by Alice Orr
Thinking about that now turned Nick restless. He hopped up off the bed, which was the only really comfortable seat in the room, and paced to the window. He was on the front side of the hotel with brick buildings across the narrow street and people bustling back and forth on the sidewalk below. Many of them were loaded down with packages, probably from the fancy shops over on West Broadway. He could see the tinseled paper twinkle in the streetlights even from up here. He paced back to the bed but didn’t sit down. Holidays! There was no getting away from them.
The television set murmured and flickered from the corner of the room. He hadn’t been watching, only using it for background noise. The picture switched from some silly sitcom to a commercial of a guy in a Santa Claus hat in front of a bank of CD players, then cellular phones, then TV sets. Nick grabbed the remote from the bedside table and gave the Off button a savage punch. He needed a new assignment. He needed to get out of this room. He’d go to a movie. He was only a few blocks from the Angelika. That was one place he could count on them not to be playing It’s A Wonderful Life. Nick grabbed his brown suede jacket from the chair near the window and was almost to the door when the phone rang. He hesitated. He really didn’t want to talk to anybody. Then he remembered that nobody ever called him here except about a job. He’d just been thinking he needed a job. He picked up the phone.
“Avery, here.”
Nobody answered, but he could hear breathing. “This is Nick Avery. Can I help you?”
“I hope so.”
The voice on the other end of the line was calm but pitched unnaturally low, almost to a whisper, as if she didn’t want anybody around her to hear. Nick recognized the sound of someone who might be in trouble.
“Who is this?”
It occurred to Nick that calls from possible customers went to his service first. Then they called him to make sure he wanted to respond. Where did this woman get his direct number? How did she know he was in town anyway?
“This is Delia Marie Barry. I’m with Protective Enterprises, Inc.,” she said.
That answered Nick’s immediate questions. He’d instructed his service to give his direct number to any of the bodyguard services that might want to hire him. The surprise was that this was the first time PEI had called. He was one of the top names in the bodyguard game, even if he did say so himself. Still, PEI seemed to avoid him like the plague. He’d wondered who at Delia Barry’s office had tossed in the blackball on Nick Avery. Now they were calling at last, probably because it was the holidays and everybody wanted vacation time so the great PEI was in a bind for talent.
Nick was considering whether or not to blow them off as he said, “What can I do for you?”
DELIA WENT INTO the Sea Grill’s ladies’ room as soon as she got off the pay phone outside of it. She needed to calm herself. She hadn’t known his voice would have such an effect on her. “Avery, here.” It was an abrupt sort of greeting in the first place, but she would have been startled by anything he said. She was that unprepared. She’d fantasized about calling him many times, just as she had about going to his hotel. She would plan out what she had to say, like a script for a scene, so she wouldn’t get on the phone and be the way she was a few minutes ago—stunned and confused. She’d never actually made any of those fantasy calls. Unfortunately, tonight she had. Now she could hardly remember what she’d said. Had it been something stupid? She couldn’t be sure.
She’d hoped to be alone in the ladies’ room. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten about the presence of a washroom attendant. The one on duty that evening was a kindly looking woman in an extremely clean, white ruffled apron. She smiled as she held out a hand towel made of paper so fine it could pass for cloth. Delia took the towel and did her best to return the smile, though she was about ready to jump out of her skin with anxiety. She stared into the mirror but didn’t really see herself. She had to get in control and stay that way. She turned on the sink tap and dampened the paper towel with warm water then touched it to her throat where she could feel the tightness intensifying and her pulse working. The attendant walked away as if she were busy with other things rather than trying to avoid staring at Delia in her obviously troubled state.
This day had turned out badly enough already, with Delia finding herself under surveillance and all the terrifying possibilities that brought to mind. As if all of that wasn’t enough to drive her crazy, she’d called Nick Avery. She should have stopped to think. She might have decided against it. Too late for that now. He was on his way here. And she’d given him her name.
Delia’s first urge was to dry her hands, leave the attendant a tip and make a run for it, back through the restaurant to the concourse and out the door before Nick got here. There were lots of exits from Rockefeller Plaza. Whoever was following her couldn’t be at all of them, unless he wasn’t alone. Delia found it hard to believe there was a phalanx of operatives out there lying in wait for Delia Marie Barry née Rebecca Radley Lester. Still, she’d be taking a chance at least by her choice of exits, like Russian roulette with escape routes.
She tried to calculate what would be the best, as in safest, alternative, but her mind refused to cooperate. All she could think about was how Nick’s voice on the phone thrilled through her like a sudden shattering of glass. She reminded herself that she was in trouble. She needed help. She needed protection. She needed a bodyguard, and Nick best suited those needs at the moment. That consideration had to remain foremost in her mind. Every ounce of common sense she possessed told her this was true. She must go through with meeting him tonight. She’d do her best to keep him from recognizing her. She’d already invented a cover story to go with her much altered appearance. She really did look entirely different from five years ago. Men tended to be easily fooled by superficials like hair color and style, makeup, clothing type. She’d changed all of that dramatically. Would he recognize her voice the way she’d recognized his—immediately? Had they really talked all that much five years ago? She’d had a smartaleck tone back then, anyway.
Delia balled the paper towel up tight and pushed it through the waste chute door. She absolutely could not let herself think about the past. If she did, she’d come undone for sure. She had an important acting job ahead of her tonight. She couldn’t afford to be undone. The acting part was what would save her. She’d be playing Delia Marie Barry, a woman who hadn’t yet been born five years ago.
She rummaged in her bag for a dollar and put it in the china tip plate. The attendant thanked her, and Delia smiled back, much more broadly than before. She was getting into character, a character she was about to play to the hilt.
Chapter Four
By the time Nick arrived, Delia had her story down pat. She’d even taken off her gold ring, the one with the circle of aspen leaves her mother had given her. There was little chance Nick had ever seen it, but she slipped it off anyway. Now she was ready for him—or so she thought, until she saw him. Suddenly, she could barely breathe much less think.
He was just as she remembered, strong-boned in the face, tall in the body. Yet he was different. For one thing, his eyes had lost their arrogance. They were cool but not so challenging. His features had a haggard edge she was certain hadn’t been there before, as if the time since might not have been easy for him. His handsomeness had been almost too smooth five years ago. This new, life-marred face might be less picture perfect, but she found it even more affecting than she had the last time she’d seen him.
The last time she’d seen him was in her fantasies—He was halfway across the restaurant, striding toward the bar in a suede jacket and dark slacks, but she was seeing his long, naked flank on the bed beside her. The sheen of his skin in the moonlight from a window drew her fingers to slide along the contour of him, over the jut of his hipbone where she could feel the skeleton beneath the skin and slip her thumb into the shadowed hollow below the bone. She ran the flat of her palm across his thigh to that curious juncture where smooth flesh became a dark pelt of hair, wiry yet soft to he
r touch. Her movements were hypnotic, in sync with her entrancement. Such a sweet and tender moment with so few to match it, at least in her real life.
Delia felt the moistness in her eyes and ducked her head while she blinked it back. When she looked up again, he was at the end of the bar. His eyes met hers, and she felt the breath catch in her throat. Then his glance moved on. A few seconds passed before her mind could truly register what had happened. He didn’t recognize her. The disappointment of that struck her like a blow, all the harder because she hadn’t expected to be disappointed by the achievement of her goal. Her disguise had worked. She didn’t look anything like she had back in Colorado. Or…Another possibility hit her with even more impact. He’d meant so much to her five years ago she’d never imagined that, just maybe, she hadn’t been particularly important to him at all.
He had returned his glance to the bar, and he’d begun to walk toward her. She had to get a grip on her emotions. She was generally so in control. Yet right now she felt herself literally carried away on a wave of memory and sensation stronger than any control. She couldn’t let that happen. She held her breath for a moment and concentrated on pulling her straying emotions back within reach. She must keep her purpose in mind. She could sort out the rest of it later. She let her breath out in a gush then raised her hand to signal Nick toward her.
He quickened his pace down the ban “Delia Barry?”
“Yes,” she said and extended her hand. “You must be Nick Avery.”
She made her voice confident and straightforward, totally unlike the bantering sarcastic tone of her younger, more mixed-up years. She was in charge of herself again. When he took her hand, she was even ready for the shock of touching him, as ready as she could be. She looked directly into his eyes and steeled herself against the flutter inside that threatened to undo her calm exterior. He held her gaze a moment longer than expected. He let go of her hand then and took the stool next to hers. Delia felt the relief of no longer touching him and the desire to grab his hand again at the same instant.
“You said on the phone that this was an urgent case,” he began.
“Yes, it is.” She was surprised to hear her voice ring out, still clear and confident.
“Who’s the client?”
“I am.”
He’d lifted his hand in a casual motion to get the bartender’s attention. Slowly, he put his hand down and turned toward Delia. His scrutiny was even more intense than it had been a moment ago. She took a deep breath and willed herself to suppress the blaze his eyes threatened to raise on her cheeks.
“A personal situation has come up for me,” she said before he could question further.
“What kind of situation?”
The bartender had arrived. Delia waited while Nick ordered a beer. Her mineral water with a slice of lime sat untouched on the bar, the ice melting in the tall glass. Nick turned toward her.
“An old boyfriend,” she said, just as she’d planned. “He’s been stalking me. He followed me from the office tonight. I came in here to lose him.”
“An old boyfriend,” Nick repeated. He looked her up and down quickly as if confirming for himself whether or not she might be stalking material. “How long has he been after you?”
“A few weeks now.” She turned away from Nick and stared into her mineral water. It was easier to lie when she wasn’t looking at him. “He’s been more persistent lately.”
“Has he threatened you with anything specific?”
Delia had anticipated his questions, and her answers were ready. Bodyguarding was her business, too. She knew the routine.
“He doesn’t need to make overt threats. I know what he’s capable of.”
Keep it simple, she’d counseled herself in planning her approach to this conversation. There are fewer details to remember that way.
“You were with him a long time?”
“Long enough.”
“How long would that be?”
“Several months.”
“I see.”
Delia could tell from the timbre of his voice that he was inquiring about her supposed sexual relationship with this fictitious boyfriend. She could also tell that Nick was just a bit uneasy with discussing the subject. She wondered why. He didn’t seem like the prim, oldfashioned type.
“If you were with him for that long, didn’t you pick up on these…tendencies of his?”
She could hear an edge of disapproval in Nick’s tone. That might be good for keeping him at the distance needed for making sure he didn’t recognize her. She resisted the impulse to curry his favor.
“Maybe I should have suspected, but I didn’t. He seemed like a regular guy until I decided not to see him anymore.”
Nick’s beer had arrived. He took a long sip before responding. “What made you decide that?”
Did she hear a hint of something more than professional interest in that question? If so, what was the reason for it?
“We turned out not to have as much in common as I’d thought. I couldn’t see the point in continuing.”
“So you dropped the guy?” Disapproval again.
“Something like that.”
“And that drove him crazy?”
More disapproval. The hint of personal interest was gone. Delia didn’t answer.
“I’d have thought that somebody in your line of work would know how dangerous it is to take up with just anyone, especially in this town,” he said.
Delia was beginning to get exasperated with his judgments. She reminded herself that this was only playacting on her part. She had to stick to the script. Still, she couldn’t help trying to recall if he’d had this rigid side to his personality five years ago.
“He wasn’t ‘just anybody,’“ she said. “We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance.”
Nick took another sip of beer and shook his head, as if she hadn’t convinced him that her behavior was anything but foolish and irresponsible.
“Do you have a picture of him?”
She was ready for that question, too. “I only had one, and I got rid of it after we stopped seeing each other.”
“Just like you got rid of him?”
Delia was becoming more and more bothered by his tone. Who was he to put her down this way? She had to remind herself yet again that this was a charade and she shouldn’t be reacting as if it were real.
“His name is Clyde Benno. He lives on Long Island,” she said, supplying the details she’d concocted. “I can write out a description of him, but you don’t have to hunt him down. I would only be hiring you to keep me safe.”
He looked her over again, as if he might be judging whether or not she was deserving of that safety.
“Will you take the assignment?” she asked, forcing herself to keep from showing her irritation with him.
Nick pushed his beer glass away from him a few inches across the bar. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? I’ve got nothing else going right now. I could use the gig.”
Delia stifled the urge to upend the glass over his head and watch the foamy liquid wash the smug expression from his face.
“Good,” she said.
“When do I start?”
“You’ve already started.”
Delia motioned for the bartender to bring the check.
“I’ll get that,” Nick said.
“No, you won’t,” she responded more quickly than was probably cool to do, but she felt she had to establish the ground rules between them right off. “You’re working for me. I pay the bills.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nick said with exaggerated deference.
The ground rules had been established, but Delia would say they were getting off to anything but a good start.
NICK COULD HARDLY believe the way she ticked him off. He almost turned her down for the job, but this was his intro to PEI. He’d been hoping to crack that particular professional nut for a long time now. If that meant putting up with Delia Marie Barry, he could handle it. This should be a test all the
same, of how much he could take without blowing his top. He didn’t let himself get too far out on the anger scale very often. Still, he had his limit like any man, and something told him she was going to press him up against that limit eventually.
Speaking of pressing up against something, she was one sexy woman. Tall, and rounded in the right places under that uptight suit she had on. Good legs, too, what he could see of them with her skirt down to her knees. He liked short hemlines himself, but he could tell she was all business. No thighs to be peered at for Delia. On the other hand, she must have shown some thigh and maybe more to this poor guy who was on her tail. Nick told himself he shouldn’t be thinking of a stalker as a poor guy, and ordinarily he never would. Nick had to keep straight about which side he was on here. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sympathy. He didn’t like women who got a guy turned on to them then took a walk, as if nobody’s feelings mattered but their own. He didn’t care for men who did that to women, either. Nick knew what it felt like to be out in the cold.
Maybe that’s what had his back up about Delia. She was one of those women who changed her mind and gave some poor sap the brush-off. He wondered if she dropped out of this guy’s life with no warning. That’s how it had happened to Nick. He’d done his best to keep from tumbling for Rebecca Lester in the first place, but every time he’d turn around there she was in his face till he couldn’t think anymore, unless he was thinking about her. Then she was gone, with a murder rap hanging over her and him left on the hot seat to answer the hard questions. He didn’t think she’d done it, but sometimes he wished he could believe she had. It would be easier to consign her to the villain column. That would put her beyond the pale even for his imagination. He’d been a cop once, back before Rebecca’s father had lured him into this business. A clean cop didn’t get mixed up with a killer unless the cop was pretty mixed up himself. Nick had been a clean cop, and now he was a clean ex-cop.