“Saturday night. At eleven-thirty, if you can believe it.”
He laid the dough on the floury countertop, still not meeting her eyes. “I was thinking of taking a few more days off,” he admitted.
“You were?” she said hopefully.
“But I was thinking along the lines of running away with you. Someplace where I won’t have to share you with hundreds of people. I know a guy on the coast who charters a sailboat. I thought, four or five days, no worries, no looking over our shoulders. No cell coverage.”
She snorted. “You do like to push your luck, don’t you?”
“To the hilt,” he said, eyes gleaming.
Nancy watched his floury fingers patting dough onto the counter. “It sounds wonderful,” she said. “But I was hoping—” She bit her lip.
“What were you hoping?” He laid the lump of dough onto a floured baking sheet. He flicked his eyes up, frowning when she didn’t answer.
“I want this thing to be real, Liam,” she said. “Right now it’s a fairy tale, totally removed from my real life. I want to pinch myself to make sure you really exist.”
He slipped his arms around her waist, careful not to touch her with his floury hands. “Let me prove to you that I exist, sweetheart.”
She swatted him. “Stop trying to distract me. I want my friends to meet you. I want you to hear my artists. I…I want this to be real.”
“How long is this conference?” he asked cautiously.
“Four days. Thursday through Sunday.”
He tapped his fingers on the counter. “How about I come Saturday night, see Eoin’s showcase, and experience your life Sunday. Then Monday morning we take off and go sailing for a few days. Deal?”
Her heart soared. “Deal.”
“Great. I’ll call the guy, make the reservation. And now, let me put this in the oven and wash my hands, so I can grab you properly.” He scrubbed and rinsed his hands and pulled her into his arms.
“I’m so glad we’re doing this,” she said softly. “It makes me feel as if there’s hope for us. For the future, I mean.”
He stood so still, and so silently, a chill of apprehension gripped her. “Sorry,” she said, through gritted teeth. “Forget I said that.”
“It’s all right,” he said in a guarded voice. “I hope it, too.”
But he wasn’t hoping too hard, from the sound of it. She buried her face against his sweater and hung on with all her strength. As if strength had anything to do with hanging on to a man. She never had gotten the knack, what with her talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Like the fairy tale about the girl who dropped toads from her mouth. But she would hang on to the bitter end, toads or no toads.
They would have to pry her away from this guy with a crowbar.
John adjusted the angle of the flexible head of the video camera he was threading between the slats of the heating vent, checking the monitor to be sure it would cover the whole miserable little apartment.
He was in a foul humor, and had been for days. Ever since that bruising encounter with that pain-in-the-ass carpenter who had taken it upon himself to be Nancy D’Onofrio’s champion. Knightly had been an unpleasant surprise. He’d caused John to lose still more face with his employer, which he could ill afford to do. And for that, Knightly would die. First he had to get this shitbag job behind him. But most definitely later. John planned to make the carpenter his own special little personal project.
He’d already dispatched the worthless turd he’d hired for local backup, but that did nothing to satisfy the bloodlust. That came squarely under the category of taking out the garbage before it began to stink. That was pure practicality. No element of pleasure or recreation.
Back to the task. He looked around Nancy D’Onofrio’s wretched apartment. It was clear that she had not located the sketches. But she would be highly motivated to do so. He would be, if he lived like this.
He’d searched her sister Antonella’s apartment in SoHo the day before. It was lined with books rather than CDs, but had more or less the same pathetic square footage. He’d searched every nook and cranny. Studied every piece of correspondence. Rigged up watching and listening devices. State-of-the-art stuff. It was nice to have a large operating budget.
The carpenter’s house was the obvious next step, but John was waiting for the perfect opportunity. Patience was key to not getting caught or killed. Hard though that was to justify to a demanding boss.
The carpenter never left her alone. No doubt fucking her for most of the day. John didn’t blame the guy. He was looking forward to taking his turn. He thought about that a lot as he sat in the woods, staring through binoculars at the carpenter’s house, massaging his crotch.
His exhaustive, systematic search of the D’Onofrio daughters’ living spaces had turned up exactly nothing so far, which meant that the time had come to start in upon the luscious physical persons of the D’Onofrio daughters themselves. A task he would relish.
He’d given a great deal of thought to where to begin. At first, he’d leaned toward the younger ones, who seemed more careless and distracted. Antonella and Vivien had not yet internalized the threat.
But his instincts prodded him in the direction of the oldest daughter. If one of them knew something, chances are she would know the most. Besides, he was salivating to interrogate her. Having her snatched from his jaws had sharpened his appetite for her to a knife’s edge. He lay in bed, sleepless, imagining it. Her, beneath him, begging and struggling. Knightly couldn’t afford to hover over her forever.
Eventually, he would falter. And John would be ready.
The phone rang, and he whipped around, irritated to have his happy reverie interrupted. The answering machine clicked on.
“Hey, Nancy?” a woman said. “This is Andrea. I’ve been calling your cell, but it’s not on, so I hope you’re checking messages. I’m just calling to tell you that I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to find some other solution for Moxie. I decided to take a personal-leave day and drive up to Boston Thursday night so I can see Freedy’s showcase. I know I promised kitty coverage, but Freedy and I get so little time together as it is, you know? Anyhow, see you at the conference. Bye!”
Boston? Conference? John went back to Nancy’s cluttered desk, and shuffled with his plastic-gloved hands in the paperwork, looking for something that had flickered at the edge of his attention. Ah, yes. There.
A conference program. The FolkWorld Conference. Thursday through Sunday, at the Amory Lodge Hotel. It would be crowded, but she would be distracted. Open to meeting new people, schmoozing.
He tucked the program into his bag. Nancy D’Onofrio was about to have the networking experience of a lifetime.
Chapter
10
Nancy leaned over the counter in the Amory Lodge lobby. “Are there any messages for me?” she asked.
The desk clerk looked put upon. “Not in the past fifteen minutes.”
Liam had told her he would arrive around eight. It was a quarter to nine. Peter and Enid’s showcase was scheduled for nine-thirty.
She looked up to find Enid bearing down on her in performance regalia: a velvet miniskirt, cleavage bulging out of her black leather vest, her hair a mass of luxurious blow-dried curls. “Peter forgot to pack my new mike!” she wailed. “just spent a thousand bucks on that thing!”
“You bought a thousand-dollar mike before paying me back for the registration fees?” Nancy asked wryly.
Enid threw up her hands. “I couldn’t sing ‘The Far Shore’ with that piece of crap! It sounds like I’m singing in a public bathroom!”
Nancy sighed. “This hotel is crawling with musicians who have good mikes. Think of someone who owes you a favor.” Her eyes flicked to Enid’s cleavage. “Shouldn’t be that hard,” she muttered.
“Hey,” came Liam’s deep voice from behind her.
Nancy whirled around. There he was, large as life, in a crisp white shirt, jeans, and a long, elegant black coat. Incredibly handsome.
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Enid simpered. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Nance?”
Nancy bit down on an impulse to smack her. “Enid, this is Liam Knightly, a friend of mine. Liam, this is Enid Morrow, one of my clients.”
“Delighted,” Enid cooed, holding out her hand.
He shook it politely. “You must be Peter’s wife.”
Enid smiled brilliantly. “Nancy must have told you all about us!”
“Of course.” He turned back to Nancy. “Sorry I’m late. I hit traffic.” He gave her a hard, possessive kiss, right in Enid’s face.
An uncontrollable grin spread over Nancy’s face. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here.” Her whole body was smiling. Every cell, every atom, every photon of her was happy to see him. He was the handsomest man in the room, probably in the entire hotel. By a factor of ten.
“You’re just in time to hear our showcase,” Enid announced.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, with a courteous nod.
“Find Eugene and ask if you can use a Mandrake mike,” Nancy suggested. “I think I saw him in the restaurant about ten minutes ago.”
A pout marred Enid’s heart-shaped face. “Can you take care of it? I have to touch up my makeup and make sure Peter’s dressed properly.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
Enid scampered toward the elevators, casting a dimpled smile back at Liam. Nancy grabbed his hand and towed him toward the restaurant. “Sorry to rush you, but I’ve got to catch Eugene,” she said.
Liam’s fingers curled possessively around hers. “He left you for her?” he asked, in a low, wondering tone.
She tried to wipe the silly, satisfied look off her face. So Enid’s sex-kitten appeal didn’t affect him. Her mood soared. “Pick up the pace,” she urged. “I’ve only got ten minutes to save the world.”
He swung her around a corner into an alcove full of vending machines. “If you’ve got ten, you can spare one of them to kiss me. That leaves nine to save the world. That’s a generous margin.”
He kissed her very thoroughly, until she was soft, hazy, and glowing. “What was I supposed to be doing?” she asked, dazed.
He leaned his forehead against hers and kissed the tip of her nose. “The mike. From Eugene. For Enid,” he said dutifully.
“Oh, God.”
He tagged after her companionably as she ran her errands, and finally they were seated in the back of the hall, her hand tucked securely in Liam’s. Peter and Enid were great, and the band that backed them played with energy and precision. When the plaintive strains of “The Road to You” died away, the applause was long and loud. Nancy nudged Liam as she clapped. “What do you think?”
His face was noncommittal. “Better than I expected.”
Nancy tugged on his hand. “Let’s congratulate them. Come on.”
Enid spotted Liam’s tall form first, and she bounced toward them, beaming, her eyes expectantly on Liam.
“I enjoyed it very much,” he said politely.
Enid took him by the arm, pulling him toward where Peter was still seated, fingering his guitar. Nancy trailed uncomfortably behind. The situation was out of her control, and it made her nervous.
“Hey, Petey! Meet Liam, Nancy’s new friend,” Enid said.
Peter’s head whipped around. His eyes narrowed. “Ah, so you’re the guy who spirited away our manager the most important week of the year.”
Liam gently extricated his arm from Enid’s grip. “And you’re the guy who left her at the altar and mooches money off her.”
Peter’s mouth dropped open. He glanced at Nancy, his face both thunderous and betrayed. “Who does this asshole think he is?” he hissed.
Nancy pushed closer, horrified. “Peter, I’m sorry. He—”
“Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” He grabbed Enid’s arm. “Come on, baby. Let’s network.” Enid shot a bewildered glance over her shoulder as he dragged her away.
Nancy was aghast. “Oh, no, Liam. Look what you’ve done.”
The expression in Liam’s eyes was absolutely unapologetic.
She turned her back on him and left, but Liam kept pace beside her. No matter how fast she went, his stride lengthened to match it.
She pretended not to know him in the elevator. She’d known he was opinionated, but this was scary. This was destructive. Once out of the elevator, he stalked beside her with catlike grace to her room door, waiting as she fumbled for the key. She unlocked it and stumbled inside. The door ka-thunked shut behind them.
Liam flipped on the light by the door. “Okay,” he said in a grim, tight voice. “Go ahead. Let me have it.”
“I cannot believe you!” she exploded. “I had no idea when I invited you here that you would do your best to sabotage my professional life!”
He frowned. “I just told it like it was. And about time, too.”
“About time for what? To ruin my career?”
He snorted. “No, for a reality check. Peter and Enid are vampires. They suck you dry. And you don’t react. You don’t draw the line.”
“Timing is everything! Right after an important gig, surrounded by concert-series presenters, is not the best—”
“There’s never a good time, Nancy.”
She plowed on. “Grace. Delicacy. Minding your own goddamn business. These are the earmarks of maturity.”
“Fine. So I’m immature.” The label clearly did not bother him.
“Liam, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”
“I’ll tell you who’s jealous,” he said bluntly. “Peter. He’s jealous of me, and afraid of losing you. Or at least of losing control of you.”
Nancy gaped. “But Peter’s got Enid, and besides—”
“I got that jerk’s number the minute I laid eyes on him. ‘You’re the guy who spirited away our manager,’” he mimicked in a whiny voice so much like Peter’s, Nancy almost betrayed herself by smiling.
She caught herself just in time. “Peter and I have been friends for years. It’s normal that there’s some ambivalence—”
“Ambivalence?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “He’s pissed because for the first time, he doesn’t get to have his cake and eat it, too. He took advantage of you the whole time you were together. Then he met Enid, and he wanted her, too, so he figured out a way to keep you both. The perfect setup. You to get the gigs, and Enid to suck his dick and fluff his ego. Nobody’s going to give you the respect you deserve for free, Nancy. You’ve got to demand it. You’ve got to put your foot down.”
Nancy opened her mouth in automatic denial, then closed it. A dull pain in her belly told her that he was speaking the truth. An ugly, dangerous, ill-timed, inconvenient truth. But she couldn’t deny it.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said slowly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it was wrong of you to say what you said out there.”
Liam shrugged. Right or wrong. He did not care.
An aching silence spread out between them. Nancy wanted to howl in frustration. “What the hell do you expect me to do about it?”
“Get rid of them,” he suggested matter-of-factly. “Fire them.”
She gave a short laugh. “It’s not that simple. They’re my clients, Liam, not my employees. And besides, they’re also my—”
“Friends, right.” His voice was heavily laced with irony.
“Yes. Friendship is complicated. You work things out. Over time.”
“They suck you dry, and don’t even thank you, let alone reimburse you. They’re spoiled children. Get rid of them.”
Nancy threw up her hands. “Liam, you can’t just fire your friends. You have to find solutions, compromises.”
“Nope. News flash, Nancy. You don’t.”
“You’re not very good at compromise, are you?” she asked slowly.
He stared back. His silence answered for him.
Nancy clenched her hands. “I can’t deal with this conversation right now,” she said. “I’ve got enough to wor
ry about. So please. Either keep your mouth shut around my colleagues, or leave now. Agreed?”
Liam started to speak, stopped himself. He nodded.
She braced herself. “Does that mean you’re staying?”
He nodded. She let out her breath in a long sigh of relief. It wasn’t the wall. A reprieve. Maybe. She pulled her key card out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Here. You take this, and I’ll get another one made at the front desk. Get yourself settled in. Mandrake plays in”—she glanced at her watch—“an hour. Same room as Peter and Enid’s showcase. See you there.” She opened the door, turned. “Liam?”
“Yes?” His voice was wary.
She searched for words to express the yearning in her chest. She was glad to see him, missed him, wanted him. Maybe even loved him.
“Nothing,” she whispered as she slipped through the door.
Liam strode down the corridor, self-disgust sour in his mouth. Being rude to her ex had been bad enough, but spouting off preachy crap to Nancy was worse. Telling her how to conduct her business. Like he had the right. Damn. He mouthed the word as he stabbed the elevator button. A blue-haired old lady gave him a nervous look and a wide berth. Good instincts. He was an animal tonight. Lacking in social skills. What were the earmarks of maturity? Grace, delicacy, minding your own goddamn business? He came up blank in every category.
No more scenes. If he could get through the conference without any fuckups or fistfights, he would be rewarded by four days of solitude with Nancy. The elevator pinged. It was almost time for the Mandrake showcase, so he headed toward the hall.
“Hey, Liam!”
Liam turned to find Eoin leaning against the wall, freckles standing out in sharp relief in his pale face. Liam clasped his hand, which was ice cold. “Nancy told me you would be playing. I’ve been looking forward to it. How’s it going?” he asked.
Eoin shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve only rehearsed three times.”
Liam slapped him on the back. “You’ll be great. Don’t worry.”
Eugene and a tall, skinny black guy came charging down the hall, looking excited and self-important. “Come on, man, let’s do it!” Eugene said to Eoin, as they surrounded him and bore him away.
Tasting Fear Page 16