Sweet Liar (23 page)

Safe but startled, the child looked up at Mike, then his eyes widened and welled with tears, while Mike knelt in front of the child. “You were running pretty fast there, Tex,” he said. “Might have made a hole in that fence. We couldn't let that happen, could we?”

Nodding, the child sniffed and smiled at Mike just as his nanny, at least seventy pounds overweight, came trudging up to her charge.

“Thank you so very much,” she said, then took the child's hand and led him away. The little boy looked back over his shoulder and waved at Mike, who waved back.

When Mike turned to Sam and held out his hand for her, she didn't hesitate in entwining her fingers with his. They started walking south, leaving Sutton Place behind.

“Do you know that I've never so much as changed a baby's diaper?” she said, thinking of how familiarly Mike had dealt with the little boy.

“It's not exactly a highly skilled task,” Mike said, then looked at her. “I'll tell you what, we'll go to Colorado and visit my family, and you can change all the nappies you want. I'd place money on it that my whole family will let you learn on their kids. Inside a week you'll be an expert.”

“I'd like that,” she said seriously. “I'd like that very much.”

Squeezing her hand, he led her to the curb, caught a cab, and gave directions to the driver to take them to Chinatown.

By four o'clock Samantha was tired, but very happy, for she had spent yet another heavenly day with Mike. They had walked until her legs hurt and seen and done more than Samantha could remember. Mike had fed her until she was ready to pop. He had made her laugh, made her see things she never would have seen without him. He took her to tiny, out-of-the-way stores, such as the Last Wound Up, which had nothing but wind-up toys. He showed her statues and parks and street fairs; they listened to street musicians and saw performers who were very, very good. She tried on hats at a stall and talked Mike into buying a shirt made of Balinese cotton. And as they walked and saw things, they talked.

The talking was what had pleased Samantha most. For the first time since she'd met him, Mike didn't try to be Sherlock Holmes and get every little piece of information out of her that he could. He didn't ask her a single question about her father or her husband or about what her years in high school had been like. The absence of questions made Sam relax, and as she relaxed, she asked him questions about his life and childhood. Mike didn't seem to have a secret in the world—with the exception of other women, that is. If she'd not been able to look at him, not seen the way other women in the street looked at him, she would have thought he'd never so much as had a date before, for all the mention he made of the women in his life.

He told her about his brothers, all eight of them, and his three sisters; he told of his parents and his many cousins. He told about what he'd studied in college and his many years of graduate school. He told her anything and answered everything she asked, but he didn't mention women.

At four o'clock they sat down at an outside table in a little restaurant, and when a very good-looking, well-built young man walked by, Samantha glanced up at him, only to turn back to see Mike scowling at her. “Think he's a bodybuilder?” she asked with exaggerated innocence.

Glancing over his shoulder at the man as he took a drink from a glass of beer, Michael Taggert, who, if allowed, would eat nothing but beef and beer, muttered, “Looks more like a bellybuilder to me.”

Laughing, Samantha gave her order to the waitress.

Over Cokes and muffins, Samantha fiddled with her straw and said idly, as though it meant nothing to her, “You haven't been married?”

He didn't answer, so she looked at him. He was staring at her intently, with no humor in his eyes.

“Sam,” he said softly, “I'm thirty years old, and I'm heart-whole. I've had affairs with women—Vanessa and I were together for two years—but I've never been in love. In my family we take marriage seriously; we actually believe in those vows a man and woman exchange. I've never asked a woman to marry me; I've never met one I wanted to spend my life with. I've never met a woman who I thought was good enough to be the mother of my kids.” Reaching out, he took her hand in his. “Until you.”

Her breath held for a moment, she pulled her hand back. “Mike, I don't—”

“If you're again going to give me that crap about not wanting to commit, save it. I don't want to hear it.” He looked down at his plate. “Sam,” he said softly, “I want to ask you a question and I want you to answer me honestly.”

She braced herself. “All right.”

“Did your father ever…touch you? Sexually, I mean.”

For a moment, she felt anger race through her, but then she calmed herself. In a time when every magazine brought a new confession of some woman who had been a victim of incest, it wasn't a bad question. “No,” she said, smiling at him, “my father never crawled into bed with me, never touched me in any way except with affection and love. He was a very good father, Mike.”

“Then why…?” he began, but closed his mouth. He had started to ask her why she was so turned off by him, but he didn't want to hear her answer. Maybe it was just him. Maybe she didn't like
him
and that was the reason she continually pushed him away. “Is it me?” he said in spite of himself. “Do you like a different type of guy?” He looked up at her. “Raine maybe?”

“Mike, you're the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my life. Why would any woman like Raine better than you?”

He didn't smile. In fact, her answer seemed to make him more confused. Although he'd found out a great deal about her, there were still missing pieces of the puzzle that was Miss Samantha Elliot. But the more time he spent with her, the more he was sure she was worth the effort.

Standing, he put money on the table. “You ready to go? I have to get back and get cleaned up. I have a date tonight.”

Slowly, she stood. He talked to her about marriage vows and children in one breath, then told her he had a date in the next.

I
n the silence in the taxi on the way back to the town house, Samantha had time to think, but at first all she could do was feel, and what she felt was old-fashioned, gut-wrenching jealousy. This was a new emotion for Sam, and it didn't take much analyzing to know that she didn't much like the sensation. Of course, to be jealous, she told herself, you had to feel as though you owned another person, that you had a right to that person's time and attention…and love. But she certainly didn't own Mike and he didn't own her. Wasn't this lack of ownership, this freedom from possession, what she had worked so hard to achieve? Hadn't she fought him at every turn just so she
wouldn't
be tempted to have any feelings for him?

Samantha was well aware that right now she was as vulnerable as a person could get. After all, she'd recently lost the last person on earth who had any connection with her; her husband, her relatives, all of them were gone. Being alone in the world and grieving could make a person do odd things, such as
think
you were in love with a person when actually you were merely very grateful. That's what she was to Mike: grateful. She'd told him that when he'd kept her from sleeping for whole days at a time, she was merely tired, not depressed, but even then, even when she'd said it, she'd known she was lying. She had been so depressed that she hadn't wanted to continue living; although she had never actually contemplated suicide, she had wanted to sleep without waking up.

Mike had taken her out of herself and forced her to wake up by using a combination of enraging her and just plain, ordinary paying attention to her. He had also given her hope, which was something that had been missing from her life after her father died. Mike had given her hope that she would be able to find her grandmother, that she could find the last person on earth who had a link to her.

Of course, to Mike's way of looking at it, everything he had done, all the kindnesses, all the attention, had backfired because he'd involved Samantha in something that had turned out to be dangerous. But Sam didn't regret any of it. If her life was going to be threatened, she'd rather have it threatened by an outside force than by her own hopelessness.

Now, looking at Mike in the taxi, she did her best to squelch her feelings of jealousy. He had said that he was heart-whole, that he wasn't in love with another woman, but then you didn't have to be in love to go out on a date, did you? Of course it was none of her business whether he dated or not since she was just his tenant, but it seemed odd that he seemed to enjoy her company but now wanted to spend time with someone else.

“Have you had this date a long time?” she asked, trying to sound as though she were just making conversation. Maybe his mother had arranged a date with a friend's daughter.

“Three weeks,” he said tersely.

“Ah. Then you
must
go?” Is it an obligation? is what she really wanted to ask.

“Yes.” He turned to her. “Jealous?”

She saw that he was trying to be lighthearted, to be his usual teasing self, but Samantha sensed tension under his words. He's hiding something from me, she thought, trying not to frown. There's something he doesn't want me to know. Immediately, her first thought was, he's going out with Vanessa and he doesn't want me to know about it. How silly that he should try to hide it, she told herself. What he does with his time is absolutely and utterly none of my business. He could date actresses, models, whomever, and it would mean nothing to her.

As she thought about Vanessa or any other woman who might be in Mike's life, she realized that every muscle in her body was rigid. This is absurd, she told herself, utterly ridiculous. Mike and I are…friends, that's all. We've been forced to spend a great deal of time together and we've made the best of it, and that's all there is between us. Of course he was probably lonely living in that big house by himself and he was grateful to have some company, which is why we've spent so much time together going places, doing things, laughing together, touching each other, kissing—

She broke off as she looked at his profile. Mike would never in his life be lonely. He was too likable, too gregarious, too caring, too—

“Don't look at me like that,” he whispered, not even turning to look at her.

Self-consciously, Samantha turned away to look out the window of the cab. Something was bothering him, but she didn't know what it was. In that moment she knew what was wrong. He's lying, she thought. He doesn't have a date. But
why
is he lying?

She knew the answer the moment she thought about it. He's lying to protect me. Warmth spread through her. Not just warmth, but joy, pure undiluted joy ran through every vein in her body. Just as she'd known that if she could signal Mike when the man was choking her he would come for her, she knew that now Mike was trying to keep her safe. What was it Mike had said to her? “Your father gave me the care of you and I mean to be worthy of his trust.” She knew he felt that the attempted murder was his fault because he'd not considered the old gangster legend about the missing money. Since the attempt on her life, Mike had done everything he could to get her to safety. He'd so much wanted to protect her that he'd been willing to send her away with his cousin Raine, who he disliked—at least Mike disliked Raine when it came to Samantha, she thought.

Leaning her head back, trying not to smile, she remembered the last time Mike had gone out on a date. That night he'd wanted her to be jealous and had been disappointed when she hadn't been. Later he'd told her that his “date” was an eighty-six-year-old woman who he thought had worked in the nightclub where Maxie had worked.

“I'm going with you,” she said just as they reached the town house.

“Like hell you are,” Mike answered, and the way he said it made Sam sure she was right: Wherever he was going tonight had something to do with Maxie. She would have been hard-pressed to be able to think of a time in her life when the knowledge that she was right made her so thoroughly happy. She could have danced a jig in the street and run along the top of the fence railing crooning, “Singin' in the Rain.”

But she behaved herself. As Mike paid the fare, she sedately walked up the stairs and got out her door key, but Mike elbowed her aside and used his own key. Smiling, she watched him, guessing that his old-fashioned ethics extended to door locks. She could see that he was angry, and the more angry he was, the happier she became. If he were going out on a “real” date, he wouldn't be angry, he'd be laughing at her.

“What do you think I should wear?” she asked brightly. “A suit or a nice pair of trousers?”

“A nightgown and a bathrobe,” he said through clenched teeth as he closed the door behind them. “That's all you need for staying in tonight and watching TV.”

“There is absolutely nothing on on Saturday night, so I guess I'll just have to go with you.”

“Samantha,” he said, giving her a threatening look. “You are
not
going with me.”

“Vanessa might be annoyed?”

For a split second, a look of puzzlement crossed his face, then he grinned, but Samantha knew him well enough by now to know how false that grin was. No Vanessa. Hallelujah. “For your information, I'm meeting Abby for dinner.”

“Where?”

“You wouldn't know the place. Upper West Side. Very posh. I probably won't be home until late, or maybe I'll spend the night.”

“The nursing home will allow you to do that?”

The quick, horrified look on his face made Sam know that she'd guessed right. He managed to get his face under control quickly, but not before Samantha was looking at him smugly. While he was saying things like, “Abby doesn't live in a nursing home” and “She's one hot lady,” Sam just stood there and smiled at him. No Vanessa. No actress. No model. No anybody else at all. Just Mike trying to find her grandmother.

“Damn you, Samantha,” Mike said, sounding as though he were on the verge of tears. “Damn you to hell and back. You can
not
go with me. This woman may have known your grandmother. Doc's men might be watching her. She might—”

“She might
be
my grandmother for all you know.”

When he turned away from her, she knew that he was trying to think of arguments to persuade her that she should not, could not, go with him, and she knew that whatever he said was going to have no effect on her decision. “I don't know why you're looking so pleased with yourself,” he said when he turned back.

Stepping closer, she smiled up at him. “I don't know why I ever thought you were an accomplished liar. You're not at all good at lying.”

Mike's face and body expressed his rage: His eyes flashed, his nostrils flared, his hands were fists at his side. “Maybe not, but I'm damned good at tying up little girls who are too stupid to know what's good for them.” He took a step toward her.

Samantha swallowed, for he did indeed look as though he meant to do her bodily harm. “You couldn't hurt anyone if you tried,” she said with as much bravado as she could muster. She held her ground when he was standing so close he was touching her, looming over her.

Mike's anger dissolved in a rush, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her so tight she almost couldn't breathe. For once, Samantha made no effort to get away from him, but instead, held onto him, snuggling her cheek against the hollow in his chest. They fit together so well, she thought. Her ex-husband had been tall and thin. They had looked odd together; they hadn't fit at all. But Mike was perfect.

“Look, baby,” he began, “I don't want you involved more than you already are. I don't even like leaving you here in the house alone tonight. In fact, I was going to suggest that you spend the evening with Blair or Vicky or—”

“Raine?” she asked, her eyes closed, smiling as she thought of the thousand times she'd wanted to snuggle with Mike. He felt better than she'd imagined.

“No, the idea of your spending the evening with that stick never crossed my mind.” Still holding her, he bent his head back to look at her. “You don't
really
like that guy, do you?”

“No,” she answered honestly for the second time that day, but who was counting? Smiling, he put his head back on the top of hers.

“Okay, here's what I'll do. I'll go see this old woman by myself since this is probably a wild goose chase anyway.” He shook his head in disbelief. “This woman will be the seventh old lady I've been to see. With each one somebody had sworn to me that she'd been at the club the night Scalpini's men shot the place up, and each time either the woman was daffy or she was too young or she'd never heard of Jubilee. It's all been a waste of time, and I'm sure this one is too. I'll take you to Blair's—she lives on the West Side—then, after I see this old lady, I'll come back and pick the two of you up and take you out to dinner. I'll take you anywhere in the city you want to go. We could go to the Quilted Giraffe or the Rainbow Room or—”

“No,” she said. “I'm going with you.”

“Sammy, sweetheart, please listen to me.” He was stroking her hair and her back as his big body was leaning over hers so she was nearly encased in him. She hoped he would spend the next three hours trying to persuade her not to go with him.

“Mmmmm, I'm listening. Maybe we could go out to dinner after we meet her. I'd like to go to the Sign of the Dove.”

Mike released her; he was really angry now. “You're not going with me.”

“All right, then I won't go with you. If you don't want us to search for my grandmother
together
then I'll have to go by myself. How many nursing homes on the Upper West Side can there be? And, by the way, west side of what?”

Standing there, Mike stared at her for a moment, his face running the gamut of emotions, knowing that she would do what she said. He'd never in his life seen anyone as stubborn as she. “Wear a suit,” he said tightly as he turned away from her.

“So we can go out to dinner afterward?” she asked, but he didn't answer.