In A Heartbeat (16 page)

“Masquerade?” She hesitated. She’d never dressed in a costume before, not that she could remember.

“The art museum has a fundraiser.” He slipped her hand in his again and steered her toward a car parked at the far end of the stadium lot. “I’m expected to go and I don’t want to go alone. I wouldn’t ask if there was anyone else I could invite…”

“What about Elizabeth?”

“She’s tied up with a shoot in New York that weekend.”

Her defenses weakened. First a real live football game, now a masquerade ball. “I…I don’t have a costume.”

“Leave it to me. I’ll have you covered head to toe, I promise. No one will recognize you.”

“No, I can’t.” She shook her head, and pulled her hand back from his. What was she thinking? There’s no way Falstaff would sanction a masquerade ball. In truth, she’d love to go. A lump formed in her throat. She’d never been invited to a dance, much less a costume ball.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate you asking me.” The words caught in her throat, betraying her with an off-key gasp in the middle. She turned and hurried toward the car.

“Angie, wait up--” He ran the few steps after her. “What’s the real reason you won’t come with me?”

“I told you. It’s not allowed.” She forged ahead, not looking at him. If only she hadn’t sent Max on his way. Under the circumstances, the ride home was bound to be uncomfortable. So why was she rushing to reach his car? She stopped suddenly, took a breath then turned toward Hank.

“Don’t they have businesses that lease women for occasions like these?”

“You mean escort services?” He stared at her as if she’d just suggested he take Oreo as his date. Heat tinged her cheeks. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her toward his car.

“I hadn’t realized I was so pathetic that I needed to hire a stranger for companionship.” He swore softly under his breath.

She had insulted him. He’d been a perfect gentleman and come to her assistance every time she needed it, and she’d insulted him. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

“To imply what?” He looked at her with the same expression that had earned Oreo all those extra treats the veterinarian constantly scolded her about. Then his expression changed and he shook his head. “Never mind. If you can’t stand to share my company, I’ll give the tickets away. I just thought you’d enjoy it.”

“And I would,” she insisted. “I’ve never…”

“Never what?”

“Never dressed in a costume before, never pretended to be anything other than what I am.” Hadn’t she already told him as much at the restaurant? Why was he badgering her?

“And what exactly are you, Angie?”

“Clumsy.” She nodded to the plastic cast on her leg. “Uncoordinated.” She turned her head away from him. “Boring.” Her voice dropped. “A freak.”

“What?” He stopped, causing her to swirl around to face him. “What are you talking about? What makes you think you’re a freak?”

A lump formed in her throat making her words stick and burn. She tapped her hand to her chest instead.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. She buried her face into his shoulder.

“You’re no freak, Angel.” He laid his cheek on top of her head. “Not you.” He hugged her tight. “And no one could ever say you were boring.”

Tears filled her eyes. She hoped his jacket would absorb the wetness so he wouldn’t see. She swallowed, forcing the lump further down. “You didn’t say anything about my being so clumsy.”

Laughter shook his chest beneath her cheek. She smiled. Whereas she couldn’t face his pity, laughter was another matter. She pulled back out of his arms and swiped at her eyes.

“You know, my father used to call me Angel.” They continued progress toward his car. The crisp October air relieved her burning cheeks. “My mother thought I wasn’t going to live. The doctors told her my chances weren’t very good, so she named me Angela to put me under the protection of the angels.”

“But you showed them.” He squeezed her arm. “Now do it again. Come to the masquerade ball with me.”

“Even if I could go, it wouldn’t be very fun. I can’t dance.” What was it about this man that brought out all her secrets? Well, almost all her secrets.

“Nonsense. Everyone can dance. You just move to the music.” They reached the car. He unlocked and opened her door before crossing over to the driver’s side.

“It’s not nonsense,” she said once he was inside. “I’ve never even been to a dance. I don’t know where you put your hands or how you’re supposed to step. I can’t do this.”

“You told me you hadn’t been to a football game until today and you learned about that quick enough.” He started the engine but they remained in the parking lot while the car warmed up.

“That was different,” she said. “I don’t think you can learn to dance over the Internet.”

“You’ll never learn if you keep rejecting invitations.”

Angie sneered. Little did he know. She’d jump at an invitation to dance if it was from anyone else. But then no one had ever asked.

“Tell you what.” He slipped the car into drive and stared straight ahead while negotiating their way out of the lot. “How about I let you practice dancing with me. That way when a real date comes along. You won’t refuse him.”

“This isn’t a real date?” She asked strangely insulted.

“We’re friends, remember?” He smiled at her quickly before turning back to the road. “I’m asking you to this dance as a friend, not a date. I don’t see how Falstaff can object to two friends supporting such a worthy cause as a museum fundraiser, but we’ll be disguised anyway, so he’ll never know. What do you say?”

She watched the fall foliage pass by the window. The pop rhythm from the car radio worked its way to her toes, tapping within her shoes. A part of her longed to accept his invitation, yet another part, the more rational and sensible part, argued that accepting would be a mistake. Wouldn’t it? Or would it be a rare chance to experience something she’d only dreamed about?

“Wouldn’t you be embarrassed if I step all over your feet?” she asked. “I’m serious about not being able to dance. Halloween is in just two weeks.”

“We’ll work something out,” he said, his dimple deepening. “We can always try a few practice dancing sessions after work.”

“What kind of costume?” It couldn’t hurt to pretend she was going.

“Any kind you like, scary, fancy, just say the word.”

“I have a scar.” She traced the incision that bisected her chest. He reached across and took her hand.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “No one will see.” He squeezed her hand with such tenderness she feared the familiar embarrassing tears would return.

Her heart beat so furiously she was afraid it would leap from her chest into his lap. She wanted this. She wanted it so bad. Odds were such an opportunity would never come again. If there was one thing she understood, it was odds. A shiver slipped through her at the thought of lost chances, lost dreams, lost opportunities to experience life.

Falstaff hadn’t objected to her attending this football game. Heck, he encouraged it. Would there really be a problem with her going to a dance with a client? After all, as Hank said, it benefited a worthy cause.

“Trust me.” He squeezed her hand.

“Yes, I’ll go with you,” she said in a sudden leap of faith. An immediate wave of excitement tingled through her, drowning her previous apprehensions.

That night, her mother called. Angie answered after the first ring. “Guess what, Mom? I’m a modern day Cinderella. I’m going to a ball!”

ACROSS THE STREET in the dark, Raymond watched the lights come on in the empty house. He noted the time in his black book. All alone in a big old house, she was almost making this too easy. Soon, very soon, he’d meet her face-to-face.

Chapter Thirteen

“ARE YOU SURE about this?”

Max stood in the hallway, rain from his wet coat dripped puddles on the floor. “You look entirely too cheerful to be going out in this weather, especially on some wild goose chase. It’s raining cats and dogs out there.” He glanced at her dog. “No offense, Oreo.”

“Germs cause viruses, not rain,” Angie snapped. At his crestfallen expression, she reminded herself this was Max, not Stephen or her mother. She softened her tone. “Cheer up. At least it’s not snowing.”

“Yeah, that will be soon enough,” Max grumbled.

Oreo sat at her feet, tail swishing with enthusiasm. “Sorry, girl,” Angie said. “You can’t come this time. I doubt Max wants wet dog hair all over his car seats. You stay here and guard the place.”

She locked the front door, pulled her raincoat hood up over her hair and followed Max to his car. In truth, she had misgivings about the weather, but she had been in such a good mood since accepting Hank’s invitation that even the rain couldn’t bring her down. “Thanks for coming with me, Max. Especially as we’re off the clock.”

“I couldn’t very well let you do this by yourself. Ritchton Street isn’t in the safest neighborhood.” Max opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel. “Although I doubt any self-respecting crook would be out in this mess.”

Icy, cold rain pelted the windshield, occasionally drowning out the rock and roll playing on the car radio as they traveled.

“Okay, you’ve made me wait long enough.” Max said. “What happened after I left the game yesterday?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, between you and Renard. You’ve got a smile about as wide as you’re tall so I’m thinking something good happened.” He winked at her.

The smile froze on her face. Was she so transparent? She hadn’t even told her mother she had an escort for the ball, letting her think instead that she was going solo. How could Max have figured it out? Her good humor vanished like the headlights of passing cars.

“You got him to agree to additional services, right? Am I right?” In the dim dashboard light, she saw Max beaming. “That means your promotion is in the bag, right? When were you going to tell me? We should be out celebrating, not prowling around some old warehouse.”

“Well, he hasn’t exactly committed yet,” she said, scrambling to think how to keep Max from discovering her secret.

“What did he say? Man, when I think about his expression when Falstaff first introduced you, I doubt Renard would have believed you if you said rain was wet. Now he’s eating out of your hand. I bow to the master.” He tipped his head toward her. “What exactly did you say?”

“I’m…I’m not sure it’s anything specific that I said.” What could she say? And what would she say to Max if the promotion fell through? She shifted the seatbelt across her chest. She hadn’t deliberately lied to anyone but felt caught in a web of deception just the same.

“Well, then it must be something that you did.” He wriggled his eyebrows in a suggestive leer then glanced her way. “Don’t look so stricken, I’m only teasing.” He laughed. “After all those lectures you’ve given me about social involvement with clients, I know there’s nothing going on that isn’t strictly business.”

Thank heavens it was dark in the car, the tips of her ears burned from embarrassment. Max didn’t know how close he was to the truth. “Look, there’s the exit.” Angie pointed to a lit green sign. “Maybe we better focus on the job ahead.”

“Good idea. What exactly are we looking for?” Max asked after a quick glance in the rear view mirror.

“I’m not sure.” Angie snuggled deeper into her coat, not knowing if the rain, her discomfort at Max’s suggestions, or anxiety over this spy mission caused her back’s icy tremors. Whatever it was, she needed to focus on the present task. She took a deep breath. “Something about this direct ship business just doesn’t feel right. Maybe if I see that this is a legitimate business, I can accept Wilson’s explanations and put this audit to rest.”

“At least till we come back to do year-end work in February. Hey, if you get promoted to Audit Manager, do you think I’ll be in charge of the rest of the audit?”

Apparently, Max’s enthusiasm wasn’t entirely based on her good fortune. No wonder he wanted to celebrate. “Is that why you agreed to coming here off the clock?”

“I figured a little advanced client knowledge wouldn’t hurt if your promotion came through.”

They turned off a well-lighted thoroughfare into a dark, dismal neighborhood. It wouldn’t improve with daylight, she thought, any more than the rain would wash away the grime and filth from the graffiti-marked walls. The car’s headlights illuminated puddles that percolated with raindrops like primeval ooze. No other car passed or followed them along the street.

They turned onto Ritchton Street. Max squinted uneasily at the windshield. “Angie, I’m not so sure this is a good idea. It’s not too late to turn around.”

“What was that address?” she asked, squinting out the side window. “Do you see any building numbers?”

“Twenty-six, thirty-three,” Max answered. “Should be on your side.”

They drifted cautiously down the street, each scouring the old brick turn-of-the-century buildings for identification.

“There it is.” She tapped her side window, then pointed to white numbers tacked above a windowless metal door. Max pulled into the deserted truck dock, dodged some broken glass, then shifted into park.

“There’s no business sign, no identification,” Angie said. “Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“In this neighborhood?” Max studied the surroundings through the car windows. “It was probably stolen. Look.” He turned to face her. “I’m sure your brother wouldn’t want you here at this time of night. Why don’t we just go home?”

Mentioning her brother just sealed her commitment. “If we came during the day, there’d be too many questions. Besides, as soon as we wrap this interim work, we’ll both be assigned to new jobs. No…” She pulled on the door handle. “We came all this way. Let’s get it over with.”

Max sighed and turned off the engine. The headlights also switched off, plunging them in darkness. “Did you bring a flashlight?” he asked. Angela patted the bulge in her coat pocket then left the car.

The hungry emptiness swallowed her flashlight beam. The darn thing probably illuminated her more then the path in front of her. Avoiding the deeper puddles of water, she carefully made her way to the front door and twisted the doorknob. Locked.