The experience could have been far more traumatic than it was, except that Nikki had a tough streak of independence that her small-boned exterior masked to the casual observer. She was already mentally adjusting, reaching underneath the ragged edges of exhaustion for a wellspring of endurance.
Besides, there was a calm, affluent elegance to this house that she recognised and could relax in. Though she had never seen this place before, some aspects of it reminded her of her childhood, a golden age of remembrance where the world was a safe one made of small, simple pleasures.
Having found her equilibrium, Nikki turned her mind to a mental game she had played almost all her life, that of assessing what other people were and what they would do, not realising that this too was from her past, a characteristic she had learned from the clever adults who had surrounded her.
Gordon Stanhope would insist on seeing Harper Beaumont first, to get explanations and reassure himself that his friend was indeed unhurt. Harper Beaumont would not be in the habit of explaining much—his eyes were too full of secrets—but he would advise his doctor friend to see what information he could get from Nikki, for the habit of acquiring information was strong in powerful people.
Harper Beaumont would be a quick, concise puppet master, sitting back and waiting while events moved to his choreography, more efficient than most she had known, and Duncan Chang would lead the doctor back here in—she glanced at a wall clock—less than two minutes now.
She was right and she was wrong. The kitchen door opened on time, but not on Duncan. It revealed the large, silent-moving puppet master himself, with a slim, elegant blond man following behind who carried a doctor’s bag.
Harper Beaumont appointed himself as audience by leaning back against the kitchen counter in front of the microwave, arms crossed over a massive chest, lean face attentive and so inscrutable that the Chinese could have taken lessons from him. Nikki’s pulse-rate increased so gently that she almost didn’t notice it. Harper did not perform introductions but left the other two to react to each other unassisted, so Nikki looked up into sparkling grey eyes and said with a crooked smile, “Dr. Stanhope, I presume.”
“Just so, my dear,” replied the elegant man, who deposited his bag on the table and opened it. He was youngish, around thirty-three or -four, with the polished air of a man who enjoyed an ascendant career and a sophisticated lifestyle. “And you are Nikki. Now, hold out your hands and let me see the reason why I had to abandon such a delicious salmon mousse.”
His profession was one in which such interruptions were a way of life, but that barely restrained impatience she had noticed over the phone was still present, adding a delicate resentful bite to the light words.
The woman must have been very attractive. Nikki held out her blood-stained, bandaged hands, which Gordon began to unwrap swiftly while she murmured, “Mr. Beaumont interrupted your supper? Perhaps if you hurry you might be on time for what’s offered as dessert.”
The sexual implication was subtly made but obvious, and Nikki saw by his reaction that her guess was quite accurate. Gordon paused, his startled grey eyes lifting to hers in sharp reassessment while Harper chuckled, a surprisingly warm sound, and said, “I warned you, Gordon. And watch yourself; she doesn’t read expressions. She reads the eyes.”
She shouldn’t have been quite so surprised at having herself so accurately read, but it had after all been a while since she’d been around such penetrating intelligence. After a moment Gordon’s gaze became amused as he ran it from the tousled, shining black hair cut short around her feminine-shaped head, the delicate, almost childlike bone-structure of her solemn face, the very blue eyes, the long neck as graceful as a swan’s, and the composed posture of her small body.
Her clothes were non-committal, being simple American jeans, tennis shoes, and an attractive loose blouse. A single gold necklace lay along the curves and hollows of her collarbones, tastefully plain but expensive. She looked barely sixteen, and the doctor had accepted that first impression almost automatically. As he looked again, however, with a trained, observant gaze, he found the enigma that Harper had discovered almost at once. She was young and yet not, for her poise was too old for a teenager, her self-imposed endurance that of an experienced adult, and her summer-blue, sky-wide eyes looked as if they could take apart a man’s body and find his soul.
And there were unusual lines of pain on either side of her curved mouth. The doctor in Gordon resurfaced and he bent his attention to swiftly unwrapping her hands and staring at her wounded palms. “What an inconvenient place to hurt oneself,” the blond man said reflectively. “But thankfully there won’t be permanent damage. Are you up to date on your tetanus jabs?”
She nodded, her blue eyes intently fixed on Harper, who knew that she didn’t see him at all.
“I think no stitches are necessary, but you’ll be in some discomfort if you don’t manage to keep your hands as immobile as possible until the cuts have a chance to close over.” In the midst of cleaning the wounds, he glanced at her stiff expression. “This will, of course, be difficult.”
“Yes.” Pain made her reply terse.
Gordon asked then, with a gentleness unusual for him, “Do you have any family that you can stay with for a time, to make things easier for you?”
Harper was silent, always watching. Nikki felt his presence as intensely as if he had reached out and touched her face. Her gaze focused on him with returning awareness, and then she looked away. “Don’t worry, I can manage.”
“That wasn’t exactly an answer to his question, was it?” said Harper with pointed dryness, his hard dark gaze on her. There was about him the quiet of one who could wait years for an answer if need be, an indomitable patience.
“I believe it’s none of your business,” replied Nikki with a flash of stern admonishment, as she instantly, totally rejected the attempt to pry into her life. The blond man beside her sucked in his breath while Harper’s expression darkened. She didn’t need to be told any louder that it had been a very long time since anyone had presumed to talk back to him. How would he react? she wondered, staring at him in almost clinical fascination.
“You do, of course, know best,” said Harper with chilly, sardonic politeness as he inclined his grey wolf’s head. How old was he? Thirties, forties? The body was athletic, the hair grey, the face lined at the corners of eyes and mouth, but with character, not age.
“I do know how well the English can freeze one out while murmuring civilities.” She could not have expressed even to herself why she chose to attack, unless it was, perhaps, something to do with his cold demeanour which was at such odds with the vitality in his face. Nikki’s summer-blue eyes met his, and clashed, and she said quietly, “I am not stupid. Don’t patronise me.”
The cutting harshness faded from Harper’s face and he smiled at her smokily, as sudden and as astonishing as the warm humanity in his laughter. He had a singularly devastating smile. Harper said strangely, “I should know better than that, shouldn’t I?”
Nikki had pause to mull over that curious reply as two policemen arrived, and Harper went out to talk with them. Meanwhile Gordon recovered himself and finished cleaning and dressing her wounds, evidently much amused by the clash between Nikki and Harper, for he laughed soundlessly the whole time.
The antiseptic he used was painful enough to bring tears to her eyes.
“All done,” said Gordon as he finished quickly. Nikki released a pent-up breath, thanked him in a shaky voice, and gratefully swallowed the pain-killers he gave her with the remainder of her cooling tea.
“You’ll want to join Harper and the police now that I’ve had my wicked way with you,” said Gordon. “I’m sure they’re ready to question you now.”
“Thank you for all your help. And I am sorry about your interrupted supper,” Nikki couldn’t help refrain from saying, a furtive devil peeping out of her blue eyes.
; The blond man grinned a remarkably mischievous grin. He replied in dulcet tones, “Quite all right, my dear. Dessert has only a—limited fascination, while I wouldn’t have missed coming here tonight for the world.”
She raised her eyebrows at his cryptic words, but went on, “You can send a bill for the house call to me, in care of Peter Bellis Marketing Limited.”
“My love,” Gordon murmured, laughing as he brought his nose close to hers, “you couldn’t afford me.”
Nikki’s eyes smiled back. “You make too many snap judgements.”
The kitchen door settled into place. She and Gordon had been so caught up in their exchange that they hadn’t noticed Harper’s silent arrival. Nikki tore her attention away from the slim blond man, met Harper’s gaze, and felt the force of that impact down to her toes. If she had not already been sitting down, she might have lost her balance in sheer surprise.
The card player’s face had cracked for once and what showed underneath the façade was—intense irritation.
Gordon, however, remained manifestly unaffected. If anything, his smile broadened. Harper looked at the doctor, and a tiny muscle moved in his lean jaw, but his voice was amazingly nonchalant, even insolent, as he said, “You can let yourself out, can’t you, Gordon?”
“Thank you, Gordon. Goodnight, Gordon,” said the blond man, not a whit put out by his friend’s rudeness. His shoulders shook mirthfully as he gathered up his doctor’s bag and paused to stroke her cheek with one impudent forefinger. “Ah, Nikki. It was well worth skipping dessert for this.”
Nikki’s eyes narrowed sharply as the blond man took his leave. Something had indeed happened, and she hadn’t missed it. She just hadn’t understood, but she didn’t doubt for a moment that both Gordon and Harper had.
Chapter Two
Nikki wasn’t allowed much time to puzzle over the curious exchange between Harper and Gordon, however, for as the door closed on the doctor’s exit Harper turned and strolled over to where she sat. It took a conscious act of will for her to keep from shrinking away from the warm hand that came under her chin to tilt her face up, since certainly he was no closer than Gordon had been when the doctor had tended to her hands.
The kitchen light was far too bright and somewhat fuzzy. She blinked rapidly in an effort to bring Harper’s intent, obscure expression into focus, unaware that her eyes had dilated to the extent that the blue was almost entirely submerged by the over-bright black pupils in a pointed, delicate face that had gone white with exhaustion and delayed stress.
Nikki submitted docilely to Harper’s practical and sensitive offer to wash her face. The cool flannel was refreshing, his long fingers so soothing that she unconsciously sighed in pleasure. It helped to restore her flagging energy so that when she followed him down the hall and towards the front lounge she was feeling almost normal.
The lounge was an elegant place, with cream leather sofas, indirect lighting, very dark inlaid wood furniture and, she was interested to note, a well-polished baby grand piano tucked to one side. Her educated gaze ran consideringly over the few pieces of original artwork around the spacious room: one painting was nineteenth-century French; another framed picture was a Dali sketch; and the third was a Dutch watercolour by an artist she was unfamiliar with. They were a rather strange mixture that blended surprisingly well, which was a credit to the mind that had matched them together in one room.
Then she saw the truly magnificent Chinese silk screen in one corner and her face lit up. Harper, who watched her expression as soon as she appeared in the room, smiled to himself to see the frankly covetous approval that shone out of her eyes before she recovered herself and turned to greet the two inspectors, one man and one woman, who had risen to their feet.
After ascertaining the extent of her injuries, the policewoman asked the majority of the questions. Nikki found that she was intensely grateful for the other woman’s professional blend of brisk methodology and gentleness. She answered as well as she could, but unfortunately she wasn’t able to tell the police very much. The two men had grabbed her from behind as she had walked past an open alleyway, and she had never got more than a flashing glimpse of their shadowed faces before she had managed to get away. Their clothing had been nondescript as well; indeed, the only thing she could remember with any clarity was the one who had been behind her as he held her arms and whispered hoarse obscenities in her ear.
Nikki broke off at that point, shuddering as a mask of distaste distorted her features. She didn’t need the policewoman’s grave assurance to tell her how lucky she’d been. Harper had sat the entire time in one corner, a silent, impassive listener, the brown eyes hooded. He had shed his black evening jacket and tie, and his white shirt and tailored black trousers were an unsoftened spotlight in the muted pastel creams of the room.
Eventually the policeman, who had primarily taken notes, sighed and asked one last question. “And there is absolutely nothing else you can think of?”
She shook her head with regret. “I’m sorry. Even if I had the use of my hands, I wouldn’t be able to offer you a decent sketch of them. I just didn’t get the chance to see them well enough.”
Harper spoke for the first time since she had entered the lounge, his deep voice musical in comparison with the policeman’s gruffness. “You are an artist?”
Nikki shrugged and struggled to control a yawn. “Of a sort. I do freelance design for a marketing company in Knightsbridge, anything from posters and letter-head logos to television sets for advertisements.”
“Any good?” he asked carelessly.
“Well, of course,” replied Nikki as her slim dark brows shot up, as if surprised that anyone would even think to question the quality of her work.
“Well,” said the policewoman, who rose to her feet, as did her partner, “we’ll be in touch if we find anything out. Please contact us if you happen to remember anything else.”
Nikki nodded from where she sat on the couch. She was hunched forward with her elbows on her knees, and while she felt that she probably should say something else her brief spurt of energy had rapidly deserted her. She rubbed her tired face with the backs of her bandaged hands while Harper saw the police out the front door.
She felt as if she were wrapped in cotton wool. It wasn’t pleasant. Two long muscular legs came into her line of view, then bent as Harper squatted, his hard brown eyes watching her from the concealment of lazy lids.
Inconsequentially, she said, “I’ve disrupted your entire evening.”
He raised one long-fingered hand while the firmly held mouth relaxed into a faint smile, as he said, lightly dismissive, “It had become, in any event, an abysmal bore.”
It seemed to her that he was being far too gracious about the whole thing; it wasn’t in character. She would tell him so in a minute. She frowned fiercely and said, “I feel very odd.”
Oh, there was a hard-edged grin. That was more like it. He said drily, “That’s because you’re drugged to the eyeballs. Whatever did Gordon give you anyway?”
“Dunno. Thought it was aspirin, or something.” This time she couldn’t contain the wide yawn that cracked her jaw, and afterwards she blinked at Harper in groggy dismay. “I’ve got to go home!”
“You’ll spend what’s left of the night here, of course,” he told her. Was that resignation in his voice? But he was still smiling. “I had Duncan make up a bed for you before he retired for the night.”
She considered that, and was appalled. “No, you really must take me home now.”
His broad shoulder moved under her cheek. Now he was laughing at her; Nikki battled against the encroaching darkness with all her remaining strength. It was important that she understand just what was going on. Harper said quietly, as he carried her slight weight up the stairs, “I’m not taking you anywhere. Do you have any idea what time it is?”
She sighed and turned her nose into his shirt. His w
arm scent flooded her senses, and she breathed deep with the surprising pleasure. “Then call me a cab,” she murmured, eyes closed. “Because I’m not staying here.”
“Yes, you are.” He laid her down on something, eased off her tennis shoes and unzipped her jeans.
That opened her eyes. Nikki made a herculean effort and sat up, hazily taking in the shadowed room and the large dark figure bent over her. “No, I can’t,” she said.
Harper restrained her weak protests with ease. “You must.” Her jeans were replaced by warm bedcovers.
Oh, my. She’d have to remember to argue about it in the morning. In the meantime, he was so incredibly gentle, and the bed was so soft. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his lean cheek as he urged her down to the pillows, and murmured, “Thank you for saving my life.”
He turned his head towards her kiss so that his stern male mouth connected with hers and softened. “Go to sleep,” he whispered, but she already had.
Nikki opened her eyes and was wide awake all at once, body rigid, head pounding, terrified as she stared at a darkened, unfamiliar room until realisation flooded over her and she almost groaned aloud.
She never could sleep well in a strange bed, and had always envied those who could rest wherever they lay down. Perhaps that had been what awakened her; certainly the drug Gordon had given her had worn off, for her hands throbbed when she flexed them, and her mouth was hot and dry from the aftermath.
She was obviously in a guest room. What she could see of it from some pale, unidentifiable illumination was tasteful and as impersonal as a hotel room. The luminous digital clock on the bedside table said that it was half-past five.
Cry Wolf Page 2