A Bridge to Love (28 page)

Randall
reached across the table to cover her hand with his. “I apologize for that ugly
scene. Gill's just blustering. He's mad about the deal, and he's mad about
whatever Lucinda told him, but he's already mouthed off to the press. I'm not
concerned.”

Kate
noted how thick Randall's Texas accent had become. Evidently, Gill's presence
took him back to his roots. She turned her palm up to meet his. “I know that
you're a big, strong man who can take care of himself,” she teased gently, “but
that man hates you too much to be thinking straight. Please be careful for a
while.”

His
brilliant smile dissolved all her tension. “I like having you worry about me.
And I'll watch my back.” He squeezed her hand and then picked up the wine list.
“I think I could use a good stiff glass of red wine.”

Kate
laughed and looked around as Randall concentrated on his selection.

The
white marble pool was punctuated at each corner by a fifteen-foot tree,
decorated now with the foliage of fall. The wait staff's cummerbunds and
jackets matched the trees' color scheme. As her eyes swept the perimeters of
the high-ceilinged room, she was delighted by the ripple and shimmer of
thousands of strands of silvery beads hanging over the windows, creating the
illusion of rain or a waterfall cascading down. The room was spare and
minimally decorated, deriving its beauty from its lines and proportions. Even
the silver was architectural; David would have loved this.

Randall
had ordered the wine, and he handed Kate her menu, saying, “The food ought to
taste better here than at the hospital.”

“Nothing
tastes good in a hospital, although you certainly did your best.”

The
wine arrived and Randall went through the ritual tasting with brisk efficiency.
Once Kate's glass was filled, he lifted his in a toast. “Here's to the powers
of persuasion of a good meal and a fine wine.”

“I'm
not sure I should drink to that,” Kate objected, swirling the wine in her glass
as she inhaled its fragrant bouquet.

“I
never drink alone,” Randall said, pausing with his glass just before his lips
and locking his gaze on hers. “Bottoms up.”

Kate
took a cautious sip and then closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Umm, this is
delicious.”

Randall's
lips curved in a smug smile that Kate just caught. She raised an eyebrow at
him. “Don't smirk. It counteracts the effect of the wine.”

He
chuckled. The waiter arrived to take their order, and Kate had a grand time
choosing delicacies whose mere descriptions made her mouth water.

Once
they were alone, she said carefully, “Lucinda is very beautiful. It's hard to
believe she came from poverty. Of course, it's hard to believe that of you,
too.”

Randall's
smile evaporated. She saw him tense and then relax with a visible effort.
“Lucy's like the wine, better with age.”

“As
strange as it may sound, I'm glad to have met Gill and Lucinda. Putting faces
to the names makes your past seem more real to me.”

“Is
that a good thing?”

Kate
smiled wryly. “It depends on your point of view. I feel more included in your
life somehow.”

“Then
I'll fly you down to Texas tomorrow and show you the house where I grew up, if
it's still standing, and the dirt road where I learned to drive a
twenty-year-old pickup truck. Hell, maybe I can even find the truck again. Then
we'll visit my old dorm rooms and track down a few college buddies.” Randall
took a drink of wine.

Kate
laughed. “I want to see the oil wells you bought by mistake. That makes you
seem almost human.”

“I'm
about as human as they come.”

The
appetizers interrupted them. By tacit agreement, they kept the remainder of the
conversation on less emotional topics, and Kate found herself sliding under the
spell of his charm. He listened to every word she said, and his thoughtful
responses made her feel that she was in fact worthy of his undivided attention.
Her spirits lifted, then soared, and she sparkled in his company. Too soon the
last mouthful of chocolate soufflé melted on her tongue.

When
Randall rose, Kate was struck again by the power of his physical presence.
Sitting across from her, his eyes were level with hers and she felt his equal.
Standing, he dominated her view completely, and she experienced a quick grab of
panic at the thought of how he might dominate her life. Only if I let him, she
told herself as she preceded him out of the Pool Room with her head held high.

This
time she noticed both covert glances and overt stares from other diners as
Randall passed their tables. One man nodded and smiled a brief greeting. Julian
gave the sign that all was clear in the Grill Room and walked over to wish them
a warm good-night.

“I
feel like royalty,” Kate said as they walked down the stairs.

Randall
took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Then the dinner was a success.”

“Well,
it all depends on your point of view.”

Randall
arched an eyebrow and stepped back to let her through the door being held for
them. The Jaguar was pulled up directly in front of the restaurant's entrance
and the moment he saw them, the valet leapt to open the passenger door. “Have a
nice evening,” he said, closing the door ever so gently after Kate had settled
into her seat.

She
wondered if Randall even noticed how everyone jumped to open doors for him and,
of course, for his chosen consort. The thought made her giggle.

He
gave her a questioning look, but she only smiled and shook her head. Some jokes
were impossible to share.

Twenty Four

They
rode in companionable silence until Randall braked for a red light. “There's
something that's been bothering me all evening,” he said seriously.

“Really?”
Kate braced herself. “What is it?”

Hooking
a finger into the chiffon scarf where it curved around her neck, he said,
“This.”

Kate
grabbed for it as she felt the silky fabric slide out from under her collar,
but Randall was too quick. He whipped it out and tossed it onto the backseat,
leaving her clasping her hands over nothing but bare skin.

“Now
the view's much better. You have a beautiful neck,” he said, running the back
of his fingers along her jawline and down to the skin he had just uncovered.

“You're
trying to cloud my thinking again,” Kate said, as she attempted to ignore the
treacherous shiver of anticipation that streaked through her body.

“Does
it ever occur to you that maybe
you
cloud
my
thinking?” he complained.
“There I am, trying to review a contract at the office, and instead, I'm
thinking about the best way to get you back in bed with me. That's not doing me
any good, so I move on to trying to figure out how to pay for Clay's surgery
without getting lacerated by your very sharp pride. On top of that, I've
canceled two deals this week because of you.”

She
knew she looked like the cat who swallowed the canary but she couldn't keep her
smile under control. It thrilled her that he actually thought about her at
work.

“Serves
you right. They were bad deals to begin with.”

“Now
who's smirking?” Randall said, swinging the car onto the FDR Drive.

She
sighed with delight. “I love this route home. It's got a whole symphony of
bridges along it.”

“
A symphony of bridges
!”

Kate
stuck by her metaphor. “Yes. There are the big brassy bridges like the
Queensborough that we just went under and, up farther, the Triborough. Then the
string section intersperses itself with bridges like the Willis Avenue. The
little footbridges are the woodwinds, I guess. And it all crescendos to the big
guy, the George Washington Bridge. That's my favorite.”

“I've
never known anyone who had a favorite bridge.”

“You
don't know many engineers then.” She chuckled. “One of our best Sunday
afternoon outings with the boys was walking across the George Washington
Bridge. David loved the simple, functional lines of it. The boys loved being
two hundred odd feet in the air. I loved everything about it, but especially
the fact that mankind could conceive of and create such a grand structure for
such a practical purpose.”

“I
see that I'll have to reexamine my view of bridges. Maybe I could join one of
those Sunday afternoon outings.”

The
vision of strolling along the high, windswept walkway with Randall's big hand
wrapped around hers and the boys racing ahead was so vivid and so glorious that
Kate felt tears start in her eyes. She swallowed hard.

“I'm
sorry, I don't mean to intrude on a happy memory,” Randall said in a bleak
voice.

“No,
no, it's not that at all.” She shook her head decisively. She looked straight
ahead and said with dangerous honesty, “I hesitated because I realized that I
want to walk the bridge with you much too much for my peace of mind.”

His
smile gleamed in the dimness of the car. “Good.”

The
lighthouse at the end of Roosevelt Island flashed by, and Kate noticed that
Randall was weaving in and out of traffic with uncharacteristic aggressiveness.
She glanced over at him to see his eyes narrow as he looked in the rearview
mirror.

“What
is it?” she asked.

“You
may have made me paranoid, but I think we're being followed. Fasten your seat
belt, I'm going to do some dodging and weaving just to check.”

“I'm
strapped in,” she said, double-checking the security of the buckle as they
accelerated around a taxi. After several more quick ins and outs, she ventured
to say, “You're good at this.”

“I
took an evasive driving course a few years ago at the request of my insurance
company,” he said, checking the rearview mirror as he sped past a line of cars
and cut in front of them to move all the way over to the right lane. Slowing
down to a normal pace, he looked back again. Kate saw his lips tighten. “We're
definitely being followed,” he said.

“Do
you think it's Gill?” she asked nervously, turning to see a dark sedan pull in
one car behind them.

“Gill
himself? I doubt it, but it might be someone he hired. It's more likely to be
some freelance photographer looking for a picture.”

“You
get followed around by photographers?”

“Not
generally. But occasionally they'll latch on. I don't know who would buy a
picture of me, but I guess they have some market for it. I'm going to call
security,” he said, turning on his car phone. “Maybe they can scare them off.”

The
private security company answered on the second ring, and Randall explained the
situation and their location. “We're notifying the police now,” the dispatcher
assured him. “We recommend that you remain on the FDR and in motion.”

“No
problem,” Randall said.

“Do
you have one of those radio transponders you told the boys about in this car?”
Kate asked.

“Yes,
and I think it's about time to use it,” he said, reaching down to flip the
switch. “Now we'll get serious about losing them.”

Kate
took a firm hold of the hand grip above her door as Randall raced the Jaguar
through three lanes of traffic, accelerating and braking through openings that
appeared too small for a Volkswagen Beetle.

She
glanced over at him as the bridge to Randall's Island whipped past. His eyes
were focused on the road but a distinctly feral smile played over his lips. She
realized that incredibly, Randall was enjoying this mad dash through the night.
His voice startled her.

“Do
we take the brassy Triborough or the big guy?” he asked as the Jaguar
practically flew over a rise in the highway.

“The
George Washington,” Kate said, refusing to allow him to joke about the
situation. “The security company told us to stay in motion. You'll get stopped
at the Triborough.”

“All
right but let's make 'em think we're taking the Triborough,” Randall said,
speeding into the far left lane of the two which exited to the Triborough
Bridge. He flicked a look in the rearview mirror. “Good, they're moving with
us.”

The
lanes began to separate from the main highway and Kate gasped as Randall
suddenly swerved right across one lane of traffic, a dividing berm, and into
the left lane of the Harlem River Drive exit. She twisted around as she heard
horns blaring and brakes squealing. The pursuing car had forced its way through
behind them and was now rocking wildly right on their rear bumper.

“That
shook them up,” Randall said with satisfaction. Then he barked, “They're
pulling up on your side. Keep your head low, but see if you can see how many
people are in the car.”

Kate
scooted down in her seat and looked right. The driver had his window down and
was clearly shouting at them although she couldn't hear his words.

“There's
a driver and another person beside him,” Kate said. She was trying to peer into
the backseat when the passenger suddenly leaned forward and pointed a gun at
her. “Duck, he has a gun!” she yelled, dropping her head onto her knees.
Randall crouched down over the wheel and hit the gas harder.

“Where
are the God damned police?” he shouted, looking into the rearview mirror.

Kate
shifted in her seat. “Keep down,” he barked, putting his hand on her head and
holding her face against her knees. “I don't want you to get shot. Call
security,” he commanded the car phone.

A
different male voice answered instantly. “Mr. Johnson, we're trying to...”

“They're
pointing a gun at us,” Randall snarled. “Get the police here now.”

“Mr.
Johnson,” the voice tried again. “You're moving so fast that we're having
difficulty tracking you. The police are on their way.”

“Light
a fire under them. We're on the Harlem River Drive headed for the George
Washington Bridge. Tell them to meet us there.”

“Roger,
Mr. Johnson,” the voice confirmed.

“I
guess we made the bad guys mad,” Kate said, trying to sound normal from her
doubled-over position.

“I'm
sorry. You shouldn't be involved in this.”

He
had stopped cutting in and out of traffic and was simply staying ahead of their
pursuers' car. Kate took that as a sign that it was safe to raise her head.

“As
long as we're in it together, I'm fine,” she said and realized that it was the
absolute truth.

As
they rounded a corner, Yankee Stadium lit up the sky on their right like a
Christmas tree. Kate thought longingly of all the policemen who were stationed
around the stadium. But it was too far away to help them.

“The
Yanks are home tonight,” Randall commented in what struck Kate as an absurdly
conversational tone. “If the Series goes to seven games, I'll take the boys.”

His
attempt to ease the tension made her want to seem brave.

“I'll
buy the hot dogs,” she managed to choke out.

A
sign with a simple graphic picture of the George Washington Bridge caught their
headlights and she had a sudden inspiration.

“We
can lose them on the bridge! The towers have all sorts of cross-girders and
dark corners to hide in!” She closed her eyes to concentrate. She knew the GWB
better than anyone. How could they best utilize her knowledge?

“Last
time I looked, it was hard to park a car in four lanes of traffic,” Randall
said, weaving between two cars.

“Then
you didn't look very hard. There's space on the upper level just before you get
to where the cable meets the roadway.” She pulled up the picture in her mind.
“Right after we go under the apartment building built over the access road, the
right lane has to merge left and two lanes come in from the right. If you can
get across the two right lanes, there's a pull off for maintenance vehicles.”
She could tell he was listening intently. “We go over the pedestrian railing
onto the walkway and make a run for the tower. The only flaw is that we'll be
running in the same direction as traffic.” She tried to gauge how far they'd
have to run and decided that it was possible. Especially with fear-induced
adrenaline. “Thank goodness we're both wearing dark colors.” Kate looked down
at her pumps. “These won't do though.”

“Wait
a minute, Kate,” Randall said, as she slipped out of her shoes. “What happens
when we get to the tower?”

She
closed her eyes again, conjuring up both blueprints and memories of family
walks on the bridge. “We get onto the stairs and go down toward the lower
level. There are catwalks there that will take us onto the supports for the
upper roadway.”

“What's
stopping our friends from doing the same thing?”

“Surprise
for one thing; they won't expect us to stop on the bridge. Also there's the
slight problem that the stairs are behind solid steel gates with locks so you
have to know how to get on them. It can be done though.”

“All
right, how?”

She
could tell from his tone that he was now seriously considering her plan.

“You
have to climb over a four foot railing onto an extension of the security fence.
Then you reach across to a brace girder on the tower, and from there the stairs
are just an easy climb over another railing.” She deliberately omitted the fact
that below the security fence extension there was nothing but two hundred feet
of thin air over solid bedrock, and that the wind whipping up the Hudson River
was going to be powerful and cold.

She
underestimated Randall's analytical skills. “I don't suppose there's a safety
net.”

“Umm,
no,” she admitted.

“And
hitting water from two hundred feet up is not a good idea.”

“Actually,
the New York tower is on the shore. There's a nice park around the base.” And a
fence topped with razor wire, she mentally added. But that didn't really matter
except to one's imagination.

Randall
actually chuckled. “Well, that's much better. All right, we'll do it.”

Kate
took a deep breath. She briefly considered the fact that Randall was trusting
her with his life. Then she dismissed the thought as too disquieting and
concentrated instead on envisioning every step of their route.

Randall
spoke again. “When I pull over, you get out and start running immediately. I'll
catch up with you.”

“Got
it,” she said, bracing herself.

“Hang
on. Here we go,” Randall said.

Kate
glimpsed the awesome tangle of highways, bridges and access ramps which all
converged on the George Washington Bridge. Then they were charging up and
around the exit ramp, and a quick glance behind revealed that their enemies
were in hot pursuit. The next few seconds were a confused blur of taillights,
overpasses, and merges left and right. Randall rocketed unerringly toward the
upper roadway of the bridge. They blazed through the weird pinkish light of the
apartment building underpass and past the blinking electronic merge sign.