Edge of Midnight. Leslie Tentler

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      3

      For the first time in days, Mia felt somewhat at ease. Will had been right—the trip out had done her a world of good. Returning home, she sat in the passenger side of his Porsche convertible, feeling the warm breeze whipping her new, shorter hair. It was a blunt cut, just off her shoulders and about eight inches shorter than her usual style.

       “A good haircut is better than Xanax,” Will proclaimed, briefly studying her through the dark tint of his sunglasses as he drove.

       “Thanks for lunch…and for everything else.”

       He shrugged. “I’m just using you to assist in my procrastination.”

       “The new book?”

       “I missed my deadline. Again.” He smiled, his dimples deepening. He and Justin had kept Mia entertained at lunch with their hilarious and at times ribald stories, and afterward the three of them had strolled along the scenic Riverwalk among the tourists and joggers until Justin had to leave for a meeting. It had been a distraction technique, she knew, but she deeply appreciated the effort.

       “What happened to you this week, Mia…a lot of people wouldn’t be able to get past it.” He sounded serious for the first time since they’d headed out.

       She sighed. “I just need things to get back to normal, that’s all.”

       “What you need is a break from what you consider normal—writing about people inflicting violence on one another.” He shook his head, his fingers loosely gripping the steering wheel. “Why don’t you take some time off from all that? And I mean more than a few days—a real sabbatical. You’ve got Grayson Miller wrapped around your finger. He’d break his neck giving it to you, and with a paycheck, probably. I don’t care what kind of shape the newspaper industry’s in.”

       When Mia looked at him, he added, “You do know he’s in love with you, right?”

       She watched the scenery pass by, not wanting to think about Grayson in that way.

       They entered San Marco Square with its endless supply of art galleries and cafés. Everywhere, people were milling about on the narrow, tree-shaded sidewalks. Traveling past the renowned giant statue of the three lions at the square’s main intersection, they took a right and headed onto one of the side streets. San Marco was a diverse community, with multifamily apartment buildings and quaint, two-bedroom bungalows interspersed with enormous riverside mansions. Will and Justin had renovated a large, Tuscan-style manor on Alhambra Avenue accented by a terra-cotta, barrel-tile roof and graceful stucco staircases on the exterior. The former single-family residence now consisted of separate units on the main, second and third floors. Mia rented the midlevel unit and there was another tenant on top.

       Parking in front of the building, they had just climbed from the convertible when a dark sedan pulled into the circular driveway behind them. A man in suit pants, a dress shirt and tie emerged. He was tall, even-featured and clean cut, somewhere in his mid-thirties, and Mia immediately summed him up as law enforcement. Her impression of him was confirmed when she saw the gun holstered at his waist.

       Walking toward them, he presented his shield. “Ms. Hale?”

       She felt a lump form in her throat. “Yes?”

       “I’m Special Agent Eric Macfarlane. I’m with the FBI.”

       Self-consciously, she smoothed her windblown hair, her instincts speaking to her. “You’re part of the VCU the paper mentioned this morning.”

       “Yes, ma’am.” As he neared, he removed his sunglasses. His eyes were an unusual, moss-green color and reflected intelligence. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

       The ease she’d felt during the afternoon began to ebb. With a faint nod, she made the necessary introduction. “Agent Macfarlane, this is Will Dvorak, my neighbor and landlord.”

       “And friend,” he emphasized, a measure of protection in his voice. The men shook hands.

       “Will Dvorak? The writer?”

       “I’m surprised, Agent.” Will was often recognized for his humorous and sometimes poignant essays on his awkward childhood and adolescence. His last book had been on the bestseller lists. “I wouldn’t peg you for the type who’d read me. You’re a little too butch.”

       Agent Macfarlane revealed straight, white teeth and a perfect smile. “My reading list is pretty diverse.”

       After another few moments of small talk, Will seemed satisfied she was in good hands. “Well, I’ve put it off long enough. I’m going inside to face the last twenty pages of my draft. Mia, sweetheart, if you need anything…”

       “Thanks, Will.” She waited as he retreated through the courtyard to his apartment on the ground level before returning her attention to Agent Macfarlane. “I’ve already spoken with one of the local agents, as well as detectives from the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office. I’m afraid there’s not a lot more I can tell you.”

       “I’ve been briefed on the situation. And I’m aware of your memory loss.” His eyes fell briefly to her bandaged fingers. “How are you, Ms. Hale?”

       “I’m…fine.”

       His gaze was discerning. “You’re a very lucky young woman.”

       “Compared to the other two women who were abducted, I would agree,” she answered somberly, feeling a trickle of perspiration at her nape. It was a hot afternoon, especially for so early in the season. “We can go up to my apartment and talk in the air-conditioning, if you’d like.”

       He followed her upstairs. Mia wore cropped cargo pants and a bare tank top, her outfit exceedingly casual compared to his businesslike attire. Unlocking the door to her apartment and disarming the security system, she dropped her keys and purse on a table in the foyer as he closed the door behind them. “Could I get you something to drink?”

       “Water would be nice. Thank you.”

       From the kitchen, Mia could see him in the living room. He stood with his hands on his lean hips, looking around at her furnishings and the expanse of green park that was visible from the balcony.

       “You have a nice place, Ms. Hale,” he said as she approached and handed him the glass, ice cubes tinkling inside it.

       “Please, call me Mia. And it’s a fringe benefit of attending college with the building’s owner. Will and his partner, Justin, rent to me for a steal.”

       “You and Mr. Dvorak are both writers—that’s interesting.”

       “We met at the University of Florida, but Will ended up going the more creative route.” Indoors, Agent Macfarlane’s eyes were even more СКАЧАТЬ