by Linda Howard
I would have screamed, tried to scream, but my throat balked at the effort and refused to work. I tried not to move. I quivered and shook, my head falling to the side while his mouth worked my neck. I clenched him, hard, trying to hold him and take him deeper, and he quivered, too. I loved feeling that, feeling all of his hardness and strength responding to me. I loved the piercing expression in his green eyes, the way he watched me, the complete and utter abandonment of all defenses as we strained together.
And then I broke, shuddering, crying, my entire body in motion as I rocked against him in the most total dissolving of sensation I’ve ever felt. The spasms were like waves spreading through me. I felt him groan, felt the vibration through his whole body, and just as I collapsed bonelessly against him he turned us, pinning me to the mattress beneath him as he broke, too.
We slept like that, without turning off the lamp, without getting up to wash. And if I dreamed, I didn’t know it.
In the morning, we made love in the shower, which, yes, we both needed. We practically had to unglue ourselves with the aid of warm water. As intense as the night’s lovemaking had been, the morning’s was playful, at least until the last minute or so. I was glowing when I bounced down the stairs.
I always took longer getting ready, of course, so he already had breakfast started. He turned his head and winked at me as I headed for the coffee. “Do you think you can eat real food today?”
I took the first swallow of coffee, considered, then rocked my hand in a “maybe, maybe not” motion.
“Oatmeal it is, then,” he said. “Don’t try anything that’ll make you cough.”
I had tried to talk, of course, and could actually make sounds this morning. Unfortunately, the sounds were those of a dying frog. Just being able to whisper, though, was an enormous relief, because I had a busy day ahead of me.
While we were eating he said, frowning, “I can’t stay with you today, so your first stop is for a new cell phone. Got it? You can’t be out of communication.”
I totally agreed with that.
“You gotta tell me what happened to your old one, though.”
Just because I could whisper didn’t mean I should. The less I used my voice, the faster I’d get it back. So I pantomimed beating the cell phone against the window.
“That’s what I thought,” he said after a moment, his tone strained.
You’d think no one had ever broken a cell phone before.
“Now. What I want you to do today is stay out of work. Don’t go to any of your usual places, places where she could expect to find you. Don’t go to your parents’ house. Don’t go to Siana’s. You have a lot of shopping to do, so do it. I’ll take you to a car rental agency and you can drive something completely different from that little eye-catcher out there in the garage.” He was all cop now, his eyes narrow, his mind working. “I’ll have the Mercedes collected, and we’ll put one of our blond female officers in it and have her cruise around—to Great Bods, to your bank, to wherever you usually get lunch. This woman may be lying low for a while, a day or so, but eventually she’s going to come after you again. But it won’t be you. There’s no negotiation on that.”
I reached for the notebook and scribbled, I have no problem with that. Yeah, if I’d been able to get to her the night of the fire I was so mad I’d have gone vigilante on her ass, but in the light of day my head was cooler and a big reality was staring me in the face: I needed to get this wedding taken care of, and I couldn’t let there be any more delays. Tonight, even if I had to write every word, Wyatt and I would have that conversation I’d been putting off, but I couldn’t afford to wait even until then.
Thanks to JoAnn’s promising skill behind the desk, she and Lynn could handle things until this nutcase was taken care of. I, in the meantime, would be racing the clock to get my wedding organized. How many days had I already lost because of this woman, assuming she was also the woman who had tried to run me over in the parking lot? She might not be, but hey, she was available to blame, so I blamed her.
I would feel perfectly safe in an anonymous rental car, going to Sticks and Stones to face Monica Stevens in her den, shopping for my fabric, shopping for new clothes—at a different mall, though—going to see Sally. None of that was my usual routine, and I was starting out from a completely different place, a safe place. She didn’t know where I was or how to find me, and it felt great.
After breakfast, Wyatt took me to get another cell phone. To my surprise, he didn’t take me to my cell service provider, but to his, and added me to his account. I kept my same number, of course, but combining our accounts felt startlingly…permanent.
That reminded me of other details I had to attend to, such as canceling my home utilities. I was pretty sure both the phone company and the cable company would continue billing me, even though no home existed there now. And I would need to get an inventory to my insurance company. Man, I’d thought I had my day mapped out, but more and more things were cropping up to eat into my time.
Our next stop was close to the airport, where all the car rental companies were. I got a Taurus—they have nice suspensions—but guess what? It was white. White seemed to be the predominant color for rental cars. I wasn’t entirely happy with white, but Wyatt was totally against the apple red. “Too noticeable,” he said.
I guess.
Then he kissed me and we parted company for the day.
It was just nine a.m., too early for Sticks and Stones to be open. With time to kill, I went to another fabric store. No luck. That was discouraging, but by the time I’d searched the store over, I’d killed almost an hour, so I drove to Sticks and Stones.
The same stick-thin woman as before came to greet me, her smile chilling a bit as she took in my jeans and lightweight sweater. “Yes, may I help you?”
No way out of it, I had to talk—whisper, rather. “I’m Blair Mallory. I left my card day before yesterday, but Ms. Stevens hasn’t called.” I saw her expression as she drew back a little, as if I were contagious. “Yes, I have severe laryngitis. No, you can’t catch it. My house burned down yesterday morning and this is from smoke inhalation, which means I’m not in a great mood so I’d really like to see Monica. Now, if possible.”
That was a lot to say, and even whispering was a strain. I was scowling by the time I finished. I didn’t like that woman.
Strangely enough, she brightened at the news that my house had burned down. It took me a moment before I realized she knew a new house and all new furniture meant redecorating. I wondered if she scoured the newspapers looking for news of house fires, the way shady lawyers looked for car accidents.
She led me through the store into the back, where the offices were set up. Back here the feel was completely different; huge books holding swatches of fabric were stacked helter-skelter, different pieces of furniture were jumbled together, framed art leaned against walls. I actually liked this better; this was where work was done. There was energy here, instead of the coldly stylized feel of the front showroom.
The woman knocked on an office door, and at an invitation from within, pushed the door open. “Ms. Stevens, this is Blair Mallory,” she said, as if she were introducing me to Queen Elizabeth. “She has laryngitis because her house burned down yesterday—smoke inhalation, you know.” With that tantalizing tidbit, she returned to the showroom and left us alone.
I’d never met Monica Stevens before, though I’d heard about her. In a way she was what I expected, but in a way she wasn’t. She was fortyish, with sleek black hair in a dramatic, asymmetrical cut—thin, stylish in a studied way, with noisy bangle bracelets on both wrists. I like bangle bracelets only if I’m the one wearing them. Hey, it’s different when you’re the annoyer instead of the annoyed.
“I’m so sorry about your house,” she said, and her voice had a warm tone that made her seem more approachable. What I hadn’t expected about her was the friendly expression in her eyes.
“Thank you,” I said, whispered, and pulled Jazz’s i
nvoices from my tote, placing them in front of her before I sat down.
She looked at the invoices, puzzled, then read the name. “Mr. Arledge,” she said in her warm voice. “He was a darling man, so anxious to surprise his wife. I loved working with him.”
There hadn’t been any working “with” Jazz, who had zero sense of style or decoration. Jazz had given her carte blanche, signed the check, and that was it. “His marriage broke up because of this,” I said baldly.
She looked stunned. “But…why?”
“His wife loved her bedroom the way it was. She hates the new style and refuses to even sleep in the room. She’s so furious at him for getting rid of her antiques, she tried to hit him with her car.”
“Oh my God. You’re joking. She doesn’t like that room? But it’s gorgeous!”
She hadn’t even blinked an eye at hearing Sally had tried to maim Jazz, but she was honestly disbelieving that anyone could not like her creations.
Wow. I admire alternate reality as much as anyone, but there’s such a thing as too much disconnect.
“I’m trying to save this marriage,” I said. All of this whispering was really, really beginning to be a strain. “Here’s what I want you to do: go pick up that furniture and put it in your consignment shop, or, since it’s never been used, sell it again as new. Technically it may not be, but since you never got the final approval on the job I’d say it’s still ongoing.”
She stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the client isn’t happy with the job.”
“I’ve received complete payment, so I’d say he was.” Her cheeks were turning red.
“Jazz Arledge is a babe in the woods when it comes to decorating. He knows nothing about it. You could have nailed skunk hides to the walls and he wouldn’t have known to protest. I don’t think you deliberately took advantage of him, and I do think you’re a smart enough businesswoman to see the advantage in redoing this bedroom, but this time working with Mrs. Arledge, who is miserably unhappy.”
She regarded me thoughtfully. “Explain, please.”
I waved my hand toward the showroom. “Your reputation precedes you. People who like the modern avant garde look love your work, but potential customers who go for a more traditional look don’t come to you because they think you don’t do that kind of work.”
“Of course I do,” she said automatically. “The look isn’t what I prefer, it isn’t my signature style, but my ultimate goal is to please my client.”
I beamed at her. “That’s very good to hear. By the way, I don’t believe I’ve mentioned that my mother is Mrs. Arledge’s best friend. She’s in real estate, so maybe you’ve heard of her. Tina Mallory?”
Comprehension crept into her eyes. Mom’s a former Miss North Carolina, and she sells a lot of real estate. If Mom started recommending Monica, the business potential could be enormous.
She reached for a sketch pad, and with remarkable memory swiftly sketched out Sally’s bedroom. She worked quickly, colored pencils flying across the sheet. “What do you think of this?” she asked, turning the pad around so I could see what she’d done.
The look was richly comfortable, with color in the fabrics, and the furniture warm with wood. “I remember those antiques,” she said. “They were wonderful quality; I can’t replace them, but I can probably find one or two smaller, really good pieces that will give the same feel.”
“Mrs. Arledge would love it,” I said. “But I’ll warn you up front that Jazz isn’t willing to pay another penny. He’s very bitter about the whole experience.”
“He’ll feel differently when I’m finished,” she said, smiling. “And I won’t lose a penny on this, I promise you.”
Having seen the markups on that invoice, I believed her.
Two-thirds of my mission were accomplished. Now for the hardest part: Sally.
Chapter
Twenty-five
Even though logically the stalker couldn’t know where I was, I still looked around very carefully when I left Sticks and Stones. All clear. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to see a white Chevrolet again without feeling an automatic twinge of panic, which, when you think about it, would be a major pain in the ass. As Wyatt had mentioned, there are thousands and thousands of white Chevrolets. I could be in a permanent twinge.
I needed something hot to drink for my throat, and I needed fabric for my gown. And, damn it, I still needed to call the phone and cable companies—no, damn it, I’d probably have to go in person, to prove my identity, since I didn’t have the account numbers. I also still had to go shopping for clothes. And my boots! My blue boots! They would be returned as undeliverable, but I wanted them. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my order number because all of that had burned up with the condo, so I couldn’t even contact Zappos and have them redirected.
I brightened. I could order another pair, though, from Wyatt’s computer.
Siana called while I was on the way to my next-favorite mall. “Mom said you couldn’t talk at all. Tap the phone once if that’s true.”
“It was true yesterday,” I whispered.
“I heard that! How do you feel?”
“Better.” I looked for a McDonald’s. A cup of coffee would improve things even more.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not yet.” Right now I was still at the stage where I had to handle it all.
“Do you have any idea who set the fire?”
“I saw her face,” I managed to croak, “and she’s familiar, but I can’t place her.”
Logical Siana said, “Well, since all of this started recently, she has to relate somehow to one of the places you’ve been recently. Start thinking of them, and eventually something will click.”
“That’s what I thought, but I’ve gone over and over my routine, and I can’t place her anywhere.”
“Then it’s someplace that isn’t part of your normal routine.”
I thought about that while I plowed through stores in the mall. This had all started at the other mall, where I had gone into a lot of stores. Was that where I’d seen her? I tried to remember something unusual happening in any of the stores, that would have caused her face to stick in my mind like that. The idea distracted me while I tried on shoes, and that’s just not right, because buying shoes is one of the great joys of life. I should have been able to devote my full attention to the ritual.
I didn’t try to replace my entire wardrobe in one fell swoop—that would have been impossible—but I did try to cover all possible needs: work clothes, play clothes, dressy clothes. I definitely splurged on new underwear sets, because that’s one of my weaknesses, too. Between what had been cut off me in hospitals and what I’d lost in the fire…
My breath literally caught in my chest.
The hospital. That was where I’d seen her.
She was the nurse with the bad dye job who had chatted with me for such a long time, while she kept ripping bandages off my scrapes. Then I’d been in so much pain from the concussion that it hadn’t really registered at the time, but she’d been unnecessarily rough with those bandages, as if she’d been trying to hurt me.
Her hair had been that ugly brown then, and very blond when I’d seen her in the crowd at the fire scene, but it was the same woman. Maybe blond was her normal color, and the bad dye job was because she’d hastily dyed her hair that very morning, as a disguise. A disguise from what? I hadn’t known her from Adam’s house cat then. But for some reason she hadn’t wanted me to see her with blond hair.
In that case, why would she then bleach her hair? Why not leave it the ugly flat brown?
I grabbed my cell phone and checked the service; there was only one bar, so I gathered my purchases and made a beeline for the nearest exit. As soon as I stepped out into the sunshine the number of bars went to three, and a second later to four. I punched in Wyatt’s cell number.
“Are you all right?” he barked as a greeting, in the middle of the second ring.
“I remember her,” I said as loudly and clearly as I could, because there was a lot of noise around me, with traffic passing by. My voice croaked horribly, breaking in the middle of the words, then losing volume entirely. “She’s a nurse at the hospital.”
“Say again, I couldn’t understand you. Did you say hospital?”
I tried again, this time in the loudest whisper I could manage. At least my voice didn’t break when I whispered. “She’s a nurse at the hospital.”
“One of the nurses? You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I whispered emphatically. “Not in the ER, on the floor. She came into my room, chatted, ripped my bandages off—”
“Blair, where are you?” he interrupted.
“Mall. Different one.” Now I had to think the incident at the other mall had been happenstance, because that was before I’d met Nurse Nutcase.
“Come to the station, right now. We need a description, more to go on than we have so far, and I can barely understand you. I’ll meet you there.”
The Fates were against me. It was absolutely not meant for me to find material for my wedding gown, to get my errands accomplished, or to get Sally and Jazz back together. On the other hand, not getting killed certainly had to be a priority.
In my need to get cell service, I’d gone out the nearest exit instead of the one where I’d entered, so I went back into the mall and walked to the other end. When I entered the parking deck, once again I found myself checking for white Chevrolets. I started to get angry with myself, then realized she was still out there; I couldn’t afford to assume there was no way she could find me. There was always a way, if she was determined enough.
I drove to the police department, took the elevator up. Wyatt was in his office, the door open. He was on the phone, but looked up and saw me, waved me in. He also beckoned to Forester, who came in, too, and closed the door behind him. Wyatt got off the phone, then turned that green laser look on me. “Start at the beginning.”
