Finger Prints

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Hey.” He squeezed her arm. “Wanna go for a run?”

  “A run? Now?”

  “Sure. Beats decadence, doesn’t it?”

  “But we haven’t got any running things.”

  He pondered that for a minute, then smirked. “Hmm. You’re right. That was the one thing I forgot when I went shopping.” He paused. “Oops.”

  “What is it?”

  “Jackets. I didn’t think about jackets either. I bought sweaters and jeans.”

  She sent him a speculative grin. “And shoes?”

  In answer, he offered a slightly sheepish grimace.

  “I’ll look cute prancing around in freezing temperatures with a sweater and jeans and high heels.”

  He tossed the problem easily aside. “No sweat. We can buy what we need when the stores reopen tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Her grin faded. “Ryan, I wasn’t planning on today, let alone tomorrow.”

  “Come on, Carly. What’s back there? It’s a holiday weekend. No work, no school. Why not spend one more day with me?” His lips thinned and he murmured beneath his breath, “God only knows when I’ll get you back here!”

  His sudden fierceness made a point that Carly couldn’t ignore. When she returned to Cambridge, there would be other things to face. Given her druthers, she’d stay in this lovely dreamworld forever. But since forever was out of the question, she compromised.

  “Just till tomorrow,” she cautioned.

  “If you say.”

  She sighed and spoke with heartfelt reluctance. “I do. I’ll have to spend most of Sunday getting ready for school.”

  He stared at her long and hard, then gave a single nod. “As long as you won’t mind my hanging around while you work.”

  Once before she had refused him on the grounds that she would never get any work done. Now she yielded. Not that working would be any easier with the constant temptation of his presence, but she had refused him so much and he had been so good about it.

  She forced a scowl and feigned annoyance. “As long as you let me work. Agreed?”

  He grinned. “Agreed. See what a good fellow I am?” Reaching behind him, he dragged out a pillow and batted her over the head before making his escape to the bathroom.

  Carly yelped, then sat up, closing one eye as a piece of lint vied for space with her contact lens. Head down, she tried to remove the lint. It was the contact that came out first. She was still working on the lint when Ryan returned.

  “Hey, is something wrong?” he asked, sinking back down on the bed. He thought she was crying and was instantly contrite. He’d only been playing; he wouldn’t hurt her for the world.

  When she looked up he was perplexed. Though there was no sign of tears, her face was decidedly lopsided with one eye squeezed tightly shut.

  “It’s okay. Just my contact.”

  Amazed, he looked down at her forefinger, the pale pad of which held a small gray disk. “Your contact! I didn’t know you wore them.”

  “All the time,” she murmured, slithering past him off the bed. She wasn’t sure if she was more worried about dropping the small lens or opening her bright blue eye. “Give me a minute.” She closed the bathroom door behind her.

  It took only a minute for her to clear her eye of its irritant and restore a balance of gray. Her taut fingers grasped the edge of the sink while she scrutinized her mirror image. “Close,” she whispered, muttered an oath, then recomposed herself to return to Ryan.

  Mercifully, it was to be the closest call she would have in Vermont. The rest of the day, and the next, were unqualifiedly wonderful. With Cambridge, and so much of the real world, at a distance, Carly relaxed and enjoyed everything about Ryan. They talked and made love and slept, shared the local paper and its crossword puzzle, dressed up for dinner at the inn and, after buying a few necessities on Saturday morning, took a long walk in the woods.

  Even without the snow craved so desperately by every innkeeper in the county, Vermont was beautiful. The forests, shorn of all but their evergreen finery, presented winter at its most striking. Endless clusters of pines and firs undulated across the landscape, stretching their graceful spikes heavenward as though in communion with their creator. Underfoot, dried leaves crackled in reminder of what had been and would be again in time. And through it all wafted the spicy, sprucy scent of fresh air.

  Sitting with Ryan on a high boulder not far from the cottage, Carly marveled at the utter serenity of the vista. Its palette was a blend of grays, blues and greens. She had only to squint to soften the lines of the scene, and then she was reminded of the canvas she’d so recently bought. When she told Ryan about it, his response was immediate. It was the opening he’d sought.

  “I want it.”

  “You what?”

  “I want it. For my place.”

  “You’re kidding. Surely you want something bolder—”

  “No. How big is it?”

  It was quite large; she indicated the vague dimensions with her hands.

  “See! It’d go perfectly in my bedroom. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” she teased. “I’ve never seen your bedroom.”

  He threw his arm around her shoulders and gave her a playful hug. “You will, babe. You will.”

  It was late Saturday afternoon when they finally headed back to Cambridge. The ride home was nearly as quiet as the one up had been, though a kind of peaceful satisfaction replaced the simmering expectation of that first night.

  Ryan’s thoughts were filled with the wonder of Carly. Driving distractedly, he reviewed everything they’d shared and done during their two-day spree. Casting the occasional glance her way, experiencing the now-familiar tugging at his heart that the simple sight of her brought, he knew that he loved her more than he’d ever loved another being. It had been the best New Year’s ever; he felt more positive than he had in years.

  Carly, too, felt positive. New year. New woman. Robyn Hart might have had so very much along the way, but Carly Quinn had Ryan. She wondered if she’d known, when she had removed her wedding band Thursday afternoon, just how different she would be without it. At the time she had been cued by propriety; somehow it hadn’t seemed right to party with Ryan wearing another man’s ring. If there had been deeper motivations, she hadn’t recognized them at the time. Now she did. Though she wouldn’t allow herself to envision a long-range commitment to Ryan, or any man for that matter, she felt for the first time that she was truly forging a new life. The events of the past two days spoke loud and clear. She had cast a vote for Carly Quinn in the most elemental way possible.

  The winter sun had long since sunk below the horizon when they reached Cambridge. Ryan found a space around the corner from their building, shouldered his overnight bag, in which Carly had stowed her dressy things, tossed the hanger bearing his suit over the same shoulder, and threw his free arm around her. Slowly they walked toward home.

  Carly wasn’t sure when she grew uneasy. At first she thought it was simply her reluctance to see the two-days’ idyll come to an end. As sure as she was that Ryan’s feelings toward her wouldn’t change, she knew that the time they’d shared in Vermont, totally free of work and worry, had been unique.

  Then they passed a parked car whose driver, a man, was sitting quietly, staring in his rearview mirror. By habit she looked twice. It was unusual in an area such as this, where people seemed always on the go, to see one as idle. Perhaps he was waiting for someone. Forcing aside suspicion, she concentrated on the security of Ryan’s arm around her shoulder.

  Then they passed another car, the occupants of which—two men wearing suits and trench coats—lounged against its door.

  She looked straight ahead, but the image of the men remained. It was odd; though they didn’t look sinister, they seemed distinctly out of place in the neighborhood. There was something about the way they waited, something deliberately casual, deceptively alert…

  Uneasy, she looked at Ryan in time to see him shoot a quick l
ook behind as they progressed up the courtyard walk.

  “Who do you think they are?” she asked, feigning nonchalance as best she could.

  “Beats me.” He seemed to ponder the matter for another instant, then dismiss it, for by the time they entered the front foyer his frown was gone.

  Not so Carly’s. She cast a cautious glance inside while Ryan stopped to pick up his mail, then she raised apprehensive eyes to the third floor as soon as they entered the atrium. If Ryan noticed her hesitation when he gently nudged her on, he interpreted it as an extension of the reluctance he felt himself. His smile was gentle and reassuring.

  “Come on, babe. Let’s get these things unpacked.”

  He led the way, passing the second-floor landing to go straight to her place. Several stairs short of the third floor he slowed, then came to a halt. Slightly behind, Carly stopped as well, instinctively reaching for his arm in support.

  “Someone broke in!” she cried. The front door of her apartment stood ajar. She stared at it as she tried to deal with the sudden avalanche of possibilities. One seemed worst than the next, and she began to tremble. “Oh, God….”

  Ryan took the few remaining steps at a clip, dropping his things by the railing without once taking his eyes from her door and moved forward. In his mind any violation of Carly was a violation of him; while she felt fear, he experienced a surge of raw anger.

  Carly, meanwhile, had a split second’s mind-flash of a gunman behind that door waiting to blast whoever stepped through. Terrified, she opened her mouth to yell to Ryan when, to her astonishment, the door opened and a very agitated Sam Loomis emerged.

  Ryan stopped short. Sam’s gaze shifted from Carly to Ryan and back. It took him a minute to speak.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, tension evident in his voice.

  Carly ran up the stairs. “I’m all right, but what happened?” Her eyes were wide and filled with fear. “Who…?” She darted an anxious glance at her door. “Did someone break in?”

  Sam took a deep breath, let it out in a whoosh. “No one broke in.”

  “How did you get in?” Ryan demanded sharply. Digging into his pocket, Sam held up a single key, which hardly pleased Ryan. “How did you get that?”

  Sam and Carly exchanged a glance. It was Carly who spoke, eyes glued to Sam’s, heart pounding. “I gave it to him. It’s a spare. What happened, Sam?” She imagined a world of things, one more bleak than the next.

  “I was worried.”

  “You were worried?” Ryan barked, barely restraining his fury. It was bad enough that when it came to Sam and Carly he felt excluded. It angered him to find that Sam had invaded the space that should have been theirs alone.

  Sam lowered his head and spread a hand across his brow to rub both temples with a thumb and finger. When he looked up, he’d schooled his expression to one of deference. He addressed himself to Ryan. “I tried to call Carly yesterday afternoon, then again last night and all day today.” He shifted his gaze to Carly. “You said you were planning to spend New Year’s Day here.” She hadn’t quite said that, but he knew she wouldn’t disagree. They were in this together. “When I couldn’t reach you, I guess I panicked.”

  “I’ll say,” Ryan muttered.

  Carly put a hand on his arm. “It’s all right, Ryan.” She sounded far more complacent than she felt. “I’m sorry, Sam. We were in Vermont.” There was an urgent question in her eyes as she asked, “There wasn’t something special you wanted, was there?”

  Sam deftly read between the lines and smiled comfortably. His eyes held gentle apology. “Just to wish you a Happy New Year. That’s all. I should have assumed you’d taken off, but you’ve never done that before.” His last words were spoken with meaning.

  “I know.” She thought of the men outside, realized that they would be from Sam’s office and that Ryan would realize it too. She moved quickly to avert his suspicion, rationalizing that it was as good a time as any to reveal Sam’s position, particularly with Sam there to help her out. “You’re just not used to leaving work at work,” she scolded, then explained to Ryan, “Sam’s with the U.S. marshal’s office. He gets carried away at times. Finds it hard to leave his white charger at the stable.”

  Ryan’s eyes were dark and unreadable. “The marshal’s office? Then those are your henchmen parked out front?”

  Sam glanced at his watch. “Actually, we were supposed to be somewhere half an hour ago. I’d better run.” As he sidestepped Carly he gave her arm a squeeze. “Glad you had fun. Talk to you later.”

  “Sam?” Carly moved to the railing to follow his descending figure. “How about you? How was the Ritz?”

  He flashed her a wide grin. “Ritzy.” Then, raising a hand in farewell, he was off.

  When Carly turned back, Ryan was gone. She went to the door of her apartment to find him standing in her foyer carefully scanning the premises. Stepping forward, she eyed him quizzically.

  His slow sweep of the room continued. “Anything look out of place?”

  “Of course not. That was Sam, Ryan. He wouldn’t touch anything.”

  “Can’t be too careful,” he muttered, taking off down the hall. As Carly stood stock-still, he perused the bedroom, then, backtracking past her without a word, the kitchen for outward signs of disruption. “Everything looks okay,” he said, returning to her at last. “What’s with the Ritz?”

  With his hands low on his hips and his dark eyes unyielding, he waited. There was an imperiousness about him that she’d never seen before. It might have bothered her had she not been as sensitive to his feelings. But she knew that the jealousy and resentment he felt were largely her fault. If Ryan knew the truth, the whole truth, he would easily understand Sam’s concern.

  “Sam and his wife spent New Year’s Eve at the Ritz. It was the first time they’ve left their daughter overnight. She’s barely two.”

  “Sam’s married?”

  “Yes, to Ellen.”

  “Oh.” That made him feel slightly better and the tiniest bit foolish. “And he has a daughter?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He nodded at this, his mind moving on. “How do you know them?”

  Carly didn’t correct the “them”—in a sense, she knew both Ellen and Sara, too. Feeling uncomfortable, she forced herself to explain. “Sam went to school with one of my brothers. We’ve known each other for a long time. When I moved here last summer, he jumped right in as an older brother once removed.” It sounded very legitimate. She held her breath, releasing it only when Ryan’s features slowly began to relax.

  “Older brother once removed?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “That’s why you gave him your key?”

  “He was the only person I knew when I came here. It was Sam who helped me find this place and get settled. At the time it seemed logical that, of anyone, he should have my spare.” That much was very definitely the truth. Not that Sam had ever used the key before. He’d kept it locked in his files, preferring to ring the bell and call up from downstairs as any other visitor would do. The fact that he’d been worried enough about her to take the key from its place, and to bring along three of his cohorts, brought home with stark precision the true nature of their relationship. She had to struggle to keep her voice steady. “Just in case…you know, just in case I locked myself out or something….”

  Ryan stared at her a minute longer. Then, tipping his head to the side, he let out a deep breath. “Damn it, that guy bugs me.” He thrust his fingers through his hair, leaving it disheveled, in keeping with his frustration. Turning his back, he stalked several paces, halted with his feet set in a broad stance, tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and eyed the ceiling. “I know you’ll say that I’m jealous, and I am.” He swiveled around. “He comes between us.” He held out a hand when she opened her mouth to argue. “You’ve told me there’s nothing between you two romantically. And it helps to know that he’s got a wife and kid at home. You’re not the type to fool with married me
n. I know that. But, hell—” he threw his hand in the air “—he calls and upsets you, he scares the living daylights out of both of us by barging into your apartment—”

  “He didn’t barge in. He had a key.”

  “Don’t remind me,” he murmured, then seemed to lose his momentum, for he shook his head and spoke more quietly, almost to himself. “What is it about him that sets me on edge?”

  Drawn as much by his upset as by her own guilt, Carly went to him. “Maybe it’s just that he was here before you were,” she offered softly. She put both hands up to his shoulders. “It’d be natural for you to distrust him. But you’ve got to trust me and believe that you’ve got nothing to fear in Sam. He’s been worried about me since I came, getting after me to date and all. He feels a responsibility toward me. Whether it’s right or not, it’s meant a lot over the months.”

  Soothed by her tone, Ryan grew more gentle. “Then I should be grateful to him, shouldn’t I?”

  She nodded, thinking how true that was. And she hated herself for not being able to tell him everything. But Sam’s appearance had been a poignant reminder that her future was still precarious. Given the choice between hiding part of herself from Ryan and subjecting him to the fears with which she lived, she still had to opt for the former. Someday, perhaps, she would tell him….

  After a late dinner in the Square, they spent the night at Ryan’s place. If his passion was particularly intense, Carly welcomed it in reinforcement of all they’d shared in Vermont. Deep down inside she knew that he wouldn’t quickly forget Sam, or accept him, for that matter. In compensation, she gave of herself more than she ever had, responding to his fierceness with a high fire of her own.

  Sunday morning they ran together. They joked about the variety of activity they’d had in the past few days, wondering if their running time would be better or worse for it, speculating on the long-range effects of lovemaking on hamstrings and quads and other more private bodily spots.