Irrational. He knew she was a liar. What else was she?
He stuffed everything back into her purse and returned it to where he had found it. Picking up his leather briefcase, he clicked it open and pulled his glasses from the inside pocket of the suit coat he had hung on the back of the chair. Putting them on, he began trying to read a brief he needed to familiarize himself with before a ten o’clock meeting.
But his mind wasn’t on the papers in his hand, and minutes later his gaze was pulled back to Jennifer. Awakening out of her sound sleep, the soft word, "Jerome," escaped her slightly parted lips.
Damn! How did she do that? he wondered angrily. Had it really come up out of her subconscious, the name of a man she had known only twelve hours? And what in sweet hell was he supposed to think about a married woman who awoke with his name on her lips?
Waking slowly, Jennifer stretched with a leisurely grace before opening her eyes. She frowned momentarily, then almost immediately remembered the circumstances of her situation. Swiveling her head, she encountered the hard blue-eyed gaze of Jerome Mailer.
"Good morning."
Her lips curved upward, making the tiny dimple in her left cheek appear and disappear. And seeing it, Jerome felt a sudden urge to hit something. He took off his glasses and plunged them back into their case. "You better get up and get dressed. I’ll go make us some breakfast." He put aside the papers he had been studying and stood up.
"Oh, please"—she sat up, clutching the blanket against her—"don’t go to any trouble on my account."
"Don’t worry about it. Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes."
So much for pleasantries, Jennifer thought, watching as he stalked from the room. Fifteen minutes. That would give her time for a shower. No telling when she’d be able to take her next one.
A quarter of an hour later Jerome was placing two plates on the table as Jennifer appeared in the doorway of the small breakfast room that adjoined the kitchen. He seemed so stern. She ventured another hint of a smile only to see his jaw tighten more as he took in her dimpled cheek, her wet but neatly combed hair, and the white dress she had had to put back on. His gaze traveled to her legs. They were covered with the same wispy hose he had held in his hands last night, then thrown across the room.
"Sit down," he said, disappearing through the doorway, then reappearing in a moment with a pot of coffee and two cups.
She obeyed with a sick feeling, realizing that he was still very angry with her. But then, did it matter? She had a plan, however vague, and would be leaving soon. She would never see him again. The thought made her strangely despondent.
"This is wonderful," she murmured, looking at her plate containing bacon, eggs, toast, and a bowl with a sectioned half grapefruit in it. "That strawberry jam looks delicious. I don’t usually eat this much."
"It would be fascinating to know what exactly it is you usually do." With that pointed comment he poured steaming black coffee into her cup and seated himself across from her. The idea that she was hiding something from him angered him, but it was an anger directed more at himself than at her. Because, rightly or wrongly, and even though he knew she was married, he had come to consider her his.
Unease pricked at her. She was wrong. This was a different mood from the one he had been in last night, and one possibly even more dangerous. She put her cup of coffee down and eyed him warily.
Jerome rested one of his arms on the table and leaned forward. "Let’s talk about names."
"Names?"
"Yours to be precise. Such pretty names. Just Jennifer. Jennifer Smith. Jennifer White."
It was a trap. She knew it in her bones. Regardless of what she would rather do, she knew now was the time to leave.
She addressed him with quiet dignity. "Jerome, since I won’t be seeing you again, I—I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had tossed me out on the street last night."
"But I didn’t, did I? Instead, I helped you out of a tight situation, put myself in danger, and let you stay in my apartment. In my book that means you owe me, sweetheart."
"Owe you?" Alarm feathered over her skin, producing chill bumps. "I don’t have any money right now, but I’ll send you what I owe you as soon as—."
"I mean you owe me the truth, Jennifer, and your name will do for a start."
"You know my name. What are you trying to do?"
"Give you enough rope to hang yourself with— Mrs. Jennifer Blake."
How had he found out? She glanced around for her purse. Then she remembered. It was on the end table beside the couch. He had gone through it while she slept.
She shook her head, fighting a sudden urge for a cigarette. It shouldn’t hurt this much that he knew she had lied. But it did, and she attempted an explanation. "Look at it from my point of view. You were a stranger. I thought it might be better if you didn’t know my last name."
"You’re good," he commented, reclining back in his chair. "You’re very good."
"Jerome, listen to me—"
"But you’re just not good enough, sweetheart."
It was simply no use, she decided. She should never have involved him in the first place, no matter how desperate her situation. But since she had, the best thing she could do now was to get out of his life.
"I’m leaving," she stated. She threw down her napkin and stood up.
"Dammit, you’re going nowhere!" With a sudden explosion his fist hit the table, causing Jennifer to drop back into her chair and Jerome to frown. Browbeating was a tactic he disdained, but he needed the truth from her and he was determined to get it. "You’ve got no protection. You’ve got no money. How in the hell are you going to manage? What are you going to do tonight, pick up another man?"
"That’s not fair!"
"Tell me about fair, Jennifer," he invited in a hard, cold voice, all the while wishing for the right to take her in his arms and banish the hunted look he saw in her eyes. "Of course, all your problems would be solved if you went back to your husband, wouldn’t they?"
"I—I can’t do that."
It was obvious to him that she was afraid, and her fear struck deep into him. He had known fear, known what it was like to be afraid with no place to turn. Why wouldn’t she let him help her?
Some of the harshness left him, but his tone remained firm. "Listen to me. Jennifer. The streets are no place to be on your own. They’re tough and they kill. You’ll never make it out there. It would be like an orchid trying to survive in the Antarctic."
"You’re wrong," she protested stubbornly. "I’m used to taking care of myself."
"And you’ve been doing such a good job of it too."
She glared at him. "So far."
Even though it exasperated him, he had to admire her courage. Everything seemed stacked against her, but she wasn’t about to crumble. Her bravery was badly misplaced, though. It wasn’t making it easy for him to help her, and if he couldn’t get her to tell him the truth, it was going to kill her.
He shoved his fingers through his sandy-colored hair. "Dammit, Jennifer, I’ve never known a woman as infuriating as you, and, believe me, I’ve known some infuriating women in my time."
Jennifer tried not to care about the women in Jerome’s life and instead attempted to reapply herself to her bacon and eggs, knowing that this might be her last meal for a while. It was useless, though. The food wouldn’t go down. It just seemed to stick in her throat. Pushing the food around on the plate, she pondered her situation. It would be infinitely easier for her if she just told him. She hated lying to him. But uppermost in her mind was the need to protect him—if he would just let her.
"You need a plan, Jennifer."
She laid down her fork and met his eyes. His expression had turned brooding. "Look, this is my problem, not yours."
"Okay." He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "What are you going to do? For Instance, how are you going to live?"
"I can get a temporary job."
"And what
are you qualified to do?"
"Office work. I’m a very good secretary."
"Is that what you did before you met Richard?"
She hesitated and hoped he wouldn’t notice. "Yes."
He did notice, she could tell by his expression, but he said, "And how long do you think it will be before he tracks you down?"
"I don’t know. There’s a chance they won’t find me."
"A chance." He snorted. "Don’t you think it would be better to confront Richard and get things settled once and for all?"
"No!" Her face lost color. "Oh, God!" She lowered her head to her hands. "I don’t know."
"Jennifer." He reached across the table to grasp one of her hands so that she had to look at him. "I’m a lawyer, a damned good one. Let me handle this for you. I’ll institute divorce proceedings for you, and I’m willing to bet that Richard won’t contest. He’ll be too afraid of what you might tell in court."
Jerking her hand back, Jennifer rose and walked to the window. She wrapped her arms around herself. What was she going to do about Jerome? Behind those smoldering blue eyes of his, there was high intelligence, real competence, and a strange sort of sympathy. Surprisingly she wanted to trust him. Yet she couldn’t help but worry, not only about the danger she was in, but the danger she could be placing him in too.
She felt cold. She had felt cold ever since that moment two, almost three days ago when she had run out of the apartment where she and Richard had been living. Sensing Jerome’s penetrating gaze on her, she turned and tried one more time. "I can walk out your door and it will be as if I were never here. You can get on with your life and I can get on with mine."
His answer was stony silence.
In despair, she began to chew on her thumbnail. He just wasn’t going to let her protect him!
"You’re cold, aren’t you?" Jerome asked quietly, still sitting at the table. "Look, let’s take this one step at a time. I think the first order of business should be buying you some clothes."
"I can’t let you buy me clothes!" Jennifer protested, horrified.
He eyed her consideringly. "Most women love it when a man offers to buy them clothes."
"I’m not most women!"
"I think I said something of the sort just a short while ago." He tossed his napkin on the table and got to his feet. Up to this point, his life might have been a bit unusual, but no matter what, it had always made sense. He had always known why he was doing something. Now, though, the only thing he was sure of was that he couldn’t let Jennifer leave him. "You can pay me back later if it will make you feel any better. Frankly I couldn’t care less. It’s unimportant. For the time being it would be best if you stayed in the apartment, out of sight. I’ve got to get to the office for a meeting, but I’ll be back before lunch."
"Wait a minute! You’re railroading me. I never said I’d stay here. I’m not sure I can. Last night, you said—"
He broke in curtly. "Last night emotions were running pretty high. You have to admit, we hadn’t had what you might call your average garden-variety first date."
Unexpectedly his voice turned coaxing. "Let me help you, Jennifer." Then, seeing her closed expression, he sighed and shook his head. "You really have no other choice, you know, because I’m not letting you out that door, at least not without me."
He strode into the living room, and she followed, watching as he slipped his arms into his suit jacket. "Do you really think I’ll be safe here?"
"I hope so, but I’ve got to tell you that if those men go back to that bar, there’s every chance they’ll find someone who knows my name. I’m afraid I’m fairly well known. It will take them a while, of course, and the bar doesn’t open until two in the afternoon, so we’ve got some time." He walked over to her and touched her cheek softly. "Don’t worry. You’ll be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you."
But will I be able to protect you? Jennifer asked silently. Aloud she called, "Jerome?"
"What?" He had already turned away and was walking toward the door, but her voice brought him back a few steps.
"C-could you bring a newspaper back with you?"
"There’s a newsstand across the street. When we go shopping this afternoon, we’ll stop there and you can get one."
For the hundredth time Jennifer glanced at the clock, then looked at the door. She could leave. She should leave. Her eyes lit on the giant wooden rocking horse, and she sighed. What was wrong with her? Jerome Mailer had held her in his arms, kissed her, and given her a desire for something that she knew could never be. And still she didn’t want to leave. This man, at this time, in this place, was all wrong for her. Yet here she was.
It wasn’t rational, but she would stay with him, she decided—or at least she would as long as it was possible.
As she admitted that disturbing fact to herself, the phone began to ring. Jennifer hesitated, listening to the persistent, shrill ringing. Four times, five times. Finally deciding it might be Jerome, she went to pick it up. "Hello?"
"Jennifer," the raspy voice said, "listen to me. Let me help you. You’re in danger. I know—"
She dropped the phone back onto its cradle. They had found her. They knew. She had to get out of there!
But halfway to the door she stopped and slowly turned. Richard had told her that if anything ever happened, Wainright was the man to contact. But with that direction had also come the warning to be very careful of him. Hanging up had been pure instinct. Hearing his voice and realizing he knew where she was had shocked her. And that, added to the warning she had been given by Richard, was enough to make her panic.
Resolutely she forced herself back to the phone. Despite all of her personal doubts, she knew what she had to do. Firmly grasping the phone, she picked up the receiver and dialed the eight-hundred number she had been told to commit to memory.
"I’m sorry about hanging up on you," she said as soon as the phone was answered and she heard again the raspy voice. "Yes, and I know . . . I know I shouldn’t have panicked at the apartment, but I . . . yes, I was afraid and I wasn’t sure what to do. But . . . but I had to run. I was being followed! Two men. They—what?" There was only a second’s hesitation, then she slammed the receiver onto its cradle and stepped away as if it had suddenly turned into a snake.
As Jerome approached his door and pulled the key from his pocket, he grinned ruefully to himself. He couldn’t ever remember being this eager to get home. It was Jennifer, of course. Jennifer, the new light in his life . . . and the new pain.
He hurt all over. The muscles in his stomach had begun to hurt from the constant effort of tensing them whenever he was close to her. His body hurt from the effort it took not to pull her into his arms. And his heart hurt, too, with something he didn’t want to put a name to.
Did she even exist in the real world? he actually wondered. Or was it just in his mind and in his presence where she came to life? When he walked into the living room, would she be there? Or would she have dissolved into thin air, leaving behind only a ribbon of smoke?
But as he opened the door all his capricious thoughts vanished. Jennifer was standing behind a tall chair, her gaze fixed on the door. The pallor in her face alarmed him. "Jennifer, are you all right? What happened?"
Shutting the door, he walked toward her and his gaze went to her hands. They were gripping the back of the chair to the point where her knuckles had turned white.
"Nothing happened." She gave a husky imitation of a laugh and released her hold on the chair. "I’m just fine, really. When I heard the doorknob turn, my imagination got the better of me, that’s all."
Still keeping a worried eye on her, he shed his suit jacket and hung it over a chair. "Okay, then, if you’re sure. I’ve cleared my schedule for the rest of the afternoon. I’ll fix us some lunch and afterward we’ll go shopping. I’m also going to give you one of my charge cards. It’s for a local department store. I made arrangements with them this morning. Any thing you want or need, just call them, give your name, and your
order will be delivered within a few hours."
"That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure I won’t need anything. Uh . . . you said we could stop at the newsstand across the street?" She had to know what was in the papers. In two days there had been no mention of what had happened, and she didn’t understand it, unless . . . there was a cover-up going on.
#
Lunch over, Jerome guided her to the garage located in the basement level of his condominium. And a short minute later he had pulled up in front of a large, open newsstand directly across the street from his building.
Leo turned out to be a hard-looking woman in her mid-fifties. Tall and a little overweight, the impression perhaps aided by the several layers of clothing she wore. Her gray hair was bound into a coronet and it gave her a curiously regal appearance.
"Mr. Mailer," she nodded. "How are you?"
"I’m fine, just fine."
She had eyes the color of faded blue cornflowers, yet they were clear and sharp all the same, and she directed them to Jennifer as Jerome introduced them.
"Leo, this is my friend, Jennifer. She’s going to be staying with me for a while." He turned to Jennifer. "This is Leo. She owns this newsstand and about a dozen others here in the Twin Cities."
Jennifer smiled, extending her hand. Leo took it firmly in her gloved one, but there was no hint of a returned smile. The day was cold and her greeting was even colder. She knows something, Jennifer thought uneasily. But what could she possibly know?
"What can I do for you today?" Leo asked.
"Just a newspaper."
"A local one, please," Jennifer requested.
As the woman picked a couple of newspapers from the rack, Jerome said, "Leo, I wonder if I could ask a favor of you?"
She turned her weather-worn face toward him in silent query.
"There may be some people coming around asking questions about me or about my guest—."
The faded blue eyes didn’t change expression. "They already have."
Jennifer’s heartbeat picked up as she wondered if they had told Leo anything. No, don’t be silly, she chided herself. Of course they hadn’t.
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