Slow and warm as a touch, his green-gold gaze roamed across her face and shoulders, lingered on her breasts stirring beneath the thin shirt and came back to her face. His almost-smile deepened. ‘Only that if he is, silky, I intend to replace him.’
Jolian’s fingers trembled with some emotion, arousal or rage, she wasn’t sure which. She clenched them around her coffee mug and sipped deliberately, her eyes narrowed and blazing at him above the rim. She licked a stray drop off her lip with the tip of her tongue. ‘I told you last night, Fletch, I’m looking for a permanent love, not a one-night... or a one-month ... or a one-year affair. And that’s all you’re offering, isn’t it?’ In spite of herself, she held her breath.
His smile had disappeared now, leaving a molten gaze that was both promise and challenge. ‘Yes.’
It wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair! And the emotion bubbling within her was rage. ‘So what more do I need to say?’ She lowered the mug carefully, smiled a brilliant, savage smile. ‘Case dismissed.’
‘Oh, really?’ he whispered.
The frustration rushing through her had to find release. Her head came up and her eyes widened. It was throw something or cry. But his hand shot out to grip the other side of her mug even as the thought formed, and they glared at each other, fingers touching.
So that left only tears. She left him holding the mug and bolted from the table, swooped past the startled faces in the other booths and out of the door. The sunshine hit her smack in the face, radiant through the tears. Stunned, she stumbled to a halt and rubbed her eyes, then started out again.
‘Just a minute!’ An arm encircled her, yanked her back against his chest. ‘What’s the matter, Jolian?’
‘Mister!’ The worried voice of their waitress called from the doorway just behind them. ‘Don’t you want your change?’
‘Keep it.’
‘But it’s—’
‘Keep it.’ His arm tightened as Jolian tried to pull away and he gave her a shake. ‘What’s the matter? Why are you crying?’ His lips brushed the back of her neck.
The anger was slowly seeping away, she used the last of it to hold herself rigid in his arms. ‘I always cry when I’m angry,’ she growled, ‘don’t you?’
She felt him laugh. ‘Not recently.’ He kissed her ear and let her go. She moved off, but not alone. A pair of large shoes kept time with her own boots as she stalked along, her eyes downcast, her fists jammed in her pockets. ‘And where do you think you’re going?’ he asked.
To the subway to catch a train. She’d collect her bike and then perhaps go and cry on Al’s shoulder. Or go and walk by the river. Or drown herself. Maybe she’d go to the Museum and visit the Egyptian collection again ... ‘elsewhere!’
‘Hey, very good.’ She looked up as Fletch pulled her to a halt beside a lamp-post. From the tattered posters and handbills plastered to the silver column, a blond, grinning boy looked down at them—Jem.
‘When ... when did you put this up, Fletch? Yesterday?’
He shook his head, staring back at his son, a quizzical, almost bewildered smile on his lips. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Then how ...?’
‘It’s called delegation of responsibilities, infant.’ Fletch collected her arm and nudged her away from the pole. ‘I spent yesterday talking with the police, and then tracking down an investigator. Looks like I hired the right man.’
‘An investigator?’
‘Mm-hmm. Someone to do the legwork, or to see that it’s done. I want this city plastered with those posters. I want one in every emergency room in every hospital, one in every clinic in the city. I want someone who can patrol the likely hang-outs when I’m not in town, who can make the rounds of all the shelters that might take him in...’
‘You’re hunting him down like some criminal!’
Fletch shook his head, his eyes hard. ‘You know as well as I do, Jolian, what an ugly world this can be. There’s more ways to exploit a child than Jem has ever dreamed of, and he may be smart, but he’s about as street-wise as a golden retriever pup. And his mother gave him three hundred dollars to get home on.’ His lips twisted bitterly. ‘There are people in this town who would knife him for five...’ He stopped as the pavement opened out into the small bricked square of Holyoke Center, his eyes scanning the crowd gathered around a pair of chess players who faced each other cross-legged across a mammoth chessboard.
Jolian eyed the bent heads of the browsers at the pushcarts, focused on a couple perched laughing on the knee-high kerb enclosing the square’s pocket garden. But no, that blonde was a girl ... Kids walking, kids talking, a couple necking on the long concrete bench that bounded the square, not a one of them Jem ... ‘And what if you alienate him completely, Fletch, chasing after him with bounties and detectives?’
‘That’s a chance I’ll have to take.’ Fletch broke his search to glance down at her. ‘The first thing is to get him off the street. After that, I’ll try to make amends ... a lot of amends.’ His eyes turned back to the square.
‘And what will you buy him first?’
He smiled absently. ‘I thought I’d get him a—’ His brows came down as he turned to look at her. ‘Is that supposed to be a joke?’
She tried to hold it back for a second, then threw back her head as the laughter pealed out. He was hopeless! And his kiss caught her just as she gasped for air. It was more exciting than oxygen, but not so useful. Blue sky and sunlight imploded into dark, moving warmth, the feel of his lips. And where was up? Clutching at his neck just as he released her, she hung there, panting. He was chuckling, damn him!
‘That’ll teach you ... hey, are you all right?’
‘Dizzy ...’ she muttered firmly.
‘Right. Over here.’ Arm around her waist, he guided her somewhere. The darkness was receding again, their feet and the pavement visible now at the centre of a widening circle. He turned her gently. ‘Sit.’
The concrete bench was cold beneath her thighs. Fletch sat beside her and the arm he wrapped around her shoulders was deliciously warm. She leaned her head back and found his green-gold eyes just above her. ‘Oh, no!’
His arm tightened. ‘Sit still, idiot, or I will do it again. That’s the best reaction I’ve ever got. Or do you do that often?’
‘It’s nice to breathe,’ she told him. And no, it had never been like that before, not with Rob, not with anyone. This was the most dangerous man she’d ever met! ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Not just yet. I’ve a proposition to make.’
‘I’ve heard it.’ Through his sweater, she could feel the strong, steady rhythm of his heart. She took a deep breath, but the clean, masculine scent of him made her dizzy again.
‘No, this is a different one, though that one still stands.’
Jolian shrugged her shoulders, but shuddered suddenly at the feel of her arm rubbing against the muscled warmth of his chest.
His arm tightened in automatic response. ‘This one is strictly business, Jolian. If you can talk Jem in for me, I’ll give you double that reward.’
Double ... Jolian calculated mechanically. ‘Talk him in?’
‘If he calls you back again, I want you to persuade him to meet you someplace. I’ll be waiting there.’
She twisted around to face him. ‘Ever eaten ten thousand dollars before, Mr. McKay? I hear it’s tastier than thirty pieces of silver.’
‘Jolian, I’m serious.’
‘And so am I serious, Fletch! I’m not going to betray that kid.’ She looked up at him pleadingly. ‘Don’t ask.’
‘But I am asking.’ His eyes were pitiless, as if he could bend her to his will with the heat of that molten gaze. ‘For his own good.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s never for your own good, to be lied to by someone you trust. I won’t do that, Fletch.’ She tried to stand up, but the hand on her shoulders tightened brutally.
‘You damned little righteous puritan!’ He stared down at her savagely. ‘I forgot to tell you where else I
’m sending a poster.’
Against her arm, his heart was thumping now like some animal leaping against the bars of its cage. If that beast should ever break free ... She licked dry lips. ‘Where?’
‘The morgue, Jolian, and God help you if I find Jem there ...’ His free hand found her throat, caressed her with a velvety, measuring touch.
Rage, fear, pity, the feel of his hand on her bare skin—for a moment she couldn’t speak. Perhaps if you drank boiling champagne, would it feel like this? She found her voice. ‘Don’t put your guilt on me, Fletcher McKay! I’m not the one who neglected him!’
‘Neglect? He said that!’ Fletch was on his feet, yanking her up beside him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and wheeled her towards the side street.
‘Where are we going?’ she demanded.
‘We’re going to walk so I don’t throttle you! Now tell me everything he said. Start at the beginning and give me everything, Jolian, every word, every tone, every background noise ... and if you say the word “confidential” just once, I’ll break your neck!’
‘And so, do you think he’ll call back?’ The furious march had gradually slowed to a thoughtful pacing as Jolian talked, and now their steps hit the sidewalk in slow, perfect time. They had walked to the river under trees just beginning to catch fire, and Fletch had picked one flaming maple leaf. She had declined to eat it, so he had tucked it behind her ear. Now they were nearing the square again.
‘I told you, Fletch, I just don’t know.’ Jolian stopped them in front of a gallery window to inspect the jewellery with professional interest. Nothing to get excited about ... Her eyes lit on a modernistic rocking chair just beyond, obviously a handmade, one-of-a-kind piece. She’d once thought of becoming a furniture designer ... ‘Look at the rocker, Fletch! It’s lovely.’
‘Mmm,’ he stared at it intently. ‘But he’s used Philippine mahogany. I’ve always hated that wood.’ He gave a sort of shake and tugged her away from the window, his face set.
She glanced up at him curiously. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Nothing, really ... it’s easy to work with. But it rarely has decent colour and I don’t like to stain ...’ His breath hissed suddenly and he stopped.
She turned to study his face. ‘You know, I don’t even know what you do.’
His half-smile was mocking, almost bitter. ‘Sell furniture.’
‘Furniture?’ It was the last thing she’d have guessed. Rum-running, gun-running, importing cocaine, maybe, but ... furniture? ‘You mean like that piece?’
Fletch snorted soundlessly. ‘I mean like white wood.’
‘White wood?’
‘Unfinished furniture, kitten. Cheap bookcases, cheap desks, cheap tables, cheap whatever the customer wants in cheap pine. No glamour, but lots of money for me.’
‘And money’s important,’ she murmured thoughtfully.
‘Damn right.’ He ground out the words.
She could feel each one of his fingers biting into her waist now. ‘You actually do the selling?’
Fletch laughed shortly and the fingers eased a little. ‘Not exactly. I own the stores—I let others sell it.’
‘Stores?’
‘Eleven in four States now.’ There was a kind of rueful pride in that answer. ‘And more to come.’
‘I see.’ But she didn’t. Why did he hate it so, or why do it if he hated it? ‘How long have you been doing that?’
‘Nearly eight years.’
Eight years ... She made a sudden guess. ‘And when did you and your wife divorce?’ She felt his fingers jerk into her waist and then relax carefully.
‘About eight years ago.’ The words were casually offhand. Fletch glanced around suddenly, taking his bearings. They were on the corner across from the news stand and the subway station. ‘Want some coffee yet?’ It was a definite change of subject.
‘No, I’ve got to go now.’ It was all too intense. She had too much to think about. Eight years ... She was suddenly exhausted.
‘Go?’ Fletch frowned down at her, his fingers stroking her ribs through her shirt. ‘Don’t go. I could use your eyes while it’s light, Jolian. Once the sun goes down we’ll have an early dinner someplace special before I catch my plane.’
‘You’re going back to Chicago?’ And the pain that this brought was an unmistakable warning. This man was trouble. Trouble like she’d never dreamed before.
‘Yes.’ His green-gold eyes searched her face. ‘This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. I’m in the middle of a deal.’
‘And we’ve got to keep things in perspective, don’t we?’ she cooed. ‘First things first, right? Business now, sons later.’ And no time for love at all.
‘Damn it, Jolian, I can’t just drop it. I’ll tie up some loose ends and be back as soon as I can.’
‘Fine. In the meantime I’m going. Thanks for breakfast.’
But he pulled her back again, his eyes raking her face. ‘And just where are you going?’
Jolian shrugged and smiled. She hadn’t thought that far yet. But it was necessary to be gone. The whole day had been a dreadful mistake ... Nothing to fear but fear itself—ha!
‘To Frasier? Is that where you’re going?’ he asked savagely.
Yes, that was exactly where, she realised suddenly, to Quicksilver Studio to remind herself who she was—a competent, successful somebody; not some rag doll to be dragged around Harvard Square for Fletch’s amusement—used now, cast off later when the next doll came along. ‘Yes.’
But his arm tightened, forcing her up on her toes against him. And from the look on his face, the racing speed of his heart through the light sweater, this would not be a gentle farewell. His narrowed eyes seemed enormous and she watched them shift from her lips, to her nose, to her eyes in a leisurely catalogue. Through their thin clothing, their hearts were renewing acquaintanceship, searching for and finding the same beat, a jam session in double time. But Fletch’s anger was fading, or at least going underground, as that cool, untouchable smile slowly lifted the corners of his lips. He dropped her abruptly. ‘Fine. Tell him hello for me, silky.’ He turned and walked away.
Flat-footed, thunderstruck, cheated of a kiss she hadn’t wanted, Jolian glared after him, her hands clenched into fists. Fletch turned suddenly. ‘I’ll phone you Tuesday night,’ he called, ‘to see if you’ve heard from Jem.’
‘And if—if—I’m home, I might even answer the phone. I might...’
For a hopeful, fearful second she thought he was coming back again. ‘You’d better!’
‘And you give my love to Jennifer and Barbara and Jo and Marina, will you?’ She smiled brilliantly.
‘Marisa. And as you don’t want it, you bet your sweet bottom I will!’ His brows a dangerous, dark line, he took a step backward, ignoring the amused stares of the passers-by.
‘You ... go ... to hell!’ She had never been so mortified in all her life!
‘Tuesday,’ Fletch reminded her pointedly.
‘Now would be nicer!’ And there was no way to win a screaming match on the street. Face flaming, she turned and dodged across the traffic, stamped down the stairs to the subway. A blond, beautiful boy grinned at her from a poster on the damp wall, it’s all your fault!’ she told him bitterly.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Reachout Hotline.’
‘Jem?’ But of course it was him. Jolian squeezed the receiver anxiously, her thankfulness shading quickly to guilt. ‘Jem, listen—’
‘You promised me, then you told him where I was!’ The gruff young voice wavered dangerously for an instant, angry tears not far off, then became even angrier to hide the slip. ‘You told him!’
‘Jem, I did not!’ Jolian shook her head firmly, her blue eyes distant and intense. ‘I didn’t. I swear by every last one of Ralph’s whiskers, I didn’t! By every baked bean in Boston I didn’t!’ She stopped for breath and then held it, waiting.
‘By every baked bean?’ he asked at last carefully, his voice caught between host
ility and bemusement.
Jolian breathed silently and slid slowly down in her chair to gaze up at the ceiling. ‘By every single solitary last one, Jem,’ she assured him fervently. ‘You can come count ’em if you don’t believe me.’
‘But ... those posters ... how did ...’
‘He tricked me, Jem. He traced the phone call the second time I called him.’
‘I warned you.’
The irritation returned with a growl. ‘Mmm, you warned me, Jem, but you didn’t warn me enough. He’s murder! How did you put up with him so long?’ She grinned suddenly, picturing his father’s arrogant, dark face. That really was a good question.
‘It wasn’t easy,’ Jem confided gruffly.
‘I bet ...’ Jolian murmured with genuine sympathy. And somehow, suddenly, some invisible line had been crossed.
‘You better believe it,’ he told her. ‘You know he can smell a beer on your breath at fifty yards?’
‘Oh, I believe it.’ And she would remember it, too. ‘He looks like one tough customer.’
‘He is.’ There was a son’s pride, as well as a survivor’s, in that agreement. ‘So ... where is he, right now, Jolian?’
‘Chicago. He went back on Sunday, Jem.’
‘Oh.’ And there was just a trace of disappointment in that quiet word? Jolian waited. ‘Did he say when he’d—’
‘Jem,’ she interrupted suddenly, ‘we’re not really allowed to use the phones to just chat. They’re for messages.’
‘Oh!’ There was definitely hurt in the young voice this time.
She hurried on. ‘Look, tomorrow is supposed to be a nice day, and we won’t have too many more. I’m going to go sketch in the Public Gardens all afternoon. Why don’t you meet me there, and you can buy me that cup of coffee you owe me?’
‘I owe you a cup of coffee?’ he squeaked. His following hiss of exasperation made her grin again.
‘You sure do! Your old man put me through more grief in one weekend than I’ve had in the last five years.’ And that was, no lie, she thought wryly. ‘He seemed to think I had you in my back pocket. The very least you can do is buy me a coffee for all my troubles.’ A sudden thought occurred. ‘Or... if you’re broke, Jem, I’ll buy you a coffee. Then you’ll just owe me two.’
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