by Nora Roberts
“Neighbor,” Mitch corrected. “I’m in 406—you know, two floors down. The pizza got delivered to my place by mistake.”
“I see.” But for some reason it didn’t make her any less nervous. “I’m sorry for the trouble.” Hester reached for her purse.
“I took care of it.” He wasn’t sure whether she looked more likely to lunge or to flee, but he’d been right about her being worth investigating. She was a tall one, he thought, model height, with that same kind of understated body. Her rich, warm brown hair was pulled back from a diamond-shaped face dominated by big gray eyes and a mouth just one size too large.
“Why don’t you consider the pizza my version of the welcoming committee?”
“That’s really very kind, but I couldn’t—”
“Refuse such a neighborly offer?”
Because she was a bit too cool and reserved for his taste, Mitch looked past her to the boy. “Hi, I’m Mitch.” This time his smile was answered.
“I’m Rad. We just moved in.”
“So I see. From out of town?”
“Uh-uh. We just changed apartments because Mom got a new job and the other was too small. I can see the park from my window.”
“Me, too.”
“Excuse me, Mr.—?”
“It’s Mitch,” he repeated with a glance at Hester.
“Yes, well, it’s very kind of you to bring this up.” As well as being very odd, she thought. “But I don’t want to impose on your time.”
“You can have a piece,” Radley invited. “We never finish it all.”
“Rad, I’m sure Mr.—Mitch has things to do.”
“Not a thing.” He knew his manners, had been taught them painstakingly. Another time, he might even have put them to use and bowed out, but something about the woman’s reserve and the child’s warmth made him obstinate. “Got a beer?”
“No, I’m sorry, I—”
“We’ve got soda,” Radley piped up. “Mom lets me have one sometimes.” There was nothing Radley liked more than company. He gave Mitch a totally ingenuous smile. “Want to see the kitchen?”
“Love to.” With something close to a smirk for Hester, Mitch followed the boy.
She stood in the center of the room for a moment, hands on her hips, unsure whether to be exasperated or furious. The last thing she wanted after a day of lugging boxes was company. Especially a stranger’s. The only thing to do now was to give him a piece of the damn pizza and blot out her obligation to him.
“We’ve got a garbage disposal. It makes great noises.”
“I bet.” Obligingly Mitch leaned over the sink while Radley flipped the switch.
“Rad, don’t run that with nothing in it. As you can see, we’re a bit disorganized yet.” Hester went to the freshly lined cupboard for plates.
“I’ve been here for five years, and I’m still disorganized.”
“We’re going to get a kitten.” Radley climbed up on a stool, then reached for the napkins his mother had already put in one of her little wicker baskets. “The other place wouldn’t allow pets, but we can have one here, can’t we, Mom?”
“As soon as we’re settled, Rad. Diet or regular?” she asked Mitch.
“Regular’s fine. Looks like you’ve gotten a lot accomplished in one day.” The kitchen was neat as a pin. A thriving asparagus fern hung in a macrame holder in the single window. She had less space than he did, which he thought was too bad. She would probably make better use of the kitchen than he. He took another glance around before settling at the counter. Stuck to the refrigerator was a large crayon drawing of a spaceship. “You do that?” Mitch asked Rad.
“Yeah.” He picked up the pizza his mother had set on his plate and bit in eagerly—peanut butter and jelly long since forgotten.
“It’s good.”
“It’s supposed to be the Second Millennium, that’s Commander Zark’s ship.”
“I know.” Mitch took a healthy bite of his own slice. “You did a good job.”
As he plowed through his pizza, Radley took it for granted that Mitch would recognize Zark’s name and mode of transportation. As far as he was concerned, everybody did. “I’ve been trying to do the Defiance, Leilah’s ship, but it’s harder. Anyway, I think Commander Zark might blow it up in the next issue.”
“Think so?” Mitch gave Hester an easy smile as she joined them at the counter.
“I don’t know, he’s in a pretty tough spot right now.”
“He’ll get out okay.”
“Do you read comic books?” Hester asked. It wasn’t until she sat down that she noticed how large his hands were. He might have been dressed with disregard, but his hands were clean and had the look of easy competence.
“All the time.”
“I’ve got the biggest collection of all my friends. Mom got me the very first issue with Commander Zark in it for Christmas. It’s ten years old. He was only a captain then. Want to see?”
The boy was a gem, Mitch thought, sweet, bright and unaffected. He’d have to reserve judgment on the mother. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Before Hester could tell him to finish his dinner, Radley was off and running. She sat in silence a moment, wondering what sort of man actually read comic books. Oh, she paged through them from time to time to keep a handle on what her son was consuming, but to actually read them? An adult?
“Terrific kid.”
“Yes, he is. It’s nice of you to . . . listen to him talk about his comics.”
“Comics are my life,” Mitch said, straight-faced.
Her reserve broke down long enough for her to stare at him. Clearing her throat, Hester went back to her meal. “I see.”
Mitch put his tongue in his cheek. She was some piece of work, all right, he decided. First meeting or not, he saw no reason to resist egging her on. “I take it you don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Read comic books.”
“No, I, ah, don’t have a lot of time for light reading.” She rolled her eyes, unaware that that was where Radley had picked up the habit. “Would you like another piece?”
“Yeah.” He helped himself before she could serve him. “You ought to take some time, you know. Comics can be very educational. What’s the new job?”
“Oh, I’m in banking. I’m the loan officer for National Trust.”
Mitch gave an appreciative whistle. “Big job for someone your age.”
Hester stiffened automatically. “I’ve been in banking since I was sixteen.”
Touchy, too, he mused as he licked sauce from his thumb. “That was supposed to be a compliment. I have a feeling you don’t take them well.” Tough lady, he decided, then thought perhaps she’d had to be. There was no ring on her finger, not even the faintest white mark to show there had been one recently. “I’ve done some business with banks myself. You know, deposits, withdrawals, returned checks.”
She shifted uncomfortably, wondering what was taking Radley so long. There was something unnerving about being alone with this man. Though she had always felt comfortable with eye contact, she was having a difficult time with Mitch. He never looked away for very long.
“I didn’t mean to be abrupt.”
“No, I don’t suppose you did. If I wanted a loan at National Trust, who would I ask for?”
“Mrs. Wallace.”
Definitely a tough one. “Mrs. is your first name?”
“Hester,” she said, not understanding why she resented giving him that much.
“Hester, then.” Mitch offered a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Her lips curved a bit. It was a cautious smile, Mitch thought, but better than none at all. “I’m sorry if I’ve been rude, but it’s been a long day. A long week, really.”
“I hate moving.” He waited until she’d unbent enough to put her hand in his. Hers was cool and as slender as the rest of her. “Got anyone to help you?”
“No.” She removed her hand, because his was as overwhelming as it looked. “We’re doing
fine.”
“I can see that.” No Help Wanted. The sign was up and posted in big letters. He’d known a few women like her, so fiercely independent, so suspicious of men in general that they had not only a defensive shield but an arsenal of poisonous darts behind it. A sensible man gave them a wide berth. Too bad, because she was a looker, and the kid was definitely a kick.
“I forgot where I’d packed it.” Radley came back in, flushed with the effort. “It’s a classic, the dealer even told Mom.”
He’d also charged her an arm and a leg for it, Hester thought. But it had meant more to Radley than any of his other presents.
“Mint condition, too.” Mitch turned the first page with the care of a jeweler cutting a diamond.
“I always make sure my hands are clean before I read it.”
“Good idea.” It was amazing that after all this time the pride would still be there. An enormous feeling it was, too, a huge burst of satisfaction.
It was there on the first page. Story and drawings by Mitch Dempsey. Commander Zark was his baby, and in ten years they’d become very close friends.
“It’s a great story. It really explains why Commander Zark devoted his life to defending the universe against evil and corruption.”
“Because his family had been wiped out by the evil Red Arrow in his search for power.”
“Yeah.” Radley’s face lit up. “But he got even with Red Arrow.”
“In issue 73.”
Hester put her chin in her hand and stared at the two of them. The man was serious, she realized, not just humoring the child. He was as obsessed by comic books as her nine-year-old son.
Strange, he looked fairly normal; he even spoke well. In fact, sitting next to him had been uncomfortable largely because he was so blatantly masculine, with that tough body, angular face and large hands. Hester shook off her thoughts quickly. She certainly didn’t want to lean in that direction toward a neighbor, particularly not one whose mental level seemed to have gotten stuck in adolescence.
Mitch turned a couple of pages. His drawing had improved over a decade. It helped to remind himself of that. But he’d managed to maintain the same purity, the same straightforward images that had come to him ten years ago when he’d been struggling unhappily in commercial art.
“Is he your favorite?” Mitch pointed a blunt fingertip toward a drawing of Zark.
“Oh, sure. I like Three Faces, and the Black Diamond’s pretty neat, but Commander Zark’s my favorite.”
“Mine, too.” Mitch ruffled the boy’s hair. He hadn’t realized when he’d delivered a pizza that he would find the inspiration he’d been struggling for all afternoon.
“You can read this sometime. I’d lend it to you, but—”
“I understand.” He closed the book carefully and handed it back. “You can’t lend out a collector’s item.”
“I’d better put it away.”
“Before you know it, you and Rad will be trading issues.” Hester stood up to clear the plates.
“That amuses the hell out of you, doesn’t it?”
His tone had her glancing over quickly. There wasn’t precisely an edge to it, and his eyes were still clear and mild, but . . . something warned her to take care.
“I didn’t mean to insult you. I just find it unusual for a grown man to read comic books as a habit.” She stacked the plates in the dishwasher. “I’ve always thought it was something boys grew out of at a certain age, but I suppose one could consider it, what, a hobby?”
His brow lifted. She was facing him again, that half smile on her lips. Obviously she was trying to make amends. He didn’t think she should get off quite that easily. “Comic books are anything but a hobby with me, Mrs. Hester Wallace. I not only read them, I write them.”
“Holy cow, really?” Radley stood staring at Mitch as though he’d just been crowned king. “Do you really? Honest? Oh, boy, are you Mitch Dempsey? The real Mitch Dempsey?”
“In the flesh.” He tugged on Radley’s ear while Hester looked at him as though he’d stepped in from another planet.
“Oh, boy, Mitch Dempsey right here! Mom, this is Commander Zark. None of the kids are going to believe it. Do you believe it, Mom, Commander Zark right here in our kitchen!”
“No,” Hester murmured as she continued to stare. “I can’t believe it.”
Chapter 2
Hester wished she could afford to be a coward. It would be so easy to go back home, pull the covers over her head and hide out until Radley came home from school. No one who saw her would suspect that her stomach was in knots or that her palms were sweaty despite the frigid wind that whipped down the stairs as she emerged from the subway with a crowd of Manhattan’s workforce.
If anyone had bothered to look, they would have seen a composed, slightly preoccupied woman in a long red wool coat and white scarf. Fortunately for Hester, the wind tunnel created by the skyscrapers whipped color into cheeks that would have been deadly pale. She had to concentrate on not chewing off her lipstick as she walked the half block to National Trust. And to her first day on the job.
It would only take her ten minutes to get back home, lock herself in and phone the office with some excuse. She was sick, there’d been a death in the family—preferably hers. She’d been robbed.
Hester clutched her briefcase tighter and kept walking. Big talk, she berated herself. She’d walked Radley to school that morning spouting off cheerful nonsense about how exciting new beginnings were, how much fun it was to start something new. Baloney, she thought, and hoped the little guy wasn’t half as scared as she was.
She’d earned the position, Hester reminded herself. She was qualified and competent, with twelve years of experience under her belt. And she was scared right out of her shoes. Taking a deep breath, she walked into National Trust.
Laurence Rosen, the bank manager, checked his watch, gave a nod of approval and strode over to greet her. His dark blue suit was trim and conservative. A woman could have powdered her nose in the reflection from his shiny black shoes. “Right on time, Mrs. Wallace, an excellent beginning. I pride myself on having a staff that makes optimum use of time.” He gestured toward the back of the bank, and her office.
“I’m looking forward to getting started, Mr. Rosen,” she said, and felt a wave of relief that it was true. She’d always liked the feel of a bank before the doors opened to the public. The cathedral-like quiet, the pregame anticipation.
“Good, good, we’ll do our best to keep you busy.” He noted with a slight frown that two secretaries were not yet at their desks. In a habitual gesture, he passed a hand over his hair. “Your assistant will be in momentarily. Once you’re settled, Mrs. Wallace, I’ll expect you to keep close tabs on her comings and goings. Your efficiency depends largely on hers.”
“Of course.”
Her office was small and dull. She tried not to wish for something airier—or to notice that Rosen was as stuffy as they came. The increase this job would bring to her income would make things better for Radley. That, as always, was the bottom line. She’d make it work, Hester told herself as she took off her coat. She’d make it work well.
Rosen obviously approved of her trim black suit and understated jewelry. There was no room for flashy clothes or behavior in banking. “I trust you looked over the files I gave you.”
“I familiarized myself with them over the weekend.” She moved behind the desk, knowing it would establish her position. “I believe I understand National Trust’s policy and procedure.”
“Excellent, excellent. I’ll leave you to get organized then. Your first appointment’s at”—he turned pages over on her desk calendar—“9:15. If you have any problems, contact me. I’m always around somewhere.”
She would have bet on it. “I’m sure everything will be fine, Mr. Rosen. Thank you.”
With a final nod, Rosen strode out. The door closed behind him with a quiet click. Alone, Hester let herself slide bonelessly into her chair. She’d gotten past the first hurd
le, she told herself. Rosen thought she was competent and suitable. Now all she had to do was be those things. She would be, because too much was riding on it. Not the least of those things was her pride. She hated making a fool of herself. She’d certainly done a good job of that the night
