Mysterious (8 page)

Bad timing. Bad judgment, she reminded herself. Yet when he touched her, there was fire. When he kissed her, he made her want more. Circumstances were against them, and lies were between them. She couldn’t change the circumstances, but she could remove the lies.

She made up her mind. She would tell him everything. He deserved to know, and she just couldn’t keep deceiving him. She had always hated dishonesty in any form, and it was especially true now. She knew they probably still wouldn’t have a chance, but in an incredibly short time her feelings for him had grown. And whether it was right or wrong for her to tell him, he would eventually know the truth. The truth should come from her.

But now, having made the decision, she was delaying the moment of confession.

Jerome observed her from beneath lowered lids and forced himself to exercise his dwindling reserve of patience. He could tell that she had something on her mind, but he knew he had to wait. If he pushed her too hard or too fast, she might leave. And somehow that thought was intolerable.

She had changed into one of the outfits he had bought her: black wool pants and a Chinese-blue angora sweater. The pants snugly hugged each rounded buttock, and her full breasts thrust tantalizingly against the blue angora. She looked deliciously female, just as he had known she would. How he longed to slide his hands over the curved flesh of her bottom and then up under that sweater to experience the softness of each of her breasts. There were times he felt as if his need for her might tear him in two. Like tonight.

Without switching her gaze from the window, she commented, "Leo is still down there. Does she usually spend such long hours at the stand?"

Jerome gave up all pretense of working, put away his glasses, and allowed himself to enjoy the full unrestricted view of her. "That she does. I’ve often thought that she should let one of her employees relieve her more often, especially after dark. But she doesn’t. No matter what the weather or the hour of the day or night, she’s usually there. As I told you, she owns a number of newsstands around town, and the word is that she’s quite wealthy. It would seem she could afford to let someone else run things for her."

Jennifer crossed her arms under her breasts, causing the tantalizing mounds to swell upward beneath the blue angora. "How long has she had that newsstand?"

Jerome couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to be near her. He rose and went to stand beside her. "I’m not sure. I’ve lived here for five years and she’s been over there all that time."

Her eyes widened at his nearness, but she didn’t move away and he wondered why. Did she trust him to act the gentleman? Or could it possibly be that she wanted him as much as he wanted her? His heart began to hammer.

"Do you know her well?"

"I don’t know anyone who could say they really know Leo well," he said, adding as an afterthought, "except perhaps Sami."

"Sammy?"

"She’s a friend."

"She?"

"Her name is spelled S-a-m-i."

"Is she the same friend who gave you the rocking horse?" Jennifer asked softly.

He nodded, studying the rose-pink moistness of her lips. He found it sexy as hell.

Jennifer, feeling a sudden fierce jealousy of the woman named Sami, began to chew on her thumbnail, and Jerome reached out to take it from her mouth. At his touch she started, then subsided.

"Leo seems to like you," she offered. For a brief moment she selfishly allowed herself to enjoy the blood-heating effect of his touch.

"It’s hard to tell. I guess we’re on pretty good terms." His fingers rubbed her thumb, feeling the wetness on it that had come from the inside of her mouth. Desire rose within him. He wanted to taste that wetness for himself so badly that he was barely aware of what he was saying. "I’ve seen her practically every day since I’ve lived here. Instead of subscribing to a newspaper, I just walk over there and pick one up. If I happen to forget, there’s a stand near work."

"One of hers?"

Her breathing rate had increased, and Jerome suddenly realized that he was still holding her hand. He released it. This was not right. "Yes. Come to think of it. There are times when I’ve seen her over there too."

"You think she’s hard to get to know?"

He tried to concentrate on the subject of their conversation. "Actually yes. I’d like to get to know her better, but she’s a pretty reticent character. No matter how many times I’ve asked her to call me by my first name, she sticks to Mr. Mailer. I like her though. She’s interesting. She’s rumored to have more contacts than Minnesota has lakes."

"Yet you say your friend Sami knows her well."

"Sami could have a close personal relationship with a tree." Without being able to control himself he reached for a silky strand of glossy brown hair that waved over the top of the blue sweater. The angora and flesh which lay beneath it provided an arousing cushion for his hand.

Their eyes met and held. Hers were meltingly soft, conveying an enticing message. Or was that just wishful thinking on his part? He didn’t know. With Jennifer, all his previous knowledge of women failed to apply. And in the long run it was he who broke eye contact first, not she, and he who walked away. It was either that or lower her to the floor and take her like the madman he had begun to feel he was since she had walked into his life.

Striding to the bar, he poured himself a stiff drink. Only after he had belted it down and gained a measure of control did he turn back to her. She hadn’t moved. "You’re certainly talkative tonight," he observed.

She shrugged. "I was just curious about Leo. I don’t think she liked me."

He wandered back to her, irresistibly drawn. "I’m sure you were imagining it." He put his hand on her shoulder, meaning only to reassure. "At any rate, it’s nothing for you to worry about." God, but he loved the feel of her beneath his hands!

This was wrong, Jennifer thought as her heart began to pound in her breast. She shouldn’t be responding to him, not when so many lies remained between them.

It was time. She wouldn’t allow herself to delay any longer. She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to move away from him. "Jerome, there’s something I have to tell you, and you’d better sit down."

"All right." he agreed, only mildly curious. He was too busy giving himself a good mental shake. What in hell did he think he was doing anyway? She wasn’t his to touch. He sat down.

Jennifer took a moment to compose herself, summoning her courage. It was going to take it all to relive the nightmarish events.

"T-two days before I met you in the bar, I left Richard’s and my apartment to go shopping. It was a lousy day, drizzling and overcast." She paused. "When I returned that afternoon, the door to the apartment was open. I didn’t think anything about it though. I just figured that Richard was taking the trash out or had gone to get the mail."

Again she paused. This was the moment she had been trying to forget for four terrifying days.

"As I entered the apartment my arms were full of packages, so at first I didn’t see him. But I did notice that the apartment had been completely ransacked. Just as yours was, our belongings had been thrown everywhere." There was a break in her voice, and tears began trickling down her face. "I walked a little farther into the living room, and then I did see him. Richard. He was lying on the floor . . . in a pool of blood . . . dead."

Jerome was stunned, but her tears were pulling at him. With the full intention of taking her into his arms and comforting her, Jerome rose, planning to go to her, but she stepped backward.

"No, please, I’ve got to finish." Tears were now running freely down her face, but she continued her monotoned litany. "I distinctly remember that there was a terrible scream inside me, but somehow it just couldn’t get out. My throat felt as if there were a tight cord around it. I couldn’t make a sound. Then for the first time I heard the noise coming from the bedroom. At this point I think the packages must have slipped from my hands, but I didn’t hear them because the racket from the next room was so loud.

"I took a few steps toward the bedroom door and saw a man rifling through our bureau drawers. I had seen him once before. His name is Brewster and he had come to the apartment a few nights earlier. He and Richard had had a heated argument. I realized that if Brewster saw me, he would kill me too. . . and I knew that there was nothing I could do to help Richard. I had to get out of there. I ran with only my purse and my raincoat, and two nights later I saw you in that bar."

Emotions, too many and too confusing to put a name to, thundered and crashed through Jerome’s head. He remained quite still for a moment, then asked, "Are you telling me that someone murdered Richard and now they’re after you?"

She nodded, her face wet and pale. Jerome drew a clean, folded handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. He was hardly able to credit any of this.

Then it hit him. She was no longer married.

Immediately he was thrown into a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He felt relief that she wasn’t anyone’s wife and, at the same time, anger with himself that the knowledge pleased him. Here she’d been through hell and a man’s life had been taken, and all he could think about was the physical agony he had suffered over the restraint he had used with her.

Plus there was one more thing. She hadn’t left her husband because she was no longer in love with him. She had left because he had been killed.

So what in the hell was he going to do with all this new information?

Jennifer watched the clash of emotions on his face and felt a deep misery because she knew she was the cause of his conflicts. "Jerome, please understand why I felt it necessary to lie to you. Richard was dead, at least two men were after me, I had just met you. I thought it would be safer not to tell you I was hiding from a killer."

"Damn!" The expletive contained all of the frustration he was feeling. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "Jennifer, I’m sorry if I’ve given you a hard time. But if you expect me to give you understanding, then you’re going to have to give me some too. I’m having a little trouble taking all this in."

"I know."

He looked hard at her. "Do you? I wonder. At any rate, one thing is obvious. We have to go to the police."

She held up a hand. "Wait, I’m not through. I’m afraid there’s more."

"More?"

"Yes. For one thing, my last name is Prescott, not Blake."

"Your last name is Prescott?" Jerome repeated slowly, unbelieving.

"Blake was the name given to us to use as a cover. You see . . . Richard . . . Richard was my brother. He was an agent for the National Defense Organization. We were here in St. Paul on an assignment and—"

"Richard wasn’t your husband?" Jerome interrupted incredulously. "Do you even know how to tell the truth?"

"I know I’m doing a bad job of this, but I’m really trying to tell you what happened."

"What a minute. You weren’t really married?"

"I was at one time. I’m a widow and have been for several years. My husband was also an agent. He died in the line of duty. Since his death I’ve been working as a secretary for the NDO and living with Richard in Washington."

She looked at him. "That was the other reason I didn’t tell you the truth right away. I’ve lived on the fringes of the intelligence community for years now, and I’ve learned that you never, under any circumstances, tell anything to anyone except your immediate superior in the organization."

Jerome shook his head dazedly. "This is an utterly fantastic story. Are you even telling the truth now?"

"It’s no story, Jerome. It’s been my life for too long."

He threw up his hands and walked to the window. Staring out, he saw nothing. He wanted to wring her neck for not trusting him enough to tell him all this in the first place. He wanted to do everything in his power to keep her safe. He wanted to make love to her …

She rubbed her forehead with two fingers. "Lately I’d been concerned about Richard. He’d been acting strangely, preoccupied and worried. Anyway, I talked him into letting me come along on this case. He agreed to take me, under the cover of being his wife, because he thought this assignment was relatively simple."

He turned back around. "Obviously, though, it wasn’t. Do you have any idea or clues as to what happened?"

"All I know is that Richard was assigned to work at MallTech, a corporation on the outskirts of St. Paul. MallTech has designed an advanced weapons system for the government, and the NDO had discovered leaks within the company. It was Richard’s job to offer plans of the weapons system around to see who went for it. We went to Switzerland, pretending to be on our honeymoon. While we were there he had a meeting with a man named Gardner Benjamin, but I don’t know if Richard sold him the plans or not."

"I see. Have you contacted the National Defense Organization for help?"

"Once, this morning while you were at work. But the man I was told to call . . . well"—she made a vague gesture with one hand—"I decided I couldn’t trust him."

"Why not? Who is he?"

"His name is Wainright and he was Richard’s superior."

"What made you decide you couldn’t trust him?"

"Several things I guess. First, under the circumstances, he was more upset with me than he should have been for not calling sooner. He didn’t even mention Richard’s death. And then he told me that it was he who sent those two men after me. I think he thought the knowledge would reassure me, but it did just the opposite. It scared me. Why would he send two men like that after me? I had them pegged as killers long before you found guns on them." She raised liquid brown eyes to his. "I’m still afraid, especially for you. You’re in as much danger as I am now."

"I can handle it." He touched her cheek, wishing the dimple would appear. "The first thing we’ll do is turn this over to the police." Gently he brushed her hair back from her face. "It’s late. Do you think you can sleep?"

"No," she admitted wryly. "I’m pretty wound up. You’ll never know the courage it took to tell you."

"It seems to me that it took more courage for you to carry the burden of this alone for so long." He smiled at her. "You know, you and I have been living pretty much at a fever pitch since we met. We haven’t had a minute of quiet time together, but I have an idea. Let’s make some hot chocolate and relax awhile." He smiled ruefully. "It’s worth a try, at any rate."