Step Into My Parlor (3 page)

"This is Victoria Chase. I'm sorry—"

Anne slammed down the phone.

Spider stuck his head in the door. "Something wrong, sugar?"

"I got that blasted recording again! I thought sure
l
y she would be home by now."

"Maybe she screens her calls before she answers."

Anne brightened for a moment, then frowned. "And maybe she's out of town. I don't dare leave my name or a message on a tape."

"Anne, aren't you being a little paranoid?"

She laughed bitterly. "You don't know Preston. He's capable of anything. You can't imagine what I
’v
e been through the past two weeks. It's a miracle I'm still alive."

Spider pulled up a chair beside her. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

His blue eyes seemed so sympathetic that she was tempted to spill the whole story to him. She'd have liked to tell him about coming home from Europe just as Preston's poker game with two senators, a Cabinet member, a general, and a director of the FBI was breaking up. She'd been away for a few months after her mother's death, to rest and ostensibly take time to consider Preston's proposal of marriage
—
although she'd never seriously entertained such a notion. When she returned, she'd noticed several cars leaving.

Thinking him alone, she'd gone to the door of Preston's study and overheard a conversation that when she thought of it still sent chills over her. It would be a relief to share her burden with someone, but she didn't dare. If she couldn't trust the police, how could she trust a stranger?

Even though Spider had been kind to her, she knew how the allure of money could affect people. And though she found herself strangely attracted to his rough, dark good looks, she knew nothing of his character. If the price were right he might betray her without hesitation. Allowing blue eyes and a coarse sort of charm to negate her good sense would be the height of foolishness.

She shook her head. "I can't."

He looked at her for a moment, then reached for the phone. "Who is this Vicki? Tell me something about her."

Anne tensed. "Why do you want to know?"

"Don't be so skittish, sugar. If I'm going to call her and leave a message, it has to sound legit."

Still suspicious of his motives, she worried her pearls while she considered her options. At that moment, there were none. "She's
...
an attorney."

"She have a brother?"

Anne was puzzled by his question, but she nodded. "One older, one younger. And a younger sister."

"Tell me about her older brother."

"His name is Bob—Robert Chase—and he's president of an insurance company in Dallas."

He asked for Vicki's number, then punched it in. After a moment he said, "Vicki, this is Bill Webb. Your brother Bob asked me to contact you
a
bout some legal business I have in Houston. Give me a call when you get in. It's important that I talk with you as soon as possible." He gave his number, hung up, and grinned. "That ought to do it."

"I seem to be thanking you all the time." She smiled. "Is your name really Bill?"

"Yep. William Andrew Webb. But nobody's called me anything but Spider since I was in high school."

"Why were you called Spider?"

"I guess it's a logical nickname for somebody named Webb, but mostly it stuck from the years I played tight end. They said I caught the ball like a fly in a spiderweb."

"Tight end? Isn't that some sort of position in football?"

One big hand slapped his chest. "You
’v
e wounded my ego." He feigned an aggrieved look. "Yes, a tight end is a position in football. Once upon a time I was hot stuff in the pros. I played with the Raiders for eight years before I was traded to the Oilers. I only played in Houston for a year before my knee got banged up."

For the first time in her life, Anne was embarrassed that she knew nothing about football. It was obviously an important part of Spider's past,, but she couldn't even make an intelligent response. She laid her hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry about your injury."

He patted her hand. "Me too. Me too. It ended a lot of things for me."

The feel of his hand on hers sent a peculiar ripple of warm prickles up her arm. Trying to
make the gesture casual, she extricated her hand. "You can't play football anymore?"

"There's not much of a market for a pass receiver who can't run."

Although he cloaked his answer with a self-derisive laugh, Anne felt the pain of his words, and she longed to comfort him. With a little coaxing, he told her about his career as a professional football player and showed her the various pictures on the walls of him with celebrities and former teammates. There was pride in his blue eyes when he told her about being the Raiders' first-round draft selection and about winning the Super Bowl.

"I'm impressed," she told him honestly.

He tried to hide a grin as he picked up the jade censer from atop the cluttered file cabinet and lifted the lid. "Jelly bean?" he said, offering the delicately carved container to her. She looked horrified, and he frowned. "You have something against jelly beans?"

She took a red one to keep from offending him, then said quietly, "Do you know the value of that piece?"

"Sure." He set it back on the filing cabinet. "Three hundred and thirty bucks. And I'm stuck with it because the owner didn't get it out of hock."

"It's worth at least fifty times that much."

Spider's brows shot up. "You're kidding."

"And this particular Ert
é
—" she touched the fanciful gown of the bronze statuette "—would easily bring ten thousand dollars at a gallery."

He stuck his hands under his armpits and rocked back on his heels. "Well,
I’ll
be damned. Are you sure?"

"Positive. I have a master's degree in art history, and I—" She stopped herself before she revealed that she owned a gallery in Washington and had sold similar items. "You didn't know?"

He shook his head. "The art stuff was always Pinky's department."

"Pinky?"

"Charles Pinkham. He was my partner. He used to be my butler, but that's another story." Spider grinned. "He sold out to me last August and went back to England."

In a terrible breach of good manners, her eyes widened. "You had a butler?" Then, horrified by her tactless words, she dropped her gaze. "Please, forgive me. It's certainly none of my affair."

"Hell, darlin', it's no secret. It made the front page of all the grocery-store tabloids. Yeah, I had a butler and a swimming pool and a six-bedroom house on the golf course. I drove a Ferrari and had a little ranch up near Brenham. I had a ton of blue-chip stocks and money to burn. The whole nine yards."

Anne couldn't help asking. "What happened?"

"I spent six weeks in the hospital. The day I was released, I came hobbling home on crutches and with a big cast on my leg to find that my wife and my business manager had cleaned me out. They'd liquidated everything and lit out together. All that was left in the house—which was only leased, I found out later—were my football trophies, the divorce papers, and Pinky."

She put her hand on his arm. "How terrible for you. I'm so sorry."

He shrugged. "It's water under the bridge."

"Couldn't you recover your property?"

"I could if I could find them. They left the country. They're living in high cotton somewhere in Europe or South America. I wouldn't have a plugged nickel if it hadn't of been for Pinky and this place. My business manager had loaned a wad of my money to his brother-in-law to open a pawnshop. He was six months behind in his payments, so I kicked him out and Pinky and I took over. I've done okay."

Anne felt a catch in her throat. "It hurts when people you trust betray you."

"Yes it does, sugar. Yes it does. But you can't let it turn you sour. There are some nice people mixed in with the slimeballs out there."

Their conversation flowed so easily that before she realized it, it was noon. Spider sent one of the men who worked for him to the deli for sandwiches and coleslaw. By m
i
dafternoon, Vicki still hadn't phoned, and Anne began to grow anxious.

"Come on. Let's go to her place and check with the neighbors."

Relieved at his suggestion, she agreed and picked up the briefcase she'd left under his desk. Spider donned his black jacket and went into one of the storerooms. He came back with a suede coat, deep taupe and in a Western cut, with long fringe at the shoulders and down the sleeves. Though it was obviously expensive, Anne would never before have considered wearing such an outlandish thing.

"I think the cold front has moved through, but it's still a little chilly out. This ought to be about your size," he said, holding it out for her to put on. "A River Oaks lady hocked it after the rodeo last year, and I haven't seen her since."

It was a perfect fit. Running her fingers over the buttery-soft leather and inhaling the distinctive smell of fine suede, she looked up at Spider, who seemed to be waiting for her reaction like a small boy seeking approval. She gave him a smile. "Thank you. It's lovely. I
’
ll take good care of it."

He turned up the collar and his hands lingered on her lapels. For several seconds he simply stood there, silent and looking into her face with black-lashed eyes as blue and haunting as a South Sea lagoon. His gaze dropped to her lips, and they parted slightly, as if to a silent command. A warm fluttering stirred
i
n her stomach. Every feminine instinct she possessed told her that he wanted to kiss her. She swayed toward him, pulled by an incomprehensible magnetism, then stopped as alarm spread over her.

Spider gave a little shake of his head and, as if nothing had passed between them, grabbed her arm and propelled her out the back way. He led her to a big truck, shiny black and liberally decorated with chrome.

When he opened the door, the cab looked a million miles off the ground, and, dismayed, she turned to him, then resolutely looked back at the seat.

He looked amused as she awkwardly scrambled up into the cab. "Where to?" he asked when he got behind the wheel.

She gave him Vicki's address and hoped her friend would be home. Being around Spider Webb was disconcerting. Very disconcerting.

In less than five minutes, they pulled to a stop on a winding street lined with distinctive town houses. When she reached for the door handle. Spider stopped her.

"You stay in the truck, Anne. Let me check this
out.”

Anne watched as he went through the courtyard and knocked on the door. After what seemed like an eternity, he knocked again. She twirled the fringe of her jacket around her finger as she waited. He walked away from the door and shrugged at her, then went to the next house and knocked. The door opened and he talked to someone for a few minutes.

As he returned to the truck, Spider's face was unreadable, and she twirled the fringe faster. When he was settled back in the truck he turned to her, and his eyes seemed troubled.

"Sugar, I
’v
e got some bad news."

When he hesitated, Anne's heart flew to her throat. Had Preston's thugs done something to her friend? Dear Lord, surely not. Surely he hadn
't recalled her connection to Vicki
. She balled her hands into fists so tightly that her nails bit into the flesh of her palms.

"Has she been hurt?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing like that."

Anne breathed a relieved sigh. Vicki was safe. There was still hope. "Where is she?"

"Sugar, your friend's gone on a cruise for a month, and there's no way to contact her. She left last week."

"Oh, no." Try as she might, Anne couldn't prevent the tears that sprang to her eyes. "What am I going to do?" She felt as if her heart were being ripped from her chest. "I was counting on Vicki. I don't have any money. I don't have a place to live. I can't go home. What am I going to do?"

'Aw, darlin', don't cry." He pulled her close and wound his strong arms around her. "You can stay with me."

Taken aback by his proposition, she sobered and pushed away. "I can't stay with you!"

Then what will you do? Is there somebody else you can stay with? Family? Friends?"

She shook her head. "I
’
ll
...
I’ll
find an apartment and get a job."

"Sugar, you don't have any money. To get a decent apartment, you'll have to have identification and money enough for a deposit and the first and last month's rent. You'll need clothes and food and money for utilities. And you don't have a fork or a stick of furniture."

Anne felt despair closing in on her again, and she closed her eyes and tried to think. An idea came to her and her eyes flew open. "You said you'd buy my watch."

"Yeah,
I’ll
buy it, but I can't give you what it's worth. It might cover setting you up in an apartment, but what about clothes and food? And what about transportation? You don't have a driver's license or a social security card. Nobody's going to give you a job without identification or references."

No, she dare not give references. Reality settled on her shoulders like a hundred-pound weight, and she dropped her head back against the seat. She had reached the end of the road. She had exhausted her meager list of friends and acquaintances, and Preston had always been one step ahead of her in any case.

"Except me," Spider said.

"Pardon?"

"I
’
ll give you a job. Since Pinky's been gone, you can see what kind of mess things have gotten in, and you seem to know about the arty stuff. I need somebody to organize and appraise it, maybe help me sell off some of the pieces. Think you could handle the job?"

Anne brightened. "Certainly I could. Do I have the job?"

"You
’v
e got it."

He squeezed her hand, and his gaze ranged over her face with a look that instinctively put her on guard. More than a friendly interest radiated from the blue depths of his eyes, and her heart reacted with an increased tempo. She was intensely aware of his rugged, masculine appeal. A pulsating aura of sensuality surrounded him, drifted over her, and insinuated itself
i
n the marrow of her bones.

It excited her.

Jolted by the realization, she forced herself to look away. She couldn't allow herself even to fantasize getting involved with someone like him. Such an idea was madness.

"Would you help me find a place to live until Vicki gets home?"

"You've got a place to live. With me."

"But I can't live with you."

"Why not?"

Visions of him stretched out beside her on red satin sheets stampeded through her mind. Horrified at the errant turn of her thoughts, she burst
out, "Well . . . well, I just don't
do
that sort of thing."

One corner of his full mouth curved upward. "Sugar, I didn't mean you had to sleep in my bed. I don't mess with married women. You're safe with me."

"But I'm—" She clamped her mouth shut.

He gave her a knowing smile. "You're not really divorced, are you?"

She shook her head. Neither was she married, but perhaps it was wise to indulge in the pretense for the time being. She needed the shield. As long as he assumed she wasn't free, he would keep his distance. Spider didn't "mess" with married women as he so delicately put it

"Well clean out one of the storage rooms and make a place for you. It may not be a suite at the Royal Fox, but it's free."

At the mention of the Royal Fox Hotel, panic seized her. Did he suspect her connection with the elite chain? She searched his face for any sign of duplicity. His gaze was steady, his expression guileless. No, he couldn't know. Her family had always been low-key and had avoided publicity of any kind. The strange turn of events she'd experienced had made her suspicious of everyone.

"Thank you." She smiled.

"Don't mention it. Let's stop and buy you a nightgown. I have to be back to relieve Molly and Fred by six."

"Who are Molly and Fred?"

"You didn't meet them, did you? They work for me. Fred and another fellow named Boots work
full-time and Molly comes in part-time. She's going to college. I
’
ll get Molly to take you shopping for some clothes Monday."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"Impose?" He shot her an amused look. "Molly will get a kick out of it. She's majoring in fashion."

When they pulled into a vacant space near the entrance of a gigantic store and Anne saw the crowd of shoppers inside, tension beg
a
n to tighten her muscles. A man getting into a red car nosed against the truck stared at them for a long time, and her heart almost stopped. She averted her face, slunk down in the seat, and automatically grabbed for the handle of the briefcase sitting between her feet.

"Sugar, what's the matter? You're as white as a sheet."

"That man is staring at us."

"What man?"

"The man in the red car in front of us. What if he recognized me?"

Spider frowned. She was wound tighter than a three-dollar watch. Was Anne so scared that she was jumping at her own shadow, or had he gotten tied up with a crazy lady? He looked up to see a middle-aged man in a green Windbreaker giving them the once-over.

"Wait here." Spider climbed out of the black Silverado and sauntered over to the man. "Something wrong, partner?"

The man grinned and stuck out his hand. "You're Spider Webb, aren't you? Damn, I thought that was you. I'm Ed Ehrlich. The Oilers sure
have
missed having you in the lineup. Any chance
you
'll be back?"

Spider laughed and shook Ed's hand. "Not much chance." He talked with the man for a couple of minutes, then walked back to the truck and opened
Anne
's door. "Nothing to worry about, sugar. He recognized me, not you. He's a football fan."

He could see relief wash over her and color return to her delicate face. It ticked him off to know that her idiot of a husband had her so spooked that she almost freaked out when somebody just looked at her. She didn't deserve to have to hide out like an escaped convict.

His gaze dropped to her hands, which were still
cl
utching the handle of her eel-skin briefcase. She'd been hauling that satchel around with her all day. His eyes narrowed. What did she have in there?

"How could he have recognized you, sugar? You're a long way from home."

"Yes, but you don't know my. . . you don't know him. One slip and he
’
ll find me. That robber last night—" she bit her lip "—if he abandoned my car somewhere and it was found, Preston would know I'm in Houston. And my purse. If he took the money and threw the purse away
...
my identification
..."

He took one of her hands in his. It was cold as an icicle. "Darlin,' don't worry about the car being found. I'd bet my last dime it went to a chop shop, got painted black, and is halfway to California by now. And your purse and ID are at the bottom of some dumpster with a ton of coffee grounds, chicken bones, and beer cans on top."

"Do you really think so?"

He smiled. "Trust me. I grew up around here, and I know all about the kind of scum that ripped you off last night. I know the way they operate. The scratch that hophead could make off a Jag could keep him high for a long time. He wouldn't pass up a sweet deal like that one."

Anne's eyes widened. "He was on drugs?"

"Higher than a kite. Come on. Let's go get you a nightgown." When she hesitated, he reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and perched them on her cute little nose. He also pulled out a billed cap endorsing a beer company. He beat the black cap on his thigh a couple of times and stuck it on her head. 'There," he said with a grin, "now even your grandmother wouldn't recognize you."

She laughed and took the hand he offered to help her out of the truck. He noticed that she seemed more relaxed as they walked toward the store. He also noticed that she lugged the briefcase with her.

With the help of a clerk, they started toward the lingerie section of the huge store. As they wound their way around gigantic stacks of hair spray and displays of corn chips, Anne remarked, "This is an interesting place. They certainly have everything in the world here, don't
they?"

He grinned down at the slender woman trotting beside him and slowed his stride. "Just about."

While Anne looked through a stack of nightgowns. Spider plucked a slinky red one from a rack. She'd look sexy as hell in it.
W
ith the lace
cups hugging her breasts and the tiny straps showing off her soft skin. Slit up one side and sheer enough to tease the treasure it covered, it was a gown that begged a man to take it off. Just thinking about her dressed in it made desire curl in his stomach. "How about this one?" he asked, holding it up and fanning out the transparent skirt.

She gave him a quelling glance over the top of the aviator glasses, which had slipped to the tip of her nose. "How about this one instead?" She shook out a flannel granny gown and held the long white garment up to herself.

She was married, Spider reminded himself.
Married.
"Yeah, maybe that one would be better. Why don't you get another one in blue? Blue's my favorite color."

"I need a few other things. Is that a problem?"

He smiled at her. "Don't worry about paying for it. Well call it an advance on your salary."

"Thank you," she said gratefully. While she picked out some underwear he gathered up a blue fleece robe and some terry-cloth slippers. While she was looking at bras, he wandered over to a rack of jeans. Soft and comfortable-looking, they were a designer brand that even he recognized. He selected a couple and took them to her.

"Why don't you try these on?" he asked.

"Do we have time?"

"Sure. What size shoes do you wear?"

"Six and a half, narrow. But I have shoes."

They both looked down at the high-heeled boots she wore. "I know you do, sugar. And they're just as cute as they can be, but wearing those things
all the time must be murder on your feet. I saw some sneakers over there. Good price. I
’
ll get you some."

By the time they were ready to check out. Spider was pushing a basket piled high with gowns, robe, slippers, underwear, jeans, shirts, sweaters —he noticed she'd selected a blue one—shoes, socks, a hairbrush, a purse, and cosmetics. He'd even tossed in a few items of his own. Some razor blades and a bag of Chee-tos. And a sack of peppermints. She'd said she liked peppermints better than jelly beans.

As they waited in line at the checkout with their overflowing basket, he cocked an eyebrow at Anne, who looked extremely pleased with herself. "Think this will do you till Monday?"

She looked stricken. "Is it too much?"

"Nan, I was kidding." He laughed and pushed the sunglasses up on her nose. "We're going to have to see about getting you a better disguise. I
’
ll give a friend of mine a call in the morning. She's good at that sort of thing. Let's get back to the Parlor before Fred and Molly send out the posse."

As they drove back to the pawnshop with their purchases piled on the seat between them, Anne was thanking the powers that be for finding Spider. He'd been a lifesaver—literally. Of course, if she hadn't gone to hock her watch, she'd still have her car. She could have sold it for enough to live on for a long time. But she
had
gone to the pawnshop, and her car
had
been stolen, and there
was no use in dwelling on what might have been. Considering Preston's power and influence, she'd been lucky so far.

It was pure luck that she'd overheard her stepbrother's conversation with Bradley Stanf
i
eld, a deputy director of the FBI. She'd gone to her stepbrother's study to tell him that she had returned from her trip, thinking that since he had guests she'd wait until the next morning to gently refuse his kind proposal of marriage. Ironically, she'd been concerned about hurting his feelings.

The door had been slightly ajar, and she'd just raised her hand to knock when a man's voice shouted, "Damn it, Pres! You can't ask me to do this!"

"I can, and I will," her stepbrother had answered calmly. "Need I remind you, Bradley, that it was
I
who secured your appointment as deputy director? Need I remind you of the extremely sensitive file in my safe?"

"But the man's reputation will be ruined." Bradley's argument had sounded merely perfunctory.