Night Moves (14 page)

"Umm.And please call me Bryn."

"With pleasure.You'll be hearing from me, Bryn."

"Great."

"Bye then, for now."

"Bye."

She was breathing easily enough when she replaced the receiver, but her hand was still on the phone when it started ringing again. She jerked it back to her ear.

"Hello?"

"I assume you've seen your darkroom by now, Miss Keller

"Yes, we’ve seen it. And what you've done is criminal. How dare you invade my life like that! You will be caught. And you'll rot in a jail cell for a--"

"Miss Keller, your darkroom was only the beginning." "Don't you understand?" She was shouting. She could see that both Brian and Keith were staring at her with startled alarm, but she couldn't help herself.

"I don't have the damn pictures!"

"Do stay calm, Miss Keller.I believe that you don't have the pictures. But I also believe you can get them back." "Condor has the pictures; go plague him!" There was the slightest hesitation at the other end of the wire. "I think you can get those pictures back, Miss Keller." "Condor--"

"Condor wouldn't be half so enjoyable to harass.""Because he'd tell you to go to hell!""Possibly. He's a far tougher adversary, though you seem tough enough yourself, Miss Keller. I can well imagine your being brave enough--or stupid enough--to tell me to go to hell. But you won't, will you? Not when you have three little children to think about. I want the pictures. A woman likeyourself can surely con a man
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into doing what she wants. I'll give you a few days. But get them. And remember, I'll be watching. So far, I've only damaged property. Oh--and don't think that you can put anything over on me. I have an acquaintance at the police station. I'll know if you've called them.And as far as Condor goes... Well, I just wouldn't let him in on the situation--not unless you've twisted him around your finger real, real good.

He's the type who might just insist on calling the cops, and well, I've just explained that all to you.Clearly.

You just keep thinking about two things. Those littleboys, and the pictures. 'Cause it's going to be one or the other, kind of, if you understand my meaning__"

She was clenching the phone and staring at it stupidly long after she realized it had gone dead.

Meanwhile her mind raced away. It couldn't be a "fan" of Lee's. Fans might squabble and scramble and risk personal injury to get close to a star, but they didn't break into private homes--not for pictures! No, someone wanted these pictures

ina very real way. Why? Oh, God! Did it matter when she was the one caught in the situation? She was no detective, and the Riptide guys certainly weren't going to come along and solve her desperate problems in an hour the way they did on TV She was a woman alone who barely knew the barrel from the butt of a gun, yet three little children were dependent on her. So all right, yes! There was something deeper going on here, deep and wrong and perhaps even terrible, but that couldn't be her concern. She was human and vulnerable and terrified, and she didn't want to solve any mysteries, she just wanted to feel safe, to believe again that the children were safe....

"Aunt Bryn?"

She jerked herself around to stare at Brian and Keith. "Where's Adam?" she demanded.

"Coloring," Keith supplied.

"What was that all about, Aunt Bryn?" Brian asked.

"Nothing.Imean, nothing that I can explain right now. Listen to me guys, and pay attention, please.

I'm...uh...having a few professional problems. Help me out tonight. Please go upstairs and take your baths and help Adam for me, okay? And please! No soap fights, no yelling or screaming. Please?"

They both nodded at her solemnly. She heard Brian calling to Adam, and then the three boys were traipsing upstairs together.

When she heard the bathwater running, she started to cry.

Several minutes passed as she stood there, just allowing the tears to slide down her face. Then she dried her cheeks with her knuckles, made herself a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table.

She wanted to call the police, but she couldn't! Not after the warning she had been given. But what if it had been a bluff? Call the police, she told herself firmly. It would be the logical and intelligent thing to do.

No! She couldn't.Because the warning might not have been a bluff.

And whoever the whispering voice belonged to had a definite flair for destruction. Her darkroom was proof of that.

Oh, God! Bryn started to shake; she covered her face with her hands, fighting back a rush of hysteria.

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The boys had to be protected above all else...and how could she watch them and protect them at all times while she was working to support them? Even if she wasn't working, she could never be with all three of them always.

There was only one answer. She had to get the pictures back. Yes, she had to.

Bryn took a deep breath; the decision helped to calm her. She couldn't give way to frustration. She couldn't afford to sit there in tears. She had to think of the boys, and remember that they were precious above anything else in her life.

Her fingers were shaking. She stared at them, until she willed them to be still.

Bryn finished her tea and walked upstairs. The boys were just finishing buttoning theirpajamas . Adam's were off center by a mile.

"Hey!" she told him, sitting on the bunk to hold him close and start the buttoning process over.' 'Almost , Adam, but not quite!"

The tears started to well into her eyes, and she crushed him close.

"Smotherin' me, Aunt Bryn!"Adam protested. "Sorry, sweetheart. Sorry." She kissed his forehead and stood briskly to tuck him in. Then she kissed Brian and Keith, who both watched her solemnly "Thanks for being real good tonight, guys. I needed the help." "Aunt Bryn--"

"I'm really okay now. I promise. Aunts just get a little crazy now and then. Good night."

She turned off their light and closed the door most of the way, leaving it open just enough for a little of the bathroom light to stream through.

In the hallway she realized that she wasn't all right at all. She was scared to death. If someone had gotten into her darkroom, wasn't it possible that they could get into the house...? She hurried downstairs and started to arm herself with a kitchen knife, then decided against it. If an attacker was large, she wouldn't be able to fend him off, and she might just wind up stabbed by her own knife.

She chose the broom for a weapon, then checked every closet and every nook and cranny in the house, holding her breath in panic each time she threw a door open.

At last she convinced herself that if someone wanted her to get the pictures, he--or she--wasn't going to murder her until she had achieved that project, or at least tried to.

But she still wasn't going to be able to sleep easily. She didn't even bother to go up to bed, but spent the night on the couch with the television on to give her some desperately needed company.

She never really heard the television, though. She just lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to make plans.

She was going to have to play up to Lee. Be sweet, be charming--be seductive.To a point, at least.

Enough so that she could convince him to trust her. To return the pictures on her promise that she could do much, much better now that she...cared for him more. Understood him so much more...

She tossed on the couch, beset with anxiety--and blood spinning heat. She couldn't move in that close
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on Lee--but she had to. She had to... she had to. And somehow she had to play the role so well that she could also keep a distance that was safe for her heart.

No, no, none of it could matter! She could think only of the boys! Lee had to help her. Surely he would.

She would do her act well. He would give her the pictures back, and the nightmare would be over.

But what if... what if he still refused?

Her mind drew a blank. If he still refused, then she'd have to resort to desperate measures. If he refused to give them back, then she was going to have to take them back.

On Friday she was in for a tremendous disappointment; Lee didn't come to rehearsal. Andrew told her that he'd flown toLos Angelesto sign some papers and wouldn't be back until Monday.

Her weekend was sheer hell. She forced herself to restore the darkroom, and she took the boys swimming both days, packing a picnic lunch and staying out of the house as long as she could. Each time the phone rang she almost jumped through the roof. But the whisperer didn't call and nothing happened.

Except that massive shadows formed beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. And her nerves were stretched as tightly as a drum.

She had never been more grateful to see a Monday roll around. Was she still being watched? If so, the watcher would know that she couldn't have gotten to Lee until today....

Lee still seemed tense, distracted, and now, very distant. That made it all the harder for her to approach him, but she had to. It was also difficult to admit that he looked wonderful to her. Hard to accept that no matter how remotely he touched her, it felt good to be touched by him again. The seconds she spent in his arms made her feel inexplicably secure. His scent was pleasant and masculine; the power of his hold warmed her....

But there was a definite chill to his cool and courteous manner.

She had prayed that an opportunity might pop up, that he would single her out for a conversation as he so often had, but he didn't come near her unless he had to. Finally, during the last break of the day, she gathered up her nerve and two cups of coffee and walked over to the piano where he was idly picking out a tune.

"I thought you might like some coffee," she began when his eyes fell upon her. He raised a brow and she blushed. They both knew she had no great tendency to worry about what he might or might not like.

"Thanks," he said briefly. He accepted the cup but set it down on the piano. His fingers continued to run over the keys. They seemed so large, long and bronze as they skimmed over the ivory.

"I didn't realize you played the piano, too," Bryn murmured, leaning against it and hoping her pose was sultry and not ridiculous.

Heglanced her way sharply. "Well, I do."

Not, "Yeah, well, I learned at school," or "It's an important instrument for any musician to play"--not anything that was conversational. Just "Well, I do."

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He wasn't making it easy for her. But what had she expected after all this pure antagonism?

Plunge in and lie like hell, and do it well, she told herself. She stretched out a hand and touched his arm.

He stopped playing, staring at her hand for several curious moments before raising his eyes to hers.

The irony of it was that she understood her antagonism, even if he didn't. Now, at this moment, she could see her folly so clearly. She had judged him by another man, and she had based her hostility on the simple fact that he was a man with whom a woman could easily--too easily--fall in love. And rather than take that chance, she had built a wall of ice. She still needed that wall, but she needed his trust more than anything else.

"Lee, I'm sorry," she murmured quickly before she could lose her nerve. "I mean about everything. I've been horrible to you since we met. I...I'd like an opportunity to change that."

At last he sat back, giving her his full, dubious attention. "Oh?" he queried dryly.

God, how she wanted to slap him! He was just staring at her with those golden eyes, his expression as hard as granite. She gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she had more at stake than even she could fathom.

"I..." Her voice started to fail her, but it was a blessing in disguise, for it gave her an idea for a new tactic.

"Oh, never mind!" she cried, allowing a trace of pathos to edge into her tone. Then she spun away.

It worked. She hadn't gone a step before she felt his hand clamp down on her shoulder. She was spun back around, and she allowed herself to fall against the warm breadth of his chest.

"All right, Bryn. What are you saying?" he asked. "That I'd like to know you better," she said without flinching.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."How long would she have to rot in Purgatory for a lie like that? She was breathless, which was no lie. But the effect he had on her was what made the description all the more unbearable. Yes!

She had judged him wrong. He was a decent man, strong but often decent, often kind--as well as having that powerful... sexual draw that was almost overwhelming. Oh, God, she thought, it was getting worse and worse; if she was honest, she would admit that she cared for him. She couldn't allow herself to be honest--it would be a disastrous mistake. She had to maintain her walls. Adam!she reminded herself. It wouldn't be so hard to be deceitful, cold, hot--or anything. All she had to do was remember his sweet little face and she could do anything!

"I'll pick you up and the kids for a picnic or something on Sunday, if that's okay," Lee said.

Sunday?No, it was days away! She cleared her throat. Her voice was still husky.Very husky. As sensual as,..a practiced whore's. "You asked me over for a glass of wine. If that invitation still stands, I'd like to drive over tonight."

His brows rose again; she could sense his skepticism. But then he shrugged. "You're welcome anytime.

We're not having a band practice tonight, so I'll be free."

Bryn swallowed and nodded. Now her voice seemed thin, as if someone else were talking. "I have to
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see if Barb can stay with the kids, but she promised that she would this week.Eight-thirty."

"Whenever you can come."

He released her,then dug in his pockets for a pencil. He turned back to the piano bench and found an old scrap of paper, scratched out an address and handed it to her.