by Janet Dailey
“But that wasn’t the case, was it?” he mused, his gaze never breaking its thoughtful study of her. “You may have saved my life back there.”
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “From the things she said—and the things you’ve told me about her—she’s probably on her apology cycle. But it wasn’t my place to make that kind of judgment. My job is to play it safe.”
“Maybe.” A slight frown narrowed his eyes. “But I still can’t get over how you reacted so quickly.”
Recognizing that his amazement came from the fact she was a woman, Delaney experienced a flicker of irritation and answered a little curtly, “In situations like that, there’s no time to think, only act. After a while, it becomes all reflex.”
“Reflex, eh? A programmed response to a given set of conditions,” he murmured with more than a glint of interest in his eyes. “You intrigue me, Delaney. You intrigue the hell out of me.”
The limo stopped in front of the Plaza Hotel, where the hired car waited and they made the switch to the second vehicle. As they started to leave, a cab sliced in front of them, forcing the car to stop. Riley and MacDonald piled out of the rear of the cab and climbed into the car.
“What about Rina?” Delaney asked once they were under way again.
Riley exchanged a private look with MacDonald, then replied with exaggerated mildness, “I think it’s safe to say she wasn’t a happy camper when we left her.”
“Are you kidding?” MacDonald expelled a stunned and laughing breath. “That woman could give a marine lessons in swearing.”
“Where is she now?”
Riley smiled. “With a couple cops who offered her a ride to the station or her apartment.”
Lucas chuckled. “That wasn’t one she could refuse.”
The rest of the day passed without incident. That night Delaney, her cotton slacks and top exchanged for a speckled shirtdress of navy crepe, went over the schedule for the next two days, detail by detail, with Riley. Finishing at last, she straightened from the library desk, sweeping the hair back away from her face with an impatient, combing rake of her fingers.
“That’s it,” she said, conscious of the beginning throbs that signaled a tension headache. “Do you think you can handle it while I’m gone?” Riley gave her a properly aggrieved look that drew an immediate sigh of self-disgust from her. “I don’t know why I said that, Riley. You’re more experienced at this than I am. Sorry.”
“It’s been a long day.” He shrugged it off.
“It has,” she agreed and tunneled a hand under her hair to rub at the knotting cords in her neck. She saw him take a cigarette from his pack and stick it in his mouth. “Give me one of those, Riley.”
He arched her a surprised look. “You quit.”
“I’m backsliding.”
“No guts,” he taunted lightly.
“No willpower,” Delaney replied as he shook one from the pack and offered it to her. She took it, then bent to touch the tip of the cigarette to the flame of his lighter. Straightening, she pulled the smoke into her mouth, felt a cough tickle her throat, and blew the smoke out without inhaling.
“What has you all keyed up, Delaney?”
“This business with Rina Cole, I guess,” she lied, then found it easy to let the tumble of half-formed thoughts and vague feelings roll out. “Part of me keeps thinking that episode at the hotel was an isolated incident—and rejects the notion that she would continue to stalk Lucas Wayne with murder on her mind. A deranged fan, yes. But she’s Rina Cole.”
“Because she’s Rina Cole, does that mean she isn’t capable of going off her rocker?” Riley countered.
“No, it doesn’t.” She toyed restlessly with the cigarette. “But it’s becoming hard for me to take this threat seriously, and I have to keep fighting that.”
Or maybe it was closer to the truth that she didn’t want to take the threat seriously because she didn’t want this job to drag out for any length of time.
“You’re in business, Delaney. You’ve been hired to do a job. And it doesn’t matter whether you think it’s a job that needs to be done or not.”
“I know,” she said on a sigh and repeated one of her own ironclad policies: “‘It’s not our job to determine if a threat is real or imagined; we leave that to the police.’ But usually I don’t have to keep reminding myself of that—and I do this time.”
“Maybe it’s lover boy Lucas that’s bothering you instead of Rina Cole.”
“Lover boy.” Delaney raised an eyebrow at that dated phrase. “You’re showing your age with that one, Riley.”
He ignored that. “Lucas has been coming on to you, hasn’t he?”
“I have a feeling he comes on to every woman. It’s as natural as breathing to him.”
“Maybe so, but a lot of women would find that exciting.”
“I’m not like a lot of women,” she stated. “Besides, I have no intention of getting involved with a client.”
“Again, you mean,” Riley said, reminding her of the first time she had.
“Are we back to that again?” Irritated, she took a quick, angry puff of the cigarette.
“Back to what? Aspen?”
“You’re beginning to sound like a broken record, Riley.”
“At least I’m not dodging the issue the way you are.”
“I am not dodging anything.” She impatiently stubbed the partially smoked cigarette out in the ashtray.
Riley winced visibly. “Do you have any idea how much cigarettes cost these days, Delaney? If all you wanted was a couple of drags, you should have told me. I would have let you have a couple puffs on mine.”
“Sorry.” Without the distraction of the cigarette, the compulsion to keep busy returned. “If there’s nothing else we should go over, I need to finish packing.”
“What you really mean is that you don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Riley—” she began with impatience.
He held up a hand, half-smiling. “Not to worry—the message came through loud and clear.” He strolled toward the door. “Don’t forget. My sister’s going to pack some clothes for me and drop the suitcase by the office tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll bring it with me,” Delaney promised.
“Thanks,” he said and disappeared into the hall.
Delaney turned to the garment bag draped over the sofa, made sure the hangers were locked on their hook, then zipped the bag shut. Only her short kimono remained to be packed in the overnight bag. As Delaney shook the robe out to fold it, Lucas Wayne walked in.
“Riley just told me you were leaving.” His glance went from her to the luggage on the sofa.
“That’s right. I’m catching the red-eye to L.A., taking care of some business at my office, then flying to Aspen to get everything organized there.” She made sure the robe’s seams were together, than folded it in half, and in half again. “Riley will handle things on this end.”
“I’m sure he will.” He wandered over to the desk and hooked a leg over a corner of it, that initial sharpness leaving him, letting his easy manner surface. “But I’ve gotten used to my shadow having curves.”
“I’ll tell Riley to wear some padding.” She laid the folded robe on top of the rest of her things in the overnight bag, conscious of the lazy way he was watching her every move.
“Unfortunately, it won’t be the same.”
“Riley will be relieved to hear that.” A wry smile tugged at her mouth.
He slid off the desk to stand in front of her. “I’m going to miss you, Delaney.”
“You’ll see me on Saturday.”
“Too long,” he said, then arched a dark eyebrow. “Are you going to miss me?”
She allowed a trace of amusement to show. “I promise you’ll be on my mind almost constantly.”
“I have the distinct feeling you don’t mean that the way I want you to.”
“Probably not.”
When she would have turned away, he hooked a
finger under her chin and guided it back to him. “I’m going to have to do something about that.”
With a tilt of his head, his mouth moved onto her lips in a kiss that forced nothing and promised everything. And Delaney knew, even as she felt the faint curl of warmth low in her stomach, that Lucas Wayne knew a great deal about women—including how to make love to them.
A discreet cough came from the doorway.
Lucas pulled back from her, aided by the firm push of Delaney’s hand on his chest, and fired a glance at the figure in the doorway. Delaney didn’t bother to look. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she already knew who it was.
“Sorry for the interruption,” Riley said with irritating cheerfulness. “But I remembered I had these pay vouchers that Delaney needs to take with her.”
“No problem. We were finished here anyway, weren’t we?” She directed the question to Lucas for the moment, avoiding Riley’s eyes.
Reining in his anger, Lucas looked her over. A satisfied gleam came into his eyes. “We are for now,” he said and winked. “See you Saturday.”
As Lucas sauntered out of the room, Riley came the rest of the way in. Delaney felt the slow, thorough inspection of his gaze and turned away, heat rising in her cheeks—partly from embarrassment and partly from anger.
“Don’t say it, Riley,” she warned through clenched jaws.
“Say what?” He feigned innocence. “Are you referring to that rule of yours about mixing business and pleasure?”
Her glance bounced away from the taunting gleam in his eyes as she grabbed the vouchers from him. “It wasn’t the way it looked, Riley.”
“If you say so.” He wandered over to the arm of the sofa and hooked a leg over it, folding his arms and watching while she stuffed the papers in the overnight bag. “They say a new flame is the best defense against an old love.”
“There is no room in my life for a new flame—or an old one.” She snapped the bag shut with unnecessary vigor.
“Really?” he said with obvious interest. “You mean you’ve never considered getting married in the future? Settling down, raising a family?”
Delaney threw the question back at him. “Have you?”
“Frequently.”
“Really?” She swung around in surprise, certain he must be joking.
“What do you find so shocking?” He tipped his head to one side, regarding her curiously, a smile tugging dryly at his mouth. “That I’ve actually met someone that I want to marry—or that she might consider marrying me?”
“No, it’s just…you’ve never mentioned you were dating anyone.” Truthfully, Delaney knew it had never occurred to her that he might be.
“There are a lot of things I’ve never told you, ’Laney.” He stood up, his gaze locking with hers. Only inches separated them—as had happened countless times in the past. Except this time, something felt different. Delaney couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was. It was something nebulous and vaguely unsettling. “A lot,” Riley repeated in emphasis, then moved away toward the hall door. “Have a good flight. I’ll see you in Aspen.”
“Right,” she murmured, feeling confused without knowing why.
Somewhere in the apartment, a clock chimed the hour, reminding her that she had a plane to catch. Preoccupied, Delaney gathered up her luggage and headed for the door.
SEVEN
MORNING LIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the lace curtains at the hotel room window.
A few blocks beyond the lace and glass rose Aspen Mountain, called Ajax by the locals. Wisps of clouds trailed its peak. Ski runs snaked down its slopes, appearing as wide ribbons of summer-green grass. At its foot lay the town of Aspen, which had begun as a mining camp in the late 1880s, then been transformed by silver barons into a showplace of Victorian elegance, the remnants of its past still visible in its period buildings, its tree-lined streets, its gingerbread houses, and its fanciful turreted mansions.
Today, after a long sleep, Aspen was again a town that attracted the beautiful and the powerful, the wealthy and the celebrated to its valley high in the Rocky Mountains. These things Delaney knew about Aspen.
Abruptly she pivoted from the window and its view. Her glance swept the room’s Victorian furnishings. The floral paper on the walls was authentic to the period. A crocheted spread covered the antique bed of black iron and brass. Marble-topped nightstands flanked it. Staying at the Hotel Jerome had been her father’s idea.
She remembered his reaction yesterday morning when she’d returned to her canyon home in Malibu to pack more clothes. Concern had leapt into his face when Delaney told him where she was going.
“But that’s where—”
She cut him off before he could say more. “I know.” She went back to the closet and hauled out more clothes, carrying them to the bed.
Her father stepped around the German shepherd parked at his feet. “But what if you run into him—”
“What if I do?” Delaney countered with forced indifference. “I’ll survive. The same way I survived before,” she said and deliberately changed subjects. “Did you know Riley has a girlfriend?”
“Riley? You’re kidding?”
“That was my reaction, too.” She went on with her packing. “He’s actually thinking about marrying her.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“He never said.”
“In a way, that doesn’t surprise me,” her father said. “Riley is a master at poker. He never tips his hand.”
“You can say that again,” Delaney agreed. “By the way, try to remember to water my plants while I’m gone. But don’t drown them, okay?”
“I’ll have Eddi come out and do it. They might live that way,” he said, then asked, “Where are you staying?”
“I don’t know. When I get to the office, I’ll have Glenda make reservations for me at one of the hotels.”
“I told you, didn’t I, that I spent time in Aspen during my wild oats days back in the fifties,” he said, then hastened to add, “Naturally that was before I met your mother. Those were the days, Delaney.”
He sighed and stared into space, a reminiscing smile softening all the harsh angles of his face until he looked almost handsome. Then he started talking again, dwelling on the past, something he had begun doing more often these last few years.
“All the top stars used to go to Aspen back then—Coop, Norma Shearer, Lana Turner—she was married to Lex Barker then—and Duke Wayne. He was quite the drinker and brawler in those days. There was this bar in this old hotel that was everybody’s favorite watering hole. It was a grand old place, built back in the silver mining days. It was a little worn, a little faded, but you’d like it, Delaney. I had some good times in there. The Jerome, that’s what it was called,” he remembered with a snap of his fingers. “Hotel Jerome. You should stay there.”
“I’ll have Glenda see about it,” she promised.
Delaney knew he would be pleased when she told him that the Hotel Jerome was not only still standing but had also been totally and lavishly restored. Tonight she’d have a drink in the Jerome Bar, his old watering hole. But today she had a long list of things to accomplish before Lucas Wayne arrived tomorrow.
Removing her trusty notebook from her purse, Delaney flipped through it until she found the phone number that Lucas had given her for his friend Susan St. Jacque.
“Gallerie St. Jacque. Good morning,” a cheery voice answered.
“Good morning,” Delaney responded automatically. “Susan St. Jacque, please.”
“May I say who’s calling?” the girl asked, her voice retaining its chipper sound.
“Delaney Wescott.” She rubbed at the ache between her eyebrows, thinking it was much too early for so much gusto.
“One moment.”
In less time than that, another voice came on the line—one not quite so cheery, but equally warm and friendly. “Ms. Wescott. How are you? Lucas told me to expect your call. When will you be arriving in Aspen?”
�
��I’m already here.”
“You are? But I understood from Lucas you wouldn’t arrive until later in the day.”
“I flew in late last night.” And tumbled into bed, exhausted from her marathon trip. “How soon can we meet so you can show me around the house?”
“That’s a bit of a problem, I’m afraid. I have an appointment in a few minutes. I may be tied up until somewhere around noon. Where are you staying?”
“The Jerome.”
“Isn’t it marvelous? You’ll love it there,” Susan St. Jacque declared, then continued with hardly a break. “Let’s tentatively arrange to meet at twelve-thirty in the lobby. If I see that’s going to be a problem, I’ll call.”
“Sounds good. I have a few other things to do, so if I’m not here, leave a message. Otherwise, I’ll be back by twelve-thirty.”
“Will do. See you then,” she said and rang off.
Delaney hung up and checked her list. The next major item was a visit to the local police station. She picked up her notebook, collected the packet containing her credentials and the backgrounds on the key personnel with her, and tucked both in her purse, then left the room.
After obtaining directions from the concierge, Delaney proceeded outside and turned left. Pausing at the crosswalk for the traffic light to change, she lifted her gaze to the rugged mountains that walled the narrow valley, then scanned the large luxury homes scattered on the mountainsides.
Finally her attention shifted to the wide Main Street and the Victorian false fronts of the buildings along it—buildings that spoke of another era. Despite its architecture and small-town look, Aspen was neither quaint nor picturesque. That was much too trite, and Aspen was too chic to be trite.
The light changed and a cyclist on a trim racing bike whizzed through the intersection. Delaney stepped off the curb and headed for the police station two blocks away.
The visit was both an official and a courtesy call in which Delaney presented her company’s credentials, explained the reason for her presence, and stressed that the role of her personnel was strictly to protect the client. The special needs—and sometimes special problems—of dignitaries, celebrities, and important personages was nothing new to the Aspen police. As expected, Delaney walked out of the building an hour later, assured of their full cooperation.