Crazy in Chicago (3 page)

Breath Roberta hadn't known she was holding escaped in a long sigh. Relief seeped through her. He wouldn't use last night's embarrassing incident. He . . . .

Relief smacked into a brick wall as a new idea upset her. Just because her neighbor wasn't using that incident now, didn't mean he wouldn't use it later. Like it or not, she'd have to probe further to discover his intentions.

She took a deep breath. “Ah . . . you know last night . . .” She searched for the right words. “Last night when I uh, when you said hello over the hedge?”

That provocative grin, the one that inspired in Roberta a strange mix of dread and anticipation, returned to his face. “Yes?”

“You aren't . . . you won't . . . I mean. Oh, dammit, you weren't thinking of using that in a story, were you?”

His forehead creased with puzzlement. “In a story? Why would I do that?”

With a sinking heart, Roberta realized the truth. Cody hadn't a clue what she'd been doing out there last night. By bringing up the subject, she was only making it more likely he would find out—and use the scene to ridicule SUFOW.

She swallowed and tried to feign lack of concern. “Oh, I don't know. Well, thanks for your time. I'll be going now.”

She rose and started to the door, praying she'd escape before he asked any more questions.

“So what were you doing out there anyway? You said no one was there. Who were you talking to?”

Roberta bit her lip. How could she brush him off? Slowly she pivoted.

Cody leaned back against the counter, his sinuous arms stretched out on either side. His eyes gleamed with a suspect light, and his lips turned up in a faint smile. He spoke quietly. “It's all right, Bobbi. You don't have to be embarrassed. I'm flattered that you issued an invitation to join you in your bed, even if you didn't know I was listening.”
 

Roberta's eyes widened. What stunning conceit! “Don't be ridiculous,” she snapped. “I'd never even seen you before. I was addressing aliens—”

She sputtered to a stop. She'd done it now. If only . . . .
 

“Aliens?” Cody straightened. “Did you say aliens?” Surprise, then puzzlement crossed his face, followed by a flash of understanding.

He stepped towards her. “You don't mean to say that you were asking aliens to abduct you?” Incredulity echoed in his voice.

“It's not what you think.”

“You mean there's some kind of sexual overtones I'm missing here? That you have an alien lover, perhaps?”

“No!” Roberta shrieked. Things were going from bad to worse. She grasped the chain around her neck, the chain holding the medal of St. Jude, the patron of hopeless causes, and telegraphed a wordless plea for help. Should she try to explain that her words were the result of frustrating weeks of overwork, tension and a complete lack of recognition by her boss of her contribution to the conference? Or would that just make everything worse?

“It's not what you think,” she repeated. She struggled to find a way to explain that wouldn't make her look sillier than she already did. “It's just—haven't you ever thought when things were piling up all around you that it might be easier to just disappear off the face of the Earth? I was just . . . just voicing my frustrations.”

Like a knife slashing through a curtain, every trace of humor disappeared from Cody's face. Quietly, and with a seriousness that puzzled Roberta, he said, “Disappearing is never a good answer to anything. No matter how bad things seem around you. Believe me, I know.”

Set aback by his change in tone, Roberta decided to take one more crack at convincing him to keep her secret. “Then . . . then you won't write about what I said in the garden last night?”

His gaze swept over her. With deliberate slowness, his lips curved upward in a killer smile. Despite the deep shadows under his eyes, they gleamed with good-natured humor.

“You're right. It would make an incredibly damning story. The scantily-clad assistant to the head of SUFOW begging aliens to take her in the middle of the night. The tabloids could have a field day with that one.”

He surveyed her again, taking his time. He didn't move. He didn't touch her. But his slow, considering gaze set every nerve in her body on edge. Roberta didn't know whether it was in anticipation or fear.

“But I don't think so,” he continued. His smile grew broader, and a lazy drawl she hadn't noticed before insinuated itself into his speech. “At least not yet.”

He moved towards her with the sinuousness of a leopard, his claws sheathed but danger still lurking below the surface. A foot away from her, he stopped and leaned against the wall.

“It would be very unneighborly, don't you think?”

The eyes holding hers gleamed with the richness of dark velvet. For one breathless moment Roberta feared he meant to kiss her.
 

The moment passed. He straightened and smiled again. “Besides, I'm going to need a lot of information over the next couple of weeks. Names, numbers, theories. You name it. And who better to help me than my little neighbor, the one with a secret she's desperate to keep.”

 

Chapter 2

 

Cody watched the door shut with a mixture of disappointment and relief. He'd enjoyed teasing the ever-so-earnest Roberta Vandenburg—or Bobbi as she'd nervously let slip on their first meeting—more than anything in a long time. It was like ribbing the kid sister he'd never had, with the added spice of physical attraction. But a man could go only so long without sleep. If he didn't get more than a couple of hours tonight, he wasn't sure he'd be able to function tomorrow.

He yawned, then raised his arms in one of those all-over stretches that felt so good, and in the past had always meant sleep was on the way. He started across the living room to the bedroom when, out of nowhere, a wave of debilitating nausea swept over him, buckling his knees and toppling him towards the floor. At the last moment, he grabbed for the wall.

Thirty seconds later the nausea passed, as completely and swiftly as it had come. When he was certain he wouldn't fall down, he let go of the wall. He swallowed to rid himself of the unpleasant metallic taste in his mouth, then wiped one hand across his sweat-slicked brow. Where had that come from?

He frowned. This same sensation of nausea had attacked him a half dozen times throughout the day, each time sapping him of strength before it passed seconds later. But once he'd come home, it had stopped, and he'd attributed it to a short bout of some passing bug.

He continued to his bedroom. Could it be simple exhaustion? It had been a full week now of nights of only one or two hours of sleep. Never in his life had he suffered anything like this—not even in the last year since his return. Amnesia maybe, but certainly no sleeping problems. Everything had just continued as it always had.

Except, of course, for his troubling loss of interest in women, an interest that had waned for the first time since third grade when he'd kissed his seat mate, Amy Hunter. But that was another story.

He stepped into his darkened bedroom, dropped his nylon shorts, and tossed them into a plastic hamper. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his arm muscles as he pondered the first spark of interest in a female he'd experienced in a long time. It had occurred last night, when he'd stumbled on his attractive neighbor lying on a lounge chair and begging to be taken.

He grinned in the darkness as he remembered the vivid scene, and the accompanying twinges of arousal, an arousal revived again this evening when she'd stepped across his threshold, dressed all in white and looking every inch a disgruntled angel.

He padded over to the glass door and peered out into the garden. Tonight no light shone from the neighboring door, its soft glow illuminating the space beyond his hedge.

She wasn't even his type, he mused. She was cute, earnest, with plump curves, and certainly no more than five foot two. Likely in her mid-twenties and not, thank God, the teenager he'd first thought. But she was also spunky, sweet and, apparently, responsible, as evidenced by her misguided attempt to ensure the reputation of her UFO organization.

He smiled as he turned back to the bed. Perhaps Bobbi—or Roberta as she'd insisted— was just what the doctor ordered: a remedy to both his insomnia and his lack of interest in women.

* * *

Cody spotted the correct street number and yanked his car to a halt in the space before it. He pulled the key from the ignition and stumbled out. Leaning against a parking meter, he waited for the swell of sickness to peak and fade away.

After a moment, he straightened. Cold sweat trickled down his face in the bright sunshine. He pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and mopped his forehead. Since the SUFOW conference had ended Saturday, Sunday and Monday had been free of the strange bouts of illness.

Except when he'd driven his Corvette. At first, he'd experienced only a nagging sense that something wasn't right. On Monday the sense of unease had blossomed into an upset stomach. Today the nausea had come surging back worse than ever. For a second, he'd feared he would crash.

His equilibrium returned, Cody shook his head, blinked up at the clear summer sky, and turned his attention to ninety-five Elm Street, home of SUFOW, The Society of UFO Watchers. The society occupied the first floor of a tidy-looking two-story house on a shaded street of similar houses, most of which had been converted to businesses or rental units.

Cody strode to the porch and up the steps to the door with the sign, “Come in. We're open.” Inside he found himself in a narrow, unoccupied reception area that ran the width of the house. At one side, under a tiny window, stood a desk crowded with a computer and printer. Beside them teetered a mountain of files, magazines and papers. Against the opposite wall, at the end of a long line of filing cabinets, sat a gray striped love seat and a pressboard coffee table.

Cody frowned. After his bout with nausea, the cramped space affected him unpleasantly. He looked longingly at the door on the wall opposite the one he'd just come in. Whatever was on the other side had to be better.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the door opened. Bobbi—Roberta—bustled through, holding an armful of files. Immediately the room brightened; Cody bit back the urge to whistle. She wore an orange silk sheath that hugged her curves and ended above smooth tanned knees. She seemed taller than he remembered. His gaze dropped to her feet and the butter-soft leather mules with their three-inch heels.

“Oh. I didn't hear you come in.” Color rushed to her cheeks.

Cody smiled again. No one would ever argue that Bobbi was a classic beauty. But there was something about her that appealed to him. Perhaps it was as simple as the fact that she was unable to hide her reaction to him. Could she be too shy or too inexperienced to recognize the first tingles of sexual attraction?

No matter. He had no intention of breaching office etiquette. But neither did he plan to let opportunity pass. Just the thought of the seduction he planned stirred him as nothing had for months.

Roberta looked at her watch. “You're early,” she accused.

“Yes. I came here straight from home. It didn't make much sense to go to
The Streeter
when your offices are on the way.”

“Well, I've only got together a couple of the reports you wanted. It will take me a few minutes to find the tapes of the other speakers, as well as the list of contacts and their numbers.”

“That's all right. I don't mind waiting.”
 

Cody looked around once more, than settled himself on the couch. “You don't have much room here,” he said conversationally.

“No, I don't.” Her backside faced him as she pulled open a filing cabinet and began to pore through the contents.

He watched with growing interest as she bent and her dress slid up the back of her legs. The silky material molded to her firm, round buttocks, the starting point for a thousand heated fantasies.

His mouth grew dry and he swallowed. Leering was definitely not his style. But today he couldn't seem to help it. To all intents, he'd been dead to sex for the last year. Suddenly, thanks to his early morning encounter with Bobbi, his interest had reawakened. Just thinking about making love to her aroused him more than he could remember. His head filled with a vivid picture of how and where that might take place.

“Is something wrong?”

He looked up to find Roberta standing puzzled in front of him. “No,” he said quickly.

She frowned. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I'll be a while longer.”

He folded his hands strategically across his lap. “No, thanks.” Hell, he was acting like a teenage boy caught in an heated clinch. This was ridiculous.

“Oh, okay. Here are copies of the three abduction reports you also asked about. You'll note that the names have been removed to protect the abductees' privacy. Of course, you can always speak to Dr. Jones for permission to talk to them.”

As if on cue, the outside door swung open. Garnet Jones, cool and professorial-looking in a tan linen jacket and khaki pants, breezed into the room. “Good morning, Roberta. I hope you've . . .”