Sweet Liar (13 page)

A
nswering the doorbell to his cousin's ring, Mike stood for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, not allowing Raine to enter. “You touch her, Montgomery, and you'll never be able to breed any children.”

Without a smile, Raine nodded, acknowledging what Mike meant: He had claim on Samantha.

Turning away, Mike left the room, for he didn't think he could stand to see Sam smiling at another man. But in spite of his noble intentions, he found himself standing at the front window the moment he heard the door close behind them, standing there watching the two of them walk toward Central Park. Physically, Mike thought, they were wrong for each other. Samantha's small curvy body didn't match his cousin's tall, thin, scrawny body.

Mike looked away from them in disgust, disgust as himself. Maybe Sam was right and he
was
crazy. Never before had he been eaten with jealousy as he was right now, and frankly, he didn't much like the feeling. Nor did he understand why he felt jealous, for Samantha had certainly never given him any encouragement to think that she belonged to him.

Her father had, he thought in his own defense. Her father had asked Mike to take care of his precious daughter after he was gone. The first month he had done a poor job of looking out for her, but since then he'd tried to make up for lost time.

Sighing, Mike thought of the lonely afternoon ahead of him. Who was going to be here to take delight in something as ordinary as ordering from a deli? Who was going to ask him questions and take an interest in his research? Who was going to smell the roses in the garden? Who was going to look him up and down whenever she thought he wasn't looking?

As Mike started to turn away from the window, he saw a man step from the shadow of a building across the street and start walking. In New York one saw people everywhere, but something about this man made Mike notice him. For one thing, he had been standing in that same place yesterday. Mike had noticed him because all men who worked out noticed other men whose triceps strained against the back of their shirt sleeves. This guy wasn't that big, he wasn't so big that his lats kept his arms from touching his ribs, but he did indeed know which end of a barbell to pick up.

Unlatching the window, Mike pushed it up and stuck his head out. After watching for a moment, he didn't know why, but he was ninety-nine percent sure that the man was following Sam and his cousin.

Mike didn't lose a moment, and was out the door in seconds, following the man across Park Avenue, Madison, then Fifth, and into the park. At the park, Mike was sure the man was following Samantha when he stepped behind the statue of General Sherman while Raine bought Sam an ice cream and a couple of balloons.

For a moment, Mike's attention strayed from the man, because Sam was looking up at his string bean of a cousin with a face drippy with sentimentality. From the look on her face a person would have thought that no one had ever given her anything as wonderful as that half-thawed ice cream and the cheap balloons. His stupid cousin was grinning back at her as though he'd presented her the head of a dragon.

“Give me a break,” Mike said in disgust.

The next moment the two of them went strolling through the park, not aware that anyone other than themselves existed, while Mike stayed back until he saw the man who was following them move. The man made no attempt at secrecy and at one point even walked ahead of them, sat on a bench, and watched them walk past.

As he stayed hidden, Mike didn't allow the man to see him, because if he'd been watching the house, he would recognize Mike.

For the next forty-five minutes, as Mike followed the man, he watched Samantha and his cousin. To give Raine credit, he never laid a hand on Samantha, but every time she so much as smiled at the bean pole, Mike wanted to smash him in the face. It was when the two of them stopped at the children's playground that Mike thought he was going to be sick. Deftly catching a swing with one hand, Raine helped Sam onto the seat as though she were an invalid, then gave her a little push, while Sam laughed in utter delight, as though he'd accomplished some great feat.

“I should have killed him the summer we were both twelve,” Mike muttered.

Mike did have a moment of pleasure when Samantha stopped the swing and started to get out, because when Raine put out a hand to help Sam out of the swing, she moved away from his touch.

“It isn't just me,” Mike said in satisfaction.

After the swings they walked along through the twisting paths and every time they disappeared from his sight, the hairs on the back of Mike's neck rose. It was when Raine stepped away from Sam to retrieve a baseball and throw it back to some kids that Mike realized the man who was following them was nowhere in sight. Mike's attention had been on whether or not his skinny cousin was touching Sam and had strayed from the real reason he was playing private eye.

For a moment, Mike looked about in panic, knowing that something was wrong. Where was the man?
Who
was the man?

Mike saw Samantha standing in the shade of some trees watching Raine with a syrupy expression on her face, and behind her, coming down the hill slowly so he wouldn't make a sound was the man.

Mike began to run. He ran across a blanket spread with food, causing the picnickers to yell at him; he leaped over a bench filled with people and they shrieked at him. When he hit the clump of trees he was still running, and when he hit the man with all his two hundred pounds of muscle, he flattened him. For several moments, hidden in the shadow of the trees, the two of them struggled, but it was no contest. Mike was much stronger than the man and soon had him pinned to the ground.

“Who are you?” Mike asked, holding the man down. “What do you want?”

The man had a look on his face that said he'd die before he said a word, and suddenly Mike knew the answers to his questions. “Barrett sent you, didn't he?”

There was the merest flicker in the man's eyes that let Mike know he was right.

“Why?” Mike asked, truly puzzled. “Does he want to know about his granddaughter?”

He never received an answer, because the man took advantage of Mike's puzzlement to pick up a rock and hit Mike on the head with it. The pain of the blow, as well as the unexpectedness of it, sent Mike reeling, and the man lost no time in disappearing. For a moment Mike sat on the ground, his hand to his head, his vision unclear.

“Michael Taggert! How could you do this? How could you spy on me?”

Looking up, he saw Samantha standing over him, hands on hips, and he thought her face was angry, but his vision was too blurry to be sure.

“This is really too much,” she said as she went back down the hill.

As Mike blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, a handkerchief appeared before his eyes. Taking it, he pressed it to his head in the general vicinity of the pain.

“Are you all right?”

He recognized the voice of his cousin and as Mike tried to stand, there was a strong arm placed under his to help him up.

“Mike?”

“I'm okay,” he managed to say when he was standing and holding the handkerchief to his temple, feeling the warmth of the blood that was beginning to trickle down through his hair.

“You want to tell me what happened?”

“No,” Mike said, not looking at his cousin. “Is Sam all right?”

Raine looked into the sunlit field where Samantha was watching some children play. “She's fine. Is there a reason she might not be all right?”

“I don't know. I don't think anyone wants to harm her. There's no reason to hurt her.” He looked at his cousin. “Watch out for her, will you?”

Raine nodded, then watched Mike walk away through the trees and saw him stagger once and catch himself on one of the many boulders in the park. After a moment, Raine went down the hill to Samantha and told her he had to make a telephone call. If he knew Mike, he'd not go to a doctor with his head wound, so Raine was going to call a doctor and request a house call.

I
t was an hour and a half later that Samantha walked into Mike's house and by then her temper was boiling. She'd had more than enough time to think about his following her, and she had strengthened her resolve to leave New York as soon as possible. Tomorrow afternoon she would go with him to see his old gangster, then early on Tuesday she'd catch a plane out of the city.

By the time she reached the town house, Raine close beside her, her only thought was to tell Mike what she thought of him. Standing at the door, she politely thanked Raine, even offered him her hand to shake. Instead of shaking it, he sweetly and expertly kissed the back of her hand. At another time Samantha would have been flattered by his attentions and his polite respect, but now her only thought was of getting to Mike and telling him what a lying, sneaking, rotten creep he was.

When Raine was gone, she unlocked the front door to the town house, her hands made into fists as she prepared herself for the coming argument. She had rehearsed how she was going to tell him that he was never to do anything like that again—not that she was going to give him the chance since she was leaving in under two days—but she wanted to let him know how childishly he had behaved.

The house was quiet, almost too quiet. If there was one thing Mike wasn't, it was quiet. She went into the garden, then into the library, where he was often sitting at his old-fashioned typewriter, then into the kitchen. Looking at the empty living room, she frowned, for it hadn't occurred to her that he wouldn't be in the house waiting for her.

It was when she was leaving the living room that she thought she heard a sound. Turning back, she walked fully into the room and saw Mike asleep on the couch.

“Michael Taggert,” she began, “I want to talk to you about—” She broke off because she realized that he was asleep. But there was more to the way he was sprawled on the leather couch than mere sleep, for he was shirtless and shoeless, but he still wore his trousers, which were grass stained and dirty.

“Mike,” she said, walking toward him, but he didn't move at the sound of her voice. She walked closer, and as she did, she stepped on his shirt lying on the floor. As she nearly always did, she picked it up—and saw the blood on it. Dark, dried spots of blood were on the collar and the right shoulder of his shirt.

After hanging the shirt on the back of a chair, she bent over him. “Mike,” she whispered, and when he didn't stir, she touched his bare shoulder, but he still didn't move. On the table beside the couch was a brown bottle of prescription medicine, which she picked up, reading the name of a drug she knew to be a pain killer and a narcotic.

Putting her hand on his chin, she turned his head to face her and saw a large white bandage on the right side of his head. Stunned, surprised, even feeling a bit of fear, she sat down heavily on the floor beside him and sighed, “Oh, Mike, what in the world have you done?” She had a vision of his following her and in his blind obsession, falling against the boulders in the park.

He stirred in his sleep, his arm falling off the couch and landing against her. She started to place his arm on his chest, but there wasn't enough room on the couch for the width of Mike. Was there anything in the world more appealing than a strong man who was temporarily helpless? she wondered. While trying not to think of what she was doing, she touched his face, ran her fingertips over the rough whiskers just under his skin, and felt an almost uncontrollable urge to climb on the couch beside him to snuggle against him. He was in a drugged sleep so he'd never know what she'd done, she thought, and for a moment she'd have the wonderful feeling of touching another human being.

When he stirred again, he nearly fell off the couch, and Samanatha found herself with a great deal of Mike's weight leaning against her. If she moved, he'd fall to the floor, and if she didn't move, about two-thirds of her body was going to go to sleep in about twenty seconds.

“Mike,” she said, then louder, “Mike!” She tried to push him off of her, but two hundred pounds of sleeping male muscle was more than she could handle. “Mike!” she screamed, pushing as hard as she could.

Partially opening his eyes, he saw her and smiled. “Sammy,” he said dreamily, putting his big hand into the curls of her hair. “You okay?” He didn't give her a chance to answer before he went back to sleep, still half on the couch, half off, still leaning on her.

“Michael Taggert!” she screamed. “Wake up!”

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes again and blinked at her.

“You're crushing me,” she said.

With a sleepy smile, he pulled her up on the couch on top of him and, comfortable now, went back to sleep.

For a moment she lay where she was, full length on top of him, her cheek against his bare chest. How many years had it been since she'd been held by another human being? For a few months after she and her husband had been married, he'd made a pretense of loving her and wanting her, but the pretense had not lasted long. Within four months of their marriage they might as well have been roommates for all the physical contact between them.

Now, she might have been content to lie on top of Mike forever if his hand hadn't strayed from her back down to her buttocks. He obviously wasn't
that
thoroughly asleep.

Putting her sharp elbows into his ribs, she gouged as hard as she could.

Mike came awake with a grunt and a frown, but when he saw her on top of him, his face changed to delight. “Oh, Sammy,” he said, putting his hand on the back of her head to move her to kiss him.

Samantha moved her head to one side so his lips wouldn't touch hers as she pushed her elbows into his ribs again. When he yelped with pain, she scrambled off of him just as Mike made a lunge for her, missed, then fell to the floor with a thud that made the house shake.

He blinked up at her in drug-glazed bewilderment.

“Michael,” she said softly, trying not to allow her voice to betray what she was feeling, that she wanted to stay with him, wanted to continue touching him. “I think you should go to bed. The couch is too small for you to sleep on.”

Lying back on the carpet, he closed his eyes.

“Michael,” she said again. “You have to get up.” When he didn't move, she started to walk away, but he caught her ankle.

“Help me get up,” he said, sounding weak and neglected.

She knew as well as she knew anything in life that he didn't need her assistance to get up, but at the same time she couldn't allow him to spend the night on the floor. Maybe he had been spying on her today, but maybe he had a reason to do so. Maybe he thought his cousin might harm her. As Mike had said a million times, he was supposed to take care of her, and perhaps in his mind, following her to the park
was
taking care of her.

Kneeling, she pulled his arm around her shoulders, then tried to help him stand up. It took quite some time to get him to his feet and even longer to get him all the way up the stairs and into his bedroom.

Once in the bedroom, she turned away as he unzipped his trousers and removed his socks then slipped under the covers. But there was a mirror, and she did just happen to see that he wore blue cotton underwear, the kind that were low cut on his hips. She also just happened to notice the way his thighs curved into his buttocks, the way there was no hair at the very tops of his legs.

When he closed his eyes as soon as his head touched the pillow, Samantha couldn't help herself as she tucked the cover about him.

“Don't go,” he whispered as she started to leave the room.

“You need to sleep. Those pills are killers.”

He smiled but didn't open his eyes. “Did you enjoy your date?” He sounded as though he were merely asking after her welfare and was interested in her afternoon, but he didn't fool her.

“We had a marvelous time. Raine is the most charming, the most handsome man I have ever met. I have agreed to bear his child.”

Mike's eyes flew open, then after a momentary look of horror, he lay back on the pillow. “You are a cruel woman. Come over here and sit by me and tell me a story.”

She knew she should stay away from him. After all, she was leaving in what was now a matter of hours and it was no good to get more attached to him than she already was. On the other hand, he had no doubt cracked his head open because of his misplaced sense of chivalry.

Primly, she sat on the edge of the bed, as far away from his warm, sleepy, nearly nude body as possible. “What story would you like to hear? About Peeping Tom?”

He didn't open his eyes. “Tell me one of your I-hate-men-and-I-especially-hate-marriage stories.”

Blinking a few times, she laughed, but it didn't take her but a second to think of such a story. “I read a book that put forth the theory that the major cause of divorce in America is housework. The wives have to work at a job all day then come home and do all the housework too with no help from their husbands. After years of study, the author said she thought that modern women were marrying men, having two or three children, then getting a divorce. The husbands had served their purpose and were no longer needed, so the women got rid of them. Like the drones in the bee family, I guess.”

“I hate to bring up matters that seem distasteful to you, but what about sex? Are the women willing to do without sex for the rest of their lives?”

“I didn't say the women were celibate, and besides, what does married sex mean anyway? He tosses your nightgown over your head and makes noise for four minutes.”

At that Mike opened his eyes, looked at her, then began to laugh. He laughed so much and so hard that Samantha got off the bed, but he caught her hand and pulled her back to sit by him. She sat there, but stiffly.

“I am pleased that I amuse you so much.” Her voice dripped sarcasm.

“You do,” he said. “You amuse me a great deal, but I am also beginning to understand you.”

She tried to snatch her hand away, but he held her fast. “You need to sleep and I need to pack.”

“Pack for what?” he asked.

“For leaving this city. After we see Barrett tomorrow, I'm free, remember? You aren't going back on your word, are you? You
are
going to give me the money, aren't you?”

He opened his eyes fully. “Yes, I'm going to release the money if you visit Barrett with me. But, Sam, where are you going? Do you have anyone to look after you?”

She jerked her hand from his grasp. “I don't have any relatives, if that's what you mean. I'm afraid I wasn't blessed as you were with a relative on every street corner. I—”

“Cursed,” he said. “Relatives are a curse. Always spying on you. Always—”

Suddenly, she came off the bed and glared down at him in anger. “You have no idea what you're talking about! You take everything for granted. You saunter into a store like Saks and expect your cousin to stop working and help you out. Your cousin Raine first came to your house to make sure I wasn't a gold digger out to rob you out of house and home. Your family
cares
about you, and I'd give anything in the world to have…” She stopped, realizing she was revealing too much about herself.

“To have what, Sam?” he asked softly.

“To have you stop calling me Sam,” she spat at him, avoiding the issue. “Now go back to sleep. Tomorrow we visit your gangster.” She turned to leave the room.

“What did you and my cousin talk about?”

You, she almost said, but caught herself. “Oh the usual, life and love and all the things that matter.”

“What did he tell you about me?” Mike's voice was getting weak; he was falling asleep again.

“He said that all the Taggerts were rather poor, but that your family was excellent at breeding children and all of you could add and subtract very well.”

Mike smiled sleepily, his eyes closed. “He was right about the kids part. I'll give you a free demonstration any time you want.”

Trying not to smile, but failing, Samantha said, “Go to sleep,” and left the room.