Be My Valentine

by Debbie Macomber

  “You know,” Jo Ann said thoughtfully once the train had started again. “My Logan’s modeled after Dan, but in this case, I’m beginning to have—”

  “Did you see that?” Bailey interrupted, grabbing her friend’s arm in her enthusiasm. The longer she studied the stranger, the more impressed she became.

  “What?” Jo Ann demanded, glancing around her.

  “The elegant way he turned the page.” Bailey was thinking of her own miserable attempts to read while standing in a moving train. Any endeavor to turn the unwieldy newspaper page resulted in frustration to her and anyone unfortunate enough to be standing nearby. Yet he did it as gracefully and easily as if he were sitting at his own desk, in his own office.

  “You’re really hung up on this guy, aren’t you?”

  “You still don’t see it, do you?” Bailey couldn’t help being disappointed. She would’ve expected Jo Ann, of all her friends, to understand that this stranger was everything she’d ever wanted in Michael, from the top of his perfect hair to the tip of his (probably) size-eleven shoe.

  “I’m still trying,” Jo Ann said squinting as she stared at Bailey’s hero, “but I don’t quite see it.”

  “That’s what I thought.” But Bailey felt convinced she was right. This tall, handsome man was Michael, and it didn’t matter if Jo Ann saw it or not. She did, and that was all that mattered.

  The subway train slowed as it neared the next stop. Once again, passengers immediately crowded the doorway. Her hero slipped the newspaper into his briefcase, removed the umbrella hooked around his forearm and stood back, politely waiting his turn.

  “Oh, my,” Bailey said, panic in her voice. This could get complicated. Her heart was already thundering like a Midwest storm gone berserk. She reached for her purse and vaulted to her feet.

  Jo Ann looked at her as though she suspected Bailey had lost her wits. She tugged the sleeve of Bailey’s coat. “This isn’t our stop.”

  “Yes, I know,” Bailey said, pulling an unwilling Jo Ann to her feet.

  “Then what are you doing getting off here?”

  Bailey frowned. “We’re following him, what else?”

  “We? But what about our jobs?”

  “You don’t expect me to do this alone, do you?”

  Two

  “You don’t mean we’re actually going to follow him?”

  “Of course we are.” They couldn’t stand there arguing. “Are you coming or not?”

  For the first time in recent history, Jo Ann seemed at a complete loss for words. Just when Bailey figured she’d have to do this on her own, Jo Ann nodded. The two dashed off the car just in time.

  “I’ve never done anything so crazy in all my life,” Jo Ann muttered.

  Bailey ignored her. “He went that way,” she said, pointing toward the escalator. Grabbing Jo Ann by the arm, she hurried after the man in the pin-striped suit, maintaining a safe distance.

  “Listen, Bailey,” Jo Ann said, jogging in order to keep up, but still two steps behind her. “I’m beginning to have second thoughts about this.”

  “Why? Not five minutes ago you agreed that modeling Michael on a real man was an excellent approach to characterization.”

  “I didn’t know you planned to stalk the guy! Don’t you think we should stay back a little farther?”

  “No.” Bailey was adamant. As it was, her hero’s long, powerful strides were much faster than Bailey’s normal walking pace. Jo Ann’s short-legged stride was even slower.

  By the time they reached the corner, Jo Ann was panting. She leaned against the street lamp and placed her hand over her heart, inhaling deeply. “Give me a minute, would you?”

  “We might lose him.” The look Jo Ann gave her suggested that might not be so bad. “Think of this as research,” Bailey added, looping her arm through Jo Ann’s again and dragging her forward.

  Staying in the shadow of the buildings, the two trailed Bailey’s hero for three more blocks. Fortunately he was walking in the direction of the area where Bailey and Jo Ann both worked.

  When he paused for a red light, Bailey stayed several feet behind him, wandering aimlessly toward a widow display while glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. She didn’t want to give him an opportunity to notice her.

  “Do you think he’s married?” Bailey demanded of her friend.

  “How would I know?” Jo Ann snapped.

  “Intuition.”

  The light changed and Bailey rushed forward. A reluctant Jo Ann followed on her heels. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “You already said that.”

  “What am I going to tell my boss when I’m late?” Jo Ann groaned.

  Bailey had to wait when Jo Ann came to a sudden halt, leaned against a display window and removed her high heel. She shook it out, then hurriedly put it back on.

  “Jo Ann,” Bailey said in a heated whisper, urging her friend to hurry.

  “There was something in my shoe,” she said from between clenched teeth. “I can’t race down the streets of San Francisco with a stone in my shoe.”

  “I don’t want to lose him,” Bailey stopped abruptly, causing Jo Ann to collide with her. “Look, he went into the Cascade Building.”

  “Oh, good,” Jo Ann muttered on the tail end of a sigh that proclaimed relief. “Does that mean we can go to work now?”

  “Of course not.” It was clear to Bailey that Jo Ann knew next to nothing about detective work. She probably didn’t read mysteries. “I have to find out what his name is.”

  “What?” Jo Ann sounded as though Bailey had suggested they climb to the top of Coit Tower and leap off. “How do you plan to do that?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out later.” Clutching her friend’s arm, Bailey urged her forward. “Come on, we can’t give up now.”

  “Sure we can,” Jo Ann muttered as they entered the Cascade Building.

  “Hurry,” Bailey whispered, releasing Jo Ann’s elbow. “He’s getting into the elevator.” Bailey slipped past several people, mumbling. “Excuse me, excuse me” as she struggled to catch the same elevator, Jo Ann stumbling behind her.

  They managed to make it a split second before the doors closed. There were four or five others on board, and Jo Ann cast Bailey a frown that doubted her intelligence.

  Bailey had other concerns. She tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible, not wanting to call attention to herself or Jo Ann. Her hero seemed oblivious to them, which served her purposes nicely. All she intended to do was find out his name and what he did for a living, a task that shouldn’t require the FBI.

  Jo Ann jerked Bailey’s sleeve and nodded toward the stranger’s left hand. It took Bailey a moment to realize her friend was pointing out the fact that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. The realization cheered Bailey and she made a circle with thumb and finger, grinning broadly.

  As the elevator sped upward, Bailey saw Jo Ann anxiously check her watch. Then the elevator came to a smooth halt. A few seconds passed before the doors slid open and two passengers stepped out.

  Her hero glanced over his shoulder, then moved to one side. For half a second, his gaze rested on Bailey and Jo Ann.

  Half a second! Bailey straightened, offended at the casual way in which he’d dismissed her. She didn’t want him to notice her, but at the same time, she felt cheated that he hadn’t recognized the heroine in her—the same way she’d seen the hero in him. She was, after all, heroine material. She was attractive and…Well, attractive might be too strong a word. Cute and charming had a more comfortable feel. Her best feature was her thick dark hair that fell straight as a stick across her shoulders. The ends curved under just a little, giving it shape and bounce. She was taller than average, and slender, with clear blue eyes and a turned-up nose. As for her personality, she had spunk enough not to turn away from a good argument and spirit enough to follow a stranger around San Francisco.

  Bailey noted that once again his presence seemed to fill the cramped quarters. His
briefcase was tucked under his arm, while his hand gripped the curved handle of his umbrella. For all the notice he gave those around him, he might have been alone.

  When Bailey turned to her friend, she saw that Jo Ann’s eyes were focused straight ahead, her teeth gritted as though she couldn’t wait to tell Bailey exactly what she thought of this crazy scheme. It was crazy, Bailey would be the first to admit, but these were desperate times in the life of a budding romance writer. She would stop at nothing to achieve her goal.

  Bailey grinned. She had to agree that traipsing after her hero was a bit unconventional, but he didn’t need to know about it. He didn’t need to ever know how she intended to use him.

  Her gaze moved from Jo Ann, then to the man with the umbrella. The amusement drained out of her as she found herself staring into the darkest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. Bailey was the first to look away, her pulse thundering in her ears.

  The elevator stopped several times until, finally, only the three of them were left. Jo Ann had squeezed into the corner. Behind the stranger’s back she mouthed several words that Bailey couldn’t hope to decipher, then tapped one finger against the face of her watch.

  Bailey nodded and raised her hand, fingers spread, to plead for five more minutes.

  When the elevator stopped again, her hero stepped out, and Bailey followed, with Jo Ann trailing behind her. He walked briskly down the wide hallway, then entered a set of double doors marked with the name of a well-known architectural firm.

  “Are you satisfied now?” Jo Ann burst out. “Honestly, Bailey, have you gone completely nuts?”

  “You told me I need a hero who’s proud and determined and I’m going to find one.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. Has it occurred to you yet that you’ve gone off the deep end?”

  “Because I want to find out his name?”

  “And how do you plan to do that?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Bailey admitted. “Why don’t I just ask?” Having said that, she straightened her shoulders and walked toward the same doors through which the man had disappeared.

  The pleasant-looking middle-aged woman who sat at the reception desk greeted her with a warm smile. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Bailey returned, hoping her smile was as serene and trusting as the older woman’s. “This may seem a bit unusual, but I…I was on the subway this morning and I thought I recognized an old family friend. Naturally I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in case I was wrong. He arrived in your office a few minutes ago and I was wondering…I know it’s unusual, but would you mind telling me his name?”

  “That would be Mr. Davidson. He’s been taking BART the last few months because of the freeway renovation project.”

  “Mr. Davidson,” Bailey repeated slowly. “His first name wouldn’t be Michael, would it?”

  “No.” The receptionist frowned slightly. “It’s Parker.”

  “Parker,” Bailey repeated softly. “Parker Davidson.” She liked the way it sounded, and although it wasn’t a name she would’ve chosen for a hero, she could see that it fit him perfectly.

  “Is Mr. Davidson the man you thought?”

  It took Bailey a second or two to realize the woman was speaking to her. “Yes,” she answered with a bright smile. “I do believe he is.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful.” The woman was obviously delighted. “Would you like me to buzz him? I’m sure he’d want to talk to you himself. Mr. Davidson is such a nice man.”

  “Oh, no, please don’t do that.” Bailey hoped she was able to hide the panic she felt at the woman’s suggestion. “I wouldn’t want to disturb him and I really have to be getting to work. Thank you for your trouble.”

  “It was no trouble whatsoever.” The receptionist glanced down at her appointment schedule and shook her head. “I was going to suggest you stop in at noon, but unfortunately Mr. Davidson’s got a lunch engagement.”

  Bailey sighed as though with regret and turned away from the desk. “I’ll guess I’ll have to talk to him another time.”

  “That’s really too bad. At least give me your name.” The woman’s soft brown eyes went from warm to sympathetic.

  “Janice Hampton,” Bailey said, mentioning the name of her heroine. “Thank you again for your help. You’ve been most kind.”

  Jo Ann was in the hallway pacing and muttering when Bailey stepped out of Parker’s office. She stopped abruptly as Bailey appeared, her eyes filled with questions. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. I asked the receptionist for his name and she told me. She even let it slip that he’s got a lunch engagement…”

  “Are you satisfied now?” Jo Ann sounded as though she’d passed from impatience to resignation. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re both working women.”

  Bailey glanced at her watch and groaned. “We won’t be too late if we hurry.” Jo Ann worked as an insurance specialist in a doctor’s office and Bailey was a paralegal.

  Luckily their office buildings were only a few blocks from the Cascade Building. They parted company on the next corner and Bailey half jogged the rest of the way.

  No one commented when she slipped into the office ten minutes late. She hoped the same held true for Jo Ann, who’d probably never been late for work in her life.

  Bailey settled down at her desk with her coffee and her files, then hesitated. Jo Ann was right. Discovering Parker’s name was useless unless she could fill in the essential details about his life. She needed facts. Lots of facts. The kinds of people he associated with, his background, his likes and dislikes, everyday habits.

  It wasn’t until later in the morning that Bailey started wondering where someone like Parker Davidson would go for lunch. It might be important to learn that. The type of restaurant a man chose—casual? elegant? exotic?—said something about his personality. Details like that could make the difference between a sale and a rejection, and frankly, Bailey didn’t know if Michael could tolerate another spurning.

  At ten to twelve Bailey mumbled an excuse about having an appointment before she headed out the door. Her boss gave her a funny look, but Bailey made sure she escaped before anyone could ask any questions. It wasn’t like Bailey to take her duties lightly.

  Luck was with her. She’d only been standing at the street corner for five minutes when Parker Davidson came out of the building. He was deeply involved in conversation with another man, yet when he raised his hand to summon a taxi, one appeared instantly, as if by magic. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Bailey wouldn’t have believed it. Surely this was the confidence, the command, others said a hero should possess. Not wanting to miss a single detail, Bailey took a pen and pad out of her purse and started jotting them down.

  As Parker’s cab slowly pulled away, she ventured into the street and flagged down a second cab. In order to manage that, however, she’d had to wave her arms above her head and leap up and down.

  She yanked open the door and leapt inside. “Follow that cab,” she cried, pointing toward Parker’s taxi.

  The stocky driver twisted around. “Are you serious? You want me to follow that cab?”

  “That’s right,” she said anxiously, afraid Parker’s taxi would soon be out of sight.

  Her driver laughed outright. “I’ve been waiting fifteen years for someone to tell me that. You got yourself a deal, lady.” He stepped on the accelerator and barreled down the street, going well above the speed limit.

  “Any particular reason, lady?”

  “I beg your pardon?” The man was doing fifty in a thirty-mile-an-hour zone.

  “I want to know why you’re following that cab.” The car turned a corner at record speed, the wheels screeching, and Bailey slid from one end of the seat to the other. If she’d hoped to avoid attention, it was a lost cause. Parker Davidson might not notice her, but nearly everyone else in San Francisco did.

  “I’m doing some research for a romance novel,” Bailey explained.

  “You’
re doing what?”

  “Research.”

  Apparently her answer didn’t satisfy him, because he slowed to a sedate twenty miles an hour. “Research for a romance novel,” he repeated, his voice flat. “I thought you were a private detective or something.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you. I write romance novels and—Oh, stop here, would you?” Parker’s cab had pulled to the curb and the two men were climbing out.

  “Sure, lady, don’t get excited.”

  Bailey scrambled out of the cab and searched through her purse for her money. When she couldn’t find it, she slapped the large bag onto the hood of the cab and sorted through its contents until she retrieved her wallet. “Here.”

  “Have a great day, lady,” the cabbie said sardonically, setting his cap farther back on his head. Bailey offered him a vague smile.

  She toyed with the idea of following the men into the restaurant and having lunch. She would have, too, if it weren’t for the fact that she’d used all her cash to pay for the taxi.

  But there was plenty to entertain her while she waited—although Bailey wasn’t sure exactly what she was waiting for. The streets of Chinatown were crowded. She gazed about her at the colorful shops with their produce stands and souvenirs and rows of smoked ducks hanging in the windows. Street vendors displayed their wares and tried to coax her to come examine their goods.

  Bailey bought a fresh orange with some change she scrounged from the bottom of her purse. Walking across the street, she wondered how long her hero would dawdle over his lunch. Most likely he’d walk back to the office. Michael would.

  His lunch engagement didn’t last nearly as long as Bailey had expected. When he emerged from the restaurant, he took her by surprise. Bailey was in the process of using her debit card to buy a sweatshirt she’d found at an incredibly low price and had to rush in an effort to keep up with him.

  He hadn’t gone more than a couple of blocks when she lost him. Stunned, she stood in the middle of the sidewalk, wondering how he could possibly have disappeared.