Secret Lover

by Shawna Delacorte

  She wandered around, quickly scanning the shelves, trying to get a fix on his reading tastes. He seemed to read everything: popular fiction, science textbooks, how-to guides.... She allowed that it probably had to do with the isolation of his living circumstances. She noted a television and VCR and next to that a cabinet filled with tapes.

  She peeked into his bedroom. The bed was unmade. A pair of sweatpants were draped over the arm of a chair and a pair of socks were on the floor. As in the living room, bookshelves lined the walls. She checked the bathroom. A bottle rested on a shelf next to the shower. She picked it up and studied it for a moment, her brow furrowing in confusion. It was a bottle of color shampoo in a medium brown. Why would he have shampoo that put color into his hair? He did not seem old enough to have gray hair. He did not strike her as the vain type, either. So why would someone who lived alone in the middle of nowhere even worry about it?

  She returned to the main room. There were some books stacked in a corner, books that seemed to be somehow separate from the vast array of those lined up on the shelves. Her gaze became glued to the words on the covers. They were chemistry books. She picked up one of them.

  A gust of cold wind swept across the room. A chill moved up her spine and her mouth went dry. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. She knew the chill was from more than the cold air. A sick feeling churned in the pit of her stomach as she slowly turned around.

  Chapter Three

  Jim stood framed in the opened door. His impassive features formed an expressionless mask across his face. His eyes, however, flashed a hint of the conflicting emotions hidden inside him—a conflict that she could not read. His voice was very controlled giving no hint as to what was beneath the surface. “Were you looking for something specific or just browsing?”

  “Jim...I, uh...” She was unable to get out any coherent words.

  “Yes?” He stepped into the room and closed the door. “You were what?” He heard the edge in his voice, an edge he did not like. It was an anxiety that betrayed the uneasiness he tried desperately to hide. His alert gaze darted around the room, trying to determine exactly what she had been doing.

  “You...uh...” She swallowed, trying to remove the lump from her throat. “You said you read a lot. I was wondering if you had any reference books that I might borrow.” She knew it was a feeble lie.

  “What type of reference books? You thought I just might have some light reading material about toxic waste?”

  She stared intently at him. Again, something around the eyes, his nose, the shape of his face. Her anxieties were doing internal battle with her instincts. She glanced at the chemistry books again and thought about the bottle of hair color. She knew the answers she sought were staring at her, almost yelling at her, but she could not quite make all the pieces fit together.

  She desperately wanted to leave his cabin, to lock herself safely inside her own cabin and try to put some sense and logic to all of this. “I...I’m sorry about this. I had no right to barge in here without asking. So...if you’ll excuse me, I’ll return—”

  “Not so fast, Miss Sinclair.” He moved toward her, his size suddenly looming even larger than he really was. He reached her in three long strides and grabbed her arm to prevent her from trying to leave. “Exactly what are you doing inside my cabin?” He tried to quell the fear that seemed to be controlling his actions. “What are you looking for?” He was only vaguely aware of how tight a grip he had on her arm.

  She searched the intensity of his eyes, trying to read his mood, trying to calculate the severity of her predicament. This was not the first time she had been in a dilemma that could go either way as far as danger was concerned. Her year in investigative reporting had given her enough experiences to be in one of her own books.

  He studied her for a long moment, not quite sure what to do or how to proceed. “Who are you? Andrea Sinclair, winter guest at an out-of-the-way summer resort? Wayne Gentry, writer of mystery novels? Or perhaps a stranger who has just invaded the privacy of my home in search of...” He cocked his head and studied her again. He was not sure what he was seeing. It appeared to be a combination of apprehension, guilt and maybe a little hint of panic, but it was not fear. “In search of what?”

  She swallowed hard. Other than his grasp on her arm, she felt nothing threatening from him. He appeared to be suffering as much from jangled nerves as she was. With her free hand she tugged at his fingers, trying to loosen his grip. Her voice held an unwelcome husky quaver as she spoke. “You...you’re hurting me.”

  The air swirled with the combined stress and tension each was experiencing at that moment.

  He maintained his strong hold on her arm but did loosen his grip a little. He tried to convince himself that things were all right, that there was nothing to really worry about. She had not answered his question. “Why did you come here? I don’t mean that story about writer’s block, I mean how did you pick this particular place?”

  “I...I didn’t pick it. In fact, I had never heard of it. My agent chose it.” The thud of her heartbeat reverberated in her ears. It was not fear, at least not fear of Jim. She recognized the signs of her own confusion beginning to come together into some sort of cohesive reality. “He had stayed here a few summers ago and thought it would be a good place with no distractions.” She saw the uncertainty in his eyes, the wariness.

  After a long pause he released her from his grasp. “What’s your agent’s name? I want to look it up in the records.”

  Andi rubbed the spot where his fingers had squeezed into her arm as she took a couple of steps back from him. The situation was growing more bizarre by the moment. The circumstances, by all manner of logic, should have created an intense feeling of dread in her, a real concern for her own safety. Oddly enough, that was not what had happened.

  She had run a gamut of emotions, but fear had not been one of them. She maintained eye contact with him. In total defiance of all things rational, she felt the mesmerizing pull of his presence, the tingling sensations of excitement she had experienced when he had kissed her. Her voice quavered slightly as she tried to project a calm, controlled demeanor. “My agent’s name is Keith Martin of Martin Literary Associates in New York.” She saw the quick flicker of recognition dart through his eyes.

  Keith Martin—of course. That had been the first summer Jim had been at the resort. It was Keith Martin who had suggested he try the Wayne Gentry novels. He had forgotten the name until she had just mentioned it A sigh of resignation escaped his lips as he leaned back against the end of the sofa and folded his arms across his chest.

  His voice was calm, the tone soft yet conveying the fact that he had regained emotional control of the situation and of his anxiety. “That brings us back to my original question. What are you doing in my cabin? What exactly are you looking for?”

  A strange feeling of inner calm settled over her nerves. His body language told her he was in no way threatening her. She relaxed her tensed muscles, quickly making her decision about how to answer his question—how much truth to reveal. She chose her words carefully, trying to put as much sincerity into them as she could.

  “The truth is...I was wondering about you. I’m a mystery writer. To me it’s a bit of a mystery why someone would choose to lead such a solitary life. It seemed to me that it would be very lonely for you. I meant no harm, I only wanted to satisfy my curiosity about what type of surroundings you had chosen for yourself—how you spent your time.” She offered him a tentative smile as she gestured toward the walls lined with bookshelves. “I see what you mean about reading a lot.”

  He was doing an excellent job of hiding whatever was going on inside him. She saw nothing in his expression nor anything reflected in his hazel eyes. She adopted what she hoped would appear as a confident persona and moved toward the door. “Again, I apologize for trespassing. It was very rude of me. I’ll leave you to your work and I’ll return to mine.”

  Jim rose to his feet and hastily moved toward the door, arri
ving there before she did. He put his hand on the doorknob, preventing her from opening the door. His voice was low. his tone ominous. “Not so fast, Andi.”

  A little shiver of anxiety darted through her as he blocked her way. She tried to sound casual as she spoke. “Yes?” She looked into his eyes and saw his uncertainty.

  “There’s more going on here than just that.” He was instantly sorry that he had said anything. At that precise moment he was not at all sure he really wanted to know what was going on inside her head.

  She lowered her gaze, breaking eye contact with him. There was an awkward moment of silence, then he stepped aside and opened the door. Without looking at him, she quickly left his cabin.

  Jim watched her through his window as she hurried across the open area toward her cabin. He knew there was no way he could simply ignore the situation and hope it would go away. He had to determine how much of a threat Andrea Sinclair was to him—indeed, to his very life—and what he needed to do about it. He turned away from the window, his heart heavy with his sorrow.

  Andi entered her cabin and closed the door, anxious to get out of sight from his prying eyes. Things were very confused, very unsettled. A small seed of an idea, almost an errant thought, had taken root in the back of her mind—a thought so ludicrous that it almost caused her to laugh out loud at the absurdity. Coincidence was one thing, but this was too much.

  With trembling fingers she withdrew the yellowed newspaper clippings from their large envelope and shuffled through them until she found the news photo. She stared at it for a long moment before picking up a pencil and carefully sketching in a beard and a mustache, then lengthening and darkening the hair. She placed the pencil on the table. Her mouth went dry and her legs felt weak. She stared at the altered news photo of James Hollander and saw Jim Richards staring back at her. The man whose life and whereabouts had become almost an obsession for her was the very same man whose sensual kiss had set her soul on fire and still lingered in the heated depths of her consciousness.

  Excitement replaced Andi’s shock as it raced through her like an out-of-control wildfire. In retrospect she now realized that all the signs had pointed in this direction—his original reaction to her research, his subtle but insistent questions, even the chemistry books in his cabin. Everything made sense now.

  Suddenly she felt the panic he must have experienced when he heard of her research. She vividly recalled the expression on his face when he had read the crumpled piece of paper he had picked up from the floor. What must his life have been like these past five years? What had made him choose to disappear like that? So many questions...did she dare to confront him with the knowledge that she now knew his true identity? What would he do if he knew she was on to him? A desperate man feeling trapped...was she truly in danger?

  The loud knock on her cabin door startled her into the here and now. It could only be one person. Her nerve endings itched with uncertainty, and a hint of queasiness churned in the bottom of her stomach. He had allowed her to leave his cabin earlier. Had he since had misgivings about that decision?

  The voice came from the other side of the closed door. “Andi...answer me. I know you’re in there.” He again pounded his hand on the door. “There’s a phone call for you in the office.”

  A phone call? That certainly was not what she had expected. She answered him without opening the door. “A call for me?”

  “Yes. It’s Keith Martin calling from New York. He says it’s important.”

  “In the office? Thank you. I’ll get my coat and be right there.” She cautiously opened the door and peered outside. She did not see him anywhere. She glanced toward his cabin, then hurried up the path to the office.

  Andi grabbed the receiver that rested across the top of the phone. “Hello.”

  “Andi...it’s Keith. Are you all right?”

  “Why, yes...shouldn’t I be?” Her confusion was obvious. She could not imagine what had prompted Keith’s call.

  “Are you alone?” His voice sounded urgent. She did not like the signals it sent out.

  “Yes. What’s the trouble?”

  “That’s my question. What I have are two unrelated incidents that, when put together, smell like a lot of trouble. First was a call from your buddy, Steve, asking me what you were working on, and then someone broke into my offices and the only thing taken was my file on Wayne Gentry...including your name and address in La Jolla. I wouldn’t have made any connection normally, but with Steve’s call I’m wondering if this could have something to do with your publisher issuing a press release about your next book being based on the Buchanan Chemicals’ case.”

  Her pulse jumped as the full impact of his words hit her. “My publisher put out a publicity blurb about what I’ve been researching? How could they?” She tried to slow down her sudden increase in heartbeat and calm her rising panic. Suddenly everything was swirling around her completely out of control, not the least of which was her accidental discovery of the long-missing James Hollander. Could it all somehow be related—her research and the break-in at Keith’s office ?

  “There’s nothing unusual about them doing that. You’re a hot commodity, so they’re just capitalizing on a little free publicity. Most of my clients are thrilled when the publisher gives their potential sales a boost with free publicity.” There was a pause before Keith continued, his concern clearly conveyed in his voice. “Andi...sometimes you take too many chances, push things just a little too far. Are you getting in over your head? Are you into something dangerous again?”

  “I...” She was not sure how to answer him. She tempered her excitement with caution, not wanting to blurt out the information about James Hollander. “I don’t know, Keith. I’ve stumbled onto something so bizarre that even I’m not sure it’s real.” She again paused, a sudden decision having popped into her head. “I’ll be going home tomorrow. I’ll call and make my reservations right now.”

  “You call me as soon as you get home. Better yet, call me from the airport before you get on the plane. Steve wouldn’t tell me why you contacted him, but whatever it was it has him concerned.”

  Andi forced a casual chuckle. “You know Steve. He’s a worrier. That’s what makes him so good at his job. He worries about all the little details.”

  Keith’s voice was stern. “Don’t fluff me off, Andi. This sounds very serious. If you’re in danger—”

  “I promise to call from the airport tomorrow. Now I’ve got to make reservations for the car ferry from Victoria to Seattle, change my flight from Seattle back to San Diego, and let the rental car company know that I’ll be bringing their car back a lot earlier than scheduled. And after all that I still have packing to do.”

  Jim carefully replaced the receiver on the phone extension in his cabin. A little twinge of guilt passed through him. He had always respected other people’s privacy and would not, under normal circumstances, even consider listening in on someone else’s phone conversation. The circumstances, however, were anything but normal.

  Things were beginning to fall into place, to make sense. All of this really was a cruel quirk of fate. If there was, as Keith Martin had said, a publicity release about the subject of her next book, then the break-in at his office and the theft of her file could only be the work of some of the thugs who worked for Milo Buchanan. Subtlety was not one of their attributes, and the government agents would not have been so obvious about their actions. Jim’s heavy sigh of resignation only confirmed what he already suspected—Milo Buchanan had not given up trying to track him down.

  Jim allowed himself one tiny glimmer of comfort—at least Andi appeared to be exactly who she said she was and had not told Keith about her obvious suspicions. He left the relative security of his cabin, knowing she was still in the office taking care of the changes in her travel plans. It would provide him the opportunity he needed. He quickly covered the distance between his cabin and hers. Every minute was crucial.

  As soon as he entered her cabin he spotted all the
news clippings spread out on the table. His gaze became riveted to the altered news photo. There was no doubt in his mind that she knew exactly who he was. A band tightened across his chest as the tension mounted inside him. This was not a game, it was literally a matter of life and death to him. He had to know her intentions.

  He waited inside her cabin door, standing to one side of the front window so that he was not visible from outside. He watched as she left the office and started back up the pathway.

  A minute later Andi burst into the cabin, shrugging out of her jacket as she kicked the door shut behind her. The break-in at Keith’s office upset her far more than she had let him know. Things were getting out of hand. She needed to pack and get out of there as quickly as possible.

  A sound grabbed her attention. She whirled around and saw Jim standing by the window. His intense stare bored right through her. A startled gasp sprang from her throat as her hand flew to her mouth. Her pulse raced so fast she could feel it throbbing. She searched his face, then his eyes for any sign of his intentions. She did not see anger, but she did see a great deal of pain and uncertainty. She watched as he walked to the table and picked up the altered news photo and held it out toward her. “No more games, Andi. You’ve obviously figured everything out.”

  She finally found her voice, the hard lump in her throat making it difficult for her to speak. “What do you intend to do to me?”

  “Do to you?” He wrinkled his brow in confusion and slowly shook his head as if he did not quite understand why she would ask such a question. “What makes you think I intend to do anything to you?” He took a calming breath as he plopped down on the couch. He leaned back and closed his eyes. His face looked haggard and drawn.