Dawn Stewardson (13 page)

“No, Sully, I want to go with you. I really do. Besides, you might need my help. His building’s bound to have security, and it’s easier for a woman to talk her way around a doorman. And we make a great team, remember? Which means I should definitely be along.”

He didn’t say a word, merely stood gazing at her, the look in his eyes saying he’d be kissing her if the boys and her driver weren’t watching. So where were magic wands when you needed them? She’d dearly love to make everyone else disappear for a few minutes.

“I know you have a good point,” he said at last, “but I still don’t think—”

“Let’s wait until Saturday to decide, all right?”

“Well…all right.”

“Good. I’ll expect you around two, then.” Her heart had started pounding, so she paused long enough for a deep, slow breath. Even though she’d already decided to take the risk, that didn’t mean it wasn’t incredibly scary.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said as the driver opened her door. “You don’t have to wear a suit to the exhibit opening unless you’d like to. A lot of Marisa’s artist friends would boycott it if they had to wear suits.”

“Oh…right…glad you thought to tell me.”

She gave him a smile that made him wish she wasn’t leaving. Then the driver closed her door, climbed into the front, and they were on their way.

Sully stood staring after them, thinking about the opening. He’d thought about it a lot since she’d first mentioned it. But despite all his thinking, he hadn’t come up with an excuse to get himself out of having to go. And after she’d come all the way up here and helped him with Ben, there was no way he could say he wasn’t going. Not even if, by Saturday, he’d thought of the most fantastic excuse in the history of the free world.

No, he was a doomed man. He’d have to meet her parents. And her sister. And her brother. Not to mention the assortment of other relatives.

It was going to be like running a gauntlet, he just knew it was. Or facing an entire panel of Spanish Inquisitioners. Or being caught in sniper fire in the middle of a barren field.

He didn’t have a single doubt about how awful it would be. The only thing he didn’t know was which Van Slyke would take the first potshot at him.

R
ATHER THAN
10:00 a.m., it was more like eleven before the boys got away from Eagles Roost. That meant, Sully thought, glancing at his watch, he probably wouldn’t make it to Lauren’s before three. If the traffic was bad, it would be well after.

He gave her a quick call to say he’d be late, then loaded Roxy into the van. Once he’d dropped her off at old Zeke Scrouthy’s, he headed for the Adirondack Northway—which, southbound, would take him practically into Manhattan.

By the time he reached the highway, he’d begun thinking about how he was going to convince Lauren she shouldn’t go to see Dirk Blackstone with him. That just wasn’t a good idea when Blackstone was a crook.

Oh, he might be a rich crook, with enough money to pay somebody like Leroy Korelenko to do his dirty work, but he was still a crook. And in case he turned out to be trouble, as well, it would be far better if Lauren wasn’t along.

If she was bound and determined to go, though, how was he going to stop her? After considering the question for a few miles, he decided the easiest thing would be to take her with him but convince her to wait in the van. At least until he’d had a chance to scope things out.

That problem solved, he forgot about Blackstone and let himself think about the prospect of spending time with Lauren. The thought was so appealing that every time the odometer clicked over another mile he grew more eager to reach the city. By the time he was heading across the Triborough Bridge toward Manhattan, he could hardly keep a smile off his face.

He’d always been a decisive man, so all the indecision he’d felt about her had bothered him. But he’d done some rational thinking after she’d left Eagles Roost on Wednesday, and he’d realized he hadn’t been seeing the forest for the trees, that Lauren wasn’t her money or her family or any of the other things that had been bothering him. She was simply herself. So he wasn’t going to keep dwelling on the fact that she was up to her beautiful blue eyes in money.

He turned down Lexington, drove south a few blocks, then cut over to Fifth Avenue, wondering why that forest-trees thing hadn’t occurred to him right off the bat, why he’d let all the other stuff bother him so much he hadn’t zoomed right in on what a terrific person she was.

Because she really was. The kids liked her, Grace and Otis liked her, even Roxy liked her. As for him… Well, he liked her so much he’d begun to wonder if he wasn’t well on his way to loving her.

That possibility, he had to admit, was more than a little unnerving, but he was trying not to let it worry him too much. And as for this weekend, he intended to simply enjoy being with her.

The traffic on Fifth Avenue was heavy, but he eventually reached her building—a beautiful old dark brick place just above East Seventy-third—and turned the van over to the parking valet stationed by the front door. Since there was still no trace of Lauren’s car, she’d arranged for him to use her space.

When he got to the building’s entrance, he stepped aside and waited while a woman with a large black poodle made her way out. The dog had a rhinestone-studded leash and pink bows on its ears—bows that any self-respecting country dog would have torn to shreds rather than be seen wearing in public.

The doorman exchanged pleasantries with the woman, patted the dog, then turned his attention to Sully. He was extremely polite, but it was clear he was the first line of defense against any riffraff who might try to get in.

The second line of defense was lurking inside the lobby—another doorman type, who called up to Lauren’s apartment to make sure she was actually expecting company.

“Mr. Sullivan?” he said, hanging up his phone. “Go right on up, sir.”

He nodded, then headed over to the elevators and stood absently gazing around while he waited. From the street, the place had clearly said “money”—even if it said it in a subdued way. In the lobby, the word was quietly echoed by marble, wood and expensive furnishings. All in all, Lauren’s building was even more impressive than what he’d been imagining, and he’d been imagining something pretty impressive.

When one of the elevators finally arrived and carried him smoothly up to the ninth floor, the door opened onto a hallway with walls papered in pale green grass cloth. The dark green carpet felt a foot deep beneath his shoes.

There were only four apartments on the entire floor, two on either side of the elevators, which meant each of them had to be enormous. He was just about to check the numbers for Lauren’s when one of the doors opened and there she was.

Hot on Dirk Blackstone’s trail

“H
I
,”
LAUREN SAID
from her apartment doorway, giving Sully one of her fabulous smiles.

He simply gazed at her. He couldn’t figure out how she managed to keep getting more beautiful every time he saw her, but she did. Her pale blue dress made her eyes look impossibly, heart-stoppingly bright.

“Are you coming in?” she asked, stepping back to let him past her and into an entrance foyer as big as an oversized bedroom.

Fleetingly, he wondered how clean her creamy marble floor would stay if his kids were running around on it. Then she shut the door and smiled at him again, driving every last thought of the boys from his mind.

“Let’s just hang that in here for the moment,” she said, taking his garment bag and slipping it into a closet.

“Thanks. I thought about dropping it off at my buddy’s, but it makes more sense to just change here, right?”

“Right,” she said, turning back to him.

He hesitated a second, then draped his arms around her waist, pulled her close and kissed her.

Just as he was thinking they didn’t have to be in any hurry to leave for Dirk Blackstone’s, she murmured, “Sully?”

“Mmm?” He kissed her once more.

“Sully?” She whispered against his mouth. “We have to talk for a minute.”

Reluctantly, he loosened his arms to let her take a backward step—pleased when she reached for his hand as she did.

“Come into the living room,” she said, leading him across the sea of marble. It flowed from the foyer over to the far side of the living room and along into a formal dining room off the far end. Here and there, the marble was covered by lush area rugs the color of toasted almonds.

Not letting go of Lauren’s hand, he wandered over to the windows and checked out her view of Central Park, reminding himself again that he wasn’t going to think about her money—which was proving a little tough when her apartment made him feel like the proverbial fish out of water.

“Beautiful place,” he said, thinking how completely different it was from Eagles Roost.

“Thanks. I really like it. But let’s sit for a minute.”

He walked over to a couch with her, taking another quick glance around as they sat down. The room, about the size of a football field, was decorated with a combination of antiques and big overstuffed furniture covered in a pale yellow print. Between the boys’ snacks and their sneakers, they could really do a number on that fabric.

The only thing in the entire room that didn’t look expensive was Killer, who even clean and groomed looked like a streetwise tom. He sat unobtrusively in a wing chair, watching Sully through golden slits of eyes.

Figuring he’d leave renewing acquaintances with the cat for later, Sully focused on the large paintings that hung on one long wall. Like the furniture, they were pale in color, and the four of them were obviously related somehow—all depicting some sort of Medieval theme. They weren’t abstract, but were hardly realistic, either.

“Do you like them?” Lauren asked.

“In a way,” he said honestly.

“They’re my sister’s. Part of a series she’s just finished called
Dreaming of Lancelot and Guinevere.
Some of the others are in her new exhibit.”

He nodded, wishing he’d known to read up on the Knights of the Round Table.

“So,” Lauren went on, “I’m afraid there’s been a slight hitch in our plans.”

For a joyous half second he thought she was going to tell him the exhibit opening had been postponed. Then she said, “Chester ran into a bit of a problem when he tried to check on Blackstone’s fax number. He’d expected that matching it up with a home or office would be straightforward, but it wasn’t.”

“You mean we don’t have our friend’s address or phone number.”

“No, not yet.”

That started a sinking feeling in the pit of Sully’s stomach. He dearly wanted to know why Blackstone was so eager to buy Eagles Roost, and the sooner he knew, the happier he’d be. But if he couldn’t get to the guy this weekend he’d be out of luck until after Grace and Otis were back. The baseball team’s camping trip was a once-a-summer event.

He realized Lauren had been speaking and looked at her once more. “Sorry? My mind was wandering.”

“I said that Chester still figures he can get what we want, he just ran out of time. In fact, when he called me to explain what had happened, he was at the airport—on his way to some out-of-town job.”

“And he gets back when?”

“In a week or so. But he said if we didn’t want to wait, we could have a shot at it ourselves.”

“Good, then we will.”

Lauren smiled. “Now, how did I know that’s exactly what you’d say?”

“Because you’re clairvoyant?”

She laughed at that.

When she did, it took a major effort not to reach for her. But he knew if he did, he might forget Blackstone even existed.

“The only thing about doing it ourselves,” she said, “is that Chester was worried we’d blow it. And he said if we did, we might make it harder for him.”

“So we won’t blow it. What do we do?”

“Well, the problem is that the fax number Ben had isn’t for a private fax machine. It’s the number of a business called Fax Depot, on Forty-Second Street—a place that still sends and receives faxes for people, believe it or not. Blackstone’s one of their customers.”

“I’d have thought,” Sully muttered, “a guy with twenty thousand bucks to give Leroy Korelenko would have his own fax machine.”

“Maybe he does. Maybe he just doesn’t want anyone being able to track him down too easily.”

Sully shook his head. “This Blackstone is sounding weirder all the time. But if Fax Depot’s been receiving his messages, then they’ve got to know how to get hold of him. So all we have to do is head over there and get our information, right? It must be open on Saturdays.”

“It’s open 24/7. But as Chester put it, companies don’t merrily hand out information about their customers.”

“No, I guess they generally don’t. So we’ll have to convince someone to make an exception.”

K
NOWING THEY’D NEVER FIND
a place to park near Fax Depot, Lauren had convinced Sully they should take a taxi rather than his van. If he’d driven, they’d have ended up with a long walk down Forty-Second Street—not something she’d relish on a day that was sweltering.

“Do you have much cash with you?” she asked Sully as the taxi crawled down Fifth Avenue.

“You mean enough to pay for the cab?” Sully said. “Sure, I can handle it.”

“No, I mean enough to get us the information.”

Sully shook his head. “It’s been a long time since I lived in the city. You forget that people here don’t do favors unless there’s something in it for them.”

“Well, they don’t. And Chester figured this something would be a minimum of two hundred dollars.”

Sully looked distinctly annoyed. “We’d better find a bank machine, then,” he muttered.

“No, it’s okay. I didn’t think you were likely to come armed with a stack of fifties, so I got some.” She took the bills out of her purse and handed them to him.

“All right,” he said slowly. “After we’ve seen how many of these it takes, I’ll write a check.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. The money doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

She hesitated, something in his tone telling her not to argue. “Fine,” she said at last. “Fine, you can write me a check later.”

“And what about Chester?”

“What about him?”

“I mean, you told him to send his bill to me, didn’t you?”

“There’s not going to be one. He said he owed Elliot a couple of favors.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

Sully eyed her suspiciously, which she found rather insulting. “I’m positive,” she said firmly. “But I don’t know what you’re so concerned about. It’s only money.”

“It’s only
your
money,” he said slowly, making her wish she hadn’t let her remark slip out. It obviously didn’t take much to hurt his pride.

“Look,” he went on, “We’d better get something straight here. I really like you. I wouldn’t be with you today if I didn’t. But I’m still having trouble with the fact that you’re so incredibly rich.”

“I was hoping we were past that,” she said uneasily.

“I’m doing my best, Lauren, I really am. I’ve been telling myself I’m just not going to think about your money, but it’s hard not to when you give me a wad of fifty-dollar bills.”

“I was only trying to help.”

“I know you were.” He shot her a wry smile, then took her hand. “Look, I know it wouldn’t bother a lot of men but it bothers me. So all I can do is keep trying not to let it, and I’ll probably be okay with it after a while.”

Or maybe he wouldn’t be. With that thought, a tiny chill wrapped itself around her heart. She looked away from him and glanced out of the taxi.

They’d turned onto Forty-Second Street, but were still barely moving in the traffic, and she could suddenly imagine Sully opening his door, getting out of the taxi and walking straight out of her life. That wasn’t something she wanted to even imagine, let alone see happen.

When she’d left Eagles Roost on Wednesday, she hadn’t been certain whether she was on the brink of falling in love with him or already beyond it. When she’d opened her door today and seen him standing in the hall, she’d felt so overjoyed it had left no doubt in her mind.

So as much as she wouldn’t want a man to love her only for her money, she didn’t want Jack Sullivan not to love her because of it. Not now that she was sure she was in love with him.

S
ULLY PULLED THE THIRD
fifty out of his pocket and slipped it to the manager—a sweaty guy with beady eyes, a pointy nose and a two-day growth of beard. The three features combined to make him resemble a weasel.

Even as he was slipping the bill into his own pocket, he was saying, “Like I told ya, my friend, my job would be on the line if anyone found out.”

When Sully looked at Lauren, she gave him an encouraging smile that said she figured he was almost there, so he temporarily dismissed the idea of grabbing the weasel by the shirtfront and explaining a few facts of life to him.

Instead, he glanced around the nearly empty store and said, “It doesn’t look to me as if anybody’s paying the slightest attention to us.”

“Well, I guess a couple more fifties would make it worth the risk.”

Trying to ignore the way the pulse in his temple was throbbing, Sully dug out two more bills. They disappeared into the weasel’s pocket faster than the eye could see, as if he knew he’d been pressing his luck.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he promised, starting for his office.

“If there are many guys like him wandering around this city,” Sully muttered to Lauren, “it’s no wonder the murder rate’s so high.”

“At least we’re getting what we want,” she pointed out.

A minute or two later, when the weasel popped back out of his office, he was clutching a sheet of paper.

“See?” she murmured. “He’s got our information right in his hot little hand.”

Sully hoped she was right, but the guy seemed to be sweating even harder than he’d been before, which was hardly a promising sign.

He reached them and cleared his throat. “This here’s a printout of Blackstone’s account for the month,” he said, handing over the sheet. “It’s the least I can do for ya, my friend.”

“What’s this?” Sully muttered, staring at it. The phone number space was blank. And all that was printed on the address line was
Deposit account balance: $216.45.

He passed the page to Lauren, then focused on the weasel again. “Okay,
my friend,
what’s your game? Where’s the information I paid for?”

The man took a step backward, saying, “Hey, I ain’t’ playin’ no game. See, I forgot that Blackstone never filled out our forms.”

“What do you mean?” Lauren said.

“I mean the guy said he didn’t like leavin’ personal information for just anyone to see. So we got no way of reachin’ him. He just calls every couple of days and checks if anythin’s come for him. If somethin’ has, he stops by.”

Sully’s patience had run out, so he grabbed the front of the weasel’s shirt, pulling him closer. “Look,” he said into his face, “don’t try to sell me a load of junk. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if you don’t have an address for him, how do you bill him?”

The weasel swallowed hard. “That’s what the deposit account’s all about. He paid five hundred bucks up front. And every so often he bumps up the balance. So, long as we got more of his money than he’s got fax charges, we can live without an address or phone number.”

“Why, you little—”

“Sully?” Lauren said, resting her hand on his arm. “Sully, if he doesn’t have them he doesn’t have them.”

“Right. Well if he doesn’t have them he doesn’t have our two hundred and fifty bucks, either. Hand it over,” he ordered, letting go of the weasel’s shirt.

“Wait a sec.” He quickly stepped back again—far enough that he was completely out of reach this time. “How ’bout we work somethin’ else out?”

“Like what?”

“Like next time somethin’ comes in for him, I let you know he’ll be comin’ by?”

“No good,” Sully snapped. He couldn’t be two places at once, and he had to head back to Eagles Roost tomorrow.

“Could you at least describe him for us?” Lauren asked.

The weasel looked at her, then gave her a sly smile. “Sure I can, lady. Tell you what. I describe him and I only give your boyfriend back half his money. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said before Sully could open his mouth.

“Great,” Sully muttered under his breath. He hadn’t wanted to leave this creep with a dime of his money, never mind a hundred and twenty-five bucks. And unless Blackstone had two heads or something, what good was a description when there were eight million people in New York City?

The weasel reluctantly dug $125 from his pocket and handed it over, saying, “Okay, Blackstone’s a white guy. About forty. Average height. Average weight. Good-lookin’ guy, I guess. Yeah, I’d have to say he’s a good-lookin’ guy.”