Falling Angel (29 page)

Ingrid rose and crossed the living room. She pulled the drapes of the window that looked over the long, curving drive. Sending out a small prayer of encouragement, she watched the twin taillights of the Highlander snake their way up to the main road.

Turning, she smoothed her white-gold hair back from her face. There was nothing more she could do. It was up to Cara now.

.     .     .

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now . . . “

No. Too self-deprecating.

“I wanted to clear the air before you leave town . . .“

No. Sounds like you’re some kind of sanitation worker.

“I love you, and I screwed up. Can you ever forgive me?”

No, no, no! Too raw, too unrefined, too
real
.

Cara rehearsed her speech out loud as she crossed the I-90 bridge into downtown Seattle. Everything she said sounded wrong. After much thought she decided to let the situation dictate her words. To keep her mind on her goal, which was to apologize to Ben for sending mixed messages, for telling him she expected total commitment and fidelity from him, even as she practiced the opposite. Although he had treated her harshly in the alleyway during the Fineman’s reception party, she had to admit that under the circumstances she could understand his reaction. She needed to tell him that she bore him no ill-will, and that she understood completely if he never wanted to have anything to do with her again.

She didn’t want him to leave town with this cloud of anger and misunderstanding hanging between them. And if he accepted her apologies, forgave her, and went on his way? For some reason, this thought left her cold.

That’s the best I can hope for, she told herself adamantly. I’ll be content with that. I have no choice.

Cara parked a block from his building. Filled with purpose, she pushed through the heavy entrance doors and took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. The faster she moved, the less time she had to second-guess herself and back out.

Her hand was poised to ring the bell when a peal of laughter rang out from inside Ben’s apartment.

It was a woman’s laugh, low and throaty. She sounded as though she’d just been told some delicious secret. There was a murmur of voices, one of them definitely Ben’s. Even now, hearing him so close by made Cara want to fling open the door and run into his arms. But who was in there with him? And, more to the point, what were they doing?

Cara pressed her ear to the door, straining to hear the conversation, but still unable to make out the words. Could it be that Ben had a new girlfriend already? A beautiful female companion who was joining him on his trip?

Cara’s first impulse was to slink away, but she firmly told herself not to be such a coward. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to barge in on an intimate
tete a tete
. She’d swallowed enough pride to come here in the first place.

Finding Ben romantically involved with another woman would destroy what little dignity she still possessed. Before barging in, she had to find out the significance of the meeting in Ben’s apartment.

Glancing around the empty landing, Cara’s gaze came to rest on a small metal door, adjacent to Ben’s front door, which led to the fire escape. She turned the handle. With a creak the door opened to reveal a narrow, grated rectangular platform from which a rusty ladder hung. The platform extended several feet to the right, and stopped about a foot to the right of and several feet below Ben’s kitchen window.

Recalling the layout of his rooms, Cara calculated that by peering through the window she would be able to see across the kitchen and into the living room, where, with any luck, Ben was sitting with his mysterious female companion. If the conversation appeared purely platonic, she could then confidently come back inside and knock on the door, her surveillance successfully completed.

Cara stepped out onto the metal platform. She leaned out over the railing as far as she could, craning her head to see over the molding of the concrete window sill. A strip of white ceiling and a wall-hanging came into view. But she was too low to see properly into the room. The only way to gain some height would be to step up onto the railing itself.

Cara slipped off her Mary Janes and placed them neatly on the fire escape. With their flat-bottomed soles and platform heels they would give her no traction. Hiking up her green peasant skirt, she climbed on to the rickety railing surrounding the platform in her stocking feet and leaned out over the gap. Her fingers grasped the grimy concrete ledge that jutted from the window casement. This position, precarious though it was, afforded her a much better view of the interior.

Sure enough, Ben was in the living room, facing the window, talking to a tall woman with long dark hair who sat on the couch. Cara sucked in a breath at the sight of him, dressed casually in a pair of faded blue jeans and a worn jersey, that unruly lock of russet hair falling across his forehead. Even from this distance she could make out the broad shape of his shoulders and chest beneath the fabric of his clothes, and his handsome face, animated in conversation. The woman was a little harder to make out, though from her stature and hair color, Cara had a pretty good hunch who it was. Alicia Keen. Why was she here? This didn’t look good.

Cara’s concentration wavered, and with it her balance. She gave a yelp as one of her feet lost its grip on the narrow railing. A second later and she was hanging partially suspended; a high-wire artist whose act had gone horribly wrong. Her left leg dangled in space, and her right foot arched painfully to maintain its grip on the railing. Her hands began to lose their hold on the window ledge as her body began to shake uncontrollably. She dared not look down at the 20-foot drop to the alley below.

She could just imagine the headlines should she fall now:
Woman Plummets To Her Death Outside Ex-Boyfriend’s Home.

“If I’d only known she was so upset, I would have taken her back in a heartbeat,” said disheveled artist Ben Kilpatrick, clearly heartbroken by the incident.

“It’s a shame,” said Alicia Keen, Kilpatrick’s new girlfriend. “But there are winners and losers in this life. I guess she just didn’t have what it takes to keep going.”

Cara gritted her teeth. Yes, the whole thing would be quite humorous, were she not inches away from death at the worst, or several broken limbs at best.

Unable to move back on to the platform, unable to remain in limbo, her only option was to attempt to scramble onto the window ledge.

With a grunt of effort, Cara swung her dangling foot forward to touch the wall. Scrabbling wildly, she found a tiny toehold between the old red bricks where the mortar had worn away. Inching her foot up brick by brick, she was able to leverage herself higher and higher still. Her right leg still splayed sideways, her toes curled around the iron railing. If she were to attempt to swing her leg up and onto the ledge, there was a distinct possibility that the motion would send her plummeting backward.

Cara took a shuddering breath. Her hair stuck to her forehead with nervous sweat.

An incongruous laugh from inside the apartment drew her gaze to the window. More specifically, to the six-inch space between the glass and the casement where the window had been raised. If she could walk one of her hands over to it, she would be able to slip her fingers through the opening and curl them against the inside wall, thus gaining a stronger hold.

With excruciating slowness, Cara worked the elbow of her left arm onto the ledge and stuck her hand through the open window. Holding her breath, she turned her arm and wrapped her fingers around the raised window frame. With one movement, she let go of the railing and pulled her body up onto the narrow ledge.

Relief coursed through her veins like a narcotic and she slumped forward against the glass. Jarred by the sudden movement, the window dropped. Cara screamed as the heavy frame slammed down on her hand.

She heard an exclamation from inside. A moment later, two anxious faces were peering anxiously out at her, as though she were a ferocious beast trapped behind glass. At almost exactly the same time, recognition dawned on their faces.

Chapter Thirty

Alicia couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

What was
she
doing here? With her hair blazing out from her head like a golden halo, her long skirts dirtied and torn, her frail body shaking as Ben pried open the window and gently helped her to the floor, Cara looked like an angel dropped out of the sky.

“I’ve heard of making a dramatic entrance before, but this is a bit much,” said Ben, still gripping her tightly as though trying to prevent her from fainting away.

 Looking up at him with huge blue eyes, Cara managed a weak smile. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping in on you like this.”

Gag me, thought Alicia. This woman is truly pathetic.

But neither of them seemed to care what she thought.

Ben smiled at Cara. “For someone as tradition-bound as you claim to be, isn’t this a little unorthodox? Most visitors find the front door a perfectly acceptable entrance point.” He caught hold of her hands, which were shaking like wind-blown leaves.

“I’ve changed. I’m not as conventional as I used to be,” Cara said.

Ben squeezed her hands tightly and Cara winced.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” said Ben. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s nothing. Just a little bruise.”

“Let me see. Ouch, that looks sore.”

“It’s okay, Ben. Really.”

She held his hands in hers, then gave a little cry. “Ben! What have you done to
your
hand? You’ve cut yourself!”

“A mere scratch. You’re the one who may need medical attention.”

Ben was fussing over the blonde like a parent. And was she actually fluttering her eyelashes at him?

Alicia was disgusted. It was as though she were watching some animal courtship ritual on the Discovery Channel. Only problem was, she would much prefer to be a participant in than a spectator.

“You were never conventional, you know,” Ben said. “You only tried to be.”

“I didn’t listen to my heart.”

“And so you got burned.”

“My wings melted and I fell.”

“Onto my window ledge.”

“Yes.”

“Not every Icara gets so lucky, you know.” He winked at her and she blushed.

“I know.”

Neither Ben nor Cara so much as glanced at Alicia during the entire exchange. It was infuriating! She might as well have been a cockroach on the wall. Also, they seemed to have developed their own private language. Alicia couldn’t decipher a word.

She cleared her throat loudly. As though startled from a dream, Cara’s eyes opened wide and she turned to Alicia. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, ducking her head with a smile. “It’s rude of me to interrupt like this.” And then, to Alicia’s horror, both Ben and Cara started laughing.

True, the situation was absurd, but Alicia found no humor in it. In fact, it was becoming increasingly obvious that her role was not the anticipated one of romantic lead in a drama, but rather that of the comical sidekick in a farce.