Come on, he urged silently. Believe that we’re in the bedroom, either asleep or too busy with each other to know that you’re breaking in. Commit yourselves.
The door was open wide when the first man began to creep cautiously forward. Jerome could see the man’s back, but he forced himself to wait until the second man entered. By waiting, he knew he was taking the risk of premature discovery. Risk, because about all he had going for him was the element of surprise. But he had to wait. Both of the men had to be in his line of vision for it to work. He could feel sweat break out on his forehead as what seemed like an endless time passed. These men were pros. They were being extremely cautious.
The door continued on its backward route. Anything could happen. They could turn and see him ... or they could catch a movement from Jennifer behind the door.
Now! Both men were in the room. He couldn’t wait any longer.
It happened almost simultaneously. As he threw his coat over the head of the second man, the one closest to him, he saw Jennifer swinging the champagne bottle in a downward arch toward the back of the first man’s head. He heard a satisfying thud, and the first man gave a grunt and collapsed to the floor at the same time as Jerome spun the second man around and brought his knee into the man’s groin. The man folded forward. Clenching his hands together into one punishing fist, he brought it down hard against the back of the man’s neck.
Jerome slammed the door shut, locked it, and groped for the light switch. The first thing he saw was Jennifer, still holding the bottle, and staring at the two men on the floor. She had remained remarkably cool and had done exactly as he had iidicated, even helping, yet when she raised her eyes, they were filled with horror. He hated the things he was thinking, but dammit, she had a lot of explaining to do.
He crouched between the two men. They were the same two men he had seen Jennifer looking at in the bar. He began searching first one and then the other.
"Are they dead?" she questioned shakily.
"No, they’re not dead," he answered, removing a .45 automatic that had been concealed in a shoulder holster on one of the men. He yanked the slide back, expelling the bullet from the chamber, then ejected the clip and slipped the gun into his pocket. "They may wish they were dead, though, when they wake up in a couple of hours and feel the way their heads are pounding." He discovered a silencer for the .45 in the man’s pocket, but left it there.
He found a similar weapon lying beside the other man’s outstretched arm, and unloaded it with equal efficiency. He put the gun in his other pocket. "As you can see, whatever I did to them is nothing compared to what they were obviously prepared to do to us." He paused. "Or should that be, to me? By any chance, are these two friends of yours?"
"Friends? Of course not!"
"Really?" he returned. "Well, at any rate, we’ll talk about it later." Their weapons disposed of, Jerome searched them for identification. But he found no ID of any type on either man. He checked their clothing for labels. There were none. The only thing he found besides the guns was a fat wad of bills. The evidence fairly screamed at him: professional gunmen.
"Okay, that’s it, I’m going to call the police. I’ll be curious to see what they make of these two."
He stood up, but Jennifer grabbed his arm. "You can’t! We’ve got to get out of here. It’s entirely possible that these two weren’t alone."
"Is that right?" He looked down at her hand on his arm and then looked up into her wide brown eyes. "You know, I’ve got to say that this evening is turning into one of the most interesting I’ve had in years. Nevertheless, I’m calling the police."
"Will you listen to me? We’ve got to get out of here. These people are dangerous!"
"Tell me something I don’t know, sweetheart."
"I can’t. That is . . . there’s nothing to tell."
"Yet you think that there could be more of them and you know that they’re dangerous."
"Look. We don’t have time to stand around here talking. If you’re not going to leave, I am."
"Uh-uh, honey. Just wipe that little notion right out of your head. You’re not going to get farther than a step away from me until I find out just what the hell is going on."
"Okay, okay." She held up one shakily placating hand. "I’ll tell you, but only if you promise to wait to call the police until you’ve heard my story. And not here."
Her voice had been rising steadily. No matter what, there was no doubt that this had been a frightening experience for her. Jerome ran his hand through his hair, then glanced down at the two men. They weren’t going anywhere for a while. "All right. We’ll go down the stairs to the service entrance and hope none of their friends are hanging around down there."
"Where can we go?"
"To my place."
Chapter Three
"Make yourself comfortable." Jerome waved her to a deeply cushioned sofa.
They were at his condominium apartment located at the very top of a modern high rise. Gratefully Jennifer dropped onto the butter-soft suede couch and leaned her head back against its rolled rim. If only she could shut her eyes and go to sleep and sleep for a hundred years. If she could do that, then maybe, just maybe, when she woke up, she’d find that this had all been some terrible nightmare. But she knew she couldn’t go to sleep. Not yet. She had to get through Jerome’s questions; and she had the feeling that this next hour or so might prove harder than the entire last forty-eight hours put together. She was well aware that she was experiencing a mixture of shock, fear, and plain bone weariness, but she had to try to keep her wits about her just a little bit longer.
Jerome was standing across the room by his desk, one hand on his hip holding back his jacket with an assured arrogance. He had quickly and effortlessly knocked out a man and then coolly, calmly disarmed both men. He had reacted with split-second timing and flawless reflexes. What kind of man was he, she wondered, then felt a start of surprise that it should hurt when she realized she wouldn’t have an opportunity to find out.
He reached for the phone, and her deliberation changed into sharp panic. "You’re not calling the police, are you?"
His blue eyes cut to her, cold as steel. "Ron," he said into the phone. "I left my car parked over by Charlie’s. Could you send someone over to pick it up for me? Yeah, that will be fine. I’m home. I’ve left the keys with the doorman downstairs and told him you or one of your people will be by for them. If someone other than yourself comes, just make sure they have the proper identification and there’ll be no problem. Great. Thanks, Ron." He hung up the phone, still looking at her in that intent way of his. "I told you that I’d wait to call the police."
"Th-thank you. I appreciate that." No longer able to sustain eye contact with him. she bent her head and ran her hands restively over the dark green leather upholstery. "Who’s Ron?"
"One of my employees. He has a crew of people who clean the office and do general maintenance or whatever else we need to have done."
"We?" She looked up curiously.
"My partner and I ... in our law firm." He pivoted toward a teakwood and mirrored bar. Without asking, he began to pour her a drink.
Jennifer groaned under her breath. A lawyer. Great. The only thing that could be worse would be a policeman. Thankful that his attention was elsewhere for the moment, Jennifer took the opportunity to look around the room. It looked like him, traditional, expensive, contained, and very masculine—except for a wondrously splendid giant wooden rocking horse in the corner. It was remarkable, she thought. And it didn’t fit with the room ... or with what little she knew about Jerome Mailer.
For the first time that evening she realized she had assumed Jerome wasn’t married. Why? She had to find out about his involvements. "Do you . . . uh, live here alone?"
"Quite alone." He approached and handed her a glass of brandy.
Suddenly she knew. As open and charming as he might seem, he was really aloof. The quality was barely discernible, but it was there. Jerome Mailer kept himself to
himself! "And you like to be alone, right?"
"Drink this." He growled the order. "You look as if you need it." Sitting down beside her, he watched until she had taken a sip. Pale apricot color flooded back into her face, and inexplicably he reached out a finger to touch her cheek. Her flinch was barely perceptible, but he felt it and he withdrew his hand, frowning. "Are you ready to tell me what happened back there?"
She concentrated her attention on the glass in her hand. "It might be better for you if you didn’t know. It really has nothing to do with you."
Jerome thrust his hands into his jacket pockets and withdrew the two guns. Placing them on the coffee table, he bit out tightly, "These say it does."
Jennifer took another swallow of brandy.
"I’m a lawyer," he grated harshly. "That means I’m an officer of the court, and I just left two men knocked out cold on the floor of a hotel room I had rented."
"But you didn’t rent the room in your name."
"Smith? Don’t be naïve. By walking away from that scene, without notifying the police, puts my professional reputation in jeopardy. So you had better start talking or I will put in that call."
Bending her head again, she said in a low tone, "It was ... my husband."
Jerome went very still. "Would you mind repeating that?"
She raised her head slightly. "It was my husband. He sent those men after me."
Complete silence, then thunder. "You’re married!"
She nodded, her brown eyes cautious as she watched his reaction.
Jerome shot off the couch to stride to the bar and pour himself another drink. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Hell! He didn’t want to believe what he was hearing. This beautiful woman he’d come within a hair’s-breadth of making love to not even an hour ago was married! Tossing back the whiskey, he wheeled on her. "You had better start explaining, sweetheart, because if you don’t, I just might give in to this almost irresistible urge I have to wring that beautiful neck of yours. And you can start with your name."
"My name is Jennifer," she began. "Really," she added when she saw his dubious expression. "Jennifer White. My—my husband’s name is Richard. Two days ago I. . . left him. It’s as simple as that."
"Simple?" he roared, incredulous. "You’ve got to be kidding! Keep talking. For instance, why did you leave him?"
"Listen. Are you sure you want to hear this? Because I can leave right now, and you– "
"Talk, Jennifer."
Reluctantly she nodded, then sighed. "Richard and I … had been married only a couple of months when I discovered that he was involved in some very shady business deals. I told him I was going to leave him, but he refused to listen." She shrugged. "First chance I got I left. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I left with only the clothes on my back and very little money. I had been on the run two days when I saw you."
Jerome sat in a chair opposite the sofa and rubbed his forehead. Dammit! Why was he surprised? Hadn’t he suspected right from the first that there was something fishy about Jennifer picking him up? Of course he had. But he’d let his attraction to her rule him. And now he felt as if there were a knife twisting slowly in his gut?
Nervously Jennifer laced her fingers together. "You’re in no danger now."
"If you’re waiting to hear me say how comforted I am, you can forget it."
"I..." She cleared her throat. "1 knew those two men had been following me the last couple of days. I kept catching glimpses of them—you know, a man in the same color and style of jacket, another man with a certain way of walking. It was just too much of a coincidence." She shuddered, remembering how scared she had been. "There was something so menacing about them. Then as soon as they realized that I had become aware of them, they began to behave more aggressively."
She lifted her hands in a graceful appeal and the red polish on her nails glinted against the white of her dress like fire dancing on snow. "Try to understand. I was desperate. I was nearly out of money and I was afraid to use my credit card any more than I had already. It would have been like leaving a trail of bread crumbs. I was positive I had lost them when I ducked into that bar. Then I saw two men come in. I couldn’t be sure, through the crowd and all, but I had a real feeling it was them. I tried to get out the back way, but the bar must have just gotten a delivery or something, because the exit was blocked. That was when I decided to come over to your table."
"Ah, now we come to my part in the evening’s entertainment. Tell me." His voice was deadly calm. "Why me?"
"I had noticed you earlier ..." Her voice faded briefly, but came back strong. "Who knows? I’m not sure I can tell you."
"Try."
"When you’re in danger and in a room full of people, you instinctively pick the person who looks as if he can help you. There was a strength about you, an integrity. And you obviously weren’t on the make. You were ignoring—"
"Everyone but you."
She tried to repress the shivers that swept up her spine at the husky softness of his voice. "I suggested a hotel because I thought it would be safe. I didn’t want to get you involved—"
"Didn’t want to get me involved?"
"I honestly thought it would be okay." She raised her chin defensively. "I reasoned that if we took a cab instead of your car there would be no chance for them to trace your license plate. And in the unlikely event that they found out where we had gone. I thought that registering under a false name would protect us."
"Well, Jennifer White, obviously your reasoning leaves something to be desired." He drained the last inch of whiskey from his glass and stared at its bottom, feeling a sadness he shouldn’t under the circumstances. "Did it ever occur to you to confide in me and let me help you?"
"I didn’t want to—"
"I know." Jerome held up his hand in a gesture of resigned acceptance. "You didn’t want to get me involved. I’m sure your intentions were admirable. " He studied her for a minute. "I’ve got to ask. If it had come down to it, would you have gone to bed with me?"
She raised her brown eyes and met his gaze with a sensual directness that threatened his equilibrium. "Yes." The one word went into him like a hot bolt of lightning. Jennifer stood up. "Look, I’ll just leave."
"Like hell you will! Sit down."
She sat down.
Jerome rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. "So tell me. Mrs. White, what does Mr. White do that requires hired guns?"
"I—I’m not sure. Not exactly. But there were too many things that happened that made no sense to me."
As Jerome listened to her speak, he was again hit by the vulnerability he had first sensed in her; and, despite his anger at having been misled, it moved him as nothing had in years. There was very little outward sign of the vulnerability, though. Her spine was ramrod straight. Yet her fingers were twisting together in a wringing motion, and he knew if he were to close his hand around her throat, he would be able to feel her pulse racing wildly. It made him want to cover her hands with his, to still her disquiet, to take her in his arms. . .
She was saying, "Strange men coming for meetings at all hours of the day and night. Money trading hands. Us moving around all the time. Richard would never tell me exactly what was going on, but I knew I couldn’t continue living like that."
"He sounds charming." Jerome said quietly. "I have to wonder why you married him to begin with."
She reached for her bag and withdrew another cigarette. She took a moment to light it, but then forgot to smoke it. "He wasn’t like that when we first met. Granted, we hadn’t known each other very long. Our courtship was rather rushed, but it all seemed so romantic at the time."
Jerome had become aware that an unfamiliar pain seemed to be gnawing at his insides. "How touching."
Unconsciously she reached her hand toward him. "I’m so sorry that I got you into all this. You’ve got every reason in the world to be angry, but you can see why I didn’t want you to call the police, can’t you?"
"I’m having trouble seei
ng a lot of this, Jennifer, especially that last part. If you’re afraid of your husband, the police can help you."
"No." She shook her head vehemently. "Absolutely not. I don’t want my domestic problems paraded before a bunch of strangers. I got myself into this, and I’ll get myself out of it."
One part of him admired her independent attitude. The other part of him, however, knew he was going to do everything in his power to change her mind.
"How?"
She shook her head. "I don’t know. Not right now. But I’ll figure it out."
"Don’t you have any family or friends you can call or go to who might help you?" he asked while admitting to himself that regardless of her answer, he wanted to keep her with him.
"No." All at once she seemed to remember the cigarette. The ash was almost half the length of it. She crushed it out.
Suddenly he glanced at her left hand. "Where’s your wedding ring?"
"I-in my purse. I took it off back at the bar and put it away." At his dark look she rushed on. "Jerome, I’ve got to ask you for another favor."
He ran his hand around the back of his neck. "Ask."
Jennifer gave an inward sigh. She hated having to do this, but her back was to the wall. "C-can I stay here for tonight? I’m exhausted. I need to rest, to try to think what to do next. I promise I won’t stay past tomorrow morning, and then I’ll be on my way. I’ll be no trouble."
"Now, that I’ve got to see to believe," he bit out, unreasonably angry with himself for caring about her and angry with her for not caring about him.
Jennifer realized that despite all of her explanations, he still thought the worst of her and she didn’t blame him one bit. Tears she had repressed for two long days and nights welled up in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but found she no longer had the strength to resist them. The tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Oh, hell," Jerome groaned, "don’t do that." He wasn’t even certain the tears were real, but he rose, went to her and took her into his arms, rocking her back and forth.
"H-haven’t you ever seen a woman c-cry before?"
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