by Sharon Sala
Caitlin frowned. “You better not be trying to set me up again. You don’t know how close I came to ditching your ass when you tried to set me up with Mac.”
“How was I to know that my two favorite people in the whole world would hate each other’s guts? It’s not my fault that you and my stepbrother don’t get along.”
“We don’t get along because Connor McKee is six feet four inches of pure testosterone and an attitude that won’t quit. I’ll be there at one-thirty, and you better be alone.”
“If I’m not, the other guy at the table will be with me, so go make yourself pretty. I’m already hungry.”
Caitlin smiled as she hung up the phone. Even though it was miserable outside, a decent lunch with Aaron sounded like a good idea. Afterward, she would stop off at the market and pick up some groceries before she came home. Suddenly the day had become an adventure.
Kenny Leibowitz reached into the humidor on his desk, removed a long, thin cigar, then strode to the window, looking out as he lit up. Despite the snow, the streets were teeming with holiday shoppers, their arms laden with colorful bags brimming with purchases. When the end of the cigar was glowing, he took a slow puff, savoring the sweet bite of tobacco on his tongue. With careful precision, he puckered his lips and blew four perfect smoke rings into the air.
Watching them dissipate, he smiled to himself, remembering the long, rainy weekend of his sixteenth birthday and how sick he’d gotten smoking his first cigar. He’d come a long way since then. Although he’d sampled other vices since, he was thankful that none of them had stuck.
As he stood, he caught a glimpse of his reflection and absently combed a hand through his hair, settling the thick, wavy strands back in place. He considered himself fortunate that he was more than attractive, with few vices and no addictions.
Then he amended that thought. He wasn’t addicted to anything, but he was to someone. He had a thriving public relations business, with six very high profile clients and seven up-and-coming. He was good at what he did, and he knew it. The only problem was, he wanted more from Caitlin Bennett than her business. But she couldn’t see past their working relationship, and it was driving him nuts. He dreamed about her nightly and fantasized about her during the day, imagining what her naked body would look like and the way her eyes would go all sleepy as she lifted her lips for his kiss.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and then took another puff on the cigar. This time, the perfect smoke rings gave him no joy. He knew what he wanted—what he’d needed for a long time now. Caitlin. She had everything he coveted. Money. Prestige. A name that people remembered. She belonged to him—to do with as he wished. All he had to do was make her see that. One day she would realize that she needed him for more than just to publicize her books.
In frustration, he turned away from the window and strode back to his desk. He flipped the page of his day planner and sighed. Nothing. No one wanted to plan anything around the holidays, which basically meant he might as well go on holiday, too.
He looked around his office and frowned. So why am I here? Impulsively he picked up the phone. This was the perfect time to ask Caitlin to lunch.
He dialed her number, smiling to himself in anticipation as he waited for her to answer. After fifteen rings and no pickup, he hung up in disgust. She hadn’t even turned on the answering machine. He flipped through his Rolodex until he found her cell number and dialed it. After being transferred to her voice mail, he slammed the receiver back onto the cradle without leaving a message and stubbed out his cigar. This was ridiculous.
Frustration replaced his good mood as he headed for the door. His secretary looked up and smiled as he came out of his office.
“Susan, I’m taking an early lunch.”
“Yes, sir. Do you want me to make a reservation for you?”
“No. I’ll take my chances.”
Shrugging into his overcoat and tossing his scarf around his neck, he exited the office with purposeful strides. If everyone seemed hell-bent on getting into the holiday spirit, then it was time he did, too, with or without his favorite client.
Caitlin smiled at her driver as he helped her out of the car. If all things were equal, she would have been the one helping him. Although John Steiner was almost seventy and suffering with arthritis, he took offense if anyone offered him help. He’d been with her father for more than twenty years, and at Devlin Bennett’s death he had taken it upon himself to work for her instead of retiring. Although she didn’t often use the family car, the fact that she owned it kept John Steiner happy and employed.
“Thank you, Uncle John. You don’t need to wait. I’ll catch a cab home.”
John frowned, causing his unruly eyebrows to undulate like fuzzy caterpillars.
“Now, missy, it’s too cold to be standing out in the street trying to hail a cab. I’d better wait.”
“That’s exactly why you’re going home. I’m lunching with Aaron, and you know how he is. There’s no telling how long we’ll be. Besides, Aaron had no business calling you in the first place, so won’t you please go home…for me?”
John tried another frown, but it didn’t quite make the grade. Caitlin Bennett was the daughter he’d never had. He loved her to distraction and had yet to tell her no and make it stick.
“All right, then, if you’re sure?”
Caitlin kissed him on the cheek, as she would have her father. “Thank you, Uncle John. Drive safely, and we’ll talk later.”
Then she waved goodbye and watched him drive away. Once inside the restaurant, she made her way through a small crowd of people waiting for tables. When she reached the hostess, she smiled.
“I’m Caitlin Bennett. I’m having lunch with Aaron Workman. Has he arrived?”
The hostess smiled. “Yes, Miss Bennett. Please follow me.”
Caitlin wove through the tables, waving across the room to a couple she knew as she followed the hostess.
Aaron saw her coming and stood, greeting her with a kiss on each cheek.
“Darling, you look gorgeous! Is that outfit new?”
“You know it’s not. The last time I wore it, you told me it made my skin look green, so what are you up to?”
Aaron ignored her as he pulled out her chair.
“Do sit down, Caitlin. The least we can do is get comfortable before you start yelling at me.”
Caitlin smiled at him sweetly.
“I don’t yell at you. Ever.” She picked up her menu. “I’m starving. What are you having?”
The change of topic suited Aaron. There was plenty of time to discuss why he’d called after she’d had a good meal and some stimulating conversation.
“I’m thinking about grilled salmon and one of their wonderful little salads.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like fish.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “I know that,” he drawled. “But I do, and the question was…what am I having, not what do I think you should have.”
She laughed as she leaned across the table and gave Aaron’s hand a quick squeeze.
“You’re so right, and I apologize for being such a beast.”
Mollified once he’d made his point, he grinned as he returned to studying the menu.
They ordered within minutes, and a short while later their food arrived. They ate as they talked, discussing print runs and the cover of the book on which she was working. It wasn’t until their waiter had taken their order for dessert and served them some coffee that Caitlin brought the cozy little scene to a halt.
“Okay, I’ve been fed and petted, and now I want to know why it was so important that I leave the comfort and warmth of my home to come have lunch with you. Not that your company isn’t great,” she added with a smile.
Aaron smoothed both hands down the front of his vest and then leaned forward, lowering his voice as he spoke.
“It’s regarding some fan mail we’ve been getting about you at the office.”
She felt suddenly sick.
; “What about it?”
Aaron frowned. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected from her. She was pale and trembling.
“Are you all right? If you’re not feeling well, we can continue this discussion at another time.”
She brushed off the question with one of her own.
“What about the fan mail?”
He sighed. He knew Caitlin well enough to realize that she would talk only when she was ready.
“Okay…but before I start, I want you to know that Hudson House Publishing is behind you one hundred percent.”
“Aaron…please get to the point.”
“Right. Within the last couple of months, we’ve received about a half dozen letters condemning us for publishing your books.”
Caitlin tried to laugh it off. “Probably some frustrated wannabe who got a manuscript rejected and is taking it out on me.”
“They don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“It’s not complaints. It’s threats.”
Caitlin stiffened. “What kind of threats?”
Aaron sighed. “The last one was a bomb threat.” He watched the blood draining from Caitlin’s face and wished they were not in such a public place. He could tell she was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry, darling, but we felt you should know…just in case…well, so you could be forewarned. Understand?”
“Oh my God.” She looked around at the restaurant and the people in disbelief. How could they be carrying on in such a calm and happy manner when her world was falling apart?
“Caitlin. Darling. Talk to me.”
She looked back at Aaron, her gaze wild and unfocused.
“What do you want me to say? Oh darn? Oh well?” She reached for her purse. “You don’t understand. I’ve got to get home.”
Aaron grabbed her arm. “Listen to me. I think you’re overreacting. It’s not like the letters came directly to you.”
Caitlin gave him a frantic look and then laid her napkin on the table and shrugged out of his grasp.
At that moment, understanding dawned. She saw it in his eyes.
“Oh my God! You’ve been getting them, too!”
Caitlin pushed her chair back, but Aaron grabbed her arm again. Short of making a scene, she was stuck.
“Let me go,” she whispered.
“Not until you answer me. Have you or have you not been receiving threatening letters?”
“Yes. I have.”
Her voice was just above a whisper, but Aaron heard everything, including her fear.
“For how long?”
She sighed. “I don’t know…maybe six months.”
“My God! Have you lost your mind?” he yelped. “Why didn’t you tell someone?” Then he lowered his voice and tugged gently at her fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
It was all she could do not to cry. Aaron looked so hurt, and that was the last thing she wanted.
“I don’t know,” she muttered. “At first they didn’t amount to much. Just the typical ‘I don’t like what you’re doing’ type of things. You know the kind. And I did seek advice. Twice.”
Aaron touched Caitlin’s face with his forefinger, then swiped a small tear from her cheek with his thumb.
“From whom?” he asked.
“Boran Fiorello. He’s a detective with the NYPD and an old friend of my father’s.”
“What did he say?”
Caitlin shrugged. “He told me not to worry, that it wasn’t against the law not to like what I wrote or to tell me about it. When the letters got worse, I called him again, and he pretty much blew me off. After that, I just kept them to myself.”
Indignant on Caitlin’s behalf, Aaron reached for his cell phone.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Calling that know-it-all detective and telling him his testosterone is sadly misplaced.”
Aaron’s exaggerations never failed to make her smile, and this was no exception. She shook her head.
“No, please don’t. It won’t do any good. Besides, you’re the one who has the most to worry about. My letters are full of vague threats like making me pay, which, unlike a bomb threat, is pretty non-specific. Has someone called the police?”
“Yes, but they are, of course, keeping it low-key. The last thing we need is to light a fire under every nut case in the city.”
Caitlin nodded, then covered Aaron’s hands with her own.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He made a face at her and then smiled. “Forgiven.”
She glanced at her watch. “I need to get home.”
“And I have an appointment in half an hour, or I’d take you there myself.”
Caitlin shook her head. “About my behavior…that was nothing but panic. I’m really okay.”
“Good girl. However, don’t assume anything. Be careful, and I’ll call you tonight. We’ll make a plan then.”
Caitlin grinned. “I’m trying to finish a manuscript. That’s my plan.”
Aaron canceled their dessert order, tossed some bills onto the table and helped her into her coat before following her out of the restaurant.
Outside, the bitter wind lifted the scarf around her neck and blew it into her face. She caught it, tucking it down inside her collar before pulling on her gloves.
“Wait here. I’ll hail you a cab,” Aaron said.
“No, you take the cab,” she said, then pointed down the street. “I’m going to walk down to that market and buy some groceries before I go home.”
He frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Well, I had Pepsi and peanut butter for breakfast and there’s no other food in my house.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “Good Lord! Go, go! And while you’re at it, buy some fruit and vegetables. And some milk. Buy some milk. The next thing you’ll be telling me you poured Pepsi onto your cornflakes.”
Caitlin grinned. “It’s not so bad.”
Aaron covered his ears, as if pretending he couldn’t bear to hear what she was saying.
“You eat like a teenager,” he moaned. “Don’t tell me any more.”
“There comes a cab,” Caitlin said, and gave him a quick kiss goodbye as the driver swerved to the curb. “Thanks for lunch, and for the words of encouragement.”
“Just watch yourself until we figure out what to do,” he warned, and then he was gone.
The streets were still slushy, but the sidewalks were clear. Caitlin immediately turned to face the wind, ably dodging the heavy flow of pedestrians as only a true city dweller could do. She knew the neighborhood. There was a nice market on the corner only a few blocks up. She would buy her food there and then take a cab home.
By the time she got to the end of the block, the light had turned red, and she, along with a good ten or fifteen people, hovered on the edge of the curb, waiting for permission to walk.
As she waited, she began a mental grocery list, smiling to herself about Aaron’s demand to buy milk, which, of course, she would do. She’d never had Pepsi on her cereal in her life, but she wasn’t going to tell him that and ruin his image of her bohemian habits. She liked being thought of as a bit of an eccentric instead of the heiress to the Bennett fortune.
She glanced up at the light, her thoughts still on shopping, and heard a truck downshifting gears. She saw it coming from the corner of her eye and could see that the driver was trying to make the light before it changed. She turned her head, wincing as the truck hit a puddle of slush, and knew she was going to get splashed.
And then, out of nowhere, she felt a hand on her back. Before she could react, she was shoved headfirst into the street. Instinctively her arms flew outward as she braced herself for the fall. It wasn’t until she heard squealing brakes that she remembered the truck. In the split second before impact, she saw her own reflection in the truck’s chrome bumper and screamed. She was unconscious before she hit the ground.
Three
“Miss…Miss…can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?”
> Caitlin moaned. Someone was yelling in her ear when she needed to sleep. Aaron. It had to be Aaron. He was the only friend she had who was rude enough to wake her like this.
“Go away,” she muttered, and then winced as something sharp pricked her skin.
“Get a neck brace on her. Dave, bring the spine board before I start this IV.”
Suddenly she realized she wasn’t in bed. Before she could focus, someone began pulling at her arms, then her clothes, running their hands up and down her body in an intimate fashion. Panic sliced through her pain like a knife as she flailed blindly.
“Easy, miss, I’m a paramedic. My partner and I are trying to help you. We’re going to take you to the hospital and get you checked out, okay? Just relax and let us do our job.”
Caitlin flashed on the bumper of an oncoming truck, and then another wave of pain dashed her thoughts as the paramedics rolled her from her face onto her back. Somewhere in all the chaos, she realized she was being put on a stretcher.
“Wait…wait,” she begged, trying to remember what she needed to say.
“Easy, Miss,” the paramedic said. “We’re taking you to the hospital.”
“Can’t go,” Caitlin muttered. “I’m out of milk.”
The medics chuckled as they lifted her into a waiting ambulance.
“You can get that later,” the second one said.
She wanted to argue with them, but the words wouldn’t come. Doors slammed, shutting out most of the street noise. Now there was only the occasional question from the man who was sitting at her side.
“Let’s roll,” he yelled.
Moments later, the ambulance began to move. Then came the sirens, and Caitlin winced and tried to cover her ears, only to find she couldn’t move her arms.
“My arms,” she muttered, trying unsuccessfully to open her eyes. “I can’t move my arms.”
Someone touched her hand briefly, letting her know that he was there.
“That’s because we buckled you onto the stretcher so you wouldn’t fall off. Just relax.”