Three Fates

mention of his name made her chest tight. “He’s a liar and a cheat. He claimed that Anita duped him, but for all I know they’re thick as . . . thieves,” she decided.
    “Where would I find him?”
    “I assume he’s back in Ireland. Cobh. But I’d prefer he was roasting in hell.”
    “What’s his connection?”
    She hesitated, then could find no reason not to elaborate. “He claims that Anita stole one of the Fates from him, but as his tongue would probably turn black if it tasted truth, I’ve reason to doubt that. Now, this has been very interesting, but you’ve interrupted my work.”
    “You’ve got my card. You think about it, get in touch.” He started out, then turned and looked back at her. “If you know anything, be careful where you step. Anita’s a snake, Tia, the kind that likes to gulp down soft, pretty things.”
    “And what are you, Mr. Burdett?”
    “I’m a man who respects and appreciates the whims of fate.”
    Malachi Sullivan, he thought as he walked out.
    It looked as if Jack was going to take a trip to Ireland.
     
     
    IT WAS A long trip from London to New York. Longer when you were wedged into a center seat the size of a postage stamp between a woman whose legs were nearly as long as your own and a man who used his elbows like switchblades.
    Gideon tried to bury himself in his book, but even Steinbeck’s brilliant prose couldn’t compete. So he spent the hours thinking, winding his way through the morass of the situation he, and his family, had gotten themselves into.
    He survived the flight, then shuffled brainlessly through the agony of customs and baggage retrieval.
    “You’re sure about this friend of yours,” he asked Cleo.
    “Look, you asked me to come up with a friend in the city who’d put us up for a few days, no questions, no hassles because you’re too cheap to spring for a hotel. That’s Mikey.”
    “I can’t afford a bloody hotel at this point, and I don’t know how you can trust a grown man named Mikey.”
    “You’re just cranky.” Cleo took deep gulps of air as they walked through the terminal. It was airport air, but it was New York. “You should’ve slept on the plane. I slept like a log.”
    “I know it, and for that single act, I’ll hate you till my dying day.”
    “Bitch, bitch, bitch. It won’t bother me a bit.” She stepped outside, into the choking exhaust and helacious noise. “Oh baby, I am back!”
    He’d hoped to doze in the cab, but the driver had some sort of eye-twitching Indian music on the radio.
    “How long have you known this Mikey?”
    “I don’t know. Six, seven years, I guess. We’ve done some gigs together.”
    “He’s a stripper?”
    “No, he’s not a stripper,” Cleo retorted. “He’s a dancer, and so am I. Look, I’ve done Broadway.” Briefly, but she’d done it. “We were partnered up in the revival of Grease. Did the road tour.”
    “The two of you have a thing going?”
    “No.” She tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Mikey’s a lot more likely to hit on you than on me.”
    “Oh. Wonderful.”
    “You’re not homophobic, are you?”
    “I don’t think so.” He was too tired to search his social conscience. “Just remember the cover story and stick to it.”
    “Shut up, Slick. You’re spoiling my homecoming.”
    “Been a week with the woman,” he grumbled as he shut his eyes. “Not once does she use my name.”
    Cleo glanced over at him and found herself smiling. He was all rumpled and tapped out and so damn cute with it. He’d be feeling a whole lot better in a day or two, after she implemented her plan.
    He wasn’t the only one who’d spent time thinking on the flight.
    The first order of business was getting the statue to a nice, secure place. Say a bank box. Then she’d contact Anita Gaye and get down to serious negotiations. She figured she could settle for a cool million. And being a stand-up gal, she intended to split it with Gideon.
    Sixty-forty.
    Oh, he’d bitch about it, but she’d bring him around. A bird in the hand, after all. He was never going to finesse the first Fate from a woman like Gaye. Not in this lifetime. And if he wanted to go chasing off after the third, well, he’d have financial backing.
    She was doing him a favor. Payback, to her way of thinking, for getting her to New York, and for finding her a way to plump up her bank account. Six hundred thousand would tide her over very nicely.
    After he’d calmed down, maybe he’d hang in New York for a