'd lose his mind. Hoc had taken the night shift, so George made a move to follow my father.
"Forget about it, George. I don't need watching. They've already got Marjorie. What more can they do to me?" No one was ready to argue with his logic so Dad took off down the block toward the subway by himself.
The three Laotian men disappeared downstairs. I could hear their sing-song-y rhythm of their language faintly through the kitchen floor.
"Would you like to get out of here, too?" Tristan asked me. "We could go into town . . . I don't know. I could show you my apartment. We've got time to kill. Anything you want--just say the word."
There simply wasn't anything I could do for either of my parents at that moment. There was a waiting game to be played and, tough as it was, we all had to play it. I could spend the day pacing or I could go for distraction.
I was dying to see where Tristan lived, anyway. He had told me that the place in the Berkshires 'wasn't him' and I was hoping that I would get the chance to see a place that really reflected his style. "I'd like to see your place. Where is it?"
"Manhattan."
"That much I knew. Where in
Tristan stood up and walked over to the window. "I'm so sorry, Don, Raina. I've brought trouble to your family. I can't begin to tell you . . . oh God, I can't believe I allowed this to happen."
"You couldn't possibly have known," my father replied. But of course, I knew better. Tristan did know what kinds of things happen to billionaires and the people they care about. I felt chilled thinking about it. What kind of life would it be to have to look over your shoulder all the time? Much as I cared for him, was I willing to risk not just my safety, but that of the people I loved the most to be part of his life?
What about the future? What if we did move forward and made a life together? What about children? How did the very rich stand it? In an instant, I knew that my fantasies about Tristan were never going to become reality. How could I subject myself, my family and even my yet to be born children to a life of bodyguards and precautions, security systems and stealth?
It was all too much to think about. My mother was the focus of the moment. Not tomorrow, not yesterday. I summoned up all the strength inside me and turned my attention to the only thing that mattered. "Tristan, what's the next step?"
***
All sorts of uniformed and plain clothes folks had gathered at our kitchen table by eight o'clock. The general consensus was that there would be no contact for 24 hours, just as the voice on the phone had said. Other than getting the cash together, there wasn't much that their combined investigative power could do. A quick check of the cell phone indicated that the call had come from one of those pay as you go mobile phones, now likely at the bottom of the Hudson River.
"Those phones are a criminal's best friend. Used to be we could check phone records, and even if a perp used a public phone the location would give us something to go on. With these disposable phones, we got bupkis." The detective shook his head sadly. "I hate waiting."
I hated waiting, too. By nine, the house had cleared out pretty much. Just Dad, Tristan, the three bodyguards and I remained. Tristan had been on the phone, presumably to his banks, to arrange for the cash.
"If they were real pros, they'd have asked for a lot more and by wire transfer." Archie had remarked on his way out the door.
Of course, to me, a million sounded like a hell of a lot of money. Tristan didn't even bother to discuss that part. His biggest concern was having to wait 24 hours and his worry about my mother during that time.
My father was pacing like a caged animal. He announced that he was going to work because he had to "get the hell outside" and do something physical or he'd lose his mind. Hoc had taken the night shift, so George made a move to follow my father.
"Forget about it, George. I don't need watching. They've already got Marjorie. What more can they do to me?" No one was ready to argue with his logic so Dad took off down the block toward the subway by himself.
The three Laotian men disappeared downstairs. I could hear their sing-song-y rhythm of their language faintly through the kitchen floor.
"Would you like to get out of here, too?" Tristan asked me. "We could go into town . . . I don't know. I could show you my apartment. We've got time to kill. Anything you want--just say the word."
There simply wasn't anything I could do for either of my parents at that moment. There was a waiting game to be played and, tough as it was, we all had to play it. I could spend the day pacing or I could go for distraction.
I was dying to see where Tristan lived, anyway. He had told me that the place in the Berkshires 'wasn't him' and I was hoping that I would get the chance to see a place that really reflected his style. "I'd like to see your place. Where is it?"
"Manhattan."
"That much I knew. Where in
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