by Carol Caiton
"I— Yes, I'll try."
He spoke into the receiver again. "Where are you?"
"Admin. We'll wait for you at the front desk."
Simon kept his eyes on Nina's. "Give us a few minutes to collect whatever Nina needs."
"No problem." Michael disconnected.
* * *
It would only have taken two minutes to change her clothes had it occurred to her to do so. But her mind was caught up in the drama of the moment, at being trusted to take part in something so vital. It was an endeavor that could very well prove fruitless, but she hurried over to the dining area, gathered up the drawing tablet, the heavy box of pastels, and the charcoal sticks. Then she grabbed a handful of paper towels and dashed back to the elevator.
Breathless from nerves and from scurrying about in skyscraper heels, she rushed to the gate, balanced everything against the stucco pillar, and pressed a hand to the scanner.
"I'll carry that," Simon offered when she passed over the threshold. He shifted all of it to one arm, then opened the other wide, offering to share his warmth.
She didn't refuse. Shivering now, partly from cold and partly from nervous tension, she huddled close. He matched his stride to her shorter steps and when they reached Checkpoint 2 he said, "You should have worn a coat."
"I know. I didn't think of it though."
He didn't speak again.
A glance at his face showed the grim set of his features. A lot was at stake, she understood that. But she doubted her efforts would pay off. She had a strong talent for drawing people, but she'd had no formal training. And she'd certainly never tried what was being asked of her tonight. Her mind's eye would probably see something altogether different from that of their witness.
When Simon pressed his palm to the scanner beside the doors, she was surprised to see Michael Rawson—Michael Vassek—standing beside the reception desk. He rose to his feet as they crossed the marble floor but she didn't deceive herself into believing it was a gesture of courtesy for her benefit. The blond, scruffy-looking computer genius didn't like her. And when Simon began the introductions, Michael interrupted and said, "We've met." She saw no sign of friendliness in his eyes. She was there to provide a service. End of usefulness.
His companion, however, extended a gracious hand. Elegantly dressed in turquoise-blue silk, she wore a matching demi-mask that covered the upper half of her face. Nina had a view of short, copper colored hair, gray-green eyes, and a beautiful jawline. "I apologize for the mask," she said. "Please call me Kay."
She shook hands with Simon as well, then turned back to Nina. "The portrait Michael showed me is remarkable. You have a wonderful gift."
"Thank you."
"My artistic abilities don't stretch beyond stick figures. But I have a clear mental picture of the man I saw. Hopefully I can describe him well enough for you."
"Did he see you?" Simon questioned.
"No."
"You're sure?"
Kay met his eyes without flinching and said, "I was up in a tree. He didn't see me."
For a minute no one spoke. This elegantly dressed woman with her gracious manners and beautiful manicure had been passing time up in a tree on a cold November night. Simon stared at her as though trying to make sense of it and Nina knew there was an arched brow behind the turquoise mask daring him to comment.
Michael cleared his throat. He looked at the paraphernalia under Simon's arm and said, "Let's go do this in the conference room."
He slipped a guiding hand to the small of Kay's back and steered her toward the same corridor Nina had taken to the attorney's office.
Simon, his arm still around her waist, held her in place and Nina wondered why they didn't follow. Glancing up, she was perplexed to see his jaw clenched as though irritated. He stared at the other couple, eyes narrowed, so she turned to look at them as well. Then he lightly squeezed her waist and said, "Okay?"
She looked back at him and nodded.
The conference room was in the center of the building on the east side. White raised-panel walls and a long teak conference table effected an airy spaciousness in a room without windows.
Simon gestured toward the seat beside Kay, midway along the table, then pulled out a chair for her. He placed the pad, charcoal, and box of pastels within easy reach.
Nina pulled the pad toward her, propped the bottom edge on her lap, and checked the arrangement of her shawl. Then she picked up a stick of charcoal, blocked out Simon's presence, and ignored Michael altogether. Turning to the woman beside her she said, "You should know I've never done something like this."
Intelligent eyes looked back at her. Kay nodded and said, "I haven't either."
A moment of understanding passed between them and Nina drew a breath. "Why don't you give me a general description of his face before we start. The shape—was it oval or round? Were his eyebrows close together or far apart . . . that sort of thing."
"Oval. But not too long. Average. He had brown hair and eyes—narrow deep-set eyes—and thick, wavy hair. A thin nose—a Roman nose—and full lips."
Nina listened for a minute, then drew several quick sample sketches while the other woman spoke. She combined the features Kay described with small variations on the oval-but-not-too-long face, and black dust drifted to her lap. It would probably end up ground into the fabric of her shawl, ruining it, but she'd worry about that later.
When Kay pointed to a pair of eyes on one sketch, the nose on another, and a mouth and jaw she liked, they discussed forehead and hairline. Page after page was filled until she stopped talking and Nina had no further questions.
They reviewed the sketches, made a few changes, then Nina turned to a fresh sheet of paper, wiped her fingers with a paper towel, and began to draw.
Kay corrected her when the chin needed to be lengthened. Then the eyes had to be widened.
Someone placed two cups of coffee on the table in front of them. Nina slid the four-inch heels off her feet as they worked, turning another page to start again . . . and again . . . and again. If there was a quicker, easier method, she didn't know what it was, but the intangible link between them kept Nina in the zone that took over whenever she drew. More cups of coffee took the place of the first two and eventually, after a couple of hours, the image imprinted on Kay's mind became the sketch on Nina's paper.
"That's him," Kay declared. She drew in a deep breath and straightened in her chair. "My God, that's perfect." She lifted her eyes from the drawing to look at Nina from behind her mask and smiled.
Nina smiled back, tired, but filled with a sense of joint accomplishment. She didn't particularly want to try this again, but she'd succeeded when she hadn't expected to.
"Can you give us color?" an unfamiliar voice asked. "And clothing, perhaps."
The question, spoken with a precise British accent surprised them both. Nina hadn't yet made the transition from creative absorption to the rhythm of linear thought and she and Kay, both caught in the afterglow of success, whirled around.
A group of men stood lined up along either side behind them, all dressed in various stages of business attire. Loosened neckties, discarded suit jackets, and rolled up sleeves gave testament to a very long day that hadn't yet ended. Simon's business partners.
Nina recognized the lawyer, Mason Ingersol. And she picked out the man she'd seen with Denny Cooper . . . Ethan Something-or-other. But the others were unknown.
"Do you have paint in there?" Kay asked, gesturing toward the glossy wood box.
Nina pulled her attention from the line of men. "Pastels," she said.
Kay took another deep breath and nodded. "You'll need a yellowy-brown color for the eyes and medium brown for his hair. He wore a dark crewneck shirt under a black leather jacket—a T-shirt, I think. And the jacket had epaulets with a large star on each—"
Someone behind them drew a soft, audible breath. It was no more than a brief intake of air that shouldn't have drawn attention. But a sudden influx of energy charged the air and Nina looked
up. Kay felt it as well, breaking off in mid-sentence, and they turned again to face their audience.
"If you were close enough to see his eyes," the Englishman said, "you may need protection."
"No. He didn't see me." Smoothly avoiding the fact that she'd been hidden amid the branches of a tree, she said, "I was between the pillory and the wall. I didn't know about the girl—Serena—until today, but he caught my attention."
"Why do you think he's the man we're looking for?" the attorney asked, nodding toward the sketch.
"Because of his behavior. He hid in the trees. Skulking. And since I couldn't think of any reasonable explanation for that, I took a very good look at his face. In my experience, details can mean the difference between—" She broke off, gave a wry smile, and said, "Details are often critical."
"Indeed they are," the Englishman agreed.
Nina tore off a fresh sheet of paper, folded it in half, then set it on the table. Unfastening the clasps, she opened the box of pastels and skimmed her fingers over the nearest row of colors. Selecting those she thought would be needed, she arranged them on the sheet of paper for quick access. Simon wouldn't be able to return them after this and guilty delight fluttered through her. She justified it with the fact that they were being used to identify a killer. If the face she'd drawn turned out to be the person who murdered Serena Mandek, she'd count the cost worth the exchange.
"Ready?" Kay asked.
Nina took a sip of cooling coffee and nodded. "Ready."
Turning to another fresh sheet, they once again experimented, first with his eyes, layering colors until Kay was satisfied. Then his hair. When Nina turned yet another page and began the final portrait, she had a clear image in her mind and the process moved along swiftly. Layering and blending, then using her fingers to soften the effect, she added highlights, shadows, more color, more depth, working until the face came to life for her.
When she gave it one last critical eye then slid the tablet onto the table, Kay said, "You are incredibly talented."
Nina smiled with pleasure. "Thanks. And thank you for being so patient. I wasn't sure we'd be able to do this." She craned her neck from side to side, easing the stiffness that had gathered there.
Kay turned in her chair and pushed away from the table. A hand reached forward to offer assistance and the men stepped aside to make room for her. "Michael, I think I'd like one more cup of coffee, then I'm going to call it a night."
Nina began replacing the pastels in their appropriate slots.
"Leave them," Simon told her, offering his hand. "I'll have someone bring them back to you tomorrow."
She looked up, then turned to slide her fingers into his.
Belatedly she remembered they carried the mottled stains of charcoal and color and a quick glance showed them smeared with layers of dust. The pigment had worked its way into her cuticles, dulling her manicure and it would stain his hand as well, along with his clothes if she touched them.
"Don't worry about it," he said softly, tightening his fingers around hers.
His mouth quirked in a half smile and the warmth of it softened his eyes. She didn't think he showed that warmth very often so it melted her heart a little more.
Lost in that gaze, she rose to her feet. Immediately, his other hand went to her waist and he drew her against his side, then adjusted his hold so she was anchored there.
She forgot the group of men looking on. The pressure of his arm made it obvious he felt no unease at claiming her in front of them. It conveyed something else as well . . . something that took a few seconds to identify because she'd never felt it before. But she'd seen it a few times.
Possession. Ownership. As though making sure the others knew she was his.
CHAPTER 19
She looked up to find his eyes boring into hers, dark and intense. Don't challenge me, they said, and the message couldn't have been clearer had he verbalized it.
She went very still. Alert, and, she admitted, a little frightened, she didn't move, didn’t draw back. He pulled her even closer and the entire front of her body was pressed against his side, one powerful male thigh between her legs.
She could scarcely draw a full breath so she tried for short, quick gasps and tried to behave as though straddling a man's leg was completely acceptable behavior, never mind that she was meeting these men for the first time. Never mind that her face felt as though it was on fire.
The attorney said something and Simon turned his head to answer. His thigh rubbed against her abdomen and liquid heat weakened her muscles.
She filled her lungs, exhaled, and filled them again while he conversed with the Englishman now. Apparently the pressure of her breasts against his ribcage didn't affect him the way it did her. The hard thigh parting her own, trapping her firmly against his hip didn't quicken his breath while she made a conscious effort to appear unmoved and normal.
She let her eyes travel the room until they rested on Ethan Vale. He was dressed professionally tonight, sober, and very different from the man she'd seen that first day, playing tug-of-war with Denny Cooper, laughing and winning. At the moment his eyes were trained on her and Simon, watching through narrowed lids, as though working through something that eluded him.
"That was fascinating to watch, Nina," the Englishman said, drawing her gaze back to him. "Thank you for lending us your extraordinary talent."
Pushing lightly against Simon, then nudging his ribs when he held fast, she slid her arm up and wedged her elbow between them until he finally released her and she could breathe.
"I'm glad I could help."
Amusement glittered in his pale blue eyes—eyes so sharp with intelligence, it caught her aback. Then he looked over at Kay and said, "If not for your presence of mind and remarkable memory, we might never have identified him."
Kay raised a questioning brow. "Michael said he wore a mask. I suppose he removed it before he approached the clearing."
"Had he stepped out of the trees, the cameras would have caught him and you wouldn't have had to do this."
Michael slid a hand to her back. "These are my business partners. Do you wanna be introduced?"
She smiled apologetically and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but anonymity is necessary."
The Englishman gave a gracious nod. "Understood. Thank you for coming forward."
"You're welcome." Smile still in place, she turned to Nina. "It was a pleasure meeting you." Then, with an all-encompassing nod to the room she said, "Please excuse me," and preceded Michael out to the corridor.
Nina looked down at the drawing. "If he wore a mask, how can you be sure this is the man?"
It was the Englishman who answered her question. "We suspected it when Michael's companion said he kept to the trees, but we knew for certain when she mentioned the epaulets."
"Nina, this is Malcolm Speeridge, RUSH's CEO," Simon told her. "Malcolm, Nina Millering."
Ignoring the crisp edge in Simon's tone, she extended her hand, then drew it back when she remembered the stains.
She met the intelligent blue eyes and offered a weak smile. "I should clean up before I touch anyone. But it's a pleasure to meet you, Malcolm."
"The pleasure's mine."
Mentally she shook her head. The CEO of RUSH. She was keeping notable company tonight.
Turning to ask Simon if he would mind getting the can of fixative from his office, a smattering of dark specks on his shirt caught her attention. She'd been careful not to touch his clothing, but her shawl must have transferred some of the dust.
Looking down at the front of her dress, she sucked in a quick, stunned breath and stared. The shawl was gone. At some point, while lost in concentration, it had slipped down her shoulders and she hadn't noticed.
A murky rainbow of color rested in layers across her stomach and abdomen and a dark line ran from hipbone to hipbone where the tablet had rested. Sprinkles of charcoal dotted the upper swell of her breasts, fully exposed but for the taut string pulling a bit of fabric over
her nipples. The all-but-nonexistent front left everything above and below the string open to view. How long had she been sitting there practically naked from neck to waist?
Jerking her head up she saw everyone watching her. The room was suddenly, glaringly silent.
Horrified, she whirled around to look at Simon and flinched at the chill in his eyes. He'd been taking care to shield her while she'd forced him to release her or make a scene. He must think she had no sense of propriety, flaunting her nearly naked body for his friends.
Searching his eyes, she started to shake. Of course that's what he thought. She was an R-link, wasn't she? She'd freely chosen to share herself with a legion of men and dressed in next-to-nothing clothing, parading her bare flesh every time she left her apartment.
Tears scorched her eyes.
Ignoring protocol, she spread her left hand to cover her naked cleavage. "I didn't know," she whispered.
Whirling around, she saw her shoes under the table and her shawl bunched between the back of the chair and the seat cushion, one end trailing through the dust on the floor.
She crouched down and reached for the shoes, the shawl, and prepared to dash from the room. But a warm hand curved around her elbow as she stood up. It slid around her back and a second arm circled around, drawing her toward a white shirt.
Hazy, unshed tears blurred the white cotton, but she knew who it belonged to, whose arms had drawn her in. She wouldn't cry. Not in front of him, and not in front of his friends. But she rested her forehead on his chest, shuddering as she grappled for control.
When she finally stopped trembling, she leaned tiredly against him. She felt his chest expand as he inhaled, then his voice murmured her own words back to her. "I didn't know."
Her heart skipped a beat. Then it promptly melted to a puddle on the floor.
How could this man who mocked and cruelly taunted her have the sensitivity to offer comfort? How could he have so much faith in a computer program that he'd alter the course of his life for a woman he'd never met?
Her decision to look beneath the surface and search the depths of Simon Yetzer had been a good one, she concluded. A very good one.
