Hoodwinked

by Diana Palmer

  She didn't quite understand his abrupt mood change. Perhaps he wasn't awake yet. "Yes. Help yourself. I'll be right back." She moved into the bedroom and closed the door, still tingling from his warm, hungry embrace. It was nice being kissed like that, and a little frightening, too. She'd felt giddy and weak and had experienced a new kind of throbbing ache inside her. What an odd reaction to a kiss, she thought, and then fumbled her way into hose, a slip and a white dress, pausing to put on a minimum of makeup and put up her hair. She looked cool and young and neat, but not beautiful. She sighed at her reflection, pushed her slipping glasses back up on her nose, and went back into the living room, carrying her white high heels and her Sunday purse with her. She tossed them onto the coffee table and padded in her stocking feet to the kitchen.

  Jake was drinking black coffee at the table, and he smiled at the picture she made. She looked neat and unruffled, and he wanted to let her hair down and wrinkle that dress. His dark eyes said so.

  She flushed, smiling at him. "Will I do?"

  "Oh, yes," he responded. "You'll do."

  "I'll just fix the eggs," she said, moving to get an apron. He watched her quick movements with lazy appreciation, wondering at the domestic picture she made. He'd never actually watched a woman cook before. It was fascinating. So was she.

  "This is like another world to me," he remarked suddenly. "I've never felt this relaxed in my life or enjoyed a woman's company so much."

  She turned to look at him, her eyes soft and excited. "Really?"

  "Really. You're good for me."

  She lowered her eyes shyly and went back to the eggs. "I like being with you, too, Jake."

  He felt uncomfortable at the use of his nickname. He shifted in the chair. "How do you like working for Blake?" he asked suddenly.

  "I like it very much," she confessed. "Except that poor Mr. Blake worries so much," she added. "He's been a bundle of nerves this week. That's not like him at all." She shrugged, unaware of her companion's intent stare. "Maybe it's this Faber-jet problem. It's made us all nervous." She glanced at him. "Do you suppose somebody could be trying to sabotage it?"

  Four

  » ^ «

  "Oh, did you burn yourself?" Maureen exclaimed. She rushed for paper towels while Jake gritted his teeth against the pain from the sudden splash of hot black coffee on his big hand.

  Her question about sabotage had caught him off guard and he'd almost given the show away with that clumsy movement. He forgot the sting of the hot liquid, though, watching her concerned face and the quick, deft movements of her slender hands as she mopped his hand and wrist and frowned over the red burn mark on the darkly tanned flesh.

  It had been years since anyone had fussed over him. She didn't appear to be doing it because she wanted to impress him. She seemed genuinely to care that he'd been hurt.

  She was leaning over him, her soft eyes concerned, her hands gentle as they rubbed some soothing ointment over the burn. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I must have bumped the table. I'm so clumsy"

  "I knocked the cup with my hand," he corrected. "It wasn't anything you did. What is that stuff?" he asked, frowning as he watched her rub it in, her fingers small against his huge hand.

  "Antibiotic ointment," she murmured. "It's mostly for cuts and bee stings, but it's all I've got and maybe it will help."

  "Do you always fuss over people like this?" he asked, his voice faintly dry.

  She glanced at him. "Well, yes," she said apologetically. "I wanted to be a nurse, but I get sick if I see blood." She sighed and sat down beside him. "Who am I kidding? I've never tried to be anything except what I am. I only have an adventurous spirit The rest of me is pure coward."

  "I'd say it was lack of opportunity," he murmured, smiling at her. His eyes grew thoughtful. "When I was your age, I hired on a tramp steamer and went to the Canary Islands and Fiji and Hawaii," he said, reminiscing. "I worked on a sugarcane plantation on the big island in Hawaii, and then I worked as a clerk for one of the small airlines. I learned to surf over there. Got pretty good at it, too, despite my size," he added dryly, noticing that she was hanging on every word. "Then one of the pilots started teaching me how to fly, and I was hooked."

  "Is that where you learned to work on airplanes?" she asked, her eyes curious and soft.

  He hesitated. "Yes. Of course."

  "It must have been very exciting. Didn't your parents mind?" she asked.

  "They went through the ceiling," he recalled. "But I was used to going my own way. I wanted to see what I could do on my own. I think I surprised them as much as I surprised myself." His dark eyes grew serious. "You see, Maureen, it isn't enough to want things. You have to go out and get them. Dreams are fine, but only if they lead to solutions."

  "You mean I have to take chances, now and again," she said.

  "That's part of it. You have to be willing to make sacrifices, as well," he added somberly. "Sometimes the sacrifices can be pretty rough. I spent most of my adult life making"he almost said money "airplanes. Then one day I woke up and discovered that airplanes had become my whole life. I'd given up a private life in the process." His big shoulders moved against the soft fabric of his shirt. "I tried to change that. To make time for the things I used to do that I stopped doing because of work. But something was still missing." He looked at her quietly. "Things don't make up for people, did you know?"

  "Yes," she said softly. Her eyes fell to his chest and she could see the dark, thick shadow under his shirt. Her lips parted as she stared at him there and wondered what was beneath that white fabric. Her own thoughts startled her, because she'd never been curious about a man's body before.

  He saw that curiosity and smiled to himself. So she was thinking about him that way, was she? He was suddenly sorry that he couldn't give her what she was looking for. But an affair was out of the question with her, and so was anything more permanent. Even when this was all over, there was little possibility that she could fit into his world. She was sweet and kind, but she'd need to be a barracuda to survive what he had to contend with. There was little sense in starting something he couldn't finish.

  All the same, her eyes disturbed him. She had a way of looking at him that made his heart go wild in his chest. Especially when he could see the thoughts in her unguarded face.

  "I'm hairy there," he said quietly, watching her eyes register her shock. "And not just there." He leaned toward her, holding her gaze. "All over, Maureen."

  The flush started at her neck and worked its way up into her cheeks and finally to her hairline. She averted her eyes and started to get up. "I'll just wash these dishes"

  His hand caught hers, holding her there while he struggled with genuine regret. Mockery and taunting arrogance were very much a part of his personality. He used them like weapons to keep his employees in line, to keep women at bay. But he hadn't meant to hurt Maureen.

  "That was a low blow," he said, his eyes narrow and intent. "I didn't mean to embarrass you." He drew a deep breath. "Look, honey, it bothers me when you look at me like that, okay?" he said, opting for the truth. "You're not the kind of woman I can carry into the bedroom and amuse myself with. So don't create problems. Be the good girl you are and keep those sultry eyes to yourself."

  "Sultry?" Her eyebrows arched.

  He laughed helplessly at her expression. "Never mind, Goldilocks. Wash your dishes. I'll have my coffee with Bagwell. Does he need feeding?"

  "I'll do it, but thanks for offering." She tidied Bagwell's cage and changed his water and fed him while her mind glowed at what Jake had said. So she disturbed him. And she had sultry eyes. She could hardly keep her secret smiles to herself after that. He might not want to complicate things, but it pleased her very much that he found her so attractive.

  They went to church, and after the service they sat in a nearby McDonald's and ate hamburgers and fries.

  "I enjoyed that," he said. "Going to church, I mean. I haven't had much to do with organized religion in recent years. Too bus
y."

  "Where did you work in between Hawaii and MacFaber?" she asked.

  It was a legitimate question, but he had to think hard for an answer. "Lockheed-Georgia," he said. "Great people. They're just north of Atlanta, in Marietta." In fact, he'd been to Lockheed-Georgia for the unveiling of the C-5A Galaxy cargo plane. Fortunately he remembered just a little about the layout.

  "I had a cousin who was a draftsman there," she said unexpectedly, and he had to bite his tongue. "But he was transferred to their California plant last year," she added, and he relaxed. "I don't guess you'd have known him. He only worked there for a year."

  "I guess not," he agreed.

  "I wonder why I haven't seen you before?" she mused, smiling at him. "Most of the mechanics share the canteen with us."

  "I was at the construction plant in Kansas City until this month," he told her. It was true enough, he'd raised hell down there. "Where the Faber-jet renovation is taking place," he added.

  "Yes, we know about the other divisions, even if we haven't seen them," Maureen agreed. "It's a huge corporation, isn't it? There's the engineering plant, where we are, and the construction plant, the electronics plant However do you suppose Mr. MacFaber keeps up with it all?"

  "He has capable executives and he delegates a lot of authority," he said, adding "Probably," when she stared at him. "I've heard some of the men talk about him," he said to alleviate her suspicions.

  "Charlene says he's heavy," she murmured. "And old, I wonder what he looks like? There used to be a portrait of him, Charlene said, but somebody lost it."

  He pursed his lips, remembering all too well what had become of that unflattering likeness of Joseph MacFaber, but he couldn't tell her.

  "How does Charlene like him?" he asked.

  "She's never met him," she said. "She's only been his secretary for four months, and he's been out of the country for almost a year. He flies in occasionally, they say, but he has most of his contact with the corporation through memos and phone calls." She frowned into her coffee. "It seems kind of haphazard to me. I mean, he's the man on top. If there are design problems with his jet, you'd think he'd be here raising Cain about it instead of jumping off mountains on hang gliders. Wouldn't you?" she added, looking up to surprise a strange expression on his broad, dark face.

  "Maybe he doesn't trust anybody," he suggested.

  She shrugged. "You can't blame him for that. If somebody really is trying to sabotage his new design, he'd be well-advised not to." She pursed her lips. "I guess he suspects Mr. Peters, don't you?" she added thoughtfully. "But I wonder if Mr. Peters would do something like that? I know he wants to control the corporation, but he seems like a very nice man to me."

  He knew he'd stopped breathing. "You know him?"

  "Didn't you see him this morning?" she asked. "He goes to my church."

  He didn't flick an eyelash, but he felt his head whirling. "Did he see us?"

  "No, I don't think so. He was in the front pew and we left early. I would have introduced you," she added with a smile. "He's very friendly."

  That, he thought with blatant relief, would have been one hell of an introduction, all right. But it raised some terrible questions. If she went to church with Peters, and knew him But would people who went to church really be involved in something as unholy as sabotage? He'd learned over the years that the sweetest faces sometimes masked terrible greed.

  "You look worried," she said. "Is something wrong?"

  "No. Finish your coffee. We'd better go."

  She didn't understand what was wrong. He drove her back to her apartment, murmured something about seeing her the next day, and left her there without a word or a smile.

  Strange, unpredictable man, she thought, worried. Had she said something that made him angry? Did he think she was being disloyal to the company by talking so nicely about Mr. Peters? But the other airplane executive really was a nice man. He was ambitious, but so were a lot of other people. Then she began to wonder. Did he know Mr. Peters, and was he afraid Mr. Peters might have recognized him? That worried her. Everything about this new relationship worried her. She was beginning to think some very disturbing thoughts about her friend. She didn't want to suspect him anymore, because he was already becoming part of her life. But what if he was involved in the sabotage? If it even was sabotage, she thought comfortingly.

  She spent the rest of the day watching movies with Bagwell, wondering if her new friendship had already gone the way of her othersdown the tube.

  Monday morning, Jake had already gone when she left for work. She'd had a lingering hope that he might ask her to ride in with him, but no invitation had been forthcoming. In fact, she hadn't seen a light on in his apartment Sunday evening, even though the truck had still been there.

  He was a curious man, but she was already beginning to feel something deep and disturbing for him. He attracted her as no other man ever had, and she couldn't imagine how she was going to stay alive if he canceled their Saturday-night bowling date. It was absurd to get so involved with a stranger, she told herself, especially a stranger who'd made it clear that friendship was all he was offering. But she was lonely, and he made her feel free.

  She went into Mr. Blake's office with forced cheer, only to find her boss looking as if he'd been walked over and sat on.

  "Good morning?" She made a question of it unconsciously.

  "It is not," he muttered. "My stupid brother-in-law is going to be the death of me!"

  "Is he worse?" she asked hesitantly, because he'd been reluctant to discuss his in-law once before.

  He sighed angrily and ran a hand through what there was of his dark hair. "No, he's not worse. Not yet, anyway," he added. He looked up. "Have you heard anything from Charlene about an investigation?" he asked hesitantly, as if he didn't really want to ask for gossip.

  "Wellnot exactly from Charlene," she said, trying to protect Jake. "But there's talk that Mr. MacFaber has hired a private investigator to see if he can find any evidence of sabotage."

  Blake nodded. He sat back in his chair and loosened his tie. "Yes, I heard the same talk. I knew he wouldn't rest until he got to the bottom of it. MacFaber would follow an enemy into hell to get him, they say. I'm beginning to believe it. He can be ruthless when his corporation is involved."

  "You can't blame him, sir," she replied. "It must be terribly expensive to have something go wrong with a new design."

  "More expensive than we realize sometimes." He touched his desk with a careless hand. "They'll narrow it down to the mechanics, you mark my words," he murmured absently.

  Maureen felt her heart skip a beat. No. It couldn't be Jake! She couldn't bear to see him arrested, disgraced, imprisoned!

  "We'd better get to work," he said abruptly, sitting up straight. "Get your pad, Maureen, and we'll get the correspondence out of the way first."

  "Yes, sir."

  She worried all morning about Jake, and what was going to become of him when the private detective caught up with him. He would look suspicious to any logical person, especially if he were seen in his expensive casual clothing.

  At lunchtime she went to the canteen, looking all around, trying to catch a glimpse of Jake, but he was nowhere to be found. She went out to the parking lot after she'd wolfed down a sandwich, and his truck was there.

  There were a lot of mechanics who worked for the corporation, although not as many here at the administrative offices. There were enough to keep up the company planes, which were based here, and not so many that Maureen couldn't recognize most of them. But when she walked past the big hangars, she was too nervous to go inside and ask for Jake.

  She wondered idly if he knew Mr. Blake's brother-in-law, who'd been working at the Kansas City assembly plant until his sudden illness. She'd have to remember to ask him when she saw him again.

  He didn't show up the rest of the day, and when she got to her apartment, hoping that he might be home, he wasn't there, either. Two long days went by, during which Maureen became
more and more certain that he'd washed his hands of her. She didn't see him at MacFaber's, and despite the continued presence of his truck there, she was reasonably sure that he wasn't working. She was too afraid to ask if he'd been fired. She didn't want to have to hear that he'd been caught by the elusive Mr. MacFaber.

  Wednesday evening when she went home, there was a movie on television that she particularly wanted to see. She settled down with homemade popcorn, sharing with Bagwell, and concentrated on the screen. She was watching the mystery with such intensity that the knock on the door came twice before she heard it.

  Her heart turned cartwheels as she jumped up and ran to answer it. There was only one person who might call this late at night. She smoothed down her loosened hair and cursed her lack of glamour. She was wearing jeans and a very old blue tank top, and there wasn't a speck of lipstick on her face. Oh, well. She was too glad to see him to care how she looked.

  She threw open the door, her face aglow, her eyes brilliant. It was Jake, in corded tan slacks and a yellow designer knit shirt. His face was worn and tired, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

  "Got any coffee?" he asked with a tired smile.

  She laughed. "Oh, yes," she said. "Come in!"

  He moved into the kitchen, his dark eyes warm at the excitement on her face, at her obvious joy in his presence. She might be a saboteur, he thought, but she was pure delight to be around. She brought out qualities in him of which he'd been unaware. Protectiveness. Possessiveness. Easy conversation and quiet pleasure in the simplest things. He'd found himself hoping against hope in the past few days that she was as innocent as she seemed. In another week he'd have his answer, one way or another.

  "Did you miss me?" he asked, needing to hear her admit it, even though he could see it in her face.

  "Yes," she confessed. Her eyes searched his with helpless hunger. "I thought you'd been I thought you'd quit your job," she corrected.

  "They sent me to another plant for a few days." he said. That was almost true. "I didn't expect to be gone for so long."