You Can Run... (18 page)

Simon grinned at Diana, and Clarice gave her a small, wavering smile. “I’m fine if you two aren’t really angry with each other.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever been really angry with each other,” Diana said. “Except Simon was against my marriage.”

“And I was right! That fellow was all wrong for you—childishly self-centered, jealous of your talent. Anyone could see it—anyone except you, blinded by what seemed to me a rather adolescent love, for which you were too old and far too smart. Diana, I never did understand—”

“Excuse me,” Clarice interrupted softly but firmly. “Diana, do you know anything about Jeffrey Cavanaugh?”

Diana suppressed a smile as Simon immediately stopped talking. “I don’t know anything about Jeffrey Cavanaugh except that he’s president of Cavanaugh and Wentworth, which is one of the largest real estate developers in the country. They own hotels in Florida and California and properties in New York. I’m certain that’s not all, but I’ve never made a study of the company.”

“Obviously Jeffrey isn’t a publicity hound like Donald Trump,” Simon said dryly.

“Unfortunately,” Diana returned. “If he were, we’d know something more about him.”

Simon looked at them seriously. “That is the problem. We don’t know what that man is. He certainly didn’t make a good impression on me. Oh, I don’t mean the ranting or the hostility. I could excuse such behavior in a case like this. Something deeper about him troubled me—something about his fundamental nature.”

“He’s a creep. That’s what wrong with his fundamental nature,” Diana stated. “He gave me bad vibes. I agree something is definitely not right about the man. That must be why Penny ran from him.”

“And now he’s here and Penny is near death. The house explosion is supposed to have been an accident, but I don’t like coincidences.” Simon looked at Diana with his penetrating green eyes, and she felt her color rising. She felt as if he knew that she was withholding important information from him. . . . “That is why we
all
have to be ready to defend ourselves and each other,” Simon said decisively.

Twenty minutes later, Simon, Diana, and Christabel all stood with Clarice in her bedroom. “Now you have no reason at all to be afraid of this,” Simon said, trying to hand Clarice a revolver. “It has a barrel length of just three inches and it weighs less than two pounds.”

“I don’t care how long its barrel length is! It’s a
gun
!”

“A very small gun, Clarice, not a rifle.” Simon tried once again to make Clarice take the gun, but she clenched her hands behind her back like a little girl. “Clarice, you are a grown woman, please take it. Of course, you need to
be careful when handling it, even with the safety on, but it isn’t nitroglycerin that will explode if you make an accidental move. All you have to do is let me give you a few pointers on how to shoot it, and then not touch it again unless you need it.”

“I won’t need it! Who am I going to shoot? Nan?”

Simon pretended to think then looked at Diana. “That isn’t a bad idea. I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate the girl.”

Diana nodded. Clarice looked at both of them like they were crazy. “How can you joke about this?”

Diana smiled. “Because we’re trying to make you relax. Guns certainly
can
be dangerous in the wrong hands. Children’s hands, the hands of people who just want to shoot other people for the hell of it, high-strung people who would shoot at the slightest sound in their house, thinking it was a home invader—thousands of people should
not
have guns.

“But in this case, I think Uncle Simon is right,” Diana went on. “Many people can’t afford security systems. You didn’t have one, Penny didn’t have one, I didn’t have one when I lived alone. And even with security systems, the police can’t arrive in the blink of an eye. Simon has always believed—as do I—that it’s best for you to learn how to protect yourself with more than a baseball bat. I know millions of people would say Simon and I are out of our minds, and we’re reckless and irresponsible to keep guns in the house. But again, I agree with Simon that we need them considering our current situation. We can’t forget what happened to Penny, and I know Simon told you what happened to Willow and me in the hospital last night. Remember, Clarice, we’re not just protecting ourselves but also Willow.”

Clarice slowly unclasped her hands and let them drop to her sides. “Well, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound quite so bad . . . except for one thing. You said a gun should not be in a child’s hands. Have you forgotten we have a child in this house?”

“Not for a moment.” Simon picked up a box he’d set on her dresser. “I keep most of my gun collection locked in a safe especially built for it, but I keep one handgun by my bedside in a box like this. So does Diana. I tried to give Penny a gun, but she told me she already had one. However, I gave her one of these boxes for storage.”

“Oh, Simon, if something happened I’d be too nervous to get a key in a lock or remember a combination,” Clarice almost wailed. “I’d be just
useless
.”

“You are absolutely
not
a useless woman, and I don’t want to hear you say such a thing,” Simon said with a mixture of sternness and affection.

Diana could not help smiling, pleased. She knew her great-uncle wasn’t just being kind—he genuinely liked and admired Clarice Hanson.

“Now, Clarice, this is called a fingerprint gun safe,” he went on. “You don’t have to worry about a key or a combination. This safe is new and unused. We will program it to recognize only
your
fingerprint. All you have to do is touch the box here,” he said, indicating an indentation in the front of the box, “and it opens in as little as three or four seconds. The box saves the fingerprint even if we have a power outage. Now, what could be simpler?”

“Well, opening the box certainly seems simple,” Clarice said reluctantly. “It’s handling, and perhaps shooting, the gun that worries me.”

“I’ll give you a brief lesson showing you how to hold the gun and to aim. No bullets. In five minutes you will know everything you need to know. Then I’ll load the gun and put the wretched thing in the safety box. Will that make you feel more comfortable?”

“Comfortable? You must be joking again, Simon,” Clarice answered, showing her first smile in the last half hour.

Simon smiled back. “Everything will be fine, Clarice. Trust me.”

“Well, I’m exhausted,” Diana said. “I think it’s my bedtime.”

Upstairs, she tiptoed into Willow’s room. The child lay curled in the middle of the big bed, sound asleep and holding her cubic zirconia queen’s crown. Diana gently pried it from her small fingers and kissed the child’s warm forehead. Was it too warm? Or did children’s temperature normally rise slightly at night? Diana had no idea. Penny would have known, of course.
If only she were here to look after her little girl,
Diana thought, tears clinging to her lashes.

Both cats slept in their beds, wound into seemingly impossible positions that made them look as if their necks were broken. Romeo had a paw over a closed eye. “Take good care of your charge tonight,” Diana whispered, although the cats did not look like defenders of the helpless.

She was careful to leave both doors of the adjoining bathroom open and to turn on a nightlight so that if Willow awakened, she could see Diana in her own bed. She did not want to turn on the bright bathroom light and perhaps awaken Willow, so she skipped her nightly bedtime ritual of cleansing cream, a moisturizer for the face, another for the neck, yet a third for the under-eye area—a ritual her mother had considered as important as breathing.

Instead Diana doused her face with soap and water and brushed her teeth. Then she headed for her bedroom and, still guided only by the night light, stripped down to her panties, pulled on a big, soft T-shirt, and literally dropped onto her bed. She didn’t think she’d ever been as tired in her life, not even on one of Simon’s expeditions.

She dreamed of trudging across an endless vista of sand, so hot that she didn’t even feel the heat anymore, lugging her photographic equipment, determined not to complain, wondering how Simon, could walk faster than anyone else and never seem to need rest. He’s a machine, she thought in the dream. He’s not a man at all. Or maybe the ancient Egyptian gods blessed him with unflagging energy. Maybe he really was one of them, as some of his expedition companions used to joke. Simon Van Etton
was a being from another world and time, an entirely different and superior species. . . .

Diana’s eyes snapped open. For an instant, she thought she was still in the middle of the desert. Then her eyes began to adjust to the dim glow made by the night light, and she recognized her dresser, her chest of drawers, her stereo, and . . . Christabel sitting on the broad back of Diana’s bedroom chair in front of the window. Chris’s tail curled around her in the age-old pose of a cat silently, motionlessly, unflinchingly watching.

Diana slid out of bed and, keeping low, made her way to the chair. She hadn’t pulled shut her draperies tonight. Often she left them open when the lights were turned off, liking to look out at the soft black night sky. But she’d never found Christabel on the back of the chair, also looking into the night.

Diana slipped her knees onto the seat of the chair and raised her head just enough to look over the chair’s back. She followed the direction of Christabel’s gaze to see a figure standing beside a giant oak tree about a hundred feet from her window. A muted glow of light grew brighter then dimmer. The figure was smoking. Smoking and watching.

A chill ran down Diana’s spine, and the cat, sensing her fear, hissed gently then began growling low in her throat. “Who is that, Chris?” Diana asked just to hear something beside the unnerving hissing and growling that warned of danger. “It’s one in the morning. Who’s standing by the tree, smoking and staring up at us?”

A car answered her question as it whipped around a curve and its headlights caught the watcher. With sinuous speed, he darted behind the tree, but he was still too slow to escape their quick, piercing beam.

It was Tyler Raines.

Blake Wentworth emerged from the bathroom wearing a navy blue velour robe and towel-drying his wavy black hair. His wife, propped up in bed with two pillows behind her, the top of her pink lace-and-satin nightgown showing above the blanket, smiled although he was not looking at her.

“You’re the handsomest man I’ve ever seen getting out of the shower.”

Blake lowered the towel and glanced at her, grinning. “I believe that’s what they call a backhanded compliment. Exactly how many men have you seen emerging from the shower, Mrs. Wentworth?”

Lenore blushed. “Oh! That compliment certainly didn’t come out as intended!”

Blake sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re compliments often don’t. It’s cute.” He touched her cheeks. “So are you when you blush. You look like a little girl.”

“And you look like a
very
young man.”

“I didn’t think so when I saw four gray hairs in the mirror after I showered.” Blake shook his wet hair at her and laughed.

“Half of my father’s hair was gray when he was fifty and you only have
four
gray hairs?”

“That’s because I’m a mere forty, darling.”

“And I’m a wrinkled, overweight forty-four,” Lenore mourned. “That’s why I sometimes think you’d like to trade me in for a younger model.”

“
Sometimes
!” Blake grinned. “Lenore, you let me know at least once a day you think I want a younger woman! ‘Don’t you think that young woman is attractive, Blake?’ ” He’d made his voice higher to imitate her, but there was no ridicule in the imitation and she started to giggle. “Other times it’s, ‘My, so-and-so is prettier at thirty-five than she was at twenty-five. Don’t you think she’s looking especially pretty?’ ” Lenore’s giggle grew louder. “And on days when you’re in a bad mood or have a headache, you just burst out with, ‘Admit it, Blake, you wish you were married to a woman in her twenties! Let’s just get it out on the table. Go ahead. Tell me the truth! I can take it!’ ” She was laughing now, unrestrainedly, although her face flamed.

“Honestly, darling, you amaze me,” Blake continued. “If I were one of those men who is always looking younger women up and down, or staring at the cleavage some of them flaunt at parties, I could understand it. But I’ve
never
given you reason to be jealous.”

“You’re too polite to ogle other women with me around.”

“No, I don’t do it because I never even think about it. I am completely happy in my marriage.” Lenore gave him a doubtful look and he leaned down. “I would be absolutely lost without my darling Lenore,” he whispered before kissing her deeply.

She ran her hand through his damp hair and gave him a tender smile. Abruptly her smile disappeared. “Oh my, I haven’t brushed my teeth yet!”

“See how much I love you?” Blake laughed.

Someone knocked at the door and Blake answered it. A waiter pushed in a cart, Blake gave him a tip, and after closing the door behind him, spread his arms out over the white cloth-covered table. “Room service. I ordered strawberry pancakes for you. You’re not on one of those silly diets again, are you?”

“Well, I was, but strawberry pancakes are too much to resist.”

“I also ordered you bacon, and I got us two pots of coffee. I know last night you were madly in love with tea, but the Lenore I know prefers coffee in the morning.”

“Oh, last night,” Lenore groaned as she climbed out of bed and slipped a beautiful pink matching robe over the nightgown. “Wasn’t that excruciating?”

“The perfect word for the scene.”

“I do like tea, but I’ve drunk gallons of it since I’ve been with Mother the last two weeks. And Jeffrey was acting like a bad-mannered two-year-old, constantly announcing he didn’t like tea. He was upset. I noticed the old man didn’t offer him anything else, though.”

“That was deliberate and well called for, I’d say. He wasn’t going to give in to Jeffrey. He wouldn’t even let Jeff see that his rudeness bothered him.”

“I don’t think Jeff’s rudeness
did
bother him—Simon Van Etton, that’s his name. It’s a distinguished name. He’s a distinguished man. Very polished.”