Finger Prints

by Barbara Delinsky

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly.

  “But it could go on forever! You can’t live that way!”

  “I don’t know how else to live,” she whispered in defeat.

  “Then you’re a fool,” Ryan muttered, releasing her, stepping back. “All of life has danger. Hell, one or the other of us could be killed in a car, an airplane, walking across the street—” When she gasped and reached out to erase those thoughts, he refused to be silenced. “Do you think you’re the only one to ever be threatened?” he asked, eyes ablaze. “Well, you’re not.” He thrust out his jaw, tipped his head back and pointed. “See that scar? It didn’t come from some little childhood accident. I was slashed!” He whipped the word at her, and it struck with deadly force. Her eyes widened. The muscles of her throat constricted. But Ryan was so intent on countering her self-pity that he ignored her pain.

  “I was doing my father-in-law a favor by representing one of his friends in a divorce. Personally, I couldn’t stand the woman. But she did have a right to representation. We were in the midst of messy negotiations when I happened to bump into her husband at a party. We were all in the same social circle—the one I divorced right along with my wife.” When Carly simply stared, he went on. “This guy was drunk and angry and jealous of every other man in the room. And since I was visible evidence of his humiliation, he took it out on me. He accused me of having a personal interest in his wife,” Ryan sputtered, then suddenly grew more calm. “I never did figure out if it was a steak knife or a grapefruit knife.” Sighing, he turned away and stared blindly out at the night. “The plastic surgeon did wonders. But I was self-conscious. So I grew a beard. After a while I began to see it as a symbolic change. I haven’t handled a divorce case since. That was ten years ago.” He sighed heavily. “I never pressed charges. Same social circle and all. The fellow was obviously disturbed. He was contrite afterward.” He snorted. “I got a great settlement for his wife.”

  When no sound came from behind him, he turned to Carly, who stood with a hand over her mouth. “Don’t you see, babe? Nothing in life is a given. If you’d ever told me that I’d be physically attacked in a divorce case, I’d have thought you were crazy. But it happened. Two inches lower and I might have died. I gave up divorce work because I didn’t want to have to deal with that pettiness, those irrational emotions. But the rest of my practice grew. Hell—” he chuckled dryly “—any number of my criminal clients have been far more dangerous than that man; they would have hit the jugular instantly.”

  Carly stood frozen, trying to absorb it all. “I didn’t know,” she murmured at last.

  “Of course you didn’t.” He took a step closer. “Because it’s behind me. Because I don’t put that fear on a pedestal and worship it.”

  “I’m not—” she began in self-defense, only to have Ryan interrupt her with a conciliatory wave.

  “I know. I didn’t mean that. All I mean,” he said slowly, “is that I live with whatever life brings. That’s what you have to learn how to do.”

  Silence filled the room while Carly pondered what he’d said. “It’s so hard.”

  “I know.” He closed the space between them and took her face in his hands. “I know. But I can help. Please let me try.”

  “Will you be patient?” she whispered timidly.

  “How patient?”

  “Patient as in holding off on marriage for just a little while?” Despite his argument, there was an unease deep inside her that she knew she had to deal with before she could agree to marry him.

  “That’s asking a lot,” he stated soberly.

  “I know.”

  “Does it mean that in time you’ll say yes?”

  “If nothing happens—”

  “None of that talk.”

  “Just a couple of months, until I know more.”

  He gave pretense of considering her proposal, though in fact there was no consideration to be made. He had already decided to take whatever she would give. Marriage in a couple of months…he could have done worse. “You’re a tough negotiator, Carly Quinn.”

  But his eyes were warm and she knew she had won. Feeling abruptly light-headed, she threw her arms around his neck and clung fiercely. “I love you, Ryan. Oh, my God!” Stepping back, she stared from one to the other of her open palms.

  Ryan looked at her in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

  “My contacts.” She dropped to her knees and began to gingerly pat the rug. “I dropped them. I don’t know when. Was I here…or there….” Sitting back on her haunches, she squinted across the floor. Then she looked up in dismay. “If I don’t find them, I won’t be able to leave this apartment!”

  Ryan’s grin was one of pure masculine pleasure. “I think I’d like that, babe. Mmm. I think I’d like that very much.”

  Twenty

  cARLY’S RELIEF WAS IMMEASURABLE NOW THAT Ryan knew everything. She spent hours talking of her life after Matthew’s death, those four years that she had previously avoided, and Ryan wanted to hear it all. Regarding the trial, they discussed what had been and what might yet be. She was able to share her fears and was all the more relaxed for it. More than once she told him so. On each occasion, Ryan simply gave her that smug “I told you so” smile and hugged her tightly. They grew closer by the day.

  Sheila continued to cover Carly, making sure she was never alone, but, as the weeks passed, given Ryan’s full awareness of the situation, there was less and less need. Ryan timed himself to drop Carly at school on his way to work, and though Sheila always picked her up afterward and saw her safely home, often coming in for a drink, Ryan was with her the rest of the time.

  It was a late February day, cold but mercifully dry, when Carly mentioned her to Ryan. They were running along the river path, keeping a rapid pace to ward off the chill.

  “I’m worried about Sheila.”

  “What about?”

  “She seems tense.”

  “More so than usual?” he quipped with a smirk. Strangely, Ryan had come to share Sam’s view of Sheila. He sensed the intensity in her and couldn’t quite shake the feeling that, while controlled on the outside, she sizzled inside.

  “Mmm. I thought things were going well between Tom and her.”

  “They are. As far as I know. They see each other often enough.”

  Sheila had told her that. But there were a lot of things Sheila hadn’t told her. “Do you think they’re sleeping together?”

  Ryan slanted her a look of amusement. “That’s none of your business.”

  “You’re right,” she countered, undaunted. “But what do you think? When we were in Chicago, she used to drop little hints. It sounded like she slept with every guy she dated. But something’s different with Tom. She’s quieter.”

  “Maybe she really likes him.”

  “He seems to like her.” They’d been out as a foursome more than once. The attraction between Sheila and Tom was highly visible.

  “He does. I know Tom. Funny, though, he doesn’t talk about her much to me either. Like he’s saving her for himself.”

  They ran on a bit before Carly spoke again. “Then that can’t be what’s bothering her. I wonder if she’s bored with her work.”

  “She likes being assigned to you.”

  “I haven’t needed her much lately. I think she’s offended.”

  “Nah. Sheila’s beyond that. Besides, Sam has her on other things. It’s not like she’s sitting around waiting for you to call.”

  “I wonder, though. When I see her, she’s so full of questions. She wants to know everything. As if she’s starved for conversation. It’s weird.”

  “Maybe that’s just her. Haven’t you always said that?”

  “Mmm,” she agreed, “but still….”

  For the few days after that, Carly made a point of trying to coax Sheila to talk more about herself, but in vain. Sheila was as skilled in evasion as she was in handling courtroom security. For each question she had an answer, albeit a flippant or a humorou
s or a diversionary one, such that it took Carly a while to realize she’d learned nothing at all.

  In the end, she decided that Sheila was simply drawing the line between deputy and witness, and in the final analysis Carly was relieved. Her own greatest source of strength and support now was Ryan; Sheila’s role in her life was fast fading.

  Or so she thought. Early in March Sam learned that the decision on a new trial was imminent. Within hours he received a phone call from Bill Hoffmeister saying that Gary Culbert had sold extensive interests in real-estate ventures in California and Hawaii. Sam promptly instructed Sheila to stick to Carly like glue.

  Carly took the news with remarkable calm, but then, in her presence, Sam downplayed the worst of his fears. Her tension emerged during quiet times, when she would find herself chewing on her lip or shredding a napkin in her lap or staring out a window. When Ryan caught her at it, she confessed. Much as she regretted it, her fears had become his. Though she didn’t know it, he was in constant touch with Sam.

  As a bodyguard, Sheila was as diligent as any of them might have wished. She was always there when Carly was alone, whether at school or at home, but she kept a low profile, waiting to the side, ever watchful. Carly had begun to wonder whether she’d simply grown more sedate when, one afternoon, shades of the old Sheila surfaced.

  Classes had just finished. As arranged, Sheila was there to walk Carly back to her office. Tipping her face up to a pale sun, she took a deep breath. “Hey, Carl, it’s early yet. Feel like taking a ride?”

  The March wind whipped through Carly’s hair as they crossed the campus. The air held a promise of mildness conducive to spring fever. “A ride?”

  “Into town. It’s so nice out. We could drive around the North End and along the waterfront.”

  “Oh, Sheila, I don’t know,” Carly waffled, drawing open the door of the administration building. “I have a whole stack of papers to read through for tomorrow. If I get them done now, I won’t have to worry about doing them tonight when Ryan’s home.” More than anything, she enjoyed sitting with Ryan in the evenings. Often he brought work home to do, and then she would relax on the sofa with him, sometimes grading papers, sometimes needlepointing, sometimes just watching him and counting her lucky stars.

  But Sheila was at her most persuasive. “It won’t take long. My car’s never seen Boston in the spring.” At Carly’s scowl of skepticism, she backtracked. “All right, so it’s not quite spring yet. But at least the roads are clear and dry for a change. And the air is fresh. And I do have a quick errand to do. Besides, we’ve been stuffed up here all day. We could use a break.”

  Carly laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I work here. I don’t feel ‘stuffed up.’ I like it.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Sheila announced, then softened. “Humor me, Carly? You haven’t got any appointments. Let’s take off—just for an hour?”

  “Really antsy?” Carly teased.

  “Yeah.”

  With a wistful glance at the papers piled high on her desk, Carly relented. “Okay. But just for an hour.”

  “No more,” Sheila vowed, as she grabbed her coat and bag, then Carly’s arm, and led her at a clip toward the car.

  Moments later they were on Memorial Drive, headed toward Boston. “This is nice,” Carly said, breathing the air off the ocean through her open window. “Ryan says it’ll get cold again.”

  “Ryan’s a killjoy.”

  “He’s lived here a lot longer than we have.” She sighed. “At least the worst of it’s behind us.”

  Sheila nodded and sent her a guarded glance before taking the Massachusetts Avenue bridge to the other side of the river. Then they hooked onto Common-wealth Avenue and followed it in.

  “I love this street,” Sheila said. “So pretty with grass and trees in the middle. I can’t wait till everything blooms in another couple of months. And look there.” She pointed to the four- and five-story buildings they passed. “I bet one of those town houses is more impressive than the next. You know—high ceilings, elaborate wood moldings, beautiful oak floors, a fireplace in every room.” Her eyes grew momentarily distant. “Someday….”

  Carly’s own dreams centered around one spiral staircase. She smiled. “You’ll have it someday, Sheila. Just wait and see. You’ll have it.”

  Sheila snapped. “If one more person tells me to wait….” When Carly looked at her in surprise, she grinned instantly. “Good things come to those who wait,” she said, but in a mocking tone this time. “I’m waiting, I’m waiting.” Moments later, she pulled to the side of the road. “Now it’s your turn. See that bakery just around the corner? I’m going to run in and get some pastry for tonight.”

  “You’re seeing Tom?”

  “Umm. This place has strawberry cream tarts like you’ve never tasted in your life. Stay put. I’ll keep an eye on you through the window. I won’t be long.” Before Carly could utter a word, she was gone, returning less than five minutes later with two small boxes.

  “For you,” she said, handing one to Carly.

  Touched, Carly eyed her in bewilderment. “What’s this for?”

  “Dessert. And for putting up with my whims to take afternoon drives.”

  Carly smiled. “Your whims aren’t all that bad. You were right. The break feels good.”

  “See? What did I tell ya?” Sheila started the car, tossed a quick glance over her shoulder, and pulled out. The shiny Mazda sped along Arlington Street, around the Public Garden, down Charles Street and up Beacon before veering off onto streets new to Carly.

  “How do you find your way around here?” she asked.

  “This is my home turf. I walk these streets all the time.” As if to prove it, she made a sharp left, then a sharp right, then several more turns in succession. Before Carly knew what had happened, Sheila had maneuvered through the Government Center traffic and into the North End. There she drove more slowly, the better for them to appreciate the flavor of Italy in the clusters of small shops and homes fronting the narrow streets.

  “Flavorful,” Carly observed, eyes warm in survey of the vibrant window displays. “It’s supposed to be great in the summer when the festivals start.” They passed a bakery whose tempting aroma seeped into the car.

  “You didn’t see it last year?”

  “Had no one to go with. Maybe this year with Ryan….” Her voice trailed off, her thoughts daring to advance that far.

  Sheila drove through to Commercial Street and on along the waterfront. “Speaking of Ryan, where’s his office? Isn’t it somewhere nearby? I’ve never seen it.”

  Carly looked from one street sign to the other. “Uh, State Street? I think—you make a right here.”

  Sheila followed while Carly directed haltingly. By a miracle Carly couldn’t explain, given the fact that they approached from a direction totally new to her, they arrived at the new high rise that housed, among others, Ryan’s firm. Pulling over to the curb, Sheila bent her head low to admire the structure.

  “Nice place,” she drawled. “How high up is he?”

  Carly’s gaze joined hers in scaling the earthen-hued walls. “Thirty-fourth floor. He has a gorgeous view. Hey, want to go inside? Ryan would love to—”

  “Oh, no. We shouldn’t disturb him.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” She grinned, eyes glued to the upper stories of the building. “Besides, I feel like a jimmy fanatic in an ice-cream parlor. I’m drooling at the thought that he’s so close—”

  Sheila’s low whisper cut her off. “Oh, hell.”

  With a frown, Carly focused on the woman in the driver’s seat. “What is it?”

  When Sheila said nothing but simply stared toward the building’s huge bank of doors, Carly shifted her gaze. It took her but a minute to see what Sheila saw. She stiffened instantly, her voice as tight a whisper as Sheila’s had been. “My God….”

  “Do you recognize him?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then it’s not me?”

&nb
sp; “Oh, no,” Carly wailed softly, raising a trembling hand to her mouth. “He’s there. He used to lounge like that at the back of the courtroom. When I was testifying, I’d look back. There was always something sinister about him.” Then, suddenly hit by the import of that single man’s presence against the ocher stone of Ryan’s building, she caught her breath. “Sheila?” she managed to gasp at last.

  Sheila already had the car in motion. “You bet. We’re getting out of here.”

  “But Ryan! Someone has to warn Ryan!”

  “Once we’ve gone a little way, I’ll call Sam.”

  “What if he’s done something to Ryan? He was standing there so idly. Maybe he’s done something already! Maybe Ryan’s hurt!” She grabbed Sheila’s arm. “We have to go back.”

  “No,” Sheila said calmly. “Not back. We go ahead. Trust me.”

  Her tone held a ring of authority that Carly couldn’t ignore. For the first time since they’d been together in Chicago, Sheila was in charge.

  Slumping in her seat, Carly stared blindly at the floor. “How could he have known?” she whispered. “Everyone assured me my cover was tight. But he broke it. How?”

  “Let’s not worry about that yet. The most important thing is to get you away and let Sam pick him up.”

  “Who is he?” Carly asked, her voice high-pitched, directed more to herself than to Sheila. “The courtroom was always so crowded, but there were those people who stood out. Culbert’s family glared. The press, too, though I knew most of the reporters. There was a little old lady in the back row, a kid who looked like a college student on the far right, two gray-haired men in the center…and him. Who is he?”

  “Beats me,” Sheila answered tersely. Pulling over to the curb by a pay phone on Cambridge Street, she grabbed for her purse. Carly knew there was a gun inside. “Wait here. I’ll call Sam.”