by Judi Lind
“Jonathan, whether or not I should walk around Washington on my own isn’t the issue here. Besides, you’ve said all along that this...this feeling is nothing more than premarital jitters.”
The senator hooted. “I wonder what Freud would say about the symbolism—she’s engaged to one man and fantasizing about being pursued by another!”
“That’s not funny,” Jonathan snapped.
“Sorry. It was meant to be.”
Mary stifled a grin. She rather enjoyed the senator’s sense of humor. People in politics tended to take themselves quite seriously, if her recent introduction into the Washington social strata was any indication. In fact, it sometimes seemed she and Brad Castnor were the only people within the Beltway who had a sense of humor.
Apparently satisfied that his friend’s apology was sincere, Jonathan turned back to Mary. “Darling, exactly how often have you had this feeling of being watched?”
She closed her eyes and considered. “At least five or six different times. And they weren’t all when I was out in public. Once when I was at the hairdresser’s, I sensed someone staring at me through the front window.”
Camille leaned forward. “Mary, how horrible! Why didn’t you say something? I could have asked Henri to give you a more secluded booth in the rear.”
Mary shook her head. “I can’t go through life riding in taxis and hiding in the back rooms of beauty salons. If someone is following me, then I need to take some reasonable precautions.” She placed a strong emphasis on reasonable. “In fact, I’m thinking about buying a gun.”
Jonathan threaded his fingers together and stared at her. “I don’t think that’s wise. I believe statistics will bear me out here, Mary. Unless you’re completely prepared to use that gun and perhaps take another person’s life, owning a firearm is more of a liability than an asset. Besides, I really don’t believe a weapon is necessary.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that, Regent,” the senator interjected. “If someone is really following Mary, she could be in danger.”
Jonathan shook his head. Rather than respond directly to his friend, he continued addressing his remarks to Mary. “Forgive me, my dear, but I’m still not convinced that what you’ve been experiencing isn’t merely a case of nerves. But if someone is lurking around beauty shops, I’m sure it’s that unemployed waiter you used to date.”
Mary stifled a grin at Jonathan’s description of her previous boyfriend. Despite her continued protests that she and Mark Lester had never had a serious relationship, Jonathan still acted jealous whenever Mark’s name came up. And he knew perfectly well that Mark had only worked as a waiter a few nights a week to help cover his graduate-school expenses.
She couldn’t seriously believe that Mark was skulking around behind her, watching her every move. He hadn’t been that interested when they were dating.
Camille, as if annoyed that the conversation was centered on Mary’s welfare, pointedly shifted the subject. “Well, I’m sure Mary will take every precaution just in case some lunatic is out there. But let’s talk about the wedding! Mary, when do we get to go look at wedding gowns? You know, my dear, I’d be more than happy to help you plan the wedding. An event of this magnitude takes a certain amount of...social experience, you know.”
The rest of their meal was punctuated with merriment as the two women discussed color schemes and honeymoon locales. The men groaned frequently and made obligatory macho comments about the cost of the upcoming nuptials exceeding the national debt.
Just before they broke up their lengthy luncheon, Jonathan raised his hand. “Brad, Camille, I asked the two of you to dine with us today for a reason. You’re my oldest friends and I wanted both of you present for the occasion.” Jonathan reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a small, blue velvet jeweler’s box. He pushed the unopened case in front of Mary. “For my beloved bride. I’m afraid it pales compared to the purity of your smile, but it was the best I could do.”
With a trembling hand, Mary opened the tiny box and gasped in astonishment. Nestled in the midnight blue lining was a twinkling diamond solitaire. Quite possibly the largest diamond she’d ever seen outside the Smithsonian. “Jonathan, it’s lovely. But...but it’s so...enormous!”
Immediately, his eyebrows dipped and a scowl took command of his handsome features. With an incredulous shake of his head, he asked, “Don’t you like it?”
Mary lifted the glittering band out of the box and slipped it on her left ring finger. The stone was much larger, and more ostentatious than what she would have chosen for herself, but she knew that to Jonathan the size of the diamond was comparable to the depth of his devotion. She was swamped with a surge of tenderness for this complex man who’d breezed into her life and swept her into a world she’d never dreamed existed.
Raising her hand so everyone could see the exquisite stone dominating her delicate fingers, Mary turned to Jonathan. “It’s the most impressive ring I’ve ever seen. Thank you so much, Jonathan. Truly.”
His gloomy expression lightened immediately. “Only the best for my bashful bride.”
Camille stood up and clasped her clutch bag. Her already pale face looked pinched and drawn. “All I can say is, if Mary wasn’t being stalked by muggers before, she will be in the future. Jonathan, that ring is about one carat shy of being a diamond mine unto itself. Brad, are you ready to go? I have an appointment with my personal trainer at three.”
Stuffing a last bite of dinner roll into his mouth, Brad heaved his bulk out of his chair. “I suppose you know, Regent, that I’ll never hear the end of this. For the rest of my life, Camille is going to be griping about that ‘chip’ on Mary’s finger.”
Jonathan laughed and clapped the senator on the shoulder. “As my candid bride would say—vote yourself another pay raise and buy your wife a bigger one!”
With that rejoinder, the foursome parted company. At Jonathan’s insistence, Mary accompanied him in the limousine until it dropped him off at his Alexandria, Virginia office. Then the chauffeur reversed his route, taking the George Washington Bridge back across the Potomac River, and threaded his way along the Washington streets. It was over an hour later before he finally dropped Mary off at the Georgetown Regent Hotel.
As she crossed the lobby, pausing only to check for mail at the desk, she paid scant attention to the luxurious surroundings. Her mind was on the details involved in planning a society wedding. She wondered what Jonathan would say if she told him she’d rather exchange vows in her mother’s living room in northern Michigan than go through all the hoopla Camille had recited at lunch.
Reaching her apartment door, Mary fumbled in her bag for her key, unlocked the door and stepped across the threshold. Suddenly, she stopped.
There it was again. That creepy sensation of something being wrong. Out of place.
No, it couldn’t be. Not here in her home.
Forcing herself to take several calming breaths, she turned to lock the door behind her, when her foot crunched on something on the carpet. Moving her foot, she saw that she’d stepped on an envelope that apparently had been slipped under the door.
Relief flooded through her.
Something had been out of place. Her subconscious had simply picked up on the envelope lying on the floor.
It looked like an invitation. Must have been hand-delivered, she mused. Plucking the envelope off the rug, Mary engaged the dead bolt and kicked off her shoes. She hated wearing high heels every day, but Camille insisted that a woman of “Mary’s station” should always wear heels in public. Wriggling her toes in the thick pile carpet, Mary crossed into the living room and nestled on the shell pink damask sofa. She curled her feet beneath her and opened the envelope.
For a moment, she stared with perplexity at the single sheet of paper. After reading the brief message for the third time, she watched the paper slip from her numb fingers. Acting purely on instinct, Mary picked up the telephone and punched in Jonathan’s office number.
“Oh,
Ms. Wilder, it’s you. Again.” Robert Newland sighed, as if her telephoning twice in one day was a tremendous trial for him.
Swallowing a biting retort, she said quietly, “May I speak with Jonathan? It’s quite important.”
“Of course. I’m certain Mr. Regent won’t mind another interruption.”
“Thank you.”
When Robert finally transferred her call, Jonathan’s voice sounded harsh, impatient. “What is it, Mary? I’m in the middle of a meeting.”
Briefly, her voice as cold and hard as the chunk of ice forming inside her, Mary told him about finding the note inside her apartment door.
“So? I’m afraid I’ve missed the point, dear. What did the note say?”
Mary didn’t have to retrieve the note to recite the ugly words cut from magazine articles and pasted onto the sheet of white bond paper. They were already branded into her soul.
“Oh, Jonathan, it’s so awful. It said, ‘Life isn’t like a fairy tale where Cinderella lives happily ever after with Prince Charming. If you marry Jonathan Regent, you will not live happily...or ever after.’”
Jonathan sighed. “Damn that Mark Lester. I told you he was behind all this. Mary, darling, the idiot is only trying to take his petty revenge because you dumped him. He obviously wants to frighten you into breaking our engagement. Don’t give him the satisfaction of responding to his childish game.”
Mark? She could imagine Mark storming over to her apartment and shouting at her through the door, but sending anonymous threatening letters? Mary desperately wanted to believe it was Mark’s wounded pride causing him to act so horribly and not some madman pursuing her. “Do you think that’s all it is? Mark, acting out?”
“Of course. Now, just throw the silly thing in the trash and forget all about it. And, by the way, sweet, I’m going to have to cancel dinner tonight.”
“Oh, Jonathan, I’d looked forward to it.”
“Me, too, but it can’t be helped. Have to take care of business, you know. But if you’re so upset that you really feel I should cancel this meeting, then, of course...”
Mary’s nerves were so jittery that she hated the idea of spending the evening alone. Still, Jonathan had so much responsibility with his corporation that she felt guilty even considering asking him to cancel his business appointment. After taking a few seconds to rationally evaluate the situation, Mary responded, “Don’t worry, Jonathan, I’ll be fine. You go ahead with your meeting. Maybe I’ll call a friend from the bookstore. I may go to a movie, or something.”
“If you think that’s wise,” he responded tartly. On several occasions, Jonathan had hinted that Mary should drop her friends from Arlington. He felt she should cultivate new friends in his social circle. Jonathan didn’t understand that his social level was as unfamiliar to Mary as a foreign culture.
Interrupting her thoughts, Jonathan said, “What I think you should do, honey, is to take a long nap. Then soak in a bubble bath and order up room service. Leave Mark Lester to me.”
Mary bit her lip. She didn’t want Jonathan to get into a fight with Mark, but she also wanted to defuse this disturbing situation before it got worse. Reluctantly, she agreed.
“Good. Now, don’t you worry your pretty little head another minute—”
“Jonathan! You make me sound like a Barbie doll.”
There was a long pause before he continued, “I see you’re still distraught. I can understand that. But really, dear, you have to stop finding offense in every minor comment. Now, you take a nice nap and I’ll speak with you later.”
Mary felt less than satisfied with the outcome of their discussion but she was too emotionally drained to continue. After double-checking the lock on the apartment door, she went into her bedroom and pulled the drapes shut.
That king-size bed did look awfully inviting.
Ten minutes later, Mary was fast asleep.
* * *
“AH, ARMSTRONG! Glad you’re able to give us a hand on this.” Robert Newland ushered the newcomer into the conference room. Tossing a thick manila file folder on the polished teak conference table, Jonathan’s personal assistant raised a hand, offering Armstrong a seat.
The tall, slender man lowered himself into one of the swivel chairs and faced Newland. “What’s up? Another possible industrial spy you want us to run a check on?”
Newland seated himself across from Armstrong and steepled his fingers. “No, nothing like that.” He broke off and stared into space for a long moment, as if to gather his thoughts. “This is something that’s more of a...a personal nature.”
Armstrong leaned forward. “You know I can keep a confidence. Why don’t you just spit it out?”
Newland reached for the file folder he’d thrown on the conference table and pulled a sheaf of papers from it. The first item he passed to Armstrong was a color photograph of Jonathan Regent and his fiancée—taken from the cover of Newsweek magazine. “Did you happen to see this?”
Trace Armstrong glanced at the photo. “I haven’t been in Antarctica for the past two weeks. Of course I knew Regent was engaged. Kind of cute, isn’t she?”
Newland raised an eyebrow. “Cute like a fox. Crafty, shrewd and devious are words that come quickly to mind.”
“I gather you don’t care for the woman. Why not?”
Newland raised a hand. “Oh, it’s nothing personal, understand. It’s just that I can recognize a brass-plated gold digger when I see one. And believe you me, this Mary Wilder is a gold digger with two shovels!”
Trace retrieved the magazine photo and took a second look at the woman. Interesting. From the soft, guileless expression the photographer had captured, he would never have suspected the sweet-faced Mary Wilder of being after Regent’s money. “And you want me to dig around in her background, come up with a little dirt for your boss?”
Newland hesitated, then said, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. But let’s hold off. Things may work out on their own.”
“How’s that?”
“It seems our sweet Mary is being followed. Stalked. Mr. Regent wants me to hire a full-time bodyguard for her. Of course, I thought of you.”
Trace shrugged. “No problem. I can put one of my people on it right away. Or did you want round-the-clock protection?”
“No.” Newland shook his head. “Right now, we think just someone to stay with her during the day. When she’s out and about. She’s staying at the Georgetown Regent. I think she’s pretty secure at night, but, of course, we’d like you to double-check the security.”
“Of course.”
Newland drummed the tabletop with his fingertips. “The other thing is, I don’t want one of your operatives on this job. I’d like you to handle it personally.”
“Wait a minute!” Trace’s head popped up. “You know that I don’t do fieldwork anymore. I’m retired to a desk, remember?”
“I know, and normally I wouldn’t ask you but...”
“But what?”
Newland paused, appearing to weigh his words. His slight, rabbitlike features were more pronounced than usual. “I want you to do more than protect the young lady. I want you to watch her, form your own opinion.”
“On what?”
Again, Newland paused. He glanced around the large office as if searching for listeners hiding behind the empty chairs. “Remember, this is in confidence?”
Trace Armstrong frowned. “You don’t have to ask, you know that.”
Leaning forward, Newland continued in a conspiratorial manner. “I think the whole thing is some kind of a con. I don’t think there’s a stalker. I think Mary Wilder is playing a game. Manipulating Mr. Regent into moving up the wedding date so she can get her hooks into his money that much quicker.”
“I see,” Trace said, not sure what else to add. He’d done a half-dozen jobs for Regent Hotels in the past year or so. They always paid well and promptly. Yet in all that time, Trace had never seen the slight personal assistant so riled. So agitated. This Mary Wilder must be some
piece of work.
Trace rose to his feet. “I think I can free myself for a couple of weeks. Let’s see what our Miss Wilder is up to.”
* * *
MARY HAD NO IDEA how long she slept, but the insistent ringing of the bedside phone finally brought her to wakefulness.
Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she yawned into the receiver. “Hello?”
“Mary? What took you so long to answer? I was starting to get concerned.”
“Oh, Jonathan. I decided to follow your advice and take a nap.”
“Still sleeping? Oh, well, it really doesn’t matter. Listen, dear, I’ve been doing some more thinking about this problem. Even though I’m convinced that Mark Lester is our culprit, there’s no sense taking chances. Anyway, Bob Newland knew of a private bodyguard who has an excellent reputation and I’ve decided to hire him.”
“A bodyguard? That seems a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“More extreme than your buying a gun?”
“No,” Mary admitted, “I guess not.” But the very word bodyguard conjured up an image of a hulking brute about the size of a tractor trailer with bulging biceps and corded muscles where his neck should be. In the movies, bodyguards always had names like Moose or Tank. And their intelligence quotients usually matched their names. Nevertheless, right now she needed protection, not someone who read the Encyclopedia Britannica for pleasure.
As if taking her lack of argument for concurrence, Jonathan went on, “Anyway, this guy—his name’s Armstrong, by the way—should be at your place any minute now. Tell him everything that’s been going on. Show him the note. I realize I told you to throw it away, but you haven’t yet, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. But...do you really think I need a full-time bodyguard? It’s not like I’m a rich rock star, or something.”
Jonathan’s sigh was long and deep. “You still haven’t grasped the changes yet. Mary, sweet, you may not be wealthy but I am. This whole business stinks of Mark Lester, but I could be wrong. Someone could be using you to get to me. There could be a kidnapping in the works, who knows? I’ll just feel better if I know you’re protected.”