Valentine's Dream. Carmen Green

      Prologue

      “We’re taking off, bro.”

      Carter Morrison, who’d been quietly observing the poised woman in conversation on the other side of the room, turned at the announcement to find two men and a woman waiting to say goodbye. He’d met them before, years earlier, and knew them by name. They were colleagues of his best friend, Benson Haley.

      “Gotta get back to work,” the second man said apologetically.

      “Hey, glad you could make it. Sorry we had to meet up again under these circumstances,” Carter said, shaking the hands offered to him by the two men.

      “This is rough, but Grace seems to be holding up,” the first man observed.

      “She’ll be fine,” Carter said confidently.

      “Benson was a great guy,” the second man added. “I didn’t know what to say. Wish her well. You know.”

      “I still can’t believe he’s gone,” said the woman, shaking her head in disbelief. “One minute he’s making all kinds of plans for the mayor this fall, and then he just—”

      “It’s a tough thing to say, but the mayor is going to fill Benson’s spot and move right on,” Carter cut in quietly, not wanting to hear again the blunt way in which his friend’s sudden death was being described.

      Benson Haley had dropped dead at the feet of three reporters while making a statement on behalf of his boss, the mayor.

      “I know you’re right, my man, but it’s not going to be so easy for Grace. She’s got two young kids, a house, a mother-in-law. Damn,” the first man muttered and then looked shame-faced at his blasphemy. “They hadn’t been married all that long, right?”

      “Five years,” Carter replied.

      “Well, at least they had that. Hardly anyone stays together that long anymore,” the woman commented. She then caught the gaze of one of her companions, who silently signaled her not to go there.

      Carter didn’t have to watch the exchange to know where the remark was coming from. The innuendo was not unreasonable, but it was off base. He’d heard some of the rumors that the deceased had stepped out once or twice on his wife but didn’t know if they were true or not. Nonetheless, the thought caused Carter to shift his attention and covertly scan the room. He spotted the object of their discussion, Benson’s widow, Grace, standing near an occasional table that was top heavy with an extravagant floral arrangement from the mayor himself. Appearing serene, if a bit tired, she was listening and smiling benignly at the emotional testimony of her late husband’s assistant.

      “Benson said something recently about you moving back to New York from...”

      “Chicago,” Carter responded, bringing his gaze around to the trio, watching as they searched for and found the tickets to retrieve their coats on their way out of the midtown club. “Not just yet. I’m doing some important work there, for the moment.”

      The first man chortled. “Chicago? Too damn cold,” he said, once again catching his irreverence too late.

      “Maybe he has family there,” the woman suggested to her companion.

      “I don’t,” Carter corrected. “I just can’t make a move right now.”

      “Give me a call when you come back,” said the woman, smiling at Carter coyly. “Let’s get together.”

      “Yeah, let’s do that,” one of the men added.

      Carter watched until all three had left the salon before turning to look for Grace once more, Benson’s former coworkers immediately forgotten.

      She was shaking the hand of a relative from Benson’s side of the family and kissing another, who was also preparing to leave. Then a couple,