by Nancy Radke
Kathleen had made him distrust his feelings. His heart told him Angie was innocent, but his heart wasn’t very smart.
Grandfather struck the hour of eleven, reminding Ryan of the passing night.
“I think...” Angie said, stretching, still half asleep, “I think I’d better go,” she yawned, “to bed.”
His photographic mind immediately pictured her last night, wearing his blue checked shirt, and remained there, delighting in her image. Much better than pizza.
“Good idea,” he said.
Determined not to be swayed by the lovely image he had conjured up, Ryan helped her stand and handed her the crutches. He followed her up the circular stairs, ready to catch her if she slipped. She didn’t. Disappointed, he ran back down to lock up the house and set the alarm. The air outside remained below freezing, so he left the faucets at a drip.
Next he called Harborview to check on Warren and Mary. Warren was in a coma, unresponsive, and Mary was sedated and asleep. Knowing he could do nothing, Ryan went upstairs to bed. Things would have to wait until tomorrow— or at least later on today.
As he came down the hall, Angie emerged from the bathroom, luminous eyes sparkling. She wore a pair of cut-off blue jeans under his blue shirt, somehow ending up more enticing than his earlier picture of her. Her new confidence had blessed her with a warm glow that bloomed fresh and lively. He looked at her animated features, her dainty feet and silk-smooth legs, and he came to an abrupt halt.
"You look better in that shirt than I do," he commented, trying to lighten things with humor. "Even those shorts." His gaze blazed upward to meet hers. "I'm going to have to get you a granny gown. And even that won't— "
He took one step forward— a man compelled— to draw her freshness into his arms. She met him, willingly.
10
Dropping her crutches on the hallway floor, Angie answered Ryan’s need with her own. Her lips met his for an instant, brushed away, then returned to seek answers to the many questions that were beginning to arise. Warmth responding to warmth.
Can this be happening to me? she wondered, as their kiss deepened. Even as her emotions exploded, one tiny part in her cried out to beware. She trusted him, but he didn’t trust her. He still had doubts. How could a relationship be built on that?
"No." She pushed herself away before the fire within whirled out of control.
* * *
Feeling her resistance, Ryan stepped quickly back and, without a word, picked up her crutches and handed them to her. He walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, his blood racing.
He turned on the cold water and splashed his face, willing himself to cool down. He stared at himself in the mirror. Just an average guy— nothing special about him that would attract Angie. He was smart, but that didn’t seem to count with women. He had gone to college early— fifteen, doing computer programming for companies on the side. At that time he had looked much older than his age, causing some girls to force themselves into his space.
Once a girl kept asking him to go to a movie, and he had taken the plunge and said “Yes.” He would never forget her look of disgust when he stammered that he didn’t have a driver’s license.
He prepared for bed, then went into the office and again read his notes from his trip to MXOIL. He had found that if he looked at a problem just before going to sleep, he often woke up with an answer.
He didn’t have much to go on. Just the few facts. The cracker had entered the first two levels using the passwords.
That meant he had known them— or figured them out. Quickly too, for the program shut a person out after five tries. Strange. When Ryan had installed the program last month, he had had Jim Markum change all the passwords. Was the MXOIL chief doing it himself? Ryan didn’t know too much about Jim, except he was a Texan who had lost most of his southern drawl working in the 49th state.
It could be someone who knew Jim, who knew what kind of passwords he liked to use. Someone in the company.
He added those ideas to his notebook, then went to bed.
* * *
Angie woke to bright sunshine and dripping icicles. Except for her throbbing ankle protesting its overuse yesterday, she felt refreshed and ready to go. She dressed quickly in stretch jeans and tee shirt, then dropped into the splits, doing her morning stretches. She did a few walk-overs and decided the ankle felt strong enough to use as long as she kept it wrapped. Then she went downstairs to see if Ryan had heard anything from the hospital.
“I just called,” he said. “Mary is awake, but in a daze. Warren is still in a coma. I’ve notified Scott. He suggested setting up a fund to help Mary with the medical expenses, if needed. He’s going to call Warren’s climbing friends and get the word out.”
They breakfasted on hot cereal, canned milk, canned peaches, and coffee, then returned to the hospital, giving Robyn a two-hour break. They couldn’t really visit with Mary, so they sat near her and Warren, offering support.
On the way home they stopped for fresh fruit and milk, then returned to the houseboat where Ryan started Angie on some office work. She learned rapidly and was surprised when he called a halt for an early supper.
"You're supposed to stop me," he teased. "It won't do if you forget the time, too."
She considered that. Grandfather had been chiming in the background, but she had enjoyed it and hadn't bothered counting the beats. "Why don't we set an alarm clock?"
He nodded, and followed her as she worked her way down the stairs.
"Soup and sandwiches?"
"Fine," she agreed. "I eat anything."
"Stands to reason." He motioned for her to sit down at the kitchen table while he opened up two cans of tomato soup, heating the soup quickly in the microwave while he grilled some cheese sandwiches. "I don't keep too large a store of fresh things since I never know when I’ll have to leave. Coffee?"
"Yes, please." She sat silently, enjoying watching him work. He knew what he was doing and did it with a minimum of effort— proficient and dexterous, as he did most things. He whistled as he worked, casually skipping from one tune to another.
They watched the news afterwards. The weatherman said the cold spell would last for two weeks. Angie shuddered, thinking of how hard things would have become once she had left Scott's office that night. With Jack throwing out her belongings, she would have been in a really tight bind.
Staying here, in the upstairs bedroom, would be fine if she could count on Ryan— or herself— maintaining a strict employer/employee relationship. But that wasn’t possible. The attraction she had felt last summer was minuscule compared to her feelings now.
She needed to find another place to live. Hesitant, she broached the subject.
“I thought you could move in with Robyn and Alison,” he said. “But they’ll have their hands full with Mary. You need to be close by. Maybe an apartment around here. We’ll start searching tomorrow.”
“That would be fine.”
“Can you access your account online?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll pay you your first month’s salary now.”
Angie moved everywhere unassisted by now, although he still helped her up the circular stairway. This evening he pulled out two heavy coats and escorted her up to the roof deck to watch the sunset, spectacularly reflected off the snow and water. A slight breeze blew the dry snow around, covering up footprints and blurring edges.
The huge Aurora Bridge dominated the sky, overshadowing the smaller Fremont Bridge. The setting sun highlighted the snow-covered structures. Ryan’s home floated on the side of the ship canal, about three miles from the Government Locks. The frequent boat traffic kept the houseboat rocking gently.
"Have you ever been to the locks?" Ryan asked as one boat came in fairly close to Ryan’s dock, circled the area, then roared off.
"Yes, many times. It's the best free entertainment in Seattle. I enjoy watching the big gates open and close, the ships enter and tie up— then either sin
k or rise according to which way they're going."
He nodded. "I walk down to relax or clear my mind, or just to watch the fish go up the ladder. The cutthroat trout should be running this month. When the snow’s gone we'll go down and watch."
"I'd like that." The agreement seemed a promise that their friendship would grow. Their smiles met, sealing the possibility.
A loud knock— someone at his front door— interrupted them. Ryan hurried down and Angie followed. He opened the door to a pizza delivery boy.
“You lost?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t think so. Didn’t you order?”
“No. What address were you sent to?”
The delivery boy had Ryan’s address written down, along with his last name.
“Someone must be playing a bad joke on you,” Ryan told him. “If we hadn’t already eaten, I’d go ahead and buy it.”
“It’s happened before,” the boy told him. “Thanks anyway.” He left, shaking his head and Ryan closed the door, locking it behind him.
Two TV shows completed the evening, but Angie had a hard time focusing on them. Her mind kept traveling upstairs to where the flannel shirt waited, folded and tucked under the pillow on her bed. It was a practical item, yet if it had been a fluffy bit of lace, she wouldn't have felt any differently. Its presence re-awakened the deep feelings of last night.
A small spark was all it took to start a forest fire.
She switched off the TV, made her way upstairs, and pulled out the shirt. Angie wasn't dumb. Her emotions were like dry tinder. Putting on the shirt would be like lighting a match.
She laid it back down and walked over to the closet where she had placed the few items Shelly had salvaged. A large sweatshirt would do nicely and she pulled it off the shelf, looked at it, then put it back again. She wanted to wear the shirt.
Deliberately, she put it on over the khaki shorts before she changed her mind. It made her feel wanted, loved, warmed... cared for. All the things she had been without these past few years. All the things she needed.
She walked into the bathroom, prepared for bed and came back out. But Ryan kept busy downstairs, so didn’t meet her in the hallway. She didn’t know whether she felt relieved or disappointed.
Later Grandfather woke her, its cadence deep and regular, patiently counting out the midnight hour. Outside, the crystal snow reflected every point of light so her room stayed dimly lit, the chair and dresser nebulous objects.
As the last notes resounded through the house, Angie looked longingly toward the door. She felt thirsty, mouth dry, every cell demanding liquid. From experience she knew if she fell asleep again she’d wake even more thirsty in an hour or so.
There was nothing else for it. She absolutely had to have a drink of water.
Throwing back the covers, she moved quietly towards the bathroom. The carpet felt warm, but when she reached the cold tile in the hallway, Angie questioned the sanity of her mission. Leaving a cozy bed for a drink of water had sounded fine while she still lay under the covers.
A pinpoint of light flashed dimly in the office catching Angie's eye. It skittered from object to object, blinking— a firefly, off and on.
Why didn’t he just turn on the light? "Ryan?" The question burst out before she realized the bundled-up figure holding the penlight couldn’t be him.
The intruder spun around, uttering an oath, the light searching out and finding Angie. As he hurled himself across the office toward her, she screamed.
11
As soon as Angie screamed for Ryan, the masked intruder ran towards her in five leaping steps. The dull flash of a gun barrel spurred her to movement.
She threw herself sideways, feeling his hand brush her arm as she fell away. She rolled over and scrambled on her hands and knees down the short hall, screaming with all the volume she could manage.
"Ryan! Help!"
Ryan threw his door open, clicking on the bedroom light behind his pajama-clad figure just as the intruder hauled Angie to her feet. She caught the sharp odor of cigarette smoke as he yanked her backwards against his heavy coat, her breath knocked out, cutting short her scream.
The end of the gun pressed hard against her throat, bruising her skin. Ryan paused, his body tensed for action. Don't do anything rash, she prayed silently. She didn't want him injured, maybe killed, trying to save her.
"Stay back... and she don't get hurt." The stranger's voice rumbled in her ear.
"Let her go." Ryan spoke the command softly as he stepped toward them, his movements deceptively slow.
The choke-hold on Angie tightened, making her gasp for air. The intruder stood much taller than she. Taller than Ryan. She could feel the bulk of him against her. He growled, low in his throat. "No. Stay away. I was warned about you."
Ryan's eyes focused with a piercing hardness. "You were? Then be smart. Turn her loose. I'll let you leave, unharmed."
The man's voice became louder. "First the CDs."
Why is he afraid? He's the one with the gun, Angie thought. She used both hands to pull down on the intruder’s arm as she began to wheeze. Her hands, made strong by years of training, had enough strength in them to move his arm. Once she could get a decent breath, her desperation eased slightly.
"Which ones?" Ryan demanded.
"You know. For the MXOIL corporation."
Ryan frowned as he answered. "You— or your gang— stole that the other night."
"Funny, funny. You ruined my hard drive. I want both CDs."
"They wouldn't be here,” Ryan said. “We keep those in a vault."
"Don’t give me that. They’re here. Open your safe." His voice had a different cadence than either Ted or his raspy friend, yet Angie had a feeling she had heard it before. But where? When?
With a grunt, the intruder dragged her backward into the office while Ryan followed, barefoot— not pressing too close— a silent pantomime taking place among the three.
The stranger smelled of smoke, alcohol, and sweat— the last probably from fear. Intent only on his own safety, he handled her roughly.
If she could only trip him somehow, or knock his hand down. She kicked hard, but that just sent pain shooting through her ankle. Enraged, she pulled hard on his gun hand, moving it away from her neck.
Following them into the office, Ryan turned on the overhead lights. "Angie... no! Stop that!" he warned, concern creasing his face. "His finger’s on the trigger! Don't fight him. I'll give him what he wants."
She dropped her hands as fear tempered her anger. She had been so mad, she hadn’t thought about the gun going off.
Ryan strode over to the large safe, spun the dial and opened it, revealing papers, file folders, and storage boxes filled with CDs. He flipped through them, checking the numbered labels, then opened one.
"Here they are.”
"Put one on the monitor. Then stand over by the door while I take a look."
Ryan inserted a CD in the computer and typed in some commands. It hummed and groaned for a few seconds, then displayed its information.
"There." He walked away and the other man peered at the monitor.
"Good. This is what I want. Where's your other set?"
"My backups? These are the backups. You already stole the originals."
"Huh?" The stranger grunted, appearing confused. "I’m supposed to get two sets."
"Two sets? Or two CDs? I don't have any more here. Do you want me to show— " Ryan stepped away from the door and instantly the gun barrel was jammed into Angie's throat. She gasped. He stopped.
"Back off. I'm not tangling with any black belt. I'll blast her, then you, if you try anything."
"You harm her and I'll— "
"Stay far off." As Ryan stepped backward into the hallway, Angie realized her presence was the only thing giving the thief the upper hand. A black belt. That explained how Ryan had handled Jack so easily.
The intruder pulled Angie to the open safe and scanned the numbers on the labels, having her move the boxes in
front. When his search proved fruitless, he dropped the set he wanted into his coat pockets and addressed Ryan.
"Go into a bedroom and close the door."
"No. You got what you came for. Turn her loose."
"Give me more distance. I will then."
"Ten feet. No more."
"Twenty."
Ryan's gaze shifted from the intruder's to Angie's. She was shocked by the intense frustration raging in his eyes. "Twelve. You turn her loose, soon, or you'll find out exactly why you were warned. You can have the CDs. But I'm not letting you take Angie, gun or no gun."
His words stamped the air with heavy blows. Angie had never heard him so forceful. Was it out of concern for her as a human being, or did his feelings go deeper... as hers did for him?
Slowly they worked their way down the hall, Ryan following, closing in as they half-fell down the circular stairs. Outside, the man struggled for balance as he walked backward on the ice-covered boards, dragging Angie with him. On the edge of the dock he hesitated, as if considering his next move.
As he shifted his grip, Angie had a forewarning of what he planned to do, but found herself unable to prevent it. Hurled sideways, she whirled into space, her scream cut short as she plunged into the freezing black water.
The cold took her breath away. Her heart stopped for a second in shock. Deep... deeper... her momentum carried her down into the dark depths, icy water filling her ears, her nostrils. She felt the brush of underwater plants, trying to wrap around her legs.
Upwards. She had to get up, out, back to air. She kicked free of the plants and churned her way to the surface.
Angie came up under the dock. There was air there, a small space to put her face and catch her breath. She fought down panic as she took a few seconds to orient herself. The light from the dock gleamed into the water making it lighter in that area. She worked her way to the edge, dove under and came up alongside.
A pipe hung over her head. Plastic. Ice covered. Her hands slid off. A second try succeeded only in creating more ice. The air felt colder than the water and she drew her hand back in.