Page 65 of Paging Dr. Hart
“It’s true,” I agree. “You don’t favor your dad.” Johnny’s face is all sharp angles, while Stewart’s is softer.
I try to focus on his response, but it’s a struggle to not constantly check the clock resting on the fireplace mantle to my right, which reads a quarter past midnight. We had timed this all out. How long it should take Shelly to get into the office and turn off the cameras, using Stewart’s keycard. How long to enter a set of numbers that Rafe had mysteriously obtained into the safe’s numeric keypad. How long to put the valuables into the black duffle bag Shelly brought and then for Shelly and Rafe to escape using the stairs next to the elevator. The clock hands turn with maddening slowness.
Stewart grimaces, continuing our conversation. “My dad wanted a sporty, aggressive kid, but instead he got me—nerdy and shy.” He sighs, swirling the champagne in his glass.
Guilt bites me even harder, digging in. I’m about to respond when the same security guard with the earpiece appears at Stewart’s shoulder. He talks softly to Stewart, who frowns and listens intently. I’m convinced the guard is telling him about Shelly and the safe. Any minute now, alarms will sound and the guards will grab me. I hold my breath, muscles tense.
After the man leaves, Stewart tells me, “I’m sorry for the interruption, but I need to talk to my dad and then I have to do a few things in his office. I’ll be gone 20 minutes tops. Is that okay?”
My heart slams loudly against my ribs. All I can hear is the wordoffice. The room where Shelly is right now. Stewart can’t go there.
Forcing a smile I say, “Of course. No problem.”
As I watch him walk toward Johnny, my thoughts spin. What can I do to stall him until Shelly finishes with the safe? Panic makes my mind go blank.
Rafe’s normal look of studied indifference slips when he sees me walking his way, replaced by alarm. This isn’t what we discussed. I’m supposed to ignore Rafe and Shelly. To walk out of this evening on Stewart’s arm—the perfect alibi. Now that plan is blown, but what am I supposed to do? LetStewart catch Shelly? Watch the police drag her away? No way. I’ve battled for her before, and I’ll do it again. After all, she’s family to me.
I come to a halt, standing a few feet away from the hallway that leads to the office. “Stewart’s coming here in a minute,” I hiss at Rafe under my breath as I stare through the crowd, fixated on Stewart. Judging by body language, he’s almost done talking to his dad.
I whisper more desperately, “Rafe!”
His eyes roam the room, looking for a solution.
Stewart leaves Johnny and makes his way toward us. Thankfully, he’s preoccupied, looking down at his phone as he walks.
“What’re we going to do?” My voice is tight with anxiety.
“Distract him and buy Shelly more time,” Rafe says decisively. He jolts into motion like a man waking from a dream. For the second time this evening, he grabs my arm and drags me along, heading for the dance floor.
“Distract him? How?” My voice rises in panic as I watch Stewart approach.
Rafe halts on the edge of the dance floor and pulls me to him. “Easy. Jealousy.” With that, he draws me close and begins to sway. The song is a slow one, with an underlying sensuous beat. He moves like liquid mercury, with fluid limbs and glinting eyes. I hadn’t been lying when I told Stewart I’m not a good dancer, but it doesn’t seem to matter with Rafe. His grip on me is firm, and all I do is follow his rhythm.
He brushes his hands down to my waist, pulling our lower bodies flush. His hips roll in time to the music, brushing against me in a rhythmic pattern. Desire rises, scalding through me at his touch. Rafe stares down at me with a dark intensity that makes me press closer, wanting more of him. His fingers tighten, digging into the tender flesh just above my hip bones. My arms wrap tight around his neck, and I push up into him. I tilt my head up, imagining what it would be like to kiss him, right in front of everyone. The rest of the room and the fear about my mom and this robbery all fade until I only focus on the points of my body that are in contact with his.
Rafe gazes intimately into my eyes. “Is he looking?”
“What?” I ask dreamily, picturing what it would feel like to have his bare skin glide over mine.
More impatient now, Rafe says, “Is he watching us? Is it working?”
As if a bucket of cold water has been poured over my head, I snap back into the here and now. “Oh.” I peer over Rafe’s shoulder, searching for Stewart. He’s standing at the entrance to the hallway leading to the office, staring at me with obvious confusion and pain.
Guiltily, I try to push away from Rafe, to put some space between us, but he holds me tight.
“He’s by the hallway entrance,” I tell Rafe, my head dropping with embarrassment. Stewart had seen it all. He had seen the way I looked at Rafe, the way our bodies moved together. I had told him I didn’t want to dance but here I was, brazen on the dance floor with another man. Even though it’s necessary to protect Shelly, the burn of shame is hot on my cheeks.
54
An angry voice rings out, rising above the sound of the music. At first, I ignore it, too full of guilt over Stewart. But the argument gains in volume until it’s impossible to disregard. Dancing couples next to me halt their movement and turn to find the source. Rafe and I do the same. My champagne glass sits on a side table where I had placed it. I pick it up and drink. There’s an urge in me to keep on drinking until I wash away the memory of Stewart’s expression as he watched me dance with Rafe.
Rafe turns to see what the commotion is all about, and I follow his gaze. Johnny the Shark is quarreling with an older, gray-haired man across the room. The man’s face is crimson with anger. Johnny has his hand up, palm facing the man like he’s trying to calm him down.
With horror, I stare as the man draws a small pistol from inside his jacket. He aims it at Johnny’s chest and shoots him point blank. The bullet must go through Johnny’s body because a second later the enormous window behind him shatters with a deafening crash. The sound is so loud that I flinch, spilling champagne across the bodice of my mom’s white dress. Shards of glass rain down both inside and outside the room.
For a minute, everything goes eerily still. The DJ, the clinking of glasses, the roar of conversation—it all ceases. Then chaos breaks loose. Someone in the crowd screams, high and shrieking. People start running, and I lose track of the gunman. Most of the guests sprint toward the exit, but some move toward Johnny, who, with a shocked expression, slumps to the ground. Stewart passes me without a word, heading to his father.
I stand frozen, staring at the empty window frame with jagged pieces of glass lining its edges. When someone touches my arm, I wheel around withmy hand raised to strike. It’s Shelly, who recoils at the sight of my upraised fist. Rafe grabs my hand before I can lash out and gently returns it to my side.
