Bernhardt's Edge Read Online Free Page A

silences. Then, venturing a tentative smile, she said, “I almost hate to ask any more questions. But all evening I’ve been wondering—” She paused, waited for him to smile, to nod encouragement.
    â€œIt’s the buzzer,” she said. “Your pager. What are you, a part-time brain surgeon?”
    He laughed: a full, explosive laugh, filled with pure pleasure.
    â€œI’m a free-lance investigator—a private detective. And a pretty good one, if I do say so.”
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    He shook his head. “I’m not kidding. Actors make good private investigators. There’s a lot of role-playing—pretending you’re someone you aren’t, making people believe it.” Watching her, he realized that she was deciding whether she believed him. “I’m serious. You should try it, sometime.”
    â€œI’m not very tough, I’m afraid.”
    â€œNeither am I,” Bernhardt answered. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
    Gravely returning his smile, she nodded. “Yes, I can see that.”
    â€œGood.” He nodded, too.

TUESDAY September 11th

1
    D ANCER SLID THE MANILA folder across the desk. “That should be all you need. Remember, don’t contact anyone at Powers, Associates, where she worked. That’s important. And I don’t think you should talk to her, make contact with her. Just call me, when you find her. I’ll contact my principal.”
    Picking up the folder, Bernhardt smiled. ‘Your principal.’ How many times have I heard that? They never have names, these principals.”
    Dancer, too, was smiling: a small, supercilious smile, mocking the man across the desk. With their business concluded, he could afford a few minutes of relaxation, baiting Bernhardt.
    â€œIt’s called the edge. I sign your checks. That entitles me to an edge.”
    Leaning back in his chair, crossing his long legs, Bernhardt accepted the gambit. Deciding on a condescending tone, he said, “Your edge is expediency, Herbert. Sometimes called borderline dishonesty. Face it.” As he spoke, he put a wry twist on his smile.
    â€œIt’s a dishonest world, Alan. It’s also a very messy world. You’re—what—forty-two? And you still haven’t figured out how the world really works. Have you ever considered what would happen if everyone suddenly started telling the truth? You’ve got a fertile imagination. Take a couple of minutes, sometime. Think about it.”
    â€œSure, it’s a messy world. But you make it messier. You steal children for a living, Herbert. You’re smart enough to rationalize it. But you can’t change it.”
    A pale gleam of pleasure shone in his gray eyes as Dancer smiled. “I steal children for a good living. The distinction is important.”
    â€œTo you. Not to me.”
    â€œPeople get divorced. It’s a way of life. They can usually agree on the money, and the houses, and the cars. But the children—they can’t afford to agree on the children, on custody. The mother can’t afford to admit that, really, she doesn’t want the kids, because they’ll cramp her style. And the husband feels guilty, for not wanting them.”
    â€œSo either way, you show a profit.”
    â€œEither way.” Complacently, Dancer smiled.
    â€œI don’t think I’ve ever known anyone as cynical as you are. I really don’t.”
    â€œThat’s not the question. The question is, am I right? And the answer is, you know damn well I’m right. Look around you. A woman doesn’t have an orgasm, she calls her psychiatrist, the first time it happens. The second time, she calls her lawyer. And the lawyers call us.”
    â€œNot ‘us.’ You.”
    Dancer shrugged. “The only real difference between us is that I make more money than you do.”
    â€œWrong. The difference between us is that you’re