âDonât assume anybody is harmless.â
Sam was so close. Claire could feel the heat coming off his body. His lips were just inches away. And when his grip around her chin tightened, she knew he felt the connection as much as she did. Oh, man. Sam Vernelli shouldnât be worrying about her virtue or safety, he should be worrying about his own.
âIâm sorry,â she said, pulling away. She couldnât think when he was touching her. âI got carried away at your expense.â
He let his hand drop back into his lap. âYou had me going,â he admitted. âThe watching thing was a little over the top. Thatâs what did you in.â
âWatching isnât your thing?â she asked, suddenly feeling bold.
He stared at her, not blinking, maybe not even breathing. âI prefer to participateâ¦â
Claire Fontaine sneaked a peek at her watch. Time hadnât stopped but it was moving pretty darn slowly.
âIâve given this a lot of time and attention, people,â her boss said. He stood at the head of the conference-room table, his arms flailing around as if they didnât belong to his body. His hair stood on end and there was a little speck of spit in the corner of his mouth.
âThe new tagline for Smith Pharmaceuticals is âWhen You Count Your Blessings, Count on Us.â Weâll feature a modern familyâa mom and dad both in business suits, three kids, all with smartphones, and lots of other technology in the background. We add an overlay, rolling across the screen, in old standard typewriter print. You know, High Blood Pressure, Type II Diabetes, High Cholesterol, Asthma. The contrast will be great. Itâll hit home. No matter how things change, taking care of your family is what itâs really about.â
Claire looked around the table. Pete Mission, the most experienced designer, winked at her. Hannah, with whom she shared a cubicle wall, raised her auburn dyed eyebrows. They all knew it was her idea, knew that sheâd been working even later than usual the last two weeks getting the idea into production.
But if her boss wanted to take credit, she didnât really care. Sheâd been lucky to get the job at Alexander and Pope. Not many advertising agencies were hiring and those that were all seemed to want at least five years of work experience.
Victor Santini beamed like a lighthouse. âLetâs call it a night, people. Weâll hit it hard again Monday.â He pulled a rubber band off a stack of envelopes. âIâve got your paychecks.â
Nobody wasted any time. Claire reached for her check, folded the envelope and stuck it in her skirt pocket. She couldnât remember a Friday when Victor had let them escape early. Even if it was only twenty minutes, it was especially fortuitous because tonight she was going to confront Sam Vernelli.
Detective Vernelli. One of the cityâs finest. His picture had been in the paper a few weeks back. He and several other police officers had been honored at a luncheon and some reporter had decided that cops standing alongside the mayor was too good a photo op to pass.
It was terribly wrong that a man like him was responsible for enforcing the law. However, she wasnât naive enough to think she could change anything. The police hadnât been interested in what sheâd had to say eleven years ago, so they certainly werenât going to be interested now. He was safe.
She just wanted him to know that there was somebody who knew the truth. Somebody who knew that heâd gotten away with murder.
Hurrying, she shut down her computer, packed it away, pulled her running shoes out of her shoulder bag and bent down to put them on. When she left the room, she opted for the seven flights of stairs instead of the elevator. Once outside, she walked fast and then waited impatiently for the do-not-walk signs at the busy intersections to flip over. The mob of people on the sidewalk gradually thinned out as she left behind the commercial district and entered the residential streets, until finally after twenty minutes, she was the only one walking on the tree-lined sidewalk.
It was warm for late September and on any other day, the heat on her face, arms and bare legs would have felt good. But today, it made her hot and cranky and she was sweating and slightly out of breath when she reached Sam Vernelliâs brownstone. She checked his house number against the crumpled-up slip of paper she clutched in her hand.