The Stranger: The Heroes of Heyday (Harlequin Superromance No. 1266) (7 page)

Her hands stilled, and he could tell she was working to keep her emotions in check.

“Sorry doesn't change anything, Tyler,” she said, her head still bent over the magazines. “Sorry is just about the most pointless word in the dictionary.”

He nodded. “Yes. But even so I am sorry. I would have liked to spare you. I wish you could believe that. I wish we could be friends again.”

Finally she turned around. Her face was set in lines so stiff it shocked him. He'd seen her aching with pain when her husband had hurt her, and boiling with fury when Tyler had betrayed her. But he'd never seen her like this, frozen hard with contempt.

“And do you know what
I
wish, Tyler? I wish that, whatever scandal you're trying to dig up this time, you'd do it somewhere else. I wish you wouldn't insult me by thinking I'm dumb enough to fall for your innocent
let me be your friend
charade a second time. I wish you would get out of my store.”

He opened his mouth but then shut it again without speaking. He decided to let her have the moment. He let her pivot on her heel, satisfied that she'd told him off for good this time.

She needed, at least this once, to have the last word. So he didn't say what he could have said.

He didn't say,
Technically, Mallory, this store is mine.

 

“D
UDE
,
HAVE A LITTLE FAITH
in me, why don't you? I won't run off with the bank deposit.” Wally looked down at the cash drawer and whistled. “Although, for once we've got enough in here to actually tempt me.”

Mallory had to laugh. He was right. It had been an exhausting day, but it certainly had been lucrative. She didn't ordinarily let anyone else close up for her, even when the register was half-empty. If Wally picked tonight to suddenly turn larcenous, he could really do some damage.

But she wanted so much to join Mindy and Freddy for dinner. She'd hardly seen them all day. Freddy had never been to Heyday before, and he had expected Mindy to show him the sights. The bookstore hadn't amused him for more than about ten minutes; apparently he wasn't much of a reader. Mindy, who seemed tuned into his every mood, had picked up the signals immediately and begun racking her brain for more exciting adventures.

Heyday was a little short on those, but she'd done her best. The Riverside Park neighborhood, with houses old and splendid enough to impress even a senator's son. The circus museum, where you could learn everything you ever wanted to know about zebras—and then some.
The college, which looked quite attractive in the spring. The newly renovated park, with the hilarious statue of St. Kieran McClintock riding a stubby, cross-eyed zebra.

The three of them had arranged to meet for a late dinner, after Mallory closed up shop at eight-thirty. But Mindy had called at six, reporting that they'd run out of things to do, and Freddy was hungry. Was there any chance Mallory could get free and join them now?

“Okay,” Mallory said, and she took a deep breath. “You know how to run through the credit cards?” Wally nodded. “You won't forget to lock the back door?” Wally shook his head. “You will remember to turn off—”

“Boss.” Wally looked pained. “I'm not a moron. I've seen you close up a million times. I'll do everything I should do, and nothing I shouldn't do. I promise.”

And he would, she knew that. In spite of his piercings and his red-and-green hair, Wally was smart as a whip, and actually one of the last great innocent teenagers. He kissed his mother when she dropped him off in the afternoons, for heaven's sake. He loved comic books and classic movies and milk, and he didn't care who knew it.

So why was she so nervous? Why did she have this niggling feeling that, if she left the store, something bad might happen?

Perhaps it was just that, surprisingly, the blackmailer hadn't called today. She wasn't stupid enough to think he had decided to play nice. She knew he'd
do something to make her sorry. She just had no idea what.

Or maybe it was the confrontation she'd had with Tyler this morning. She'd tried to ignore him, but the sight of him over there, with that detached, analytical look on his face, evaluating the store, the customers and even Mallory herself, had finally driven her nuts.

It reminded her too much of how he used to sit in the café, at the back booth, the one nearest the counter where she was working. He had watched people then, too, with that same blandly curious expression. But when he had talked to her, after everyone else was gone, he had seemed to lose a little of the detachment, and she had foolishly believed that they were…friends.

And she'd needed a friend so badly right then.

It had felt good to confront him directly this morning. She would have liked to be even more direct. When he dared to speak of being friends, she would have liked to slap the word right off his mouth.

She couldn't do that, of course. Even if they'd been alone in the shop she wouldn't have. Her mother would have been ashamed of her for even thinking about something so uncivilized.

So she had settled for telling him to get out.

However, she knew that, like the blackmailer, Tyler wasn't going to take orders from her for long. She didn't know why he'd bothered to spend so much time in her shop, but she knew that he must want something.

And when Tyler Balfour wanted a thing, he tended to get it.

The front doorbell rang again. Ordinarily the dinner hour was pretty quiet, so Mallory and Wally both looked up curiously.

It was a courier, a young man about Wally's age, bringing in a large, quite lovely bouquet of flowers. White roses, white carnations, baby's breath, and a big white satin bow in the center.

For a second, Mallory thought someone must have been confused about Mindy's wedding date. The bouquet looked positively bridal, all that white.

But then she looked at the card. It was addressed to her.

A trickle of discomfort made its way down her spine, as light and disagreeable as a bead of perspiration. She looked at the courier.

“They're beautiful,” she said. “Who sent them?”

The boy looked annoyed, as if she were pretty stupid to think he actually knew or cared about her dumb old flowers.

“I don't know,” he said, setting them down on the register counter. He gave her a slightly sarcastic smile. “Guess you'll have to check the card.”

And then he turned around, mission accomplished, and exited the store.

“Dude, what an attitude,” Wally said, with the delight of a superior employee. “If I treated your customers that way, you'd fire me. Wouldn't you?”

But Mallory only half heard him. She had opened the card, and the words she saw typed there made her blood rush in her ears.

Can't wait to meet your sister's fiancé, it read. We have so much to talk about.

And it was signed with a name she'd heard only once, in Mindy's trembling, tearful, tragic voice. A name that, even so, Mallory would never forget.

Dorian Swigert.

M
ALLORY OPENED THE DOOR
to her apartment over the bookstore with a sense of tired relief. It was almost ten, and she knew Mindy was pretty exhausted, too. After helping Freddy check into his hotel, she and Mindy had made a visit to the Chronic Care Center. By then the place was empty except for sleeping patients and soft-footed, hushed-voiced nurses.

Mallory knew it hadn't been easy for her little sister. She hadn't seen their mother in almost two months now. And, as Mallory had feared, Mindy had started off the visit by crying. The minute she sat down and tried to say hi, her voice broke and she began to sob softly, putting her hands over her face.

It took about ten minutes, but finally Mindy began to root around in her purse for a tissue. And then, to Mallory's delight, she seemed to pull herself together, and spent the rest of their visit chatting pleasantly, telling their mother all about her job and the wedding plans.

“You did great tonight,” Mallory said as they began unfolding the sleeper sofa in the living room.

“Not really. I'd sworn I wasn't going to cry, but right off the bat I fell apart. I'm sorry.”

“Hey.” Mallory picked up a pillow and tossed it to her little sister playfully. “Mom wouldn't know it was you if you didn't cry a little. It's tradition.”

Mindy stuck out her tongue, but it was a sign of how much she had matured that she didn't seem to mind the teasing. Once, the simplest criticism would have set off a storm of fury, ending in slamming doors and shouted recriminations.

“It's true,” she said, shaking her head. “I've been a pain in the neck. But things are going to be different now, I promise.” She looked at Mallory over the pillow as she shook it into its case. “So…what do you think of Freddy? Now that you've had some time together without all the other people around?”

Mallory smiled. “I adore him, of course. How could I not love him when he's so crazy about you?”

It was mostly true. For all his fantastic looks, Freddy was a touch too conservative for Mallory's taste, too conscious of his own image. But she wasn't the one who had to live with that. Mindy, who catered to his every whim, certainly didn't seem to have any reservations. And Mindy's happiness was all that mattered here.

Still…looking at her sister now, with her once-wild hair carefully flat-ironed and tied back with a pretty blue ribbon, with her demure dress and her matching sweetheart-pink lip-gloss and fingernail polish, Mallory had to wonder.

This new, straitlaced, mild-mannered Mindy was the polar opposite of the rebellious teenager she'd been, with deliberately tangled bedroom hair and black leather skirts up to here.

Could this Alice in Wonderland creation actually be the real Mindy? Wasn't it more likely a temporary overreaction against all the drama and ugliness of the past few years? Wasn't it more likely that the
real
Mindy lay somewhere in between the two?

And if that were true, how would Freddy feel about the real Mindy when she finally found the courage to emerge?

Just then Mindy's cell phone began to ring. She rushed over to her small blue envelope purse, which exactly matched her dress. She scrounged around for the little silver phone with such urgency she might have been trying to locate a ticking bomb.

“Hi, honey,” she said when she found it. Mallory knew instantly, from the warm, satisfied tone, that it was Freddy. That smile of Madonna bliss could not have been conjured by anyone else.

“Oh—” The smile began to fade slowly. “Oh, Freddy, no. Oh, I'm sorry. No, really, I don't think that's a—” She glanced at Mallory, who frowned quizzically.

What? Was something wrong?

Mindy waved her hand, assuring her that everything was fine. But then she lowered her voice and, giving Mallory an apologetic smile, moved into the kitchen and shut the door behind her.

After that, Mallory heard only murmurs. But her protective instincts, her big-sister antennae, registered a distinctly unhappy sound. She stared at the kitchen door. It was ridiculous how quickly her stomach tightened when she thought something might be wrong with Mindy.

Finally Mindy came back into the room. Her face had lost some of its radiance. She looked tense but still, thank goodness, under control.

“It was Freddy,” she said unnecessarily, not meeting Mallory's eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

“Not really.” Mindy returned her cell phone to her purse, arranging everything neatly before she sat on the edge of the fold-out bed and looked at Mallory.

“He just wanted me to come over and stay there tonight. I told him of course I wanted to be here with you.”

Mallory frowned. Earlier Mindy had let it slip that Freddy was concerned about how it would “look” if Mindy spent the night with him before they were married.

“I thought you said he didn't— He was concerned about—”

Mindy lifted one shoulder, and the gesture was strangely sad. “He still is. He just thinks he's found a way to sneak me in.”

Mallory hardly knew what to say. Though the hypocrisy of it infuriated her, she knew she didn't have the right to lash out at the man Mindy loved.

So she didn't say anything.

“It's not that I don't want to be with him,” Mindy said. She looked down and toyed with the edge of the blanket. “I do. I always do. But not like that. I don't want to sneak up there in the dark, as if I'm ashamed of what we're doing.”

She lifted her face to Mallory. “One of the reasons I love him so much is that, when we…when we're together, he makes me feel good. He makes me feel clean.” Her voice was strained and miserable. “If I have to sneak up there, it will change everything. Don't you see that?”

“Of course,” Mallory said vehemently. She realized her hands were fisted in her lap. “Of course I do.”

“Then why doesn't
he?
”

“I'm sure he does.” Mallory tried to be fair, though she wanted to strangle the man for making Mindy so unhappy. But she couldn't go through life exterminating everyone who upset her little sister. Part of Mindy's new maturity had come from handling things on her own, and she'd handle this, too.

“Maybe he's just a little disappointed right now. I'm sure he misses you.”

Mindy looked on the verge of tears again. “I don't want to let him down. I want him to be happy. But this is wrong. If you have to hide what you're doing, you probably shouldn't be doing it. I certainly learned that the hard way.”

She was threading her fingers together and kneading her palms. Stress was like a throbbing aura around her and, sensing the intensity, Mallory's heart dropped.

Why was Mindy so insecure that she didn't dare tell her fiancé that he'd have to sleep alone for one night? Was sex so very important in this relationship?

“Mindy, I hate to bring this up right now, but maybe we should talk about how you're going to break the news about your past. And when. I honestly think it needs to be soon.”

Mindy looked stricken. “How soon?”

“As soon as possible.”

Mallory hated to be rough, but the past couple of days had been extremely unsettling. Mindy didn't have any idea there was a blackmailer, of course, but the blackmailer wasn't the only problem.

Until today, Mallory hadn't seen enough of Freddy to form her own opinion, and she'd let Mindy's assurances console her. But today she'd seen a man who walked, talked and smiled like a politician. Not just a politician's son. A man who expected someday to hold office himself. He didn't just meet people; he greeted them. He didn't just socialize; he campaigned.

And look at Mindy. She'd practically turned herself into Freddy's geisha. All day long she'd flattered him, clung to his arm, paraded the high points of Heyday out for his inspection. And now he wanted her to sneak into that hotel and let herself be hustled out in the dawn like dirty linen.

Thank God she had enough self-respect to draw the line at that.

Still, though the relationship wasn't as solid as Mallory had been led to believe, it was apparently crucial to Mindy's happiness. It was such a tricky balance. How was she going to make Mindy look at this situation squarely without sending her back into an emotional tailspin?

“I know I have to tell him,” Mindy said miserably. “But I can't do it now. Not
here.
I have to choose the perfect time. We've both been so stressed-out, with the wedding preparations and every—”

Mallory touched her arm.

“Mindy, think a minute. We have to face reality. Freddy obviously is very concerned with his reputation, with what the world thinks of him. How can you be sure that, once he knows about your involvement with the Heyday Eight, there will even still
be
a wedding?”

Mindy recoiled. Her eyes widened, as if Mallory had slapped her.

At first she didn't answer. Resisting the effort to jump in and take the words back, Mallory let the silence go on. This was a very dangerous situation, especially now that the blackmailer had sent the flowers, a bold in-your-face reminder that he knew incriminating details, like Dorian Swigert's name, and he was ready to use them if necessary.

“I know,” Mindy said finally. “I've thought of that. That's one of the reasons it's so difficult. But I have faith in him, Mal. He loves me, I know he does. I just have to find the right time to tell him.”

Her cell phone began to ring again, and Mindy leaped up to retrieve it.

“It's Freddy.” She hugged the phone briefly. “He's probably calling to say he's sorry,” she said, giving Mallory a teary smile over her shoulder. “See? He's really a sweetheart. He never stays mad for long.”

She must have seen the skepticism on Mallory's face, because she paused, the phone still singing in her hand.

“Please trust me, Mal. I'm not as brave as you are, but I'm trying. I just need a little more time.”

 

T
YLER ATE DINNER
that night with Dilday Merle, to discuss details and plans for trying to identify the blackmailer. There wasn't much to go on, just Dilday's instinct that it must be a local, someone who knew him and understood his vulnerability and his finances.

It was frustrating. Blackmail was an odd crime. Often it was clumsy and heavy-handed, easy to thwart. But now and then it was brilliantly simple, like this one. When you were up against that kind of blackmailer, you had to hope the luck fell your way.

Tyler got back to his apartment about eleven, early for someone accustomed to D.C. hours, but apparently way past the official Heyday bedtime. Everything was dark and quiet on Mallory's side of the building, so he fixed a drink and decided to sit a while on his balcony, which overlooked Hippodrome Circle.

Not much to see, but he appreciated the crisp spring breeze, the pointy crescent moon and the peace of the
park laid out beside him, where now and then a bird would abruptly coo, just once, as if talking in its sleep.

Beneath him, as the street stretched out on either side, the stores were all closed, their pretty bay windows glowing softly under muted night lights. Heyday looked less silly at night, he thought. He almost understood why people might live in a place like this, where the rhythms were so regular and in tune with the natural world.

Not that he could stand it for long. A week or two, maybe. Like a vacation. After that, he'd be itching for the unpredictable excitement of D.C.

Out of the corner of his eyes, something caught his attention, a subtle movement that didn't seem to fit the swaying tree shadows and rippling moonlight. He stared into the park across the street, where the incongruous shadow had shifted. He waited, but everything was still.

Maybe he'd imagined it. It might have been a larger tree catching a gusting breeze. Or maybe an animal? Perhaps his noises had spooked a raccoon or even a deer, and now it crouched in the brush, afraid of the human who should be asleep but wasn't.

Maybe, but it had seemed bigger than that. As big as a man. A man standing at the edge of the park, looking across the street toward Mallory's store.

Suddenly he heard a muffled thump. Felt it, actually. Under his feet, the floor moved just slightly. He frowned. Something was happening in the bookstore itself.

He glanced one more time toward the park, which was still completely silent. If someone had been there a minute ago, that person was gone now.

Tyler left his apartment quickly, moved without noise down the outside staircase. At the side entrance to the bookstore, he used his landlord's key, which he'd been given yesterday by detail-obsessed Elton Fletcher. Closing the door behind him, he slipped silently into the shop.

The main store was all soft, bluish darkness, lit only by the moonlight that streamed in through the bay windows at the front. Everything seemed different, transformed by the night. The bookcases stood like hulking sentinels, and the armchairs squatted, like fat toads, in the spaces between. The books themselves seemed to have disappeared into the shadows.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw that the main area was completely empty. Certainly no one was fiddling with the cash register, which he could see clearly near the front bay.

And then he heard another noise, much more subtle this time. He tilted his head, listening as he scanned for movement or light.

The back room…

This morning, he'd seen Mallory go in there several times, consulting files or talking on the phone. The door was shut now, but a thin white line was painted in light on the floor beneath it. Someone was in there.

He moved toward the door, dodging CD cabinets and spinning racks of bookmarks, cards and gift certif
icates. Making a mental note of the heavy brass bookends displayed on the back wall—just in case he needed a weapon—he put his hand on the knob, twisted silently and yanked it open.

Mallory's head jerked up. “Tyler!”