Chapter Four
Frank: Now
“I can’t begin to tell you how good that lady was,” Frank massaged his chin where Beatrice’s elbow had surprised him twenty-five years before, after he’d slammed her to the mat. Even now, he could remember the scent of her as clearly today as if no time had passed at all. Like midnight and roses. Dark, mysterious, and lush.
And then she’d clipped his chin with her elbow and planted his face in that stone-hard mat of the Secret Service gym.
The White Hawk was circling down to the Manhattan Downtown Heliport. Nine a.m., exactly on schedule. Frank looked down to check the dock.
They’d cleared the pier of other flights. A quick scan below showed that the police boats had cordoned off the part of the East River that flowed by the heliport.
The heliport itself was a
