A moment later Roberta closed her presentation, gathered her notes, and returned to her seat followed by enthusiastic applause. She sat between two men. Jake was relieved to see that neither was Donald Bauer. The one on her right seemed oblivious to anything and everyone. The other one was a different story. He was leaning toward her, talking in a hushed, intimate way into her ear. A date, Jake wondered, feeling an instant resentment for her handsome dining companion.
Someone nudged him. The woman to his left, Valerie Sanchez, was staring at him.
“Your introduction, Dr. Reynolds,” she said, nodding toward a lofty gray-haired woman in a red and silver knit dress standing at the podium.
“…please welcome Dr. Jake Reynolds.”
Amid polite applause Jake made his way to the podium. He opened by telling a “shrink” joke to ease his own tension. This was a party of sorts, and he decided his talk would be serious but not glum.
He explained the role of psychiatrist in cases of battered women. Within minutes he had the attention of all those in the ballroom with the exception of Roberta and the man next to her. Whenever Jake glanced at her table he saw the man, his hand on the back of Roberta’s chair, talking to her. She whispered back.
He tried to concentrate on his speech.
________
Eckker stared into the mirror behind the bar and watched the girl approach. She wedged in between two empty stools, her fingers tapping on the bar top to the beat of the rock music while she waited for service.
He shifted on the stool to face her. His gaze traveled boldly over her body. He licked his dry lips, then rubbed the stubble on his face where, only a few days ago, a full beard had been. He felt the fresh scab along his jawline where Masser’s drywall knife had sliced him.
She asked the bartender for a glass of water. She pried open a bottle of aspirin and was about to spill some into her hand when, pausing, possibly sensing the intensity of his eyes on her, she turned to look at him.
He smiled. “Wanna drink?”
“No thank you,” her tone clipped.
She turned slightly. Just enough to discourage him, yet not so much as to antagonize him should he be a psychopath. She pretended to become absorbed in her surroundings.
“Maybe later,” he said softly.
Gripping the aspirin bottle tightly, she took the glass of water, turned, and hurried away.
________
Roberta smiled politely at the man next to her. Since Jake had taken the podium, Nether had monopolized her with questions about her private life. “Mr. Nether,” she whispered, “the man speaking is a friend of mine. I should be listening.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard it all before.”
“Please,” she hissed under her breath. She turned slightly, full attention forward. Earlier Jake had looked her way, but now his gaze seemed to stop just short of her table.
She ached for him. He looked so familiar, so much a part of her, as though she’d known and loved him all her life instead of only a few weeks. She felt a lover’s pride as he stood so handsome in a black tuxedo, speaking eloquently, the eyes of every woman in the room riveted on him.
He closed his presentation, praised the center for its superb work, and, under resounding applause, returned to his seat.
Sophie concluded the program with, “And let the fun begin.”
Robbi stood. She would go to him, explain Don’s surprise visit. Tell him it was over between Don and her.
Jake stood talking to Valerie. Robbi moved through the milling people toward him, but before she had gotten more than a few yards, someone caught her arm.
“The news people are here from Channel 3,” Sophie said, turning a reluctant Robbi and leading her to a throng of supporters where anchorwoman Beth Amsterdam stood talking with a man toting a minicam. “This is live for the newsbreak. Let’s do our stuff, little one.”
Peering over her shoulder, Robbi looked for Jake. She finally caught sight of him moving toward the exit. Despair washed over her. He can’t be leaving! Not before she had a chance to talk to him, to explain. How would she make it through this night without him?
She started to go after him, but Beth blocked her way. “We’re ready, Miss Paxton. They’re patching us through.”
“But—”
The anchorwoman jockeyed in beside Sophie and Roberta, the microphone held between them. They stood on the edge of the dance floor. Behind them couples moved to a slow rendition of “Mack the Knife.”
As she watched Jake exit through the double doors, a tiny red light blinked on the camera and she wanted to cry.
________
Eckker divided his attention between the television and the mirror. In the mirror he watched the young woman with the beautiful blond hair at a table behind him. Someone asked her to dance, and she moved out of his vision.
He turned back to the TV. Three women were on.
One of the two being interviewed looked familiar. The news lady was saying. “…at the tenth annual Discover Dinner Dance, we’re here with Roberta Paxton.”
He jerked upward with a start.
On the screen a pretty woman in green with masses of reddish-brown hair began to speak. “Tonight’s dance…” Abruptly her expression turned bewildered, pained, then suddenly her eyes stared vacantly into the camera.
________
No longer was Roberta in the ballroom being interviewed for the news. She saw an oak bar, liquor bottles lined up under a plate glass mirror. She saw a TV, and she was looking at herself on the screen. She dropped her gaze and saw, reflected in the mirror directly opposite her, a fierce-looking man staring at the TV.
She heard the anchorwoman identifying her: “Live from the Rose Ballroom of John Ascuaga’s Nugget, where Sophie Bennett and Roberta Paxton, directors of the Silver State Women’s Center…”
Those cold black eyes stared unflinchingly at the TV. A wicked, knowing grin spread across his face.
She thought she would scream.
She watched as he waved away the fresh beer from the bartender, slapped down money on the bar, and abruptly left the stool.
Bright spots flashed in front of her eyes before everything went black.
CHAPTER FORTY
A claustrophobic wall of people pressed around Roberta, solicitous, curious. Someone placed a glass of water to her lips, another waved a flat clutch purse like a fan in front of her face. She lay on the carpet at the edge of the dance floor, her head on Sophie’s lap.
“Should we call a doctor?” Valerie was asking.
Roberta looked at the faces but saw only the threatening mask of the killer. He knew who she was. He knew where to find her. He would come for her, kill her. How long would it take him to get to her? How long had she been out? Panic made her dizzy again, sick to her stomach. She had to get away.
She shook off the hands holding her and came to her feet. With an effort, she broke through the group. From her table she grabbed her purse, then rushed out of the ballroom. Zach Nether caught her by the arm.
“Roberta, where are you going? Wherever it is, I’m right with you.”
Shaking her head, she pushed him away.
Unsteady in her high heels, she raced down the stairs to the main floor. She rushed to the rear of the casino. At the exit she paused to dig her car keys from her purse, then she was pushing through the glass doors, impatiently plowing through a knot of people coming in.
________
The headliner show had just ended and valet parking was swamped. Jake stood outside under a violet lit portico and waited for the attendant to bring his car.
To his left a flash of bright green caught his eye. He turned to see a woman with reddish hair running across the street to the parking lot. Roberta?
What would make Robbi run out of a party as if the devil were after her? A fight with her dinner companion? Another vision?
What should he do? Try to catch her before she reached her car? Wait for his car, then drive to her house, assuming that
would be her destination? Go back inside and ask her coworkers why she’d run off? Or ignore the whole thing and get on with his life?
He saw her climb into her Jeep, start the engine, and speed away, tires squealing.
Jake stepped to the valet booth, shoved his parking stub under the glass, and demanded his keys. An attendant had already gone for his car.
Jake paced, his gaze directed toward the valet lot. Dammit, where the hell was his car?
________
On the way home her mind raced. It would take her less than five minutes to get her revolver, change clothes, and throw together a few things. How long would it take him to find out where she lived? Her phone number was unlisted, and it was certain no one at the center would tell him—unless they were forced.
Oh, God.
Her first instinct was to go to the police. Avondale would be thrilled by this new development; he’d love to use her to get to the killer. She shuddered violently. No, no way in hell would she take that chance. She could still see the look on that monster’s face when he realized who she was.
For the protection of the workers at the center she had to tell the police, but she didn’t have to tell them where she was. Let Avondale stake out the house and the shelter. She would be long gone.
She turned into her driveway and slammed on her brakes at the back door. After shutting off the engine and lights, she took several moments to control her breathing. She was hyperventilating, on the verge of passing out again. Cupping her hands tightly over her mouth, she inhaled slowly until the lightheadedness eased.
She looked around. The long drive to the street was deserted. To the right of the Jeep was the tall dense hedge between her neighbor’s yard and her driveway. A light wind had shadows dancing all around her. She opened the car door and listened. Leaves skittered along the concrete. A rustling sound had her heart pushing up into her throat. The wind wasn’t that strong. The hedge behind her stirred. In the side mirror she saw a large figure moving behind the Jeep. Then the view in the mirror became totally obliterated.
Roberta tried to close the door, but it was jerked open, the handle ripping from her grasp. The man reached in for her. She tried to scramble backward, to get to the passenger door. Her arm was seized cruelly. She screamed as he hauled her, kicking, from the car.
A massive hand covered her mouth. His other arm wound around her waist. Too hysterical to take stock of the situation, she turned on the big man, fighting for her life. He pinned her arms to her sides as they struggled at the back of the Jeep.
Suddenly they were both bathed in a flood of light. The big man loosened his grip just enough for Roberta to push at him. She spun away, falling against the side of the house. Jake’s car shot up the drive and hit the assailant before he could reach her again. The man flew across the hood of the T-bird and tumbled over the front fender to the passenger side of the car. The car came to a screeching halt within inches of her Jeep.
Terrified, adrenaline pumping like crazy, she looked around for him. He was there on the other side of Jake’s car. He would rush her again any second.
Jake hopped out of the car. He swooped down, grabbed one of the scalloped bricks used to trim the flower bed, and, waving Roberta back, he ran around behind the car, brick raised.
Roberta saw him bend down.
“Jake,” she whispered, “is he dead?”
“Gone,” he answered.
When Jake started toward the tall hedge bordering the neighbor’s property, she cried out, “Jake, no! Let him go!”
Robbi rushed into his arms, trembling, gasping for breath.
Silently, with an arm securely around her, Jake pulled open the passenger door. “Hurry, get in.”
“I have to get some—” But she didn’t finish the sentence. She realized there was nothing as important as getting away from there, and as quickly as possible. Her worst nightmare had come true—the killer knew about her and he wanted her dead.
________
From his condo Jake phoned Avondale and told him the killer had come after Roberta. He briefly explained the circumstances.
“Dammit, we need to talk to Miss Paxton. Is she there with you?’ Avondale wanted to know.
Jake looked down at Roberta sitting on the floor in her party dress, legs crossed in front of her, hugging her knees.
Roberta held out her hand for the phone. Jake gently touched her cheek before handing it to her.
“Detective Avondale?”
“Miss Paxton, you can’t—”
“Just listen. He was in a cocktail lounge. The bar was large and had a good-size dance floor with a sound system, no band. The bartender wore a white dress shirt and black bow tie. The place was full of neon signs, you know, the kind that beer and liquor companies use for advertising. It had oak decor, high tables, and stools.”
“What was he wearing?” Avondale asked.
“The same dark jacket—sports jacket—and a plain dark T-shirt. He was clean shaven and looked much younger without the beard.”
“How young?”
“Late thirties.”
“Miss Paxton, come down to the station and have a look through the mug shots, if—”
She gently pressed the cradle buttons and handed the phone back to Jake.
“Am I being foolish for not letting Avondale protect me?”
“If he’s not a blithering idiot, he’ll assign some plainclothes to secure the complex. He knows where you are.”
“Do you own a gun?” she asked.
Jake shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Oh, God,” she moaned, burying her face in her folded arms. “What’s happening? And why is it happening to me?” She laughed dryly. “Why me? Why me? Poor little Robbi,” she finished in a cynical tone.
Jake was silent.
She raised her head, looked at him.
He stared at her for a long moment. Then, in a pensive tone, he said, “There’s a guy from New York—”
“It’s over.”
He waited.
She gave him a thin smile. “It looked pretty bad, didn’t it, that scene in my kitchen?”
He shrugged, then nodded.
“He came unexpectedly. We—Jake, I’d rather not go into it right now, but I want you to know that what you saw was our first and only embrace while he was here, which, incidentally, was less than an hour. I didn’t…we didn’t. It’s over.”
Roberta stared up at him. He stood in the middle of the room, tall, his hands in the pants pockets of his tuxedo, the black cummerbund emphasizing his narrow waist. An expression of profound compassion filled his handsome face. She let her gaze take in all of him.
“Do you know how handsome you look in a tuxedo?” she said, her voice low. “When I saw you come through the ballroom door, I said to myself, ‘Now there’s an incredibly sexy man.’”
“Yeah?” he said softly, as though she hadn’t changed the subject.
“Yeah.” She smiled.
“You’re a sucker for a guy in a tux?”
“Not any guy.”
He went to her, offered her his hand then slowly pulled her to her feet.
Her hands stroked the satin lapels, then moved inside his jacket to stroke the satin of the cummerbund. The hook opened and the pleated band fell away.
His hands cupped the sides of her face, fingers sliding through her hair. He kissed her, a soft, sweet kiss that only made her yearn for more. She felt a fluttering in her stomach that soon, with kisses that became hot, hungry, and probing, burned lower in her body.
He shrugged out of the jacket, let it fall to the carpet, and slipped off his shoes. She unbuttoned his crisply starched shirt and helped him strip it off. She bent, kissed his dark nipples until they hardened, running her fingers through the fine curly hair between them.
Wearing only the black dress pants, Jake swung Robbi into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
Afterward they lay quietly in each other’s arms. Even with disaster at the brink of her co
nsciousness, Roberta felt a sense of peace and well-being.
Would it always be like this, this wonderful, this profound? Naturally there had been others before Jake, but none had touched the core of her as he did. No one had ever strived to please her as he did. His tenderness, coupled with an almost ruthless sexual abandonment, strongly bonded her to him in a way she didn’t understand, though she suspected that trust and love had a great deal to do with it.
She drifted between sleep and awareness, content in the arms of her lover. A little germ of fear flickered somewhere in the recesses of her mind, but she had only to snuggle closer to Jake, feel his arms tighten around her, and the fear remained nothing more than a benign smoldering ember.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Roberta awoke to the sound of birds chirping, water rushing along in the river below, and the rich smell of coffee brewing. She rose up on her elbows and looked around. The drapes were closed, the room cool, dark, and shadowy. The clock read 7:46. She was alone in the room.
She stretched, for the moment feeling glorious, content. She was at Jake’s; he was somewhere nearby. The killer knew nothing of Jake. He would never find her here.
A door closed softly somewhere in the condo.
“Jake?”
No response.
Swinging her legs out of bed, she lowered her feet to the floor and, holding the sheet across her torso, looked around for something to wear. Jake’s starched dress shirt hung on the doorknob. She crossed to it, slipped it on, catching a nostalgic whiff of him in the cloth. The stiff material felt abrasive against her tender nipples.
“Jake?” she called again, leaving the bedroom.
She wandered down the hallway, opening doors, calling softly. A guest room, a large bathroom with a platform tub and an oversized shower, a small den with a desk surrounded by built-in shelves loaded with leather-bound books, and the living room stood empty.
She padded barefoot into the kitchen, where water trickled from the faucet and down the drain.
She turned off the water, looked around. On the stark white countertop and floor tiles she saw tiny flecks of crimson. She knelt, touched a large wet drop on the floor. Blood?
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