It showed Bennie that Alice had a good side and that she hadn’t been wrong to trust her. It was so hard to believe, now, after the box. Bennie opened the next few letters:

Dear Alice, I love you, and you have changed everything for me, even in this hellhole. I’m so happy that we got our old flame rekindled. I never used to care about getting home soon, with my folks gone. But now I wish I could get this job done and see you tomorrow… Dear Alice, I think of you all the time, day and night, and so much of my time here is just sitting and waiting, then all hell breaks loose. My buddy Mojo says it’s like baseball, hurry up and wait. We have an operation coming up soon, but don’t worry… Dear Alice, I am so sick of this place sometimes! I sweated through my armor and I stink like hell, and all I want to do is finish my job, go home, and take you to bed. I look at your picture a lot, and Mojo says his wife is more beautiful but he thinks tracer fire is beautiful…

Bennie skimmed the next few, which were love letters, then came to the next-to-last one:

Babe, I know this isn’t the kind of thing to do in a letter, but I love you and I can’t wait until I’m home and I don’t want it to be in email, so here goes! WILL YOU MARRY ME? PLEASE SAY YES! We would be so happy together and we could raise a basketball team of our own…

Alice, engaged? Bennie stopped reading. She couldn’t believe it had gone this far. She put the letter back in the stack, and the motion dislodged another envelope from the back, which fell to the rug. She picked it up and opened it, but there wasn’t a letter inside, just a newspaper clipping. The clipping showed a photo of David Gamil in uniform, with the same scar on his cheek and the same lively look in his eyes. But it was an obituary, and the beginning read:

First Lieutenant David N. Gamil, USAF, of Paramus, New Jersey, who served with the 6th Security Forces Squadron, was killed in action on March 20, when enemy forces attacked his vehicle with an improvised explosive device, near southern Baghdad, Iraq…

It was awful news, the loss of a wonderful young man, and she could only imagine the pain Alice must have felt. Bennie checked the date on the newspaper; March 21, just last spring. She looked back at the last letter, his proposal, and it was dated March 19.

She tried to process what she had learned, with the pill taking the edge off her emotions. It must have been Dave’s death, about six months ago, that set Alice back and caused her to revert to form. That was about the time she’d lost interest in her job at PLG, started selling drugs, and sleeping with Q. Alice must have been grief-stricken, off-balance and self-destructive.

But no.

Bennie came out of her reverie. There was a difference between explaining and explaining away. What Alice had done could be explained, but it couldn’t be explained away. Not anymore, and not again. The box had changed everything, and there was no going back anymore, no way of forgiving.

Bennie got up, letting the yearbook and letters fall to the floor. She found her purse, put the pills, money, and the gun inside, then went to the bedroom, tore it apart until she found the extra car keys, and left the building.

Cold rain pounded on her face and shoulders, making her more alert. She didn’t know if Alice had left her car here, but there hadn’t been one in the driveway at the house, she remembered now. She pulled the car key from her pocket and pressed the button on the fob. Down the street, a red Toyota came to life.

She went to the car, got inside, started the engine, and didn’t have another thought until she found herself downtown, parking around the corner from her building, with a view of its entrance. People with umbrellas hurried this way and that on the sidewalk, flowing around the private security guards, still on duty. She didn’t know when they got off, but it didn’t matter. She would follow Alice anywhere she went and take her when they were alone.

She turned off the ignition, looked up at her office window, and caught a glimpse of Alice, moving around her office. It made her want to scream, which must mean that the chill pill was wearing off. She didn’t know exactly what it was, but she was beginning to see why it sold so well. She dug in her purse, pulled out another pill, and popped it into her mouth. She didn’t want to feel angry. She didn’t want to feel anything at all.

Sooner or later, she would get Alice alone.

And it would all be over.

Chapter Eighty-one

Alice grabbed her coat and the messenger bag, hurried down the hall to Judy’s office, and stuck her head inside. “Carrier, ready to go?”

“Yep. Did Mary and Grady leave? I got caught on the phone.”

“Yes, let’s go.”

Judy glanced out of her office window, where sheets of rain streaked the glass. “Should we wait for the storm to let up?”

“We can’t.” Alice picked up Judy’s striped umbrella. “Here.”

“Okay, great.” Judy got up, grabbed her kilim purse, and came around the desk. “We’re meeting the client there, right?”

“Yes. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s called Roux. Been there?”

“No, but I’ve heard it’s cool, trying to gentrify the neighborhood down by the waterfront, right?”

“Right.”

“I’m in favor.”

“Good.” Alice led her down the hall to reception, where Marshall was working. “You still at it, girl?”

“I still have a few things left, with all the distractions today.”

“Thanks, but go home.”

“I will, soon.”

“We’re out of here.” Alice went ahead to the elevator and pressed the button. Outside, the sky had gone dark with the storm, and cars clogged the street. She flagged down one of the Rothman guards.

“How you doin’, Ms. Rosato?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the downpour.

“Did you hear if they caught Alice?”

“No, I’ll keep you posted. By the way, Bob’s fine.”

Alice frowned. “Who’s Bob?”

“One of our guys, the guard your sister punched.”

Whatever. “Good. We’re going out, meeting new clients.”

“You want protection? I can spare a man.”

“No, thanks, it wouldn’t look right. I’m reasonably safe, now that the cops are looking for Alice.”

“So when should we leave here? Our contract says ten o’clock.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The guard’s eyes shifted to the street. “Hold on, I see a cab.” He waved it down, and when it stopped, Alice opened the door and told the cabbie the address.

They lurched into stop-and-go traffic, and Judy turned to her. “I went online and researched the biotech industry in Ireland, for some background info. I learned a lot.”

“Good for you.”

“I couldn’t research this client, because you didn’t get back to me with its name.”

“I was busy, sorry.” Alice made up a name. “It is Genlynn Enterprises.”

“Gotcha.” Judy went into her purse and pulled out an iPhone. “I can look it up right now, online.”

“No, don’t.” Alice stopped her hand. “Let them tell us. Clients love to talk about their business, and we don’t want to sound like we studied.”

“Oh.” Judy blinked. “Even if we did?”

“Right. Why don’t you tell me what you found out, generally, to give us some context?”

“Sure, well, it’s really interesting. Wyeth is the big dog in Dublin, in biotech, and they have a campus south of the city…”

Judy lectured on, and Alice zoned out as the cab headed east toward the Delaware River. They reached Columbus Boulevard and turned right, passing the well-lit big-box dance clubs and party-of-twelve tourist restaurants. They took the curve, leaving the lights and excitement behind, and steered toward the more deserted section of the Boulevard. The Walt Whitman Bridge loomed ahead, and on the right, train cars that read HAPAG-LLOYD AND HAMBURG SUD stood on rusted tracks.