“Never mind, baby. Everything’s okay.” That was what she had wanted to hear.

“What are you going to do now?” She sighed as she spoke.

“Love the shit out of you and take a few days off to see some friends. But you are the first friend I want to see. How soon can you be here?”

She looked at her watch. “I don’t know. I … what time’s the next plane?” It was just after three in New York.

“There’s a flight that leaves New York at five-thirty. Can you make it?”

“Jesus. I’d have to be at the airport no later than five, which means leaving here at four, which means … I have an hour to pack, and … screw it, I’ll make it” She jumped to her feet and looked toward the bedroom. “What should I bring?”

“Your delicious little body.”

“Aside from that, silly.” But she hadn’t smiled like this in weeks. Three weeks, to be exact. It had been that long since she’d seen him.

“How the hell do I know what you should bring?”

“Is it hot or cold, darling?”

“Foggy. And cold at night, and warm in the daytime. I think … oh shit, Kezia. Look it up in the Times. And don’t bring your mink coat.”

“How do you know I have one? You’ve never seen it.” She was grinning again. To hell with the headlines. He was all right and he loved her.

“I just figured you had a mink. Don’t bring it.”

“I wasn’t planning to. Any other instructions?”

“Only that I love you too goddamn much, woman, and this is the last time I’ll let you out of my sight.”

“Promises, promises! I wish. Hey … will you meet me?”

“At the airport?” He sounded surprised.

“Uh huh.”

“Should I? Or would it be cooler if I didn’t?” It was back to that again. Being cautious, being wise.

“Screw being cool. I haven’t seen you in almost three weeks and I love you.”

“I’ll meet you.” He sounded ecstatic.

“You’d damn well better.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The baritone laugh tickled her ear, and they hung up. He had fought his own battles with his conscience during the last three godawful weeks, and he had lost … or won … he wasn’t yet sure. But he knew he had to have Kezia. Had to. No matter what.


Chapter 17


The plane landed at 7:14 P.M., San Francisco time. She was on her feet before the plane had come to a full stop at the gate. And despite earnest pleadings from the stewardesses, she was one of a throng in the aisles.

She had traveled coach to attract less attention, and she was wearing black wool slacks and a black sweater; a trench coat was slung over her arm, dark glasses pushed up on her head. She looked discreet, almost too discreet, and very well-dressed. Men checked her out with their eyes, but decided she looked rich and uptight. Women eyed her with envy. The slim hips, the trim shoulders, the thick hair, the big eyes. She was not a woman who would ever go unnoticed, whatever her name, and in spite of her height.

It was taking forever to open the doors. The cabin was hot and stuffy. Other people’s bags bumped her legs. Children started to cry. Finally, they swung open the doors. The crowd began to move, only imperceptibly at first, and then in a sudden rush, the plane blurted its contents like toothpaste onto the ramp. Kezia pressed through the other travelers, and as she turned a corner, she saw him.

His head was well above all the others. His dark hair shone, and she could see his eyes from where she stood. He had a cigar in his hand. His whole being wore an air of expectation. She waved and he saw her, joy sweeping his face, and carefully he eased through the crowd. He was at her side in a moment, and swept her high off the ground in his arms.

“Mama, is it good to see you!”

“Oh Lucas!” She grinned in his arms, and their lips met in a long, hungry kiss. Paparazzi be damned. Whatever they saw, they could have. She was finally back in his arms. The other travelers moved around them like water around rocks in a stream, and there was no one left by the time they moved on.

“Let’s get your bags and go home.”

They gave each other the smile usually exchanged by people long used to sharing one bed, and took the escalator down to the baggage claim, her small hand clasped firmly in his large one. People caught sight of them and watched them go hand in hand. Together, they were the sort of people you notice. With envy.

“How many bags did you bring?”

“Two.”

“Two? We’re only staying three days.” He laughed and gave her another hug. And she tried not to show the flash of pain in her eyes. Three days? That was all? She hadn’t asked him before. But at least it was that much. At least they were together again.

He plucked her bags from the turntable like a child snatching furniture out of a dollhouse, propped one suitcase under his arm, grasped the other by the handle in the same hand, and kept his other arm around Kezia, squeezing her tight.

“You haven’t said much, Mama. Tired?”

“No. Happy.” She looked up at him again, and nestled in close. “Christ, it’s been such a long time.”

“Yeah, and it won’t ever be that long again. It’s bad for my nerves.” But she knew it might be that long again. Or longer. It might have to be. That was the way his life was. But it was over now. Their three-day honeymoon had just begun.

“Where are we staying?” They were waiting outside for a cab. And so far, so good. No cameras, no reporters; no one even knew she had left New York. She had made one brief call saying that she was taking two days off from the column before she’d call in to report. They could run some of the extra tidbits she hadn’t had room for in the column that week. That would tide them over until she got her mind back on Martin Hallam again.

“We are staying at the Ritz.” He said it with grandeur as he tossed her bags into the front seat of a cab.

“Is that for real?” She laughed as she settled back in his arm.

“Wait till you see it.” And then he looked worried. “Baby, would you rather stay at the Fairmont or the Huntington? They’re a lot nicer, but I thought you’d worry about …”

“Is the Ritz more discreet?” He laughed at the look on her face.

“Oh yeah, Mama. It sure is discreet. That’s one thing I like about the Ritz. It is discreet!”

The Ritz was a large fading gray house in the heart of the mansions of Pacific Heights. It had once been an elegant home, and now housed castoffs; little old ladies and fading old men, and circulating in their midst the occasional “overflow” of houseguests from the sumptuous homes nearby. It was an odd mixture, and the decor was the same: crooked chandeliers with dusty prisms, fading red velvet chairs, flowered chintz curtains, and here and there an ornate brass spitoon.

Luke’s eyes danced as he led her inside toward a twittering old woman who hovered nervously at the desk. She wore a cup of braided hair over each ear, and her false teeth looked as though they would glow in the dark.

“Good evening, Ernestine.” And the beauty of it was that she looked like an Ernestine.

“Evening, Mr. Johns.” Her eyes took in Kezia with approval. She was the sort of guest they liked. Well-dressed, well-heeled, and well-polished. After all, this was the Ritz!

He led her into a decaying elevator run by a tiny old man who hummed “Dixie” to himself as they rose, swaying, to the second floor.

“Usually, I walk. But I thought I’d give you the full show.”

A sign in the elevator announced breakfast at seven, lunch at eleven, and dinner at five. Kezia giggled, holding tight to his hand.

“Thank you, Joe.” Luke gently patted his back and picked up the bags.

“Carry the bags for you, sir?”

“No, thanks.” But he quietly slipped a bill into the man’s hand, and led Kezia down the hall. It was carpeted in dark red, and the walls were lined with elaborate sconces. “To your left, babe.” She followed his nod to the end of the hall. “Wait till you see the view.” He fitted his key in the lock, turned it twice, set down the bags, and then pulled her close. “I’m so glad you came out. I was afraid you’d be busy or something.”

“Not for you, Luke. After all this time, you must be joking! Well, are we going to stand here all night?”

“Nope. We sure as hell aren’t.” He picked her up easily, and carried her over the threshold into a room that made her gasp and then laugh. She had never seen so much blue velvet and satin all in one place.

“Luke, it’s a riot. And I love it.” He set her down with a smile, and she looked at the bed with wide eyes. It was a huge four-poster with blue velvet hangings and a blue satin spread. There were blue velvet chairs and a blue satin chaise longue, an old-fashioned dressing table, a fireplace, and a flowered blue rug that had seen better days. And then she noticed the view.

It was a dark expanse of bay, lit on the other side by the hills of Sausalito, the lights on the Golden Gate twinkling as traffic sped by.

“Luke, what a fabulous place!” Her face glowed.

“The Ritz. At your feet.”

“Darling, I love you.” She walked into his arms and kicked off her shoes.

“Lady, you couldn’t love me half as much as I love you. Not even a quarter.”

“Oh shut up.”

His mouth came down gently on hers and he lifted her onto the blue satin bed.

“Hungry?”

“I don’t know. I’m so happy I can’t think.” She rolled sleepily onto her side, and kissed him on the side of his neck.

“How about some pasta?”

“Mmmm … sure….” But she made no move to get up. It was one in the morning, her time, and she was content where she lay.

“Come on, Mama, get up.”

“Oh God, not a shower!” He laughed and slapped her on the behind as he pulled back the sheets.

“If you don’t get up in two minutes, I’ll bring the shower to you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She lay with her eyes stubbornly closed and a sleepy smile on her face.

“Oh wouldn’t I?” He was looking down at her, love and tenderness rich in his eyes.

“Christ, you would. You’re such a meanie. Can’t I take a bath instead of a shower?”

“Take whatever you want, but get up off your ass.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him, without moving an inch.

“In that case, I’ll take you.”

“After we eat. I didn’t have time for lunch today and I’m starving. I wanted to wrap everything up before you got out.”

“And did you?” She sat up on one elbow and reached for a cigarette. This was the opening she had been waiting for, and suddenly there was tension in her voice, mirrored in his eyes.

“Yeah, We wrapped everything up.” The faces of the dead men flashed through his head.

“Lucas …” She had never directly asked him, and he had not yet volunteered.

“Yeah?” Everything about him seemed suddenly guarded. But they both knew.

“Should I mind my own business?” He shrugged and then slowly shook his head. “No. I know where you’re going, Mama. And I guess it’s your business to ask. You want to know what I’ve been up to out here?” She nodded. “But you already know, don’t you?” He looked almost old and very tired as he spoke. The holiday atmosphere had suddenly faded.

“I think so. I think I knew without knowing, but then this afternoon …” Her voice trailed off. This afternoon? Only then? It seemed years ago. “This afternoon I saw the paper, and the headline … the San Quentin work strike, that was your doing, wasn’t it, Luke?” He nodded very slowly. “What will they do to you for that, Lucas?”

“Who? The pigs?”

“Among others.”

“Nothing. Yet. They can’t pin anything on me, Mama. I’m a pro. But that’s part of the problem, too. I’m too much of a pro. They can never pin anything on me, and one day they’re going to screw me royally. Out of vengeance.” It was a first warning.

“Can they do that?” She looked shocked, but not really as though she understood.

“They can if they want to. Depends how badly they want to. Right now, I figure they’re pretty pissed.”

“And you’re not scared, Lucas?”

“What would that change?” He smiled a cynical little smile, and shook his head. “No, pretty lady, I’m not scared.”

“Are you in danger, Lucas? I mean real danger?”

“You mean my parole, or other kinds of danger?”

“Either.”

He knew that she had to know, so he answered her. More or less. “I’m not in real danger, babe. There are some very angry people involved, but the ones who’re the most pissed are the least sure I had anything to do with it. That’s the way I run those things. The parole pricks won’t even try to do anything to me for a while, and by then they’ll have cooled off. And any of the hotheads involved in the strike who don’t dig my views are too pissy-eye scared of me to even flip me the bird. So, no, I’m not really in danger.”