“This one, I think, Miss Mancini, will go best with the gown.”
Tasha stared at the necklace the clerk held up. It was a beautiful piece—diamond and sapphires set together in a yoke—and the girl was right, it would go beautifully with the gown she’d be wearing for the fundraiser at the Met.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I think that will do. Can you have it wrapped up? I’ll send someone to pick it up.” She hated the idea of sending someone instead of taking it herself, but her world now more than ever was about keeping up appearances. Too many people were getting too suspicious, too close to the truth.
Her phone vibrated against her hip, tucked into the pocket of her light jacket—designer, of course, just like everything else she was wearing. Appearances were everything in her world, as much as she hated it, resented it. She slid her hand into her pocket to pull out her phone, trying to tamp down a surge of nameless emotion. She hadn’t been expecting any calls today, at least not this early.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I need to take this.”
“Of course, Miss Mancini.” The clerk smiled and for once, she couldn’t tell if it was real or not.
Then again, she wasn’t sure it mattered. Tasha turned away, tapping her phone’s screen. “Hello?”
“Yes, hello,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Who am I speaking to?”
“Tasha Mancini,” she answered carefully, butterflies exploding in her stomach. “Who is this?”
“Ah, Miss Mancini, my name is Mirabelle and I’m calling from the emergency room at Mount Sinai. You’re listed in a patient’s phone as his emergency contact?”
Heart hammering, she moved away from the counter, knowing that all the blood had drained from her face. Somehow, she kept her voice steady. “What happened?”
Will. God, Will, what happened? It was supposed to be a simple meeting. Just a simple meeting—nothing that could have landed you in an ER. What happened?
“Miss Mancini—”
“What happened to William Notting?” she asked, her voice cold. She hated how easy it was to sound that hard, especially when she was breaking inside. “Is he there?”
“Yes, Miss, he is.”
“What happened to him?”
“I can’t discuss that over the phone, Miss.”
“Then why the hell did you call me?” she snapped. Fuck, Tasha, calm down. She’s doing her job. She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, schooling her tone. “I apologize. What can you tell me?”
“Miss, I think you should come down to Mount Sinai in Queens as quickly as you can,” the woman on the other end of the phone said. “Someone will speak with you when you get here.”
Her throat tightened. “He’s not dead.”
“Someone will speak with you when you get here. Just tell the charge nurse who you are.”
The line went dead.
She lowered the phone, staring at nothing.
“I have to go,” she said, not turning back to the clerk. “Charge my account as usual. Someone will come pick it up.”
She didn’t wait to hear the clerk’s answer. She was already out the door, heading for the car that sat idling outside and the bodyguard that leaned against the hood. He straightened quickly as he spotted her, blinking.
“What is it?”
She jerked open the rear passenger door before he could open it for her. “Get in the car,” she said. “We’re going to Queens.”
