by The Witness
Too agitated to sit, she jumped to her feet again and began to pace. "For two years I've struggled to become independent and learn how to stand on my own two feet, and now you're accusing me of being a...a kept woman! All because I gave a nice old man—or at least, someone I thought was a nice old man—a few hours of pleasure each week!"
"Yeah, I'll bet you did."
"Not that kind of pleasure," Lauren snapped, shooting him a blistering glare. "I played the piano for him. That's all!"
"Yeah, right. And I'm supposed to believe that he doesn't support your upscale lifestyle?"
"My what? What upscale lifestyle? I work two jobs to support myself, and even at that I'm barely getting by."
"Uh-huh. What about that apartment of yours?"
Lauren gave him a blank look. "What about it?"
"The building belongs to Giovessi."
"What? I...I didn't know that." Stunned, Lauren stared into Sam's dark face, an uneasy feeling creeping up the back of her neck. She shook it off and tilted her chin. "But so what if he does? If you're thinking that I live there free, you're wrong. I pay the rent on that apartment, not Mr. Giovessi."
"Sure you do. It's just a coincidence that he always installs his mistress of the moment in the very same apartment that you're currently living in."
"I..." The statement caught her by surprise and sent a flash of disquiet through her, but she quickly tamped it down. "Yes. Yes, of course. It has to be. It's the only explanation."
"How much?"
"Pardon?"
"You heard me. How much rent do you pay?"
"None of your b—"
"How much?"
Lauren's mouth thinned, but she could see that he wasn't going to give up until she told him. "If you must know, three hundred dollars a month. Not that it's any of your business."
"Three hundred!" Sam snorted. "Lady, the cheapest apartment in that building goes for ten times that amount."
"Ten..." The uneasy feeling threatened to turn into full-blown nausea, but Lauren shook her head. "No. You must be mistaken."
"C'mon, lady, Estes Arms is a luxury high-rise. One of the most prestigious addresses in Denver. There's a waiting list to get in there. You can't be naive enough to believe you could rent a place like that for a measly three hundred a month? You had to know that Carlo was subsidizing you. The only thing that surprises me is that he allowed you to pay any rent at all."
"Oh, dear Lord. I...I had no idea." Dazed and sick, Lauren sank back down onto the sleeping bag. "He told me the apartment was in a rent-controlled building. That was why it was such a bargain."
"Nice try, but we don't have rent-control in Denver."
"I...I didn't know that." Lauren shook her head and stared across the cabin, seeing nothing, feeling as though she'd been hit in the stomach with a battering ram.
"Right. And how do you explain that snappy little car you drive?"
"Mr. Giovessi found me a bargain—" The look on Sam's face stopped Lauren in midsentence, and the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified. "Are you saying...?"
"It's a luxury car, lady." He told her what the vehicle cost new, and Lauren moaned and covered her face with both hands.
"What an idiot I've been," she muttered against her palms. "What a total idiot. No wonder you thought... Oh, God."
Eight
Sam watched Lauren fall over onto her side on top of the sleeping bag and curl into the fetal position. She lay staring into the fire, the picture of despondent misery.
Unimpressed, he shook his head and went back to weaving fill-line across the snowshoe frame. If she hoped to gain his sympathy with that pitiful act, she was wasting her time.
For the next hour or so neither Sam nor Lauren spoke a word. He worked steadily the whole time. The only time Lauren moved was to turn back the top of the sleeping bag and burrow inside. Otherwise she lay motionless. If she hadn't blinked now and then he would have worried that she was dead.
By midday Sam had completed two snowshoes and had made a good start on a third when hunger forced him to take a break.
He rose and stepped around Lauren and built up the fire, then prepared a meal from one of the dehydrated packets. While he moved around the cabin, Lauren remained motionless and mute, her gaze still fixed on the flames.
Sam did his best to ignore her, but finally his patience came to an end. Hunkered down in front of the fire, he glanced over his shoulder at her, and his mouth thinned. "For God's sake, are you going to lie there all day moping?" he snapped.
"Maybe. What do you care?"
"I don't. But it's time to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Too bad, you're going to eat anyway. It's important to keep your strength up."
She looked as though she might argue, but after a pause she sighed and tossed off the cover and sat up, pushing the heavy fall of hair away from her face.
Sam dished up the meal and handed her one of the aluminum plates.
"I don't know what you're upset about. You have no one but yourself to blame. You made the decision to get involved with Giovessi of your own free will."
That earned him a quick, dagger look, but she continued eating and did not speak.
"C'mon. Did you think no one would ever know you were his mistress just because you worked at the club? Trust me, that job is transparent cover. Carlo always puts his women on the payroll."
"I told you— Oh, what's the use? Talking to you is pointless." She clamped her mouth shut and looked away, treating him to a flawless profile.
The frosty dignity in her tone almost made him smile. She sat there, cross-legged on the floor of this hovel, bundled up in long johns and shapeless, bulky winter garb, not a speck of makeup on and her mussed hair tumbling around her shoulders, eating camp food out of an aluminum plate...and still she managed to look and sound as regal as a queen.
Which just proved how deceiving outward appearances could be.
"Look, you're obviously uncomfortable that your secret is out, but what do you care what I think anyway?"
"Believe me, I don't."
"Then what the hell is your problem?"
She slanted him a pithy look. "Why should I tell you? You wouldn't believe me. You've already made up your mind about me."
"So convince me I'm wrong."
Lauren huffed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, right. I'm sure that's going to happen."
She went back to eating, and so did Sam. When they were finished, she picked up her plate and his and carried them to the hearth, where she poured hot water into the skillet and started scouring the pan and dirty dishes.
Sam watched her, a bit surprised that she had pitched in on her own without any prompting from him. He hadn't expected that, and it piqued his curiosity even more. "So, are you going to tell me why you're feeling sorry for yourself?" he said to her back.
She looked at him over her shoulder. "I'm not indulging in self-pity. If you must know, I'm furious with myself." Sparingly, she poured fresh hot water over the plates and spoons to rinse them, then set them aside. Picking up the skillet, she headed for the door. "Excuse me," she said, stepping around him. "I have to rinse this pan outside."
"Leave it. I'll do it later. Finish what you were saying. Why are you angry with yourself?"
Lauren sighed, but she set the skillet back on the hearth and resumed her seat on the sleeping bag. "Are you sure you want to hear this? For you to understand, I have to go back a ways."
Sam glanced out the window at the swirling snow beyond the grimy panes and picked up the snowshoe he was making. "We've got plenty of time. Shoot."
She plucked at the knee of her wool sweatpants, keeping her gaze on her restless fingers. "As I told you before, I was a child prodigy. My entire life was devoted to music. When I wasn't on stage, I was practicing."
"Because your father insisted," Sam tossed in. He didn't bother to hide the disbelief in his tone, which earned him another of her glacial looks.
"Yes. That's right. A
lthough...that was never an issue between us. I loved playing and enjoyed practice. I still do, even though now..." She shook her head. "Never mind. The point is my father took care of everything else so that I could devote my life to my music. And by that, I mean everything. He paid all our bills, booked concerts, made all the arrangements and saw to all the mundane, everyday details of life, both when we traveled and during the infrequent periods when we were home."
"And where was home?"
"An apartment in New York."
"What about your mother? Did she travel with you?"
"My mother died when I was born."
"Sorry."
"That's all right. You didn't know. Anyway, three years ago, when my father died of a coronary, I was shattered. That's when his assistant stepped in and took over his duties, and like my father, he saw to everything, too."
"That would be Collin Williams, right?"
She darted him a wary look, then stared down at her plucking fingers once again. "Yes."
"He was more than just your manager, wasn't he?"
Lauren's head snapped up. "What makes you say that?"
"You get a funny look on your face whenever his name comes up."
She lowered her gaze once more, but not before Sam saw the flicker of pain in her eyes. He waited, watching her, but she remained silent so long he decided to prod some more. "So, am I right? Were you and Collin lovers?"
"He was my fiancé," she replied in a voice barely above a whisper. "He proposed right after my father died. The car accident happened just three weeks before our wedding was to have taken place."
"I gotta tell you, lady, if this is supposed to convince me you weren't involved with Giovessi, it isn't working. Seems to me you have a history of going from one male protector to another."
Her head snapped up again. "I've done no such thing! That had nothing to do with it. I was in love with Collin! And he lo— That is...I thought he loved me, too."
"So what happened? Surely he didn't break off the engagement just because your career was cut short?"
"Actually...yes. He did. I guess I was no longer an asset. Certainly I could no longer provide him with the life he wanted."
"Which was?"
"Traveling the world, being a part of the music scene, basking in the reflected glory of a wife who was a rising star. You see, Collin enjoyed rubbing elbows with music patrons—the rich and famous and the society types who attend classical concerts.
"After concerts there were parties in my honor and we were wined and dined at the homes of some of the world's wealthiest families, or even invited to stay at their villas or on their yachts during periods between concerts. It was a heady lifestyle."
She looked back at the fire. "And Collin didn't exactly break off our engagement. He just...left." Lauren shrugged. The gesture, meant to convey indifference, revealed a world of hurt instead. "And he took all my money with him. All but a thousand dollars, anyway. I guess his conscience wouldn't let him abandon me in a strange town completely broke."
"He just cleaned you out and took off? While you were still in the hospital?"
Lauren nodded, and plucked harder at the knee of her sweats.
"Did you file charges against him?"
She shook her head. "No. I told you, he paid all the bills and took care of everything for me. He had full power of attorney. There was nothing I could do."
"That would make the case more difficult to prosecute, that's certain, but you could still have filed charges and had him picked up. Maybe even recovered some of your money. How much did he take?"
"That's just it. I have no idea." She grimaced. "I feel like an idiot, admitting this, but up until the accident, I'd never paid any attention to the financial side of my career. I had never had to. First my father, then Collin took care of that. The money was just...there. If I needed or wanted something I had a credit card. Or I would simply tell Dad, or later, Collin, and he would get whatever it was I wanted.
"Then suddenly I found myself alone and practically penniless, in the hospital in a strange town, my career over. There was no one I could turn to. I had no relatives. There were tons of acquaintances all over the world, but we'd never stayed in one town long enough to develop any close friendships. Not only was I heartbroken, I was scared."
I'll bet, Sam thought. On your own for the first time in your life. Must have been a terrifying prospect for a woman who'd been sheltered and pampered from the day she was born.
Provided she was telling the truth.
Lauren looked up, her green eyes awash with emotion, silently pleading with him to understand. "I didn't know what to do or even where to start. I'd never had a job other than giving concerts. I'd never paid a bill or even written a check in my entire life. Cooking, cleaning, operating a washing machine, buying groceries—the kinds of things that most people learn as they're growing up—were a mystery to me. That's why, when Mr. Giovessi offered to help me get back on my feet, I accepted gladly.
"I made it clear that I wouldn't take money from him, and he seemed to respect that, but I didn't see anything wrong with accepting his help in other ways." She shook her head. "What a naive fool I've been.
"Before I even left the hospital he'd gotten me the job at the college and found me a car and a place to live. Since I'd never rented an apartment or purchased a car before, the car payments and rent he quoted sounded reasonable. It didn't occur to me that he was absorbing most of the costs.
"Once I got over the initial shock and hurt of the accident and Collin's desertion, I vowed that I would never again allow myself to be dependent on anyone for anything or allow anyone else to run my life for me. I'd gotten a late start, but I'm an intelligent woman and I knew that I could learn whatever skills and knowledge I needed. It would just take time."
Lauren huffed out a long breath. "To think, I'd been congratulating myself lately for all that I've accomplished. I actually believed I'd become an independent woman. Now I find out that Mr. Giovessi has been subsidizing me all along."
She shot Sam a resentful glare from beneath her lashes. "If that isn't bad enough, now I'm totally dependent on you for everything, including keeping me alive. Is it any wonder I'm angry with myself?"
"If it's any help, I'm no happier about this arrangement than you are," Sam replied.
"Really? My, my, I never would have guessed."
Ignoring her frosty sarcasm, Sam stared at her, searching her face for the slightest flicker of deceit or guile, but he found none. She merely sat there, glaring back at him, her expression a combination of mulish innocence and offended dignity.
Damn. Either she was telling the truth or she was one of the most accomplished liars he'd ever encountered. During his years with the Bureau he'd met plenty of the latter and damned few of the former, which made him skeptical of her babe-in-the-woods claim.
Lauren began to squirm under his piercing stare. "You still don't believe me, do you?" she blurted out finally.
Sam took his time replying.
"Let's just say I'm reserving judgment." He picked up the snowshoe and went back to work.
Lauren's mouth tightened. "Thanks so much for your understanding." She bounded to her feet, snatched up the skillet again and headed for the door. "I knew talking to you was a waste of time."
"Don't forget the safety line," Sam cautioned. He didn't bother to look up, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her spin around and glare. She stood so rigid she was shaking, and he knew she was considering heaving the skillet at his head.
"I wouldn't if I were you," he warned in a quiet voice.
Lauren stayed outside longer than necessary. Sam figured she was still fuming and was dawdling to spite him. Either that, or she'd taken time to "visit the ladies' room," as she so delicately put it.
One corner of his mouth quirked. Whatever else she was, the woman was no classless bimbo. Even under these primitive conditions she had the elegance and impeccable manners of a well-bred eighteenth-century lady. That she
had even contemplated bashing a skillet over his head was downright comical.
The hint of a smile disappeared from Sam's face. Carlo had an old-world attitude about women. In his mind, they were either saints or sinners. Lauren was exactly the type that he might admire and put on a pedestal. Especially if her claim of being a musical genius was true. The mobster was fanatical about classical music.
But when it came to having an ornament on his arm or doing the horizontal mambo, old Carlo went for flash every time.
Sam scowled, not liking the direction his thoughts were taking him. He wasn't sure he believed any of her story. She could have made the whole thing up just to save face. Yet her bearing, the way she talked, those exquisite manners—everything about her— screamed class and privilege. Maybe she was just some spoiled high society debutante who had rebelled, and now she didn't want her family to find out that she'd sunk so low.
The theory was a stretch and it didn't quite set comfortably, but Sam ignored the pricks of doubt and continued his work. After a moment he glanced at the door again, then pushed back the knitted inner cuff of his parka and checked his wristwatch. Where was she? Dammit, she'd had more than enough time. Was she just standing around out there in a snit, freezing her ass off just to get back at him?
He'd give her thirty seconds. If she wasn't back by then he'd go find her. Hell, it wouldn't surprise him if the fool woman hadn't gotten the guide rope tangled in the underbrush and tied herself up.
He started to climb to his feet but sank back down when Lauren shifted the door from the outside and squeezed in through the gap. Snow clung to her from head to toe, making her look like a ghostly aberration. The flakes mounded on her shoulders and the top of her hood, and ice crystals clung to the fur ruff around her face and on her pants up to her knees. A layer of compressed snow and ice made the soles of her boots three inches thicker.
Lauren replaced the door and braced it with the log then turned and stamped her feet and brushed at her parka and pants. When done, she placed the skillet, mounded high with snow, on the hearth, stripped off her gloves and held her hands out to the fire. All without so much as glancing Sam's way.