“It’s Miltronics. I have to go. There’s a fire. Several employees are missing—possibly dead.”
~~*~~
Early Friday morning, Clark, thinking a cup of black coffee and a newspaper might kill some time while he formulated a plan, crossed the street to The Coffee Company. The place was within sight of the townhouses where Katherine lived. Hopefully, he’d be able to get hold of someone regarding the rental there and move in within the week...unless the place had been taken already.
He paused by a newspaper vending machine and dug in his pants’ pocket for some change. The machine took his quarters but didn’t unlatch and open. He jiggled the change button. Nothing happened. In frustration, he yanked at the door handle. Metal groaned, and the door snapped from its moorings. Stunned, Clark stood with the door dangling from his fingers.
Well, hell. He hadn’t pulled at the handle that hard. At least not hard enough to do that sort of damage. It must have already been broken.
He glanced around, but no one appeared to have noticed his little foray with someone else’s private property. This time, he pulled a twenty from his pocket and rolled the bill until it was small enough to slip into the coin slot. Then after grabbing a paper, he placed the panel back on. Even though broken and misshapen, it somehow stayed.
Clark folded the newspaper in half, shoved it under his arm and tried to look casual as he walked the rest of the way to The Coffee Company. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee teased his senses when he stepped inside. While he waited in line, he unfolded the paper and glanced down at the newsprint.
The front-page photo consisted of a fire from the previous night. Suspected arson read the caption. Then in the headline. he saw the name in bold letters. Miltronics. Sights and sounds faded; his peripheral vision darkened and narrowed and colors drained to gray except for the lone article in front of him. His stomach rolled with nausea. Rage, inexplicable, and powerful, surged through him.
“Sir.”
The filthy bastards! They’d done it.
“Sir!”
Clark looked up and snarled. “What!”
The teenager blinked at him. “I was asking what you wanted.”
Heat crept into his cheeks. “Sorry. I’ll have a coffee. Black.”
He tossed a five on the counter, grabbed his coffee and lurched around the person behind him. After scanning the crowded place for a seat, he found an empty table by the aisle near the front door and dropped down in a chair. He set his cup down and flattened out the crumpled newspaper. The headline glared at him.
Miltronics.
Nothing else had gotten a reaction from him like that. Why the rage? And against who? What had they done? Burned the place down? Is that why he’d been so angry? He closed his eyes and searched for a reason, a face, an image. He came up blank.
“A non-fat, café latte for Katherine!” a Barista called out.
Clark opened his eyes, snapped his head up and looked toward the counter. Katherine was retrieving a cup of coffee. Even though she lived across the street and probably frequented this place, he couldn’t stop the way his heart did a free-fall to his stomach. For a panicky moment, he didn’t know whether to run or duck behind a display case.
He did neither. Instead, he remained seated and watched her walk down the aisle toward him. She glanced his way, then again as recognition flared in her eyes.
He lifted his coffee and smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s safe. I promise I won’t run over you.”
“Hi.” She returned his smile with one of her own, then searched the room.
He followed her gaze. It looked like he’d taken the last empty table.
“You’re welcome to join me.”
She hesitated in the middle of the aisle, while he moved the newspaper to make room. Just when Clark thought she’d decline, she glanced down at the paper on the table.
She dropped down in the opposite chair. “May I?”
When he nodded, she took the paper and flipped it around. Her hand had a distinct tremor to it as she took a sip of her coffee.
“Are you all right?”
“Umm. Yeah.” She tapped a finger to the article and looked up. It took a moment for her gaze to clear. “It’s only that—”
“What?”
“My uncle’s the CEO of this company.”
He couldn’t have heard right. “You’re talking about Miltronics?”
“Yes.” She nodded at the paper. “It’s a pharmaceutical company on the outskirts of Boston. He’s worked there since he graduated from M.I.T.”
He sat in his chair, afraid to move, afraid to react as shock and excitement assaulted him. Beneath the table, his fingers dug into the flesh of his thighs, and he forced himself to breathe in and out, slowly, calmly, while his heart crashed against his ribs with alarming speed. If he started acting odd, he’d lose whatever connection, however tentative, he’d established with her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his words husky with emotion. She couldn’t guess that it wasn’t sympathy that thickened his voice but hope at finding a possible link to uncovering his past. He glanced down at the newspaper and frowned. He hadn’t had a chance to read the complete article. “There’s a number of people mentioned here.” He scanned the names and froze. “He wouldn’t be Paul—”
“Yes. That’s him. Paul Spalding.”
Dread, fear and hatred rolled and twisted in the pit of his stomach. That name. It sounded simple and innocent, but not to Clark. Paul Spalding. Miltronics. They were bound together and linked to his past.
Clark now had a goal—to uncover why he hated them both.
“Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes.” Clark grappled for self-control. “And your uncle? He wasn’t in the building when it—”
“Oh, no! He was at dinner with us when it happened. When he left my parents’ house, he was in a state of shock. I called a while ago to get an update from my mother, but she didn’t have anything different to say than what’s reported here.”
Katherine frowned. “Excuse my rambling—seeing the front page caught me off guard.”
He shrugged a shoulder and smiled with difficulty. “No need to apologize. It must have come as a surprise to see something so personal on the front page of the paper.”
“I guess I should have expected it. What with twelve dead and three more missing.”
He blinked several times to clear his vision. Damn. It was almost as if he’d known them.
Her large, brown eyes softened. “I didn’t mean to bring down your morning.” Straightening, she pulled the strap of her purse tighter around her shoulder.
Katherine planned on leaving. He couldn’t have that. Not this soon. Think.
“Do you come here often?” At the inane question, his face burned. Talk about stupid. Couldn’t he have thought of something more original than that? Obviously not. He might have been better off sticking the proverbial foot in his mouth. At least that way he wouldn’t have sounded like a complete ass. “What I mean is—”
She laughed, a warm, throaty sound, which washed over him. “Yes, actually, I do. I’m a coffee addict. It’s quite embarrassing how all the employees here know my name.”
“Then I might see you around.”
Nodding, she rose to her feet. “Thanks for sharing your paper and table. I’ve got to get to work.”
Clark felt his smile congeal. “It was a pleasure.”
He couldn’t do a damn thing to stop her from leaving without causing a scene and alienating her. So he sat there and watched her go, a pleasant mask glued to his face, while frustration and helplessness gnawed at his insides.
Chapter 4
Katherine hurried from The Coffee Company and smothered the urge to look back over her shoulder. She hadn’t known there were men out there who still blushed—until today. And he’d blushed because of her. For someone so darn attractive, he was refreshingly awkward and unsure of himself—even sweet.
By the time she’d reached work, she’d pu
shed him from her mind, but by Monday morning thoughts of a gray-eyed man with thick mahogany hair edged back into her thoughts as she stopped off for coffee. Katherine tried to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed when she didn’t find him inside.
Was she that desperate for male companionship? Honestly? Yes. It was quite embarrassing how little time she’d spent with the opposite sex when it came to dating. She’d only had one serious relationship, and that had been way back in college. If it came down to it, and if she needed a date in a hurry, she would come up empty-handed. There was Ethan, of course, but he didn’t count.
After she bought a coffee and morning paper, she looked around. This time she didn’t have any problem finding an empty table. She shrugged out of her jacket and slipped it over a chair, then sat down by the window and looked out at another overcast day where thick-bellied clouds, heavy with the threat of snow, shuffled across the sky.
She saw a man walk along the sidewalk across the street and straightened. He crossed the road and walked toward the coffee house. She mangled the corner of her newspaper with a fist and felt her heart do a crazy little flip. It was him. When he reached the sidewalk parallel to the wall of windows where she sat, Katherine glanced quickly down at the coffee cup in her hand, but she still managed to get a glimpse of him through the corner of her eye.
The door opened, and even when a cold breeze brushed across her skin, she continued to stare at her cup. But the battle didn’t last long. Curiosity won, and she peeked beneath her lashes. He stood with his back to her while talking to a cashier. She’d forgotten how tall he was. A good couple of inches over six feet. He was big and broad-shouldered, too. The bulky navy jacket he wore emphasized his size even more. Its hem reached his waist, and the stonewashed jeans he wore hugged his long legs and small, tight buttocks. He sure had a nice—
He turned unexpectedly. Glancing up, she met his gaze across the room and felt her face burn with mortification. She’d been caught right in the act of staring at his butt.
He smiled, which revealed a dimple in his right cheek she hadn’t noticed until now. All her embarrassment melted away with the pleasure in his face. He looked as happy as she felt when it came to seeing each other again.
He weaved through the tables until he stopped at hers. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Not at all. I’m just trying to wake up before I drag myself to work.”
He sank down in the opposite chair. “And where do you have to drag yourself to?”
As his knee brushed up against her own, she shifted in her seat. Approximately four feet separated them, but his proximity seemed even closer, the way his large frame dwarfed his chair and their table. She glanced down at the coffee he held. His left hand, capable looking, long-fingered and ringless, was in proportion to the rest of him. Large. He easily wrapped his fingers around his cup. What was that saying? “Men who had large hands had large—”
Okay. She needed to stop that. Just because her personal life rated a zero, it didn’t mean she needed to act like a sex-starved idiot. Or was it this particular man that turned her brain into a narcotic induced stupor?
Then she realized he was looking at her with a question in his eyes. Oh, yes. Work. “The Morning Dove. I work at a shelter for runaway teens.”
“That’s admirable. I don’t know of anyone else with such a selfless job.” His voice was husky and deep, his gaze earnest. He acted enthralled, which she found both disconcerting and flattering.
Katherine shrugged and twirled the tip of her braid between her thumb and forefinger. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s very rewarding.”
“What made you decide to get into something like that?”
“Oh, I guess I fell into it.” Of course, not exactly the truth, but Katherine didn’t want to go there. Even after all these years, she was liable to get too emotional over why she worked at the shelter.
“And you?” she asked.
“Me?”
“Yes. What type of work do you do?”
“What type of work do I do?”
He frowned and looked around the room. Then he glanced at the table where her newspaper sat unopened. For a moment, she wondered if he planned on answering.
“I’m...a reporter.”
“Are you sure?”
His frown turned to confusion. “Why?”
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“I guess it’s because I’m between jobs.”
She grimaced. “That’s never fun. I’m sorry—”
“Oh, I’ll find something.” His dimple reappeared with his smile. “This way I have a chance to see some of Boston since I just moved here. Actually, you can see my place. It’s the end townhouse across the street.”
Already guessing what place he meant, she still glanced over to where he nodded. She vaguely remembered a sign on one of the neighboring lawns but didn’t know the details since the previous owner had kept to himself.
“If you don’t find a job soon, I can ask around. I know a lot of people who—”
“No.”
“Okay.” It looked like she’d upset him. No doubt he had too much pride to ask or want help.
“My problems are insignificant compared to what your uncle must be going through. How is he coping with the aftereffects of the fire?”
She watched him rub a thumb along the edge of the table. “Fine, I guess, under the circumstances.”
“From what I read in the follow-up, they never did find any survivors.”
“I’m afraid not. At least the police caught the man.”
His expression thoughtful, he continued to stroke the table’s edge with a thumb. “Yes, they did. A janitor at Miltronics with a prior record for arson and, may I add, a man not too swift to leave all that evidence in his apartment. I’m surprised he slipped past with the company’s strict screening policy. Even more surprised at how quickly the police were able to find and convict a suspect.”
“What are you implying?”
Sighing, he met her gaze with sober, gray eyes. “I actually don’t know.” He smiled, but his face remained serious. “Well, anyway, I’m glad they found the person, but I’d be even happier if I knew the name of the beautiful woman seated across from me.”
She was not going to blush at the compliment or the interest in his eyes. “It’s Katherine Spalding. No nicknames, but plain Katherine. And you’re?”
“Clark. Clark Kent.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He couldn’t be serious. “And you say you’re a reporter? That’s rich.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You know, the superhero? The man in tights who leaps over buildings and sees through buildings?”
“I still don’t understand.”
This conversation was not going at all how she’d hoped. “You’re making it sound like you’ve jumped out from some comic strip. That or some Saturday morning cartoon or kids show. How can anyone take you seriously?”
“You’re talking about a cartoon character?” He looked offended.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You’re serious.” Katherine knew she sounded incredulous, but this topped all the stories she’d heard over the years at the shelter. She’d caught herself a live one this time.
“If you don’t believe me. I have my driver’s license.” He reached for his wallet.
“No. That’s fine. I’ll take your word for it.” She looked at her wrist and realized she didn’t have her watch. “I have to go. It was nice talking to you,” she stumbled over the name “—Clark.”
He was an absolutely gorgeous, take your breath away...nut. No doubt harmless, but still a nut. From appearances, her mother would keel over in ecstasy if Katherine brought him home. He was articulate, clean, well dressed. Then again, appearances could be deceptive. For a while there, she’d thought something could come of it. The chemistry had been there simmering beneath the surface between them, but if she stuck around, she was liable
to get burned. Bad.
Standing up, she ignored the disappointment in his eyes, grabbed her purse and jacket and hurried from the coffee shop, leaving her coffee on the table.
~~*~~
Once again, Clark watched her walk away. Damn it. He scraped his fingers through his hair. Clark wanted to hit something, anything to expel his irritation at himself and the situation.
When Clark mentioned his name, the security guard at the newspaper had acted hostile. And now Katherine’s response. Both thought he’d lost a few screws becomes of his name. There might have been others with similar reactions Clark had missed; he’d been so self-absorbed with his own problems.
What was with this superhero? Clark didn’t remember anything about a cartoon character. And why had the thought of being a reporter felt familiar? Was it a false memory he’d conjured up from his forgotten childhood? He closed his eyes against the insanity and slipped his fingers beneath his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. A headache drilled into his temples and the base of his skull.
That same day Clark hunted down a comic and collectible store and found a book with a superhero in a cape and tights on the front cover. Once out of the store and on the sidewalk, he flipped through the magazine, and with each page, his embarrassment deepened. It was all there. His name in print. Reporter. superhero extraordinaire. Able to twist metal with his bare hands. He even looked like the cartoon character right up to his fake glasses.
So Katherine thought him a lunatic, and could he blame her? When it came down to it, could anyone? In disgust, he tossed the magazine in the nearest trash bin.
What did he do now? Tell Katherine the truth? That he’d lost his memory, had over one hundred thousand dollars and a gun stashed away, but above all, he’d recovered a photo of her from a murdered teenage boy? Yeah, right. The truth sounded crazier than the character he’d impersonated. She’d run that much faster.
~~*~~
Paul Spalding walked into his office and flipped on the switch by the entrance, flooding the room with light. Although the house was empty, he shut the door and locked it, then walked over to the window and closed the shutters against the evening. One could never be too careful. He picked up the telephone receiver on his desk, punched in a number and waited.
Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance Page 3