Night Moves (60th Anniversary)

by Heather Graham

  Andrew yawned. “Well, I bloody well hope we find out soon. I could use a week of solid sleep. Oh, by the way. How did your date go?”

  “It didn’t. As you know, she left early.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “So was I. Sorry enough to wish I had made a bargain.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Thanks for helping me keep up the vigil, Andrew.”

  “No problem—” Andrew began. He broke off as they heard the front door open. From the den they could see that a tall figure was silhouetted in the doorway.

  “Condor?”

  Lee looked puzzled; then he frowned as he realized who the man was. “What in hell does he want?” he asked Andrew.

  “He who?” Andrew demanded softly.

  “It’s that damned politician. Remember, the guy from the country club. He said he wanted to see what we had done here, and like an idiot, I told him to stop by anytime.”

  “Public relations,” Andrew reminded him dryly.

  “Yeah, public relations!”

  Lee set down his coffee cup and stepped out of the den. “Mr. Hammarfield. Come on in. This is it.”

  The politician was, as always, followed by several men. As they came in the foyer, Andrew moved up by Lee and asked discreetly, “What the bloody hell is he doing here?”

  “Maybe he needs a testimonial to win the youth vote. I don’t know.”

  Dirk Hammarfield approached him with a wide grin and an extended hand. Lee accepted the handshake and introduced Hammarfield to Andrew. “Can we help you with something?” Lee asked.

  “No, no, I just wanted to take a look at the old Fulton place now that you’ve got it all fixed up. I have to get to the city soon, so I just thought I’d stop by. Too early to catch any of the action, huh?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Lee replied.

  “I’ll be on my way then. But I’m having a fund-raising dinner next week at the Swan. You—and your boys—are welcome to attend. On me, of course.”

  “Thanks. We’ll let you know.”

  Hammarfield smiled, then turned to leave with his navy-suited escorts following behind.

  “Why don’t I trust him?” Andrew asked.

  “Because he smiles too much,” Lee replied. He walked to the foyer and stared out the triangular door window. He frowned. Bryn and Barbara had arrived, together. And Hammarfield was approaching them, greeting them with enthusiasm. Too much enthusiasm. He was kissing Bryn on the cheek. And it wasn’t a brotherly gesture. The politician was still smiling with the innocence of a bright boy, but his eyes sizzled with nothing less than lust.

  “What is his game?” Lee hissed softly.

  “It’s hard to tell,” Andrew supplied dryly. “But unless you want to be known as ‘I Spy,’ I’d come away from the door.”

  Lee grimaced and did so. When Barbara opened the door, he greeted her with a smile, then tried to hide the frown that followed as he realized that the usually imperturbable blonde looked decidely nervous and a bit like she’d been through hell.

  Bryn looked even worse. She pretended not to see him, which was a feat in itself since he was standing in her way, and continued through to the den and the coffeepot.

  On an impulse he followed her. She jumped when he came through the door, scowled and cleaned up the coffee she had spilled. “What do you want?” she asked sharply.

  “Just to inquire after your welfare,” he replied in a dry drawl.

  “Well, I’m just fine. And I’ll stay just fine as long as you stay away from me.”

  He leaned against the doorway and lifted one brow. “Yesterday she purred, today she stretches her claws. Well, I can’t very well stay away from you. We work together. Unless you’ve decided to quit?”

  He could tell she was grinding her teeth as she gave her attention to her coffee cup. “No, I haven’t decided to quit.” She gazed at him again. “Am I fired?”

  “No.”

  He wanted to shake her; he walked away instead. There had been something about her eyes….

  More than anger haunted them. She looked scared. No, not just scared. She was nervous, high strung…and terrified.

  Each time he touched her during the day, he was tempted to refuse to release her. To hold her ever tighter and demand that she talk to him. To force her to rest and give some of the fear and worry over to him…

  But her eyes flashed each time they met his. A cold war had truly begun.

  * * *

  “You really are crazy, Bryn,” Barbara said flatly. “And I’m telling you right now, when you call from the county jail, I’m not coming to pick you up. I’m going to pretend that I don’t know a thing about it. Bryn, if you would just talk to him, if you were even halfway decent to him, it wouldn’t be so bad. But you’re hateful! When he catches you…”

  Bryn pulled her black sweater over her head. “I tried to be decent to him. I’d kiss his feet if I thought it would work. It wouldn’t. And he isn’t going to catch me, Barbara. I stumbled into him and Mick right before he left, and Mick was saying something about its being ‘his turn,’ and Lee said to try and be there by nine at the latest. So they’re either going out, or they’re going to rehearse. And if they rehearse, they’ll be in that soundproof room. I could explode a bomb and no one would hear me.”

  “Oh, Bryn, I just don’t like it. Not one bit,” Barbara said wearily. They were up in Bryn’s bedroom, and for the tenth time Barbara walked to the window and assured herself that it was bolted. “I did lock the kids’ window, didn’t I?”

  “We both checked it, Barb. No one is getting in here tonight. But then again, I don’t believe anyone will try.” She sighed nervously. “I’m ready. Come with me and make sure you lock both bolts as soon as I’m out.”

  Barbara nodded unhappily. They were halfway down the stairs when the doorbell started to ring. Both women froze; then Bryn shook herself. “Whisperers don’t ring doorbells,” she assured Barbara—and herself. But she gazed out the peephole carefully, then leaned against the door in dismay. “It’s that damned golfer!” she told Barbara.

  “Golfer?”

  “Mike Winfeld. I met him at the country club.”

  “The pro? He’s a doll. You get all the good ones!” Barbara peered through the peephole herself and sighed a little wistfully. “Just like Rebel Without a Cause—except that he’s got one now.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bryn demanded impatiently.

  “Mike Winfeld,” Barbara replied, surprised by the question. “He was a street kid—getting into drugs, petty thefts, tough-kid kinds of things. But in one of his foster homes he met a golfer, and it was success ever after.”

  “That’s just wonderful, Barbara,” Bryn muttered, “but I have to get out of here now.”

  “So open the door and explain that you’ve an appointment.”

  “But what if—”

  “If he comes in, I’ll entertain him for you.”

  Bryn cast Barbara a sharp scowl, then opened the door with a brilliant smile. “Mike! How nice to see you. What brings you here?”

  “The hope of catching just a minute of your time.”

  Bryn allowed her smile to fade. “Oh, Mike! I’m so sorry. I was just on my way to keep an appointment. But Barbara is here… Barbara, did you get a chance to meet Mike Winfeld?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Barbara had her hand graciously extended. “What a pleasure, Mr. Winfeld.”

  “I was just on my way out,” Bryn aplogized.

  For a moment she was really sorry; his handsome features were composed in a mask of disappointment, and she was struck again by what a pleasant individual he was. But she had to get going, and he was in her way! She couldn’t really think about anything else when she was so horribly worried about Adam. She had barely made it through the day. She could hardly remember anything about the nightmare hours of waiting….

  “Well,” Mike laughed, “just remember I’m a determined man! Barbara, nice meeting you.”

 
“Thanks,” Barbara murmured.

  “Can I walk you to your van?” Mike asked.

  “Of course,” Bryn murmured. “Barb, I’ll see you soon.”

  “I hope so,” Barbara remarked in a dire tone.

  “What was that all about?” Mike asked with a laugh as he walked to the van with Bryn.

  “Oh, she doesn’t like to baby-sit late,” Bryn said. They reached the van, and she unlocked the door to crawl lithely into the driver’s seat. “It was nice of you to come by.”

  “Not nice…just determined.”

  Bryn grimaced. “I really am horribly busy for the next few weeks.”

  “I believe you. Have a nice night.”

  “Thanks, you too.”

  He smiled and waved with a disconsolate shrug as he backed away from the van. Bryn turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the drive.

  In her rearview mirror she saw him climb into a small dark Porsche. When she reached the highway, his car was behind hers. She waved once more, and then forgot about him as her problems took control of her mind.

  Barbara was right. She was crazy. She was about to break into a man’s house like a common burglar. Fear raced through her. She was going to crawl around a dark house and try to break in. And then she was going to rifle through a man’s belongings and try to get out again with the all-important prize she craved….

  Crazy…crazy…crazy…it was crazy….

  Before she knew it, before she was ready, she had pulled into the secluded road that led to Lee’s estate.

  Bryn pulled the van onto the shoulder beneath the shade of some sloping pine trees. She cut the engine, and then the lights.

  Darkness surrounded her. She felt as if she could hear the night, and its whisper was ominous.

  She forced herself to grab her flashlight and hop quietly out of the car. She closed the door softly, but it sounded as if it had been slammed.

  She could see Lee’s house through the trees.

  It, too, was dark. Deathly dark.

  Go, coward, go! It’s your only chance. Think of Adam!

  She started walking. All around her the night seemed to close in. She heard every rustle of the trees, ever nuance of the wind. Crickets rose in a chorus to mock her; a fly buzzed past her face and she batted at it in panic.

  A fly, only a fly, she told herself.

  Feeling like an idiot, she pulled a black knit ski mask from her pocket and pulled it over her head, stuffing her hair into it and beneath the collar of her sweater.

  Now she really felt like a sneak thief.

  But she would almost disappear into the darkness.

  The impulse to turn back was so strong that she almost whipped around like a quarter horse to run in the opposite direction.

  But she kept walking. And finally she was standing before the dark house. He had gone out. Thank God. But why did his home have to be so isolated? It was a good thing it was, she reminded herself. If he had lived in a giant condo, she would never have been able to break in….

  Break in. That was why she had come. She had to start thinking like a burglar.

  Bryn bit her lip and ducked behind a bush. She moved closer to the house.

  Make sure he isn’t here, she warned herself silently, and she carefully began to circle the dwelling.

  She couldn’t see a sign of life. It was now or never, now or never….

  Barely breathing, Bryn moved around to the far right side of the house and the window that led to the den.

  Tentatively she reached toward it. She had come this far; she was going all the way.

  From the moment she crawled into the house, Bryn should have realized that she had entered a realm of nightmares.

  Oh, she should have known!

  The ski mask itched, and she tried to scratch her cheek as she nervously shone the flashlight about. Had the mask really been necessary? Yes, because if someone showed up there was a good chance she could outrun them. And as long as they didn’t see her features, she could keep her identity secret.

  Bryn moved swiftly from the den to the hall, then hurried to the living room. She played the flashlight quickly around her. Nothing had changed. It was the same as it had been last night.

  No, it wasn’t. The house seemed ominous tonight. Shadowed and ominous. The flashlight picked up the rifle case, and she swept it quickly by, only to see the display of bows and arrows. A quiver chilled her backbone. Yes, he had told her he knew how to use them….

  Get to the desk! she warned herself. The house was shadowy and frightening because she was an intruder, a thief. And the faster she worked, the quicker she could get out of here.

  Bryn hurried up the single step that led to the little alcove. What if he locked his desk? She tugged at a drawer. She was grateful when it glided open to her nervous touch. Gingerly she began to go through the contents. No prints.

  They had to be here. Either in the drawers or in the filing cabinet. She tried the second drawer, then the third. Then the center drawer. Nothing! Nothing but bills and letters and scribbled notes! She closed the center drawer and jumped in startled panic as it snapped shut with a sharp click. Her blood seemed to congeal, and then to flow again. She swept the flashlight quickly around the room. Nothing. What had she been expecting? The arrows to jump down from the walls and come flying at her?

  Stay calm, Bryn, she cautioned herself. Stay calm. There are three more drawers on the left-hand side….

  But she never touched the left-hand side of the desk. Panic—as strong as the stranglehold about her neck and as cold and sharp as the arrow tip against her ribs—rose up to engulf her.

  “Who the hell are you and what the hell do you want?”

  “I…” She couldn’t speak; she couldn’t even think. Terror had taken complete possession of her. She realized vaguely that Lee Condor was her captor, but not a Lee Condor that she knew. The whispered demand was laced with a primal, deepdrawn fury. His hold was cruel and ruthless….

  But as suddenly as she had been grabbed, she found herself released, and she heard him speak bitingly once more. “We’ll get some light on the situation.”

  Free! Bryn realized. She was free! With no other thought in her mind, she grabbed the wrought-iron railing that enclosed the alcove and pelted over it. The hallway loomed before her; in desperation she ran, fear shooting through her limbs.

  “Hell!” he snapped out behind her.

  She reached the window and leaped to the sill. “Stop!” he commanded harshly. She looked back to see that he had sprung with the lithe agility of a panther, hurling himself at her. She couldn’t go out; she had to come back in to avoid him.

  She jumped back a split second before his shoulder slammed against the window. But what now, she wondered in dismay. Run, don’t think. Run!

  She started to run, but not fast enough. A hand grabbed her sweater. Frantically she jerked back, and her sweater tore away in his hand. Without reason or thought, with blind panic guiding her, she charged into the hallway.

  Not back to the den! It was a dead end. She raced furiously up the stairway and was on the landing before she realized that this, too, was a dead end. No way out. If he caught her, he would rip her to shreds or call the police. Or rip her to shreds and call the police.

  He was right behind her. She heard his feet on the stairs; she could almost feel the warmth of his breath against her skin….

  Her eyes fell on the door at the end of the hall and she raced toward it. Reached it, and flung herself into the room. He was behind her! Slam it, slam it, slam it—it wouldn’t slam!

  No, it wouldn’t slam because he had braced himself against it. Bryn gasped as the air was suddenly sucked from her lungs when his charge brought his strength crashing against her, his shoulder bearing into her abdomen and sweeping her off her feet.

  She had the sensation of flying and then of brutally crashing. Against the bed. And he was on top of her….

  “No! Please!” she gasped.

  She started to fight,
almost insane with terror as she felt him climb on top of her, pinning her down. She struck out at him with all her strength, but it was futile. He caught her flailing arms and pinned them down, too.

  Mercilessly he ripped the ski mask from her head and face. The fickle moon suddenly sprinkled the room with a soft glow, and she was meeting his narrowed, gleaming eyes.

  “Ah, Miss Keller…”

  * * *

  Caught…she had been caught. He kept talking; she tried to answer. So frightened, so terrified—so very sorry that she had always shown him such hostility.

  But even that was not the end of it. No.

  The nightmare had only begun.

  She was not the only intruder. There was the sound of footsteps, and suddenly she was lying beside him half naked—barely breathing as the intruder approached. Knowing the meaning of fear, yet knowing Lee’s touch, feeling him, sensing his strength and determination…

  Then he was gone, and again she knew terror as she was left with only the echo of his anger—and the sound of bullets.

  Bullets!

  But Lee was all right. Thank God! Except that he was quizzing her again, and she was answering, trying to answer, and then he was warning her. “Be in the kitchen in five minutes flat, and be prepared to tell me this whole story—with no holes!”

  * * *

  Her five minutes were up. It was time to get to the kitchen.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lee turned on the hall light as he passed it; it seemed senseless to keep the house in darkness now. He glanced at the doorframe where the first bullet had lodged. No real problem there; a little putty would take care of it. But the front door was going to be another story.

  A shaft of anger stabbed him. Pictures! For a lousy set of pictures someone tormented Bryn to near lunacy and shot at him, nearly killing him and ripping the hell out of his home.

  He paused. At least now…now he could begin to understand Bryn.