Tell Me No Secrets (28 page)

“It’s nice to see you,” Adam said.

Jess concentrated on his lips, aware of a slight trace of alcohol already on his breath, and wondered where he’d been before he arrived on her doorstep. Out with the customer she’d seen him with this afternoon? Had their date ended early, leaving him with nothing but time and a bottle of wine on his hands?

Jess found herself getting angrier with each new thought. Now that she was fully awake, she was less charmed by his spontaneity than she was angered by his presumptuousness. What was he doing knocking on her door after ten o’clock on a Saturday night and scaring her half to death? Did he really think he could ignore her all week, then show up unannounced any time he felt like it? Did he assume she would just let him in, drink his wine, then take him gratefully into her bed? He was lucky she hadn’t shot him!

“What are you doing here?” Jess asked, surprising them both with the suddenness of her question.

Adam took a long sip of his drink, playing with it in his mouth for several seconds before swallowing it. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

He took another drink, this time throwing the liquid against the back of his mouth as if it were a shot of whiskey. “I wanted to see you,” he said, though his eyes looked just past her, refusing to focus.

“When did you decide that?”

Adam fidgeted on the sofa, took another long sip of his drink, refilled his glass to the top, in no rush to answer her question. “I don’t understand.”

“At what time did you decide you wanted to see me?” Jess probed, impatient now. “Two o’clock this afternoon? Four? Seven? Ten?”

“What is this, Jess? An interrogation?”

“Why didn’t you phone first?”

“I already told you. It was an impulse.”

“And you’re just an impulsive kind of guy.”

“Sometimes. Yes. I guess so.”

“Are you married?”

“What?”

“Are you married?” Jess repeated, seeing the situation clearly for the first time, wondering why she hadn’t realized it before. “Simple enough question. Requiring only a simple yes or no answer.”

“What makes you think I’m married?”

“Are you married—yes or no?”

“The witness will please answer the question,” Adam said, sarcastically.

“Are you married?” Jess said again.

“No,” Adam proclaimed loudly. “Of course I’m not married.”

“You’re divorced.”

“I’m divorced.”

“From Susan.”

“Yes, from Susan.”

“Who lives in Springfield.”

“Who lives on Mars, for all I care.” He finished the wine remaining in his glass in one gulp.

“Then why don’t you ever call? Why do you just show up on my doorstep at all hours of the night?”

“Jess, for Christ’s sake, it’s ten-thirty!”

“You’ve already made your commission,” she said, still smarting from the little scene she’d witnessed in the shoe store that afternoon, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Had the other salesman told Adam of her visit? “What are you doing here?”

“You think I’m trying to sell you another pair of boots?”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to sell me.”

He poured himself more wine, drank it down in two gulps, then emptied what remained of the bottle into his glass. “I’m not married, Jess. Honest.”

There was a long pause. Jess stared into her lap, her anger spent, more relieved than she cared to acknowledge.

“Did we just have our first fight?” he asked.

“I don’t know you well enough to fight with you,” Jess answered.

“You know me as well as necessary.” He finished the wine, stared dumbfounded into the bottom of his empty glass, as if just realizing he’d drunk almost an entire bottle of wine in less than ten minutes.

“Necessary for me or for you?”

“I just don’t like to plan things too far in advance.”

Jess laughed.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“I plan everything.”

“And just what does planning everything accomplish?” He leaned back against the sofa, shaking his shoes from his feet, lifting his legs off the floor, and casually stretching them across Jess’s lap.

“It gives me an illusion of control, I guess,” Jess answered, feeling his weight across her thighs. Her body tensed, then relaxed, welcoming the contact. It had been so long since she’d been with a man, so long since she’d allowed herself the pleasure of a man’s caress. Had he been right in his assumptions after all? Would she let him in, drink his wine, then gratefully take him to her bed?

“And this illusion of control is important to you?” he was saying.

“It’s all I’ve got.”

Adam leaned his head against the pillow, adjusted his hips so that he was almost lying down. “I think I may have had too much to drink.”

“I think you’re right.” There was a long pause. “Why did you come here, Adam?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes closing, his words heavy, unwilling. “I guess I shouldn’t have.”

Don’t say that, Jess said silently. “Maybe you should go,” she said out loud, fighting the urge to cradle him in her arms. “I better call you a cab. You’re in no shape to drive.”

“Ten minutes’ sleep is all I need.”

“Adam, I’m going to call for a taxi.” Jess tried lifting his
legs, but they were like deadweights. “If you’ll just shift your feet a bit …”

He did, drawing his knees toward his chest in a semifetal position, turning fully on his side. If anything, he felt even heavier than before.

“Great,” Jess said, tickling the bottoms of his feet, trying to get him to move. But her fingers generated no response at all. “Adam, I can’t sit here like this all night,” she said, finding herself close to tears. “No, this is silly!” she exclaimed. “I will not be a prisoner in my own apartment. I will not spend the night sitting on my sofa with some comatose drunk sprawled across my lap. I need my sleep. I need to get to bed.
Hohh!”
she shouted, but Adam didn’t move.

With renewed determination, Jess tugged at Adam’s feet, managing, after a few minutes, to lift them just high enough so that she could slide out from under. Adam’s feet returned to the sofa with a gentle plop.

Jess stood over him for several minutes, watching him sleep. “Adam, you can’t stay here,” she whispered, then louder, “Adam, I’m going to call for a taxi.”

And tell them what? That you have a man passed out on your sofa and you want someone to pick him up and carry him down three flights of stairs, and then take him home, except that you have no idea where he lives? Oh yes, right. They’ll fight over that fare.

Face it, Jess, she told herself, covering him with his jacket. Adam Stohn isn’t going anywhere. At least not tonight.

She studied his face, all traces of turmoil hidden by the peaceful mask of sleep. What secrets was be hiding? she wondered, brushing some hair away from his eyes, her fingers tingling at the contact. How many lies had he told her?

Jess tiptoed away from the sofa, wondering whether she was doing the right thing in letting him stay. Would she wake up in the middle of the night to find him looming over her with her gun his hand? Was he some psychotic sociopath on the lookout for lonely prosecuting attorneys?

She was almost too tired to care.

Trust your instincts, Jess heard her Wen-Do instructor repeat as she crawled back into bed. Trust your instincts.

But just in case her instincts were wrong, she removed the gun from the top drawer of her end table and tucked it carefully underneath her mattress before allowing herself the luxury of sleep.

She awoke the next morning to find him staring at her from her bedroom door.

“Do you always lay out your clothes so neatly?” he was asking. “Even on a Sunday?”

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked, ignoring his question, sitting up in bed, gathering her blankets around her.

“Not long. A few minutes, maybe.”

Jess looked toward her clock. “Nine-thirty!” she gasped.

“Shouldn’t drink so much,” he said, and smiled sheepishly.

“I can’t believe I slept till nine-thirty!”

“You were obviously exhausted.”

“I have so much to do.”

“First things first,” he said. “Breakfast is ready.”

“You made breakfast?”

He leaned against the doorway. “It wasn’t easy. You weren’t lying when you said you don’t cook. I had to run out and buy some eggs and vegetables. …”

“How’d you get back in?”

“I borrowed your key,” he said simply.

“You went into my purse?”

“I put it back.” He approached her bed, held out his hand. “Come on, I’ve been slaving over a hot stove all morning.”

Jess threw back her covers and stepped out of bed, ignoring the offer of his hand, not sure she liked the idea of his having gone into her purse. “Let me just wash my face and brush my teeth.”

“Later.” He grabbed her hand, pulled her through the hallway to the dining area. The table was set, orange juice already poured into glasses.

“I see you found everything.” So, he’d been through her kitchen cupboards as well.

“You don’t have any dishes that match,” he said, and laughed. “You’re a strange woman, Jess Koster. Interesting, but strange.”

“I could say the same about you.”

He smiled, cryptically. “I’m not really that interesting.”

It was her turn to laugh. Jess felt herself relax instantly with the sound. If he was some psychotic sociopath who was going to kill her, he’d obviously decided to do it after breakfast, so she might as well enjoy the meal he’d prepared. Trust her instincts. “What’s on the menu?” she asked, her stomach rumbling at the thought of a half-decent breakfast.

“The best western omelet in the De Paul area,” he answered, sliding one of two perfectly shaped omelets onto her plate, the other onto his, garnishing each with a sprig of parsley.

“You even got parsley. I’m really impressed.”

“That was the general idea. Don’t let it get cold,” he said, pouring her a cup of coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Black.”

“Eat up.”

“It looks wonderful. I can’t believe you did all this.”

“It was the least I could do after the way I behaved last night.”

“You didn’t do anything last night.”

“Precisely. I finally get to spend the night with a beautiful woman, and what do I do? I drink myself into a stupor and pass out on her sofa.”

Jess ran a self-conscious hand through her tangled hair.

“No, don’t do that,” he said, bringing her hand back to the table with his. “You look lovely.”

Jess slid her hand away from his, poked at her omelet with her fork.

“So, what’s the verdict?” He waited while she took her first mouthful of food.

“Fabulous,” Jess said enthusiastically. “Definitely the best omelet in the De Paul area.”

They ate for several minutes in silence.

“I took the cover off the birdcage,” Adam said, “and I brought in your morning paper. It’s on the sofa.”

Jess looked from the birdcage to the sofa. “Thanks.” She paused. “Anything else you did that I should know about?”

He leaned across the dark mahogany table and kissed her. “Not yet.”

Jess didn’t move as Adam leaned forward to kiss her again. Her lips were tingling; her heart was pounding. She felt like a teenager. She felt like a blushing bride. She felt like an idiot.

Was she really such a pushover?” Were a glass of orange juice, a cup of coffee, and a western omelet all that was necessary to get into her heart and into her bed?

And now he was kissing her lips, her cheeks, her neck, back to her lips. His arms wrapped around her, pulled her against him. How long had it been, she wondered, since a man had kissed her in this way? Since
she
had kissed a man in this way?

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, as his kisses became deeper, as her kisses responded in kind. “I have so much work to do to be ready for tomorrow.”

“You’ll do it,” he assured her, burying his lips in her hair.

“Most murder trials only last a week to ten days,” she whispered, trying to talk herself out of her ardor, “but the defendant got sick. …”

Adam covered her mouth with his own, his hands reaching for her breasts.

She tried to protest, but a grunt of pleasure was the only sound that emerged.

“Murders are actually among the easiest cases to try,” she continued stubbornly, wondering which was stranger—what she was doing or what she was saying. “Except when they involve the death penalty, as this one does. …”

Again he silenced her with his mouth. This time, she said nothing, surrendering to the almost unbearably pleasant sensation of his lips on hers, his hands on her body.

Suddenly, a buzzer sounded. It beeped once, then again.

“What’s that?” Adam asked between kisses.

“The intercom,” Jess answered, wondering who it could be. “Someone’s downstairs.”

“They’ll go away.”

The buzzer sounded again, three times in rapid succession. Who was it? Jess wondered. Now, of all times. Ten o’clock on a Sunday morning!

“My God!” Jess said, pulling out of Adam’s embrace. “It’s my ex-husband! I forgot all about him. He said he’d drop by this morning. …”

“He’s as good as his word,” Adam said as the buzzer sounded again.

Jess went quickly to the intercom by the door and spoke into it. “Don?”

“Your bagels have arrived.” His voice filled the apartment.

“This should be interesting,” Adam said, grabbing his coffee mug and flopping down on the living room sofa, obviously enjoying the situation.

“Oh God,” Jess whispered, hearing Don’s footsteps on the stairs and opening the door before he could knock. “Hi, Don.”

He was wearing a heavy parka over dark green corduroy pants, his arms filled by two large bags of bagels.

“It’s freezing out there,” he remarked. “What kept you? Don’t tell me you were still asleep!” He took two steps inside the apartment, then froze at the sight of Adam on the sofa. “Sorry,” he said immediately, confusion evident in his face as he extended his hand toward Adam. “I’m Don Shaw, an old friend.”

“Adam Stohn,” Adam replied, shaking Don’s hand. “A new one.”

There was silence. No one seemed to breathe.