Vortex by Catherine Coulter

Mia

One Lincoln Plaza

New York, New York

Monday, late afternoon, mid-March

Mia Briscoe’s heart still leaped with pleasure when she looked out her eighteenth-floor living room window to the stretch of Central Park below, even after seeing it daily for three years. It didn’t matter the leafless trees hunkered down, brown and forlorn against blasts of arctic air. To Mia, the park looked magnificent, no matter the season. It was this view that had sold her on her junior one-bedroom apartment—thank you, Mom, Dad, for helping with the down payment. She saw a good dozen serious runners, their heads down, putting in their miles though it was thirty degrees, with snow threatening. To Mia, thirty degrees meant keeping her sweats and warm socks on, with a space heater next to her desk.

She smiled, realized she’d never been more hopeful about her future, and happy in her present. Well, she’d be happier still when Travis got back from his two-month stint overseeing the construction of international headquarters for Lohman Pierce in Zurich. As one of the lead structural architects, it was his responsibility to ensure everything that was done met Swiss code requirements, and that meant his staying in Zurich on-site six days a week. They were down to eighteen days until he came home, both of them counting. If the project didn’t run over, Travis had promised skiing, or even better, Bermuda, to stretch out on the beach when he returned. He’d found a gym in Zurich to unwind in after the long hours on the job site, a good thing since if he didn’t work out regularly, he tended to lose weight. She smiled, remembering when she’d met her perfect mate on the second floor of Bloomingdale’s, shopping for his mother’s birthday. She’d helped him pick out a sexy teddy, loaded with lace, which, Travis had told her, would have his mom drooling. From Bloomies, they’d had coffee, which had led to movies, dinners, and the recognition they were meant for each other. Both sets of parents were on board, which was good. And so here they were, six months later.

She sighed. Even if Travis got back on time, that lovely trip probably wasn’t going to happen now, but for the best of reasons. Milo, her boss at the Guardian, had assigned her that very day to cover a newcomer, Alexander Talbot Harrington, in his run for mayor. It would be her first dive as a reporter into the political deep end of a campaign that was already heating up. She’d spent much of her day researching Harrington, and despite the three very proper names, which in his case really did mean pots of old money, she was finding him interesting. He was the scion of the wealthy Boston Harringtons, multigenerational owners of the First Street Corporation, an international banking firm touting roots that went back to the National Bank, founded in 1792. Yes, old, old money and clout, political and otherwise. He’d headed up the New York branch of the family business for the past five-plus years, but when he declared his candidacy for office, he handed the reins to his operational VP for the duration of his campaign, and beyond, if he won. Tonight was to be his biggest fundraiser, and Milo had gotten Mia invited.

Her cell belted out “Bad Henry” by Thorny. It was Travis.

It burst right out of her. “Travis, have I got some news for you!”

He laughed. “Let me guess. I know you’re not pregnant unless you’ve kicked me to the curb and found someone else. I know you weren’t fired or your folks would have called me, and best of all, come Tuesday, we’ll be down to seventeen days and counting. And wonder of wonders, it looks like everything’s on schedule, which means, of course, the American on-site architect is really amazing at his job, able to corral all the wild hares, otherwise known as contractors and their minions. Well, for the most part.”

Mia laughed, too. “Okay, tell me how you’re doing with the Taj Mahal. Really, it’s all on schedule? And what do you mean, most part?”

She heard him sigh. “So far. I speak French and my German doesn’t totally suck, but when the head contractor, Gottfried Himmler, wants something I don’t want to approve, he speaks fast to try to trip me up.”

“No need to flatten him, maybe just take him behind the porta potty and explain how things are done in the US if someone doesn’t cooperate.”

“Haven’t yet, but I do speak back to him in English, lots of idioms, just as fast. We’ve got this stalemate going.”

“So no whips or chains required?”

“It was close once, but I appealed to his perfectionist side.”

“Is it as cold there as it is here?”

“Colder, maybe. It’s snowing a blizzard here in Zurich and all I can think about is you in a bikini on the beach in Bermuda. Now tell me this news that nearly has you dancing around.”

“I’m going to be covering Alex Harrington in his race for New York City mayor.”

“Harrington—never heard of him.”

“I hadn’t either. He’s a newcomer, young for politics, only thirty-four. He’s got old Boston wealth behind him. He went to Bennington Prep and Harvard and then became the director of his family’s New York branch office of the First Street Corporation. Evidently, he’s been active politically, working his way up to this. He’s got the physical side covered, he’s tall, good-looking, charming, and evidently not stupid. I have a feeling I won’t be seeing him stumble over his feet or say something tactless.”

“With that pedigree and deep pockets, he could maybe have a chance since the mayor’s termed out, but I wouldn’t bet on it; he’s got some stiff competition. So what exactly will you be doing?”

“I’m heading to his big fundraiser tonight to meet him, set up a time for an interview. Then I’ll grill him to his toes, find out all his secrets.”

Travis laughed. “If he’s a good politician, good luck with that. Imagine, a Bostonian running for New York City mayor. That’s pretty crazy, Mia. I mean, the Red Sox or the Yankees? How’s he going to straddle that one? Or even if he’s a New Yorker? How long has he lived in the city?”

“Hmm, maybe six years, around that. After I’ve researched him, I’ll know the month and day he moved here.”

“Well, Hillary Clinton managed to snag a New York Senate seat when her home was Arkansas. But then again, she had powerful backing and overflowing coffers. More power to him, if he can pull it off.”

Mia chewed on her lip. “Travis, the thing is, I don’t know if I’m going to be free to go to Bermuda in seventeen days. We’ll see.” She stared down at her watch. “Oops, gotta go, Travis. I’ve got to put on my little black dress and go out into the frozen tundra. I love you and I fully expect you to avoid all those pretty fräuleins.”

He said, “At least I can dream about lying on the beach with you, rubbing sunscreen all over you. I wonder if you can go topless in Bermuda.”

She laughed. “Pervert. It’s so cold here it makes me shiver to even think about a bikini.”

After she disconnected, Mia changed into her dress, pulled her hair back from her face, twisted it up into a thick chignon, added a touch of mascara and lipstick, and decided it was as good as it would get. She pulled on her stiletto-heeled black boots and stylish black wool coat her mom and dad had given her for Christmas, and took one final look in the mirror. She grinned at her reflection. “Yeah, baby, you’re the reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper.”

She called downstairs so a taxi would be waiting to take her to the Harrington fundraiser at the plush Cabot Hotel.