Dream Man (12 page)

“ ‘…thrilled me right through to my soul. The smoky gray …' Oops! Jeanie, will it be okay if I have to scratch things out? I'll have to totally obliterate that. I meant to write ‘velvety brown', like the guy said, but I was getting carried away and …”

“Go ahead. Scratch things out if you have to. Maybe it'll make the damned letter look more spontaneous.”

He looked up sharply at her tone. “Whew! What a grouch. You tired? Would you like me to take this home and finish it? I could have it in your office by nine.”

“No. It's okay.” She realized she had sounded churlish, and it wasn't fair. After all, he was trying to do a job to please one of her clients. It was good for her business for him to do the job properly. “Just go ahead and write. But do you have to read it out loud as you're doing it?”

“It helps to slow me down, but I won't if it … bothers you,” he said with a smile that was too knowing.

“I'm trying to read a very interesting article is all,” she said, hoping he wouldn't ask what the article was about. How could she explain a sudden vital desire to know more about the dry-land windsurfing simulator being used to train Olympic-class sailboard racers?

“I'll speak quietly,” he promised, and she strained to hear his murmured words.

“ ‘How many years we've wasted, you and I, never knowing the' … um, let's see— Hell! What did I write there? I can't even read my own writing half the time. M … A … G— Ah, got it! ‘magic we could create together.' Yeah, that's it. Magic's the term, all right. ‘But now that we know, we'll waste no more. I'll come to you, my angel, sweep you into my arms and slowly, so very slowly, strip away all the physical barriers that separate us. I'll enfold you in my arms, press my hungry mouth to your breasts. You'll wrap your silken thighs around my hips, your arms about my neck, and as the heat builds between us, we'll begin a fantastic climb, higher and higher. We'll gaze at each other until our sight blurs, our hearing is filled with only the rush of each other's breathing, and our every sense is captured by the passion flaring between us, building to such heights it can do nothing but burst in a shower of golden lights and fanfare of blaring trumpets. And then, slowly, slowly, we'll begin again and—' ”

“Dammit, Max! Stop it! That's not a love letter. It's a script for an obscene phone call! What happened to romantic walks in the moonlight, holding hands, and comparing dreams? What about long talks by the fireside? Can't you write about leisurely dinners in fine restaurants with unobtrusive waiters and strolling violinists? Read the guidelines, for heaven's sake!”

“He doesn't say they've actually done any of those things, just that he'd like to do them with her. I haven't got to that part yet, is all. I'm embellishing as he suggested, adding things I'd like to do with a woman.” His direct gaze told her exactly with which woman he'd like to do those things.

“Well, that's enough! Go home! Finish the wretched thing in your own place. Write it on your computer, then copy it out longhand. Just remember to do it slowly and neatly and have it on my desk by nine in the morning.”

“Yeah. I think that'd be best.” He got to his feet, folded the original and his new copy and slid them into his breast pocket then pulled her to her feet. “At this rate, it might take me all night to finish, and I can see you're really tired. You need to get to bed.”

She tugged her hand out of his warm clasp and stepped away from him. She didn't even want to think about the word bed with him still in her apartment.

“Fine,” she said. “Good night.”

“Yup,” he said, heading to the door. “You too.” He picked up his coat and shrugged into it.

“Sleep tight,” he said, and left.

“Not even a little kiss, Grandma Margaret. Not even a tiny peck on the cheek, on the forehead, not even a handshake, for heaven's sake. Oh, I know he's right to cool it, but did he have to cool it so fast? Put it into such a damned deep freeze that there can't even be a little bit of warmth between us again? Are you doing your job, or not?”

Suddenly, to her shock, Jeanie burst into tears of rage and frustration and good, old-fashioned hurt feelings. “What am I going to do, Grandma? I think I'm falling in love with the man.” Through the sounds of her own crying, she heard the gentle tinkle of golden bangles, but found very little comfort in the musical tones.

What she wanted was the loud, sweet fanfare of a golden trumpet heralding some kind of a miracle.

M
AX WAS JUST COMING OUT
of the elevator at eight forty-five the next morning as Jeanie opened the door from the stairwell. They both stopped and stared at each other, she wondering if her newly discovered love would show. She loved him and hated herself for that weakness. If he knew, if he pitied her, she couldn't stand it. Then slowly he smiled, and she realized that there was no flashing neon sign hanging over her head reading:
Here stands another stupid woman who has fallen in love with Max McKenzie
. “Hi,” he said. “Do you always take the stairs?”

“Yes.”

“Even in your apartment? All the way to the fifth floor?”

“As I told you before. Exercise is good for the body.”

He touched her hair, careful not to muss its neat appearance, then let his caress trail down over her cheek. She stood absolutely still, hoping not to give away her ready response to his touch. “Maybe it's good for your body but mine, after a lousy night, needs all the help it can get. I didn't sleep much after I left you.”

She unlocked her outer office door, turned on the lights, and opened the door to her private office. “I didn't, either. Too much coffee, I guess.”

“On you, it doesn't show.”

“Thanks.” She opened a drawer and dropped her purse inside. “You lie nicely, Mr. McKenzie.”

“It wasn't coffee that kept me awake. It was guilt.”

She turned and looked at him.
He knew?
“Guilt? Over what?”

“Over what I did. With that letter. It wasn't very nice. I apologize.”

“What you did?”

“I was deliberately teasing you. Trying to make you change your mind. Using sex to get my way.” He swallowed hard, reached into his pocket, and handed her a sheaf of papers. “I did the letter correctly, plus a few more just to keep a couple of days ahead of the game. Read them if you like. There's nothing… objectionable in them.”

She knew she couldn't bear to read them. She knew if she did, she'd fall apart inside, and beg him to at least try to love her. “I trust you.” She took them and, without even glancing at them, stuffed them into an envelope already addressed to the box number they were meant for. Then she sealed it and laid it down again.

“Thank you, Max. It was good of you to get them here so early. I'm sure you have a lot to do and so d—” She broke off and jerked around at the sound of the sharp ring of the phone on her desk. “Excuse me. That's my private line.”

He watched as she listened. He could make out hysterical feminine tones but not the words. As Jeanie's face whitened and she swayed, he leapt forward and shoved her chair under her, forcing her to sit. He kept his hands tightly on her shoulders, standing behind her, listening to her end of the conversation.

“He never got there? Sharon, it's just across the field and a mile along the trail! I know, I know. I'm sorry. Of course you've been telling yourself that ever since you heard. No! Listen. It is not your fault! He's nearly ten years old, and he's walked to Mark's house hundreds of times, spent the night there hundreds of times. You had no way of knowing that this once Mark's mother didn't know the boys' plans. Sharon, please! Please stop saying it's your fault! Okay, okay, I'd blame myself too. I know. I'm on my way. We'll find him, Sharon. I know it's crazy to say don't worry, because I'm worried as hell myself, but I'm coming and we'll find him. You just hang onto Roxy and wait for me. I'll be with you as fast as I can get there. In the meantime, tell the police every little thing you can think of. Check with all his other friends, and try to stay calm for Roxy's sake. I love you, Sharon. I'm coming.”

She slammed the phone down and stood up. Shrugging off Max's hands, she looked blindly around her office as if not knowing what she needed. She shook her head. “Jason's missing. Sharon said he asked if he could spend the night with a friend. When he didn't show up at school this morning, the principal phoned to see where he was. They always do that if the parents don't call to say the child won't be in class, and Sharon called Mark's mom who said she hadn't seen him and that Mark hadn't said Jason was coming. Mark hasn't seen him since yesterday at school! He's been out all night!”

Jeanie broke down, buried her face in her hands and moaned, “Oh, Lord, he's only ten and it's so cold at night!”

She stared distractedly around. “The police have started a search. I have to go help. Where are my car keys?”

Max opened the drawer and took out her purse. He slid the strap over her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her. Gently, he steered her into the outer office where Cindy was just turning on her computer. “There are some papers on Ms. Leslie's desk. Get them out right away, will you? There's a family emergency. Cancel all her appointments until further notice. She'll be in touch when she can. You can hold down the fort can't you?”

“Yes, sir. I sure can. Can I help?”

“No. I'll look after Ms. Leslie. You look after the office.”

He shoved Jeanie through the elevator doors even though she balked. “No! The stairs! Please, I can't …” But it was too late. The doors slid shut. She stood rigid, beads of sweat breaking out on her face, her fists clenched at her sides, her eyes wide, her breathing shallow and panicked. Max stared at her.

“You're claustrophobic! So that explains your stair fetish.”

She couldn't reply, only stared at the numbers as they slowly went from three to two to one until the doors finally hissed open. “Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry to have put you through that on top of everything else. But come on, that ordeal's over now. My car's right out here.”

“No! I'll take mine. This isn't your—”

“Hush.” He shoved open the main doors of the building, opened the passenger side of his car, and put her on the seat. In very few long strides, he was around, behind the wheel, and pulling away from the curb, “Your problems are my problems, Jeanie. That's the way it is.” He drove quickly, but always in control. In no time at all they were in front of her apartment building. “Inside,” he said briskly. “Get into warm clothes, strong shoes, whatever else you'll need to join in the search.”

“There's no time! I have to get to Sharon. I'll find some clothes in Nanaimo. I can stuff myself into her jeans, if I don't do up the button.”

“It'll take less time if you quit arguing with me. You'll need your own shoes, at least. Move, Jeanie. Now!” He reached across her, opened the door, and shoved her out. “Pack extra socks, shoes, pants. If you don't have a backpack, put them in a bag. We can add them to mine when I come back for you.”

“But where—”

He didn't wait for her to ask where he was going, just peeled away from the curb. She could see he was already talking into his cellular phone. She ran for her building's front door, up the stairs, into her apartment, and was stripping off her business dress even as she slammed the door. She did not have a backpack, but for some reason did exactly as he had said. She dressed herself warmly, then stuffed a complete change of clothing into a bag, dragged on her thigh-length down jacket, dug out a pair of ski gloves and a red woolen hat, and was ready. How had he known that she wouldn't just be able to sit and comfort Sharon while others searched, that she would need to be out there in the thick of it herself, searching all night if necessary? The warm clothes made sense. It was uncanny the way he'd read her, when he'd known her so short a time.

In the kitchen she stuffed a bag of raisins, another of chocolate chips, and one of blanched almonds down the sides of the tote bag, thought a bit, then added some dried apricots, two bottles of water, and a bag of mints. If she was going to be beating the woods in search of her precious nephew, she was not going to waste time going back to some checkpoint for food. She had just reached the bottom of the stairs when Max pulled up in front of her apartment building, reached over, and flung open the door for her.

He pulled a U-turn, and she groaned. “No! The other way's quickest to get to the freeway.”

“Relax, honey. We're flying. It's all arranged. My chopper's getting wound up now, the flight-plan's being filed, weather checked, and in minutes we'll be in Nanaimo, where a car will be waiting for us—unless there's room to land at your sister's place? I'll need an open area at least fifty feet wide, with no electric wires or anything like that in the way. And good, solid ground. But no school yards, either, or playing fields where there might be people. Know of any place like that?”

“Helicopter? Max, don't you understand? This is a little boy we're looking for! A little boy who's probably lost in dense woods, not a ship at sea or a downed aircraft that might have left a trail of broken trees! A helicopter will be useless. Thank you, but this is going to be a ground search!”

“Jeanie, I know that. I'm a member of PEP.”

“PEP?” It sound familiar, but she couldn't place it.

“Provincial Emergency Program. The helicopter is just to get us there ten times quicker than driving. Now, is there some place safe we can land, or do I go to the airport?”

“There's a big field right behind our house. It's fenced because Roxy had to be kept in when they first came home. She was only three. Jason played there too. So did Sharon and I as little children.” She choked up. Why couldn't Jason have stayed small enough to be kept in that big, safe fenced field?