Every Breath You Take (Second Opportunities 4)

Mitchell stood up, walked over to the bar, and put his glass down on a tray. ’m not going to run for cover. I’ll call Levinson and tell him to find out who is in charge of this fiasco. Levinson can then let this person know that I’m aware of what’s going on and that I’m still going to land at O’Hare. That may not convince the police that I’m innocent, but it will at least give me the enormous satisfaction of embarrassing them.”

Despite the grimness of the situation, Matt Farrell chuckled. then what?”

the police can either rush out to grab me at the airport, or they can let Levinson arrange for both of us to stop by in the morning for a civilized discussion. Personally, I hope they choose the second option.”

Mitchell phoned Dave Levinson at home and told the attorney what he wanted him to do. He hung up, glanced at his watch, and realized it was still set for St. Maarten time. With his thumb and forefinger, he pulled out the stem to set the time back two hours, and reality struck him with painful force: less than sixteen hours ago he’d been lying in bed watching the sunrise over the Caribbean with Kate snuggled up beside him, telling him a funny story about how she got the ” in her chin. Before he’d finally fallen asleep, he’d decided they would dine aboard the yacht tonight and go for a starlight cruise.

Instead of that, she was in Chicago with a man she preferred to Mitchell, and he was trying to avoid being arrested for the murder of a brother he had loved.

Forcing Kate out of his mind, Mitchell got up and headed to the bedroom to shave and change clothes. From now on, he needed to concentrate solely on dealing with the police and helping Caroline and Billy through the ordeal to come. Kate was gone. It was over. Finished. She and their brief affair had to be put away now. Mentally, Mitchell forced her out of his consciousness and shoved her into a dark cubbyhole from which she couldn’t escape or come back to haunt him. Compartmentalizing was one of his greatest talents; it was a survival technique he’d developed as a boy, and it had served him extremely well.

In the bedroom, he pulled off his shirt; then he went into the bathroom, opened a cabinet, and took out a razor and shaving cream. He smeared lather on his face, picked up his razor, and started shaving beneath his chin.

His traitorous mind conjured up an image of Kate from this morning. She was looking at him in the mirror, hiding a smile, trying not to look as if she was deriving pleasure from the casual intimacy of watching her lover shave. Beneath the lather, he’d been hiding a smile of his own, because he was experiencing a similar pleasure from having her watch him.

The razor slipped, and he swore as he grabbed for a tissue.

Levinson called back just as Mitchell finished buttoning a fresh shirt and tucking it into his trousers. couldn’t find anyone who knows anything about the search warrants or who’s in charge of the investigation into William’s death,” he said. investigation used to be headed up by a Detective MacNeil, but he’s away on special assignment. Since nobody seemed to know anything, I decided to go straight to the top and phoned Gray Elliott, the state’s attorney, at home.

and I had an interesting chat in which I did all the talking and he did all the listening. In fact, I wasn’t sure whether he knew anything about the investigation until the end of our conversation. I’m now convinced he’s handling it personally.”

is that?” Mitchell asked, irritated by the lack of solid information.

at the end of our conversation, he said to tell you, ‘Welcome back,’ and to have a pleasant evening and that he’s looking forward to getting to know you better at eleven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

gather that means I’m not going to be met by the cops when I land?”

from Gray, that could just as easily mean, ‘Please continue to cherish your false sense of security, and land that damned plane at O’Hare, where I can impound it.’ Either way, you can count on being interviewed by the police at eleven-thirty tomorrow morning, with or without spending the night in jail first.”

that case, you and Pearson should meet me at the airport when we land,” Mitchell said curtly.

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TOMITCHELL’S SURPRISEthere was only one vehicle waiting for his plane when it taxied to the hangar, and it was a limousine with Pearson and Levinson in the backseat and Matt’s chauffeur at the wheel.

chat with Gray obviously convinced him that you’re not going to try to evade being questioned,” Levinson said as they pulled onto the expressway ramp.

In the front seat, Joe O’Hara was watching the rearview mirror. ’re being tailed,” he said. cars. Do you want me to try to lose them?”

not!” Pearson said.

Chapter Thirty-one

NICE TOhim, Lucy,” Kate murmured sleepily. doesn’t know the bed is for cats only.” Reaching out, she pulled the hissing cat away from Max, who’d unknowingly violated Lucy’s territory by resting his head on the comforter. She settled the gray cat on the pillow next to hers and turned her face toward the nightstand. The clock stared back at her. It was eight-thirty.

Kate closed her eyes, trying to return to the peaceful amnesia of sleep, but a few minutes later she gave up, shoved back the covers, and climbed wearily out of bed. did you sleep?” she asked Max. He wagged his tail in response, and she smiled, ruffling his fur. have to learn to get along with Lucy and Ethel,” she said as she paused to scoop Ethel off her dresser and give the tabby a hug.

Max followed her into the kitchen, and she let him out into the fenced yard of the little house she rented in an old, partially restored Chicago neighborhood near where she used to work. He trotted outside onto the frozen ground and sniffed the snow; then the unfamiliar cold penetrated beneath his fur and he beat a hasty retreat back to the house.

Kate pretended to ignore him as she made coffee. let him be easy to housebreak,” she prayed to no one in particular. Her belief in the power of prayer, which had undergone fairly wide swings throughout her life, was at a record low after her night on the beach with Mitchell Wyatt.

Watching him swimming toward her under a blanket of bright stars and sensing her father’s presence so close to her had been the most moving, mystical experience of Kate’s life—proof at last that there really was a Divine Presence, a Grand Plan, just as her uncle, the priest, had always insisted. Maybe he was right, Kate decided as she listlessly spooned coffee into a filter. If so, then based on her own recent experience, the Divine Presence had a cruelly perverse sense of humor and His Grand Plan needed drastic revision.