Divine (24 page)

A curious feeling stirred in Mary's stomach. What sort of work did he have in mind? Was this where the handcuffs would come in? She steadied herself. "Why?"

Sympathy filled Clayton's eyes. "People still remember you, Mary." He pointed to himself. "I recognized you after only a few minutes." He folded his hands around his coffee mug. "I think you'd feel better if you worked from here."

"On the computer, you mean?"

"Yes." He motioned to the den, where a desk and a computer were already set up. "I'll give you files to work on, and you can do the work in there."

Relief soothed the wrinkles in Mary's soul. Clayton was talking about honest work, not the sort of thing Jimbo had had for her. But still . . . why wasn't he interested in her? even a little interested? "When do I start?"

"Monday. I'll have a stack of work delivered. The files will be easy to figure out." Clayton took a long swig of his coffee. "You mentioned wanting to get to New York. Tell me about what's there."

Mary told him the bare details, how Grandma Peggy had loved her and how she had had a pink room at her grandmother's flat. "I'm not sure exactly where she lives, but if she's still alive, she's looking for me."

"I'm sorry, Mary." His eyes were sympathetic, but even here—relaxing with coffee—the power that came from him was electrifying. "One day I'll take you there, and together we'll find her, okay?"

Was he serious? All this and help finding her grandma too? She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Whatever happened next, whatever life Clayton Billings had in mind for her, it would be the thing she was born to do. Because no one outside her mama and her grandma had ever cared this much for her.

Not even Nigel Townsend.

The days blurred, and Mary began doing the file work Clayton had brought her. When he visited her later that week he complimented her. "You're a good worker. Maybe we can get you into the office sooner than I thought."

Every compliment he gave her, every hour he spent with her, Mary fell more in love with him. Never mind Nigel and the kindness in his eyes and voice. Clayton had a different sort of kindness and a power that was unmatched by anyone she'd ever known. Spending time with him was like realizing her purpose in life. When he visited she would hang on every word he said and secretly hope he'd never leave.

At the end of the next week, Clayton came earlier than usual. He sat her down at the table and took her hand. Excitement was in his eyes and at the corners of his lips. "I thought of another job for you."

Mary's heart wasn't sure which direction to go. She was happy, of course. If Clayton had thought of another job, then that meant he trusted her. Trust could lead to love, couldn't it? And love might mean she would spend the rest of her life with Clayton Billings.

He touched her cheek, her chin. "I want you to be my friend, Mary." He waved his hand at the rest of the penthouse. "I'll come by more often—maybe every day—and you can have coffee with me and listen to me. Make me feel special." He smiled and wet his lips with his tongue. "How does that sound?"

It sounded wonderful, especially if it meant Clayton would visit her more often. "Would I. . . would I still work on the files?"

"Yes, in the mornings." He let his hand rest on hers. "But the afternoons would be more relaxing. Spending time with me."

"But... I need to make money." She looked around her new home. "I can't expect you to keep paying for everything."

"You know what I think?" He brought his hand back to his side. "I think you've worked enough. For now you can be my special girl, someone I can talk to and visit, someone I can take care of." He smiled, and the sincerity in his face lit the room. "The other people in my life don't listen like you do, so that can be your job. What do you think?"

Mary brought her hands together, and her heart jumped at the possibility. "Really?" How amazing was Clayton Billings? For every horrible turn her life had taken, this was the break she'd been waiting for. Clayton wasn't talking about having his needs met—though she wouldn't have minded. In some ways she wanted to meet those needs so she could show him a sort of love in return for all the love he was showing her. But at least he wasn't demanding that of her. He only wanted to take care of her, talk to her, visit her, and know that she was safe.

The fairy tale was showing no signs of ending.

Then, like the sudden change of music in a scary movie, Clayton's eyes grew dark. "One thing, though." He leaned forward. "My wife must never, ever know about you. She can't know, or I could lose everything."

What? Wife?
Mary felt the blood leave her face. Clayton was married? The room tilted wildly to one side, and she gripped the table to keep from falling. "You're . . . you're married?"

He chuckled. "Of course I'm married. I've been happily married for almost twenty years."

"But... I thought. . ." She felt like a fool. All this time she let herself believe that Clayton would fall for her eventually. Sometime very soon. She tried to catch her breath. "I didn't know, Clayton."

His eyes grew still darker. "You staying here, this job—it has to be our secret." He shook his head. "Betty would never say a word." He stopped, his eyes locked on hers. "And you can't either." He chuckled. "My wife would divorce me and take half of everything I've worked for if she found out about you."

Mary felt sick, and she wasn't sure she could stay at the table. Nothing he was saying made sense. Okay, so he had a wife. He hadn't crossed any lines with her, hadn't shown any interest that could pass as more than helpfulness and generosity. So why would his wife care? "I don't. . . understand."

He slid closer to her. His hand came over hers again. "You're mine now, Mary." He smiled. "If I want you to file, you'll file. If I need a friend, you'll listen." He raised his brow. "You want that, right?"

"Yes." Her answer was quick. "I want everything you've given me."

"Okay, then." He looked calmer. "I need you to promise you'll keep what we have a secret. And that you'll never, ever leave this building without calling me first."

Mary stared at him. "I can't leave without calling you?"

"No." A hint of anger flashed in his eyes. "I'll give you my cell-phone number and—" he took his wallet from his pocket and peeled off a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them to her—"I'll make sure you have money whenever you need it." He tucked his wallet back in his pants. "If you need anything at all, just call me." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It's not like you're my prisoner. I just want to know where you are."

Mary counted the cash in her hands. She felt her eyes grow wide. Five hundred dollars? She'd never seen that much money in all her life.
Don't look too excited,
she scolded herself.
Of course he has money. He owns half the city.
Something else ... he trusted her. Jimbo had never let her out of the house without standing at her side. But Clayton was giving her money and the chance to venture out and spend it as she chose. All she had to do was call him first.

"Here." He took a cell phone from his other pocket and handed it to her. "The penthouse won't have phone service. This is how I'll reach you. My phone number is programmed in the address book." He showed her how to access it. "That way you'll always remember to call me."

She took it and felt her heart rate settle back to normal. Clayton wasn't asking anything strange of her. He merely wanted to keep his friendship with her a secret, and he wanted to know where she was. That was part of being cared for, wasn't it? And maybe one day he would grow tired of his wife—who clearly wasn't very understanding. He'd leave her, and the two of them would get married instead.

The dream still lived. "Thank you, Clayton." She put the cell phone on the counter behind the table. "I understand about this being our secret."

"One more thing." He leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees. His face was more serious than before. "You must only use the phone to call me or to order food or supplies. No personal phone calls. I'll have a record of every number dialed out and every call that comes in. Do you understand?"

She didn't. But maybe this wasn't the time to talk about it. Once he got to know her better, once he realized that he could trust her, he'd let her make phone calls. She needed to find her grandma still, and it wouldn't hurt to call Nigel and tell him she was okay. But for now she dismissed the idea. She nodded. "Whatever you want."

Clayton was looking at her, watching. Waiting. In his eyes was something Mary was familiar with. He might not want favors from her or a chance to have his needs met. But he wanted her. He was drawn by her beauty the same as any other man. It was the reason he wanted to keep her all to himself. The realization made her love him more than ever. If she had this type of power over him now—when she hadn't shown him what she was capable of—then she could only imagine how he'd fall for her later.

Once she could show him the kind of love she knew about.

"Well . . ." Clayton gave a nervous laugh. "Have I made myself clear? No one can know about this. No one."

She was willing to live by his rules. If her prince only stopped by the palace every now and then, so be it. The love they shared was already better than anything she'd had before. Even if they were only friends. Still, she wanted to know exactly what was at stake. She put her forearms on the table. "Tell me. What'll happen if someone finds out?"

The smile faded, and his laughter died in his throat. "You wanna know?"

"Yes." She was playing with him, teasing.

"If my wife finds out about us . . ." His tone was easy and joking, like hers. But his eyes were stone cold. "I'll have to kill you, Mary."

Her body went cold and she couldn't move, couldn't breathe. When her heart jump-started back into a partial rhythm, she stood. "Clayton! That's an awful thing to say."

He laughed and leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Don't take everything so seriously." His laughter faded, and this time his eyes sparkled. "I'd never hurt you." He touched her knee with the tips of his finger, sending shivers through her body. "Just don't ever tell anyone." His eyes searched hers. "Okay?"

"Okay." Her breathing wasn't back to normal until he left half an hour later. Only then did she wander to the wall of windows and stare out over the city. He'd been kidding her, right? She was his employee, his friend, someone who could listen to him. A man as kind as Clayton Billings would never kill anyone. Especially not her. His career, his reputation, his freedom would all be lost.

As the night played out, as she washed her face with soft, sweet-smelling creams and tucked herself into a bed thick with luxurious sheets and blankets, she thought about what he'd said:
"I'll have to kill you, Mary . . . kill you, Mary. . . kill you, Mary."
For all the ways her new life felt like a fairy tale, she fell asleep thinking about living by herself and waiting for Clayton, keeping quiet around strangers and avoiding phone calls. In the frightening hours between midnight and six in the morning, she had the strongest, most sickening sense that Clayton's scary words might not be teasing at all.

But a very real, very desperate threat.

There was a distance in Emma's eyes, and it worried Mary. She set her empty iced-tea glass down and studied the woman across from her. "I found out later that Grandma Peggy caught up with Nigel a week after I'd left."

That got Emma's attention. She frowned. "You mean she left New York and came to Washington, DC?"

"Yes. The police realized the mistake they'd made, and they contacted her. She was on the next flight to DC, and the next morning she met Nigel at the New Life Center. By then Nigel had already notified the police of my disappearance. No one knew where I was." Mary stopped for a moment. It was still tragic how close they'd come to finding each other. She would've been spared so much if only she hadn't gone with Clayton. "My grandma wondered if I was dead, but Nigel didn't think so."

"Why?" Emma looked edgy again, as if her own thoughts had taken a front seat and she couldn't wait to leave the room.

"Nigel's always been a praying man. God gives him a sense, and whenever I came to his mind, that was especially true. He told my grandma not to give up, that I was alive out there somewhere." Mary took a quick breath. "My grandma spent two days combing the streets. She made a poster with my picture on it, the one from my file at the New Life Center."

Again a distance filled Emma's eyes, but this time she said nothing.

"After a few days, Grandma Peggy went back to Nigel and told him what he already knew. Wherever I was, only God could bring me back again." Mary hesitated. "The next day, Summer paid Nigel a visit. She told him that I had been in love with him and that she saw me walking away from the mission. Nigel shared the information with my grandma, and they both became convinced that 1 was alive."

Emma nodded. "Should we pick up again tomorrow?"

Mary hid her disappointment. "All right." What was it in Emma's eyes? Was she realizing the decision that lay ahead? Were the voices taunting her, telling her to go back to Charlie? She lowered her voice. "Emma . . . what's wrong?"

"Nothing." She twisted her fingers together and tapped her foot. "I need a fix, I guess."