THE TROPHY WIFE

by Ginna Gray

  "I tried to run her over yesterday, but thanks to some busybody old lady who pulled her back out of the way, the car didn't strike her with a solid blow. She was banged up some, but nothing fatal. I was hoping she'd think it was an accident.

  "Today I hid in the hotel stairwell outside her suite and waited for her husband to leave. When he finally did I knocked on their door a couple of times. The target didn't open up or say anything so I figured she was napping, and I went to work on the lock. I almost had the thing open when I heard the elevator stop on their floor. Within seconds, here came hubby, striding down the hall toward me. I had to haul ass outta there before he put two and two together and figured out what I was doing there.

  "The target must have seen me through the peephole or heard me picking the lock, 'cause next thing I know the suite is crawling with people—the hotel manager, security, the cops. She and her husband have a cop in the car with them right now."

  "Damn," his client spat. "So what's next?"

  "She's got her guard up now, so I think we should back off for a month or so, let her think the danger is over. In the meantime I'll take care of the other jobs I've got hanging fire. Once she's back in her comfort zone and feeling relaxed, she's sure to make a mistake. When she does, I'll be there."

  "That's it? That's the best you can do?"

  A few beats of menacing silence ticked by. When the driver of the sedan finally replied, his voice had lowered to a threatening rumble. "You don't like the way I do things, then find yourself another man. Either way, I keep the money you've already given me."

  "No, no," the client said in a rush. "I didn't mean that the way you took it. It's just that I wanted this over with as quickly as possible. Your way will work. You're right. After Elizabeth's been home in Houston for a few weeks and nothing happens, she'll let her guard down and make a mistake."

  "Right," Angel said, and made a right at the next corner, aborting the tail on the limo. "I'll call you when I'm ready to fly to Houston."

  The limo stopped in front of a nondescript apartment building.

  "Where are we? Why are we stopping?" Elizabeth asked, looking around with alarm.

  Max put his hand on her leg. "Take it easy. This won't take but a minute. Detective Gertski will stay with you while I run inside." He opened the limo door and climbed out, then bent and looked back inside at the detective. "Apartment 3B

  , right?"

  "Yeah. Her name is Minnie Phelps."

  "What is he doing?" Elizabeth asked, watching Max take the front stoop steps two at a time.

  "The old lady who saved you yesterday lives here," the detective replied. "Your husband pulled me aside before we left the hotel and got her name and address. He wants to personally thank her and give her a reward."

  Elizabeth's head snapped around. "Really?"

  "Yeah."

  "Oh, I'm so glad." Elizabeth looked back at the gray stone building, a warm feeling engulfing her. "She deserves to be rewarded. Everything happened so fast yesterday I don't remember much about her, but from the looks of this neighborhood I imagine she could use a financial windfall. I hope Max is generous."

  Detective Gertski gave a snort of laughter. "Don't worry about that. I was standing beside him when he wrote out the check, not that I was trying to snoop or anything, so I couldn't help but notice the amount. I'd say Mrs. Phelps's money worries are over."

  Max came out of the building with a stocky little woman wearing a print dress and apron and clutching a worn crocheted shawl around her shoulders against the biting cold. She was waving her hands and talking a mile a minute.

  Max opened the rear door of the limo. "Get in, Mrs. Phelps. We'll talk inside where it's warmer."

  The old lady scrambled into the vehicle, still talking nonstop. "Oh, my stars, would you look at this," she exclaimed. Her gaze darted around the roomy interior as her work-worn hands stroked the upholstery. "Why, this is genuine leather. And is that a bar? Oh, my stars. My friends are never going to believe this. Me, Minnie Phelps, sitting in a limo."

  "Mrs. Phelps wanted to see for herself that you were all right," Max said to Elizabeth as he climbed in and resumed his seat.

  "Yes, indeed I did," the chattering woman verified. "They bundled you off to the hospital so quick yesterday that I didn't get a chance to find out how you were doing, or even get your name. I figured I'd never hear from you again. Then, out of the blue, this handsome husband of yours rings my doorbell and gives me a check for more money than I've ever seen at one time."

  Elizabeth leaned forward and took the old woman's hands in hers. "You deserve every penny. I don't know how I can ever thank you enough. If you hadn't pulled me back when you did I would probably have been killed. I'll be forever grateful."

  Mrs. Phelps squeezed her hands. "I'm grateful to you, child. And to your husband. That reward money is a godsend for an old lady like me, living on a fixed income. Bless you both."

  They talked for a while longer, then, after promising to call her the next time they were in New York, they drove away, leaving Mrs. Phelps standing on the sidewalk, beaming and waving.

  Elizabeth put her hand on Max's arm. "That was a nice thing you did. Thank you."

  "I take care of what's mine," he said with a shrug.

  Tom Givens had the plane gassed up and ready when they arrived at the airport. Instead of going to the VIP lounge for people taking private planes, Max had the driver pull out onto the tarmac, up to the foot of the small jet's boarding stairs.

  Elizabeth's nerves immediately tightened. Though she knew it was an illusion, she felt safer in the car.

  "Sit still," Max told her as he and the detective climbed from the limo. Tom Givens emerged from the plane and loped down the stairs to greet Max. While he and the pilot talked, Max kept a wary eye out and Detective Gertski conducted a thorough, three-hundred-and-sixty degree visual sweep of the area. During his talk with Max, Tom's expression changed from smiling friendliness to grave concern, and he, too, began to check out their surroundings.

  "It looks clear," Detective Gertski called to Max.

  Max opened the rear door of the limo. "Okay, let's go," he said in a curt voice.

  Quelling her fears, Elizabeth scooted to the edge of the seat and prepared to climb out, but Max swooped her up in his arms before her feet could touch the ground.

  "Max, I can walk," she protested, but he ignored her and carried her up the aircraft steps with the ease and speed that he would a child. Following close behind Max, Detective Gertski continued to survey the area.

  Inside the plane, Max carried Elizabeth straight through the cabin and into the small bedroom at the rear, then placed her on the bed.

  From the doorway, the detective said, "I guess this is goodbye. I'll let you and your husband know if there are any new developments in the case. I'm real sorry your honeymoon trip was ruined, Mrs. Riordan, but you should be safe now."

  * * *

  Nine

  « ^ »

  The moment Max stepped inside the plane with Elizabeth in his arms, she felt safer. That, however, was nothing compared to the relief that she felt a short while later when the plane hurtled down the runway, jet engines emitting a shrill, high-pitched whine, and attained liftoff. They climbed for several minutes, then banked and headed west-southwest.

  "Goodbye, New York City, helloooo Houston," Tom Givens drawled over the intercom.

  Out of the small window beside the bed, Elizabeth watched the city landscape fall away, growing ever smaller. She unzipped her high-heeled boots and tugged them off. With a huge sigh, she settled back into a pile of pillows mounded against the padded headboard and closed her eyes. Thank God. For the first time in almost two days, she felt completely safe.

  Moments after the plane reached cruising altitude and leveled off, Max appeared in the doorway. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine now," she said with a smile.

  "Good. Get some rest. And holler if you need anything." He started to turn away, but she stoppe
d him.

  "Max, could we talk?"

  "Yeah, sure. What's on your mind?"

  "Several things, actually."

  "Okay. What would you like to talk about first?"

  Elizabeth smiled at his brusque, businesslike way of putting things in order of priority. She patted the mattress beside her. "Why don't you sit down and relax." She glanced beyond him into the main cabin. "Unless, of course, you have some important work to do."

  "No, nothing that can't wait." He had already discarded his overcoat, suit coat and tie. Now he unfastened his gold cuff links and pocketed them. Hitching one bent knee up on the mattress, he sat down facing her and began to roll up his sleeves. "So? Shoot."

  "Well, first of all, I was wondering what your schedule is like for the next week or so?"

  "Why do you want to know?" he asked, with the reluctance of a man not accustomed to accounting for his time.

  "Relax. I'm not trying to keep tabs on you. I simply want to start fulfilling my part of our bargain. To do that, I have to know when you will be available to attend social events or when we can entertain people in our home."

  He looked at her for a long time without speaking. Finally he said, "By 'our home,' I assume you mean your River Oaks home or Mimosa Landing?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I just assumed that you would move in with me. It never occurred to me that you might want us to live in your condo. I guess that's something we should have discussed before we got married."

  "No, it's okay. Actually, I prefer your home."

  "Oh, good," she said, making no attempt to hide her relief. "Because to tell you the truth, I couldn't sell the place. That would put Gladys and Dooley out of a job, and I couldn't do that to them."

  Max cocked his head to one side, his gaze curious. "They've been with you a long time, haven't they?"

  "Not just me. They started to work for my parents when they were a young, newly married couple." She wrinkled her nose and shot him a dry look. "I think in their hearts they consider the Houston house more theirs than mine."

  "That's nice. And you're right, your homes are more suited to entertaining. As for my schedule, I've already telephoned my secretary and had her clear my calendar. For the next couple of weeks or so, Troy is going to have to take up the slack and handle whatever develops."

  "Oh, dear. He's not going to like that."

  "He'll probably have a stroke. But it won't make any difference. Troy and I have been good friends since we attended college together, but I pay him to do as I say, not to call the shots. No way am I going to leave you alone until we're certain you're out of danger."

  A warm feeling of equal parts gratitude and relief washed through Elizabeth. "Thank you, Max. I appreciate that. I really am sorry to take you away from your business, but I have to admit, I do feel much safer when you're around."

  "Yeah, well, I knew going into this arrangement that being a husband entails certain responsibilities and obligations. I always fulfill my obligations."

  It was foolish of her to feel hurt, but she did. She should have known that he was acting out of duty. She stared down at her intertwined fingers resting against her abdomen. "Nevertheless, I appreciate what you did."

  Silence stretched out. After a while she began to feel fidgety, and she cleared her throat. "Yes, well, uh … as you know, the day after tomorrow is Thanksgiving."

  "It is? Hmm, I hadn't realized."

  Elizabeth turned her head and blinked at him, her mouth agape. "How could you not know that Thursday was Thanksgiving?"

  Max shrugged. "I guess I had other things on my mind. Anyway, what's the big deal?"

  "The big deal is it's a family holiday. One that the Stantons have always celebrated in a big way."

  "Okay, then we'll celebrate."

  "The trouble is, no one is expecting us to be back in time for the holiday, so we have nothing planned."

  "So? Make some plans," Max said. "You've got two days."

  Elizabeth shot him a pithy look.

  "What? If you don't have plans you make some. What's so wrong with that?" Max asked, truly befuddled. "Call Gladys and tell her we're having Thanksgiving at home."

  Elizabeth looked heavenward, as though seeking guidance from above. "Gladys and Dooley are on vacation this week. They're visiting one of their sons in Lubbock. I guess I could call Martha. She's a spinster lady with no close family. If she hasn't already made plans of her own maybe I could talk her into preparing a feast on short notice."

  "There you go. Give her a call," Max said.

  "You mean right now?"

  "Yeah, sure." He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cell phone and handed it to her. "Tell her and your aunt that we'll be there Thursday morning. Tomorrow we're going to be busy with legal matters."

  "All right. I'll see what I can do," Elizabeth agreed. "What about your mother? Will she be home by Thursday?"

  "No. Her cruise won't be over until the middle of January."

  "And Troy?" Even though the man disliked her, she didn't feel right about leaving him out if he was at loose ends.

  "He has family, sort of. His dad and a stepmother he despises. I'll have to insist that he take the long weekend off and go visit them. He's as big a workaholic as I am, so he'll argue with me, but in the end he'll go."

  "I see. Well, then, I guess there will be just the two of us, Mimi and Aunt Talitha. Mimi is still at Mimosa Landing, by the way. She told me at the wedding that she would stay and keep Aunt Talitha company until we got back."

  "Good." He gestured toward the cell phone. "So go ahead and set it up."

  While Elizabeth made the call, Max kicked off his shoes and got comfortable, stretching out on his side next to her, his head propped in one hand. The entire time she talked she could feel his gaze on her profile, studying her.

  "Martha, dear, I know this is short notice, but just do the best you can, okay? And you'll get a hefty bonus for this, I promise."

  There was a short pause on Elizabeth's end and she grimaced as she listened to the other woman.

  "Yes, yes, I know you don't expect to be paid extra, but I wouldn't feel right about asking you to work on a holiday otherwise."

  The two women continued to argue for a few minutes, but finally the conversation ended.

  "How'd it go?" Max asked when Elizabeth hung up.

  Elizabeth gave a ladylike snort. "You heard. Martha always gets her nose out of joint when I offer her extra pay. She considers Aunt Talitha and me her family, yet she wouldn't hear of sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner with us.

  "As for Aunt Talitha and Mimi, they're curious as to why we're coming home so soon, but I managed to put off explaining until we get there."

  "Hmm. But we're set for Thanksgiving?"

  "Yes. Martha is in a dither, of course. Which means she's in seventh heaven. She loves to cook and she's at her happiest in the midst of an uproar. I can picture her this very minute, flitting around the kitchen making a list and fretting.

  "I almost feel duty-bound to call the manager of the supermarket in Brenham where she shops and warn them that she's about to descend on them like a tornado."

  Max did not say anything for a moment, but when she turned her head and looked at him, her eyebrows rose.

  "What? Why are you looking at me that way?"

  "I'm just curious. Are you close with all your hired help?"

  "I hadn't thought about it. I suppose I am. Why? Do you object?"

  "No, not at all. I'm just surprised, is all. I seem to be learning new things about you day by day," he murmured.

  "Is that right?" She raised her chin. "What's the matter, am I shooting holes in your preconceived notions?"

  "Something like that," he admitted.

  Elizabeth held his gaze as long as she could, but her huffy attitude did not faze him in the least. Finally she looked away and asked, "Will you be free a week from Saturday? Traditionally the Van Cleaves host a party at the country club on the first Saturday in December. Among Houston
society that marks the unofficial start of the winter social season. I got my invitation a week or so ago."

  "Really." Max's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "Gee, mine must have gotten lost in the mail."

  "Yes, well, what can I say? The Van Cleaves are first-class snobs," Elizabeth declared with a dismissive wave of her hand. "They are mere second-generation Texans, but to hear them talk, you'd think their ancestors fought at the Alamo. Mimi swears that if they ever get caught out in the rain, they'd drown, their noses are so high in the air."

  A wry smile tugged at Max's mouth. "The woman may be brash and unpredictable, but she sure tells it like she sees it."

  "Anyway, by now news of our wedding is bound to be circulating," Elizabeth continued. "The Van Cleaves's party seems the perfect occasion for us to appear in public together is a couple for the first time."

  "Do you think your hip will be healed enough by Saturday?"

  "I'm sure it will."

  "Then I'm game if you are."

  "Good, that's settled, then." She fiddled with her wedding rings, turning them around and around on her finger. "You do realize that for the next few months we're going to be flooded with invitations, don't you? Not only is it the start of he social season, but people will be curious about us and want to see us together.

  "Trust me, as we speak rumors are flying. Passing on juicy gossip is practically a major-league sport among the country club set. My friends and acquaintances are going to be looking for the tiniest sign of discord or coolness between us. Anything they can dish the dirt about."

  "Hmm. No, I hadn't thought about that. Thanks for the leads-up, though." He mulled the matter over in his mind for a moment, then said, "We'll just have to appear the devoted couple in public."

  "So … you're saying that you don't want the reasons for our marriage to become public knowledge?"

  "That's nobody's business but our own."