by Diana Palmer
Great, she thought, walking on shaking legs back to the house. She fumbled the key into the lock and got inside. She closed and locked the door, just as the phone rang.
She stared at it, afraid to pick it up and hoping it might stop. But it didn’t. And before she finally picked up the receiver, holding it with both hands because she was trembling so, she knew who it was.
“Close call,” the strange voice she’d heard earlier drawled in a deceptively gentle tone. “Next time you might not be so lucky.”
And there was a click.
She sat down heavily on the staircase. That was a threat. He’d threatened her life. Smith had sent somebody after her! But she had no proof. It would be his word against hers. And even Marc would stand up in court and swear that she was lying, that David Smith wouldn’t harm a leaf on a tree. She laughed at the irony of it, that the man she loved most in all the world was the only one who wouldn’t listen to her or believe her when she told him the truth. As her tears began to fall, she wondered if he’d believe it if Smith succeeded? Would he believe it then and come and apologize to her corpse?
She laid her head on the steps and cried brokenly. If only her father were home, if only she had someone to run to. In the old days Marc would have been there. Marc would have held out his arms and comforted her. But Marc wouldn’t help her these days. The only real friend she had, or thought she had, was Uncle Michael. And could she really trust him? After all, he was a Stephano. Perhaps he would turn against her too.
This was too much, she thought. Too much. Now she was getting paranoid. She staggered to her feet and brushed back the hair that had blown into her eyes as she ran. What a mess her life had become. What an irony that it was Marc who’d betrayed her again. But this time he might have cost her far more than her pride or her heart. This time he might yet cost her her life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT TOOK GABY the rest of the day to get over what had happened. She brooded about it until she realized that she couldn’t just let it drop. It was bad enough that Smith had killed Joe, but now he was intimidating her, trying to frighten her into hiding what she knew. He had too much to lose to let anyone expose him. In addition to theft there was every possibility that he could be held responsible for Joe’s death if he had, indeed, been drugging Joe.
She weighed the consequences of her own actions and decided that she couldn’t live with herself if she took the coward’s way out. Joe had been her friend. How could she let his murderer get away scot-free? In addition to that she had to clear her name with Marc. If he hated her for old grudges, that was one thing. But she couldn’t bear to have him go on thinking that she’d led Joe to his death. The contempt in Marc’s deep voice, the hatred in his eyes when he looked at her, haunted her. She remembered his voice on the phone, what he’d said during that last conversation. It was almost beyond bearing. Marc, how could you believe that of me? she wondered miserably. He didn’t even trust her enough to take her word. And, of course, he didn’t love her. How could he believe that she’d do such a thing?
The only problem with this decision was the fact that it exposed her to danger. But if she was careful and planned her every move, she might just trap Smith.
She phoned the family attorney and asked him to suggest a reputable private detective. She then called Jack Harrolds, the detective, for an appointment and was able to get one that very afternoon.
Instead of going directly to the address, in case she was being watched herself, she switched cabs three times, careful to first go inside various buildings and out the back way. Eventually she arrived at the Harrolds Agency and was quickly shown in to see the detective.
He was nothing like she’d pictured him. His office was neat, and he looked like an ordinary businessman. He wasn’t young and single and debonair. He was middle-aged, balding and had photographs of a woman and three teenaged boys on his desk. There went all her illusions.
“Miss Bennett?” he greeted her pleasantly, rising to shake hands and offer her a comfortable chair in front of his big laminated desk.
“Thank you for seeing me so quickly,” she told him. She put her purse in her lap, smoothed her gray skirt and leaned back with a weary sigh. “Mr. Harrolds, someone is trying to kill me.”
He had to smother a grin. “I’m sorry, but that line...” he offered.
She smiled back, despite the gravity of the situation. “Yes, I understand. Nevertheless it’s quite true. And this is why.”
As precisely as she could, she gave him a sketchy account of what had happened to Joe. She told him about Smith, what she suspected and why. And then she told him about the telephone call and the runaway car.
“Have you been to the police?” he asked then.
“I can’t,” she said miserably. “Joe Stephano’s brother told Smith I’d made that accusation, and he’s threatened to take me to court and sue me if I say anything. Then, too, there’s the car that almost hit me to ‘suggest’ that it would help me stay alive if I kept my mouth shut.” She leaned forward, her green eyes wide. “And if I went to the police, what could I tell them? There’s been nothing to link Smith with the attempt on my life. I didn’t recognize the voice. And Joe was in an accident. They found evidence that he’d been using drugs, but that doesn’t prove anything, either. They could say that he did it voluntarily. All I have is a lot of suspicions. Not one hard fact. They’d laugh me out of the building if I took them this.”
He smiled gently. “I hardly think so.”
“Nevertheless I have grown accustomed to living,” she replied. “I do not want to become another statistic, like Joe did. I know something is going on. I want proof.”
“Let me understand this,” Mr. Harrolds said, and folded his immaculate hands on the desk over his blotter. “You want me to investigate a possible theft at Motocraft, Inc.”
“That’s right.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Can you, without anyone finding out?”
He chuckled. “It’s possible, Miss Bennett. I can probably get what you need.”
“Thank God,” she breathed, sitting back.
“It will be expensive,” he added honestly, and quoted his rates.
She didn’t even flinch. “My life is worth that much, I think,” she told him, and smiled. “Thank you so much.”
“I hope we can find something that will help you,” he said. “It’s quite possible that we won’t, you understand.”
She grimaced. “Maybe I have a guardian angel,” she said hopefully. “I could certainly use one about now.”
All the way back home she thought about what he’d said. What if he didn’t turn up anything? And worse, what if, despite his discretion, he was found out? What would Smith do to her if he knew she wasn’t going to drop it?
It was frightening to think about being a target. She’d led such a sheltered life; she’d never even been treated roughly. And now she could be a victim, could be killed by someone who didn’t even know her. By a stranger. And the attack could come from any direction.
The first thing she had to do, she thought, was to get out of her home while the investigation was going on. This was the obvious place for an attacker to come looking for her. So she’d go to a hotel and register under an assumed name. She smiled to herself. That would throw whoever was after her off the track.
She called her modeling agency and told them that she was under the weather—well, that was true enough, her spirits certainly were—and that she couldn’t accept any more assignments for at least a week. Then she started getting her things together. Mr. Harrolds had said that he’d put one of his employees right on the case and start looking for evidence. That meant possibly today. She had to move fast.
Just as she was about to leave the house the phone rang. She froze, staring at it. Could it be her father? She didn’t dare not answer it, even if it was the would-be assa
ssin on the other end of the line.
With damp palms she lifted the receiver gently and held it to her ear. “Hello?” she said hesitantly, her voice weak and strained.
“Why in hell did you go to see my uncle?” Marc demanded hotly, his deep voice laced with fury. “What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you leave my family alone?”
Her heart leaped, just to hear his voice. Even though he was angry, he seemed somehow comforting. Her fingers caressed the receiver. What a dear voice. She might never see him again or hear him. If Smith got wind of what she’d initiated today, he might kill her.
“I like Uncle Michael,” she said quietly. “He didn’t know me from Adam, but he believed me.”
He breathed slowly, deliberately. She could hear him trying to keep his temper. “He’s a little shady, you know.”
“He’s a nice old man,” she shot back. “And right now he’s the only friend I’ve got in the whole world, Marcus!”
“Gaby...”
She felt her eyes burn with threatening tears. It had been a horrible few days, and most of it was his fault. “Somebody tried to run me down yesterday morning,” she told him bluntly. “I got a phone call telling me to stop asking questions about Joe’s death, and when I went out the door, a car came right up on the curb and tried to run me down. And then, before I stopped shaking, the phone rang, and he said that it had been a warning, that I wouldn’t walk away the next time.”
There was an indrawn breath and a long silence on the other end of the line.
“You told me to drop dead, didn’t you?” she said curtly. “Well, you almost got your wish!”
“Oh, Gaby,” he ground out. “Gaby, I didn’t mean it!”
“Didn’t you?” she asked. She let out a weary sigh. What did it matter now? There was so little left to lose. She might never hear his voice again, and here she was picking fights.
“Look,” she said gently, changing tactics, “I’ve got to go. I’m moving out of the house for a while. I’m sorry about everything, Marc. Most of all about Joe. He was my best friend. I wouldn’t ever have hurt him.”
“I was crazy that day. Hurting and half-mad with guilt for all the ways I’d failed him.” There was another pause. “Gaby, come out with me. We’ll talk.”
For an instant she was thrilled and wanted to rush to him, but then she realized that might put Marc in danger. She couldn’t bear it if anything ever happened to him.
“No,” she said gently. “I can’t do that. Being seen with me would make you a target too.”
“What the hell does that matter?” he demanded. “Look, I’m not going to stand by and let you get yourself hurt! Okay, so maybe I’m having a hard time believing you. Convince me. Talk to me!”
She clutched the receiver and pressed a warm, soft kiss against the mouthpiece as tears threatened to run down her cheeks. She did love him so. Despite everything, she loved him terribly! “Goodbye, Marc,” she whispered huskily. “I’m sorry about everything. None of what happened was your fault. The only thing you were ever guilty of was loving your brother.”
“And ruining your life?” he muttered shortly. “I did, didn’t I? I never considered what it would do to you when I took that money. I underestimated what you felt for me, didn’t I, honey?”
“That was a long time ago,” she said wistfully.
“What we did together on that beach in the Hamptons wasn’t so long ago,” he replied. “I can’t forget it.”
“Sex doesn’t last,” she told him. “It was just what you said: an attraction that we never got out of our systems, a loose thread in the fabric of our lives.”
“My, my, aren’t we poetical?” he shot at her. “Sex, hell. We had a lot more going for us than that nine years ago, and you know it. We knew each other inside out.”
“We’ve changed!”
“Not basically,” he retorted. “You’re still the same little overgenerous, self-sacrificing fool you were then. You’re blind about men, or you’d never have wanted anything to do with a half-educated, opinionated grease monkey like me.”
“You left out reckless and trusting,” she said.
“Yeah. Which one of us?” he asked, his voice almost teasing, so soft and tender that it made her heart ache for what might have been.
“Both of us, I guess,” she managed in a tight little voice.
“We were always passionate people,” he reminded her. “Never half measures in anything. We had so much going for us. And I threw it all away. You’ll never know how it hurt me to do that.”
“No. I never will,” she said in a resigned tone. She clutched the receiver tighter and nuzzled it. Soon he’d be gone. She’d never talk to him again. “Why haven’t you ever married? You used to talk about a home and children and roots.”
“I never wanted children with anyone but you,” he said quietly, with blunt honesty. “Time got away from me. I was so busy looking after Joe and my company that all I had time for was an affair here and there. Like Lana.”
“How is Lana?” she asked mundanely.
“I don’t know,” he said after a pause. “I lost track of her after Joe’s funeral. I think she finally got the message and went off after that Middle Eastern prince she met in the Hamptons.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Are you? Why?”
“You cared about her,” she replied dully.
“Honey, I care about Italian sausages, too, but a man can get sick of them after a while. Listen, Gaby, she numbed the ache, that’s all. Nobody ever cured it. There was this skinny little rich girl, you see,” he said in a deep, seductive tone, “and I used to take her around my neighborhood and watch her enchant my buddies. And I’d lie with her on a blanket in Central Park on lazy spring days and dream about having kids with her. I never quite got over her.”
The tears overflowed now, hot and wet, stinging down her cheeks. “I never quite got over that greasy Italian mechanic,” she confessed brokenly. “But I guess fate had other plans for us both. There you are a tycoon, and here I am a model, and we’re both rich enough that we’d never have to work another day. I just want you to know that I never cared that you weren’t rich, and I never wanted anything you couldn’t have given me. Because the things I wanted from you couldn’t be bought with money.”
“Oh, stop, you’ll have me bawling,” he ground out, but it sounded so close to the truth that it stung. He drew a ragged breath. “Look, maybe you need to know it all. Maybe it would help if you knew the truth. Maybe we could start over.”
“No,” she whispered with a trembly smile. “It’s too late for that. I just... I just hope you’ll realize someday that I was telling you the truth about Joe. That I never hurt him or led him on. That I loved him like a brother and told him so. That I didn’t help to kill him.”
“Let me come and get you,” he said. “We’ll talk.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to go now. It isn’t safe to stay here,” she replied. “Goodbye, darling.”
“Gaby!”
She thought that as long as she lived she’d hear his voice, hear the agony in it as he called her name, and she hung up on him.
“I’m sorry, Marc,” she whispered as she disconnected the phone. “I love you, but I can’t put you at risk too. One of us is enough.”
She took one last look around at the house she’d lived in all her life, went out and locked the door behind her.
With her carryall firmly in hand, containing the few things she treasured and one or two changes of clothing, she started walking down the street. She hailed a cab and told the driver to take her to a huge luxury hotel about six blocks away from her home. After she’d checked in Gaby wondered if someone could have followed her. She hadn’t bothered to change cabs or tried to conceal her tracks. Oh, well, she thought. She shouldn’t be in too much
danger in a crowded hotel. She lay down on the double bed in her room with a sigh of utter relief. The building was watched over by a doorman, and she felt safe.
After she’d had room service send up a meal, the first she’d enjoyed in two days, she went to bed and had an early night.
The next day she sweated it out until early afternoon and phoned Mr. Harrolds. Since he didn’t know where she was, he could hardly call her to report anything.
“Have you found out anything at all,” she asked immediately when the secretary connected her with the private detective, “or is it too soon?”
He hesitated. “Miss Bennett, I’m sorry to tell you that we’ve found nothing of any use to you in the way of evidence. Mr. Smith does have large outstanding debts, and there is a little more money in his accounts than his salary would provide. But you have to understand that it would be pretty stupid of him to stick money he embezzled in a bank where it could be discovered. He could have it in banks out of the country. He also could have it under assumed names. There are hundreds of ways to disguise illegal money.”
“What about Motocraft?” she asked, feeling hope dwindle.
“On a preliminary check, nothing there, either.” He sighed. “We’ll continue to investigate, of course, but the longer it takes, the higher the bill. That can’t be helped.”
“I don’t care how much it costs,” she said fervently. “Mr. Harrolds, no one suspected what you were doing?” she added.
“I don’t think so.” He hesitated. “Miss Bennett, are you at your home?”
“No, sir. I checked into a hotel, just in case.”
“I was going to suggest that,” he said. “I don’t want to alarm you, but my man thinks he may have been spotted. He’s sorry, but that won’t help you. My recommendation is that you go to the police, regardless of your lack of proof, and tell them everything you know.”
“You think I’m in danger?” She had to know. He paused. “Yes, Miss Bennett. I checked with the coroner who did the autopsy on Joe Stephano, as you asked me to.”