Forever Mine (24 page)

Allie shivered at the possibility of his continuing to elude a multi-state dragnet.

Ben took a step toward her. “Forget about it. Just keep busy. He puts one foot on your front steps, and he’s toast.”

Her business concluded, the jitters that had quieted earlier now jumped into her stomach. She couldn’t think of a graceful way to exit. “Okay then.”

She backed out of the doorway.

He stayed put, his gaze locked onto hers. Then he broke eye contact and resumed his seat.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The strain Allie thought might reoccur when Ben arrived the next day never materialized.

A good night’s sleep had quelled her jitters. Ben also appeared at ease, although, by his own admission, he’d placed his job in jeopardy when he kissed her. For all she knew, when his shift had ended last night and he’d arrived home, he may have given himself a good symbolic kick in the rear end. Or maybe the realization had struck him he’d encountered no resistance, so she’d keep mum about the incident.

Allie figured it along those lines. Anyway, she was far too busy putting the finishing touches on the garments she’d show at the semi-finals the next night to give their slip from grace too much thought. Her eyes rarely strayed from checking zippers, snipping stray threads and adjusting hems. So their relationship, such as it was, continued as if the intimate moment had never happened.

The night of the semi-finals, there was no question they were solidly back on a professional standing. Allie was due at the venue, the massive tent erected behind City Hall, at seven. Shortly after, the guests would begin to be seated. At seven-forty-five sharp, the first model would parade down the runway. To ensure double protection, Ben and Thompson had readjusted their schedules for the day. Ben bumped back his arrival time to nine a.m. so Thompson could catch a few hours of sleep then hook up with them when they arrived at the venue that evening. The event was scheduled to conclude at approximately eleven. Allie blocked from her mind the possibility of Dave turning up and throwing everything into chaos.

She’d dressed in a knee-length black skirt and emerald-green silk jacket over a short-sleeve ecru silk blouse. She assumed Ben had stashed his gun in a shoulder holster under his brown tweed jacket—she’d already warned both detectives they were not welcome behind the stage once they carried in the garment bags. To avoid questions from the promoter, she’d provided the detectives with entry passes. Both had promised to remain inconspicuous.

After hearing of Allie’s idea to hire a van to transport everything, Ben had scotched the plan and volunteered his brother-in-law’s SUV with fold-down back seats. She hoped she wouldn’t have to transport anything home since the lucky four who made it into the finals had to leave their entries. The clothes would be the property of the sponsors until after the concluding event in September.

Allie hadn’t divulged to Ben about her commandeering Michaela to help with the clothes since each semi-finalists was allowed an assistant. They’d made the arrangement weeks before, but she hadn’t told the detectives. Allie waited until they’d loaded the last garment bag into the SUV before broaching the subject.

She started with a pleasant smile, which in no way portended her girding for a battle. “Did I tell you each contestant is allowed an assistant?”

Suspicion crimped his features. “Assistant? No, there was no mention of help. You said no one is allowed backstage.”

If he thought she was drafting him for the job, in spite of the prohibition, she hurried to reassure him. “Only those incapable of assisting are banned.”

His eyes narrowed, held hers. “What exactly are you trying to say? You mean you know someone who’s
capable
and he or she is going to be back there with you?”

Allie nodded, made every effort to keep at bay the guilty look itching to streak across her face. “It’s a she.”

“Whoever it is, the answer is no.”

“Ben, it’s absolutely necessary.” She went on to explain the time constraints. “When my model, Fiona, steps out of one garment, another must immediately be ready for her.”

He shook his head. “Out of the question.”

“Why?” Her determination not to be steamrolled edged her voice. The man never seemed to run out of restrictions.

“First of all, it’s a lousy idea. Second, protecting you is more than enough to handle.”

She leaned against her work table and cupped her palms along the edge.

“I’ve never heard of anything more ridiculous. Detective Thompson will be there for extra protection. Also, there’ll be two hundred people out front.”

“Third, there’ll be two hundred people out front which makes it even more dangerous. And did I remember to mention the effort it’s going to take to make sure you’re safe. Another woman back there adds another complication and worry.”

Allie wanted to smirk but killed the impulse. “Then call in the whole, bleeping station house, why don’t you? I absolutely need an assistant tonight to help me dress and undress my model.” She brought hers hands off the table and waved her fingers in his face. “I can’t do it alone. I don’t have enough hands.”

He clamped a palm to the back of his neck and raised his head toward the ceiling for a few moments. Then he leveled his eyes at her in a glare meant to induce a cringe.

Allie glared back. Stalemate.

Finally, he said, “Who’s the woman?”

“Michaela. She sat next to me the day I had lunch at the Beach Chalet.” What Allie kept to herself was Michaela’s bad-boy assessment of Ben and how she’d tried to goad Allie into making a connection with him. Strangely enough, they had connected in a way Michaela never would have imagined.

A low rumble that was half-laugh, half-groan accompanied the frown that pinched his brow. “Not a smart move.”

“Why not?”

“She’ll recognize me from the restaurant.”

Allie shrugged. “Maybe not. The place was jammed. And even if she had noticed you, so what?”

He pushed his jacket aside, planted his hands on his hips. The butt of his gun peeked from the edge of his lapel.

“If she does recognize me then sees us together? That’s going to require one hell of an explanation.”

For the past week, Allie had run through at least half a dozen scenarios. She’d yet to settle on one. Excluded from the list, by necessity, was the colleague story she’d fed her mother and Hamilton. However, there was one she’d seriously toyed with but only as a very last resort. Ben would be a newly acquired boyfriend, one she’d dump as soon as this leg of the competition was over.

“You walked right by me that day,” he said. “So forget our knowing each other from
design
school.”

“Consider it eliminated and don’t worry. There’s less than a fifty-fifty chance she’ll remember you.” The lie sat on Allie’s tongue like sour milk. She threw her hands into the air. “Whatever, I’ll think of something plausible.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “Okay, but keep it simple. Do not mention the real reason I’m with you.”

“Of course I won’t.”

He fished the keys out of his pocket, and they climbed into the SUV. The garage door rose, and Ben backed into the street. The vehicle’s headlights cut into the encroaching dusk, mingling with a light blanket of fog. A hazy aura encircled the street lights.

The usual Saturday night traffic made going slow. Allie leaned back and interlaced her fingers in a tight knot. Nerves carved a hollow recess in her stomach and vied for attention with the excitement shivering her back. With no rehearsal, there were bound to be a few glitches. Then there was the prospect of Dave popping up like a malignant Jack-in-the-box. The night’s importance sat heavily on her shoulders. Win or lose, whatever happened tonight would likely have a major impact on the rest of her life.

* * * *

Concluding Dave was in San Francisco kept Ben on edge all day. Dave’s remark to Allie when she mentioned the local weather cinched it for him.
You call that thunder. That’s nothing more than a low rumble.
Ben’s hunch, all along, had been that Dave planned to show up at Designorama. As he’d told Allie, his hunches ran ninety to ninety-five percent. That left a five-to-ten percent chance of Dave turning up on her front steps instead with a big “Guess Who” greeting. Or maybe he wouldn’t show up tonight at all. Since Allie refused to drop out of the competition, Ben hadn’t bothered to run his percentages by her.

He anticipated there would be designers, models and set-up people coming and going backstage. Makeup artists and hairdressers were expected behind the scenes, too. According to Allie, reporters from the
Chronicle
and other local newspapers from the Bay Area would also be in attendance. Ditto, a local television crew. Representatives from the various charities who stood to benefit from the evening added to the growing numbers. There were seats in the audience for two hundred people, too.

Unable to stick close to Allie, Ben wasn’t taking chances. Besides Thompson and himself, there would be plenty of SFPD cops outside the venue. Thompson would provide each of them with a sketch of Dave. If Ben’s hunch proved true, he didn’t expect to draw an easy breath until the son-of-a-bitch was cuffed and inside a squad car.

Chapter Thirty

Whenever Allie found herself in the shadow of City Hall, located at Civic Center Plaza, she’d often pause to admire the building. Its recently refurbished gold dome, patterned after the
Dome des Invalides
in Paris, rose atop an impressive stone structure. Completed in 1913, the building stood on the spot where its predecessor was destroyed in the great earthquake of 1906. Only grainy pictures survived of the original building, constructed back in the days when San Francisco was a rough-and-tumble jumping-off point to the northern gold fields.

City Hall fronted on Van Ness Avenue and shared an open area spreading over a full city block. Festivals, protests, holiday celebrations and just about any kind of event where sufficient space was needed to accommodate large crowds happened there. For tonight’s event, a huge white tent had been erected in the center of the plaza.

Through scattered fingers of fog, golden pools of light shimmered from dozens of clear globes anchored high above the surrounding streets. Policemen kept traffic and pedestrians moving. Offsite street parking, on an adjacent metered block, was cordoned off for Designorama entrants. Ben pulled into a slot, killed the SUV’s lights and turned off the motor. Allie set the official parking permit on the dashboard.

A parade of men and women hauling garment bags trailed across the street and headed toward the tent’s rear entrance. Allie stepped out of the vehicle just as Detective Thompson came abreast of the driver’s side. Ben joined him, and the men exchanged a few words before Ben slid open the SUV’s side door.

“I did a little reconnoitering,” Thompson said when Allie came around from the passenger’s side. “Besides the main entrance, there’s another in back and one at either side for use only in emergencies. A cop is stationed at each of those points, two at the main entrance. Guests enter through the front, designers, models and assistants at the rear. There’s a setup just inside the main entry with two people taking advance tickets. They’re also selling tickets at the door.”

Ben removed two of the garment bags and handed them to Thompson. Allie hefted a couple of the lighter ones. Three remained inside the SUV, including the heaviest one, which contained the bridal gown. Ben volunteered to come back for that later.

They entered through the rear of the tent into an area sectioned into eight stations, one for each of the competitors. Allie found hers, which came equipped with a chair, dressing table, mirror and metal clothes rack. Fiona stood off to one side talking to another model. There was no sign of Michaela. Ben, Thompson and Allie hung their garment bags on the rack. Then Ben left to fetch the bridal gown.

“I’ll be right outside,” Thompson said, indicating the rear exit. “Good luck. You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

Allie smiled. “Thanks. I hope so.”

A heavy white curtain separated the stage from the dressing area. Actually, two curtains. A center overlap created a space through which the models would enter and exit. It provided additional privacy for those in back. Allie peeked around the opening. Light poured from a quartet of chandeliers suspended from thick velvet ropes. Flanked by rows of cushioned white folding chairs, a runway extended from the stage down through the center of the tent. Her mother and Hamilton sat directly behind the judges, who kept their pens and notepads handy. Allie also suspected there were reps in attendance from companies, who were poised to “poach” the most popular styles to be reproduced in cheaper, slightly altered versions. They always made appearances at the fashion shows in New York City and other cities.

Her friends Jen and Sarah had already taken their seats. Allie smiled at them then did a quick scan of the men in the audience, searching for Dave. She quit after a few minutes, refusing to torture herself over Ben’s hunch that Dave would find a way inside the tent. Why add real-life danger to the long list of other possible mishaps? Tonight, she needed a clear head and controlled nerves.

She turned back into the dressing room, keeping one eye out for Michaela. She wished Ben would hurry back with the wedding gown. She spotted him at last and all but yanked the garment bag from his hand and jammed the hanger onto the metal clothes rack.

“Go,” She said, urgency coloring her tone.

“Yeah.” He hesitated a moment and did a quick scan of the area. He took a couple steps toward the exit only to retrace them. “I’ll be as close to you out there as I can get. I’ll hook up with you the minute this thing’s over. Tell your friend I’m your long lost cousin, whatever. I don’t like you out of my sight.”

“You worry too much.”

“It’s my job to worry.”