Hoodwinked (10 page)

“You're sweet to kiss,” he whispered. He nipped her lower lip ardently. “Get some sleep. Good night.”

“Good night.”

He was gone before she could say another word. She put Bagwell to bed, much later than she should have, covered him and went to her own bed. But she didn't sleep. On the other side of the wall, she could hear Jake's deep, slow voice. She couldn't make out what he was saying, but he sounded angry and the conversation went on for a long time. She was still hearing it drifting in and out when she finally went to sleep, worried to death about Jake's future. Somehow she had to protect him from MacFaber, if Jake really was a saboteur. She didn't know how she was going to do it, but she'd manage something. She had to. She couldn't let anything happen to him.

The next morning, everything seemed to be upside down at work. Mr. Blake, who was never late, wasn't
at his desk. Maureen dealt with the mail as usual and answered the phone, but she couldn't do the reports or answer technical letters. Eventually, she just sat at her desk, waiting, with the feeling of sitting on an unexploded bomb.

When lunchtime came and her boss still hadn't, she began to worry. Her first thought was of Jake. Maybe he'd been found out! Maybe they'd caught him!

She went to the canteen to eat, hoping for a glimpse of him there, but he was nowhere in sight. In desperation, Maureen stopped by MacFaber's office to see if his secretary might know what was going on.

“Is something afoot?” Maureen whispered.

Charlene looked up from the computer screen. “Sure. Twelve inches is a foot.” She grinned.

“I hate you.”

“So do I sometimes,” her friend agreed. “Why the worried look?”

“Mr. Blake isn't in his office.”

“I guess not. MacFaber's what's afoot,” she whispered confidentially. “He's back in town and out for blood. I hear he's got all the top-level executives on the carpet at a motel outside the city limits, giving them hell.”

“Have they caught the culprit?” Maureen asked with commendable restraint.

“What culprit?” Charlene frowned.

“The one who's messed up the Faber jet.”

“Oh, that culprit.” Charlene grinned. “I think so, but they aren't saying who it is. However, I have it from a confidential source that there's going to be another test flight a week from tomorrow. Then we'll know.”

Maureen's heart was going like a watch. “I don't guess they've mentioned any names?”

Charlene shook her head. “Not a chance. And it doesn't sound like sabotage, exactly. All I can tell you is that Mr. Blake went looking for MacFaber last night, from what the grapevine says, and this morning there's a very hush-hush staff meeting.” She lowered her voice. “And apparently MacFaber's private detective has done a slick job, hanging around here incognito while he smoked out the cause of the failed test flight. From what I hear, there really was someone at fault. Someone in the mechanical section, and based right here.”

Maureen felt sick. Then the part about the private detective being incognito touched her mind. Bells began ringing in Maureen's head. Was it possible that Jake could be MacFaber's private detective? That thought gave her hope. At least there was a chance that he might not be the spy she'd thought he was. And he'd told her that he could be something besides what he seemed. Her gloomy spirits lifted a little.

“Are you okay? You look white.”

Maureen snapped herself back to the present. “I'm okay.” She smiled wanly, adjusted her glasses and went back to her own office. She sat there until midafternoon, brooding over her mechanic. It wasn't until Mr. Blake came in, pale and exhausted, that she was able to divert her mind.

“I don't want to answer any more questions.” He held up his hand when she started to speak. “So just get your pad, please, Maureen, and we'll get to the mail.”

He sat down heavily at his desk and Maureen did what she was told, blazing with unanswered questions.

She went home, still without having seen Jake anywhere at all. What if he'd been arrested?

She fixed a meager supper of ham sandwiches, sharing part of it with Bagwell, trying not to cry. Her life was over. She'd never see Jake again. He'd go to prison—

There was a sharp knock at the door. She ran to open it, and there he was. He looked tired and half out of sorts. But to Maureen, he was the most beautiful sight she'd seen all day.

With a hard sob, she threw herself into his arms.

“What's this all about?” he asked at her temple. “What's wrong?”

“Was it you?” she asked, lifting tragic eyes to his. “They had this big meeting, and I couldn't find you. I thought…thought maybe they'd arrested you for sabotage or something!”

He was very still. His hands tightened on her shoulders. “You thought it was me?” he prompted, aghast at her assumption.

“Well, you're new,” she groaned. “And they said they thought it was a mechanic, and I didn't know if you were working for Mr. Peters…” She drew back and looked up into his shocked face. “I'm sorry. I'm ashamed that I thought such a thing about you. And I knew, too, that you might be MacFaber's private detective?” Her voice went up, and she watched him, hoping for some reaction. But there was nothing. His features were as calm as if he were watching a weather report on television.

He wondered what she'd say if he admitted that he'd thought it was her. He was certain now, of course, that it wasn't. Or reasonably certain. A week from tomorrow would be the telling day, when the jet flew or didn't. Meanwhile, he didn't dare answer her suspicions one way or the other. At this point it was too risky.

He touched her hair. “You think I'm a saboteur?” he asked with a faint smile, a little cynical about her acceptance of him despite her suspicions. “And you don't mind?”

“You're my friend,” she said simply. She grimaced. “Go ahead. Walk out and never come back. It's all I deserve.”

He didn't budge. His dark eyes narrowed under his heavy brow. “Why did you keep seeing me?” he asked.

“At first I was keeping you under surveillance,” she murmured with a shy grin. “And then…” The smile faded as her eyes searched his. “You aren't in trouble, are you?” she asked huskily. “I'll be a character witness if you need one. I'll do anything I can to help.”

“Will you?” He tugged a lock of her hair. “Is this concern real, or have you found out more than just what went wrong with the Faber jet?” he asked from an acquired distrust of women.

She stared at him blankly. “I don't understand.”

He sighed. Perhaps she didn't. She might not know who he really was. “Never mind. What are we eating? I'm starved!”

The question, so domestic, made her tingle with pleasure. She didn't make a single remark about his assumption that she was inviting him to eat with her.
It was such a joy to have him in her apartment—in her life—that the thought that he might be presumptuous never even occurred to her.

She grinned. “We're having ham sandwiches and Jell-O.”

He made a face. “Get something on and I'll take you out for crepes and shortcake.”

“It's too late,” she said. “And you shouldn't spend your paycheck on me.” She felt brave, and because she did, she nestled closely in his arms with a long breath and closed her eyes, inhaling the delicious fragrance of his very masculine cologne. “I'm glad you're not in trouble.”

His big hands spread over her back. Odd, to feel so protective about this woman. She wasn't beautiful. She didn't have money. She wasn't sophisticated, and she didn't come from an uptown family. She wasn't even his kind of companion. So why did he feel so comfortable with her?

“Mr. Blake wouldn't tell me anything, and Charlene couldn't,” she said against his shirt. “But something's going on, I can feel it. They say that Mr. MacFaber's private detective struck pay dirt.”

“So I've heard.”

“Good for him. Poor old Mr. MacFaber…”

“What makes you think he's old?” he asked dryly.

“Oh, Charlene says he's forty at least,” she murmured. “And overweight and graying. I guess he's worn out his body with South American heiresses and solitary sports.”

He chuckled. “Maybe he has. I wouldn't put too much stock in the South American heiress, though. I don't think MacFaber is much of a ladies' man. From what I hear, he isn't at all the type.”

“Really?” She lifted her head and looked up at him. “That will break hearts around the office.” She laughed softly. “All the girls are waiting with bated breath for him to make an appearance. His publicity has preceded him, you see. Everyone thinks he's Mr. Right. Even two of the engaged girls! There'll be a scandal when he shows up.”

“I wouldn't doubt it.” He let her go and moved away. “Hello, Bagwell.”

The big parrot spared him a disinterested glance and went back to nibbling on the bread and ham in his claw.

“How many can you eat?” Maureen asked, unwrapping bread.

“If you mean parrots, I'm not sure,” he said. “Are you offering me Bagwell in a cheese sauce?”

“Not parrots—” she laughed gaily “—sandwiches. Ham. With cheese and lettuce and mayonnaise.”

“And mustard,” he instructed. “Two.”

“Okay.”

She made them, delighted to see him, to have him sitting so naturally at her kitchen table. While she made sandwiches, he pulled off his jacket and tie and tossed them over an empty chair out of Bagwell's reach. He crossed his long legs and unbuttoned the throat of his white shirt. This was an expensive shirt, too, she noticed as she finished making sandwiches and opened a bag of potato chips to go with them. It looked very much like silk. She wondered where he'd been that he'd had to dress up, but she didn't pry.

“I like this,” he murmured, nodding when she offered to pour him a cup of coffee. “I can't remember the last time a woman made me supper.”

“I'll bet your mother did.”

His eyes narrowed suddenly and he watched her warily. “What do you know about my mother?”

“Well, what could I know, since I've only just met you?” she asked reasonably. “But my mother used to make things for me, so I assume yours did for you.”

“Of course.” He lifted the black coffee to his chiseled mouth. “My mother couldn't cook. She was completely undomesticated.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

He shook his head. “I have no one. Not anymore.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Why? You don't have anyone, either.”

“That's true.” She sat down across from him and offered Bagwell another piece of sandwich and then wolfed down her own. She was aware of the too-tight T-shirt she was wearing with her worn jeans. But her guest didn't seem to notice or mind, except that his dark eyes lingered just a little too long for politeness on the thrust of her breasts—especially when that scrutiny made the tips very obvious.

“Why did you tie up your hair that way?” he asked, nodding toward her ponytail. “It doesn't suit you at all.”

“Thanks a lot!”

“I like it long.” He took another bite out of his sandwich and chewed carefully before he swallowed it down with a sip of coffee. His dark eyes met hers and he smiled amusedly. “Take that ponytail down and I might make love to you.”

Her heart leaped. “No,” she said with faint humor. “You don't have sex with virgins. You said so.”

“Make love,” he whispered, his dark eyes holding her green ones as he smiled. “Not have sex.”

She colored but her gaze didn't waver. “What's the difference?”

“Only an innocent could ask a question like that.” He finished his second sandwich and leaned back to sip his coffee. “Those were good.”

“Thank you,” she said, wondering how a man could mix sex with ham sandwiches in the same conversation.

He nibbled on a potato chip while he studied her. “How was your boss today?” he asked out of the blue.

“Mr. Blake?” she asked absently, offering Bagwell a potato chip. “He was rather preoccupied. I wanted to ask him what he'd found out about the saboteur, but he wasn't talking. I think Mr. MacFaber had made mincemeat out of him,” she said with a smile. “Charlene said he was giving the executives hell.”

“Which they richly deserved,” he returned. His eyes went hard as he sipped his coffee. “The whole damned project could have been scrapped over one man's stupid mistake.”

Her eyebrows arched. “What do you know about it?”

“Mechanics know everything,” he said easily.

“Oh.” She got up and poured some more coffee. “You look tired.”

“I feel tired.” He leaned back and closed his eyes with a sigh. “I'm getting too old for my life-style, did you know, Maureen? I think I'm going to have to slow down.”

“Nonsense. You're only as old as you think you are.” She touched his thick, black hair hesitantly. “You ought to go home and go to bed,” she said gently.

His hand caught hers and his eyes opened, looking up into hers. “Sleep with me.”

She flushed. “No.”

“Just sleep,” he murmured with a soft smile. “I'm too tired for anything else.”

“That wouldn't be a good idea,” she said, hating her inhibitions, because she'd never wanted anything more than to curl up beside him in a bed and feel him holding her close in the darkness. But it would be too dangerous.

“Why not?” he persisted.

“Because something could happen.” Her eyes darted to his and away again. “Jake, I don't even know how to take precautions.”

He frowned as he studied her downcast face. She was a throwback to another age. And yet, there was something so vulnerable about her, so deeply loving. He wondered how it would be if she loved him. He wondered how it would be if she was carrying his child.