by Nancy Warren
He smiled. Held out his ring of keys. “Found ’em. My wife threw them out the window during a fight.” He shook his head, shrugged. “I love her, but the woman has quite a temper.”
“Take her some flowers,” the woman advised.
Her dog, meanwhile, peed on the tree he’d just vacated.
After walking down the street in the opposite direction of the old woman and her dog, he turned left, circling around in time to catch Amanda coming out of her building. She had a cell phone glued to her ear and as she talked, he noticed that she touched her necklace a few times.
She dropped down into the subway. He followed from a distance, keeping track of her whereabouts without getting too close and at the same time trying to figure out if anybody else was tailing her.
He didn’t think so. But he wasn’t taking any chances.
AFTER TOURING THE ENTIRE mountain retreat Lexy knew that there were four bedrooms, a nice workout room downstairs, a wine cellar and a media room, and that Pendegraff wore reading glasses when he worked and was vain enough to slip them off when she barged into his office to find him typing on a sleek laptop, ignoring a stunning view of the mountains behind him.
“I need boots,” she informed him.
He blinked as though adjusting to looking at her after focusing on his computer screen. He then glanced down at her slipper-socked feet. “Why?”
“Because I need to get some air. I’m going stir-crazy.” She’d been obsessively checking the news stations for any update on the fire and its aftermath. But, apart from feeling gratified to discover she’d rated a small mention on CNN, she didn’t get much for her trouble but more depressing footage of her destroyed property. It was beyond strange to see her neighbors, a couple of fellow designers and even the star of the reality show, Party Girls of Manhattan, talking about how talented she was and how much they loved her and her jewelry.
“She was like her designs,” a smarmy no-talent rival said into the camera. “One of a kind, and she’ll never be replaced.”
Lexy wanted to throw something. She stood up and shook her fist at the stupid TV. “I’m not dead,” she yelled at the screen. That was when she knew she had to get some exercise.
Charlie seemed less than excited about the idea of her leaving the house but she’d had enough of being a victim. “I’m going out. There must be some kind of trail or something.”
“I’ll come with you,” he said.
“No. I need to be alone. I don’t want a jailor.”
“But—”
She put her hands on her hips and glared. “Look, buster. You want me to trust you, which is a pretty tall order considering what you’ve put me through, how about you trust me. I said I’ll come back, I will.”
He nodded slowly. “What size are your feet?”
“Six.”
“I’ve got some women’s boots that are a seven. Best I can do. Wear an extra pair of socks.”
“Ladies’ shoes. Really. Can they be Penelope’s?”
“My mother’s.”
She turned away. “Whatever.”
“You’ll find them in the mudroom closet.”
As he’d promised, she did find a few pairs of shoes, hiking boots and snow boots. All sevens. The hiking boots fit okay when she tightened the laces. Pendegraff came into the mudroom as she was preparing to leave. He carried a white parka and a pair of ski gloves. He helped her into the coat, handed her the gloves, opened the door for her and stepped outside behind her.
This door opened to the back of the house, but the view was similar to that at the front. There was snow everywhere she looked, white and, except for some random animal tracks, untouched. And where the clearing ended, there were trees. Massive evergreens that marched toward the towering mountain peaks.
“You want some snowshoes.”
“I do?” She was doubtful, never having been on a pair.
“Yeah. It’s easy. Just walk normally. You’ll get the hang of it.”
He disappeared back into the mudroom and returned with snowshoes. Metal ovals that he strapped onto her boots for her.
“Thanks,” she said reluctantly. She didn’t want him to be thoughtful, any more than she wanted to be disturbed by his proximity, or find that his kiss was still imprinted on her mouth.
He extended his hand across the clearing to a gap in the trees. “That’s the main trail. Stay on it and you’ll be fine. Turn around when you get tired.”
“Where does it go?”
He pointed to the summit of a mountain. “Take you a couple of days to get there, but on a sunny day, it’s a great view.”
She headed off without a backward glance, knowing he was watching her. Presumably to ensure she didn’t sneak around to the front of the house and steal the 4x4.
Snowshoeing was a lot like normal walking, so long as she took her time. She practiced in the clearing until she had the hang of it and then attempted the trail. It was pretty rough with snow-covered rocks ready to trip the unwary. But the air was so clear and it smelled pure and heavenly when she filled her lungs. The trail headed upward meandering only slightly so she was soon puffing.
Oddly enough, as she got higher things started to fall into perspective. She wasn’t dead; she was very much alive. And in the middle of an adventure the likes of which she’d never imagined.
She was also tough, resourceful and creative. Anybody who messed with her better be prepared for that.
A hawk circled in the sky, and a gray and white bird she didn’t recognize landed on a tree and watched her, cocking its head as though wondering what on earth she was doing lumbering along on plastic and metal dishes.
By the time she’d stomped back into the mudroom a couple of hours had passed and she was starting to move beyond shock to “now what?”
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” she yelled.
Pendegraff came out of his office. Took one look at her and grinned. If he was relieved she hadn’t tried to steal the Jeep and take off, he was obviously trying to be cool. “You’ve got rosy cheeks.”
“Had a great workout. Thanks.”
He nodded. “Coffee’s fresh. Help yourself.” And he went back to his office.
She poured coffee and then checked the news stations again. Nothing new.
Went downstairs and made use of Pendegraff’s very nice home gym, then showered and changed into a comfy pair of sweats and a T-shirt with a pink snowflake embroidered on the front of it.
Not her usual look, but kidnappees, she reminded herself, can’t be choosers.
7
AMANDA HOPPED ONTO a crowded subway car heading downtown and Healey squeezed himself in at the opposite end of the same car.
He was getting tired of following this restless woman around. She’d been to an avant garde art gallery for a couple of hours, gone shopping without buying anything, stopped for a coffee and stared sightlessly out the window. He wished she’d just go home and give them both a rest.
She got out near Third and Lexington. At first he thought she was going in to one of the Indian restaurants scenting the air and reminding him he hadn’t eaten in a while. A black and white cat nestled in the doorway of a corner market regarded him with lazy interest.
They passed an Asian fusion place and then she joined a short lineup of people heading into a bar.
He studied the menu outside the Asian place feeling his hunger increase as he contemplated the possibilities.
She was in. He waited. When she emerged, he’d follow her home and make sure she got in safely. But what if Grayson’s people somehow got her in the bar? He stared at the neon sign. Emo’s. After an hour when she hadn’t reappeared, he couldn’t stop worrying about her. He entered the bar.
He was twenty-nine years old and walking into the bar made him feel ancient. The clientele was young and definitely tended to the alternative. In his jacket and dark pants he stuck out like a Wall Street banker at a folk festival.
Nothing he could do about it now, so he headed for the end of
the long bar and checked the place out. It was pretty busy. Lots of Goth types, some college students, artsy folk. There were half-moon shaped booths along one wall and then mingling space, which was pretty crowded. Amanda sat at a booth with a group of friends. All had drinks in front of them but they didn’t look like they were partying it up. He recognized the young guy who’d been on the TV looking for Lexy the night of the fire.
A couple of the women were wearing distinctive jewelry pieces, similar to that worn by Amanda. They kept touching their necklaces, or bracelets, or earrings as they talked, occasionally laughed. A digital camera appeared and was passed around, causing more laughter and a few tears. He had to believe this was a modern wake.
When it was Amanda’s turn with the digital camera, he watched her expressions shift between fondness, amusement and grief. A grief so fresh it hurt him to look at her. Suddenly she passed the camera to the guy beside her, as though she couldn’t bear to see the photos anymore. She looked up, his way, and before he could turn, their gazes connected.
Damn. He hadn’t meant to make eye contact. Didn’t want connection between them. So he looked away, but not before recognizing the raw pain in those eyes and once more wishing he could ease it. Her eyes were blue. Bright, piercing blue under the tousle of short black hair. On a normal night, he’d go up to her. Say “hi.” But this wasn’t a social outing. It was work.
He turned away and took a pull of his beer.
A moment later he felt her beside him. As crowded as the bar was, and as full of women, he knew it was her without turning his head. Her presence was like a scent he couldn’t ignore or get out of his mind.
“Hi,” she said, her voice kind of rough, like a smoker’s.
He turned to her. Saw that close-up her eyes were even prettier than he’d thought. Blue and dew-drenched, like flowers in the rain. “Hi.” This was bad. So bad. He wasn’t supposed to talk to her; he was supposed to be invisible. He absolutely wasn’t to think about those contradictory tattoos, to wonder how that sailboat would taste under his tongue, to remember the lacy bra and the swells of flesh beneath it.
Nice going, Healey.
She leaned a slender arm on the bar and he realized she was a little the worse for wear. The diamond stud flashed. “I’m Amanda.”
“Healey.”
“I’m a little drunk.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
She giggled. “You shouldn’t be. I’m so bad when I’m drunk.”
He swallowed, hard. He could blow her off, should blow her off, but then she’d go hit on some other guy and that seemed an incredibly stupid and dangerous idea. She didn’t know she could trust Healey, but he did.
“You seem kind of sad,” he said.
“Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you all my troubles.”
Giving in to the inevitable, he motioned to the bartender. “Jaegar Bomb,” she said. “We’re sort of having a wake. You should have one, too.”
He nodded and the bartender went to prepare the drinks.
“I can’t sit there anymore. It’s too depressing.” She grabbed his upper arm, as though for balance. “Life is short, you know? I never realized how short it is. What’s the point of dreaming about the future or worrying? You have to get out there and live it. Every day. Every minute. Every second.” She laughed, a deep, sexy sound. “And definitely, every night.”
The bombs came at that moment. She picked up the shot glass, popped it in the glass of Red Bull. And downed it. A drip of liquid ended up on her lower lip and he had to restrain himself from licking it off her.
She shook her head. “Wow.” She laughed up at him. “Now, you.”
He threw the drink back. The bitter and sweet mixing in his mouth. Which was pretty much how he felt about this woman coming on to him. He wanted her and knew this was the last thing he should be doing.
But then his usefulness as a tail was now completely blown, so he figured staying close to her was one way to protect her. And besides so far he’d seen no evidence that anyone was following her or watching her movements, except him.
“So, how come you’re the only guy here in a suit?”
“Just got off work. Thought I’d come by and grab a quick beer and some food. What’s good here?” He suspected that some food in her stomach would be a good plan.
“Nachos are pretty good. The burgers are okay.”
He ordered nachos and a burger and she said, “So, what do you do where you have to wear a suit and work late?”
“I drive a limo. You?”
“I’m, ah, kind of unemployed right now.” She didn’t regale him with the dramatic tale of how her workplace had burned to the ground along with her employer, which he thought showed a lot of class.
“Taking some time?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure what I’ll do next. I can’t waste my time anymore, you know? Life’s too short.”
“So you said.”
“Well, it is. There was a time, maybe last week, when I’d have noticed you, seen you checking me out and figured if you came to talk to me, great. If you didn’t no biggie.” She grabbed a nacho, piled it with sour cream and salsa, “Not anymore. What if you didn’t come talk to me? I’d have missed an opportunity.” She said the word opportunity very carefully. “I’m not doing that anymore. If I like the look of someone, I’m going to talk to them. Anything wrong with that?” She shoved the loaded chip in her mouth.
“Not a thing.” But this oddly protective instinct he had about her kicked in. “You probably want to keep it in a public place until you’re sure, though.”
Her eyes lost their shadow of sadness as speculation took their place. “Are you telling me that you’re dangerous, Healey?” Her voice took on a sultry edge. The filmy, floaty dress brushed his thigh as she moved closer. Her hand followed, rubbing up and down. “Is that why you want to keep this in a public place?”
Impossible not to feel aroused by her words and the blatant invitation of her hand on his thigh.
Her hand was moving, closing in on her target. He couldn’t think what to do, so he grabbed her hand in his and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
He thought her friends would protest but they were deep in discussion and he doubted they’d even noticed. He led her out onto the street. It was dark, with pools of light spilling from the restaurant windows. The first shadowed patch they hit, she pushed herself against him, shoving him against a brick wall and pressing her body to his. She lifted her face, kissing him blindly.
He understood that she was seeking oblivion from her pain, even as he knew he should stop her. But the minute their mouths met, he was as lost as she.
He didn’t have the excuse of alcohol or grief; all he had was this strange sense of connection, and lust as strong as anything he’d ever known.
Her hands grabbed his shoulders, ran down his back. Her body was lean and quick moving as she rubbed herself against him.
He pulled away. “Let’s get you home, wildcat.”
She giggled. “Thought you wanted to do it in public.”
“Nope. What I want to do to you needs a lot of privacy.”
“Yeah?” The word came out in a breathless rush. “What do you want to do to me?”
“I’ll tell you on the subway. Come on.” It occurred to him that she’d be a lot safer at his place than her own if anybody was looking for her.
As he kissed her, he smiled inwardly. Charlie had had to forcibly abduct Lexy to get her to go to his place. Amanda, on the other hand, was eager to get to Healey’s place. Score one for him.
8
AMANDA WAS BURNING UP. There was something about this guy with his dreamy artist’s eyes in the hard face that compelled her. Maybe because he was like one of Lexy’s designs, all contrasts that went together in a delicious package, she couldn’t resist him.
Impulsive, that was what she was being. And so what? She couldn’t stand the heavy weight of grief anymore. She needed a couple of hours off. Maybe some hot sex with a stranger
would kill the pain for a bit, since the drinks hadn’t helped at all. In fact, if she let herself, she knew she’d become maudlin and start to cry. And the way she felt right now, she’d never be able to stop.
Lexy had been her friend as well as her boss. She’d started as a basic retail clerk but in the months they’d worked together she’d become a lot more. She ordered supplies, took care of the window displays and sometimes—those very special times—Lexy let her help, asked her advice.
Amanda had been an art student when she’d applied for the job. It was originally a co-op placement, but she and Lexy had hit it off and the jewelry designer ended up hiring her. She’d been able to shuffle classes and work until she’d finished her program. Since then she hadn’t done much in the way of art. She wasn’t even sure what medium she preferred. She’d been happy working at the studio, helping Lexy with some of the simple tasks, hanging out with friends, being a young, carefree New Yorker.
Now she’d lost her job, her boss, her sense of the world as a normal place. She felt jumpy and vulnerable. If that awful, awful thing could happen to Lexy, anything was possible.
Maybe it was weird for Lexy’s friends to go drinking the night after she’d died, but it was as if they had no rules or procedures to follow. None of them had ever been through anything so terrible. The bar provided the comfort of familiarity, they could share their stories, and maybe a few drinks would deaden the pain.
Hadn’t worked, though. The drinks had only dulled the ache and left her with this burning need to do something wild. Sex was the most creative, life-affirming activity she knew. The second she saw Healey eyeing her, she knew she had to have him.