by Kay Hooper
He didn’t seem to find it surprising that she followed him, merely gesturing for her to sit on one of the low stools at the breakfast bar. “How did you find my apartment—the phone directory?”
“Yes. William said you kept a listed phone number, even though you shouldn’t.”
Derek got the coffee started, then leaned back against the counter and studied her silently and quite openly. There was a package of cigarettes and a lighter on the counter, and he reached for them without looking, lighting a cigarette while continuing to look intently at her.
“You … you do believe me?” she asked.
Without answering that, he said, “No purse, no coat or wrap of any kind. A dress that would get you arrested if you stood on the right corner—and especially if you stood on the wrong one. And you’ve done a hell of a lot of walking in shoes not designed for that. So tell me what happened in the last ten hours or so that brought you to my door at four A.M.”
Shannon hugged the blanket tighter around her body and took a deep breath. “Today—yesterday—just before five, I took one of those odd letters to my supervisor. It was odd in a different way from the others; it was referring to a design that was scrapped months ago, and discussed the shipment of the finished product, which was a prototype, to a foreign company I couldn’t find listed in our computer, or in the city where it was supposedly based.”
“Two suspicious items,” Derek mused. “A supposedly nonexistent product shipped to a nonexistent company. What did your supervisor say about it?”
“That he’d look into it. He seemed impatient, and I was afraid he’d dismiss it without checking, so I mentioned the other odd letters.”
Derek half closed his eyes and nodded. “Uh-huh. So you very honestly told him about things you should never have noticed. And I suppose all these odd letters came from the same source?”
Shannon nodded. “From Civatech’s director of design, Adam Moreton.”
“Do you always take care of his correspondence?”
“No. Only when his private secretary is sick.”
He nodded. “Okay. So what happened then?”
“I went home to my apartment.” Her face went completely white then, and her eyes looked enormous. “There was a party I was supposed to go to, and I went by a friend’s house first to change into this dress; it’s hers and she wanted me to wear it. I walked to my apartment from her place to finish getting ready, and unlocked the door. I had just pushed it open when my landlady called me from the first floor to tell me she’d signed for a package. I went to get the package. It was from my mother,” she added inconsequentially.
After a moment, Derek said quietly, “What happened after you went downstairs?”
She looked at him blindly. “The explosion … knocked me down as I was coming back up the stairs … everything was bright … when I got up … and hot … and the apartment—my apartment—was just gone.…”
Derek turned to jab his cigarette into an ashtray on the counter before reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. He poured a small amount into a glass, then stepped to her side. “Drink this.”
She was still gazing blindly at where he had stood a moment before, and tears spilled from her huge eyes to trail down her ashen cheeks. “Why did they do that?” she whispered. “Why did they blow up my apartment?”
Derek slid one big hand around her neck under her hair and then used the other to guide the glass to her lips, forcing her to take a healthy swallow of the whiskey. She choked and began coughing, but her eyes cleared of the dazed look. He put the glass in her hand. “Drink the rest,” he ordered quietly.
Looking up at him, she obediently finished the whiskey, her faint grimace of distaste automatic. “I don’t drink much,” she told him softly.
He took the empty glass, a little startled to realize that his hand had remained on her neck beneath the warm curtain of her hair, that his fingers lightly stroked her satiny skin. He removed his hand slowly, very conscious of that soft skin, then stepped back and half turned away, fixing his attention on the coffee that was nearly ready.
“It was meant to kill me,” she whispered.
He poured the coffee into two cups, adding whiskey to both. In a calm tone intended to keep her on balance, he asked, “You take cream and sugar, don’t you?”
Shannon blinked. “Yes.”
He fixed her coffee silently and handed her the cup: he picked up the cup he poured for himself, sipping it black. Watching her, he saw her wrinkle her nose at the taste of whiskey in her sweet coffee, but she sipped it slowly. He waited a few moments, until he was sure she was as calm as she could be under the circumstances, until the tears dried on her cheeks and a bit of color returned to her pale skin. “All right, Shannon. What happened next?”
She put her cup carefully on the counter beside her, then drew the blanket tighter around her body, looking steadily at him. “It all seemed so unreal. The apartment was on fire and the alarms were going off. People were rushing out of the building. I went too. Outside. And I knew it wasn’t an accident. I knew. They’d put a bomb in the apartment. Then I heard someone running, and I saw a man coming toward me from across the street. He—I thought he had a gun. It looked like a gun. And he was looking at me, like he wanted to—his face was all twisted and furious. So I started running.”
“He chased you?”
“Yes. I couldn’t think. I wanted to call the police, but—”
“But what?”
Shannon bit her lip, then raised her chin and met his eyes steadily. “A few years ago, I worked for a company in another city. Some money disappeared from the office cash box, and I was accused of taking it.” Her lips quivered slightly. “Nobody believed me. The police were sure I’d taken it, and my boss was sure. It was awful.”
“What happened?” he asked softly.
“I was arrested. I couldn’t afford bail. A few days before I would have gone to trial, another girl in the office was caught stealing money. They let me go.”
But not, Derek realized, before a great deal of damage had been done to an innocent woman. He took a deep breath. “I see. So you were afraid that somehow this whole thing could have been blamed on you?”
“I don’t know. I just couldn’t call the police. I thought I’d gotten away from the man following me, but I wasn’t sure. So I kept moving. For hours. I’d lost my purse and didn’t have any money. I didn’t dare go back to the apartment. And I was terrified to go to anyone I knew.”
“Afraid they’d be in danger?”
“Yes.”
“So you just kept moving until you thought of me?”
She nodded. “I was across town when I remembered what William had told me. It took a long time to find where you lived.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t arrested roaming the streets in that dress.”
Shannon flushed vividly and drew the blanket tighter. “I hid every time I saw a patrol car. This—I don’t usually dress like this, but my friend … this dress has a jacket, but I was carrying it when the apartment—”
“All right,” he said gently, a little puzzled by her obvious discomfort with what was, definitely, a beautiful dress and one she wore extremely well. “I understand, Shannon. And you were smart not to go back to your apartment, or to anyone you knew. Considering how fast they moved to get you out of the way, I’d say we’re up against pros.”
“We?” Relief came into her expression. “You’ll help me?”
In a light tone, he said, “I could never resist a lady in distress.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Thanks may not be in order. We’d better wait and see if I can help. But first things first. You need to take a long, hot bath and then get some sleep.”
“But—”
“It won’t do either of us a bit of good if you wind up with pneumonia. You’ve been out in the cold for hours, you’re exhausted, and you’re in shock from what happened.” He set his cup aside and moved
to take her arm, easing her from the stool. “Come on, and don’t argue with me. I know what I’m doing. Were you hurt?” he asked abruptly.
She flushed again, avoiding his steady gaze. “No. I limp because I was in an accident when I was a child.”
Derek nodded, realizing quickly that she was very sensitive about the limp, which was undoubtedly much worse than usual after the night she had had. He led her through the apartment to the neat bathroom, turning on the light for her. “Have you eaten anything?”
She was gazing around, but looked back at him then, very small and pale in the engulfing blanket. “Not since lunch yesterday. But I couldn’t—”
“You’ll eat,” he told her with calm certainty. “I’ll go find something for you to wear, then fix an early breakfast. Make the water hot and soak until I tell you to get out.”
For the first time, she smiled. “Yes, sir.”
A bit unnerved by that smile, Derek rummaged in a linen cabinet and produced a bottle of bubble bath, looking at it with the baffled frown of a man who isn’t quite sure where it came from. “Put some of this in,” he instructed. “It’s supposed to relax you.”
Shannon nodded. “All right.”
He backed out, shutting the door, and stood there a moment until he heard the water running. Then he went into his bedroom and found a flannel shirt and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring waist. He carried them back to the bathroom and knocked briefly on the door before opening it a few inches and thrusting them inside. “Clothes,” he called.
They were taken from his hand. “Thank you.”
Derek closed the bathroom door and headed for the kitchen, tiredly rubbing the nape of his neck and wondering what in hell he’d gotten himself involved in this time.
She slid lower in the water, resting her head on the lip of the tub, and sighed without being aware of it. The lavender fragrance was soothing, and the hot water felt wonderful. The coldness was leaving her, seeping away, and with its leaving she became more aware of a steadily worsening pain. Automatically, she rubbed her aching hip, knowing she had badly overstrained the joint and her muscles. And he had noticed, of course. People always noticed. Especially men.
Shannon felt the warm trickle of tears escaping from the corners of her eyes, and made no move to wipe them away because she was too tired. But you’re alive, idiot! Alive. How many times had people said that to her while she was growing up? You’re alive. Be thankful. You could have been killed like your father. The leg brace is nothing, after all. What’s a limp? At least you can walk.
So what if her apartment and every single thing she owned except the underwear she wore had gone up in smoke? She was alive. So what if somebody’s trying to kill you.…
She wanted to draw herself into a small knot and pass unnoticed by the world. And don’t forget to turn your crippled hip to the wall! she jeered silently at herself. Don’t ever forget that, don’t ever forget to hide the flaw. Wasn’t that what her mother had told her over and over, even after the brace was gone and the limp a slight one? Walk straighter, Shannon. Wear a lift in your right shoe, Shannon, and never wear very high heels because they make you look awkward. Move slowly, Shannon. Hold your head up, Shannon. Look people in the eye, Shannon.
Years. Years of being gently told by the beautiful mother who couldn’t bear imperfections that there was something wrong with her, something flawed. Years of submitting to the conspicuous matchmaking attempts of her mother, and of watching the dutiful boys and, later, men avoiding any glance at her leg. And, finally, escape to a life of her own, only to discover painfully that there was still something wrong with her. That men still avoided glances at her leg and never asked her to dance, even though she could because of her mother’s determined lessons.
And she hadn’t told Derek Ross all of it. She hadn’t told him that Civatech had been her fourth job in as many years. She hadn’t told him that after that first devastating job two more had been lost because she wasn’t perfect, because she limped. Because she was a lame duck in a world of swans.
Stop it! she told herself. She was healthy. Alive. Even if somebody was trying to kill her. A giggle escaped her, and Shannon opened her eyes to stare fixedly up at the ceiling. She was getting hysterical, dammit. Tired. She was just tired, that was all, that was all it was. And so sleepy. The bath was making her sleepy. Her eyes slowly closed again, and disjointed images whirled behind her lids.
He was such a big man, she thought drowsily. He made her feel safe. Made her feel, for the first time in many long years, that she … that maybe … her hip throbbed and ached. She rubbed it harder, the growing pain of it fighting off drowsiness. It hurt, and she was just too tired to tell herself it didn’t. Her muscles, sustaining their strength as long as possible, had finally given in; they twitched in painful spasms, knotting, making her entire leg tremble, jerk. And the joint felt raw and hot, hurting until she bit her lip.
“Shannon?” He knocked softly on the door.
She swallowed hard. “Yes?”
“Breakfast in ten minutes.”
“All right.”
She pulled herself from the tub and let the water out while she was drying off. Any weight at all on her right leg was almost unbearable now, and it was difficult for her to draw on the sweatpants. Even sitting down hurt. She finally got the pants on and tied the drawstring, trying to find some amusement in the extremely baggy fit. The flannel shirt was also ridiculously large: she rolled up the sleeves over her forearms and thought idly that she certainly made a fetching sight.
She left her things in the bathroom and moved toward the kitchen, gritting her teeth in order to walk. Hold your head up, Shannon. Move slowly, Shannon. Walk straighter, Shannon. And, for God’s sake, look people in the eye!
She looked Derek in the eye as she entered the small kitchen, and he instantly came to help her to the breakfast bar, supporting her totally. “Here, sit down. What have you done to yourself?” he asked roughly.
Shannon blinked back tears as he eased her onto a padded stool at the bar. Fooling no one, as usual, she thought tiredly. “I’m all right,” she murmured. “I’m just not used to so much walking. The bath helped.”
He looked down at her with a frown, then went to pour coffee, and set the cup and a plate containing an omelet before her. “Eat.” He fixed his own coffee and carried it and his plate to the bar, sitting across from her. “How did you hurt your leg?” he asked bluntly.
Shannon was looking fixedly at her plate, trying to eat enough to satisfy him although she hurt too much to feel hunger. “A car accident when I was four,” she answered, a little relieved by his open notice of her flaw. At least he wasn’t tactfully avoiding the subject.
“Is it the leg or the hip?” he asked in a casual tone.
She stole a glance at his face and found it intent but relaxed, the dark eyes gentle. He had put on a shirt, she realized vaguely, a dark sweatshirt that set off his blond handsomeness and made her disturbingly aware of him. “Both,” she said finally. “They thought I’d lose the leg for a while, but I didn’t.”
“You shouldn’t have been wearing those heels,” he told her, not in criticism, but understanding. “High heels throw the hips forward and the spine out of alignment. It looks sexy as hell, mind you, but I’ve noticed that fashion tends to put women in uncomfortable clothes and shoes most of the time. And it’s worse for you because of your hip.”
Shannon found a smile from somewhere despite the fire in her hip. Other than the friend who had bullied her into agreeing to go to the party last night, no one had ever talked to her so matter-of-factly about her flaw—especially not a man. Men tended to avoid any mention at all of her leg. She ate most of the omelet, more to please him than anything else, trying to keep her mind off the worsening pain.
When she had finally laid her fork aside, Derek reached a long arm to the counter, getting a bottle of pills she hadn’t noticed until then. He shook one small white pill into his palm and held it out to her. “This is
for pain. It’s mild, but I couldn’t give it to you on an empty stomach. Take it.”
She looked at him, hesitant even though she realized that the pain had brought tears to her eyes again.
“It’s all right, Shannon.”
After a moment, she took the pill and swallowed it with coffee. He has the eyes of an old soul. So wise. She trusted him without even wondering why she did. She had almost literally put her life in his hands, after all.
Derek rose from his stool and came around to her, bending to gather her into his arms.
She was startled: her voice emerged breathless as she said, “You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” he said calmly, handling her slight weight very easily and very gently. “You’re in agony every time you move; you’ve overstrained your hip with all that walking, and it’s getting even with you. Now, shut up,” he added politely, “and relax.”
Shannon felt very small and very confused, but her arms had automatically encircled his neck and she shut up. He carried her through the apartment to his dark bedroom, laying her very gently in the center of the rumpled bed. Before she had realized what he was going to do, he rolled her smoothly onto her left side so that she was facing away from him, and she felt the bed give as he sat on it.
“What—”
“Shhh.” One big hand rubbed the small of her back in a soothing rhythm, and the other came to rest on her aching hip. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “I was a masseur in a former life. Close your eyes, Shannon.” The hand on her hip moved gently and surely, and when the pain almost instantly lessened, Shannon was so surprised that she relaxed.
“You must have been a good one.”
“Better?”
“Yes.” She drew a shuddering breath. “Much better.”
“Good. The pill will take effect soon, and you’ll sleep for a good long time. When you wake up, we’ll talk about what to do next, all right?”
