She shifted departments. Repeated the process. The alluring word, the dangled bait, the fleeting smile, beckoning but withholding. Same thing again after that. Seduction became work. Work became seduction.
Cold inside, fueled by hate and hurt, cunning, aloof, moving ahead step by bewitching step. The look that hinted more, the quick touch on hand and arm that was almost a caress, the touch that seemed certain to lead to sex. But never did.
Her power grew. GS-9, GS-10, working up the pay grades. Her own titillating revenge. Making her giddy, a little crazy, her one and only goal was to rise so high that she was invulnerable, that she could lift her foot and grind them under her heel, any of them. All of them.
When she crossed the line, let one of them into her bed, she remained two steps removed, watching from afar. Keeping her true self sober and safe. Sex was only to close the deal, to set the hook deeper, to move up and up again. She thought of her vagina as a wound that never healed.
What shame she felt she put into boxes. She assembled one for Herbert, one for each who followed. She stacked the boxes neatly, edge to edge, shelved them in the far back corner of her history where they gathered the dust of forgetfulness. Claude now had a box. When it was time, she would seal it, set it beside the others, perfectly aligned in the airless vault. The archives of her humiliations and her triumphs.
Someday soon, Sheffield would have his, too, take his place on the shelf.
She turned to Claude. “Frank’s suspicious about the video, about Leslie Levine. He’s consulted with some croc expert. He thinks she could still be alive, the whole croc attack was staged. This isn’t good.”
“Let him be suspicious. Not a problem. What’s he going to do?”
“He could send SWAT out to Prince Key. Take down the operation.”
“I could intervene,” Claude said.
“What?”
“Distract him. I’m good at distracting.”
His lips grazed her nipple, a damp nibble. Again she suppressed a cringe, looked down at his slick scalp. She touched it with her fingertips. Knowing he liked that, stroking with her palm against the bristles.
“Distract him how?”
“Put a hurt on him. Go to his place, bash him around, send him to the emergency room. Knock that probable-cause shit right out of his head.”
Her hand stopped moving against his head.
“What do you say, Nicky? Can I do it? Bust him up?”
“We need Frank. You can’t put him out of action. Absolutely not.”
“I can modulate my behavior. I can be very nuanced.”
She considered it, then went back to stroking his head.
“So come on, Nicky, give me the green light.”
“I’m thinking.”
They lay still for a while. Nicole listening to the white noise of traffic out on Kendall Drive. Television chatter coming from the apartment above.
She nudged Claude away, reached over to the side table, and retrieved her phone and purse. She propped herself up against a pillow. Claude drawing back, watching her.
“What’re you doing?”
“Bendell told you there was another snitch on Prince Key. We need to find out who it is and remove him.”
“How you going to manage that?”
She dug through her purse, found the index card where she’d scribbled the numbers, and dialed the first one.
Got an old Cuban lady, hung up.
Dialed the second. A pizza place on Key Biscayne.
The third was a department at the FBI. She disconnected quickly. That same number appeared twelve times. Frank’s office.
“These are Sheffield’s recent calls. One of these is his guy. Bendell said the guy called Frank from out on the island, so it wasn’t long ago. I’ve got every number for the last week. Incoming and outgoing. Twenty-two of them.”
The next five numbers were from some Miami-Dade building inspector. Scratch those. Nicole dialed the next number, got a car repair shop, hung up.
The next was next to last on her list. It rang five times, then went to voice mail. A guy sounding rushed, out of breath.
“Hi, listen, I’m going away for a while. Taking a hiatus from the show, I’m not sure when I’ll be back. If this is Mom, don’t worry. I’m safe. It’s all cool. I’m doing something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time, something important. Fill you in later. Don’t worry, really. So leave a message if you want. You know the drill.”
She clicked off.
She called the last number, the pizza parlor again. Frank liked his pie.
“This is him.” She pointed at the phone number on her list, the hiatus guy.
“Yeah?”
“Contact Leslie. Have her call this number, she’s going to recognize the guy’s voice. She needs to eliminate him, whoever it is. Let her know that. Eliminate him immediately.”