“You’re just jealous. You can’t have her, but you don’t want anybody else to have her either.”
“He sells real estate,” Capo grumbled, shaking out his paper.
“Who?”
“The boyfriend.”
“Lots of money in that,” Martin observed.
“My uncle Louie sells real estate. He has all these plaques hanging in his office totaling up how many millions he’s sold each year.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You don’t think she’s dating Uncle Louie, do you?”
“I don’t think so, Tony.”
“It sure would be news to Aunt Angelina.” Capo scanned the headlines and then added, “The guy is probably balding, with a paunch, wears glasses, a real loser.”
“Probably,” Martin agreed, humoring him.
“I’m going to try to get a look at him,” Capo concluded.
“You do that.”
Both men resumed reading.
* * * *
Meg was ready early that evening, and sat in her room thinking about the night ahead. She was wearing a cherry-red knit sweater and skirt. Ransom seemed to favor red; he always complimented her when she wore it.
Meg had much to think about concerning her relationship with him. She knew she was falling in love, but his response over the past few weeks puzzled her. While he called her as much as ever and wanted to see her almost daily, he seemed to be withdrawing in some subtle, indefinable way. In the beginning, he had been very amorous, kissing and touching her at every opportunity. Now, though his involvement with her had definitely increased, he was almost remote, restricting contact as if he were afraid it would take him too far. And he had not tried to get her into bed, which she found bewildering. He was a physical man, and unless she was grossly misinterpreting his signals, which she doubted, he found her desirable. So what was going on? She didn’t know.
She did know that she dreaded losing him, that he had become as much a part of her life as her job or her family. But she had no idea how to pin him down on something she found so elusive herself. So she resolved to wait and do nothing, see where things would go on their own.
She stood abruptly and switched off the lights in her room, preparing to leave.
Several hours later, Ransom and Meg emerged from the movie house. Meg was still blotting her eyes with a tissue, and he was strolling along with a preoccupied air, his hands in his pockets.
“What did you think of the movie?” Meg asked as they headed down the block in the direction of the hotel.
He shrugged. “I don’t go much for that cornball stuff.”
“Why corny? I thought it was wonderful.”
“I just don’t believe that people could fall in love like that and then go through what they did, surmount all those obstacles to be together. It’s unrealistic.”
“Why?”
“Life isn’t like that. If something doesn’t work out, you move on to something else.”
Meg was silent for a long moment. “Is that how you really feel?”
“I’ve never known anything different.”
“So if it isn’t easy and simple, you drop it?”
He stopped walking and looked down at her. “We’re talking about a movie here, Meg.”
“Are we?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is that your philosophy of life? In Cary Grant’s position, you would have written Ingrid Bergman off?”
“I knew we should have gone to see Death Wish Ten: The Annihilation,” he said darkly.
“Answer the question.”
“The story was sentimental, that’s all I’m saying.”
“That’s what makes it a classic.”
“I guess so,” he conceded.
“Though I confess I’ve always had some sympathy for the Claude Rains character, which is certainly not the idea,” Meg said acerbically.
“Why?”
“Well, he does love Ingrid, and she is deceiving him. His love for her, and his refusal to believe that odious mother of his that Ingrid is plotting against him, eventually cause his downfall.”
“Do you think Ingrid is justified in deceiving him?” Ransom asked carefully.
“Obviously the screenwriter wants you to think that.
Rains is a criminal and Ingrid is drafted into service to get him. But it’s not so easy for me to see it that way. I can put myself in his position and imagine being so in love with someone that I would be unable to see the flaws or listen to any criticism of the person that I loved.”
“Can you?” he murmured.
“Yes.”
“And you would overlook anything to be with him? Anything at all?” Ransom inquired.
“I don’t know. It hasn’t happened to me. But I suspect that’s how I would feel.”
He received that in silence.
“I guess that makes me a hopeless romantic, huh?” she asked.
“Probably,” he said.
“An endangered species?” Meg said playfully.
“Almost extinct,” he agreed. “It’s a tough life for that breed in the eighties.”
He glanced at his watch. It was eleven o’clock. If he kept her out past midnight, the other members of the Senator’s entourage would most likely be in bed.
“I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat in here,” he suggested, stopping by the door of a sandwich shop.
“Cafe Splendide?” Meg said, reading the name stenciled on the front window.
“Something tells me it might have a hard time living up to that billing,” Ransom suggested.
They walked through the door into a clean, well-lit restaurant with scattered tables topped by paper covers under glass. The patrons appeared to be middle class and decidedly upstanding.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” Ransom qualified his earlier statement as they sat down. “Where are we, again?”
“Lowalla.”
“The Cafe Splendide in Lowalla, Pennsylvania. Doesn’t that sound like an off-Broadway play?”
“Look, they can probably cook a hamburger as well as anybody else, right?”
“Let’s hope so.”
They ordered hamburgers and coffee and sat waiting while Ransom tried to stretch out the time until their return to the hotel.
“You’re very quiet,” Meg commented, watching his face. “Is there a big deal pending or something?”
He nodded, seizing on the excuse. “A shopping mall.”
“That sounds pretty big.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time setting it up, and if it falls through I’m out the time and the money.” Why was lying to her becoming so awfully difficult?
“That’s the nature of the business, isn’t it?” Meg asked.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure that’s all? It isn’t anything I’ve done?”
“What could you have done?” he asked, as if the possibility of her doing something to upset him were ludicrous.
“I don’t know. Lately you just seem sort of... distant.”
So she had picked up on his confusion. But he’d come too far to let her slip away from him now, he had to hold on until he had finished what he’d set out to do.
“Do I?” he said, favoring her with his most charming smile. “I’m sorry. I guess I have been sort of preoccupied. I’ll try to do better.”
“You don’t have to try with me, Peter. You should know that.”
The food came, but Ransom was so busy ruminating on how to get into her room that night that he paid it scant attention.
“I thought you said you were hungry,” Meg reminded him.
He nodded and picked up his burger, taking a huge bite. He made short work of it, hardly tasting it, and was draining his cup dutifully when she said shyly, not looking at him, “Would you like to come back to my room tonight?”
He froze momentarily, his heart banging in his chest. Was it really going to be that easy?
“Are you sure about this, Meg?” he asked quietly, no
t wanting to seem too eager.
She nodded. She looked a little nervous, but her gaze was steady.
Ransom paid the bill. It was five to twelve. They walked back to the hotel at a leisurely pace, holding hands, both thinking about what was ahead of them.
The lobby was almost deserted, and they were the only people in the hall as they approached Meg’s room.
“Everybody else in bed?” Ransom asked.
“Guess so.”
“What about the cops?”
“They sleep in the sitting rooms with the Senator and Ashley.” She unlocked her door, and they entered. The room was shaped like an L, with a small nook where she had placed her computer on the hotel’s cherry secretary. The stem of the L contained a bed and twin nightstands, with an occasional chair and a standing lamp.
Everything was very neat.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked, switching on a shaded lamp on the dresser. It was the only illumination in the darkened room.
He shook his head. Alcohol might make him drowsy later, and he had to be sharp.
“I’m going to have some sparkling water,” she said.
He realized that she was giving herself something to do, and watched her as she went to the small refrigerator provided by the hotel and took out a bottle of mineral water. She looked nice, he thought; she was not a stunner on first impression, but her quiet, understated looks grew on you. At least, they did on him. He liked her in red. He had noticed that not many women were able to wear the color successfully, but she could.
She sipped at her drink, then put it down.
“I need a few moments in the bathroom,” she said.
He nodded.
As soon as she had closed the door behind her, he took a packet of powder from his pocket and ripped off the top. Listening carefully for her return, he dumped the contents of the tiny bag into her glass and watched the crystals swirl around in the liquid and then disappear. When the powder was dissolved, he picked up the glass, satisfied.
That would cause her to sleep through any noise he might make later on.
When she came out again, he handed her the glass, and in her nervousness she drained it and set it on the bedside table. She turned to face him.
“It’s been a long time for me,” she said softly. “I’m not sure how to do this.”
“Then let me do it,” he said, stepping closer. He touched her shoulder and she turned into his arms.
“Just hold me,” she whispered. “Just hold me for a while.”
Ransom frowned against her hair, though he did as she said. He was good at lovemaking, in the same methodical way he was good at everything else, but he didn’t like cuddling. It made him feel lost, inadequate, and control was always his goal. He was a technician, nothing more.
But as he stood with Meg nestled against his shoulder, something changed. He began to feel more comfortable, off stage, as if it were okay to be himself, if he could still remember who that was. She sighed and pulled him closer, and he smoothed her hair gently. She always smelled the same way, clean, like soap or shampoo. It reminded him of shower day at the orphanage, or laundry day when they changed the bed linens, two almost-pleasant memories he had of that place. In fact, she reminded him of everything good that had ever happened to him. When she turned her face up for his kiss, he took his time, savoring the experience, so that he could remember it later when she was no longer a part of his life.
He pulled the sweater over her head and dropped it on the floor. Her body was richer than he would have imagined. Clothing leaned her, disguising ripeness. He removed her bra, cupping her breasts in his hands as he did so, and then the rest of her clothes, setting her on the bed.
Meg watched him undress in the semidarkness. He unzipped his jacket, took it off, and pulled his polo shirt over his head. She held her breath as he unbuckled his belt, and put up her arms to encircle his neck when he knelt on the bed to join her.
She gasped with the shock of his naked skin against hers. He wished for more light, to see her better, to remember, but became lost in her immediately, the feel of her warm flesh under his hands, her yielding body beneath his. She followed where he led instinctively, her less varied experience giving way to his mastery of the art. But as he made love to her, his skills gradually deserted him, and he felt fifteen again, raw and untutored and flooded with tenderness.
The first time for any couple is always the excitement of the unknown, and of learning each other. But for Ransom there was this new dimension; he forgot about pressing the right buttons and simply loved Meg, pausing to kiss her and hold her close when she clung to him, prolonging the act for his own satisfaction as much as hers. His time with her became a unique experience during which the ghosts of his former lovers receded and were silenced.
And when it was over, with Meg asleep next to him, he was wide awake.
If he had been able to see his own expression, he would have known that he was frightened.
He did know that he didn’t want to leave the bed. Usually, once he was finished with a woman he was out of bed and into the shower before his heartbeat had returned to normal, but this time he wanted to linger. Meg felt so sweet and warm beside him, and he could still hear her little sounds of pleasure, the way she’d said his name in his ear at the height of her passion.
Or what she thought was his name.
Ransom forced himself to get up and pull on his pants. The computer sat like an obelisk on the desk. He hesitated, then approached it resolutely.
He had a job to do, and he was going to do it.
The machine sounded a tone when it went on, and he glanced at Meg, but she didn’t stir. The master disk sat in its slot, and he pushed it in, opening up with that. Then he glanced at the stack of floppies in a clear plastic box next to the console.
The box was locked.
He stared at it, his bare chest heaving, as if he could force it to yield up its secrets with the intensity of his gaze.
Of course it was locked. Cleaning people and hotel staff came into the room every day. Meg would want to safeguard her notes.
The information he needed was on the disks, the computer of no use to him without them.
He thought for a long moment, fighting panic. If he couldn’t get to the disks, all bets were off. He would have to formulate a new plan, and he simply didn’t have the time.
Think, he instructed himself. Where would she keep the key? She had a ring in her purse on which she kept her car keys, but he had never examined it closely.
He got up and went to her purse, which she had dropped on the chair next to the door. He took it into the bathroom and shut the door, examining the bag’s contents by the light over the sink.
The ring held several keys, only one of which was small enough to fit the lock on the box. Holding his breath, he crept back to the desk and tried it.
The lock yielded, and the lid of the box sprang up smartly.
He released his breath in an audible sigh. He set the key ring aside and put the purse back on the chair, then returned to the computer.
He rifled through the disks quickly, reading the labels. He located one marked “Building Plans” with the dates of several fund-raisers and dinners following the words. He booted it up quickly, and saw diagrams and schematics as he scanned from page to page. He set the machine to copy the document onto one of the blank disks he’d brought with him, and then flipped through the rest of Meg’s disks as it did so. He found two others that looked promising and copied them also.
The machine hummed along; the keyboard was virtually silent and the rest of the process relatively quiet. He couldn’t be sure he was getting what he needed, but if he didn’t this time, he would just have to try again. And soon.
He ran into trouble when he was shutting down. In his haste to log off, he entered an incorrect command and the machine beeped loudly to alert him of it, flashing a remedial instruction.
Meg rolled over, mumbling, as Ransom shot to his feet, standing to
block the glowing computer screen.
“Wassa madder?” Meg said, her words slurred from sleep and the dope he had given her.
“Nothing,” Ransom replied soothingly. “Go back to sleep.”
“Heard something?” she muttered, peering drunkenly through the darkness at him.
She had been wearing her glasses that night, and now they were lying on the bedside table. He knew that without them she wouldn’t be able to see across the room, even if it were fully lit and she had her wits about her, which she certainly didn’t.
“That was me, in the bathroom. I’m sorry.” He waited, still afraid she would recognize the sound she’d heard, a sound she heard routinely every day. But he knew she couldn’t remain conscious for long; the drug would pull her back under soon.
“Come back to bed,” she finally said sleepily, her head lolling on the pillow.
“In a minute. I’ll be right there,” he replied, relieved that she was clearly succumbing to the dope.
Ransom waited tensely until she subsided and he could hear that she was breathing deeply again. He went back to the machine and shut it down carefully, sweating profusely.
That had been close. Meg was in love with him, but she was the furthest thing from stupid. It would have been difficult to explain to her why he’d felt an irresistible urge to play with her computer in the middle of the night.
He pocketed the copies he’d made and relocked the box of disks, slipping the key ring back into her purse. Then he took off his pants, pulled back the sheet, and climbed into the bed.
Meg turned to him instantly, and he held her in his arms until the bedside clock read six.
He got up, and she opened her eyes. She was apparently a light sleeper.
“Got to go,” he said, bending to kiss her forehead as he buttoned his shirt.
“Can’t you stay for breakfast?” she asked, sitting up, a lock of dark hair falling over one eye like a comma.
“I’ve got an early meeting on the mall project,” he lied quickly, reaching for the rest of his clothes. “I’ll call you tonight. You’ll still be here, right?”
She nodded, falling back groggily. What was the matter with her head? It felt as if it was filled with cotton.
“Eight o’clock,” he said.
He was through the door before she could comment.
Fair Game Page 17