For You I Will

When Kai and Andrew arrived at the Grenning Gallery there was a line waiting to get in.

“Looks like it’s going to be pretty crowded in there,” Andrew said as he guided Kai onto the line.

“This is so exciting. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“You and a lot of other fans.”

They inched along on the line and finally made it inside. Andrew was right. The Grenning Gallery was packed, upstairs and down. The reading and signing were set up on the upper level. The lower level was for appetizers and refreshments. The crowd was an eclectic blend of the die-hard fan and the curious, garbed in everything from jeans and sneakers to evening wear.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Andrew asked, leaning close to be heard over the mild din.

“Hmm, sure. A glass of white wine.”

“Stay put. I don’t want to lose you,” he said and flashed Kai a look that gave his words much more meaning.

Kai held her small purse to her chest and took in her surroundings. It had been a while since she’d been to the gallery, partly because she’d totally run out of excuses why she would not exhibit her photography and couldn’t bear disappointing the owner again. She’d donated a couple of her photos months earlier for a fund-raiser and the owner had been after her to do a show ever since.

Hopefully with all the people at the gallery, they wouldn’t cross each other’s paths.

Her gaze slowly moved around the room, capturing images of the art, the people and the movements, and forming a montage of sorts in her mind. With each blink of her eyes, another image was snapped. Then there was a big hum in the air, the buzz of excitement that always preceded a major event. The author had arrived, accompanied by his publicist and a photographer. The surge of the crowd moved her along in their wake.

The bevy of guests began taking cell-phone pictures as Harlan Coben made his way through the throng, smiling and shaking hands along the way as he was led upstairs.

Kai peered over the sea of heads and shoulders trying to locate Andrew when her gaze landed on him. Heat rushed to her head and her heart banged in her chest. It was him. He was partially turned in her direction. His profile was identical to the one she’d snapped months earlier. He was turning in her direction. Something or someone drew his attention and he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

“There you are.” Andrew had come up behind her. “Thought I’d lost you to the crowd. Did you get to see him before he was swept away?”

She glanced over her shoulder at Andrew. Her cheeks were hot. “Oh...yes. Just for a minute,” she said.

Chapter 3 (#ulink_52577b02-64b8-51f8-9ea2-7f275c00467e)

“Mr. Weston, your wife is on line three.”

Anthony Weston’s dark brows tightened across his forehead. He didn’t know how many times he would have to tell his secretary, Valerie, that Crystal was the ex-Mrs. Weston. Maybe Val couldn’t or wouldn’t get it right because he was still wrestling with that reality nearly two years after their divorce.

He pressed the flashing light on his phone. “Hey...Crystal. What’s up?”

“How are you?”

Her voice still flowed through his veins like good brandy, warm and fluid, and could sneak up on him and knock him out when he least expected it. “I’m good. You?”

“Fine. Trying to get everything together for Jessie’s trip...and mine. She’s so excited.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“I wish I’d had the chance to see where you’ll be staying, Tony.” The hint of censure in her tone caused his jaw to tighten.

“I wouldn’t take our daughter anywhere that you or I wouldn’t stay. The house is beautiful. The locale is safe and she’ll have a ball.”

Crystal pushed out a breath. “I’ll drop her off in the morning?”

“Sure, or tonight if you want.”

“No. I want us to have one more night together.”

“You make it sound like she’s going away forever. It’s just a couple of weeks. With her father,” he added a bit more harshly than necessary.

“I know that,” she snapped.

Anthony squeezed his eyes shut. It never ceased to amaze him how their conversations could go from zero to sixty in a flash, and that was not always a good thing. “What time is your flight tomorrow?”

“Two.”

“Do you want me to pick up Jess and take you to the air—”

“No,” she said, quickly cutting him off. “It’s not necessary.”

Anthony was silent for a moment. He knew what that meant. Gordon Russell was taking her to the airport and more than likely traveling with her on the Caribbean vacation. It stung, but not as much as it once did. Crystal had stopped mentioning anything about Gordon after Anthony’s last “another man around his daughter” tirade. He knew he’d taken it too far. He’d allowed his ego to run roughshod over his common sense. It took his and Crystal’s amicable though cool relationship to an arctic freeze and it was still in the throes of unthawing.

“Hey, no problem. What time are you dropping Jess off?”

“About eleven.”

“See you then.”

“Bye, Tony,” she said in the way that he remembered.

The phone clicked in his ear. Slowly he returned the receiver to the cradle, leaned back in his chair and absently massaged his chin. Two years. It was still hard for him to swallow the reality that he had failed at something. It wasn’t in his makeup to fail. Whatever he took on—from a “friendly game” of basketball to the courts of justice—he won. Decisively. It’s what he did. It’s who he was. He was driven to achieve excellence. The divorce had rocked him, unmoored his foundation and forced him to question himself. There were moments, like now, that made him feel as if the ground were slowly shifting beneath his feet.

His intercom buzzed and jerked him away from his brooding. “Yes, Valerie?”

“Mr. Blumenthal wants to see you.”

“Thanks.” He shook off the remnants of his dark thoughts and returned his focus to the task at hand, dealing with his boss, the district attorney for New York, the man whose job he would seek come fall.

Anthony took his jacket from the hook by the door, slipped it on and walked down the corridor to Harrison Blumenthal’s office. He nodded to Blumenthal’s secretary, who smiled and waved him in. Anthony knocked lightly on the partially open door and stepped inside.

“Shut the door, will you,” Harrison grumbled in his trademark no-nonsense grit-and-gravel voice.

Harrison removed his half-framed glasses and rested them next to a stack of files on his desk while Anthony unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat opposite him.

“I’ll get right to it. I don’t like the progress or should I say the lack of progress on this Warren mess.”

“His lawyers say he won’t take a deal.”

“Make them take it. We can’t win this case. You know it and I know it.”

“I don’t agree.”