In a small village like Esher, where everyone was home wrapping holiday gifts or hoisting hot toddies, it came as no surprise that no one had seen anyone in the vicinity of the Fleming house the previous night.

Maybe I should just get soused like last time I was here with my college buds, thought Frankel.

But he knew that wouldn’t help him forget the image of Austin Grant standing over his dead sergeant, crossing himself for the first time in over fifty years.

The man was taking it personally now.

A few minutes after placing his room service order, Frankel’s cell had rung. He’d taken one look at the number and answered it.

The conversation had been brief.

Once he’d disconnected, Frankel had stared long and hard at his left hand.

A few moments later he had removed the gold ring from his finger and placed it inside his toilet kit.

Frankel was still staring at the shake an hour later, wondering how long it would take the milk to curdle, when the knock came on the door.

He rose and crossed the room to open it.

Rachel stood there.

“You going to just stand there staring or are you going to invite me in?” she asked with a slight smile.

“I can’t believe you actually came,” Frankel replied, opening the door for her. “What did you tell your father?”

“That I was going to visit a friend.”

She stepped inside and Frankel shut the door.

“So, I’m a friend?”

“I’d like to think so,” Rachel answered.

She moved a step closer and gave him another smile.

“I did tell my dad not to wait up.”

Frankel took her into his arms and kissed her for the first time.

And realized that he was starting to take this whole thing personally as well.

Chapter 19

19

It had started that night in the rain outside the London.

Once the commander had headed inside, Frankel and Rachel tried in vain to find a couple of cabs. Even with the doorman waving frantically and blowing his whistle like calling a foul at the Garden, there wasn’t a cab in sight, let alone two.

It was the classic New York City situation. On a bright sunny day on a leisurely stroll, you stop at a corner and a dozen taxis descend on you like a school of sharks. The skies open up, you had a better chance of finding Jimmy Hoffa’s body (Frankel subscribed to the under the fifty-yard line at the old Giants Stadium in the swampy Meadowlands theory) than finding an available cab.