I Gotta Feeling
Page 19
She hadn't protested. On the contrary, she'd been nearly as frantic as Felix, tugging at his belt and then holding his head to hers as she'd kissed him and kissed him. When he'd finally entered her, she'd been hot and wet and sobbing with desire. No, more than desire. A lot more. The way she'd been with him, held him, responded to him— It had been— Well, he wasn't sure what to call it, but it had been something beyond physical gratification. It had been as if she liked him.
Hell. Amidst the crazy walls of the Stata Center, Felix mentally set his jaw. Aletheia did not like him. For the love of— She didn't even know him. He was going to find Benjamin, and eliminate him as a danger. Then this whole crazy interlude would end.
Aletheia would know him then.
Ignoring the depressing weight of this thought, Felix gruffly said, "Let's go up those stairs."
Aletheia grinned, and turned to dash upward.
With the darkness flaring inside him, Felix followed after her.
Dr. Edward Lowenstein had his name under five others on a sliding glass door on the fifth floor. A call box stood beside the door pull. Glancing at the security setup with admiration, Felix wondered what kind of work Dr. Lowenstein did for the university.
Aletheia pressed the call button. Meanwhile, a ring that sounded like her cell phone came from the depths of her purse. The door opener buzzed.
"I'll get the door," Felix offered.
Aletheia dug into her purse. Just as she drew out her cell, it stopped ringing. She frowned at the screen. "Dropped, whoever it was."
"Probably couldn't make it through all this high-priced architecture," Felix remarked.
Aletheia didn't laugh at his joke this time. She was too busy hurrying through the door Felix was holding.
Down a narrow hall lined with glass walls, they found Professor Lowenstein's door. He opened it before they had a chance to knock.
"Hello. Oh, that was fast." He sounded as though he'd just run a lap. Wisps of fine, blond hair drifted out from his scalp. With pale blue eyes, he met Felix's gaze briefly before looking away. "Come in, come in," he breathed.
Felix followed Aletheia into the room, noting the desk without a paper out of place, the books lined up on the shelves behind—lined up in order of their height. The smell of newly cleaned carpet rose from below.
Lowenstein stayed by the door to close it. As Felix turned, he saw the professor glance quickly into the hall. He then drew himself back into the room and closed the door sharply, as if to keep out dangerous wildlife.
Inwardly frowning, Felix turned as Lowenstein moved toward his desk. Felix hadn't seen anybody out there as they'd walked in. He hadn't seen anybody at all in the building on a Sunday afternoon.
"Such a shame," Lowenstein remarked, as he came around his desk. He sounded grim. "Such a shame you coming an hour too late."
Aletheia straightened like a dog on point. "Benjamin was here?"
"Was supposed to be here." With a sigh, Lowenstein sank into the chair behind his desk.
Mirroring his movement, Aletheia lowered into one of the upholstered visitor chairs. Her eyes didn't leave the other man's face.
Feeling something like a hunting dog himself now, Felix sat, too.
Lowenstein rubbed a hand against his forehead. "Benjamin told me about the trouble he's in, this cloaking device that everyone wants. From what I could gather, the longer he stays on the run, the more danger he's in."
Felix narrowed his eyes at the man. Was he deliberately trying to worry Aletheia?
"Benjamin talked to you?" she asked.
"Not in person, no. He emailed." Lowenstein pushed the hand at his forehead through his thinning hair. "On Thursday. He said he could get here by Sunday and we arranged to meet...supposed to be an hour ago."
Aletheia's disappointment settled like a dark aura in the room.
Felix shifted in his seat. "So you made a date, but Cooper didn't show?"
Lowenstein nodded. "I had the—here. It was so discouraging. I thought we could—"
From Aletheia's purse, the phone rang again. With an impatient sound, she opened her purse, reached for the phone, then shook her head. "Dropped again."
Felix, meanwhile, was keeping his eyes on Lowenstein. Why was the guy sweating? And who had he been afraid might be out in the hall? "'We?'" Felix asked.
Lowenstein blinked furiously. "Excuse me?"
"You said you thought 'we could' do something. Who is 'we?'"
"Oh." Lowenstein's gaze flitted past Felix to roam the wall behind him. "I just meant me and Benjamin, you know. I hoped between us we could come up with a solution to his situation. He can't run forever."
Felix leaned back in his seat. "I don't know why not."
"Ex—Excuse me?" Lowenstein started blinking again.
Unsure what devil was putting the words in his mouth, Felix crossed an ankle over his knee and went on. "I said I don't know why Benjamin can't run forever." Watching Lowenstein closely, he wondered if he was trying to flush information from a slippery character, or if he was playing out a fantasy of his own. What if they never did find Benjamin? Then Felix wouldn't have to betray Aletheia regarding her brother. Was it possible she might never figure out Felix's true character?
The realistic part of him mocked the notion. A tiger couldn't hide his stripes forever. Sooner or later she'd figure him out. He was cold through and through. She'd be disillusioned, perhaps even condemning. But Felix continued with the fantasy. "If Cooper is getting paid to remake the Cloak for...parties unknown, he'd be getting paid very well. Well enough to move so far away he wouldn't have to worry about anybody coming after him."
While Aletheia flashed Felix a startled look, Lowenstein favored Felix with his second direct gaze. It didn't last long. He lowered his eyes to stare at a metal paperweight on his desk. "I suppose that's possible," he mumbled.
"What?" Aletheia turned toward the professor, looking startled all over again. "You can't mean that, Ed. You know Benjamin. He'd never work for...parties unknown. Someone bad."
Lowenstein drew in a long breath and held it. He didn't raise his gaze from the paperweight.
Aletheia's voice throbbed with disappointment. "I thought you knew my brother."
The sheen on Lowenstein's forehead showed his mental state. "We aren't the same people we were back in grad school. Real life catches up to you, you know? Pressure. Dog eat dog."
Felix was glad he was not on the receiving end of the stare Aletheia gave Benjamin's so-called friend. Although he supposed he would be, soon enough...
Softly, Aletheia accused the professor, "You were going to turn him in, weren't you? You told him to come here and meet you, but you were going to turn him in."
Lowenstein was beyond sweating. He was melting. "He went too far. Christ almighty, Benjamin killed two innocent people."
Her eyes snapped. "You've got to be kidding."
Lowenstein spread his hands. "Then you go find him. I'm out of it. That's all I've got to say. You kill somebody, you get some bad people after you."
Felix leaned forward, thinking of their Pakistani follower. "What do you mean? Who? Who's after Benjamin?"
Lowenstein gave Felix a third direct stare. Clearly, he wasn't as afraid of Felix as he was of whoever had gotten to him before them. "You figure it out."
Tilting his head, Felix considered taking the guy apart to find out what he wanted to know. It wouldn't take long. One good punch— But it would only upset Aletheia, and Felix was pretty sure of the answer anyway. Goddard was unholy desperate to get that Cloak fixed. So was Viceroy. Felix stood up. "You're a true friend," he told Lowenstein.
Lowenstein curled his lip and didn't answer.
With cool dignity, Aletheia rose from her chair. "Shall we go?"
They left Lowenstein's office, Aletheia walking ahead of Felix with stiff fury in every step.
She didn't speak again until they'd made their way out of the building and could see Boston across the river. A Red Line train rose from the undergro
und and climbed over the bridge toward the city.
"The worm," Aletheia hissed. "I'm glad we didn't find Benjamin here. I hope he's far, far away from that Benedict Arnold."
Felix hummed a noncommittal reply. He was deeply aware of a disturbing mix of disappointment and relief. Of course he wanted to find Benjamin...sort of. But the fantasy wouldn't quite let him go. What if Benjamin had left the country? What if they never found him?
No Benjamin meant no end.
Well, no end in the near future, anyway. Aletheia would discover Felix's true character eventually, but that could be a ways down the road. Meanwhile, she needed him. She needed his help in looking for Benjamin, his assistance in saving her house, and she even needed him for sex. Her abundant need might mean it took a while for her to realize Felix was a cold-hearted bastard.
It was a temporary reprieve, of course, but Felix latched onto it now with the fervor of the desperate. No Benjamin meant Felix could stay with Aletheia. They could be together, at least temporarily. He could enjoy...happiness.
Relaxing, he reached for her arm. That was when Aletheia's cell phone rang once again.
"Oh, for the love off— Probably another dropped call." Grumbling, Aletheia slipped from Felix's half-grasp in order to dig into her purse. The Red Line train had just reached the top of the bridge when she jerked the phone to her ear. "Hello?"
Felix watched everything about her freeze as she listened. He went instantly alert.
With the phone to her ear, Aletheia turned to Felix, her eyes wide. "It's Benjamin."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Meredith was in grave trouble. She lay on a bed of grass on Sunday morning, doing nothing but stare at a bunch of sycamore leaves framing the sky above her. She was stark naked and feeling way too good. How could she feel so happy, so content, so complete, while lying here doing absolutely nothing at all?
Parker's lips kissed the side of her breast. This sent a pleasant tingle meandering through her, an echo of the climax they'd both enjoyed ten minutes before. Parker cast more tingles through her by smoothing his palm over her stomach then scooting up to press his lips to her shoulder.
Meredith closed her eyes and sighed. She hadn't done anything constructive in four days. To make matters worse, she didn't even care about her lack of productivity. Since Friday night, all Meredith had done was have a lot of sex with Parker.
Admittedly, sex with Parker was something else. He did it like no man Meredith had ever encountered. With every fiber of his being. At the same time, he was exquisitely sensitive. For example, now he let her be apart, her own person in their outdoor bed, even as his hands and lips and one foot lightly caressed and touched and kept her together with him.
He placed a soft kiss on her nose. "I'd like to show you something."
Meredith's lashes lowered. "I thought you just did."
A low chuckle answered her, along with another kiss. "I mean something with our clothes on."
"That would be a change of pace."
"Relieve the tedium."
Meredith laughed. Making love to Parker would never reach the level of tedium. She turned her head to look at him. The man was a work of art. Six feet-nothing of elegantly muscled, sun-kissed masculinity.
His dark eyes were on her. "So you'll come?"
"Sure." It wasn't as if she had anything else she was going to do.
As she rose to find her clothes, feeling logy still, Meredith realized she hardly recognized herself these days. She was letting Parker guide her down his path. She was falling into his free and easy lifestyle.
And she was...liking it.
"You ready?" Dressed in a loose tank top and khaki shorts, Parker smiled and held out his hand.
Meredith put her hand in his.
He led her out of the bower he'd set up for their outdoor trysts and down toward the stream.
With her hand clasped in his, Meredith followed blithely. Maybe he was taking over, maybe she ought to be pulling back into herself, but every time she was with him a deep happiness settled over her.
Hell. She was probably falling in love with the guy.
The thought briefly disturbed the surface of her serenity. What if she'd fallen in love with Parker? One day — soon — Aletheia would return home. Then Meredith would have no reason to stay. What would happen to this affair? Parker hadn't said a word about the future. Oh, boy. The future? Meredith almost laughed out loud. Parker didn't know the word.
Meredith's brief scare faded with the humorous thought. Besides, Parker's hand felt so good holding hers as they walked along the burbling stream under lazy beams of sunlight. For today, she'd forget about the future, too. Oh, she was just too happy to worry.
Parker rounded a bend in the stream and the brush cleared away. Meredith's eyes widened as she took in a large expanse of rock face next to the creek.
It wasn't just a multi-colored face of rock. It was...a sculpture, expertly chiseled. Almost not there, but very much there. It looked like an expression of what the rock might have said if it could have spoken. Ripples and curves carved into the stone suggested waves, or a woman's hair, or a dream. Images seemed to form and dissolve and resolve as something else. The sculpture was both subtle and powerful, definitely the work of a mature and confident artist.
It took Meredith a while to realize Parker was waiting for a reaction. She glanced toward him, noting his carefully blank expression. "It's wonderful," she said huskily.
Visibly relaxing, he smiled. Meanwhile Meredith turned to approach the cliff face. She needed to touch the rock, run her fingers over the waves. The polished surface conveyed a sense of power and control. A faint trembling seized her. Parker wasn't merely a good sculptor, or a clever one. He was magnificent.
"Oh, Parker." She couldn't lift her fingers from the marvelous stone. And yet— She glanced at him. "Why here?"
He lifted a shoulder. "The rock was here."
Meredith stopped, her hand still pressed against the magical earthen waves. "But this rock can't be moved. It's stuck here by the side of the stream. Why, it's not even along the hiking trail."
He looked confused. "So?"
"So?" she asked. But she got it. Parker wouldn't care about the sort of thing that immediately occurred to her. She tried to explain anyway. "If the rock is here, nobody will see the sculpture."
"Oh." His confusion cleared. "Nobody has to see it. It just needed to be done, that's all."
It was the answer she'd expected, but his easy smile bothered her. He shouldn't be this casual. It was one thing for him to dismiss the clever talent in the animal toys he'd made for George. It was another to ignore this.
She turned to face him directly. "Parker. You have amazing talent. I'm no expert, it's true, but it doesn't take an expert to see this is something out of the ordinary. I think—" She stopped. "No, I know people should see your work."
His smile turned affectionately condescending. Brushing a piece of dirt off the rock next to her shoulder, he said, "It's enough to have done it. I don't need people viewing my work."
Her brows drew down. He was putting on a good show, but was this indifference for real? On the other hand, what if he truly didn't care? The fear of getting sucked into his crazy lifestyle rose once again out of the mists to which she'd temporarily exiled such concerns. Could she handle wanting nothing, going nowhere? She'd never feel anxious or scared, but then would she feel anything at all?
She wanted to feel. She wanted to care. To do.
And the need to do something—right now—clawed at her. "Okay, maybe you don't need artistic validation, Parker," she blurted. "But you sure could use some cash."
He froze.
Meredith gestured. "These sculptures you do, the ones for George and this one, too—they're worth money. You should be working on a piece of stone that can be easily viewed. Transported." She raised her eyebrows. "Bought."
His mouth moved into a slow smile. "You're confusing me with someone who cares about that sort of thing."
/> Meredith drew in a long breath. "You should care about money. For heaven's sake, the house you're living in is in foreclosure."
Parker's smile dropped. "I can't do anything about that."
"Oh, right, Parker." Meredith raised a hand to indicate the sculpture behind her. "This—your stuff—it's worth something. Probably worth a lot. You could be using your talent to help come up with the fifty thousand dollars your family needs in order to keep the house."
He snorted. "Don't be absurd. No sculpture of mine would be worth anything like that much."
His forcefulness shocked Meredith. It was too definite, and it made her suspicious. "So you're not so artistically detached, after all," she commented slowly. "You're insecure."
Anger flashed from his eyes. "I'm not insecure. I simply don't need other people to judge me."
As if the two weren't one and the same. So this was the true source of his live-for-the-day attitude. He thought he could escape the pressure she'd had to handle since the day she was born. He thought he could be immune.
Meredith's blood started to boil. The exams she'd had to ace, the contests she'd been expected to win. The critical eye which had always watched her. "I've got news for you, Parker. We all get judged, whether we like it or not. In fact, right now I'm judging you."
The words tumbled out of her mouth. Partly they came from anger. Didn't he know what the world was? Did he think he could avoid it? Partly the words sprang from terror. There was a definite appeal to his attitude, but she now saw that attitude also meant pretending nothing mattered. When it did matter. It mattered immensely.
"To be so detached is irresponsible, Parker." She nearly bit her tongue. He wasn't detached or irresponsible about everything. He helped depressed little Sophie laugh. He fed a lot of hungry mouths every day, and he did it well. But on the other hand— "You could be doing something with your art. You should be doing something with it. Something in the world and productive."
He glared at her, but he looked punched. Hit hard and down in the ropes. For once, he looked speechless.