Mark studied the jagged break in the window, then removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose, unfolded a tiny square of tissue and began the ritual of cleaning his lenses. “Any idea who shot at you?”
“No. The police are working on it.”
“Do they have any leads?”
She turned toward the counter, preferring to face the warmth of the kitchen rather than the reminder of last night’s terror. “I’m not sure. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Mark set his briefcase on the counter and unlocked it. “I took the liberty of making an extra copy so we could both have a signed version.”
She hadn’t thought of that. Her mind had been elsewhere, not focused on business. “Thank you.”
He set her coffee cup into the sink. “Wouldn’t want you to spill any coffee on this.”
Mark removed both contracts as carefully as if they were delicate glass. They initialed each page, signed the backs and with a flourish he handed her a check large enough to keep Classy Creations in business for the next few months. Her pulse soared with elation, but she attempted to appear casual as she tucked the check into her purse.
Mark’s gaze followed the baby sucking his ball. “You sure the baby can’t choke on that?”
“Alex will be fine. The ball is way too large for him to get into his mouth.” His odd comment was the last thing she’d expected. “I’ll be in touch soon. My secretary is already sending out press releases for the announcements next week.”
“I’m sure you’ll do a good job. You came highly recommended.”
Before she could decide whether to ask who had recommended her, because maybe she should remember, Jeff struggled through the garage door with a four-by-eight sheet of plywood.
Mark locked his briefcase and set it aside. “Here, let me help you with that.”
Within minutes the two men had the window secured, darkening the room. An eerie tingle danced over Chelsea’s spine, and as if sensing her mood, Alex fussed. She picked him up out of his swing and took comfort in his warm, wiggly little body.
After she thanked Mark for his help, he left. She still hadn’t decided whether to accept Jeff’s offer. She didn’t want to depend upon him, didn’t want him to help her out of pity and the innate compassion that was so much a part of him.
Jeff joined her and Alex in the den. The shifting sapphire lights in his eyes pierced her with unnamed longing. “I’ll worry if I take you to a hotel. If you won’t consider your safety, then stay with me for my state of mind. I’ll sleep better if you’re with me and I know you’re safe.”
And she’d sleep better knowing he was there. She turned to him with her hands on her hips, thinking it was unfair to let him get involved with her when she knew so little about her past. But memories of a bullet slamming into the wall convinced her. Alex’s safety was at stake. The baby had to come first. “Thank you. But we may only stay one night.”
His eyes mellowed with pleasure. “You can always move to a hotel later if you feel the least bit uncomfortable at my place.”
After making the decision, they loaded both cars in the driveway with baby toys and paraphernalia and a suitcase for Chelsea. Without regret, she left her house with its boarded window behind.
In the driveway, Chelsea started her car to follow Jeff into the street. Alex was strapped in his car seat, holding his favorite stuffed monkey. Chelsea had almost turned into the street when a gray-haired woman in an old Lincoln screeched to a halt in front of Chelsea’s car to block her exit.
With a face mottled red with rage, the woman rushed over and pounded the windshield of Chelsea’s car with her fist, screaming an invective.
Chapter Eight
“Don’t drive away!” the stranger screamed, her highpitched tone more desperate than angry. “Please, I’ve got to talk to you.”
The woman looked straight at Chelsea, and tears rained down her cheeks, mascara drizzled over her immaculately made-up face. She looked to be in her midfifties and was dressed in a double-breasted blazer that matched a button-front dress.
When Chelsea didn’t drive off, the woman ceased pummeling the hood, dug into her purse for a tissue and dabbed at her anguished face. Cutting the car’s engine, Chelsea cracked the window, her heart sputtering. “Can I help you?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.” She dabbed at her eyes, smearing the mascara even worse. Finally she gave up and crushed the tissue between her fingers. “Sandy said she asked you to talk to me—”
“Sandy?”
“—but when she told me that you were too busy, I didn’t know what to believe. I thought I would have to take desperate action—”
Out of the corner of her eye, Chelsea saw Jeff put his car m reverse, park and join them. Since the woman now appeared harmless, Chelsea opened her door and stepped outside, anxious to clear up the stranger’s identity. “Pounding on my window is desperate enough, don’t you think?”
Her face pinkened in a sheepish expression. “I’m sorry. When you pulled out with all those boxes—” she gestured to the car “—I was afraid you were moving and I might not be able to find you again.”
Chelsea kept hoping the woman would say something to indicate why she’d practically risked her life to stop her car, because Chelsea was just as baffled now as before.,
“Do I know you?” she ventured, hoping the already on-the-edge-of-hysterical woman wouldn’t turn out to be her mother.
“We met at an office party a year or two back. I’m Leslie Tinsdale, Martin Tinsdale’s wife.”
From the elegant way Leslie Tinsdale dressed, Chelsea would guess the woman didn’t lose control like this often. Of course, fashion sense had nothing to do with emotional stability, but Mrs. Tinsdale’s every hair was in place, her nails immaculately groomed, though her fingers clutched an old purse to her side as if ashamed of the worn leather. Come to think of it, while her clothes might once have been expensive, the style was dated.
“How can I help you, Mrs. Tinsdale?”
“Martin would kill me if he knew I was here.”
Kill? The sun passed behind a cloud, leaving them standing in shadow, and a chill shivered down Chelsea’s spine. If Leslie Tinsdale had come to warn her that Martin was the murderer, the police could arrest him, and Chelsea wouldn’t have to leave her home and go into hiding.
Was Chelsea overreacting? From the suspicious look in Jeff’s eyes, his thoughts were clearly moving along similar lines. Martin Tinsdale could be the man who had attacked her in the hospital, the one who had threatened her on the phone. The caller had said he, or she, was coming to collect what was owed. After working for over two decades, Martin Tinsdale might think Classy Creations should have been his. From what she’d learned, her former employee certainly had motive for revenge.
Before she jumped to conclusions, Chelsea needed more information. “I see no reason to mention this conversation to your husband.” She wouldn’t even know Martin Tinsdale if she bumped right into him. “We’ll keep this between us.”
“I’m not here for a handout.”
Jeff came up beside her, ducked to check Alex, who was sleeping in his car seat, and placed a steadying hand on Chelsea’s arm.
“Why are you here, Mrs. Tinsdale?” Chelsea asked, feeling puzzled and wary but more sure of herself with Jeff by her side.
“Didn’t Sandy tell you?”
Maybe Sandy had, and she’d forgotten. And then again, maybe she hadn’t. Either way, Chelsea was impatient to resolve the mystery. “Go on, please, Mrs. Tinsdale.”
The woman lifted her head and looked Chelsea straight in the eye. “I’d like you to hire Martin back.” She held up her hand as if to stop Chelsea’s expected protest. “I know you’ve been having cash-flow problems. Martin did business with the smaller retail establishments for years. He’d be vital to wooing them back.”
Welcome her enemy into the corporate fold where he’d have a better opportunity to track her and kill her? It sh
ould be out of the question, but Mrs. Tinsdale might be right. Classy Creations needed those accounts. And yet, although Chelsea couldn’t recall her prior reasoning, she had fired the man. She couldn’t forget he just might be the person who had shot out her window last night. Then again, she had not one shred of proof.
Still, condemning the man without meeting him didn’t seem fair. That’s why she’d already told Sandy to arrange a meeting next week. Apparently Mrs. Tinsdale had taken events into her own hands instead of waiting for Sandy’s call. Recalling her secretary’s insistence, Chelsea wondered what she still didn’t know and sighed.
Meeting Martin on her own territory would probably be safe enough. After all, it was unlikely he’d attack her if he thought she was about to give him a job.
“I’ve already asked Sandy to arrange a meeting with your husband.”
Mrs. Tinsdale’s eyes brightened, then brimmed with tears and overflowed. Her voice choked up. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this opportunity will mean to Martin. He’s a proud man. Being out of work has not been good for him.”
“In what way, ma’am?” Jeff asked.
“A man thinks of himself by what he does—at least the men of my generation do. Like anyone, my husband needs to be useful.”
After Mrs. Tinsdale started her car and drove away, Jeff shook his head with a sigh. “I’m not sure talking to her husband is a good idea. Do you think Martin Tinsdale could have—?”
She tried to stifle the fear that had never completely disappeared since the first attempt on her life. “That’s why I want to meet him. He could be harboring a deep resentment against me.” She sighed. “My employees don’t seem to like me very much. The copy editor, Vanessa, won’t look me in the eye. My accountant, Walter, is so sad I suspect he’s hiding something. And Sandy, well, she pushed hard for me to talk to Martin Tinsdale. I wonder what her stake in this is?”
Jeff curled his arm over her shoulder and gave her a sideways hug. “I don’t want you to take any risks.”
She heard the caring in his tone and wondered if he was merely concerned for her safety or whether he would miss her if she was killed. Or both. She knew she’d regret dying without ever having made love to him. With firm resolve, she pushed the thought aside. Any deeper feelings between them had to remain on hold until her memory returned or until the police found Anne’s killer.
Chelsea glanced at Alex. “I have more than myself to worry about now. I’ll be careful.”
She had to be careful for the sake of the baby sleeping in the car. He looked so innocent and peaceful. Poor tyke. She’d been his mother less than a week and they’d been chased in a taxi and had the front window of their house shot out of the frame. What kind of mess had she gotten him into? And now she had another worry. If the Carpenters found out about her problems, would a judge send the baby away?
DAMN HER! Chelsea Connors had no right keeping what did not belong to her. And she had the luck of the devil latching on to that doctor to save her miserable life.
Dr. Jeffrey Kendall’s interference had begun to be tiresome. He must have said something to stop Chelsea’s forward momentum. Outlined in her window, she’d presented a prime target. And a steady finger had pulled the trigger.
Only stopping short had prevented her from dying. But the doctor and confounded luck couldn’t protect her forever.
Deft hands guided the iron over the newspaper, eliminating the creases in a soothing motion. Failure could not be tolerated. The repetitive motion of ironing gave the mind time to come up with an alternate plan.
She would run just like her friend had tried to run. And just like Anne, Chelsea would be tracked down and murdered. Or perhaps a faked suicide. Ah, yes. Perfect. The amnesia would cause her depression. Such poetic justice for the new mother, overwhelmed and despondent, to die by her own hand, her own gun.
The newspaper, crisp and warm, could wait until later to be read. It was time to make final preparations to leave town.
“SO HOW DID YOUR MEETING with Martin Tinsdale go?” Jeff asked.
During the ride Friday night to Benedict Academy’s anniversary party seemed like the first moment Jeff had had Chelsea to himself all week. While she’d stayed at his home, she wrapped herself in her work and her child. She might be living under his roof, but ever since he’d hinted there could be no permanence to their relationship, she’d withdrawn as if preparing herself for a final goodbye.
The thought of losing her disturbed him more than he’d thought possible. Not for the first time, he found the prospect of spending his life without a wife or children lonely. He hadn’t seen his own dad often. In eighteen years, his father never once came to his birthday party. He’d graduated first in his class, and Dad missed his high-school graduation to do a heart transplant. And when the patient, a four-year-old girl, died on the operating table, he’d been too down to celebrate his son’s achievements. Jeff had been loved, but his day-to-day accomplishments couldn’t compete with the crises of saving a life. He forgave his dad repeatedly. But it was no way for a child to grow up.
He would do everything in his power to keep another child from that kind of hurt, and Chelsea from the pain his mother had suffered over the years.
While they were together, he would do his best to keep her happy, protect her. But there were limits to what he could give to her. To any woman.
Live in the moment, he told himself. That’s all he could have. And he hoped she’d enjoyed some of their time together, as well.
As he glanced at Chelsea, her lips parted, her eyes green, her skin gently flushed, he couldn’t have said why he found her so endearing and charming. But she called to him on some elemental level that for the first time made him question his choice of career. For Jeff knew all too well that the schedules of a practicing cardiac surgeon and a father didn’t mix well.
She tilted her head against the car window, either unconcerned about loosening the fancy twist of her hair before the party or so deep in thought she was oblivious to her actions. “I thought once I’d met Martin Tinsdale, I’d have a clearer picture of-the situation. But now I’m more confused than ever.”
He drove up the entrance ramp onto the freeway and tried to draw Chelsea out, preferring to think of anything but how much he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her worries away. During the past week, his feelings had grown so strong he feared if he kissed her, he’d lose all control. So he welcomed the distraction of a discussion. “Did you sense a threat?”
“Martin is a gentleman, polished, polite, proud. Although he tried to hide his resentment, once or twice during our conversation, I caught a glimpse of outrage in his eyes before he turned away.”
His fist clenched at the thought of someone hurting her. “You think he could turn violent?”
“I don’t know. He might simply be frustrated that he no longer has a career in the firm he worked twenty years to build “ She ran a hand through her bangs and chewed her lower hp. “In a way, he was right. If Classy Creations still had those smaller accounts, we wouldn’t be in dire financial circumstances.”
One of the traits Jeff admired most about Chelsea was her ability to look at a problem from different angles. But he wasn’t so sure he liked the thought of her having direct contact with Tinsdale on a daily basis. He tried to keep his possessive protectiveness from his tone. “Are you going to hire him back?”
Jeff’s gaze flickered from the road to the rearview mirror and the baby strapped into the passenger seat, then to Chelsea’s face and back to the road. Her shuttered look left him with the impression that she’d made a decision but didn’t want to tell him because she knew he wouldn’t approve.
“Martin Tinsdale is fifty-five years old. At his age, it’s difficult to find a job.”
His stomach flip-flopped. “You rehired him, didn’t you?”
“Even if he’s after me, he doesn’t need to work at my office to find me.”
“He may have tried to shoot you.”
�
�It’s just a hunch, but I don’t think so. I have a feeling Martin is too proud to resort to violence.”
Jeff refrained from pointing out that she could be staking her life on a hunch. Besides, after he ruthlessly shelved his concern for her safety, he realized she did have a point. If Martin Tinsdale wanted her dead, he needn’t work at Classy Creations to kill her. As Jeff joined the line of cars pulling up to the gate that led to Benedict Academy, Chelsea dug her invitation out of her purse. “I hope Ms. Kilcuddy is on time. Mark said there’s a back room where she can watch Alex.”
Jeff showed their invitation to the uniformed guard posted at the wrought-iron gate. The cadet waved them inside with a spotless white glove. “Good of her to watch Alex.”
The immaculate grounds with stone fences separating orchards and fields reminded Jeff of a parklike setting. Wide running paths and various exercise stations constructed of natural materials complemented the natural beauty and no doubt enhanced the rigorous training necessary to become an officer in the United States military.
Large oaks canopied the paved road. Sunlight peeked through, and the last blossoms of summer heralded the coming autumn.
And just as the seasons inevitably changed, so did progress. Many generals and politicians had been educated at Benedict Academy, a school that only accepted the crème de la crème of high-school graduates. Chelsea’s top-notch selling job aside, the place was steeped in tradition. The old guard might not welcome her radical plan.
While her idea to encourage woman to enroll in the school would be praised by some alumni, Jeff suspected the majority would be stunned by tonight’s announcement. Having the press there for the festivities would help calm the backlash, for no politician wanted to insult a large number of voters. And even if there were complaints, they wouldn’t be loud or vocal—not with the liberal press sure to take up Chelsea’s promotion with enthusiasm.
Strange how his thoughts ran to protecting Chelsea. He’d called the police during the week to find out if they had any leads concerning who might be after her. The detective admitted only that most of her employees had alibis the night of the shooting. Only Sandy, the secretary, Vanessa, the copy editor, and Walter, the accountant, had been off alone. But just because they couldn’t prove their innocence didn’t make them guilty. Tom and Mary Carpenter vouched for one another’s whereabouts, each claiming the other was watching television at home. And Martin Tinsdale had been out walking his dog. However, he lived a convenient ten-minute drive from Chelsea’s house.
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