NYPD Red 6 - James Patterson Page 0,95

since January. It was strange to be technically married and not know whether your husband was alive or dead. But one thing she knew for sure: she didn’t love him anymore.

It was different with Zach. Their affair had lasted all of four weeks. The only reason she’d ended it was to give Spence one more chance. But she’d never stopped loving Zach. Never would.

And now there was Shane Talbot with his first-class seats and his butterscotch budino and his—

“Hey! Ground Control to Major Tom.” She looked up. That handsome face, that thick red hair, those incredible hands …

“I can almost hear the wheels inside your head turning a mile a minute,” Shane said. “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing much. I was just mulling over this new-boyfriend concept.”

“How am I doing?”

“You’re in the lead,” Kylie said. “But don’t let it go to your head. It’s still only a one-man race.”

“Excuse me, sir.” It was the flight attendant.

Shane looked up. “Yes?”

“You’re going to have to buckle your seat belt.”

A wide smile spread across Shane’s face, and he leaned over and whispered in Kylie’s ear, “Funny … that’s the same advice Cheryl gave me when I told her you and I were going away for the weekend.”

CHAPTER 82

Sunday, June 23

Bentley’s by the Sea, Montauk, New York

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY,” Cheryl whispered in my ear.

“It’s the middle of the night,” I slurred, hugging my pillow closer to my cheek.

“No, it’s not. It’s five o’clock in the morning, and I want you to see your anniversary present before it’s too late.”

I half rolled over. “Bring it here.”

“No can do. It’s on the beach. Get up. We’re running out of time.”

I’d rather have celebrated our anniversary over a late brunch, but when you’re a man in a relationship, you learn that some things are not debatable.

We threw on some clothes, grabbed a couple of blankets, left the warmth of our cozy little cottage, and trekked out past the dunes. We spread one blanket on the cold damp sand and wrapped ourselves in the other.

“I’m ready for my present,” I said.

Cheryl checked her watch. “Three more minutes.”

I rested my head on her shoulder, closed my eyes, and drifted right back to the land of Nod. A few minutes later she elbowed me awake.

“There it is,” she said, pointing toward the horizon.

The sun was just cracking through the shroud of darkness, spreading soft blues and vivid pinks across the sky.

“You don’t even have to unwrap it,” Cheryl said. She had her camera in her hand and was aiming it at the rising sun.

As the sky bloomed orange, and shafts of gold sliced into the Atlantic, the fog in my brain finally lifted, and I realized—that was my gift.

“It’s the dawn of a brand-new year together,” she said, “and I wanted to share it with you.”

Words failed me. I pulled her closer, and as I sat there huddled under the blanket soaking up the majesty of the moment with the woman I loved, my life of the past two weeks felt distant and surreal. This was where I belonged.

Twenty minutes later we walked back to the bed-and-breakfast, stripped off our damp clothes, buried ourselves under a thick down comforter, and slept for another four hours.

We made love before we got out of bed, then made love again under a high-pressure rainfall showerhead that pelted us with fat droplets of steamy hot water.

We had just finished dressing when Cheryl’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID. “Zach, I’ve got to take this. I’ll meet you in a few minutes for breakfast.”

The dining room was wood and stone with an eclectic mix of brightly colored Persian throw rugs underfoot and a wall of glass looking out toward the ocean. There was a large groaning board laden with berries, breads, jams, cheeses, and sterling chafing dishes filled with stick-to-the-ribs, clog-up-the-arteries options. The coffee was dark roast and smelled like nirvana.

I poured two cups, toasted two thick slices of raisin pumper-nickel to tide me over till Cheryl got there, and found a quiet table. Ten minutes later, she arrived, her jet-black hair pulled back in a ponytail, her honey-bronze skin glowing against a yellow tank top. Heads turned. They always did.

“Sorry,” she said. “Some phone calls just can’t be ignored.”

“Troubled patient?” I said.

“No. It was Aunt Janet. She talked to Shane this morning.”

“What a sweet boy,” I said. “He called his mommy to say how much fun he was having at the Magic Kingdom.”

She gave me a look that was half a frown, to