Having identified himself to the switchboard operator, he was in the process of mutilating a paper clip when Bill’s hello came over the line.
“Bill? Sam Loomis. Got a minute?”
“Sure. What can I do for you, Sam?”
“It’s about Carly Quinn. I have this uncomfortable feeling, maybe because she’s so damned vulnerable. But with characters like Culbert and Barber, and considering what they tried to do before, do you think I should give her extra cover?”
“Assign someone to guard her? I don’t know. I’m not sure we can justify that. There haven’t been any threats.”
“We won’t be the ones to hear them. We have to anticipate them. I think what’s got me nervous is the fact that Mancusi chose Carly as the focal point of the appeal.”
“She was the star witness.”
“Yeah. But they could have tried to find fault with the way the evidence was presented or looked for some technicality involving something the judge or prosecutor did or said. They chose Carly and they’re trying to discredit her. If they think she’s that crucial to the state’s case, isn’t there always the possibility that they’ll try to find her?”
“There’s always that possibility. But they won’t be able to find her. We’ve made sure of that.”
“Then you think I should hold off?”
“I don’t think there’s any cause to worry, not yet at least. Let me put someone on it here. We can monitor Culbert to a certain extent, find out if he has any suspicious visitors, if any sudden withdrawals are made from his bank account, that type of thing.”
That was just what Sam wanted. “I’d appreciate it. Carly’s tense enough about all this. The more reassuring we can be, the better.”
“All the more reason not to put a guard on her. Speaking of which, Sheila Montgomery was in the other day. How’s it working out?”
“Okay.” Bill was one of those who had recommended her so highly. And though the woman had proved to be capable, there was still something about her that bothered Sam. “She was supposed to be back here Monday. I wasn’t too thrilled when I got her call.”
“She’ll settle down,” was the pacifying reply. “Give her time. As a matter of fact, if it ever comes to guarding Robyn, you’ve got the perfect one in Sheila. They’re friends anyway.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Sam said, and he did. He sat slouched in his seat with his fist pressed to his cheek for long minutes after Bill Hoffmeister had hung up. Then Greg barreled in, arms piled high with a conglomeration of papers and notebooks and files, and Sam’s attention turned his way.
Greg hadn’t been bad lately. He’d worked over the holidays without a murmur, had worked hard. He’d been more low key, less smart mouthed. He’d been a help.
“Greg,” Sam began pensively, “how well have you gotten to know Sheila?” To his knowledge, and mild astonishment, there seemed to be absolutely nothing romantic going on between the two.
Greg eased his multilayered burden onto his desk, caught the stack when an avalanche threatened and looked up in surprise at Sam’s question. “Sheila?” he managed a one-shouldered shrug. “Not well.”
Sam recalled Greg’s choice comments about Carly. Sheila was every bit as attractive in her way. “Any special reason?”
Greg darted Sam an oblique glance as he worked to distribute his goods into two more stable piles. “Any special reason you ask?” he countered cautiously.
“Just wondering. I thought you were into good-looking women—no pun intended.”
“None taken. Sure, I appreciate them. And Sheila is good-looking—I have to say that for her.” He settled into his chair and eyed Sam through the corridor he’d shaped. “But there’s something about her.” He frowned. “I’m not sure I can put my finger on it.”
“Try.”
The quiet command puzzled Greg. He half wondered if he was being baited and wasn’t sure he liked the thought. “Why?” he asked with due respect. “I mean, she’s a colleague. It’s not my place to be analyzing—”
Sam cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Off the record, Greg. Strictly between you and me. Gut feelings. Nothing written. Nothing beyond that door.”
“Gut feelings?” Greg echoed, pleased by the request only until he turned his thoughts back to Sheila. He let out a snicker. “Doesn’t make it any easier. It’s this vague feeling. I mean, she’s friendly and all. She’s bright. She’s got a sense of humor.”
“But….”
“You’re gonna think I’m nuts.”
“We both may be. Go on.”
Greg winced. “It’s something in her eyes. A sharpness. She’s looking at you, but she’s looking past you. And the whole time she’s bubbling. It’s like she’s constantly…on. Maybe that’s it. Nervous energy. It’s unsettling.” He paused. “What do you think?”
“I think,” Sam mused in a slow, quiet voice, “that I agree with you. Unsettling. That’s it. Listen, do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Get closer to her?”
“How…closer?”
Sam appreciated his assistant’s caution. “Nothing compromising. Just friend-wise. Get her talking. Find out what she does in her spare time, who her friends are, what she wants out of life. It may be that she’s just different. Or—” he passed off a self-effacing smile “—that we’re being chauvanistic. I mean, hell—” he sobered “—she does her job all right. I can’t fault her on that. But I want to know more about her. Think you can oblige?”
“I’ll try,” Greg said. “When’s she coming back, anyway?”
“Monday. Seems she wanted to spend more time with old friends. And since she’s accumulated vacation time over the past few years, I couldn’t exactly deny her. Didn’t tell her I was thrilled, but then, I think she knew that.” He was thinking aloud, feeling strangely free to ramble. “Come to think of it, maybe what bothers me about her is that she doesn’t like me.” He grinned and raised his brows in self-mocking speculation. “There’s always that possibility, isn’t there? Hey, maybe she’ll decide to transfer back to Chicago. Now, that would thrill me.”
By the time Carly and Ryan returned home, they were exhausted.
“I don’t believe it,” Carly moaned, bending to unzip her boots the instant they reached the atrium’s carpeted stairs. “My feet are killing me.” She pulled off first one, then the other. “That’s better.”
Ryan, leaning against the railing, made no move to help her. “If you think your feet ache, you should feel my head.” He turned and headed up the stairs, mumbling, “I need aspirin.”
Making her slow way after him, Carly reached the second floor and glanced despairingly toward the third before deciding that the temptation of Ryan’s open door was too great. With her feet finally free of the high-heeled demons she’d been walking on since morning, her legs themselves had begun to protest. Feeling like something of a zombie, she dropped her coat, boots and bag on a chair and went straight for the sofa, where she collapsed and gave a helpless moan as she gingerly stretched her legs onto the coffee table. Her head fell back and, eyes closed, she was in the process of massaging her throbbing temples when Ryan returned from the bedroom.
“Aspirin?” he offered.
She shook her head. “I’ll be all right.”
“How about a Scotch? My aspirin’s not working.”
Carly turned her head, opened her eyes and snickered. “You just took it.” Then she winced and returned her fingers to her head. “Make mine heavy on the water and I’ll take it.”
He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, then was back with two glasses, one of which he handed to Carly moments before he sank into the chair opposite her.
“I never thought it would be like this.” He took a slow drink. “I feel like I’ve been through a wringer. When I close my eyes I see endless arrangements of sofas and chairs.”
“Uh-uh.” Carly moved her head in slow motion against the cushions. “Bedroom sets. If I see one more platform bed with built
-in drawers and attached shelves, I’ll scream.”
“It was supposed to be fun. What happened? I feel dizzy.”
“Burnout. In one day. Maybe we just did too much. Six stores in as many hours….” With a grimace, she dragged her legs from the table and folded them by her side. “And we were supposed to be in such good shape.” She sighed. “Well, at least you’ve got something to show for our pains.”
“Yeah,” he managed to chuckle. “Sales slips totaling half my life’s savings.”
“You were the one who chose those stores. Most people can’t get into them. Where did you get those decorator’s cards, anyway?”
“A decorator,” he stated. “I represented her in a small matter two years ago. Nice lady. When I called her this week to ask where to go, she was more than willing to help. She wanted to come along.” His eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. He was feeling better by the minute. Carly’s presence had a way…or was it the aspirin…or the Scotch…? “I told her that I was taking a very special lady with me and that she was somewhat shy and that I wanted to snow her with my quiet expertise.”
“‘Somewhat shy’?”
“You are in a way. Anyhow, it worked. The cards were on my desk the next morning.”
“Not bad. Are you sorry?”
“Sorry about what?”
“That you didn’t let her take you around. You might have gotten it all a lot easier. She would have known just what to suggest. You probably would have gone to half the number of stores.”
“Oh, sure. And the finished product would have had the stamp of a designer all over it. No, I’d rather have your stamp. I love what we bought.”
“We did get it all, didn’t we,” she observed in self-satisfaction, stretching more comfortably. “Every major piece of furniture is on order. All that’s left now is to pick up accessories.”
“Accessories?” Ryan forced the word out as though it had a vile taste. His expression reflected that opinion.
“You know, art and area rugs and window treatments—all the stuff you’ve got such great ideas about. Since you’ve ordered the sectional and wall units in slate, you could use either navy or burgundy.” She pondered the choice. “Burgundy, I think. Very rich, very masculine.”
“How can you even think about that, after today? God, I need a while to recuperate. I don’t think I want to set foot in—”
“Come on, Ryan,” she coaxed, amused. “The hard stuff is done. What’s left is the fun part.”
“Fun? Hah!” he grumbled and took a drink. “I think I’ll leave that up to you.”
“No way. It’s your place. You’re the one who’s got to live with it.”
“But I want you to like it too.” He paused, then dared a test. Despite its inauspicious beginnings, the day had been one of closeness and warmth. Even their exhaustion was shared. They’d been a couple shopping together. More than once a salesman had referred to Carly as Ryan’s wife. One part of Ryan very definitely liked the way it sounded. “There’s still the issue of the spiral staircase….”
Carly sucked in a breath and gripped her drink more tightly. “Ryan….” She slowly shook her head.
“I own the place now. I can do whatever I want.”
“You don’t own my place.”
Though her voice was very soft, her meaning was clear. She wasn’t ready yet. But after the day they’d spent together, one more in evidence of their true compatibility, one more cementing them together, Ryan felt positive. It was only a matter of time until she understood that their relationship was meant to be.
“Then how about tomorrow night?” he ventured, thinking how odd it was that he hadn’t asked earlier. But then, he and Carly had for the most part taken things one day at a time. He’d been wary of scaring her off. Of course, there was always the chance that he feared rejection. Living together was one thing; he could appreciate her hesitance to commit herself to something as conclusive. But a date was simpler; he didn’t want her to refuse.
“New Year’s Eve?”
“Do you have plans?”
She paused. “A fellow from Rand is throwing a party. I told him I didn’t think I could make it.”
“But you don’t have a date.”
“No.”
“Let me take you. I’ve got a party too—a bash being thrown by one of my partners. She’s a swell person. You’d like her.”
“I don’t know, Ryan. I’m not big on parties.”
“Neither am I. That’s just it. If we were together, we could make an appearance, stick it out as long as we want, then leave. What do you say? It’d be perfect.”
Carly drew herself up as though she were in pain. In fact the pain was there, but it was psychological. Ryan’s urgent gaze told her how much he wanted to spend the evening with her. One part of her wanted it no less. But there was the part of her that shied from all unnecessary exposure. And there was that other part that feared what would happen after appearances had been made…and they left, together, alone.
A sliver of warmth stirred inside her. Oh, yes, there was the fear of what she knew would be inevitable. But for the first time there was a need that surpassed that fear, a desire that seemed to make the fear worth risking. New Year’s Eve was a time for hope and joy, for kisses, for love. Damn it, she deserved to splurge.
A shy smile slowly curved her lips. “Okay,” she whispered.
Having fully expected to be shot down, given that her expression revealed the war going on inside her, Ryan was momentarily stunned. “You will?” he asked in such surprise that Carly’s smile widened.
“Yes.”
“That’s great!”
His reaction was ample justification for her decision, and, for the first time in four years, Carly found herself looking very much forward to New Year’s Eve.
She might have been more wary had she known the scheme that even then Ryan was beginning to hatch.
Twelve
cARLY SPENT MOST OF NEW YEAR’S EVE DAY thinking, planning, dreaming. Running with Ryan in the early morning, she was attuned to the air of expectancy shimmering between them. His excitement was obvious. He dropped her at her door with a soulful kiss, the gleam in his eye speaking of his anticipation of the evening to come. Only later, alone, did she wonder if she’d made the right decision.
For the first time she would be introducing Ryan to her friends, to the people she worked with, to those who would know that Carly Quinn was coming out of her shell. For the first time she would be introduced to his friends, to the people he worked with, to those who would know the reason he hadn’t lived and died the law, for a change, for the past month and a half. On all the mornings they’d run, they’d been alone. True, they had bumped into people when they’d gone to Locke-Ober’s or, having spent more and more time together since Thanksgiving, caught a movie or strolled down Newbury Street. But New Year’s Eve was something else.
At least it had always been so for Carly. She could remember when she’d been a teenager and her brothers had fixed her up. She’d felt awkward then, knowing exactly what she was missing when, on the stroke of midnight, bursts of glee had exploded, throwing people into one anothers’ arms. Her dates had kissed her. She’d kissed them back. But the absence of genuine feeling had always grated. After several years, she’d taken to escorting her father to a grand dinner from which they returned well before the witching hour.
Then had come Matthew. They’d seen eye to eye on that particular night and its festivities, and had always chosen to entertain a few close friends at home. It had been warm and lovely ringing in the New Year that way. After Matthew died, she might have preferred to spend the night alone, but her friends wouldn’t hear of it. There had always been some quiet get-together to which she was, not wholly against her will, shanghaied.
And now there was Ryan. She had no doubt the evening would be wonderful, even if—perhaps precisely if—it ended as she suspected it would. There was no better night to look toward the future. If she was ever to know whet
her she could be Ryan’s lover, the time was right.
Yet even if things worked out well, she couldn’t help but fear that she’d be leading Ryan on. They might well prove to be as wonderful lovers as they were friends, but what then? The spiral staircase Ryan had in mind? A commitment for something even more?
That was what frightened her. Ryan still didn’t know. She wasn’t free, she wondered if she’d ever be free of the dark cloud that hovered. Her life, as she’d chosen it, involved a danger she simply couldn’t impose on anyone else, least of all him.
Sam’s call brightened her.
“How’re you doin’?” he asked gently.
“Fine. Have you heard anything?”
“Only that you’re not to worry. I’m in close touch with both Meade and Hoffmeister. They’re on top of everything.”
“Good.” She hadn’t really wanted to talk about that, preferring to push it from her mind for the day, at least. “I hope you’re planning something smashing with Ellen for tonight.”
“Actually, we’ve hired a sitter. We’re spending the night at the Ritz.”
“Good for you! You deserve it!”
“Ellen deserves it,” Sam corrected with a chuckle. “How about you? Any plans?”
“I’m going out with Ryan.”
“Ahh. That does my heart good. Anywhere special?”
“To a party. Actually two.”
“Sounds busy. And fun. Enjoy yourself, you hear? Live it up and don’t worry about a thing. You deserve it!”
She laughed. “That’s what I’m telling myself. That’s what I’m telling myself.”
Late in the afternoon, her father echoed Sam’s sentiment. “He sounds like quite a man, this Ryan of yours. Go on out and have a good time. If anyone’s earned the right, it’s you.”
That was the thought that kept a smile on her face. In a way it was defiance that gave backbone to her bravado. She did deserve it, damn it. She had earned the right to a good time. And a good time she was determined to have. She lingered in a bath, painted her fingernails and toenails a pale mauve to match her dress, took special pains with her makeup and hair, then dressed in silk. When Ryan appeared at her door looking debonair in a dark suit, crisp white shirt and boldly striped tie, she sensed she was in for a New Year’s Eve not to be forgotten.
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