"I think we should consider joining forces."
Joanna said nothing and he realized it sounded like a militaristic proposal of marriage.
"Rosie is in real danger." He gently touched the bruise on Joanna's cheek. "You were lucky. Next time she might not be but I think we can beat Stanley at his own game."
She shifted position and her breasts lightly grazed his chest. This was getting more difficult by the second.
"I'd make a lousy detective." She chuckled. "I'm the one who didn't even realize you'd had your cast removed." She sat up slightly and took a good look at his body. "Or that you have a sunburn in the middle of February."
"Would you believe I have a tanning machine in my apartment?"
"No," she said flatly, "but that's none of my business. I want to know what you think we can do for Rosie."
"We get Rosie to move her plans up a few days and leave for Bert's tomorrow. Then we get you in Rosie Callahan makeup and lure Stanley into thinking Rosie is still at the Carillon. We both know he'll try again. This time we'll be ready for him." In his mind, Ryder had worked out a surveillance system that he would set up in Rosie's apartment, a system that would catch Stanley dead to rights.
Joanna shuddered and Ryder pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as if he could shield her from the world. For the first time in his life, he wished that were possible.
"Rosie is in real danger, isn't she?" she asked quietly.
"Afraid so. Big bucks are involved here and that means trouble." He pulled the blanket up over both of them. "You've been involved enough, Joanna. You don't need to be in danger."
"No," she said, her voice suddenly strong. "I want to. I've never done anything in my life that was really important. This is my chance and I'll be damned if you take it away from me."
The fierceness of her tone surprised him and he wondered if maybe she too was looking for more than life had previous offered.
"It's not a game, Joanna."
"I know that."
"You might get hurt."
She chuckled grimly. "I already have been."
He met her eyes. "That's not what I mean."
"I know," she said. "But I'm willing to take the chance. All I'm asking of you is the truth. I can handle everything else."
"Brave words. I don't know if you realize how rough things might get."
"I'm not afraid of guns, Ryder. I'm afraid of lies."
Her words found their target and he hoped it didn't show on his face. He'd told her everything he could, more than that was not his to give, even if she was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman.
And when she began to move against him, tempting him, thrilling him, he knew that were he a better man, he would put an end to it right then before she got hurt. Before she discovered that his life was predicated on secrecy and half truths.
But he didn't. He was only human, after all, a descendant of Adam, and prey to all the weaknesses of the flesh.
And just as helpless before the power of love.
#
"This is getting terribly tedious, Alistair." Holland Masters finished the last of her potato skins with caviar and put her fork down. "If you're this fascinated with my friend Joanna, perhaps I should provide her phone number."
"I haven't met your friend Joanna," he pointed out calmly. "I only met her alter ego, Kathryn Hayes."
This was not turning out to be the romantic evening she'd envisioned. "I thought I explained that. Joanna is a makeup artist. She has an assignment next week. Her Kathryn getup was her dress rehearsal."
"And Kathryn Hayes was her late grandmother?"
Holland sighed. "Yes. It's really quite simple, Alistair."
"And who owns the apartment?"
"Joanna's mother."
"Ah, yes. The much-married Cynthia."
"Very good," Holland said, picking up her champagne glass. "There's hope for you yet."
His brilliant blue eyes darkened as he looked across the table at her. Something funny began to happen in the pit of her stomach, something she hadn't felt for quite a while.
"Is there hope for me?" he asked.
She sipped her drink and played for time. "Perhaps."
"The night is young," he said, taking her hand, "and I'm a patient man."
The night was still young and, at that moment, so was she.
#
Ryder was in a deep and dreamless sleep when the high-frequency pulse of the transmitter embedded in his earlobe woke him up.
Damn Alistair Chambers and his sense of timing.
He slipped out of Joanna's bed and headed for the phone in the living room, hoping she wouldn't wake up. He dialed the special phone number, then punched in the four-digit code.
"H-Z-3-1-1." Alistair's voice crackled in his ear.
"V-Q-6-4-7." He waited the customary six seconds while the scrambling device took over, preventing the conversation from being taped or monitored.
"Your timing stinks, Chambers. This better be serious."
"It is," Alistair said. "And you are not the only one with previous engagements, my boy. You asked for American problems and you've been granted your wish." Quickly Alistair related a hostage situation in a day-care center in Chicago's inner city where twenty-six children were being held by an escaped prisoner who had rigged all of the windows with explosives. "Cook County asked for the best in the business. It's up to you."
As if there were any doubt. "You know damned well I'll do it."
"That's what I was banking on, son. Be ready in ten minutes."
Ryder hung up the phone, then went back into the bedroom. Joanna was curled around her pillow; her sleek black hair fanned out across her cheek, one leg extended outside of the covers.
There was no time for explanations and no easy explanation he could possibly give. What he wanted more than anything was to lie down beside her and say to hell with Chicago, to hell with PAX, to hell with everything but the wonder he'd found in her arms.
"All I'm asking of you is the truth," she'd said.
Too bad the truth was the one thing he couldn't provide.
Chapter Fourteen
Joanna raised an eyebrow as Holland reached for her third English muffin. "Either you've abandoned your search for perfect thighs or you're in a major depression." She poured them each another cup of coffee. "So which is it?"
"I won't need perfect thighs where I'm going," Holland said in her best Greek tragedienne voice. "The Sisters of the Celibate Poor don't care if you have cellulite. In fact, I think it's a requirement."
"Sounds serious." The radio had been set to an all-news station and Joanna switched it off. Daily life was depressing enough; she didn't need to hear about grade-school kids in Chicago being held hostage. "Whenever you threaten to join that imaginary convent of yours, I know it means men trouble."
"Not 'men,'" Holland corrected her. "Man. One Alistair Auden Chambers, to be precise."
Joanna, who was still trying to recover her equilibrium after last night's interlude with Ryder O'Neal, kept her eyes on her own English muffin. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"Nothing?"
"You heard me. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Bupkis."
Joanna started to laugh. "Bupkis?"
Holland did her best to stifle a grin. "I got that from Mrs. Weintraub. Descriptive, isn't it?"
"Very." She paused. "What exactly do you mean by, 'nothing happened'?" Joanna knew her flamboyant friend well enough to realize that Holland's interpretation of nothing could be vastly different from her own.
"Exactly that. This time we had a wonderful, romantic, candlelight dinner at Le Plaisir; we took a hansom cab through the Park; we necked in the back seat of the Rolls; then –"
Joanna raised a hand. "Holland, please. I don't need all the gory details."
"Don't worry," Holland said. "That's just it. There are no gory details. We went upstairs and I poured us each some B&B and, boom! He was heading for the door." She slathered some marm
alade on her muffin and took a bite. "That's it. I'm over the hill. It's time for the sisterhood."
"Well, I haven't had breakfast yet," Joanna said. "Wait until I finish before you join the sisterhood."
"Who's joining the sisterhood?"
The two women looked up to see Rosie Callahan in the kitchen doorway.
"You're late," Joanna said, motioning her to a chair. "Holland's already gone through half a package of English muffins and there's no end in sight."
"Man trouble," Rosie said, nodding sagely. "For me, it was Hershey bars."
"For me, it's muffins and the convent," Holland muttered darkly. "I've had enough of those faithless creatures. I'm going to put the pleasures of the flesh aside and concentrate on my spirit."
"If you keep eating like that, you won't be able to put the pleasures of the flesh aside with a bulldozer," Joanna said, handing Rosie a cup of tea. "Unless you're planning on auditioning for the lead in Jumbo."
In retaliation, Holland smeared another layer of orange marmalade on her muffin.
Rosie shook her head and laughed. "Well, at least Joanna and I aren't planning on forsaking pleasures of the flesh."
Holland instantly looked up and Joanna squirmed in her chair. "I know all about you and Bert, Rosie, but what did you mean by 'we'?"
"I mean our beautiful Joanna and the equally beautiful Ryder O'Neal."
Holland dropped her muffin face-down on the tabletop. "Is there something I should know about?"
"No," Joanna snapped, glaring at Rosie Callahan. "Not one damned thing."
"Oh, yes, there is," Rosie continued blithely. "I told Bert that the second Ryder saw Jo in that frilly nightgown, love was in the air."
Holland turned to Joanna, who was slowly sinking beneath the kitchen table. "Your frilly nightgown?"
"A figure of speech," she muttered, cursing Rosie under her breath.
"It wasn't her figures of speech Ryder was staring at," Rosie said with a raucous laugh. "That boy looked at her the way my second husband looked at me when I did the fan dance in Chicago in 1938."
Holland leaned across the kitchen table and tapped Joanna on the wrist with the handle of a butter knife. "Okay, pal," she said. "What gives?"
"What difference does it make?" Joanna countered. "You're above that now. You're joining the Sisters of the Celibate Poor."
"Just because I plan on embracing celibacy doesn't mean I can't appreciate the antics of lesser mortals."
"Well, this lesser mortal has absolutely nothing to say." She shot Rosie another harsh look and the older woman stood up.
"I'd love to stay and chat with you girls, but I have an appointment."
Holland motioned her to sit down again. "Pay no attention to our puritanical friend. Sit back down and have another cup of tea." She grinned wickedly. "I'd love to hear more about Joanna in her nightgown and the big bad Ryder O'Neal."
Rosie cast a look at Joanna. "Somehow I think I've worn out my welcome."
"Why, whatever makes you think that?" said Joanna dryly.
"You don't live seventy-nine years and not acquire some smarts along the way, miss. Besides, I have to get down to Liberty Travel and pick up my tickets. Bert expects me on the nine p.m. flight to Fort Lauderdale."
Things were going more smoothly than Joanna had expected. "Did Ryder see you this morning?" That was probably why he'd been gone when she awoke; he'd been speaking with Rosie about their plans to ensnare Stanley and company.
Rosie slipped on her coat and tucked her purse under her arm. "He spoke to me all right, but how could he see me, Jo? He's in Illinois."
Joanna jumped to her feet. "Illinois?" And she'd thought he'd left early to spare her being the latest bulletin on the Carillon hotline.
"You've heard of it," Holland said. "Right near Indiana."
Rosie was looking a bit bewildered by Joanna's reaction. "He left about two this morning. I –" She hesitated, glancing from Joanna to Holland and back again. "I heard him close the door to your apartment around one-thirty, then that big Rolls-Royce with the handsome English gentleman pulled up and –"
"Your turn," Joanna said, looking at Holland.
"The one in the Harris tweeds?" Holland asked.
"Rosie nodded and Holland reached for her fourth English muffin. "They drove off around two o'clock." Rosie shrugged sheepishly. "Insomnia is one of the little perks that come with old age – great if you're as nosy as I am."
Rosie must have realized that her bombshell had upset the two younger women, because she beat a hasty retreat. Joanna walked her to the door.
"I was indiscreet, wasn't I?" Rosie said apologetically.
"A little," Joanna said, giving her a hug, "but so was I." She hadn't realized Ryder's presence in her bed had been quite so public.
Rosie still looked uncomfortable. "He gave me a message for you."
"Oh?" How nice of him, considering he bolted and ran before the light of day.
"He said to check the right pocket of your white satin robe. He left you a note."
Joanna blushed to the roots of her shiny black hair.
"Should I give you a piece of advice?" Rosie asked.
"No," Joanna said. "I wish you wouldn't." It was taking all of her self-control to keep from tearing into the bedroom in search of his note.
There was a moment's silence before Rosie spoke again. "Ryder told me what happened yesterday. I appreciate what you two are planning to do for me more than you know." She gently touched the bruise on Joanna's cheek. "Are you certain you want to take the chance?"
"That's the first thing I am certain about, Rosie." After spending the past ten years of her life hiding liver spots and camouflaging crow's feet, the chance to do something important with her skills was worth any risks she might incur.
"Be careful."
"That's a promise."
Rosie handed Joanna her house keys, and with a wave and a promise to call from Fort Lauderdale she was off.
Now all Joanna had to contend with was Holland Masters.
That made Stanley seem like easy pickings.
"The longer you wait, the more questions I'll come up with," Holland called from the kitchen. "You might as well come in and face the music."
The note could wait.
"Ask all the questions you want," Joanna said as she went back into the room. "I don't have to answer any of them."
Holland, who had switched the news station back on so she could monitor the weather, eyed her over the rim of her coffee cup. "That's a monumentally selfish attitude, Joanna. You realize you alone can answer my most burning question, don't you?"
"No, I don't have Warren Beatty's phone number."
"That's my old most burning question," Holland said. "This is my new one: Are the Messrs. Chambers and O'Neal an item?"
Joanna tried to keep her expression bland while flashes of the night before with Ryder seared her brain. "I can't speak for Mr. Chambers, but Mr. O'Neal is enthusiastically heterosexual."
"That's what I was afraid of."
Holland's reaction took Joanna by surprise. "I thought that would make you happy."
"Judging by the sparkle in your eyes, it makes you very happy."
"It means there's hope for you and Alistair."
"The hell it does. At least if he was gay, I could understand his lack of interest. The only reason I can come up with now is I don't appeal to him."
"If you didn't appeal to him, why would he take you to Le Cirque and Le Plaisir?"
Holland stood up and struck a few model poses. "I'm not exactly chopped liver, thank God. Some men just like being seen with attractive women."
Joanna was used to Holland's blunt assessment of her charms so the immodesty of the statement didn't faze her. "Maybe he's the old-fashioned type. They still exist, you know."
Holland sat back down. "Not in New York, they don't."
"I think you're jumping to conclusions."
"And I think you're incredibly naïve. There has to be a reason why two
grown men keep disappearing together – in a Rolls, no less – and none of the reasons I come up with are very encouraging."
"Their investigation service could be one of the reasons."
"What investigation service?"
Ryder hadn't sworn her to secrecy so Joanna felt safe talking about it. "O'Neal and Chambers, Private Investigators, Inc."
Holland started to laugh. "Very funny. Why would a stockbroker and a computer genius sideline as detectives?"
"Stockbroker and computer genius?"
Holland's laugh faded. "Alistair owns his own brokerage firm and Ryder free-lances for him."
"Who told you that?"
"Alistair. Who told you about the detective firm?"
"Ryder."
Holland reached for another English muffin but, mercifully, the package was empty. "One of them is lying," she said, smearing marmalade on a stale piece of Italian bread. "I don't know why, but one of them is definitely lying."
Joanna, who was cynical on the ways of men, could come up with many reasons. "I don't think either one of them is lying, Holland." She raised her hand as Holland started to protest. "I think they both are."
Before Holland could follow up on Joanna's statement, the resonant voice of a newscaster broke into the commercial jingle on the radio.
"We interrupt our normal schedule for this bulletin from Chicago. The hostage situation in Our Lady of the Lourdes Grammar School is over. Negotiations broke off just before midnight, Central time, and hopes of freeing the twenty-six children trapped inside the explosive-ridden building had disappeared. However, WINS learned that special forces equipped with the latest in antiterrorist hardware were able to defuse the bombs and allow police to rescue the students safely. Sergeant Peter Fuqua of the rescue squad said –"
Joanna switched off the radio and met Holland's eyes.
"Don't even think it," Holland said. "If there were ever two men unlikely to be on a SWAT team, it's Alistair and Ryder." Her laugh was full and throaty. "I mean, really, Joanna! Alistair would need a valet just to carry his Uzi. Why, if he . . . "
Holland was off and running, but all Joanna could think of was the way Ryder had looked when he turned that gun on her. She knew he was in Chicago, all right.
Playing for Time Page 14
