New York to Dallas

kitchen and the counter space.
    “It’s probably expensive, but it’s still cheap and gaudy. It’s not new.”
    “No, it’s got some travel on it, so something she likely took with her from place to place.”
    “I don’t remember it,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “She wouldn’t keep anything that long. What’s inside’s more important.”
    She opened it.
    “Variety of illegals, cash, some IDs with credit cards.” She pulled out a dried rose, carefully sealed in a small bag. “But this is sentiment. See, she’s drawn a heart on the bag, S and I in the middle. Isaac gave her this. And here, she took a picture of him when he was sleeping.”
    She held it up, studied him, sprawled on his back under a tangled sheet. “I bet he doesn’t know she did this. That’s the bed from his place. He’s blond here, tanned—like the South African ID. So he got a flash or gave himself some fake sun. But he looks really tired, a little drawn, doesn’t he? What’s that on the nightstand? Champagne? A celebration. Maybe his first night in. Yeah, maybe.”
    “That’s Vie Nouveau. One of mine, and very exclusive. I wonder what vintage.”
    “So, he—or she—buys a pricey bottle of bubbles.”
    “More than that. You can’t get it just anywhere. That’s how you keep it exclusive and desirable. Hmm.” He took out his case again, opened it for a small magnifier.
    “Handy.”
    “Sometimes you need a closer look at things. I can just make it out . . . Yes, that’s a limited premiere ’fifty-six. Not easy to come by. We had a bottle on our anniversary.”
    “Yeah? It was good.”
    “Good? Darling Eve, it’s exquisite. He had some very nice wines at his apartment, but nothing at this level.”
    “Maybe he took the top drawer with him.”
    “Maybe he did. He’d need a top-drawer outlet to purchase this.”
    “In Dallas,” Eve said. “How many top drawers are there in Dallas?”
    “I’ll be checking on that.”
    “He could go back for more. We can sit on the outlets once we have them. Jesus.” She lifted out a short stack of notes, postcards. “Mother lode. Here, a postcard from Dallas, but it’s stamped New York. Mail drop–box addy. Numbers. Code?”
    He glanced at it. “Measurements. Inseam, sleeve, waist, so on from the looks of it. He’s ordering a suit.”
    “The numbers and Baker and Hugh.”
    “Men’s shop,” Roarke told her, “known for its excellent tailoring.” Roarke pulled out his PPC, did a quick run. “There’s only one in Dallas.”
    “He wants clothes, good clothes. Doesn’t have time to fiddle with fittings and all that. So he has her take care of it. Has his suits waiting for him when he gets here. No.” She closed her eyes a moment, brought New York back. “He was wearing a suit, sharp-looking gray suit, flashy red tie, when I saw him in the crowd at the medals ceremony. He had her order the suits, and send at least one of them to New York. He wanted to look good when he let me catch a glimpse.”
    “He went to a lot of trouble to impress you.”
    “That’s his problem now, that’s his chink. He’s complicating things to take jabs at me. Engage, taunt, humiliate, instead of just moving in for the knockout.”
    She opened the first note. “He’d kill her if he already hadn’t. She printed out some of their e-coms. ‘Miss you, too, baby doll,’ ” she read. “ ‘Countdown D-minus-30. Time to arrange my flight into your arms. Reserve private, Franklin J. Milo. I’ll need those docs, sweetheart, so you get that Cecil on the stick! I don’t want to get to the drop and find an empty box.
    “ ‘The wait’s almost over. Milo needs his things waiting at the hotel so he can get cleaned up and changed before he flies to you. We’ll go back there one day, stay in the penthouse and drink a champagne toast to us.
    “ ‘Keep an eye on our Melinda, and take good care of my baby doll. I’ll write next week with the next steps. Almost there!
    “ ‘SWAK times two.’ ”
    She frowned. “SWAK?”
    “Sealed with a kiss—times two.”
    “Eeww. He wrote it out. He actually wrote this shit down. Didn’t trust her to remember. Quick PS reminding her to wipe, but he got sloppy because he didn’t think she was smart enough to remember the details. Maybe she’d dropped the ball a time or two.”
    She opened another. “They’re little love notes with instructions sprinkled through the mush. Here he’s telling her how to outfit what he calls the