Blue Bloods (Blue Bloods 1) - Page 116
"He's escaped." Oliver nodded.
"Or someone, or something, let him go." Schuyler said. Bliss was silent, her face inscrutable as she looked at the half-eaten meal.
Schuyler placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure wherever he is, he's all right. Dylan's tough," she told her friend. "Now, come on, let's get out of here before someone thinks we let him out."
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CHAPTER 37
After the meeting, Schuyler told Bliss and Oliver everything her grandmother had told her about the Silver Bloods, and how Charles Force was the only person who could help them with Dylan's situation. They decided that the next day Schuyler and Bliss would sneak out of their third period class to confront him. Oliver would make some excuse to their art teacher as to why the girls were absent.
They ambushed Mr. Force in front of the Four Seasons restaurant, where he was known to lunch daily. The Four Seasons was located in the Seagram Building on Park Avenue, and from noon to two P.M., it was the center of the Manhattan universe. Media magnates, financial tycoons, publishers, celebrated authors, and personalities made it their personal commissary.
"There he is," Bliss said, spotting his sleek silver head emerging from a black Town Car. She recognized him because her father had hosted the Forces at their apartment the first week they arrived in Manhattan. She had been a bit afraid of Charles Force. The man had looked right through her, as if he knew everything about her, every secret wish, every hidden desire; his handshake had been firm and had left a mark on her. He frightened her, but she wasn't about to let that stop her from helping Dylan.
Schuyler studied him. She could swear she'd seen him before. But where? There was something familiar about him. The way he bent his head forward. She knew this man, she was sure of it.
"Mr. Force! Mr. Force!" Bliss called. Charles Force looked curiously at the two girls standing in front of him.
"Excuse me," he told his lunch partner.
"Mr. Force, we're sorry to disturb you," Bliss said. "But we were told to come to you, that you alone can help us."
"You're Forsyth's kid, right?" Charles said abruptly. "What are you doing here in the middle of the day? Doesn't Duchesne have off-campus rules? Or did that go out with the uniforms?" He turned to Schuyler. "And you." He didn't say her name, but he raised his eyebrows. "If I'm not mistaken you're a Duchesne student as well. Well, you have my attention. How can I help you?"
Schuyler held his gaze and didn't flinch. She stared at him with her bright blue eyes, and it was he who turned away first. "Our friend Dylan is being accused of a murder he didn't commit. You are the only one who can help us. You are the Regis. My grandmother said - "
"Cordelia Van Alen is a menace. She has never forgiven me for taking command of the Conclave," he muttered. He motioned to his lunch partner, who was still patiently holding the door open to the restaurant. "Go ahead, I'll join you in a minute."
"We're not leaving until you help us," Bliss said - her voice quavering even though there was nothing she wanted more than to run and hide from the man. The voices in her head were screaming, demanding that she stay away from him. Killer... a voice in her head whispered. Murderer... She felt a deep and intense revulsion. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to throw herself in front of a cab. She wanted to fly, to flee, anything to escape from his penetrating gaze. She thought she was going to go mad with fright. There was something terrible about this man, a wild and dangerous power she should run from.
"Dylan Ward has been taken care of. There's no need to worry about him anymore," he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "He is perfectly safe. Nothing will happen to him. The police made a regrettable mistake. He's free. Your father could have told you that," he sniffed. "He helped with the paperwork for the release."
Bliss was momentarily shocked into silence. She hadn't realized it would be so easy. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said, the matter has been resolved," he said shortly. "There's no need to worry, I assure you. Now, please, I am late for my lunch."
Bliss and Schuyler exchanged uneasy looks.
"But what about the Silver Bloods? What about what they're doing to us? We know about Croatan!" Schuyler accused.
"Please, don't bother me with Cordelia Van Alen's pitiful fairy tales. I refuse to even discuss it. I've said it before and I'll say it again. There is no such thing as Croatan," he said, a finality to his tone. "Now, I suggest you girls go back to school, where you belong."
CHAPTER 38
The Carlyle Hotel was an understated, elegant hotel on Madison Avenue in the style of a grand English manor. It was one of those hotels that whispered luxury with an intimidating Old Money sang-froid. Even the air-conditioning was always a frosty sixty-six degrees. When Schuyler was little, her grandmother would to take her to the Bemelmans Bar for Shirley Temples. Cordelia would sit at the bar and smoke, drinking one Sazerac after another, and Schuyler would sit quietly, looking at the frolicking animals on the mural and counting the many ladies who came in wearing hats and corsages. Then, afterward, they would repair to the main dining room to tuck into a five-course French meal. On the days when Cordelia declared she'd had "just enough" of the Riverside Drive house, they would repair to a two-bedroom apartment suite at the Carlyle for the weekend. Schuyler would order strawberries and cream from room service, fill up the whirlpool bath, and eat her nutritiously deficient dinner amid the bubbles.
When Schuyler walked into the white marble lobby that evening, she felt at home in the hushed surroundings. She put painful thoughts of Jack Force and the humiliating encounter with his father out of her mind. Bliss had asked her and Oliver to meet her there that evening without explaining why. Oliver was already waiting in a secluded corner of the bar.
"Manhattan?" he asked, motioning to his drink. "Sure." She nodded.
A discreet waiter arrived bearing a silver tray and her cocktail. He placed a silver bowl of warm Spanish almonds on their table.
Schuyler picked one and munched on it thoughtfully. "God, do they have the best nuts here or what?"
"There's nothing like an Upper East Side hotel." Oliver nodded sagely, taking a handful. "We should do a New York hotel bar-nut tour. Compare the Regency's nuts to the Carlyle's to the St. Regis."
"Mmmmm... the Regency has a great selection. They do this little appetizer thing, with three different kinds of treats - wasabi peas, warm nuts, and some kind of peppery cracker," Schuyler said. The Regency was another of Cordelia's favorite haunts.
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