Wait Until Dark (6 page)

8

A WEEK LATER
,
Lindsey put her mother on the late night flight to Paris. After seeing the plane take off, she drove straight home from the airport, packed the last of her things, and turned in so she could get an early morning start. The contractors would be arriving at eight
A.M.
She wanted to beat them there.

The ringing of the telephone jolted her out of a deep sleep.

Her bedroom was pitch black. She blinked, trying to focus on the digits of the alarm clock as she groped for the phone. Three thirty-five. Who in God's name would be calling at this hour?

Abruptly, the cobwebs in her mind cleared, and her gut clenched. Her mother's flight. It had taken off six and a half hours ago. It couldn't have arrived yet. Oh, God, could something have happened?

She snatched up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Sell it," a gravelly voice commanded.

"What?" Whatever Lindsey had expected, it hadn't been this. She sat bolt upright, her heart slamming against her ribs. "What did you say?"

"The manor," the gravelly voice continued. "Sell it. Cancel your plans. Forget about Newport tomorrow. Keep quiet about your bloodline. You'll get rich and stay healthy. Do yourself a favor - sell."

Click.

Lindsey stared at the receiver for a long moment. It was only when it began beeping stupidly at her and a computerized voice droned, "If you'd like to make a call, please hang up ..." that she reached over, put the phone back in its cradle. Her mind was reeling, and she leaned back against her headboard, waiting for her breathing to return to normal and her hands to stop shaking.

Part of her reaction was relief that her mother was fine. A middle-of-the-night call when her mother was on an overseas flight - Lindsey's imagination had run wild. On the other hand, her own well-being had just been threatened. And while she was sure it was all an ugly bluff, she still felt unnerved.

She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, propping up her chin as she pondered what had just occurred.

Whoever was responsible for that call knew she was leaving for Newport in the morning. They were getting desperate. So they'd decided to go for the jugular and threaten her safety if she didn't sell the house.

She tossed off the blanket and got up, all semblance of sleep having vanished. She was unnerved, yes, but she was also furious. The voice at the other end of the phone had been unfamiliar - some dirtbag paid by the Falkners, no doubt. Which one of her loving stepsiblings was desperate enough to arrange for that call - Tracy or Stuart? Or was it both of them? Were they so intent on forcing her out of their lives that they'd resort to scare tactics to accomplish their goal? And did they honestly think she was stupid enough not to guess they were the ones behind the call? Who else knew she'd inherited the manor? Who else cared if she kept it? No one but the Falkners had an interest in the place.

Wrong. There was one more person. Nicholas Warner.

An uneasy shiver darted up Lindsay's spine, although her mind was already screaming its denial.

Or was it her hopes doing the screaming?

Nicholas had called her three times since she left Newport eight days ago. And not only to make arrangements for her stay at his house. They'd talked for almost an hour each time, about nothing and everything, until Irene had started giving her daughter knowing looks and leaving the room so she could have some privacy.

Lindsey wasn't sure she needed privacy. In fact, she wasn't sure what she was feeling when it came to Nicholas. Excitement. Attraction. Desire.

Not trust. Not yet.

Could he possibly be the one who'd arranged for that phone call? He hadn't brought up the manor since their lunch two Fridays ago, except to ask an occasional question about the contractors she'd hired. Not over the weekend, and not during any of their subsequent phone calls. Nor had he made a single attempt to convince her to sell him the manor for his condo development. Was he still hoping to accomplish that?

Even if he was, would he stoop to threatening her into selling?

No. She didn't believe it. She
wouldn't
believe it.

She walked across the room, turned on the light, and began packing some last minute things. Whoever had arranged for that call was going to be sadly disappointed. Their theatrics had failed. She was going ahead with her plans. In fact, since she was wide awake anyway, she'd leave for Newport immediately.

Nicholas stood in the doorway to his bedroom, staring at his bed and trying not to picture Lindsey lying naked on the sheets, her body intimately entangled with his. Unfortunately, it was an image that came to him a lot these days. And it was bad for his concentration. He had a job to do. Getting involved with Lindsey Hall was going to make it tougher for him to do it.

That wasn't going to stop him from accomplishing his goal.

He'd made a promise to Harlan - one he intended to keep.

Newport was exquisite at dawn.

Lindsey stopped her car at the entrance to the manor's driveway, easing her gear shift into park so she could turn and admire the view. The sun was just starting its shimmering ascent, and she rolled down her windows so she could truly drink it in. She gazed out toward the ocean, watching as slices of lemon and orange tinged the sky, glistened on the water.

Feeling a sense of peace that had eluded her since last night's phone call, she drew a slow, appreciative breath, letting her mind and body relax. She'd needed that tension release. She hadn't realized how much.

Leaving her windows down, she shifted back into drive, the ocean breeze rippling through her hair as she continued the rest of the way to the manor. She pulled around front and stopped.

The house looked regal at this time of day, the rays of the sun hovering over the manor like a golden crown.

The workmen wouldn't be here for two hours. That gave her tons of time to review her designs, to polish off the extra-large Styrofoam cup of coffee she'd picked up down the road, and to imagine her mother's face when she moved into her new home.

She let herself in, flipping on the lights and wandering through the hallway. It was odd to think she'd been conceived here, in one of the bedrooms upstairs, or maybe in the staff quarters behind the kitchen. Odder still, that that thought didn't bother her, but somehow gave her a sense of validation. After the history her mother had relayed of the love affair she'd shared with Harlan Falkner, Lindsey was having a harder and harder time viewing the man as an intangible entity, much less one to be despised. He'd obviously loved Irene enough to try to find some way to stay in her life and to offer something to their child.

If circumstances had been just a little different - if Harlan Falkner had been less integrally tied to his family and his high-visibility world - she might have gotten to know, or at least to meet, her father.

To Lindsey's surprise, tears stung at her eyes. She hadn't let herself walk down this road before, to contemplate these deeply personal might-have-been's. Not in any one of the handful of times she'd walked through the manor. Then again, she hadn't had any quiet time here, time to be alone with her thoughts.

She wished she knew more about Harlan Falkner. Not the business mogul, and not the fervent lover her mother described. But the man - the man who'd struggled between loyalties, who'd opted to leave her this manor with the full realization of what the consequences would be.

When had he made the decision? Before or after his wife's breakdown? Did Camille know about his affair with Irene? Was her drinking the result of that knowledge, or was it the other way around?

"A penny for your thoughts."

Lindsey whipped around, stunned to see Nicholas standing in the front hall. She'd never heard him come in. And the last thing she wanted was to have him see her in this vulnerable state. She wasn't ready for that.

Especially after the nagging question of who was behind last night's phone call...

"What are you doing here?" she managed, blinking the moisture from her lashes and trying to keep her voice steady.

He frowned, walking toward her. "You're crying. Why?"

She took an inadvertent step backward. "It's barely past six o'clock. Why are you out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I couldn't sleep. I rode out early."

"I know. I called your apartment to see when you were leaving. I got the answering machine. So I drove out to surprise you. I planned to be waiting when you arrived. It never occurred to me you'd be here already." He reached her, his forefinger tipping up her chin. "Are you okay?"

"Did you think I wouldn't be?"

His frown deepened. "Lindsey, what is it? What's wrong?"

She searched his face. He looked tired, lines of weariness etched around his eyes. As for guilt, he was either the best actor she'd ever seen, or he had no idea what was bothering her.

With that in mind, she took the risk.

"I'm tired and on edge. I got a pretty upsetting phone call at three in the morning." Seeing no flicker of comprehension register on Nicholas's face, she continued. "I was warned to sell the manor and stay away. Oh, and to keep my parentage a secret. Or else."

Nicholas's eyes narrowed. "Or else what?"

"The caller wasn't specific. He just suggested I stay healthy by following his advice."

"Did you recognize the voice?"

Her gaze was steady. "No. Then again, rich, powerful people don't usually do their own dirty work. Do they?"

Her point got through, loud and clear, and Nicholas's jaw clenched. "You think
I
had something to do with it?"

"Did you?"

"No. Then again, if you have to ask me that, I doubt you'll believe me."

"Frankly, Nicholas, I don't know what to believe. It's hard for me to imagine your being that cruel. On the other hand, you told me yourself how much you wanted this manor."

"I also told you I'm not the self-indulgent hedonist you think I am. I don't always get what I want. When I don't, I live with it. I don't resort to the kind of tactics you're describing."

"How about your friend Stuart Falkner? Does he resort to those kind of tactics? Or what about his sister, Tracy?"

Nicholas rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with her question. "I can't speak for Stuart. Or for Tracy. I can only speak for myself." He reached out, gripped Lindsey's shoulders, his probing stare boring through her. "Look at me," he commanded, waiting until she'd complied. "I realize we haven't known each other long. Whatever it is that's happening between us is happening fast. That scares you. Who I am, how I live, scares you. I can accept all that. But I can't accept suspicions like the ones you're battling now. Trust your gut, Lindsey. Do you honestly think I'd threaten you just to get this house?"

Lindsey released her breath on a sigh. "No. I don't." She felt frustrated, unsettled, and just plain drained. "But someone would. And I'm getting a little sick of this cat-and-mouse game. It's starting to get out of hand."

"I agree."

Something about Nicholas's tone struck her, a hard decisiveness that was new.

"Why is it I can't get past the feeling that you know a lot more than you're willing to say?" she asked. "Are you protecting someone - Stuart, for example?"

"Nothing like that," Nicholas weighed his words carefully. "Whatever I might or might not know has nothing to do with you, or with last night's phone call. Let's leave it at that."

Puzzled, Lindsey inclined her head, studied Nicholas's unreadable expression. She felt more curiosity than suspicion, an indication that, with or without any logical basis, she believed him. Whatever was troubling him clearly related to the Falkners, but in what way, she didn't know.

"You still think I'm lying," Nicholas stated, watching the speculative look on her face.

"Actually, no. I think you're telling the truth."

"Then what is it you're so deep in thought about?"

"I'm trying to fit together the pieces. How do you factor into the Falkners' lives? How close are you really, and what is it about them you're hiding?" She waved away the evasive reply she knew was coming. "Never mind." Just as quickly - before she had time to chicken out - she added, "Would you answer just one question for me - one that has nothing to do with your relationship with Stuart and Tracy?"

"All right," Nicholas agreed warily.

Now came the hard part. Lindsey wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "You told me you knew Harlan Falkner for twenty years, that he gave you your first business break. What about personally? How well did you know him?"

Nicholas never averted his gaze. "He was like a father to me. My own father died when I was in my teens. Harlan took over from there. He was both mentor and friend. Why are you asking? Is this about his commitment to his family again?"

"No, this is about my getting to know my father," Lindsey managed to say. "I never had the chance before. I wouldn't have taken it if I had. But now... I had a very enlightening talk with my mother. Things have changed."