“Actually,” Jake said, “a lot of people—including your friends—stood to gain from you leaving Belden and helping me. Your friend Carter gets his interview, your friend Elaine is taking credit for the introduction, your publisher gets to sell more books, your agent makes more money…stop me anytime. Why was I the only suspect?”
“This is ridiculous!” Molly exclaimed. “Of course it was you. You already threatened me once. I kept the secret for more than a year without any problem, and then, a week after I told you, it was all over the papers. My friends would never sell me out. You, on the other hand…”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I wouldn't have helped you otherwise. And you said yourself that my notoriety would be useful.”
“Yes, but that doesn't mean—” Jake began angrily, and then stopped himself. He took a breath, and said, “I hope you aren't expecting to walk away from this. You're looking at a lawsuit and public exposure like you never even imagined. You might hate me and want to see me ruined, but it won't be worth the price you'll pay.”
“I don't hate you,” Molly said.
Jake gave a short, humorless laugh. “Then God help me if you ever decide that you do.”
“Oh, good grief. Look, there isn't any scandal. I was talking to the reporter about my next book. That's all.”
He shook his head. “Nope. I don't buy it. She looked too interested in whatever you were telling her.”
“Excuse me, but you aren't the only interesting topic available for discussion. I was telling her about the sequel to Pirate Gold.”
“You were baiting me before we left the apartment. You can't tell me now that you weren't planning something.”
She sighed. “I admit that I considered exposing the fake engagement. But I didn't do it.”
“Why not? You had the chance. If I'd known what was really going on, I sure as hell wouldn't have sent you downstairs to meet the press. That should prove that I had nothing to do with outing you as Sandra. Why would I put my own neck on the block if I thought you had an ax and a reason to swing it?”
“You didn't know that I knew the truth,” Molly said, but she felt a sudden flicker of doubt. “You thought you were safe.”
“Believe me,” Jake said, “that's not a risk I would have taken. I'll say it again. I did not give away your secret. You're going to have to look elsewhere for your villain.”
He met Molly's eyes squarely, his jaw set. She looked back at him. In the novels she'd read, and even in the book she'd written, characters were always seeing the truth in each other's eyes, as if there were subtitles scrolling across their irises. But as she gazed at Jake, she saw only an unnervingly handsome man with a level stare and a grim look on his face. The truth, whatever it might be, was not going to present itself so easily.
“Why didn't you go through with it?” he asked.
Molly hesitated. The answer was tangled up in a complex mixture of feelings, and she wasn't going to try to explain it to Jake before she had sorted it out for herself. She lifted her chin slightly. “I don't know. I didn't want to.”
“That's not a satisfactory answer,” Jake said. “I want some assurance that I'm not gambling my entire future on your daily mood. You're in a position to do me a lot of harm if you decide that you do want to.”
Molly didn't answer. She was troubled by his insistence that he had not told the press about Sandra. It wasn't that she had expected him to admit everything—that would be foolish, and Jake was no fool.
But now she was more confused than ever. There was no way to know if his denial was sincere. His words sounded heartfelt, but maybe she was just gullible. What did she know about Jake Berenger's heart, after all?
CHAPTER 24
Novelist Greets Fans at Berenger Bash
Molly Shaw, also known as novelist Sandra St. Claire and the fiancée of real estate mogul Jake Berenger, signed autographs for fans waiting outside the new Berenger Grand last night. Some had come from as far away as New Jersey in hopes of catching a glimpse of the mysterious author, who was sporting an enormous diamond on her left hand. Ms. Shaw's first novel, Pirate Gold, a meaty and meticulously researched historical saga, was a runaway best seller…
“Meaty,” Molly said, thumping the Post onto the table in front of Jake. She sounded outraged. “Meticulously researched! Can you believe this?”
Jake stirred sugar into his coffee and glanced down at the article. “Sounds good to me. What's the problem?”
“Six months ago, they called it sleazy! What changed? Not the book, that's for sure.”
“Two words,” Jake said. “Tom Amadeo. He has a finger on every keyboard.”
Molly shook her head in disbelief. “But that's crazy. Isn't there any kind of objective reality?”
“Sure. The people who actually read your book, liked it, and told their friends to buy it. Other than that, it's all hype. But that's the way the world works.”
“Apparently so,” Molly said. “If Napoleon Bonaparte had had a better publicist, he'd probably be known as a visionary who brought codified laws to Europe, instead of as an egocentric dictator.”
Jake grinned. “A nice guy, old Napoleon. Just a family man, underneath it all.”
“Right,” Molly said dryly. “Like you.”
They were having breakfast at a round glass table tucked into the corner of Jake's living room. The two outer walls were made of floor-to-ceiling glass, giving the impression that the table was perched on the edge of a cliff.
Jake was trying to shake off a feeling of vertigo. He wasn't sure whether the sensation was brought on by the view or by Molly's presence. The innocuous tone of the morning news reports had confirmed that she had been telling him the truth last night. She hadn't leaked the story. As a result, Jake was breathing a little easier. Operation Family Man was turning out to be very much like windsurfing on a blustery day—lots of forward momentum and an exciting ride, coupled with the constant threat of capsizing. And he had been sailing in very deep water lately.
“I've got some work to finish this morning,” he said to Molly. “But we'll be leaving for the airport at two. I'm going to Miami, but the plane will take you to Antigua, and the resort helicopter will meet you there. I'll be back at Gold Bay early on Friday.”
Molly nodded. “I'm already packed. I hung that taffeta dress in the closet.”
“You're welcome to take it,” Jake said. “It's yours.”
“Oh,” Molly said. “Is it?” She cast a glance down at the Post article, which was accompanied by a photo of her signing books outside the Berenger Grand. With the sprayed hair and the conservative gown, she bore an uncanny resemblance to Ambassador Pamela Harriman—in her later years.
“I think I'll leave it,” she said, and Jake could hardly blame her. She put her napkin on the table and stood up. “I'm going out for a while. I'll be back before two.”
Something about her manner caught Jake's attention. “Where are you going?”
Molly seemed startled by the question, as if she hadn't expected him to ask. “Oh, nowhere,” she said. “Nowhere important, I mean. I just thought I'd do some shopping.”
“Sounds good,” Jake said, looking curiously at her. Her tone was a little too bright and casual.
“On Madison Avenue,” Molly added. “I thought I'd walk over there and look at the stores. And then I'm meeting Elaine for lunch at La Grenouille.”
Jake nodded, but a prickle of alarm moved through him. She was lying. He didn't know why he was so sure, but he would have bet money on it.
“No need to walk,” he said, watching her. “Take a hotel car. We have one on standby for you.”
“The limousine? Oh, no. I can't ride around town in a stretch limo. I'll feel ridiculous. Really, it's fine—”
“We have other cars. Take a sedan. The driver can handle your shopping bags for you.”
“That's not necessary. I wasn't planning on buying much.”
“Even so, La Grenouille is too far to
walk.”
She looked dismayed. “I'll just get a cab—”
“Why bother, when we already have a car for you?” And a driver to keep an eye on you, he added silently. Or is that the problem? He was getting a bad feeling about this. He remembered Molly's animated conversation with the Enquirer reporter and wondered if he had been too quick to relax and sound the all-clear.
“Right,” Molly said. She looked frustrated. “Of course. It makes much more sense to take the car. I'll stop by the front desk on my way out and arrange it.”
“No need,” Jake said. “I'll call while you're in the elevator. The driver will meet you in front of the main entrance in five minutes.”
Molly's smile did not reach her eyes. “How thoughtful,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Glad to help,” Jake said pleasantly. “Enjoy your morning.”
Ten minutes later, Molly left in a Lincoln Town Car with a Berenger staff driver at the wheel. Following closely—but not too closely—was another car whose passenger, “Big Rick” Rubio, a six-foot-four, three-hundred-pound member of the Berenger security staff, had been instructed to keep an eye on her and to report back at regular intervals.
Jake was at his desk when the first call came. He was not at all surprised to hear Big Rick confirm that Molly had not gone shopping. She had headed uptown, all right, but not on Madison Avenue. Instead, her driver had made a beeline for Central Park West, and within a few minutes, she had been dropped off at…the museum.
“The museum?” Jake repeated. “What, the Met?”
“The American Museum of Natural History. She got off on Seventy-seventh. I'm outside right now. You want me to follow her in?”
“Yes,” Jake said, frowning. Either Molly had been overcome by a sudden desire to see dinosaur bones, or she was up to something. “Stay close to her. Call me if she meets anyone.”
It wasn't long before the phone rang again. Jake had been staring down at a pile of legal documents, reading the same paragraphs over and over without processing the words.
“She's with a guy,” Big Rick said ominously. “Still at the museum. They're at a table in the fourth-floor café.”
“Short guy? Brown hair? Bow tie?”
“Nope. Tall. Light hair, no tie. Good-looking. They're talking, seem pretty friendly.”
“What do you mean, friendly?”
“Sitting close. Looking into each other's eyes. She kissed him when she saw him.”
Jake stiffened. He had assumed that Molly was sneaking off to a secret meeting with a journalist, but what if this was something else entirely? What if she was in the middle of a romantic liaison? The Natural History museum wasn't his idea of a steamy setting, but maybe it was a professor thing. He suppressed a sudden feeling of outrage. True, Molly wasn't actually his fiancée, so her personal life was none of his business, but she was hardly anonymous. She might think that she was free to go out on a date, but after all the recent publicity, there was a very real chance that she would be recognized.
“Great,” he muttered. Molly was too green—she didn't know how to play the game at this level, and it was his own fault for not warning her. If she and her friend got too cozy, they were likely to end up on the front page of tomorrow's Daily News.
“Now he's taking notes,” Big Rick said.
Notes, Jake thought, baffled. Who was this guy? A reporter? A boyfriend? Both? It made no sense.
“You want pictures?” Big Rick asked. “I've got a camera.”
You and everybody else. “No,” Jake said. “Definitely not. But stay with her. I'm coming over.”
The American Museum of Natural History covered four city blocks, and was made up of an eclectic mixture of architectural materials and styles, from pink granite to red brick, from neo-Gothic to futuristic. Jake had never been inside, but he guessed that the museum was probably on the Berenger Foundation beneficiary list. Cora had a soft spot for educational enterprises.
He took the elevator up to the café on four, and immediately spotted Big Rick. In a Sunday crowd made up mostly of the under-twelve age group, the bodyguard's massive frame and bald head were somewhat conspicuous. The fact that he was also wearing mirrored sunglasses and an earpiece didn't help. He was sitting at a small table by a window with a coffee cup in front of him. Some of the parents glanced uneasily at him, but others seemed to assume that he was a museum guard. One woman, dragging a kicking toddler by the hand, stopped to speak to him, and Big Rick pointed toward the ladies' room with a nonchalance that suggested that this was not the first time he'd been asked.
Molly and her friend were at a table in the middle of the room, and Jake headed straight toward them. It was likely to be an awkward situation, but at the moment his priority was security, not elegance.
Molly's eyes widened, and she suddenly stopped speaking mid-sentence when she noticed Jake approaching. Her mouth stayed slightly open for a moment, and then thinned into a tight line as she began to scowl.
Jake pulled out an empty chair and sat down. “Hi,” he said. “Sorry I'm late. Glad to see you started without me.”
Molly's friend blinked at him for one surprised moment. Jake stared back, sizing him up. He had sandy hair and blue eyes, and he was broad-shouldered, but skinny.
Weak, Jake thought with sudden satisfaction. I could take him in a fight, no problem. He wasn't planning to brawl in the middle of the museum café—it was just a matter of establishing the order.
The man looked uneasy, as if he could read Jake's mind. Molly looked as if she planned to throttle Jake at the first available opportunity. “I knew it,” she muttered through her teeth. “I knew it.”
Big Rick had been stretching it to call this guy good-looking, in Jake's opinion. He wondered what Molly thought she was doing, kissing someone so skinny. He would have expected better judgment from her, but there was no accounting for taste. Not that he cared, anyway. She could kiss any loser she wanted to, but she had damn well better do it in private next time.
He shook the man's hand, making a point of squeezing a little harder than he should have. “Jake Berenger,” he said. “And you are?”
“Oh, yes, of course, I know,” the man said with a pained look as he retrieved his hand from Jake's grasp. “Nathan Van Peebles. I was at your opening last night.”
“Great,” Jake said. “In what capacity?”
“Supplicant,” Nathan Van Peebles said earnestly. “I try to go to as many of those events as possible. It helps me catch up with our top donors. I hope I don't sound too pushy if I say that I'd love a chance to tell you about some of our new programs.”
“Programs,” Jake repeated, nodding vaguely. Who was this Peebles person? And what kind of name was that, anyway? There was a little notebook open on the table in front of him, and Molly's e-mail address had been jotted down in neat block letters. Below that were a few messier notes that Jake couldn't read.
“Nathan is the director of the Natural History museum,” Molly said in a chilly voice. “That's this building, where we're currently sitting, in case you don't know.”
“Thanks,” Jake said. “I saw the sign on my way in. And how do you two know each other?”
“Nathan was a student of my father's at Belden,” Molly said.
“Among other things,” Nathan Van Peebles said. “Molly and I have quite a history together.”
Jake raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “Oh?”
“Oh, yes,” Nathan said. “We dated for a while, but—”
“Casually,” Molly interjected.
“Yes, of course,” Nathan said. “And then—eight years ago this month, in fact—was the night that Molly made me the happiest man in the world.”
“Good Lord,” Jake said.
Nathan Van Peebles smiled fondly at Molly. “I'll never forget it. We were at her parents' house in Belden. I had no idea what was in store for me, but Molly had been planning the whole thing for weeks.”
“You don't say,” Jake said.
“It was the
first time I'd ever felt anything so powerful,” Nathan said dreamily. “The only time, in fact. Once is enough for a lifetime, of course.”
Jake turned to stare at Molly. He knew from personal experience that she was a great kisser, but it was hard to imagine that anyone could consider one night enough for a lifetime.
Molly exhaled impatiently. “He's talking about love,” she said. “Love at first sight. Eight years ago I introduced Nathan to—”
“Lisette,” Nathan Van Peebles said. “The most wonderful woman on earth. She was Molly's college roommate. Now she's my wife.”
“So why didn't you just say that you were meeting your friend for coffee?” Jake demanded later. “What was all that about shopping and lunch with Elaine? Why lie? Who cares?”
They were in the Hall of Ornithischian Dinosaurs, wading through a sea of schoolchildren. Shiny brown bones loomed around them, arranged into hulking shapes.
Nathan had gone, promising to give Molly's love to Lisette, who was away on a business trip and would be glad to have Molly's new e-mail address. Big Rick had been sent back to the Grand.
“You care, obviously,” Molly said. “I didn't feel like telling you the truth and then needing to convince you that Nathan was just an old friend and not a reporter. Shopping seemed like a simpler explanation. And I was right. I saw the look on your face when you sat down. You almost broke Nathan's hand! He plays the violin, you know. You can't just squeeze him like that.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Jake muttered.
“And I knew that you were going to send someone to watch me. Listen, Jake, where I go and what I do is none of your business! I—”
“It's my business if you're a threat to me,” Jake said. “Just last night you were amusing yourself with the idea of ruining my life, remember? And today I'm supposed to trust you? No way, babe. I'm keeping an eye on you, so get used to it.”
“Hmm,” Molly said. “Do you know who Howard Hughes was?”
“The tycoon? The one who almost married Ava Gardner?”
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