Mysterious

by Fayrene Preston

  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."

  Chapter Five

  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.

  Bad timing. Bad judgment, she reminded herself. Yet when he touched her, there was fire. When he kissed her, he made her want more. Circumstances were against them, and lies were between them. She couldn’t change the circumstances, but she could remove the lies.

  She made up her mind. She would tell him everything. He deserv
ed to know, and she just couldn’t keep deceiving him. She had always hated dishonesty in any form, and it was especially true now. She knew they probably still wouldn’t have a chance, but in an incredibly short time her feelings for him had grown. And whether it was right or wrong for her to tell him, he would eventually know the truth. The truth should come from her.

  But now, having made the decision, she was delaying the moment of confession.

  Jerome observed her from beneath lowered lids and forced himself to exercise his dwindling reserve of patience. He could tell that she had something on her mind, but he knew he had to wait. If he pushed her too hard or too fast, she might leave. And somehow that thought was intolerable.

  She had changed into one of the outfits he had bought her: black wool pants and a Chinese-blue angora sweater. The pants snugly hugged each rounded buttock, and her full breasts thrust tantalizingly against the blue angora. She looked deliciously female, just as he had known she would. How he longed to slide his hands over the curved flesh of her bottom and then up under that sweater to experience the softness of each of her breasts. There were times he felt as if his need for her might tear him in two. Like tonight.

  Without switching her gaze from the window, she commented, "Leo is still down there. Does she usually spend such long hours at the stand?"

  Jerome gave up all pretense of working, put away his glasses, and allowed himself to enjoy the full unrestricted view of her. "That she does. I’ve often thought that she should let one of her employees relieve her more often, especially after dark. But she doesn’t. No matter what the weather or the hour of the day or night, she’s usually there. As I told you, she owns a number of newsstands around town, and the word is that she’s quite wealthy. It would seem she could afford to let someone else run things for her."

  Jennifer crossed her arms under her breasts, causing the tantalizing mounds to swell upward beneath the blue angora. "How long has she had that newsstand?"

  Jerome couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to be near her. He rose and went to stand beside her. "I’m not sure. I’ve lived here for five years and she’s been over there all that time."

  Her eyes widened at his nearness, but she didn’t move away and he wondered why. Did she trust him to act the gentleman? Or could it possibly be that she wanted him as much as he wanted her? His heart began to hammer.

  "Do you know her well?"

  "I don’t know anyone who could say they really know Leo well," he said, adding as an afterthought, "except perhaps Sami."

  "Sammy?"

  "She’s a friend."

  "She?"

  "Her name is spelled S-a-m-i."

  "Is she the same friend who gave you the rocking horse?" Jennifer asked softly.

  He nodded, studying the rose-pink moistness of her lips. He found it sexy as hell.

  Jennifer, feeling a sudden fierce jealousy of the woman named Sami, began to chew on her thumbnail, and Jerome reached out to take it from her mouth. At his touch she started, then subsided.

  "Leo seems to like you," she offered. For a brief moment she selfishly allowed herself to enjoy the blood-heating effect of his touch.

  "It’s hard to tell. I guess we’re on pretty good terms." His fingers rubbed her thumb, feeling the wetness on it that had come from the inside of her mouth. Desire rose within him. He wanted to taste that wetness for himself so badly that he was barely aware of what he was saying. "I’ve seen her practically every day since I’ve lived here. Instead of subscribing to a newspaper, I just walk over there and pick one up. If I happen to forget, there’s a stand near work."

  "One of hers?"

  Her breathing rate had increased, and Jerome suddenly realized that he was still holding her hand. He released it. This was not right. "Yes. Come to think of it. There are times when I’ve seen her over there too."

  "You think she’s hard to get to know?"

  He tried to concentrate on the subject of their conversation. "Actually yes. I’d like to get to know her better, but she’s a pretty reticent character. No matter how many times I’ve asked her to call me by my first name, she sticks to Mr. Mailer. I like her though. She’s interesting. She’s rumored to have more contacts than Minnesota has lakes."

  "Yet you say your friend Sami knows her well."

  "Sami could have a close personal relationship with a tree." Without being able to control himself he reached for a silky strand of glossy brown hair that waved over the top of the blue sweater. The angora and flesh which lay beneath it provided an arousing cushion for his hand.

  Their eyes met and held. Hers were meltingly soft, conveying an enticing message. Or was that just wishful thinking on his part? He didn’t know. With Jennifer, all his previous knowledge of women failed to apply. And in the long run it was he who broke eye contact first, not she, and he who walked away. It was either that or lower her to the floor and take her like the madman he had begun to feel he was since she had walked into his life.

  Striding to the bar, he poured himself a stiff drink. Only after he had belted it down and gained a measure of control did he turn back to her. She hadn’t moved. "You’re certainly talkative tonight," he observed.

  She shrugged. "I was just curious about Leo. I don’t think she liked me."

  He wandered back to her, irresistibly drawn. "I’m sure you were imagining it." He put his hand on her shoulder, meaning only to reassure. "At any rate, it’s nothing for you to worry about." God, but he loved the feel of her beneath his hands!

  This was wrong, Jennifer thought as her heart began to pound in her breast. She shouldn’t be responding to him, not when so many lies remained between them.

  It was time. She wouldn’t allow herself to delay any longer. She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to move away from him. "Jerome, there’s something I have to tell you, and you’d better sit down."

  "All right." he agreed, only mildly curious. He was too busy giving himself a good mental shake. What in hell did he think he was doing anyway? She wasn’t his to touch. He sat down.

  Jennifer took a moment to compose herself, summoning her courage. It was going to take it all to relive the nightmarish events.

  "T-two days before I met you in the bar, I left Richard’s and my apartment to go shopping. It was a lousy day, drizzling and overcast." She paused. "When I returned that afternoon, the door to the apartment was open. I didn’t think anything about it though. I just figured that Richard was taking the trash out or had gone to get the mail."

  Again she paused. This was the moment she had been trying to forget for four terrifying days.

  "As I entered the apartment my arms were full of packages, so at first I didn’t see him. But I did notice that the apartment had been completely ransacked. Just as yours was, our belongings had been thrown everywhere." There was a break in her voice, and tears began trickling down her face. "I walked a little farther into the living room, and then I did see him. Richard. He was lying on the floor . . . in a pool of blood . . . dead."

  Jerome was stunned, but her tears were pulling at him. With the full intention of taking her into his arms and comforting her, Jerome rose, planning to go to her, but she stepped backward.

  "No, please, I’ve got to finish." Tears were now running freely down her face, but she continued her monotoned litany. "I distinctly remember that there was a terrible scream inside me, but somehow it just couldn’t get out. My throat felt as if there were a tight cord around it. I couldn’t make a sound. Then for the first time I heard the noise coming from the bedroom. At this point I think the packages must have slipped from my hands, but I didn’t hear them because the racket from the next room was so loud.

  "I took a few steps toward the bedroom door and saw a man rifling through our bureau drawers. I had seen him once before. His name is Brewster and he had come to the apartment a few nights earlier. He and Richard had had a heated argument. I realized that if Brewster saw me, he would kill me too. . . and I knew that there was nothing I could do to help Richa
rd. I had to get out of there. I ran with only my purse and my raincoat, and two nights later I saw you in that bar."

  Emotions, too many and too confusing to put a name to, thundered and crashed through Jerome’s head. He remained quite still for a moment, then asked, "Are you telling me that someone murdered Richard and now they’re after you?"

  She nodded, her face wet and pale. Jerome drew a clean, folded handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. He was hardly able to credit any of this.

  Then it hit him. She was no longer married.

  Immediately he was thrown into a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He felt relief that she wasn’t anyone’s wife and, at the same time, anger with himself that the knowledge pleased him. Here she’d been through hell and a man’s life had been taken, and all he could think about was the physical agony he had suffered over the restraint he had used with her.

  Plus there was one more thing. She hadn’t left her husband because she was no longer in love with him. She had left because he had been killed.

  So what in the hell was he going to do with all this new information?

  Jennifer watched the clash of emotions on his face and felt a deep misery because she knew she was the cause of his conflicts. "Jerome, please understand why I felt it necessary to lie to you. Richard was dead, at least two men were after me, I had just met you. I thought it would be safer not to tell you I was hiding from a killer."

  "Damn!" The expletive contained all of the frustration he was feeling. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "Jennifer, I’m sorry if I’ve given you a hard time. But if you expect me to give you understanding, then you’re going to have to give me some too. I’m having a little trouble taking all this in."

  "I know."

  He looked hard at her. "Do you? I wonder. At any rate, one thing is obvious. We have to go to the police."

  She held up a hand. "Wait, I’m not through. I’m afraid there’s more."

  "More?"

  "Yes. For one thing, my last name is Prescott, not Blake."