Just Like a Man (7 page)

Then Adrian turned to look at Michael, presumably to introduce himself and invite him into the conversation. But Adrian didn't need an introduction, something he obviously realized, since he already knew—

"Michael," Adrian said, his tone of voice now revealing absolutely nothing of what he might be feeling. Not that Michael couldn't have guessed. "Michael Sawyer," he further elaborated. Not that it was necessary, since there was little chance Adrian wouldn't have recognized him. Still, although Adrian might recognize him—although Adrian might know him—he had no idea who Michael really was these days.

"Adrian," Michael replied, amazed at his ability to sound courteous, even amiable, in return.

"You two know each other?" Hannah said, sounding surprised. Looking surprised.

And Michael decided to take that surprise at face value and not interpret it to mean she couldn't believe he would be capable of moving in the same social circles as Adrian. Which was pretty humorous, because there had been a time when he and Adrian both had moved in circles that were anything
but
social.

Still, yes, he did, by God, know Adrian. The SOB. So Michael forced himself to smile blandly, and although he looked at Adrian when he spoke, the words he said were intended for Hannah. "Yes, we know each other. But it's been a while. We have some catching up to do."

And once I've caught you up, Adrian,
Michael added to himself,
then I'm going to take you down.

Hannah watched the byplay between Adrian and Michael with interest. Not once in the six months she had known him had she seen Adrian caught off guard. He was normally the most unflappable person she knew—well, besides herself, of course—unaffected by everything from a smudge on his five-hundred-dollar shoes to a stock market that put many people out on a building ledge.

But he had visibly stiffened the second he'd looked over and seen Michael, and he had yet to relax his stance. Oh, he was smiling pleasantly enough, and probably to a casual observer he seemed fine. But Hannah detected the merest bit of agitation in Adrian's posture. And she found it very curious indeed that it had resulted from the simple presence at a fourth-grade potluck of Michael Sawyer.

"Then I don't suppose I need to introduce you?" she asked anyway.

"No," the two men chorused as one.

"That won't be necessary," Adrian added. He smiled again, and this time he seemed more himself.

Himself being a man who was supremely confident—many had called him arrogant, but Hannah wasn't sure she'd go so far as that—a man who was thoroughly at ease in any situation, and who could be at varying times charming and generous, exacting and cautious. He had the capacity to be ruthless, too, Hannah knew, a quality that had surely aided him in his quick climb up the success ladder. And for that reason, she wouldn't have gotten involved with him even if he wasn't on the board of the Emerson Academy. Ruthless-ness was a quality in a man she could just as soon do without. She wondered if Michael was ruthless.

And then she told herself it didn't matter. Because she wouldn't be getting close enough to him—ever—to find out.

"Adrian often attends these potlucks in his capacity as a board member," Hannah explained to Michael. Though why she would explain something he would doubtless infer was a mystery to her. Especially since she suspected Adrian attended these potlucks less as a board member and more because Hannah attended them, too. So she hastily added, "Where do the two of you know each other from?"

For a single, uncomfortable moment, both men remained utterly silent, utterly still, as if neither was sure how to answer so simple and straightforward a question.

Then, "As Michael said, he and I go way back," Adrian told her.

Strangely, she detected something in his voice that was almost antagonistic, but there was something there, too, that was almost affectionate. How very interesting.

"And how do the two of you know each other?" she asked, realizing that although he had responded, Adrian hadn't answered her question. Belatedly, she realized it was actually an inappropriate question to ask. Not only was it none of her business what kind of history the two men shared, but there was a chance that the shared history wasn't exactly good, and now she'd set them both up for an awkward situation.

She began to suspect that that was the case when both men still hesitated to reply, and instead only exchanged a hasty, meaningful glance. At least, Hannah assumed it was meaningful to them. She herself had no idea what it might have signified. Other than that she'd just
fauxpas-ed
herself into a really big pile of
merde.

"We, ah… we went to school together," Adrian finally said.

"Really," Hannah said. And then, even though she told herself not to, she continued with her same line of questioning. "Was Mr. Sawyer studying computers, or were you studying accounting?"

Adrian chuckled. "Accounting?" he echoed, turning his attention back to Michael. "You're an
accountant
now? Is that the career path you actually pursued? Are you serious?"

"I am an accountant," Michael replied a bit testily. "As for serious, well… you should know better than to ask, Adrian."

Adrian nodded. "I remember you were more serious about some things than others," he said.

"As were you," Michael rejoined. And there was a definite edge to his voice when he spoke.

It quickly became evident that the edge was elsewhere, too, because as a wine-laden waiter passed by them, Michael snagged a glass of red from the tray and downed half of it in a single, rapacious swallow. Not once did he take his eyes off of Adrian as he did so. And not once did Hannah take her eyes off of Michael. Something about the way he was looking at Adrian gave her pause. As did the way his strong throat worked over the swallow, and how, after completing it, he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, still cradling the wine glass with complete ease. His grasp was the only thing about him that was easy, however. Because he looked tense and angry, and Hannah realized to her surprise that she wanted very much to do or say something to Michael that would counter his tension and anger.

And when, she wondered, had she started to think of him as
Michael,
instead of
Michael Sawyer!

"Mr. Sawyer's son attends Emerson," she said, turning to Adrian. "This is his first year."

"Alex," Adrian said. "He must be in, what… fourth grade now?"

"Yes," Hannah replied, surprised, too, that Adrian knew that about Michael. Sawyer. Michael Sawyer.

"Yet this is his first year at Emerson, you say," Adrian added. "How interesting. The timing, I mean."

"Not really," Michael said. "I wasn't all that crazy about his last school. Emerson has a better program for him."

In response to Michael's comments, Adrian looked very thoughtful. "And how is the little tyke? Not so little anymore, I'd wager." He smiled cryptically as he added, "For that matter, how is his mother doing?"

Something cold and vicious sliced through Michael's expression as Adrian posed the questions, something Hannah hoped to never see in his face again. Because it made Michael look less like an accountant and more like, oh… she didn't know. An assassin, say.

"Alex is fine," he said evenly. "But his mother and I rarely speak. We divorced five years ago."

Hannah tried to discern some reaction from Adrian to that news, but he showed no emotion whatsoever. "And what, she doesn't ask about, ah… your boy?"

"Not often, no," Michael said, the words chilly and sharp.

And Hannah found herself hanging on every one of them. Michael had told her the first time he'd visited the school, in preparation for Alex's registration, that his ex-wife lived in Europe, and for that reason, Alex seldom saw her. But he'd offered no other information to further enlighten her about the circumstances surrounding the divorce, and he hadn't said a word about Alex's relationship with his mother.

Hannah had wanted very badly to know why Michael had been the one awarded custody when, in normal situations, Alex would have gone to live with his mother. Courts overwhelmingly favored mothers in such cases, unless they were chemically dependent, cruel, or unable—or unwilling—to take care of their child. Which had it been for Alex's mother? she wondered. And why did the woman not even call?

She waited to see if Michael would say anything more, but he didn't. So she waited to see if Adrian would press, but he didn't. And then she told herself to stop acting like she was watching a soap opera on television. This was real life. These were real people. And their situations were none of her business. Unless they affected Alex, in which case, Hannah figured she had a right to pry. She cared about the boy, too.

"Where in Europe does Alex's mother live?" she heard herself ask. "I mean," she backpedaled when she saw the expression on Michael's face—the assassin one was back—"I've always wanted to visit Europe. It must be so interesting to live there."

Michael narrowed his eyes at her, a gesture she somehow suspected she should interpret as a warning. Nevertheless, he answered, "Last I heard, she was in Prague."

"Oh, the Czech Republic," Hannah said. Then, when she realized she knew very little about the country, she added inanely, "They make lovely crystal there."

Adrian stepped up beside Hannah then and curved his arm around her waist, a gesture that could be interpreted as nothing but proprietary. It was also unexpected, and inappropriate. And unwanted, too. Okay, so it could be a lot of things other than proprietary. They were all things Hannah didn't like. So she started to step away, only to have Adrian pull her closer still, and she was so surprised by
that
gesture that she honestly wasn't sure what to do.

Especially when he looked down at her and said, "You'd love Europe, Hannah. I have a meeting in London next week. Come with me. We can stay overnight at the Dorchester. We'll have a wonderful time."

Before she even had a chance to reply—not that she had any idea what to say, so stunned was she by his invitation—Adrian turned back to Michael. "So where are you living now? Here in Indianapolis, of course, if Alex is attending Emerson. When did you get back?"

Get back?
Hannah echoed to herself. And then she realized it was a very good suggestion. So she got back. Spinning as gracefully as she could out of Adrian's arm, she took a few steps away, ostensibly to place her empty tumbler on the tray of another passing waiter, who was just out of her reach. And then she stayed just out of Adrian's reach once she was finished.

"Get back?" Michael echoed this time, out loud. "I never left, Adrian. Not really."

And my, but wasn't that a cryptic statement? Hannah thought. Even more cryptic, however, was Adrian's reply.

"No, I don't suppose you did," he said. "Nor will you ever. There will always be something of the Indiana boy in you, won't there?"

Hannah was about to open her mouth to ask something else—though, honestly, at that point she had no idea what would come out of her mouth next—when Bitsy Wainwright stepped onto the patio and rang a delicate crystal dinner bell, the soft
ting-a-ling-a-ling
carrying surprisingly well across the quiet murmurs of the crowd. And until that moment, Hannah had genuinely forgotten where she was, and what she was doing, and in what capacity she was expected to behave.

But Bitsy reminded her then, calling out in a voice as clear and delicate as the dinner bell had been, "Attention, please! Attention! Welcome to the Emerson Academy fourth grade potluck! So fortunate to have director Hannah Frost tonight. So delighted." And then she turned to Hannah and extended her hand, palm up, in what Hannah supposed was meant to be an invitation. "Hannah?" she prodded. "A few words?"

And then Hannah had no choice but to separate herself from Adrian and Michael and make her way through the crowd toward the steps where Bitsy stood. It couldn't have taken her more than fifteen seconds to make the trip. But after climbing the creekstone steps, when she turned around again, directing her gaze at the spot where she had just stood, it was to find that Adrian and Michael had retreated to opposite corners of the patio.

Like two boxers in the ring, she couldn't help thinking. Because although they had parted, they continued to gaze intently at each other from their respective places, as if they were sizing each other up to…
something.
Hannah had no idea what. But there was no sense of camaraderie in their positions, no suggestion of friendliness at all. On the contrary, she couldn't help thinking that the next time Bitsy rang her bell, the two men would come out swinging.

Very odd indeed, she thought. Odder still was her rampant curiosity about the two men's relationship. But the oddest thing of all was that instead of being more curious about Adrian, whom Hannah knew fairly well and should have cared more about, she found herself more focused on Michael. Michael Sawyer, CPA.

Michael Sawyer,
Can't Prove Authentic.

Michael wasn't surprised, when he left the potluck early, to find Adrian waiting for him by his car. Nor was he surprised that Adrian knew which of the scores of cars parked outside was his. Nor was he surprised that Adrian had slipped away from the party without being noticed or missed. Adrian had always been good at all of those things. Better, alas, even than Michael had been. And, of course, where Michael had left all the subterfuge and stratagem and sneakiness behind, Adrian had continued honing and refining his skills for future endeavors.

Like, for instance, this one. Whatever the hell it was. For all the agents assigned to Adrian over the past six months, OPUS still couldn't pinpoint what the guy was up to. He truly did seem to be an average Joe, marketing software for CompuPax during the day, pursuing women—like Hannah Frost, damn him—at night. He kept regular hours, held a membership at a country club where he played tennis on the weekends, subscribed to the opera, held a position on the board of directors of the Emerson Academy. He hadn't had so much as a parking violation since surfacing in Indianapolis. His whereabouts prior to his reappearance remained a complete mystery, as did his identity prior to that. Oh, he'd forged some excellent credentials for himself, credentials that had enabled him to be hired by CompuPax in the first place, but as Adrian Windsor, the man appeared to be living a perfectly normal life.