“Rich. Even for my blood,” she said without thinking of the impact those words might have on Jake.
“Come again. What was that?”
“It’s elegant, and the view is wonderful.”
As soon as the waiter took their order and left them, he said, “When you told me about your relationship with your parents, I realized you were well off, at least until you left home. But what you said back there... Are your folks rich?”
“They have a lot of money from real estate, inheritance, and the stock market, but people who don’t share themselves with their children are definitely not rich.”
She heard the bitterness in her voice and wished she had spoken differently. With his ability to discern the slightest nuance, he would probably pigeonhole her as “poor little rich Allison,” and he would be wrong.
“Jake, I got my first job three weeks after I graduated from Howard University, got a degree in journalism from Columbia, and my first paycheck three weeks later. I’ve never taken another cent from my parents, and believe me, there’ve been times when I was flat broke.”
“I believe that. Everything about your personality says you overcame a lot of hurdles to get where you are. Don’t you want to know about my suite?” he asked, changing the tenor of the conversation. And surprising her.
“Uh, yes. I would love to see it.”
She wouldn’t call the change in his eyes from hazel to nearly black in seconds a sign of heightened sexual desire, though it could be, but the rest of his face suggested she’d shocked him.
“I mean, as luxurious as my room is, your suite must be the epitome of posh.” He grinned, and she quickly added, “That’s all I meant. And stop grinning, you hear?”
He didn’t look toward the waiter who filled their coffee cups. “Be thankful for that waiter. That’s what I meant, too, but I see you’ve thought past that. Welcome to the club. Allison, my mind spends a lot of time on you, so you may imagine it occasionally conjures up some intimate scenes with you. If your mind has never done the same, I don’t mean much to you.”
She put the coffee cup back into its saucer without taking that first precious sip, folded her hands in her lap, and considered her words. He waited. At last she told him, “Jake, you don’t want me to mean anything to you, and you have showed me that in many ways. I also don’t want your importance to me to extend beyond the information from you that I need for this story.”
She could almost see his patience snap. “It’s too damned late for that.”
She agreed with that, but she’d never tell him. “How far is the Black Library from here?”
“It’s on Huntington Avenue, wherever that is. We’ll get a taxi. Boston is not a huge city, so half an hour ought to be plenty of time.”
As if he knew that a crowd awaited him, a smile claimed his face as the taxi drove up to 325 Huntington Avenue. He stepped out and extended his hand to her. For once, she welcomed his assistance, for she wouldn’t have noticed the street’s sunken slope at the place where the taxi stopped.
“Thanks.”
His grin caught the curve of his bottom lip and gave him a roguish appearance. “You see? I’m good for something.”
The proprietor gave her a comfortable chair a few feet from the table at which Jake was to sign books, and she took out her pad and tape recorder in the hope of capturing something personal about him.
He’d signed about thirty books when she noticed what seemed to her a familiar figure approach the table. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t... But it was.
“Sydney! Sydney!” Forgetting professionalism, she sprang from the chair and raced around the table. “Sydney!”
* * *
Jake’s pen screeched across the page and he closed the book, put it on the floor, and reached for another. His aplomb restored, he signed Heather Wilkinson’s book and gave her a bookmark for good measure. Who the devil was Sydney that he should excite Allison to the extent that she forgot where she was? He made himself smile at the teenage boy who stood before him with a worshipful expression on his young face.
“I’m Matthew Hill, sir, and I want to be a spy just like you used to be.”
He extended his hand, and the boy grasped it, albeit reluctantly. “I’m sure you’ll be a good one, young man, but I was never a spy,” he said as he signed the book.
“Oh, I know that, sir, but if nobody knew what you were doing, that’s the same as spying.”
It wasn’t, but he didn’t have time to explain it. “I expect you’ll be the best at whatever you do,” he said, wished the boy good luck, and looked around for Allison. At last his gaze captured her as she leaned against a section of books, holding both hands of the man called Sydney. After that, he greeted his fans with forced enthusiasm, signed books automatically, and smiled mechanically, for neither his heart nor his mind was in it.
After nearly two hours, during which his fingers almost lost their feeling, he signed the last book. If she didn’t come back within the next two minutes, she’d see his TV taping on the television in her hotel room, provided she remembered it and was interested enough to watch.
He gathered his fliers, bookmarks, and the pens he gave to each buyer, and as he stood he saw her walking toward him holding Sydney’s hand, her face adorned with a happier smile than he’d ever seen on her. And pride seemed to suffuse her. What the hell? he said to himself.
“Jake, this is my brother, Sydney. He really surprised me. I hadn’t seen him in months. Sydney, this is Jacob Covington.”
Sydney held out his hand. “I’m glad to meet you. Your signing was advertized on fliers, radio, television, and a blimp. I wouldn’t have missed meeting you and getting a chance to touch base with my sister.”
As best he could, Jake camouflaged the deep breath of relief that seeped out of him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sydney. Allison speaks highly of you.” Now why had he said that? He had to get a grip on himself. That lapse into jealousy had him in shock.
“She’s biased,” Sydney said, “and I’m starved. How about lunch?”
Of course they would be expected to have lunch with Allison’s brother, and Jake was anxious to see more of the man and get better insight into Allison.
“I’d love it,” he said. “My publicist gave me a list of recommended restaurants. I can do without the clam chowder and baked beans. What about you two?”
“I vote for Italian,” they said in unison, and he suppressed a smile.
* * *
“What’s the difference in your ages?” Jake asked after they seated themselves in the Ristorante Vivola at a table overlooking the Commons.
“I’m two years older,” Sydney said, “and since she probably didn’t tell you her age, having said that, I’d better not tell you mine.”
“Oh, she won’t mind. Allison is a liberated, independent woman. Besides, a beautiful woman doesn’t have to hide her age.”
“Whew,” Sydney said, wiping his brow. “I walked into that one.”
Sydney leaned forward, and his voice held a note of urgency. “This story is important to my sister, and I’m getting the sense that you are also important to her. She acts tough, Covington, but she isn’t. Please bear that in mind.”
He glanced at Allison, whose gaze centered on the she-crab soup that the waiter placed before her, and he wondered at her silence. Where was the feisty, contentious woman who bedeviled him at every opportunity?
“Have no fear, man. I was brought up to respect women. Allison calls the shots.”
Sydney nodded his head. “Yes, but the day will come when you should call them. She—”
“Will you two please not speak about me as if I’m not sitting here listening to you? Sydney’s thirty-two, Jake.”
He had to laugh at that. She let him get her age by deduction.
“Hmm,
this soup is great. As I was saying, Jacob, it isn’t easy to find the cracks in that armor of hers, but if you’re discerning, you’ll see them. Those are my last words on the subject.”
Jake savored the veal marsala, contemplating his next words. “Tell me, Sydney, when the two of you are alone later, will Allison chew you out about this conversation?”
Sydney’s arm slid around his sister’s shoulder, and she leaned toward him. “Hardly. She might be a little miffed, but... Jake, from my earliest memory, it was Allison and me against the world. That sounds foolish now that we’re adults, but no, I can’t imagine her chewing me out.”
After lunch, they walked through the Public Garden draped in its midsummer beauty, with the fragrance of roses perfuming the air. The visual evidence of summer maturity reminded Jake of the ticking of his own biological clock. Thirty-five years old, and his dreams were still dreams. He didn’t have the family that he longed for or the woman who would give him that family, and he had yet to achieve the honor that his alma mater bestowed. He also couldn’t stand up before the world as Jacob Covington and play the music he loved.
People who read books knew the name of Jacob Covington, and those concerned with government security knew what he had accomplished as an undercover agent, but his goals didn’t center on fame.
“I’m an only child,” he said at last, “and I always wanted a brother, but I can see that having a sister could also have been nice.”
He had lowered the ring of his cell phone, as he always did when in Allison’s company, but he heard it nonetheless. “I’ve got to get back to the hotel and prepare for my TV appearance, Sydney. I hope to see you again.” To Allison, he said, “I’ll be in the lobby at four-thirty.”
As soon as he stepped out of the park, he called the chief. “You call me?”
“Yeah. Get to a pay phone, use a secure number, and call me.”
“Ten minutes.” He hung up, hoping that he wouldn’t have to break the tour again and further arouse Allison’s suspicions. If she didn’t have some, she wasn’t much of a reporter. He headed for the bank of pay phones off the lobby and dialed the number.
“Have you seen that agent again? We have information that he’s on the general’s payroll. My Lord, man. It’s been almost five years since you broke up that cocaine ring.”
“I haven’t seen him. Maybe he changed his disguise.”
“That’s possible. Watch your back. I’m thinking of giving you a bodyguard.”
A bodyguard? That might save his back, but he’d have some explaining to do for Allison. “Hold off on that, chief. I’ll keep a lookout.”
“If you spot him, we’ll put a tail on him. All for now.”
He’d forgotten about the man, which meant he’d slipped. One of the reasons he’d been so effective as an undercover agent was his lack of emotional ties. His preoccupation with Allison Wakefield had taken his mind off his own safety. He went up to his suite, looked at the sunken tub and Jacuzzi, and resisted the impulse to relax and let the interview take care of itself. But when he sat down to review the section of his book that he planned to talk about, Allison pushed all else from his thoughts.
Her soft, feminine, and delicate manners with her protective brother told him that he didn’t truly know her. It told him also that he could have with her what he needed, that she could be the woman he had longed for, the sympathetic, warm, and understanding woman he needed for his life partner. He closed the book. How could he encourage that side of her without making her feel that she wasn’t his equal as a person, without challenging her independence?
He answered the phone on the first ring. “Covington.”
“Hi. Hope I’m not disturbing you. I didn’t get anything on you during the signing except that huge crowd. Seems they get bigger with each stop on the tour. Uh...can I come up and see your suite? Sydney’s with me, so nothing can...you know—”
Laughter shook him. “Now you listen here, lady. Sydney’s big, but I’m bigger, and if I get any lascivious notions, I’ll pitch him out of here and have my way with you.”
Did he hear giggles? Allison didn’t giggle. Nonetheless, the sound that floated to him through the wire was precisely that.
“I’ll tell him what to expect, but I’d better warn you. Sydney doesn’t take down for anybody except our mother. We’ll be right up.”
He kicked off his bedroom slippers, put on his shoes, and waited. He wanted to stand in the open door and watch her sashay toward him, but he’d implicated himself enough for one afternoon. He draped his right foot over his left knee. When had the notion of Allison and himself as a permanent couple settled in his head?
* * *
“Why do you want me to go up to the guy’s suite with you? He’ll think you need a chaperon.”
“I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. That’s why. And I want to see what these suites look like. Considering the elegance of my room, the suites must be palatial.”
“Quit fooling yourself. You’re nuts about the guy, so why can’t you go up there by yourself? The man’s a gentleman, and nothing will happen unless you want it.”
The elevator stopped, they got out, and he began to laugh. “Please let me in on what’s funny,” she said, showing mild irritation.
“Sis, the funny is that you trust Covington, but you don’t trust yourself. If you’re at that stage, go for it.”
“Tsk-tsk. Suppose our mother heard you say that.”
“It would be damned good for what ails her,” he replied and pushed the bell at suite 14R.
The door opened. “Hi. Come on in.”
But she stood there transfixed until Sydney nudged her in the back. “Hi.” She had never seen him without his suit jacket, and had gaped at the sight of him in that open-collared, short-sleeved T-shirt that stretched tight over his pectorals and exposed his rippling biceps. She had always been conscious of his sexuality, but as she gazed at him, she saw a different, more earthy man, one who reached something primal inside her.
“You want to look around?” he asked her, breaking the silence and reminding her that the two of them were not alone.
“Sure thing,” Sydney said so quickly that she knew he sensed the tension reverberating between Jake and herself. She followed the two men into the living room, the writing room, and then to the bedroom.
“The bath is really something,” Jake said. “Have a look.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed that you’re so neat, Jake,” she said, after peeping in the bathroom and ducking out quickly as if reluctant to invade his privacy. She looked out of the living room window and said, “You have the same view that I have.” He didn’t comment, and she didn’t expect him to; he disdained small talk.
“We’d better let you get back to work.” Sydney cleared his throat. “Unless you two have some business to discuss.”
She let her eyes censor him. “He’s preparing for his TV interview, so you’re right. We ought to leave now.”
Jake kicked at the beige broadloom carpet. Then he looked directly into her eyes. “I wasn’t having any success, so I closed the book. You’ve got a lot to account for.”
Stunned at that admission in her brother’s presence, she managed to say, “Yes. Well, I’ll see you downstairs at four-thirty. Let’s go, Sydney.”
“When are you leaving?” Jake asked Sydney.
“I’m getting a six-fifteen train to New Haven this evening. This has been a pleasure.”
They shook hands, but Jake barely shifted his gaze from her face. “See you later.” His voice caressed her, and she looked at Sydney in time to see his raised eyebrow.
“You needn’t bother pretending,” he told her as they walked to the elevator. “You two are ready to explode so be honest with yourself and with him. He’s laid his cards on the table, but you’re still behaving as if you’re u
ncertain or you don’t want to get involved. Girl, that man is worth any woman’s time. Wake up.”
“Sydney, I’ve been there—”
“Clean that out of your head. Farr was a scamp. This man is first-rate. Besides, you care a lot for him, sis. I’d hate to see this thing fizzle.” When she would have responded, he held up both hands, palms out. “All right, all right. My last words. But he’d make a great brother-in-law.”
“When did you get to be so fanciful? I’m not as stupid as you seem to think. Besides, what I’m feeling will take care of it one way or another.”
“You know him better than I do, but it’s my hunch that if you don’t play it straight with him, he’ll be out of your life like smoke in a windstorm. I’ll call you.”
His hug gave her a feeling of security as it had for as long as she could remember. “Thanks for coming.”
She closed the door and because she knew she wouldn’t work, she telephoned Jake. “What have you got to say for yourself, mister? What made you say those things in my brother’s presence?”
“If this is a reprimand, it doesn’t sound like one. If it isn’t, surely you don’t want to talk about it over the phone. Which is it?”
She had called him because she wanted assurance that he meant what he said, wanted to hear him repeat it. His reaction said he knew that, and she wanted to give herself a good kick. She attempted to finesse it. “Sydney is very dear to me, and I don’t mislead him.”
“Too bad I didn’t see you when you said that. You may not mislead him, but you didn’t volunteer to tell him the truth, at least not in my presence. I meant every word I said. If you need more information on the subject, be more forthcoming yourself.”
She tried to think of a way to end the conversation without seeming uninterested, rude, or abrupt. Finally, she said, “Could we talk about this another time? I’m at a disadvantage right now.”
“All right.”
She inspected her shoes, cleaned and polished them, and was about to check her dress for wrinkles when she heard the chimes of her door. She lifted the peephole latch, and her heartbeat accelerated. Jake!
Last Chance at Love Page 10