“Absolutely,” Corey replied, taking the envelopes and then turning her attention back to Ethan. “I’m sorry for the delay, sir, what can I do for you?”
“I’m here to see Diana.”
The receptionist smiled regretfully. “I’m sorry, but Ms. Iverson is tied up at the moment. Was she expecting you?”
“No, she’s not expecting me.” Ethan lounged against the high counter. “Is she here? I’ll wait for her.”
The older woman in the neon green suit had been listening to the conversation and now she stepped in. “I’m Diana’s assistant, Mickey. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Unfortunately, no. It’s Diana that I need to see.”
“She is here, but she’s in a meeting. I’m not sure how long she’ll be—would you like to make an appointment to come back?”
“That’s all right,” he replied, just as pleasantly. “I’ll wait.” He gave them both his most charming grin and walked casually over to the rounded leather armchairs.
“You’re certainly welcome to wait until she’s free. In the meantime, could I get you anything? Coffee? Soda? Water?” she offered, her eyes scanning him with candid—very candid—interest.
“No thanks. I’ll be fine.”
Mickey started to go, then paused, looking at him again. “Can I let her know who’s waiting?”
Again, his grin was meant to disarm. “I’d rather it be a surprise, but thanks.”
~*~
Ethan was only halfway through today’s Boston Globe when he heard her voice. It was low and sounded stressed, but he recognized it right away. He looked up in time to see Diana come around the corner and pause to talk seriously with Mickey.
“ … called as well. I’m sure Merkovitz is involved in all of this.”
She didn’t see him at that angle, so he had a chance to observe her at his leisure. She was wearing a slim, short-skirted gray suit and black heels that showed off her shapely legs, and she carried a shiny, gold-plated pen that she flicked nervously against her palm as she spoke. Her hair was more tamed than he’d ever seen it—the thick, dark waves smoothed into a black helmet that cupped her chin and neck. She looked different … but not in a bad way. His lungs felt as if they’d constricted and he was shamefully aware that his heart thudded harder.
Mickey, as though realizing they could be overheard, directed her boss’s attention toward Ethan. “He’s waiting over there.”
“Hello—” Diana turned to face him and the greeting froze in mid-air. “Ethan.”
He had to give her credit—she couldn’t have been more surprised, yet she handled the shock with cool aplomb. “Hi, Diana,” he said, rising to his feet.
“I—have you been waiting long? I’m sorry about that, but we seem to be in crisis mode at the moment.” Her words were pleasant, but her face bore a tension and worry that concerned him. If this was what she was like in her work, he pitied her for having a job that wore on her so heavily.
“I haven’t been waiting more than fifteen minutes. I’m sorry to drop in without an appointment,” he made certain his words didn’t sound too sincere, then continued, “but I was on my way home from Princeton and needed to talk with you. Actually, Joe Cap wanted me to stop by and talk to you.”
“Oh.” The simplicity of her response indicated how confused and stressed she was. “It’s about—that. Why don’t you come on back.”
Ethan followed her, getting his pulse under control as he watched the sway of her hips as she started down the hall into the depths of the suite. Mickey followed, once again offering him something to drink.
“Coffee,” he replied this time. “Black, please.”
“I’ll have some too,” Diana told her assistant.
Her space was a large, corner office with a stately mahogany desk, large potted plants, a well-filled bookcase, and two walls of windows that looked into nowhere but the next buildings. Diana took a seat at her desk, which, although organized, was not clear of papers and folders, and gestured to him to take a seat.
He chose one of the barrel chairs that faced her desk—that piece of furniture that she probably used to intimidate when the situation warranted it, or, in this case, more likely, to separate herself from her guest. There was silence for a moment and he looked her over easily, carefully, noticing that she seemed tense and tired. He took a moment to admire the curve of her mouth drawn tensely down, realizing that, yes, he still wanted her—and he didn’t care that she might have used him to betray her commitment to another man, didn’t care that she might have done so in revenge or to assuage her ego—he just wanted. Damn it. He’d hoped whatever attraction he’d felt would have faded over the last month.
Diana looked up as Mickey opened the door and brought their drinks, then nodded her thanks at her assistant. She was obviously bursting with curiosity, for she asked, “Did you need me to sit in?”
“No, thanks. Ethan is here to speak with me—about Aunt Belinda’s death, I assume?” She directed this last part toward him, and he nodded once. “Hold my calls, please.”
“All right.” Mickey gave him one last appraising glance, and with a sudden understanding in her eyes and a faint smirk curving her fuchsia lips, left the room.
As the door closed, Diana spoke. “Well, Ethan, I don’t need to comment on what a surprise this is, as I’m sure you know it already. Have you joined Captain Tettmueller’s staff, or is it just curiosity that brings you here?” Her words were soft, unaccusing, but cool and steady.
“I’m doing this as a favor to him—and to your aunt’s memory.” He noted with a perverse satisfaction that her face tightened at his words. Chalk one up for me, he thought to himself, determined to have and to keep the upper hand in this unwanted interview. Although with the way his mouth kept wanting to go dry, he wasn’t sure how easy that was going to be. All of a sudden, he was like a geeky teenager trying to talk to the head cheerleader. Did she have to look so coolly beautiful, even in the uniform of her profession?
“Why didn’t Joe just call me himself?” She picked up that gold-plated pen and started flicking it again. “Ethan, I really don’t have time for this—whatever it is. I—oh.” Comprehension crossed her face and her eyes flashed to his. “It’s about the autopsy.”
Ethan’s reserve melted at her apprehensive expression, at the sudden fear in her eyes. Joe had been right to ask that he do this in person. “I’m afraid it is. And I’m afraid the news isn’t good.”
“Was I right?” she whispered. Her face had gone pale, almost gray, and her eyes lost their blue, turning dull and colorless.
“She was asphyxiated,” he said, holding her gaze. “Joe got the results yesterday.”
Diana was silent, and as the quiet stretched, he found he was having to force himself to remain seated. Not to go over to her.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, offering comfort the only way he felt he could. “For you as much as for me. I loved your aunt. She was a great friend and more than a little bit of a mother. And to know that someone did that ….” Rage prickled through him. Joe had promised he was doing everything he could, investigating the break-ins, the vandalism, and now a murder. But it wasn’t fast enough. It wasn’t enough.
“Thank you for coming here to tell me,” she said at last. She hadn’t moved except to rest her pen neatly on the desk blotter.
He shifted in his chair, then rose to walk to one of the windows. He looked down onto the gray line of a street, studded with toy cars and dotted with people, and to keep his thoughts calm. But there were things that had to be said. “Diana, have you thought about the fact that you could be in danger as well?” He took a step away from the window, toward her, as she sat stiffly in her chair.
She rose. “That’s ridiculous. Whatever the person wanted they’ve either found by now, or determined it didn’t exist. Aside from that, they’ve got what they wanted—me away from the house. Problem solved, I’m out of the picture.”
Ethan shook his head. “No, Diana
, problem not solved. They could think you have the item.”
“I’m here in Boston,” she said. “I’m not even in Damariscotta. Whoever it is couldn’t think I’d be a danger here to whatever their problem is back there.”
“Diana, you can’t know what this person is thinking. I’m not trying to frighten you, but you should be aware of the possibility that you are at risk. This isn’t simple vandalism and breaking and entering. Your aunt was murdered.” He searched her eyes with his, noticing that they were almost the same level with his, due to her heels. “What does your instinct tell you?”
She stared at him without speaking, her face etched with weariness, then turned to look out the window. “I pulled a card from the Tarot deck. I … was sitting there one night, and for the first time, I actually concentrated and drew a card.” She expelled a shuddering breath, touched her face with fingers that trembled. “It was The High Priestess again. She is showing up so often and seems to be adamant that I … open my mind. So, to answer your question: my instinct tells me that I should be worried.” She looked as if she was about to say something else, but she stopped abruptly.
Her breathing had become rough and when she turned back to look at him, he was shocked by the haunted expression in her eyes. “What is it?” he asked.
She looked away, out into the distance, somewhere far away. “Something happened … I wanted to call you ….”
He mercilessly shoved away a spark of hope and remained silent, waiting as she groped for the words. This was not the same woman who’d given him such a cool set-down the morning after they’d made love. This was one filled with anguish and confusion. Part of him wanted to gather her into his arms and help her work through it—all of this. But the other part forced himself to take an emotional step back. This was work … an addendum to his research. It couldn’t be anything more.
All at once, she blinked and her face changed. The reserve was back, accompanied by a distant cast to her eyes. It was as if a door closed, or curtains shuttered her face.
Just as well, Ethan decided. And he put on his scientist hat. “When you looked at the card, or later, when you thought about it, did anything pop into your mind? Was there anything else there?”
She swallowed audibly. “Nothing that meant anything. I thought about all of the newspapers that Aunt Belinda had in her den, and about the quilting group. I … thought about Jonathan … and ….” She stopped, her voice trailing off and she turned again to look out the window. “If … if … Aunt Belinda was right, and I do have some kind of … psychic ability, wouldn’t it be telling me something—who this is, or what they want?” Diana’s voice had risen a bit.
With effort, he kept himself detached and replied, “If it’s true, you’ve been suppressing the ability for years. You aren’t used to interpreting the feelings or thoughts that may accompany precognitive abilities. It’s not always—in fact, rarely is it—a clear vision or picture, like in a crystal ball. At least, that’s how it was for your aunt. If indeed you really are opening your mind, it’s a bit rusty, and it’ll take time for you to learn to interpret and trust your instincts. As I said once before, Diana, cards don’t read the future or tell us how to live our lives. People do. If they can learn to understand their instincts.”
She stared back out the window, and just as she turned, the intercom buzzed.
“Diana, I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s Jonathan. He says he needs to speak with you. He’s insistent and is threatening to show up here if you don’t take the call.”
She hesitated for a moment, her face going from surprise to apprehension. Avoiding Ethan’s gaze, she replied reluctantly, “I suppose I’d better. Send it in.”
Ethan walked back to the window, up to the ceiling-to-floor glass, and stood against it, almost touching it, and listened unashamedly to the one-sided conversation.
“Yes … ” she murmured, obviously trying to keep her voice down. “We’ve been getting calls all week …. Jonathan, I don’t—No. I’m not going to change my mind …. . I don’t expect you to …. You can tell him that. Good-bye.”
He waited until he heard the receiver placed on its cradle before he turned. She sat at the desk, staring down at her unmoving hands, as if oblivious to his presence. He saw that she was breathing heavily, slowly, as though trying to regain some control.
“Diana?”
She jerked, and raised her face to look at him. “Was there anything else?”
Her countenance had the life of a clay mask, her eyes like dull ebony pits. His insides dropped like a pile of stones. “Jesus, what is it?” he asked, coming to her, taking her cold hands.
She shuddered once, then withdrew her fingers, looked away. “He’s ruining me.”
“Jonathan?” Ethan was incredulous. Fury swept over him. “Over what? Over … us?” The words slipped out before he could catch them.
She stared at him in surprise, then her lips moved. “No, oh no, over nothing that trivial.” Her voice strengthened, gathering bitterness and sarcasm. “No, and it’s not my former fiancé who’s ruining me … it’s a colleague of his. Someone whose case I had to drop.”
“You dropped a case?”
She nodded. “I couldn’t defend a person who wasn’t innocent, and I told him so. I guess perhaps I … don’t have a true understanding of the law … a true belief in it. Everyone is entitled to representation, even the basest of murderers … I just found that I can’t argue for someone who doesn’t take his profession seriously, or cautiously.” She was speaking, but not looking at him. He thought perhaps she wasn’t looking at anything.
She drew in a deep breath, then let it out. It wavered. “Jonathan warned me that this man could make or break me. I guess he’s decided to break me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Later, Diana wouldn’t be able to recount just how she ended up with Ethan at the house she was subleasing … but she did, and, at the time, she was distressingly grateful for that fact.
“Nice place,” he said, opening the door and gesturing her in as if it were his own place. “You’re not expecting Jonathan, I presume?”
“No,” she said, looking at him sharply. “I don’t see him anymore.”
“But you take his calls even after you told your people not to disturb you,” he reminded her. “Even after you said to hold all your calls. Interesting.” The tone in his voice was flat, almost accusatory.
She turned away, but not before she had the image of Ethan, standing tall and dark and strong in the foyer of her temporary home. He was taking in the details, just as she had done when she visited him. Her insides fluttered at the memory of his log cabin and what had transpired there, and she felt warm and weak all at once. This was not good. She did not want to succumb to the temptation of Ethan Tannock again, giving him more material for his work.
Pride—the only defense she had—kept her from telling him what she’d seen in his office. After all, if she admitted she’d seen those notes, admitted the hurt and the betrayal she felt, he’d know just where she stood. How vulnerable she was. How she’d begun to feel for him.
But the longer she was with him, the weaker her resolve seemed to become. And so she said, “Ethan, I really appreciate you seeing me home, but—”
He stepped in further and stood right by the open door to her bedroom. He gestured toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I’m starving. Do you want to order something in, or are you in the mood to cook?” He glanced into the bedroom, where the large four-poster bed sat, neat and made up, just as she’d left it this morning. Beyond, there was the door to the master bath, and across the hall was the second bedroom, or den. “Nice place. Is it yours or Wertinger’s?”
“Neither,” she said. “I needed a place to stay after I moved out, so I’m subleasing it from the parents of a colleague. They’re in Alaska for the summer.”
That made him stop and look at her more intently. “You did end things with him.”
“I told you I did,” she replied.
“Ethan,” Diana began … and then she stopped. What would be the harm in having dinner with him? She didn’t really want to be alone, anyway, while her business was collapsing around her. And with the news about Aunt Belinda. “Dinner,” she said. “That’s it. And then you have to leave.”
“If that’s the way you want it.”
“That’s the way I want it,” she replied firmly, noticing the way his eyes wandered back to the open bedroom door behind her. A flush threatened to rush up and over her chest and throat. “What happened before was … like I said, it was nice. But—”
The Cards of Life and Death (Modern Gothic Romance 2) Page 23
