Jen hid the laundered silk handkerchief in her drawer under a stack of slips and nightgowns. Out of sight, out of mind, she told herself ruefully. It was three days after the carjacking, her car door trim was fixed and her hand was practically healed. It was almost as if the event had never happened. Almost.
The small cut was a neat, red line by now, and all Jen had to do was throw away the handkerchief, but for some reason, she wasn't willing to relinquish her only tie with her mystery man. You're worse than a teenager, she told herself. But at least you're not sleeping with it under your pillow. She allowed herself an embarrassed grin before slamming the drawer shut. No more peeking inside and touching that handkerchief, she lectured herself, heading back into the living room.
The weekend had arrived ripe with glorious possibilities. The air outside was tantalizingly crisp and clean. In faded jeans and an old Michigan State University sweatshirt, Jen surveyed her enormous basket of laundry sitting in the middle of the floor.
"Later. We've got better things to do, " she said to Cobbs, who watched soulfully from the floor.
Cobbs jumped up onto the couch and wagged his tail excitedly as Jen looped the leash onto his collar. It was too beautiful to stay cooped up inside. It was a classic fall day, overcast, yet with the sun peeking through cinder gray clouds. The air had a chill to it, but was invigorating and filled with wonderful piney and leafy smells. The leaves were past their peak glory, but still brilliant and glossy.
The phone rang just as her hand reached for the door knob. In seconds, she heard her mother's voice from the answering machine. She winced and hurried her out. Anything to avoid an interrogation about why she didn't have a date this weekend. Why indeed.
Her tennis shoes made a crunching sound through the fallen leaves, and the tall pines rustled and whispered. She jangled with each step, her extra set of car keys bouncing uselessly in her pockets. Grabbing them was an automatic gesture after locking her keys numerous times inside her car. Blue jays scolded as Jen walked by, as if annoyed at the noise she was making.
Jen chuckled and blew the jay a kiss. Nothing could spoil her good mood. Especially since she'd dodged her mother's phone call. All that negativity. Auburn tailed squirrels taunted and tantalized Cobbs, who whined with frustration at the end of his leash. "Sorry, boy." She patted his golden head with sympathy. "City rules."
Grenville Lake was a beautiful place, the lake its prized center piece. Despite all the abundant natural resources, the lake community was not as friendly or as close knit as Jen had hoped when she’d moved in two years ago. People generally kept to themselves or formed tight, small cliques.
Living here reminds me of junior high, Jen thought, making her way down the well-marked foot path. Everyone in their own snug, smug little lives. Back then she had been a true misfit excluded from the impenetrable groups of her peers.
Jen had grown up about fifty miles from Grenville in a small, insulated town named Landley, that contained a population that was primarily middle-class and middle-America, where the people's lives revolved around church and the local baseball team. Jen had always felt distinctly out of place there.
As a young girl, Jen spent hours writing poetry and daydreaming, lost in her own romantic world. Instead of having crushes on football players at her high school, she'd pined and wept over Rhett Butler and Mr. Rochester from Gone With the Wind and Jane Eyre. "You'll end up an old maid if you don't snap out of it," her mother repeated from time to time. "Life is not a fairy tale, Jen. You'll only get hurt if you don't face reality and join the world with the rest of us."
"But I want true love—the kind you're willing to die for," Jen had replied dramatically.
She'd been an emotional, sensitive fourteen-year old, a dangerous combination for those junior high years.
"Nonsense. Why don't you go skating with Beth and Ronda? You can read any time."
Her mother had been so frustrated and confused by her introspective, imaginative daughter. Why couldn't Jen be outgoing and normal like other girls—giggling over a rock star or the captain of the football team? Who ever heard of a teenager spouting Browning and wandering around at night with her camera?
She wanted Jen to be a cheerleader, not a photographer for the yearbook. "You can't make a living taking pictures," Mrs. McNeily had lectured without explaining how cheerleading would lead to a more viable career choice. Mrs. McNeily wanted her to daughter to be popular, fall in love with a local boy and settle down. Her mother had despaired of her.
Jen had been more interested in nineteenth century literature, photography and caring for stray animals than in proms, pompoms and dating. She'd preferred reading or writing poetry to going to dances or hanging out with the other girls in her class. The McNeilys had unexpectedly conceived Jen while in their early forties and were unprepared for a child so late in life, especially a child like herself. At least with her parents retired in Scottsdale, Arizona, their relationship was now less strained. Distance made it easier for all of them.
Jen was starting to accept the fact that she was destined to be alone, that she was a misfit who'd never fit it. At twenty-eight, she'd already lived through a series of romances, none of which had turned out. Jen sighed and felt a stab of melancholy as she suddenly recalled her last serious relationship.
Sophisticated, ambitious Kyle, adored by Jen's mother. Kyle, the journalist, who'd told Jen that “he loved her but wasn't 'in love' with her," whatever that meant. You'd think being a writer he could have expressed himself more articulately, she thought with a little sarcasm.
"Play hard to get," her mother advised. "Make him jealous." Jen had let him go without a fight, to her mother's horror. "The closer you get to thirty the harder it is to find a good, decent man," she'd warned.
"I just want someone who loves me beyond all else. Someone who thinks I'm the most important thing in his life," Jen said aloud to Cobbs. Cobbs barked sharply once and wagged his tail, his eyes bright. "You're right," she said, grinning ruefully. "It's hopeless." The men she knew would always put their work, hobbies or buddies first. It's hard to come in second to a jet ski or hockey, she thought, shaking her head. At least I have my photography and Cobbs. And my friends, I have Joe and Nancy. And my dreams, she reassured herself. Someday, Jen thought a little wistfully. I'll adopt a child, someone who comes from a disadvantaged background, someone who needs love. She sighed and patted Cobbs’ solid side. He grinned up at her. Someone like me, she added. Another misfit.
"I won't give up on hope, not just yet," she said firmly. Jen pulled Cobbs from a bush, where he was trying to follow a squirrel, and turned to walk along the lake's path. The resident ducks and geese glided and cavorted on the dark water's surface, eyeing Jen hopefully. People usually brought bread crumbs or wild bird seed to feed them. She was giving them an apologetic look when a noise startled her.
"Hello there," a chirpy voice called. Jen spun around.
Pam Davis was raking the grass about ten feet from the pathway. It was too late to tiptoe by unnoticed, Jen thought glumly as she slowly walked toward her perky, blonde neighbor. Somehow, she always ran into her when she was least in the mood to deal with her sugary sweet cattiness.
Pam's adorable three-year-old daughter, Kirsten, was kneeling beside her playing with her Cabbage Patch doll. Model-pretty Pam and her husband were both thirtyish and the quintessential Barbie and Ken doll couple. They lived the yuppie-persona to the hilt. Kirsten was Jen's favorite member of the family, the only likable one as far as she was concerned.
Jen had once made the mistake of stopping to chat with Pam. Ever since finding out that Jen was single and lived alone with Cobbs, Pam would speak to Jen with heavy-handed kindness laced with strong undertones of pity and superiority. Obviously, Jen, single and not making a six-figure income, was a desperate figure to Pam.
"Hi, Pam," Jen murmured reluctantly as she walked toward her neighbor. A smile lit her face as her glance fell on Kirsten. "Hi, Kirstie. I like your doll," she said warmly. "Wh
at's her name?"
"Amy," Kirsten said with a shy smile. She made her doll wave at Jen, who obediently waved back.
Pam widened her round, blue eyes and dimpled, carelessly letting her rake drop to the ground. "Oh, Jen, are you taking a walk all by yourself?" Her tone dripped with sympathy, as if walking by oneself was too pathetic for words. "It's too bad we don't have more single people living here. Then you could find friends to do things with. But everyone seems to be married or paired off these days." Pam went right on before Jen could answer. "Did you hear the latest?" She licked her lips eagerly and stepped around her daughter to move closer to Jen.
"What?" Jen replied before she could stop herself. Pam was an incredible gossip who didn't need encouragement. She watched distractedly as Kirsten inched over to Cobbs.
"I heard that someone finally bought that huge mansion up the hill—of course, it could just be hearsay." Pam's eyes lit with greedy interest. "That house costs a bundle, which means we'd have real money living nearby. I mean that place has to be worth double any of the houses around the lake," she said, her smile broadening. "Which means a better class of people for neighbors. I wonder if the new owner is married or not." Pam waited a beat, then looked at Jen with a moue of regret. "But I doubt it. Most successful people get snatched up pretty quickly."
"While the rest of us pathetic losers are left dying on the vine, I suppose," Jen couldn't help retorting before she could bite her tongue. Pam had a knack for setting her off.
"I didn't say that," Pam said righteously with a toss of her head. "Don't be bitter, Jen. It's really not healthy, you know."
Jen sighed and went back to the subject at hand. "Has anyone met our new neighbor yet?"
Pam shook her head. "Why, are you thinking of stopping by?" she asked archly. She smiled condescendingly. "Be careful, you don't want to come across as pushy."
Jen bit back another retort. "Cobbs and I have to be going," she said through gritted teeth, pulling on the leash. "Bye, Kirstie."
"Say bye-bye to Amy," Kirstie called, holding up the doll.
"Bye, Amy," Jen obliged before turning around. She found herself stomping harder than normal through the leaves. Don't let Pam get to you, she told herself. She's too ridiculous to bother with. Jen began to jog, Cobbs panting beside her. She definitely needed to let off a little steam.
Beginning to puff, she reassured herself that this was healthy—surely the equal of her twice a week aerobics classes. Not that she needed to lose weight. Naturally thin, with a tendency to be a little underweight, Jen exercised to build muscles and curves.
Jen slowed down and held her side as Cobbs tugged excitedly on his leash, pulling her forward and nearly knocking her off her feet. I can't believe someone bought that house, she mused, irrationally saddened. I always thought of it as my secret place, my fantasy mansion. I always pretended someday I'd buy it myself.
Jen stopped abruptly, loosening her grip on Cobbs's leash. The trail that wound its way up the wooded hill was usually pristine. Residents were vigilant about keeping up the grounds around Grenville. The entrance was a dark, woodsy canopy with twenty-foot elms towering like silent sentries guarding the path. The pyramid of cigarette butts and matches jarred unpleasantly and the stale scent still lingered.
Jen frowned and nudged the debris with the tip of her shoe. Large footprints with tennis shoe tread made clear tracks into the moist earth around the pile. A stranger had been camping out in the woods, for quite some time by the number of butts. Jen scanned the area carefully. It gave her an unfamiliar peculiar feeling that someone had been watching hidden and unobserved from these woods.
Cobbs was leaping to get her attention and running around her feet. Jen exhaled loudly and started forward. If the watcher wanted to smoke himself to death, so be it. She wasn't going to let suburban paranoia rule her life. Jen had been taking care of herself ever since she’d left for college and wasn't about to lose confidence now.
Jen and Cobbs began climbing the hill, which rose about half a mile up. Though long and arduous, the mystically tranquil scenery made it worth the effort. As the path spiraled upwards, the trees grew thicker and thicker, squeezing out most of the skylight.
Deeper and deeper into the dark, almost night-like woods, they walked. Panting despite the cool air, Jen and Cobbs struggled up the final leg of the trail.
Cobbs was suddenly uncharacteristically quiet. Jen reached one hand down to pat him and, with the other hand, shoved away a snarl of low hanging branches. No one ever came up this far to do any sort of maintenance, and the trees and plants were allowed to grow wild and without restraint. The air was thick with a pungent, woodsy aroma. As they reached the clearing at the edge of the forest, Jen hurried eagerly forward, pulling the silent Cobbs behind her.
There it was. Her private Thornfield Hall, crowning the hill's crest like a jewel. Jen, breathing hard from exertion and anticipation, brushed back the stray wisps of hair and tightened her ponytail. A soft smile spread across her face as she gazed at the house. Pam was nuts, she told herself. The place still looked deserted.
The big, stately house was so exactly the way she imagined the gothic mansion in Jane Eyre to be that she'd secretly christened it with the same name. A hawk cried out and descended overhead. Jen's heart leapt to her throat and she jumped nervously. Cobbs whined and pawed at the ground. "You big baby," she scolded in a voice a tad too shrill, reaching down to give him a comforting hug. "It's only a bird."
Uncomfortable, unwanted images of the carjacking last week flashed through her mind and her nerves exploded to attention. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the panoramic view of the lake and houses clustering it. It was lovely, but somehow, the familiar scene seemed far, far away, as if she was only viewing it on a movie screen. The temperature had dropped and Jen shivered. It was colder and the sky was darker. Today, the hill top seemed like an altogether different and alien place. Not peaceful. But alive and filled with tiny noises, like whispers.
Cobbs vaulted forward, dragging at the leash, barking in an odd, chirpy voice. The leash cut into her hand and Jen started to call out to him. The air above them exploded. Flapping and cackling, a black object swooped inches from Jen's head. Involuntarily, she raised her arm in front of her face when a voice called.
"Dumas, back, come back here, immediately." The voice, which seemed to come from out of nowhere, shot through her like a bullet. She started with a half-scream. A tall, black garbed man walked toward them as the crow descended and perched on his arm, watching the scene with bright, beady eyes.
Jen cautiously stood several feet away with a firm hold on Cobbs, unwilling and too uneasy to move any closer. As if reading her thoughts, the man stopped in his tracks. Jen looked into his face, her eyes meeting his large, dark ones in recognition.
"Oh, it's you!" she burst out, unintentionally rude. "I mean—what a surprise," she amended, flushing.
"When I heard Dumas making such a fuss, I expected to find a fox or a rabbit." The man's voice was smoke and velvet, the accent tantalizing. "I'm happy to find more amenable company." He smiled. Jen shivered. She had forgotten just how attractive his voice was. His features were beautifully molded, his mouth both sensitive and sensual. She had the sudden, crazy image of that mouth pressed against her own.
Mortified at how her thoughts had strayed to erotic fantasies about a complete stranger, she prayed he couldn't read her mind, yet she couldn't seem to stop herself from staring at him.
With his tawny hair longish, yet well-cut, and his expensive, but unusual, long, black coat, Jen was convinced that he was foreign born, probably from Europe. Would he call her that name again? It sounded French. Of course, ninny, she berated herself, that's what he must be. He could have been anywhere from his mid-thirties to mid-forties.
Her eyes fastened on the large, brilliant, red stone ring, accenting his long, slender hands. Her eyes drifted upward to meet his. He smiled at her, but his eyes were unreadable. Jen blushed again, realizing she had bee
n gawking for quite some length of time. She was conscious that she was perspiring from all of the physical exercise. With wind blown hair and worn-off makeup, she felt herself at a distinct disadvantage. Why can't I ever look good when I meet a cute guy? she thought in disgust.
Jen made herself stop gaping and speak. "You never told me how you scared off the carjackers," she blurted.
The man shrugged. "They had a sudden change of heart," he said, as if not eager to discuss the subject.
"A change of heart," she echoed in disbelief. He had to be kidding.
He smiled, but added nothing to his explanation. There was a moment of silence.
"We should have called the police, or at least the newspapers. You may have saved that woman's life." Now that she’d started, Jen couldn't stop the nervous words flying from her mouth. "People need to know there are still some good guys left in the world." A nervous smile twitched, then died on her lips. "We all could use a little shot of good news and faith in our fellow man. People need to know there are still heroes around—"
A small frown crossed his handsome face. "I'm no hero, I assure you. And I am most definitely not seeking any recognition or attention."
"But you have to admit that what you did was brave, which does make you a hero," she persisted.
He was silent a moment as he stroked the crow, which preened its feathers. The man sighed softly. "If you insist, but heroes often have the sad misfortune of ending up dead."
Jen coughed uneasily, uncertain how to respond to that statement. "I'm just grateful you showed up when you did," she murmured.
His eyes fastened on her. "Is your hand better now?"
She showed him her palm and wiggled her fingers. "It's almost completely healed. It was only a minor cut." She reddened, remembering how she'd nearly fainted.
"It's hard to tell how serious an injury is at a glance. Some things are more dangerous than they appear. It's usually wise to err on the side of caution."
Feeling like there was some hidden warning in his words, Jen reached down to pat Cobbs, hoping to reassure the uneasy dog, who was biting on the leash.
Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 3
