Mysterious (7 page)

But will I be able to protect you? Jennifer asked silently. Aloud she called, "Jerome?"

"What?" He had already turned away and was walking toward the door, but her voice brought him back a few steps.

"C-could you bring a newspaper back with you?"

"There’s a newsstand across the street. When we go shopping this afternoon, we’ll stop there and you can get one."

For the hundredth time Jennifer glanced at the clock, then looked at the door. She could leave. She should leave. Her eyes lit on the giant wooden rocking horse, and she sighed. What was wrong with her? Jerome Mailer had held her in his arms, kissed her, and given her a desire for something that she knew could never be. And still she didn’t want to leave. This man, at this time, in this place, was all wrong for her. Yet here she was.

It wasn’t rational, but she would stay with him, she decided—or at least she would as long as it was possible.

As she admitted that disturbing fact to herself, the phone began to ring. Jennifer hesitated, listening to the persistent, shrill ringing. Four times, five times. Finally deciding it might be Jerome, she went to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Jennifer," the raspy voice said, "listen to me. Let me help you. You’re in danger. I know—"

She dropped the phone back onto its cradle. They had found her. They knew. She had to get out of there!

But halfway to the door she stopped and slowly turned. Richard had told her that if anything ever happened, Wainright was the man to contact. But with that direction had also come the warning to be very careful of him. Hanging up had been pure instinct. Hearing his voice and realizing he knew where she was had shocked her. And that, added to the warning she had been given by Richard, was enough to make her panic.

Resolutely she forced herself back to the phone. Despite all of her personal doubts, she knew what she had to do. Firmly grasping the phone, she picked up the receiver and dialed the eight-hundred number she had been told to commit to memory.

"I’m sorry about hanging up on you," she said as soon as the phone was answered and she heard again the raspy voice. "Yes, and I know . . . I know I shouldn’t have panicked at the apartment, but I . . . yes, I was afraid and I wasn’t sure what to do. But . . . but I had to run. I was being followed! Two men. They—what?" There was only a second’s hesitation, then she slammed the receiver onto its cradle and stepped away as if it had suddenly turned into a snake.

As Jerome approached his door and pulled the key from his pocket, he grinned ruefully to himself. He couldn’t ever remember being this eager to get home. It was Jennifer, of course. Jennifer, the new light in his life . . . and the new pain.

He hurt all over. The muscles in his stomach had begun to hurt from the constant effort of tensing them whenever he was close to her. His body hurt from the effort it took not to pull her into his arms. And his heart hurt, too, with something he didn’t want to put a name to.

Did she even exist in the real world? he actually wondered. Or was it just in his mind and in his presence where she came to life? When he walked into the living room, would she be there? Or would she have dissolved into thin air, leaving behind only a ribbon of smoke?

But as he opened the door all his capricious thoughts vanished. Jennifer was standing behind a tall chair, her gaze fixed on the door. The pallor in her face alarmed him. "Jennifer, are you all right? What happened?"

Shutting the door, he walked toward her and his gaze went to her hands. They were gripping the back of the chair to the point where her knuckles had turned white.

"Nothing happened." She gave a husky imitation of a laugh and released her hold on the chair. "I’m just fine, really. When I heard the doorknob turn, my imagination got the better of me, that’s all."

Still keeping a worried eye on her, he shed his suit jacket and hung it over a chair. "Okay, then, if you’re sure. I’ve cleared my schedule for the rest of the afternoon. I’ll fix us some lunch and afterward we’ll go shopping. I’m also going to give you one of my charge cards. It’s for a local department store. I made arrangements with them this morning. Any thing you want or need, just call them, give your name, and your order will be delivered within a few hours."

"That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure I won’t need anything. Uh . . . you said we could stop at the newsstand across the street?" She had to know what was in the papers. In two days there had been no mention of what had happened, and she didn’t understand it, unless . . . there was a cover-up going on.

#

Lunch over, Jerome guided her to the garage located in the basement level of his condominium. And a short minute later he had pulled up in front of a large, open newsstand directly across the street from his building.

Leo turned out to be a hard-looking woman in her mid-fifties. Tall and a little overweight, the impression perhaps aided by the several layers of clothing she wore. Her gray hair was bound into a coronet and it gave her a curiously regal appearance.

"Mr. Mailer," she nodded. "How are you?"

"I’m fine, just fine."

She had eyes the color of faded blue cornflowers, yet they were clear and sharp all the same, and she directed them to Jennifer as Jerome introduced them.

"Leo, this is my friend, Jennifer. She’s going to be staying with me for a while." He turned to Jennifer. "This is Leo. She owns this newsstand and about a dozen others here in the Twin Cities."

Jennifer smiled, extending her hand. Leo took it firmly in her gloved one, but there was no hint of a returned smile. The day was cold and her greeting was even colder. She knows something, Jennifer thought uneasily. But what could she possibly know?

"What can I do for you today?" Leo asked.

"Just a newspaper."

"A local one, please," Jennifer requested.

As the woman picked a couple of newspapers from the rack, Jerome said, "Leo, I wonder if I could ask a favor of you?"

She turned her weather-worn face toward him in silent query.

"There may be some people coming around asking questions about me or about my guest—."

The faded blue eyes didn’t change expression. "They already have."

Jennifer’s heartbeat picked up as she wondered if they had told Leo anything. No, don’t be silly, she chided herself. Of course they hadn’t.

Jerome took a moment to weigh what Leo had just said. They were working faster than he had expected. He glanced at Jennifer, remembering his suspicions of the night before. These men were pros and he had underestimated them. It was so unlike him to let that happen. He couldn’t let it happen again. "I see. Do you know who they are?"

She shook her head and asked, "Are you in trouble?"

She had switched her gaze to Jennifer as she had asked him the question, giving the dark-haired woman a long, piercing look. Jennifer shifted position. This woman, Leo, made her distinctly nervous. She seemed to be able to see straight through her, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

"It’s beginning to look like it," he answered grimly. "I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t give out any information. I’ve already spoken to my doorman and the relief men."

She nodded.

"Thanks, Leo." He handed the older woman some money. "We’ve got to go." He cut his eyes to Jennifer. "We’ve got some things to buy."

He slid the car into gear and pressed down the accelerator. And Jennifer didn’t have to look back to see that the newsstand owner’s eyes were still on her. She could feel them.

As soon as they were well down the highway, Jennifer began skimming the paper. First the headlines, then the local news, and finally and surreptitiously, the obituaries. There was nothing.

Jennifer had already decided not to protest Jerome’s buying her clothes. Since there would be other issues later, more important ones, that she might need to win, she tried to accept the gift of clothes graciously.

He took her to a tiny boutique that reeked of exclusivity, where two women swathed in smiles waited on them with every attention. Or rather, they waited on Jerome, Jennifer noticed with interest. Quite clearly she was of secondary consideration, only a body to be pushed, prodded, and fitted into the most incredible clothes she had ever seen.

There was a royal purple dress of the softest, most fluid jersey, that stroked her body as she moved, and a pure white sweater dress that followed the lines of her body so faithfully that Jennifer was sure she wouldn’t be able to wear any underwear under it without it showing. In addition, there was a platinum two-piece lounging outfit, and a dress of the finest silk in a color of violet ice. Accessories and undergarments followed, plus a hooded cape of taupe cashmere to wear over everything.

Jerome chose each item without the slightest sign of discomfort and with every evidence that he had done this many times before. She tried to protest, realizing that the clothes he was choosing were not very practical, plus they were so beautiful that they would easily be noticed and remembered. But she had no say in anything; not even the colors of her stockings were left up to her. In the end she was allowed to choose a few more practical, but nevertheless expensive items, such as some sweaters, skirts, and slacks.

Jennifer’s mood was bleak as she watched the saleswomen pack the garments into boxes. Would she ever have the chance to wear any of these gorgeous things? She knew all too well that she might have to leave Jerome and the clothes at a moment’s notice.

Jerome stowed the packages in the trunk of his car and then slid onto the seat beside Jennifer. Resting his arm along the back, he drawled lazily, "You’re going to look beautiful in that black gown."

He was talking about the last item he had chosen—a bodice-fitting black satin nightgown with inserts of lace running in diagonal strips around the bodice, and tiny straps that dropped to the waist in the back. The robe was of matching black lace.

"I don’t know what you were thinking of. Why did you pick that gown in particular?"

He smiled, moving closer to her, and Jennifer’s pulse quickened. "Because that gown was meant for one thing. Seduction. And you do it so well."

"I don’t!" His nearness, his eyes so filled with blue fire, were swamping her. "I don’t." Her last protest was murmured. "I didn’t."

"Then you give the damnedest imitation of seduction I’ve ever seen, lady. What would you call asking a man to take you to a hotel for the night?"

"I explained all that." Her fingers combed through her hair in frustration. When she let go, her hair fell back into place in sweetly scented waves. "Aren’t you ever going to be able to forget it?"

He reached out and fingered a strand. "Not in my lifetime."

"Why?" Unbidden heat was building in her.

His voice dropped to a low rumble of suppressed desire. "Because I’m not sure I’ll ever recover."

"Jerome ..." His name was almost a moan.

He placed a finger over her lips to silence her. "Look, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I accept that you’re a married lady. But regardless, I’m going to take care of you. That’s it. Period. I can’t seem to do anything less."

They soon arrived at his apartment and parked. Since Jerome’s arms were full of packages. Jennifer fished in his coat pocket for his keys and opened the door. She stepped across the threshold first, then gasped. Furniture was overturned. Cushions and pillows were ripped open, costly art objects were smashed. And in the corner, the beautiful rocking horse had been torn apart.

Disorder and destruction were everywhere, and Jennifer had to close her eyes as a brief sharp pain of deja vu flashed through her mind.

"Son of a bitch," Jerome muttered softly through clenched teeth. "It seems we had visitors while we were gone." He slammed the packages down and motioned her back into the hall. "Stay here until I’ve had a look."

"No! Don’t go in there! They might still be around."

"If they are, they’ve bought themselves a helluva lot of trouble. They’re on my home ground now."

He quickly searched the apartment, then came back to stand in the center of the room and grimly survey the damage, his fists on his hips.

She walked up to him. "Jerome, I don’t know what to say."

"If you expect me to believe that this was a random burglary, you’ll have to come up with an awfully good story."

She shook her head. "I’m so sorry," she said, "and your beautiful horse." But he wasn’t listening to her.

"It would seem that Richard has found you." Jerome spoke quietly, but the cords on his neck were standing out, evidence of his controlled anger. "What I don’t know is why he would tear up my apartment."

Helplessly she realized that there was no answer she could give him that would make him feel better. She watched as he made his way to what was left of the horse and bent to begin carefully sorting through the pieces and placing them in neat piles. Her heart turned over at the sight. The exquisite treasure was in hundreds of pieces. She doubted even an extremely skilled craftsman could put it back together again.

It was all her fault, Jennifer thought miserably. She wanted to go to him, to offer him comfort, but intuitively she knew that he was in no mood to accept it from her. What could she do? How could she ever make it up to him?

Finally he stood up, and there was a new resolve on his face. "They’ve come into my home, invaded my privacy, and destroyed things that meant the world to me. That definitely makes your business my business now, and I’m not going to quit until I discover what the hell is going on. This whole thing is an intricate puzzle and you, sweetheart, are the center piece."

Much later that evening, after helping Jerome set the apartment to rights as much as possible, Jennifer stood at the window. Lights shone along the street below. Cars passed, stopping occasionally to buy a paper or a magazine at Leo’s newsstand. Little of this street activity could be heard, though, through the extra-thick glass of Jerome’s apartment windows. Her gaze swung to him. Sitting in the depths of a wing-back chair, he was absorbed by legal papers.