"Wait a minute, wait a minute." Zara's eyes got wide when they reached the corner. "Is that—? Heck, is that even a building?"
Benjamin looked up the street toward the warped façade punctured by cartoon-looking windows. "It's a real conversation piece."
"It looks like Dr. Seuss."
"And it leaks like a sieve. But getting an office in there is high praise from the Institute. Shit." Benjamin, who'd been looking at the glass entrance of the building, now casually turned Zara so that instead of going toward the building, they crossed the street.
"Cop," Zara said, acknowledging she'd noticed the policeman, too, the one standing just inside the Stata Center's entry doors.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Could be a coincidence," Benjamin muttered, as they dodged a Lincoln Navigator on their way across the street.
"You think?" Zara did not glance back toward the crazy-looking Stata Center.
He shook his head, then repressed a flinch as a police car cruised down the street toward them. The car passed, turned, and parked in front of the building. "Shit, shit, and double shit," Benjamin whispered. "Lowenstein ratted me out." Panic knocked against his ribs, but he fended it off. He had to think here. If he possibly could, he had to figure out how to get Zara out of this. "Act casual. The cops haven't noticed us. We're near Kendall Square. Maybe we can make it into the subway station."
"Good thing I dyed my hair," Zara remarked.
Benjamin blinked. "You dyed your hair?"
"Back in St. Louis, when we were waiting for our connection yesterday. Didntcha notice?" In the midst of their tense stroll toward the T stop, Zara shot him a mischievous look. She shook her head so her short hair flew out around her face.
Benjamin chanced a sidelong glance. Her hair was now a honey-gold brown in color. Not rainbow-hued. Since St. Louis, she'd changed her look and he hadn't noticed. An entirely new panic flashed through him. That was pretty insulting to a woman, wasn't it, when a man didn't notice she'd changed her hair color?
But Zara was chuckling. If anything, she looked pleased. "You didn't notice," she crowed. "You hardly pay attention to what I look like."
Benjamin didn't know if he'd say that. He was almost always aware of her breasts and her ass, but perhaps it was better not to admit as much. "Here's the Kendall station." He nodded across the street. "We'll hop a train, which'll give me a chance to think." He shook his head. "If Lowenstein called the cops, it's probably because he talked to Goddard first. Goddard would've convinced Lowenstein I'm a dangerous criminal. And that means Goddard knows I'm on my way."
Zara swung her purse. "So it might be more—and worse—than just the cops after us. Gotcha." She was smiling, like she didn't mind putting up with this.
Benjamin's heart swelled like a hot air balloon. God, she was terrific.
Guiding Zara across the street, Benjamin looked around before descending the stairs into the station. The police cruiser was still parked in front of the Stata Center, but no men in uniform were coming their way. Better yet, Benjamin could see no guys in baggy white shirts, the kind of shirts worn by the fellows who'd scoped out his car at the Stickit Inn.
To his relief, a Red Line train was waiting on the tracks when they got to the turnstile. They stuck their tickets in and hopped on.
"No cops," Zara murmured as they maneuvered to a spot where they could hold on in the crowded car.
But any relief was short lived. At the very next stop, Zara took Benjamin's arm. Two men in baggy white shirts waited on the platform. They looked amazingly like the guys outside the Stickit Inn, and they were staring at the train intently. They appeared to argue briefly with each other, then got into the first car.
"Shit," Benjamin whispered.
"Think they're going to go through the train?" Zara whispered back.
"Shit," Benjamin said again. He took Zara's arm. Ducking and weaving, he led Zara through the crowd in the train as the vehicle lurched forward, keeping them moving toward the tail car. He only had to keep ahead of Goddard's goons for one more stop. Once they got to Park Street station under downtown Boston, Benjamin had a plan.
The men in white shirts came through the door of the last car, where Benjamin hid with Zara, just as the train pulled into Park Street station. The eyes of the first man met Benjamin's as the car doors slid open.
"Run!" Benjamin instructed Zara. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the subway car. He was no Olympic athlete, but he wasn't going to let them get her. He was not.
"Where—?" Zara tried to ask.
"Just come with me!" In the underground station now, Benjamin leaped for the stairs. He heard the pounding of running feet behind them. Color-coded bars hanging from the ceiling advised them they were on their way up to the Green Line.
At the top of the stairs, Benjamin swore. Of the dozen Green Line trains that came through Park Street in downtown Boston, not a single one was in sight. "Come on!" He pulled Zara toward a ceiling banner colored orange.
Not everyone knew about the tunnel that led from Park Street to Downtown Crossing and the Orange Line. Benjamin hoped Goddard's thugs were of this ignorant number. He didn't stop to turn around and check, however, running with Zara down the tunnel under the heart of Boston.
A hundred heart-pounding yards later, the tunnel opened into the spacious station at Downtown Crossing. Colorful advertisements lined the wall and orange-coded signs hung from the ceiling.
Panting, Benjamin told Zara, "We've got to get to the other side, going north. That means down the stairs and up again."
"Look." Eyes wide, Zara pointed. The two men in baggy white shirts had just run into the Downtown Crossing station, descending from the street.
Once again, Benjamin locked eyes with the bigger one. No, he thought, his determination hardening. You aren't getting my girl. "The stairs!" Benjamin ordered. He turned and tugged Zara.
The hoodlums had to get through the turnstile, but nearly caught up to Benjamin and Zara at the bottom of the first set of stairs. Benjamin gulped in air and strengthened his grip on Zara's hand as he fled up the opposite staircase.
A train. If an Orange Line train wasn't waiting, they were cooked.
An Orange Line train stood on the tracks as Benjamin, panting, dragged Zara up to the platform. The doors were open. "In!" Benjamin shouted hoarsely, and used one last burst of energy to haul Zara with him into the train.
He looked over his shoulder. The two hoodlums in white shirts were rushing the train. The big one reached out an arm. In one instant—
But the doors whooshed closed. Goddard's thugs were left outside the train, only inches from Benjamin. The cars pulled forward. The expression on the face of the bigger goon was pure impotent fury.
Through the arm he'd thrown around Zara's waist to pull her into the car, Benjamin could feel her shaking. Worried, he looked down.
Between gasps for air, she was laughing. "We did it!" she exclaimed, then coughed and grinned. "You did it."
He had done it. He hadn't known he could, but he'd kept her safe. A wave of combined relief, triumph, and pure love washed over him. Using the hold he had on Zara's waist, he pulled her closer. Then he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
The world faded away—the other people in the train, the tunnel lights flashing past, the Cloak and its many ramifications. All that Benjamin knew was the softness in his arms and the taste of her on his lips.
Then she wound her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back.
Oh, boy. He moved right into heaven.
The train lurched to a stop and their lips parted. Benjamin opened his eyes. He'd never seen anything as gorgeous as Zara in his life. "I love you," he blurted.
Zara's eyes flew open wide. "Wha—?"
"Omigod, it's State Street station," Benjamin exclaimed, looking up. "We gotta get out here."
"Wait—"
Moving with the crowd, Benjamin drew Zara out of the train. "We'll catch the Blue Line," he explained. "They'll fi
gure we went to the airport, but I'm thinking we'll go to the wharf and get on a ferry. Provincetown, Salem, Quincy. Give 'em the slip."
"Benjamin," Zara said.
"This way." He led her toward the stairs.
"You don't love me."
He threw her a glance. "I don't?"
"You—" Zara looked exasperated. "You might think you do." Her hair was mussed from all the running, or maybe from Benjamin's kiss.
"Do you know you look beautiful when you're being ridiculous." Benjamin grinned.
"I'm being ridiculous?" Zara frowned fiercely. "You think you're in love with a—with a—"
This was interesting. Benjamin halted in the center of the station. The place was crowded with summer tourists, who, intent on their own business, streamed around them. "With a what?"
Her lips flattened. "Maybe you think you like me now, but—"
"Do you like me?" Benjamin couldn't believe he'd had the guts to ask, but her disbelief in his feelings made him reckless.
"I—" Zara's gaze flitted around like a trapped bird.
Benjamin held his breath.
"Of course I like you," she muttered. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't like you."
Triumph surged through him. She liked him. He reached to take her hand. "And I love you."
"No, Benjamin—"
"I think we ought to get out of the T, come to think of it," Benjamin decided. "Those guys will be on the next train coming this way. There's the exit."
"But Benjamin—"
He led the way through the exit gate and up to the street.
Through the whole process, she kept jabbering. "You like me now, Benjamin, 'cause you're distracted by other things, big things. You haven't had a chance to really think. I'm not the girl of your dreams. I've got, you know, history. Baggage. And I'm not nearly smart enough to be, like, your girlfriend."
They were out on the street. Modern retail stores were stuffed into vintage architecture and smiling summer tourists sprouted all around them. Benjamin oriented himself and led Zara down State Street toward the wharf. Meanwhile, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. It almost made him dizzy. Zara didn't think she was good enough for him? She worried about her history?
"Oh, boy." Benjamin pulled her across a street full of cars. "You are so wrong."
"Am I?" Zara had her chin up. "Tell me you wouldn't find me déclassé if this trouble were all over with and you had to take me to some party with your friends."
Benjamin looked at her. She filled out the simple sundress with a combination of innocence and sensuality. Her eyes were large and full of intelligence, even if, at the moment, a certain exasperating stubbornness was involved. From her newly dyed hair to the tattoo on her ankle, she appealed to him in every way, shape, and form. "I can't wait to take you to some party with my friends."
"Oh, you've got to be—"
"Zara, I love you." Benjamin turned to look where he was going again and maneuvered across Devonshire. "Whatever history you think you have, I don't care. What I know is what you are now, and that's smart, brave, and completely lovable. I want to be with you."
"That's what you think."
"That's what I know, and I wouldn't say it otherwise." They crossed Broad Street. Benjamin shook his head. "Can't you hear me?" He shot her a look. "Or don't you want to hear me? Maybe it's you who doesn't want to be with me. Maybe telling me you're not good enough is just your way of rejecting me."
Glancing toward her, Benjamin saw her shock, and then an image past her left shoulder froze his insides. "Shit. Goddard's goons. They're only a block away."
Zara's face went from one form of alarm to another. "Do they see us?"
Benjamin grabbed her hand. "I'm not waiting to find out."
Once again, he tugged her to match his speed as he raced for Long Wharf, down tourist-crowded sidewalks, past gentrified warehouses.
If they could get to the wharf, they had a chance of hopping on a ferry and giving these guys the permanent slip. Passenger ferries regularly left the harbor to points north, east, and south.
Benjamin didn't bother worrying about vehicle/pedestrian accidents as he pulled Zara across busy Atlantic Avenue. If they didn't make it to a ferry ahead of the guys from Goddard, they might as well be dead. Cars screeched and horns honked, but he kept going.
The twin-hulled catamaran tied up at the long, narrow dock nearly sent Benjamin into tears with relief. A ferry was available. He hadn't let himself imagine one wouldn't be, though it had been a distinct possibility.
"Benjamin," Zara cried. "Look behind us."
As he loped down the dock, Benjamin glanced over his shoulder. The two men in baggy white shirts were at the foot of the dock, running full out toward them.
"Faster!" Benjamin shouted, hoarse from lack of breath. He pulled Zara toward the boat. Ahead, he could see the crew throwing off the lines. That was good news, bad news. If they could make it in time... If Goddard's guys could not...
If the ferry company didn't charge them with some kind of crime for jumping on without tickets—
Benjamin could hear the heavy feet of their pursuers gaining on them. The boat started pulling away from the dock. A channel of water opened between the dock and the boat deck. One foot wide, then eighteen inches.
Benjamin curled his hand around Zara's. "Jump!" he said.
But instead of jumping with him, she pulled her hand from his. He felt her push his back. The extra force propelled him from the dock and onto the deck of the slow-moving ferry. He landed on his hands and knees. Springing onto his heels, he whirled. "Zara!"
She was on the dock, heaving with the effort of breathing. She had maybe half a second before the guys in white shirts caught her.
Benjamin held out a hand. "Jump!"
He saw her straighten. It was almost six feet now between the deck and the boat, but she would have tried. The lady had guts.
They grabbed her. The tall one got her by the shoulders. The shorter fellow clamped his arms around her waist.
"N-o-o-o!" Benjamin's arm was still extended, but he was too far away. He couldn't pull them off of her. Twelve feet now between him and the dock. "Get your fucking hands off her!"
The goons replied with smiles of pure triumph.
A snarl of fury and terror ripped Benjamin's throat. They knew. Benjamin didn't know how, but they knew. If they had Zara, they had him.
Zara, however, showed none of this understanding on her face.
Crouched on the deck of the fast departing ferry, Benjamin knew her ignorance of this fact would haunt him the most.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was the strangest building Felix had ever seen. Walls tumbled into each other at odd angles and ceilings dipped and climbed without rhyme or reason. As he wove his way through the place, Felix felt like the worst kind of traitor.
But on Sunday afternoon, Aletheia didn't appear to notice anything out of the ordinary—either about Felix or about the building. Consulting a hastily scribbled page of directions garnered from a phone call with Dr. Ed Lowenstein, she led a hasty path through MIT's Stata Center. The woman was like a hound on a scent. Since leaving their hotel room half an hour ago, Aletheia had exhibited a tightly coiled anticipation. They were about to meet with Lowenstein, Benjamin's best friend from graduate school. Aletheia clearly hoped this would give them a solid lead on her brother's whereabouts.
She'd been serious when she'd told Felix they might find Benjamin's trail in Boston.
"Supposed to be a staircase," Aletheia mumbled, examining her sheet. "To the right." She peered up and frowned.
Felix regarded her. How could she have been serious? Better yet, why? Why tell Felix, who was hell bent on capturing her brother, exactly where to find him?
Even now the darkness was hovering around the edges of his control. He was more aware than ever of a fierce possessiveness. He wanted Aletheia. He wanted everything about her: her arms around him, her softness beneath him—and that elusive, crazy happiness he felt
whenever he was with her.
But so what?
Wanting her didn't make him nice. More specifically, it didn't mean he'd backed off about her brother.
His conversation with Colonel Viceroy the day before only solidified this determination. Maybe Benjamin wasn't a murderer—but maybe he was. Definitely he was something. Yes, Aletheia's brother was a menace—as much to her as to the world at large.
Now, drawing his gaze from Aletheia's expressive face, Felix admitted, "I see the staircase." He guided her around a metal-wood conglomeration, which was either a sculpture or a newel post. An open-riser staircase wound up through the multi-level ceilings.
"I feel like I'm in a cartoon," Aletheia muttered, finally noting the oddity of their surroundings.
"Or a nightmare," Felix remarked.
She laughed. Excitement buzzed through her light amusement. "Oh, Felix. I really think we're close."
He did his best to return her smile, but it was impossible. Instead, her bright grin as she started up the stairs sent a sharp pang through him. Crazy, stubborn woman. Felix had a bad feeling she'd discounted everything he'd told her about his father, and the consequences of that paternity. She refused to believe this meant Felix was cold-hearted enough to do the right thing regarding Benjamin Cooper, whether or not that ended up hurting Aletheia.
"Come on," she urged, pausing to look down at him where he stood at the bottom of the staircase. Her smile turned teasing. "You want to find Benjamin, don't you?"
She asked that right out, as if—as if she thought he was a completely different man than Felix knew himself to be. She trusted Felix, when he was fully prepared to betray her.
Now, with her eyes sparkling, she stuck her tongue in her cheek. "Or did I tire you out too much this morning?"
Felix's face grew warm. His desire for Aletheia had not been diminished by his tough stance on her brother. He'd taken them directly from the airport—at the crack of dawn—to a downtown hotel. There he'd lost no time in divesting Aletheia of her clothes and making up for the night they'd been cheated of by the plane flight.
I Gotta Feeling Page 18