Chapter Seventeen #3
She wasn’t far down the hall when he called out, “Wait,” and jogged towards her.
He was older than she’d assumed from the Instagram pictures: a mature intelligence in his grey eyes that seemed to contend with the youthful image created by a toned body and rock-star attire.
Drawing close, he said, “You certain you’re alright? I don’t mean to intrude, but you seem a little…lost.”
Her instinct was to reassert her professionalism, affirm her fitness for duty, but there was a razor truth in his words.
She hesitated, feeling the cold of that church, and the roar of her motorcycle as she raced to Benevento, and the icy terror and despair that met her in a cave while the thunder crashed outside.
“My uncle,” she told him. “He’s in hospital. They weren’t sure he was going to pull through. It’s been a difficult couple of days.”
Teddy gave a sad smile. “I’m a bit rudderless, too. This was a memorial for my kid sister. All her friends were here and I kept thinking she’d show up. Idiotic, isn’t it? I still can’t believe she’s not coming back.”
“I’m sorry,” Nikki said. “Were you close?”
He shook his head. “She was actually my half sister. I was ten when she was born. You know how kids are…. I resented her for a long time. But she turned out to be really sweet. Introverted. Incredibly naive. Wanted to save everybody. She was a carer for children. That’s why she…”
His voice shook and the words trailed off.
His face softened when he talked about Claire. After his trendy social media accounts, Nikki had been prepared to dismiss Teddy Sexton as entirely superficial, but his grief was clearly real and raw.
“It sounds like you loved her,” she said. “What happened?”
“She was killed!” A sudden flash of viciousness lit up his expression. He shook his head. “Silly kid. Didn’t understand anything. Didn’t understand how the world works.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged with an agitated, disconsolate air. Nikki felt an impulse to reach out. She stopped herself.
“It feels terrible to lose someone like that,” she said. “Sometimes I think that death should make sense…but I’ve never found it.”
She considered saying more—telling him about her work, and describing the investigation into Claire’s murder. But the words stuck in her mouth. She’d already misled him by omission.
He searched her face. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She glanced back into the empty room with its depressing decorations and empty bottles.
“I want to get out of here,” she told him.
“Fair enough,” he said. “It’s Sunday night. Most places are dead…but I know a cracking spot in the city.”
—
While they waited for Teddy’s cab outside the Three Horseshoes, he smoked.
“I grew up around here,” he said. “Hated it. Couldn’t wait to get the fuck out.”
“What did you hate?”
“Too cramped. Not only the place—the minds.”
“How did you leave?”
“As rapidly as possible. If you want to succeed, you can’t wait for opportunity. You create it.”
He had a public-school accent, but Nikki had spent enough time in London to recognize the false notes. He’d clearly spent considerable effort purging Gidea Park from his life, but it clung to the edges of his words.
Almost as an afterthought, he said, “I’m Teddy.”
“Nikki,” said Nikki. The night chill seeped into her coat, and she pulled up the hood to block the unpleasant drizzle. “What opportunity did you create?”
“CEO of my own company.”
“Impressive.”
“Where are you from, Nikki?” he asked. “I’m trying to place your accent.”
“Born in Naples—but I spent a decade in London. Camden.”
“Love Camden. Excellent choice.”
The easy camaraderie between them made Nikki increasingly conscious of her lie. She should have told him she was with Phoenix Seven—that she was investigating Claire’s death—that she’d already done some internet sleuthing on him.
She redirected the conversation: “Tell me about your company.”
Teddy put out his cigarette on the pavement.
“We all imagine that the human mind is restricted,” he said.
“We create these stories about ourselves and they just hold us back. The truth is: Success is your birthright. You can be—can have—whatever you want. You just need the right key to unlock your potential. That key is called MindCapsule. That’s what we do—what my company, Innovare MindCapsule, does. ”
It was a practiced sales pitch—smooth and engaging. His eyes lit up as he talked. He offered her a mint and put one in his own mouth.
Their cab arrived and he held the door, helped her in.
—
As they rode, Nikki asked Teddy more questions about his company, listened, and pressed him when his descriptions were unclear.
As far as she could tell, Teddy’s app, MindCapsule, primarily included tailored meditations, tonal frequencies, and musical clips, and allowed the user to send encrypted messages, files, and videos to themselves at some future date.
“Payments are on a sliding scale—based on age and profession,” he said.
“I think everyone should have the opportunity to harness the power of their minds—especially young people. I wish I’d had something like it when I felt trapped.
I gave my kid sister her own account on MindCapsule. Wanted her to think bigger, you know?”
They were sitting close together so they could hear each other over the sounds of the radio, the engine, and traffic, close enough for her to smell the clean musky undertones of his cologne.
“You’re a very beautiful woman, Nikki,” he said. “I had to say it. There it is.”
He reached down and threaded his fingers through hers. His hand was warm and dry. His eyes, illuminated by the streetlights flickering by, were clear and grey.
—
The restaurant on the twenty-fourth floor of the business tower was a place to see and be seen.
Chic customers and upscale staff contrasted the grubby feeling Nikki experienced inside her second-day clothing.
This was a luxury she could never afford on her own, but Enzo used to take her to places like this, with sleek booths in soft fawn leather, dark lacquered wood, and a glass-fronted wall serving as a subtly glowing wine cabinet.
A mirrored ceiling reflected the warm yellow lamps on the tables, and doubled the height of the windows, showing the soft lights of the cityscape below.
The waiter escorted them to a booth near a window. Nikki experienced a brief sense of vertigo looking out over the city.
Teddy ordered an Aviation cocktail. Nikki asked for prosecco, but Teddy talked her into an Oban instead.
When the drinks arrived, he said, “What are the odds I’d meet a beautiful Italian woman tonight, and enjoy drinks with her now?”
He ran his thumb along the edge of the crystal.
“I don’t believe in luck,” said Nikki, meeting his gaze.
“Neither do I.”
They drank, and Nikki tasted the smoke and peat, the burn of the whisky.
It seemed to amplify her fatigue. It was 22:03 and she’d spent a restless night in a hospital room.
She needed sleep, but instead was enjoying the unfamiliar touch of Teddy’s hand on her skin, his attention and interest. She swirled the tumbler, watching the golden liquid catch the light.
“What did it take to build Innovare MindCapsule?” she asked.
“A lot of hard work. It was my idea, of course. And I needed to scout for the right partners…the right talent.”
“Did you find them?”
He smiled. “Well, if you want to be the next Zuckerberg and not fucked by the next Zuckerberg, you need to pick your bedfellows wisely.”
“Tell me about your partners,” Nikki encouraged.
He frowned and shrugged, then ran his fingertips along her arm. “I’d rather talk about you.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Everything, international woman of mystery. Where do you work?”
Nikki considered the omissions she’d already made.
They’d twisted her personal story too far; she could never bend it back to properly fit the truth.
She borrowed from her own past instead, as if she were meeting Teddy years ago, in those days when the rage would slip out of her, uncontrolled and feral, when she would find a way to piss off the biggest guy in the club, daring him to take a swing at her; when she would choose her partner for the evening because she liked the vodka he drank, or his form during deadlifts, or the way he maneuvered his motorcycle.
She tasted some of that recklessness now.
“Nightclub,” she said. “Incendio.”
“Wow,” he said. “Are you a dancer? I mean, you look wicked fit.”
“Bouncer.”
He laughed. “Really? I believe it. You’ve got a magnificent tough-girl vibe. I love your muscles and tattoos. I’ll be sure to conduct a full topological survey later.”
He lifted her hand and kissed the tattoo on the inside of her wrist: a spiraling knotted pattern she’d once found on a grave.
He waved the waiter over and ordered seconds.
They talked about her work at Incendio, and as the minutes and hours slipped by, she told him a bit about Enzo—although not the specifics of how it had ended between them.
“He’s an idiot,” murmured Teddy. “I can’t believe anyone would give you up.”
Then he told her about his relationship with an actress that had just run its course.
“Can I be honest with you, Nikki?” he said during their next round of drinks. “I respect the work you do—but do you want to do it for the rest of your life? You’re fucking smart. You shouldn’t be working for anyone; people should be working for you. I see you more as a club owner.”
Nikki tried to consider, but her thoughts were blurred. She’d had too much to drink.
“I’d like to kiss you,” he murmured, leaning in.
Nikki let him, tasting cigarettes and rum. His lips were soft, teeth slick, tongue gently probing. She relaxed into the electric warmth and pleasure, reminded of the last time she’d been kissed—a green silk dress and the cooling island air of Capri, and a boat returned to the mainland without her.
But Teddy’s mouth was not Enzo’s mouth.
His hands roved upwards with practiced skill, and he pulled her firmly into him, ran fingertips through her hair, caressed her back and hips until something ignited inside and she stopped thinking about Enzo.
He was smiling when he pulled back.
Nikki caught her breath and shook her head. She was enjoying this—the way he touched and looked at her. She wanted him, wanted him to take her home and fuck her. But this was a bad idea. All of it was a bad idea.
“I should get back.”
He leaned in, took her earlobe gently between his teeth. His hand was on her thigh, stroking, working upwards. He kissed her again.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered.
—
Teddy paid. Nikki stopped by the toilet on her way out. She rinsed her mouth and splashed her face with cold water. The mirror reflected her fatigue, but it also showed cheeks flushed with the alcohol and the heat of Teddy’s attentions…and the lie.
Her deception had been like an armor. It made her feel invincible.
Reckless, she’d leaned out over the edge, some part of her brain working to justify what she was doing—a vague sense that her lies and drinking and flirtation were in service to the investigation.
But that wasn’t remotely true. This was about something else entirely—an old familiar screaming pain that seemed to claw its way out of her chest whenever she stood still enough to feel it.
She wanted it silenced, wanted to drown it in these moments of a numbly detached pleasure—the wordless physical act, the sense of connection and movement and momentary release.
“Fuck,” she said aloud to her reflection.
She’d traveled down this familiar path as if it could take her anywhere besides misery. Until this moment, she’d deluded herself.
If this was for the investigation, then she was far over any ethical line.
“Fuck.”
Here, she decided. And no further.
—
She found Teddy again outside the bank of lifts. Absorbed in his phone, he didn’t look up as she approached. On the lift, he pocketed the phone and kissed her again. This time, he was rougher, his expression blank and hungry. He bit her lip and took both hands in his, squeezing until they hurt.
—
Outside, the business district was empty. No cars. No pedestrians. They walked alone through the streets. Coming around a corner, Teddy pressed her against a wall, kissing, grinding against her.
“That’s enough,” Nikki said, pulling away. “You’re hurting me.”
He pressed harder, trapping her. The cold concrete at Nikki’s back scraped painfully through her coat—against her shoulder blades and spine. He was muscular and large, and clearly well trained. She was shorter than Teddy by several centimeters, and far smaller. He was crushing her.
“You’re a fucking liar,” he hissed in her ear. “You said you weren’t there for Claire’s memorial—but people posted pictures of you there. I saw them. Why were you following me? Who the fuck are you? What do you want?”
Gone was the easy sensuality between them, the sense of a shared joke. Passion had morphed into violence—but in some confusing and horrifying violation, the intimacy had remained.
Nikki was suddenly conscious of her vulnerability. Under other circumstances, she would never have let an attacker get behind her guard. He was so much stronger, and furious.
Her heart raced. She pushed against him—indignation to cover her terror.
“I wasn’t following you. You asked me out,” she shouted. “What the fuck? Let me go!”
He tightened his grip.
“Who the fuck are you? Don’t lie to me. What do you want? Why are you stalking me?”
His right hand was clamped on her throat now, his face inches from hers. Panic and pain exploded in her body, contending with a rabid fury at letting herself be trapped like this.
Nikki twisted her torso rapidly to the left and down, rage and fear giving power to the action.
This changed the grip on her windpipe. Using this momentum, she brought her right hand up and slammed her forearm down against his arm, forcing his hand away from her neck.
This put him off balance and gave her the chance to put her right elbow into the side of his face.
But he was strong and angry and her strike didn’t take him down.
He grunted and pulled his arm back for a punch, but she ducked and kept into him with her elbows and knees.
When he came in again for an attack, she redirected his momentum, and he slammed headfirst into the wall with a sickening thud.
Nikki danced backwards, ready to defend herself. He swore—but didn’t return for another attack. Instead, he was backing away from her. His hand went to his head, his eyes wide and shocked.
“Crazy fucking bitch,” he shouted.