Not wanting to even think about the answer to that one, she pushed herself up off the couch and wandered across the living room.
The hum of the city whispered to her through the window. Directly below her, though, West Twenty-eighth was still. On the far side, Chelsea Park lay in silent darkness.
The only movement she could see was the black shadow of a man walking slowly along the edge of the grass. He paused, putting his cigarette to his mouth.
She absently gazed at its tiny red glow. Then, suddenly, he looked in her direction.
It was nothing more than a casual glance, but it was enough to make her shrink from the glass, her heart pounding.
She nervously licked her lips, thinking she had been right to stop things with Travis. Regardless of how he made her feel, she was definitely in no emotional shape to be even contemplating what she’d been contemplating.
* * *
THE ICE MAN took another drag on his cigarette and continued to watch Detective Travis Quinn’s window.
Going by the Langley woman’s place, again tonight, had been a good idea. And when he’d seen that her apartment was dark, his hunch about driving down here had been even better.
“A homicide detective,” he muttered, thinking again that it was a very good thing he’d had Quinn’s plate number run.
Once he’d gotten the name and address, filling in the rest of the blanks had been easy. And that had started danger lights flashing in his head.
A run-of-the-mill cop boyfriend would have been bad enough. A homicide detective was that much worse. After she was dead, this guy was gonna pull out all the stops trying to ID her killer.
But at least he knew where things stood. He’d just have to be even more careful than usual.
Not that he was ever careless. It was one reason he was the best. Another was that he always learned whatever he needed to know. Left nothing to chance.
Like, with Celeste Langley, he’d have to be able to find her when the time came. And now that he’d been here tonight, he knew if she wasn’t at home this would be the next place to check.
Shivering a little in the night air, he turned the collar of his jacket up against the wind and told himself he might as well get going. She wouldn’t be reappearing at that window.
She hadn’t liked him seeing her. He’d easily read her reaction when she’d spotted him looking. A stranger watching had frightened her.
He smiled, thinking how much more frightened she’d be if she knew who he was and why he was here.
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” he whispered to the night. Then he tossed his cigarette away, jammed his hands into his pockets and started off—trying to put this job out of his mind for the time being, but not entirely able to.
He hated complications. And he really hated this one. A homicide detective. Not good.
If he’d known then what he knew now he’d have doubled his price. At least. Actually, he’d probably have turned down the job.
But he hadn’t known. And he’d taken the money. So that was that. He’d do what he’d been paid for. Just as soon as he got the go-ahead call.
Turning onto Ninth Avenue, he started hoping it would come soon. The combination of Detective Travis Quinn and having to wait was making him nervous. And he never got nervous. That was why they called him the Ice Man.
* * *
TRAVIS CLOSED the front door against the final fingers of twilight and trudged up the stairs.
Arriving home usually lifted his mood if he was down, but not tonight. Because as much as he wished he had good news for Celeste, he didn’t. Spending the entire day on the street had basically gotten him nowhere.
He’d located the snitch who’d told Hank about the contract, but the guy swore he had no idea who the Ice Man was. Or who was paying for the hit. All he’d heard was that a buddy of a buddy—yadda, yadda, yadda.
And the yadda, yaddas might be true or they might not. That was how things worked with a rat. You rarely found out where his information came from.
It seldom mattered, though. The important thing was that a snitch made his living by keeping his eyes and ears open. And by being well-enough plugged into the seamier side of the city that he had a few cops who could come to him when they were fishing. The way Hank had with Celeste’s name.
Then the snitch found out what he could and you paid him, the amount depending on the value of what he’d learned. And considering how much money Travis had offered for anything more about that contract, he was pretty sure the guy really had told all he knew.
The other informants he’d tracked down hadn’t done him any good, either. One had admitted to having heard of the Ice Man. But again, only the nickname.
When Travis reached his apartment door, he didn’t even try the key. He just knocked and called that it was him, assuming Celeste had both the chain and bar in place.
A few seconds later, the sounds of her opening up told him he’d been right. However, he could hardly credit himself with a brilliant deduction. Not when her life was in danger.
She opened the door and the smell of something cooking wafted into the hall.
“Lasagna?” he guessed, stepping inside.
“Uh-huh. It was all I could find enough ingredients for.”
“Smells wonderful.”
She smiled one of her terrific smiles, then followed him into the living room and just stood gazing expectantly at him as he took off his jacket. It made him feel like a total failure.
“Nothing yet,” he said as casually as he could. “Maybe we’ll get a break tomorrow.”
The gun he’d shown her how to use was sitting on the coffee table, and as he was speaking her glance flickered to it—telling him how worried she still was.
It made him want to wrap his arms around her and assure her again that everything was going to be just fine. But if he did, if she was snuggled all soft and warm against him...
Uh-uh, forget that idea. Last night, she couldn’t have been more clear. She wanted him to keep his distance. And on top of that, she wasn’t even sure how she felt about him.
“You look beat,” she said. “And I barely put the lasagna in, so does a soda sound good?”
“Yeah, thanks, sounds great.”
As she started for the kitchen, his thoughts turned back to the disconcerting fact that she didn’t really know how she felt.
Oh, she’d said she liked him. And was attracted to him. But whether it was a tired phrase or not, actions spoke louder than words. And her actions had told him...actually, some of her words had, too.
One thing she’d said had been nagging at him all day. She wanted to wait until this situation was resolved, then see how they felt about each other.
Well, he didn’t need to wait to know how he felt. He could remind himself about “slowly” and “carefully” from now till next year, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he already knew he wanted a relationship with her.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same. So if she wanted him to keep his distance, he would. And not only because it was what she wanted.
He suspected he’d already fallen far too hard for his own good. And if his feelings progressed even further, then she decided the two of them added up to a mistake, he’d find himself in the ranks of the walking wounded—which was not where he had any desire to be.
“I’ve been wanting to call and check my answering machine,” she said, reappearing with two sodas and a glass for herself. “But I remembered you told me to only use your cell,” she added as he popped the tabs on the cans.
After handing her one, he dug the phone out of his pocket and gave her that, as well. Then, while she pressed in the numbers, he waved Snoops off his recliner so he could sit down.
The cat graced him with an evil look before stalking out of the
room, his tail straight in the air.
“Good thing I checked,” Celeste said, the phone to her ear. “There’s a message from an editorial coordinator about a project she wants me to work on next month. I’ll have to get back to her in the morning.”
He nodded, glad to hear she figured she’d still be alive next month, then took a slug of cola. The cold liquid felt good going down.
“And a friend called,” she was saying.
He nodded again.
“Oh, no,” she whispered a few seconds later.
“What?” he demanded, shooting to his feet.
She held up her hand, silencing him, and continued listening to a message that went on forever.
He took another swallow of cola, growing more impatient with each passing second.
“Oh, no,” she said at last. “Travis, you’ve got to hear this for yourself.”
CHAPTER TEN
Thursday, October 7, 7:12 p.m.
“OKAY, I’VE GOT the messages replaying,” Celeste said, handing Travis the phone.
He heard a beep and an older woman’s voice said, “Ms. Langley, my name is Carol Schoenberg. You don’t know me, and I hope you won’t think it’s awful of me to impose on you, but I’m just so worried about my daughter that I’m trying everyone I can think of who might...
“I’m sorry, I guess I’m not exactly being coherent. But my daughter is Donna Schoenberg. She’d be Donna Rainfield to you. That’s her stage name.”
Donna Rainfield? Travis glanced at Celeste.
She nodded, as if she knew exactly where the message had gotten to and was assuring him that yes, Donna Rainfield was the woman living with Bryce.
“I’m calling,” the woman continued, “because she’s disappeared and I’m afraid something awful’s happened to her. And she told me Bryce phoned you, just the other day, after he heard about your brother...
“I’m very sorry about him. A horrible thing to have happened.”
There was a pause, as if the woman was trying to think of something more to say about Parker but couldn’t. Then she said, “At any rate, I thought you might have been talking to Bryce again. If you were, and if he said anything about Donna...
“I know you might not want to speak to me, but I’m hoping you’ll call back. I’ve phoned the police, but they said there’s nothing they can do for at least twenty-four hours. And I’m sure something’s terribly wrong.
“Donna would never have just taken off without letting me know what was happening. So...well, my number is 555-6896. And I’d be really grateful if you’d call. So...please do. Bye.”
Travis jotted down the number, then looked at Celeste.
“I’ve never even met Donna, let alone her mother,” she said. “Why would she phone me, of all people?”
“Well, maybe she actually was trying everyone she could think of. And since she knew Bryce called you, maybe she did figure you’d talked to him again.”
“I heard two maybes,” Celeste said. “You don’t think it’s as straightforward as that?”
“What I think is that might not have been Donna’s mother at all. It could have just been someone Bryce got to phone you.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Celeste, if he is the one behind the contract, that call could have been an attempt to flush you out. Because the Ice Man’s discovered that you’re gone from your apartment.”
* * *
CELESTE SAT on the couch beside Travis, anxiously waiting as he checked the phone book—while Snoops eyed them from the recliner.
He’d selected it as “his” spot, and although she was glad he’d started to settle in she’d be happier if he hadn’t decided to appropriate Travis’s favorite chair. That was hardly purrfect houseguest behavior.
“It’s listed,” Travis said, his finger stopping halfway down a column. “C. Schoenberg. 555-6896. That’s the number, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then she’s who she said she is. That leaves us with the question of whether she’s legitimately worried about Donna or helping Bryce try to track you down.”
“Which do you think?”
“My guess would be legit. If he is trying to find you, I doubt he’d involve his girlfriend’s mother. But you never know, so let’s return her call and see where it gets us.”
“You mean me return her call,” she said, not at all eager to talk to Donna Rainfield’s mother.
When Travis shot her a smile, it made her wish they’d had more to smile about since they’d met. It also started her wondering—for about the thousandth time—whether she’d have kissed him again if the circumstances had been different.
Of course, if the circumstances had been different, she wouldn’t be staying here with him.
“Aren’t you the one who said she didn’t want Hank and me doing everything?” he was asking.
She nodded. “I’ll call her right now.”
“Good, because my impersonation of a woman’s voice is pretty awful.”
“Well, your voice is a little on the deep side. But what do I say?”
“You’ll have to play it by ear. She’s obviously a talker, though, so with any luck it’ll just be a matter of letting her talk.
“Oh, and there’s no way she should even suspect you’re not phoning from home. Not unless Bryce did put her up to calling. So if she asks about the number being different, tell her you’re using your cell. Then end the conversation fast.”
The cordless and Travis’s cell were both sitting on the coffee table, but it was the cell phone he reached for.
And, of course, Mrs. Schoenberg might have caller ID. So just in case she was in cahoots with Bryce...
Just in case. Man, by this point she was well on the way to believing that her estranged husband actually was behind the contract. Because as hard as she found that to accept, if it wasn’t him, then who was it?
“We’re going to do a conference call,” Travis said, pressing in a phone number. “Not that I’ll say anything, but I want to listen. And if I hear something I think you should jump on, I’ll signal you, okay?”
“Okay.”
A second later, the cordless began ringing.
“That’s me,” Travis said, motioning her to answer.
Once she had, he said, “Now we’ll add Mrs. Schoenberg.”
He punched in a series of numbers and got a connection.
“You’re on,” he whispered.
She barely had time to lick her dry lips before a woman picked up.
“Mrs. Schoenberg?” she said.
“Yes?”
“This is Celeste Langley returning your call.”
“Oh, thank you! I was hoping you’d get back to me. You’re the only one I could think of who knows Bryce. Aside from Donna, I mean. And I’m just so frantic about her.”
“You still haven’t heard from her, then.”
“No, and...Celeste, is it all right if I call you that?”
“Yes, it’s fine.”
“Good. Then...Celeste, when I explain why I’m so worried you’ll tell me what you make of things? Honestly, I mean?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, although she couldn’t help thinking that making a promise to Donna’s mother was pretty bizarre.
“Good, because if anyone knows Bryce it has to be you. And when I called the police they wouldn’t even agree to send someone to question him.”
“Question him?” she repeated. Travis was signaling she should jump on that, but she hardly needed prompting.
“Yes. They said they couldn’t even consider Donna a missing person until twenty-four hours had passed, let alone start investigating her disappearance. But...I...oh, this is very awkward when I have no idea why your marriage ended. What h
appened between you and Bryce, I mean.”
She almost rolled her eyes. Donna was what happened. She’d been the precipitating factor, at least.
“But...Celeste, I’m terrified that Bryce has killed my daughter.”
“What?” she whispered, feeling as if the air had suddenly been sucked from her lungs.
When she looked at Travis, he mouthed, You’re doing great!
She swallowed hard, certainly not feeling great. “Mrs. Schoenberg,” she managed to say, “what on earth would make you think that Bryce...”
“Should I tell you the whole story?”
“Yes. Please.”
“All right.” She paused for a moment, then began. “Donna’s in a play that closes this weekend. Just a not-much, off-Broadway thing at the Winslow Lane Theater, down in the Village.
“But she had an audition this morning for another role. Still off-Broadway, but a bigger part. She was very excited about it.
“Then, a little before noon, her agent phoned me—trying to find her because she hadn’t shown up. And that isn’t like Donna. Her career’s terribly important to her, so she’s always very reliable.
“At any rate, he’d already called her apartment, but I thought, well maybe she was in the shower or something, so I tried.”
“And she wasn’t there,” Celeste said.
“No, so then I phoned Bryce at his office. And he told me they’d had a fight last night and broken up. That didn’t surprise me. The fight didn’t, I mean. Because Donna called me yesterday afternoon to see what I thought about...
“Well, Bryce told her he intends to go to the service for your brother. And Donna didn’t like that idea. She’s always been afraid you and Bryce will get back together.”
“We won’t,” she said, glancing at Travis to find he was watching her.
“Maybe not, but Donna isn’t so sure. Some of the things Bryce does... She wanted them to get a new apartment, for example. Didn’t want to be living where he’d lived with you. Felt as if she was just temporarily filling in for you. But he refused to even discuss it and...
The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming) Page 12