Secret Lover

by Shawna Delacorte

  Jim smiled graciously at the desk clerk, then signed the register as Mr. and Mrs. Denton from Spokane, Washington. “Perhaps something in the back, you know...something out of the way. Alice and I are still on our honeymoon.” He leaned forward and gave the clerk a sly wink as he lowered his voice in a suggestive manner. “We wouldn’t want to disturb the other guests.”

  The clerk gave an appreciative glance toward Andi, then handed him the room key. “Sure thing, Mr. Denton.”

  Jim drove around behind the motel, parking the car where it could not be seen from the street. He carried the two overnight bags and Andi unlocked the motel room door.

  He looked around the small room as he set the bags on the floor next to the closet. “Well, not exactly the lap of luxury.” He turned a mischievous grin toward her in an attempt to break through the strain and discomfort of the circumstances. “What do you think, Mrs. Denton? Will it do?”

  She felt the embarrassment color her cheeks as her gaze dropped to the floor. “Did you have to tell him that?”

  He dismissed his grin and the light manner, once again allowing the seriousness of the task to dictate the terms. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. To have asked for separate rooms would have looked very suspicious, even to have asked for two beds...” He felt his own embarrassment try to get a foothold. “Well, anyone looking for you or me wouldn’t be looking for a honeymooning...” His words trailed off. The awkwardness of the situation weighed on both of them. Finally he went to the closet and pulled the extra blanket from the top shelf. “I’ll sleep in the car.”

  She took the blanket from him. “You can’t do that. It’s freezing out there.” She looked into his eyes. Her words were soft and contained just a hint of uncertainty. “I’m sure we can be adult about this. After all, a couple of kisses don’t automatically mean...” She again lowered her gaze to the floor, her embarrassment taking control. Nothing more was said as each silently prepared for bed.

  Andi gathered her things and disappeared behind the bathroom door. When she finished, he took his turn. As soon as he was out of sight she took off her robe and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up around her shoulders. Jim reappeared from the bathroom about ten minutes later.

  He stood on the other side of the bed dressed only in a pair of gray sweatpants. She tried not to stare, but could not help taking in his well-toned torso—his strong arms, his hard chest and flat belly. An involuntary shudder moved through her body when she saw the ugly scars low on his chest and across his right side, the results of the car bomb. She tried to ignore the desire she felt while averting her eyes as he settled his body into the other side of the bed.

  FRANK NORTON READ the publicity release about the forthcoming Wayne Gentry novel with great interest. Even though there had not been any activity on the Buchanan case in the past few years, it was still an open file for him. When Phil Herman immediately dropped all charges against Milo Buchanan, then just as quickly resigned his position following the sudden disappearance of James Hollander, Frank Norton had managed to step up from Assistant U.S. Attorney in the Chicago office to take over Phil Herman’s job.

  Even though there had been no mention of James Hollander’s whereabouts for at least two years—not even a false report or dead-end lead—Frank Norton still wanted to locate the missing witness even if it was nothing more than being able to confirm his death. He did not like loose ends, and that’s exactly what James Hollander and the open case file represented. He had aspirations toward the governor’s office, and closing this particular file would look very good on his record.

  And equally as important to Frank Norton was the fact that it would allow him the glory that had escaped his predecessor. Phil Herman had been the primary obstacle to his goals, but when he resigned under a cloud of disgrace over the missing witness and his failure to prosecute Milo Buchanan, it left that door wide open for the younger and more ambitious Norton.

  He needed to find out what, if anything, this Wayne Gentry had found out about the missing James Hollander, if possible without going the subpoena route to get Gentry’s research material. A writer would probably attempt to stand behind the same rights that the press claimed with regard to protecting sources and material. He needed to keep a very low profile on this. The last thing he wanted was for his actions to become public knowledge before he had everything in place. But prior to delving into this new bit of information, he had a more important phone call to make.

  He dialed the number of the Chicago office of the U.S. Marshals. “Sally? It’s Frank Norton. How have you been?”

  Sally Hanover’s surprise at the identity of her caller was evident in her voice. “Frank? Well, it’s been a long time...at least a year. What’s up?”

  Sally and Frank had first met a little over six years ago. They had dated casually for a couple of years, but the relationship never had any serious overtones and had finally faded away. Yes, Sally was definitely surprised by Frank Norton’s call.

  “Just touching base with an old friend. I thought we might have dinner. How does your schedule look for this week?”

  “Well...maybe I could work it out tonight. To tell you truthfully...” Sally’s hesitation had a very disconcerting affect on Frank, a definite roadblock to his plans. “I’ve been seeing someone else.”

  “Are you still dating...oh, what was his name? The flashy kid with the FBI who was involved with us on the Buchanan case.”

  “You mean Cliff Turner?”

  “Yes—that’s the one. I never did understand how an FBI agent could afford that Rolex watch and the Porsche that he drove.”

  Sally’s voice became defensive. “He inherited a lot of money from his...well, I think it was his grandfather—” her voice trailed off a bit as it took on a hint of doubt “—or was it his uncle.” She regained her assertiveness. “Well, anyway—he said he had inherited it from some relative.”

  Frank chuckled good-naturedly, although it sounded a bit forced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out as an accusation. It was just an observation. So, how about dinner?”

  “I’m seeing someone else right now—not Cliff—on a pretty regular basis. He’s a man I started doing some freelance computer work for and...well, we’ve sort of developed a relationship.”

  “I’d still like to take you to dinner tonight, if you’re free. Just a couple of old friends enjoying a meal. I’m sure this man couldn’t have any objection to that. Do you want to get back to me after you check with him to see if it’s okay?” It was a calculated comment on Frank’s part and it elicited the hoped-for result.

  “I don’t need to ask anyone’s permission. I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions. I’m free. for dinner tonight.”

  “That’s great, Sally. Why don’t I pick you up at your office at five-thirty? Is that too early?”

  “No, that should be just about right. I’m getting ready to run a computer search right now that will take me most of the day.”

  “You always were the best computer expert the department ever had. In fact, there might be a little job you could do for me, strictly confidential. We can talk about it over dinner. I’ll see you this evening.” Frank placed the phone receiver in the cradle, very pleased with himself.

  JIM GLANCED AT HIS WATCH. It was almost six-thirty in the morning. He had been up for half an hour and had already taken a shower. He leaned back in the chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Andi was still asleep. He laced his fingers together, then leaned his chin against them as he studied her. Only her head peeked out from under the blankets. Her hair rested in disarray across her cheek and forehead. Her face seemed free of any worry. She looked as if she did not have a care in the world.

  He did not know if she had fallen asleep immediately or had lain awake as he had, afraid to move. As much as he had wanted to hold her in his arms, to share the long-denied closeness of another human being, he knew it could not happen.

  Jim glanced at his watch again, then quiet
ly rose from the chair and grabbed his jacket. He stole one more lingering look at her, then silently slipped out the door as she turned over on her side and snuggled comfortably under the blankets.

  Andi slowly became aware of being awake. She did not move, preferring instead to allow her mind to drift. It had been such a strange sensation, being in bed with a man and pretending that he was not there. She wondered if Jim had felt as ill at ease as she had with the unusual circumstances.

  She did not know what time it was when she had finally fallen asleep, but it seemed as if she had stayed awake for quite a while. Such strange thoughts had gone through her mind. One moment she wished he would wrap his arms around her and kiss her with the same intensity as he had when they were back at the cabin, and the next moment she was afraid that he just might try to do it.

  That was not the only thing on Andi’s mind as she lay in bed, quietly savoring the first moments of being awake. She knew Jim was committed to following up on the lead she had unwittingly provided. However, she was not at all sure just how committed he was to her continued involvement in his quest. She could see it in his eyes, hear an occasional hint of it in his tone of voice. Once they reached her house and he listened to the tape, would he disappear again? She shoved the disturbing thought from her mind as she turned over and opened her eyes.

  Andi sat bolt upright, all her senses instantly alert. Jim was not in bed, not in the room. She looked toward the bathroom. The door was open and the light off. He was nowhere to be found. She jumped out of bed in a panic and raced to the window. She shoved the curtain aside and pressed her forehead and nose against the pane. Her warm breath created a foggy screen on the cold glass. A sigh of relief was her response when she spotted the car still parked where they had left it. But where was Jim? Had he waited for her to fall asleep, then quietly slipped away from her, never to be seen again?

  She grabbed her robe and headed for the bathroom, emerging ten minutes later after a quick shower. She threw on some clothes and ran a brush through her hair. As she reached for the door it swung open and Jim entered the room, pulling the key from the lock.

  “Where have you been?” Her demanding shout came out as a combination of panic and irritation.

  He leveled a cool look at her and held up the paper sack he had in his hand. “I found us some coffee. I had to go two blocks away to a restaurant. It was too early to get coffee at the motel office, it wasn’t ready yet.”

  “Oh...” She glanced down at the floor, unable to hold his gaze. “I...I thought you had—”

  “Changed my mind? Taken off in the middle of the night while you were asleep?”

  Her voice softened. “Something like that.” She studied the pattern in the worn carpeting, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

  He paused for a moment before answering her concerns and fears. “Don’t think it didn’t occur to me. It was touch and go there for a while.”

  She finally looked up at him, into the intensity of his hazel eyes. “Then why did you decide to stay?”

  Again, who was asking the question? Was it the woman who wanted an ending for her book about James Hollander, the missing witness, or was it the woman who wanted more of Jim Hollander, the man?

  “This is never going to end unless I make it end. The interview you have on tape is the first solid clue I’ve had in five years. If I let this opportunity pass by, then I might as well walk into Milo Buchanan’s office and tell him he’s won. Like it or not, I have no choice but to go along with you—” his pointed words left no confusion about his meaning “—for now.” He reached into the sack and withdrew a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

  “What then?” The question frightened her. “After you’ve listened to the tape, are you as good as gone?”

  “I...I don’t know.” A discernible sadness clung to his words. “I no longer make plans any further into the future than a day or so.” He removed the lid from the paper cup and took a sip of the hot coffee. The silence weighed heavily in the air for a moment, then each turned to packing the few belongings they had brought into the motel room.

  There were so many things to do before the ferry sailed. In an attempt to further obscure their travels they had decided to take a different car ferry, crossing Juan de Fuca Strait directly south to Port Angeles, Washington, rather than down Puget Sound to Seattle.

  After breakfast they went to the currency exchange by the Empress Hotel. Not wanting to take a chance on a bank account, over the past four years Jim had accumulated several thousand dollars in cash that he kept in his cabin. He handed five hundred dollars to Andi and took out five hundred dollars for himself. The stress began to weigh on him. Every person he passed on the street looked suspicious. More than once he whirled around to see if the person he has just passed had turned back to watch him. He sent Andi into the currency exchange ahead of him while he anxiously waited outside until the other customers had gone.

  Finally the time arrived to board the ferry. They each felt the nervous tension chum just beneath the outer calm. They decided to go separately as if each were traveling alone. Andi drove on board and Jim walked on as a foot passenger. The ninety-five minutes it took to get from Victoria to Port Angeles put their arrival shortly after twelve noon. It was nearly one o’clock before they finally headed out of town.

  She could see it on his face and feel it in the very air that surrounded them. She tried to imagine what he must be going through at that moment, the highs and lows he was experiencing, but she could only guess. As much as she wanted to, she was not able to put herself in his place. He would periodically glance over toward her, as if he were seeking reassurance that this was the best course of action. She would offer him her most confident smile, but he would just return his attention to the road without making comment, his eyes constantly scanning the surrounding area and the occupants of any and all cars within his line of sight.

  The next few hours passed without incident. She told him all about herself—her family background, her education, her career, starting with her year working for Steve Westerfall. She even told him about Nick, the real reason she had been having trouble concentrating on her book. She wanted him to know as much about her as possible, wanted to do whatever she could to relieve the tension that she knew must be building layer upon layer inside him, and make him feel more comfortable about the fact that she knew his true identity.

  She tried to explain how and why she had decided to use him as the central focus for a book. “And then I decided to go through my clipping file. I found four different articles that I thought would make the basis for an interesting book. I finally narrowed it down to one—the Buchanan Chemicals case.”

  “So that’s how I was lucky enough to have you stumble across me and my little problem—I was a clipping in a file folder.”

  It was the first thing he had said in more than two hours, and the sarcasm was unmistakable even though the words were uttered without enthusiasm. But at least he had finally said something.

  She attempted to maintain an upbeat attitude in spite of his glum disposition. “Yes, it was one little clipping about a missing government witness. It was only a couple of paragraphs, but it got me thinking. That’s when I decided to see what I could find out about the case and the witness. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  When he did not respond, she tried again to draw him into conversation. “Well, those are pretty much the highlights of my life. What about you?”

  “I’d say you already know everything there is to know about me. I don’t know what else I could add.”

  He felt trapped. Every few minutes he sneaked a quick glance in the sideview mirror to see what vehicles were behind them. As much as he needed to hear her tape and find the name of the person who told her about the second attempt on his life, he wanted to be out of the car. He was not sure exactly why. Was he uncomfortable with the personal closeness that had developed between them in spite of his efforts to curb his desires? Or was it that nagging
concern about trust and whether he should once again put his fate into someone else’s hands?

  From Port Angeles, Andi had driven south, connecting with Interstate 5 at Olympia, Washington. Her intention was to stay on Interstate 5 all the way to San Diego. It would be the quickest and most direct route. He had adamantly insisted that they stay off the obvious freeway and stick to the coast, taking Highway 101 all the way south. It would definitely add time to their schedule, but he said he felt more comfortable with it.

  The disagreement was settled abruptly, accompanied by a heated exchange of words. He had taken over the driving chores when they stopped in Portland, Oregon, to buy gas and had simply ignored the interstate and her plans, choosing to follow the Columbia River over to the coast. It was late when they stopped for dinner, then checked into a small motel in Astoria, Oregon, at the mouth of the Columbia River.

  “You know this is going to cost us another day.” Andi slammed her overnight bag down on the bed, making no effort to hide her anger as she glared at him. “If we’d stayed on the interstate we would already be in California and could have been at my house by late tomorrow night, but now it’s going to take us two more days. We won’t even talk about the storm clouds that have been with us all day. Rain will cost us even more time on the winding coastal route.”

  His anger matched hers, his voice getting louder. “Haven’t you ever heard of that tried-and-true expression, better safe than sorry?”

  She could not stop her heated words as she continued to glare at him. “That’s not exactly right. Rather than being a tried-and-true expression, it’s a tired old cliché that has nothing to do with this!” She stood her ground, her hands on her hips and her scowl riveted on him. “This isn’t tourist season with lots of strangers invading the towns along the coast. We’re much more likely to stand out in some small out-of-the-way place rather than being one car among thousands on the—”