The Longest Night

Cassandra tapped a fingernail on the table as her sole concession to Noah Barclay. “Why don’t you go find your husband? I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t want company?”

“It’s nice to sit and think, remember all the good times we had.”

“It’s a wedding, not a funeral,” said Mickey, using her glasses for the full egghead effect.

Cassandra leaned back, watching the matrimonial circus in front of her. “It all depends on your perspective.”

2

IT SADDENED NOAH that his sister had been right. The James-Von Meeter wedding hosted a hotbed of Chicago politicos. So far he had discussed the finer points of a chocolate layer wedding cake with Alderman Frederick H. Brown from the Eighteenth Ward, not to be confused with Frederick T. Brown from the Fourth Ward. He’d asked Alderwoman Margaret Watson from the Twenty-second Ward to dance, only to discover that she was on crutches. And he’d rescued Judge Roscoe Warren from dunking his head in the punch bowl. Judge Warren was a two-fisted drinker, and not a steady one at that. It was a lot of work for Noah, who didn’t feel comfortable mingling among the artificial ingredients of society.

Having had quite enough of that, Noah escaped to the relative safety of the bar. He watched Cassandra as she sat by herself, drinking a vodka martini. Judging from the vibration at her throat, he thought she might be humming.

It didn’t seem normal to see her sitting there alone. In his mind, she was always surrounded by a pack of men as the goddess granting favors while the mortals genuflected at her feet.

Thoughts like that kept him firmly at the bar, nursing his whiskey.

At this rate he was going to end up with another three years of celibacy. God, six months had been bad enough. He sighed and deliberately turned away just as two men approached.

“I’m going to go see if she needs another drink,” one said in a cocksure voice, with lust deep in his mortal heart.

Two guesses whom they were talking about.

“You think she’d let me take her home?” asked the shorter one, younger and less worthy of a good beating.

“She’s drinking martinis, right? Load her down with a couple and you’ll be on your way to paradise. Did you read about the time after the Blackhawks post-season party? I heard she was there.”

Noah swallowed his drink, then swallowed the anger that rose in his throat. Stay out of it. It isn’t your place.

As he watched, the two men made their way across the room to flirt with her. She laughed at some stupid joke. Probably a dirty one. But it was none of his concern.

While he kept his distance, she tilted back her head, clearly having a great time. The next thing he knew, the tall man was handing her another martini.

Bastard.

He really didn’t want to interfere; he’d wait until she sent them on their way.

The minutes ticked by and she didn’t.

They were pricks on the prowl. Couldn’t she tell? Well, for tonight, there was a new sheriff in town.

With his mind made up, he walked over to the table. His fantasies and his more noble aspirations started to merge until, in his mind, she was swearing her undying gratitude, even as he was ripping off her dress.

“Hello, Cassandra,” he said, betting her golden-tanned skin was golden-tanned all over—it was in his dreams. While he was still contemplating the seductive vision, he realized he had nothing else prepared to say. He usually thought faster on his feet, instead, he was staring hot-eyed and openmouthed, just like the other two pricks on the prowl.

He wondered if she had forgotten that he’d once rejected her offer. He’d been polite, nice, but firm. And stupid.

Then she looked up, met his eyes square on, and he flinched at the ice he saw there. “Noah.”

Okay, so she remembered. So maybe things were going to be a little more difficult than he’d planned.

“Do I get to meet your friends?” he asked, willing to persevere because this was for her own good. Sorta.

Another cold smile. “Noah, meet Daniel and Bruce.”

Noah held out his hand, which everyone ignored. “Nice to meet you gentlemen.”

Bruce, the one with the flagrant hard-on in his eyes, just looked pissed. Too bad, buddy. Deal with it.

Noah looked at the empty chair on the other side of Cassandra. “You mind?”

She shot him a hell-yes look, but shrugged one languid roll of the shoulder. “It’s a free country.”

“So, Danny, what do you do?” he asked.

“Daniel.”

“Daniel.” Dickhead. “What do you do?”

“I work for the Herald. Sales.”

“Are you in sales, too, Bruce?” asked Noah, who as a rule never liked salesmen anyway.

Bruce nodded, but didn’t say a word.

Noah turned to Cassandra, content to cut the other two out of the conversation. “What’s up in the lapidary business?”

“We cut, we grind, we polish, we sell. It’s all the same, day in, day out.”

Noah leaned on his palm. “I think that’s fascinating. Don’t you, guys? I mean, how do you know where to cut?”

She smiled at him, showing perfect white teeth. “I’m very good with a saw.”

So, she wanted to make rescuing difficult. However, Noah was of the firm belief that sometimes people didn’t know what was good for them. He pushed forward. “If I was in the market for a diamond, what advice would you give?”

“Go to South America.”

God, he was a masochist.

Finally, Bruce couldn’t take any more. “Listen, Noel—”

“It’s Noah.”

“Yeah, Noah, then. I’m not sure the lady’s really interested in your company, if you get my meaning? Maybe you could focus your charm on someone else.”

Noah coughed, indicating he was finished with polite games. “Isn’t that the second martini, dickhead? Looks like you’re no closer to paradise than you were when you started. In fact, I think you could give the lady thirty martinis and she still wouldn’t go home with you.”