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Nick felt obligated to the old man, hated that he’d dragged him out in the middle of the night. He owed him an explanation, even if it was a lie. “It’s a prank. Something set up by NYU, an initiation of sorts. Since I spoke at their inaugural banquet last month, they invited me to…help. I’d forgotten until the call came in. I’d prefer this remain within the confines of this vehicle.”

“Absolutely, sir. My lips are sealed.”

Nick admitted to himself it was a rather crafty lie. When Herbert saw who was waiting at the end of this long drive, he’d have questions, but Nick was in charge. He didn’t need to explain himself any more than necessary.

The rest of the drive was silent, and for this boon Nick was grateful. It took too much of his waning strength to carry on a conversation. If he didn’t see a change in his health soon, he would have to tell his household staff and swear them to secrecy. They had to suspect he had something other than a bad case of flu. Chelsea had told all of them he had the flu. Of course, he could have that deadly bird flu, but Nick figured they wouldn’t fall for that, either, because he would’ve already died.

“Sir, we’ve arrived,” Herbert stated half an hour later.

Nick sat up straight and pushed the electric power button down, revealing the commotion on the darkened street. The night air was chilly and raw, settling into his already aching bones. He made a pretense of waiting. Then, when he could stall no longer, he eased out of the Lincoln. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, sir,” came Herbert’s usual response.

Expecting gangs, streets crammed with prostitutes and low-life scumbags, Nick was taken aback when he saw groups of people walking together, some in deep conversation, others laughing loudly, nothing even remotely menacing. Of course, this wasn’t his favorite area, but it certainly wasn’t what he’d envisioned. It had been years since he’d ventured into that neighborhood. In spite of its lack of crazies, psychos, and general nuts, he knew he wouldn’t return there anytime soon. If Chelsea pulled a similar stunt, she’d be on her own.

It was slow going as he walked the short block to the former president’s office. He should have had Herbert drive him, but he preferred to keep whatever Chelsea’s surprise was between the two of them. At least for the moment.

He shuddered when a gust of cool air greeted him. He should have worn a sweater under his jacket, but under normal conditions Nick wouldn’t even have bothered. Since getting sick, he found that he was cold most of the time.

Up ahead he saw two men. They seemed to be fascinated with something or someone. He picked up his pace as much as he was able to. Who knew? They could be attacking Chelsea, which wouldn’t be such a bad thing, he thought as he trudged the last few feet to the front of Clinton’s office.

At the top of the stairs leading to the former president’s office, Nick saw a woman in a wheelchair. She moaned softly, and her head appeared to be slumped at an unnatural angle. He forced himself up the stairs and, as he did so, he saw the two men racing down the street. He heard an engine crank, then tires squeal as a vehicle lurched out of the darkness. In the distance the car’s taillights glowed like two evil bloodred eyes.

When Nick reached the top of the stairs, he was short of breath.

Pausing for a few seconds to gain control of his failing body, he al most jumped out of his skin when he heard the moaning again.

“Where…am I?”

The woman in the chair was speaking and had his full attention.

“Chelsea? Are you okay? What the hell happened to you?”

She tried to look up at him, but her neck lolled to one side. “Nick,” she whispered.

“I’m right here. Look, I don’t know how you got here or why you’re here, but we’ve got to get back to the penthouse.” Nick took stock of the wheelchair, unlocked the wheels, then walked behind to grasp the handles. Thank God there was a handicap ramp off to the right of the stairs. Using what was left of his waning strength, Nick pushed the wheelchair, stopped to catch his breath, then resumed pushing her back to the Lincoln.

“Where am I?” Chelsea asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Not now. Let’s get you into the car. We can talk there,” Nick said between labored breaths.

She must have understood what he said, because she didn’t utter another word while he summoned Herbert to help him ease her out of the chair.

“Sir, this looks like more than a college prank. Should I locate a police officer?” asked Herbert.

“Hell no! The last thing I need is some nosy-ass cop asking questions. This
is
a college prank that went too far. I’ll take care of it. Now, help me get her into the backseat.”

Between the two of them they managed to get Chelsea inside the car. Nick left the wheelchair on the sidewalk, knowing it wouldn’t remain there for long. Once Chelsea was inside the car, Nick got in beside her.

“Herbert, take us home. And whatever you do, please don’t mention this ridiculous…adventure to any of the household staff.”

“Of course, sir,” Herbert replied.

Chelsea whimpered.

Nick took her hand. “Shhh. Don’t say anything. Just relax.”

A million different scenarios were running through his head. None of them gave him the slightest indication of what was wrong. He hadn’t looked at the caller ID when the so-called kidnapper phoned. He would as soon as they got home, but anyone in his right mind would know not to call on a traceable line. Nick tried to think of all the people he’d pissed off, but there were too many to enumerate. Chelsea didn’t have that many true friends, but he wasn’t sure that she had an enemy that would go to such lengths. And for what? To get him out of the house? That made no sense at all. If the incident was something Chelsea and one of her boyfriends had concocted, he’d make sure she suffered.

Still, Nick couldn’t see Chelsea putting herself in such a risky situation. He was sure she was either drunk or had been drugged. Maybe she’d taken some of his sleeping pills. Whatever she’d taken, he couldn’t see her purposely going to Harlem in the middle of the night to wait for him to come to her rescue. Chelsea had to have been forced because she would never go to that part of the city willingly. It was simply beneath her.

The traffic wasn’t heavy that time of night, and Nick was glad. The venture had cost him all his strength. Fifteen minutes later Herbert drove into the parking garage.

“Herbert, if you’ll help me get Chelsea to the elevator, I think I can handle her from there.”

“Yes, sir. Sir, I can help you…inside.”

“That won’t be necessary, Herbert.” Nick knew the old guy wanted to help, but he simply wanted to get inside and forget the world for the next few hours. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

Herbert nodded.

Chelsea was as limp as a wet noodle as they each took an arm.

“Move your feet, Chelsea. I can’t do this alone,” Nick grumbled. Damn her for putting him in such a humiliating position.

Chelsea put one foot in front of the other. When they reached the elevator, Nick grabbed his wife around the waist when Herbert released his hold on her.

“I’ll take it from here. Remember, not a word to anyone,” said Nick.

Herbert gave his usual nod and stepped back as the elevator doors closed.

Nick held Chelsea upright as they rode up to the penthouse. What he’d really have liked to do was leave her in a heap right there in the elevator. When whatever she was on wore off, he figured she’d find her way home. But after all the bullshit he’d been through that night, he figured he might as well see that she was safe and sound.

The door swished open. Nick practically dragged Chelsea to the living room. He plopped her on the leather sofa, found one of her jackets, and tossed it over her. Sure that nothing could be done about the situation until morning, Nick slowly walked back to his bedroom. Crawling into bed, he closed his eyes, and for a moment he felt a rush of fear so sudden, his heart raced and his mouth felt dry.

What if
he didn’t
wake up in the morning?

J
ason Vinery used his foot to tap on the door. “Come on, my hands are full.” He was trying to perform a balancing act with three cups of coffee and the newspapers. The
Times
and the
Post,
a copy for him and copies for the girls. “Open the door!” he shouted.

Lin was dreaming about a sexy, dark-haired man when she heard Jason at the door. “Is it morning already? Damn, I just went to sleep.” She listened for Sally, sound asleep in the upper bunk. “I know you’re awake, so get up.” Lin grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed. “If you don’t wake up, I’m going to drink all the coffee and make you wait.”

Sally shoved the covers aside. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

Lin laughed. “Yeah, so? What are you gonna do about it?”

“It’s too early for this. Answer the door before someone calls the police.”

Lin counted her steps as she walked to the front door. Ten.
Big room,
she thought.

She unlocked the dead bolt, released the security chain, and saw Jason. “What are you doing here this early? I’ve had only two hours’ sleep, if that.” She opened the door, standing aside to allow Jason room to enter the cracker box.

“I thought you might want to read how last night’s adventure played out. I even brought coffee. If you’d rather I leave…”

Lin shook her head. “No, I’m just tired…. I didn’t sleep much. Come on in.”

Jason sat the container of coffees on the small counter that constituted the kitchen. He reached in his pockets, removing sugar, cream, and stir sticks. “I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee,” he said, indicating the pile of sugars and cream.

Lin took one of the large cups of Starbucks coffee and motioned for Jason to follow her to the sofa. “Let me see the papers.”

Jason snagged a coffee for himself before bringing the papers over to her. “Tell me this isn’t good.”

Lin was almost afraid to read them, afraid that somehow they’d been found out. She took a sip of hot coffee before reaching for the paper.

“It made the front page,” Jason added.

The
Post
’s headline:
PEMBERTON WIFE VICTIM OF DOMESTIC ABUSE
!

Chelsea Pemberton was found drugged and beaten on the steps of former president Clinton’s office.

It is unknown at this time how or why she was at that location. Sources believe she was taken to the location by her husband, Nicholas Pemberton, CEO of Pemberton Transport.

Charges have not been filed at the time of this writing.

The rest of the article was simply details about Pemberton Transport and the family.

The headline of the
New York Times
blared:
PEMBERTON PACKS A PUNCH
!

More of the same. Lin’s hands trembled when she placed the paper down beside her. “This is more than I hoped for! I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Chalk one up for the good guys, Lin. It’s time Pemberton received some of the crap he’s been dishing out to others for the past twenty years. The man doesn’t have a lot of close friends. After these articles, I doubt that what few he has will want to be seen with him. Reputation is everything in his world.”

“So what happens next? Will they arrest him?” Lin asked.

“That’s up to Chelsea, if she convinces herself this really happened. If the DA’s office decides to pursue charges, he will be formally charged, will have to make a plea to the judge. I doubt it’ll go that far, since there is a proof factor involved here, but it’ll take him a while to erase this mess. He deserves it, Lin. He’s stepped on and kicked so many people since taking over as CEO that you’re just one of many who want to see him get what he deserves. The line is very long, trust me.”

Briefly, Lin wondered if Jason had any idea exactly why she wanted to ruin Nick’s reputation. If he did, he’d kept it to himself.

And the why didn’t really matter to Jason. Of that she was sure. She was certain he had plenty of reasons himself. Nick was a former client, something Jason had let slip when they first met, so Jason probably knew who’d been screwed by whom and for how long.

Sally chose that moment to grace them with her presence. “So did it make the papers?” She reached for the
Post
and skimmed the feature story. “Whoa! This is good stuff, Jason. Do I smell coffee?”

“There’s Starbucks in the kitchen. You might have to nuke it if you want it hot,” Lin added.

Lin took another sip of coffee. “So what’s next on the list? I don’t see how we can top messing with his bank accounts and this.” She indicated the pile of newspapers on the sofa.

“This is just the tip of the iceberg. You want something lasting, something that will plague him for the rest of his life.” Jason fur rowed his brow. “I think that’s what you’re looking for. Am I right?”

Lin took a deep breath, suddenly unsure of just how much she wanted to mess with the Pembertons. Already she’d felt somewhat vindicated, but she knew it wouldn’t last. When she looked back on those times when Will was a toddler, all her struggles, she knew the two
pranks,
if you could even call them that, were nothing in comparison to what her son’s father deserved.

“Yes, like I said before, I want him to feel fear, pure heart-pounding fear. Whatever it takes to do that, short of murder, I’m in.”

Nick carefully opened his eyes, searching for the pearly gates of heaven. When he didn’t see them, he thought he’d been condemned to the fires of hell, until he saw Nora, his housekeeper, picking up the clothes he’d dropped on his way to bed last night. He’d man aged to survive another day.

He looked to his right. The digital clock read 10:30. “Where is Mrs. Pemberton?” Nick asked, easing himself out of the bed.

“I believe she’s in the shower. She mentioned she wasn’t feeling well when I came in this morning.”

Nick’s thoughts raced back to the events of the night before. Someone had to pay for what she’d put him through, not to mention the embarrassment she’d caused him. He was sick, maybe dying, for God’s sake. Didn’t anyone care? Suddenly he felt like crying when he thought of how Herbert and his cronies were probably having a good laugh at his expense right then.

“Would you like some tea and toast?” Nora inquired.

No, what he’d like was his old life back. Before the leukemia. “No, I’m not hungry this morning,” Nick replied. “Thank you for asking,” he added as an afterthought.

“Very well.” Nora made fast work of straightening the room. At the door she turned to him. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Nick waved her away. “Tell Mrs. Pemberton I want to see her.”

“Yes, sir,” Nora said.

Before he lost what little privacy he had, Nick called Andrew Miller. He answered immediately.

“Have you found the son of a bitch responsible for screwing with my accounts?”

“Good morning, Nick. To answer your question, no. We’re still working on tracing him. As I explained, it could take a few days, even a few weeks. If you’re in need of a large amount of cash, there shouldn’t be a problem. I can have the loan department set up a line of credit if you need it.”

He truly didn’t have much fight left in him, and the day was young. It wasn’t as though that was the only bank he did business with. Today was Andrew’s lucky day. “No, I don’t need another line of credit. As soon as you learn who is responsible for this, I want you to call me.”

“Sure. I want to find this jerk as much as you do, Nick. This doesn’t look good for the bank.”

“Fine. Make sure you stay on top of it.” Nick slammed the phone down. He was tired. Business dealings were his life. Until his disease was under control, Nick knew he’d have to back off being the hard-ass that he’d always been. Not that he was going to ease off any of the bastards who were employed by Pemberton Transport. PT, as he thought of it, hadn’t become a multibillion-dollar shipping company by his letting someone else run the show. He knew he had a rough time ahead of him. Nick wished he had more trust in his employees. Maybe if he’d been easier to work with…but no, he wasn’t going to get chummy with his hired help at this point in his career.

A tap at the door. “Nick?” Chelsea stepped inside his room.

They’d had separate bedrooms for years. Nick liked it that way, and he knew Chelsea did, too. The one rule he’d insisted upon when they decided to have separate rooms was that under no circumstances would either of them bring another bed partner home.

Nick sat back down on the bed, drained already. He hadn’t even brushed his teeth.

Chelsea looked like the wrath of God.

He motioned for her to sit down. “Do you want to tell me about last night?”

She shook her head from left to right. Her face was ashen; purple shadows underscored her eyes. She looked terrible. “That’s just it. I can’t seem to remember anything. I woke up this morning on the sofa. The last thing I remember was answering the door.”

Nick watched his wife. She actually appeared confused. “You really don’t remember?” he asked.

“Why would I lie? What is it I’m supposed to remember?” Chelsea questioned.

His cell phone rang. “What?” he barked into the receiver. “Who is this?” Nick listened for several seconds, then tossed the phone on the bed. “Have you seen the papers this morning?”

“No. I’m telling you I woke up, took a shower, and here I am. Nora doesn’t even have the coffee ready. I think we need to consider hiring another housekeeper. She can’t seem to stay on top of her duties.” Chelsea looked at her husband. “Are you all right? You don’t look well, Nick.”

“Nora!” he called out at the top of his lungs.

A breathless Nora entered the room. “Yes?”

“Bring me the newspapers now,” Nick said.

“Yes, Mr. Pemberton, right away.”

“And coffee, Nora. That is something you can handle, isn’t it? If not, I will—”

“Shut up, Chelsea,” Nick ordered.

“I want a damn cup of coffee! Is that too much to expect?” Chelsea huffed.

Nora returned with the newspapers.

“Nora, make a pot of coffee for Chelsea and leave it on the hall table.”

Nora hurried out of the room

“What’s all the mystery, Nick? Who were you talking to on the phone?” Chelsea asked.

Nick opened the
Times,
scanned the headlines. Rage unlike any he’d ever known flooded through him. He took a deep breath, then counted to ten. He read the front page of the
Post,
then tossed the paper at Chelsea. “I want you to read very carefully. Then I want to know how the fuck you allowed this to happen.”

Chelsea reached for the paper with shaky hands. As she read the headlines, Nick observed her. Her face turned even more pale than it was already. Slowly, she laid the papers at the foot of the bed. Her mouth looked like an O. It appeared as though she was as shocked as he was.

“Is this really me? The gown…I…It’s what I had on this morning when I woke up.”

“Yes, it’s really you! You don’t recognize yourself?”

Chelsea picked up the paper for a second look. “It is me. I swear to you, Nick, I have no memory of this. Someone is playing games with you. With us.”

“And you have no idea how this could’ve happened? Who would go to such great lengths to do this to me? Some of your Bronx clan maybe?”

She shook her head as though in a daze. “Give me a break! Maybe someone you’ve had bad business dealings with? I truly don’t know. I’m as shocked as you are. I swear on my life, Nick, I had nothing to do with this. You’ve got to believe me! I wouldn’t ever, ever go to that terrible part of town. I’d be afraid of getting mugged or, even worse, killed!”

As much as he hated to, he believed her. She wouldn’t place herself in harm’s way even to get back at him. Finally, he grudgingly said, “It’s funny, but I believe you, Chelsea.”

Chelsea cast her dark brown eyes at him, reminding him of the first time he saw her at that party all those years ago. She was still a beautiful woman, even though greed and power had taken over her life. She’d become hard and cold. Bitter.
Like me,
he thought.

“Really? You’re not saying this to try and trick me?”

“No. The question is, who did this and why? I think it might be a good idea if you called Dr. Warner. He should have a look at you. Check for any venereal diseases or hepatitis or, God forbid, AIDS.”

“Nick, I didn’t have sex with anyone!”

“How do you know? You said yourself you have no memory of last night.”

Chelsea looked down at the Persian rug on the solid cherry floor. The carpet had cost tens of thousands, more than many families earned in a year. She traced the pattern with her bare foot. “A woman knows, Nick. Trust me.”

“How?”

“Do you really want me to go into details? Let me say this. There are areas that are tender after a woman has sex. I don’t need to draw you a picture, do I?”

He held up a hand. “No, no, I get the picture.” He grinned. He’d embarrassed his wife, the woman who had the mouth of a sailor.

“What?”

“Nothing, Chelsea. In nineteen years of marriage I don’t think I’ve ever seen you embarrassed.”

“Well, maybe if you paid more attention to me, you might learn something,” Chelsea challenged.

“I’m not going to argue with you. We both know this marriage wasn’t made in heaven. So don’t fool yourself. Right now I need to find out who did this to you, to me. Pemberton Transport could lose several contracts. I can’t allow that to happen.” Nick raked a hand through his hair. A clump of it fell out. Chelsea saw, and tears sprang to her eyes.

“Nick, I’m sorry what I said that day in the hospital. I don’t want you to die. I just get so…I don’t know. I just get angry at the world when things don’t go my way. Is there anything I can do to help you get through this?” She held her hands behind her back, crossing her fingers.

“Actually there is. Keep our name out of the papers. I don’t need another scandal. This is bad enough. You could get the word out that I’ve got something…hell, I don’t know…mono, something debilitating but not life threatening. I worry that if word of my illness gets out, it could cause an uproar among the company’s customers and competitors. See what you can do to keep the lid on this. Dr. Reeves says I’m doing as well as he expected. My blood levels are abnormal, but I do have a goddamned blood disease, so I expect that’s par for the course.”