Читать книгу Veil Of Fear - Judi Lind - Страница 8

Mary Wilder tapped her fingers on the desk top, barely able to contain her excitement. At last, the somber voice on the other end of the telephone line droned his usual greeting, “Good morning. Mr. Jonathan Regent’s office. Robert Newland at your service. How may I—”

She cut off his practiced patter. “Hi! This is Mary. Is Jonathan available?”

“I’m afraid he’s quite busy at the moment, but I’m sure if it’s important he won’t mind being interrupted.”

“Oh, it’s not that important, Bob.”

“Robert.”

“Sorry. Robert. Anyway, I know Jonathan is used to this kind of publicity, but have you seen the cover of—”

“Of practically every magazine and newspaper in the country, Ms. Wilder? Yes, I have.”

Mary frowned, her enthusiasm deflating with every second she spent talking to Bob—Robert—Newland. Jonathan called him a perfect assistant, but Robert Newland was so...so stuffy he made her want to say something outrageous just to shock him out of his pomposity.

Giving in to that devilish urge, she continued, “Gee, Robert, since Jonathan’s tied up, I’ll chat with you. How many magazines do you suppose—”

“Oh, Ms. Wilder, I see Mr. Regent’s off the phone now. One moment and I’ll connect you.”

A moment later, the deep stentorian tones of Mary’s fiancé boomed over the line. “Mary, darling! You haven’t forgotten about our luncheon date, have you?”

“No, of course not. But I just had to call you. Our picture was on the cover of Newsweek this morning!”

“As a matter of fact, I just cut off the cover for your scrapbook. It’s right here on my desk.” Jonathan chuckled. “Mary, my sweet, sweet innocent. You’d better get used to seeing your lovely face in the media. As Mrs. Jonathan Regent, you’re going to become something of a celebrity.”

“This is going to take some adjustment, Jonathan. I mean, everything is happening so fast, I feel like I can’t catch my breath.”

“Speaking of fast,” Jonathan cut in, “I have to leave here in five minutes if we’re going to make our lunch reservation. Is Camille with you?”

“No,” Mary said. “She and the senator are going to meet us at the restaurant. I’m on my way out the door right now.”

“Good. I’ll see you there. Oh, and Mary?”

“Yes?”

“I know you still have some misgivings about Camille, but, darling, she’s doing us a tremendous favor. There’s no woman in Washington who knows more, who gives better parties, who always has the correct assortment of guests and who—”

“I know, I know. And who is always dressed with impeccable style. I told you that I’d listen to her advice, Jonathan, and I will, but...”

“But what?”

Mary chewed on the edge of her fingernail and blinked away a sudden tear of frustration. Jonathan had been so generous, so wonderful, that she always felt an ingrate when she refused his largess. But his apparent wish to transform her into a duplicate of Camille Castnor made Mary feel...deflated, somehow.

Oh, she knew Jonathan wouldn’t understand. They’d been over this ground a dozen times already. And he was right, really he was. Not many women would complain because their fiancés wanted them to wear designer clothing and have their hair done by a celebrity stylist. So why did Mary feel as though she were losing herself?

“Mary? Are you all right?”

She knuckled away the single tear and took a deep breath. She was being silly. Silly and immature. “I’m sorry, Jonathan. I’m fine. Truly.”

“Good.” Relief was evident in his voice. Jonathan prided himself on running a smooth ship, as he called his corporation. “See you at the Pepper Tree in half an hour. And, Mary?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t worry so much, darling. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

After they broke the connection, Mary went into her bedroom for a last-minute peek in the mirror. The sleek image that stared back at her seemed alien, bearing little resemblance to the Mary of a few short months ago. Her hair was several shades lighter than its natural honey-blond color, and this Mary wore her hair in a trendy, asymmetrical pageboy that skimmed her shoulders. This Mary’s makeup was applied with a light but polished hand. And her simply cut suit cost more than the old Mary earned in a month.

She dabbed on a bit more lip gloss. Finally satisfied that Jonathan would approve, she picked up her handbag and left her hotel suite. Just two weeks ago, the same night that he’d proposed, Jonathan had urged her to move into a two-bedroom apartment suite in one of his hotels. He couldn’t sleep nights, he’d said, worrying about her safety in that dingy studio she’d rented in Arlington.

Part of his reasoning, Mary acknowledged as she waited for the elevator, was Jonathan’s eagerness to separate her from Mark Lester, the man she’d been seeing casually pre-Jonathan. Not that she could blame her fiancé. Mark hadn’t handled the breakup very well, even though they hadn’t had a serious relationship to start with.

Jonathan had been right, Mary admitted as she exited the elevator and strolled across the sumptuous lobby. Her moving into the hotel, and making a clean break from Mark, was best for everyone.

And she loved living in the Georgetown Regent Hotel. There was an old-world style and dignity about the red brick building that spoke of an earlier, more genteel era. The lobby and hallways were spacious and papered in pale gold brocade. Even the elevator cabs were made of fine cherry wood, the fixtures polished brass. Although Jonathan often bemoaned the fact that the Georgetown Regent was so small, and held so few guests, Mary loved the feeling of intimacy the hotel fostered. Only eight floors high, it was a far cry from the chrome and glass monstrosities that were popping up all over the metropolitan D.C. area.

She smiled at Rick Carey, the day desk manager, as she passed. Just walking through the lobby with its huge bowls of fresh cut flowers made her feel cheery and warm.

When she stepped outside into the balmy April afternoon, Mary still had nearly twenty minutes before she was due at the Pepper Tree. No need to take a taxi. She had plenty of time to walk and enjoy the warm spring weather.

Spring was absolutely her favorite time of year. Especially here in D.C. The shrill, icy winter had faded into memory, while the sultry heat of summer was still a distant promise. And because tourist season hadn’t yet commenced in full force, one could still amble comfortably through the pleasant Georgetown neighborhood and admire the glorious old brick houses that lined the cobbled streets.

Mary had walked only a few blocks down Wisconsin Avenue, when a prickly sensation began inching up her spine. Keep walking. Don’t turn around, she told herself. There was no one behind her, no one following. There never was, even though she’d checked often enough in the past few days. Yet...yet she couldn’t escape the feeling of unseen eyes following her every move. Boring into her with a white-hot intensity.

The day was suddenly, ominously, quiet. Only the click of Mary’s heels on the pavement broke the menacing stillness. Then, she heard it. The soft thud of a footfall.

Someone was behind her. Close. Very, very close.

Mary eased her fingers into her handbag and pulled out her key ring. Gripping her door key tightly between her fingers, its sharp end pointing outward like a small but lethal weapon, she took a deep breath and whirled.

The quiet street was completely empty.

Mary waited for a long moment, willing her battering heart to stop hammering. What was wrong with her? When had she developed this...this paranoia? But even as she argued with herself, she scanned the recessed doorways, looking for anything unusual. A shadow too deep. A curtain suddenly swaying.

Just as she started to walk on, a darting movement caught her peripheral vision. Someone was there! A shadowy form had scurried around the corner.

Was it someone hurrying to return to work or an unseen stalker? She rubbed her fingertips across her temple, as if somehow, she could summon the truth.

Lost in her confused thoughts, Mary stood for several minutes on the deserted sidewalk until the roar of a delivery truck broke her concentration. She glanced at her watch, and realized that her dawdling would make her late for her luncheon date. With a growl of vexation, she hurried toward the Pepper Tree.

Walking briskly, Mary tried to ignore that heavy curtain of apprehension that pressed in on her with each step. She forced herself not to look back, yet with every step, she half expected a hand to grab her. Once, unaccustomed to the high heels she wore, she stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk. Flailing her arms wildly in an effort to maintain her balance, she almost screamed as her hand encountered something solid.

A lamppost.

Mary hung on to the iron post for a moment until her wobbly knees stopped shaking. She was being ridiculous, working herself into a panic like that. She had to learn to ignore these sudden, eerie feelings that overtook her lately. Obviously, her intuition wasn’t working and she was only scaring herself.

Taking deep, calming breaths as she walked toward her destination, she managed to release the fear and even regain a feeling of ease before she arrived at the Pepper Tree.

Inside the restaurant, Jonathan and his friends, Senator and Camille Castnor, were already seated. When the maître d’ showed Mary to the table, she kissed Jonathan lightly on the cheek and slid into her chair. “Hi, everybody. Sorry I’m late.”

Jonathan patted her hand. “No problem, dear. What happened? Did your taxi get snarled in traffic?”

A light flush crept up her cheeks. Jonathan had been bedeviling her for weeks about walking alone in the city. Mary was willing to make some changes in her life to please her fiancé, but she wasn’t about to give up walking. Instead of answering directly, she took a drink of water and murmured, “The time just got away from me. Sorry.”

In an effort to change the subject, she turned and teased the rotund senator seated across the table. “So, Brad, what’s new with you? Have you voted yourself any new pay raises lately?”

“Mary!” Jonathan blurted out in consternation. “Really, dear, your sense of humor—”

“Oh, leave her alone, Regent. She’s probably the only straight-talking person left inside the Beltway.” Brad Castnor leaned back in his chair and roared with unabashed delight. “Voted myself any pay raises, that’s rich! Wait till I tell that one up on Capitol Hill this afternoon.”

Camille Castnor, the senator’s wife, took a tiny sip from her glass of chardonnay and gave Mary a wan smile. “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, Mary, dear, but after you and Jonathan are married, you will have to watch your...little witticisms. Someone might overhear and misunderstand.”

It was on the tip of Mary’s tongue to remind Camille that her husband’s voting history was a matter of public record, and he had, in fact, been one of the ringleaders involved in the latest senate pay hike. She was saved from her own candor by the waiter who approached their table, glistening white cloth draped over his arm.

“May I bring ma’mselle a cocktail before her meal?”

“No, thank you. Water will be fine,” Mary said, and picked up the menu.

After they ordered, the mood became more festive when Brad proposed a toast to celebrate the announcement of Jonathan and Mary’s engagement.

“Ah, yes,” Camille said, holding her glass for her husband to fill. “I saw the happy couple made the cover of Newsweek. I’m impressed.” Her tone implied she was anything but impressed.

“Is that so?” Brad boomed. “Hope you saved it for me.”

Camille smiled sweetly. “I cut the article out for my scrapbook, but you can read it. Let’s have the toast now. To Jonathan and Mary, an unusual but adorable couple.”

“So when’s the big date?” Brad asked after the foursome had clinked glasses.

“We haven’t set a date yet,” Jonathan answered. “Probably sometime in the early fall. I was willing to wait until we could book the cathedral, but Mary said she’d rather have a small, more intimate ceremony.”

Camille raised an eyebrow. “A small wedding means some important people will be left out. That could come back to haunt you at election time, Jonathan.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. But this was Mary’s decision.”

Mary set down her salad fork and took a deep, calming breath. “That’s not fair, Jonathan. We discussed this and I thought we’d agreed.”

He reached across the snowy linen cloth to take her hand in his. “Why so prickly? I was just having a bit of fun with you, dear. Your feathers are ruffling awfully easily today. Are you sure you’re all right? I mean, you seem a bit... edgy.”

He’d hit the nail squarely on the head, Mary conceded to herself. She was tense. That incident on Wisconsin Avenue was bothering her more than she wanted to admit. She hated to bring up the subject in front of the Castnors but felt she should at least explain her sudden moodiness.

Mary ran a fingertip around the rim of her water goblet, trying to find the right place to begin. “Do you remember last week when I told you that I had the oddest impression that someone was watching me?”

“Certainly.” Jonathan smiled. “And I told you that I didn’t want to let you out of my sight, so I was having my imagination follow you around.”

Camille rolled her eyes. “Oh, God, that’s just too, too sweet for words.”

Ignoring Camille’s sarcasm, Mary continued. “Anyway, I’ve had that feeling several more times since then. When I was walking here today, suddenly I just knew someone was behind me.”

“Good heavens, Mary, I thought we discussed your walking around the city by yourself.”

Mary raised her chin and stared into Jonathan’s pale gray eyes, now dark with irritation. “Yes, Jonathan, we discussed it, but the day was so beautiful I decided to walk.”

“But you see what happens? There probably was a mugger trailing you, just waiting for the right moment to snatch your purse. I wish you’d listen to me, Mary. I know this city.”

“Jonathan, whether or not I should walk around Washington on my own isn’t the issue here. Besides, you’ve said all along that this...this feeling is nothing more than premarital jitters.”

The senator hooted. “I wonder what Freud would say about the symbolism—she’s engaged to one man and fantasizing about being pursued by another!”

“That’s not funny,” Jonathan snapped.

“Sorry. It was meant to be.”

Mary stifled a grin. She rather enjoyed the senator’s sense of humor. People in politics tended to take themselves quite seriously, if her recent introduction into the Washington social strata was any indication. In fact, it sometimes seemed she and Brad Castnor were the only people within the Beltway who had a sense of humor.

Apparently satisfied that his friend’s apology was sincere, Jonathan turned back to Mary. “Darling, exactly how often have you had this feeling of being watched?”

She closed her eyes and considered. “At least five or six different times. And they weren’t all when I was out in public. Once when I was at the hairdresser’s, I sensed someone staring at me through the front window.”

Camille leaned forward. “Mary, how horrible! Why didn’t you say something? I could have asked Henri to give you a more secluded booth in the rear.”

Mary shook her head. “I can’t go through life riding in taxis and hiding in the back rooms of beauty salons. If someone is following me, then I need to take some reasonable precautions.” She placed a strong emphasis on reasonable. “In fact, I’m thinking about buying a gun.”

Jonathan threaded his fingers together and stared at her. “I don’t think that’s wise. I believe statistics will bear me out here, Mary. Unless you’re completely prepared to use that gun and perhaps take another person’s life, owning a firearm is more of a liability than an asset. Besides, I really don’t believe a weapon is necessary.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that, Regent,” the senator interjected. “If someone is really following Mary, she could be in danger.”

Jonathan shook his head. Rather than respond directly to his friend, he continued addressing his remarks to Mary. “Forgive me, my dear, but I’m still not convinced that what you’ve been experiencing isn’t merely a case of nerves. But if someone is lurking around beauty shops, I’m sure it’s that unemployed waiter you used to date.”

Mary stifled a grin at Jonathan’s description of her previous boyfriend. Despite her continued protests that she and Mark Lester had never had a serious relationship, Jonathan still acted jealous whenever Mark’s name came up. And he knew perfectly well that Mark had only worked as a waiter a few nights a week to help cover his graduate-school expenses.

She couldn’t seriously believe that Mark was skulking around behind her, watching her every move. He hadn’t been that interested when they were dating.

Camille, as if annoyed that the conversation was centered on Mary’s welfare, pointedly shifted the subject. “Well, I’m sure Mary will take every precaution just in case some lunatic is out there. But let’s talk about the wedding! Mary, when do we get to go look at wedding gowns? You know, my dear, I’d be more than happy to help you plan the wedding. An event of this magnitude takes a certain amount of...social experience, you know.”

The rest of their meal was punctuated with merriment as the two women discussed color schemes and honeymoon locales. The men groaned frequently and made obligatory macho comments about the cost of the upcoming nuptials exceeding the national debt.

Just before they broke up their lengthy luncheon, Jonathan raised his hand. “Brad, Camille, I asked the two of you to dine with us today for a reason. You’re my oldest friends and I wanted both of you present for the occasion.” Jonathan reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a small, blue velvet jeweler’s box. He pushed the unopened case in front of Mary. “For my beloved bride. I’m afraid it pales compared to the purity of your smile, but it was the best I could do.”

With a trembling hand, Mary opened the tiny box and gasped in astonishment. Nestled in the midnight blue lining was a twinkling diamond solitaire. Quite possibly the largest diamond she’d ever seen outside the Smithsonian. “Jonathan, it’s lovely. But...but it’s so...enormous!”

Immediately, his eyebrows dipped and a scowl took command of his handsome features. With an incredulous shake of his head, he asked, “Don’t you like it?”

Mary lifted the glittering band out of the box and slipped it on her left ring finger. The stone was much larger, and more ostentatious than what she would have chosen for herself, but she knew that to Jonathan the size of the diamond was comparable to the depth of his devotion. She was swamped with a surge of tenderness for this complex man who’d breezed into her life and swept her into a world she’d never dreamed existed.

Raising her hand so everyone could see the exquisite stone dominating her delicate fingers, Mary turned to Jonathan. “It’s the most impressive ring I’ve ever seen. Thank you so much, Jonathan. Truly.”

His gloomy expression lightened immediately. “Only the best for my bashful bride.”

Camille stood up and clasped her clutch bag. Her already pale face looked pinched and drawn. “All I can say is, if Mary wasn’t being stalked by muggers before, she will be in the future. Jonathan, that ring is about one carat shy of being a diamond mine unto itself. Brad, are you ready to go? I have an appointment with my personal trainer at three.”

Stuffing a last bite of dinner roll into his mouth, Brad heaved his bulk out of his chair. “I suppose you know, Regent, that I’ll never hear the end of this. For the rest of my life, Camille is going to be griping about that ‘chip’ on Mary’s finger.”

Jonathan laughed and clapped the senator on the shoulder. “As my candid bride would say—vote yourself another pay raise and buy your wife a bigger one!”

With that rejoinder, the foursome parted company. At Jonathan’s insistence, Mary accompanied him in the limousine until it dropped him off at his Alexandria, Virginia office. Then the chauffeur reversed his route, taking the George Washington Bridge back across the Potomac River, and threaded his way along the Washington streets. It was over an hour later before he finally dropped Mary off at the Georgetown Regent Hotel.

As she crossed the lobby, pausing only to check for mail at the desk, she paid scant attention to the luxurious surroundings. Her mind was on the details involved in planning a society wedding. She wondered what Jonathan would say if she told him she’d rather exchange vows in her mother’s living room in northern Michigan than go through all the hoopla Camille had recited at lunch.

Reaching her apartment door, Mary fumbled in her bag for her key, unlocked the door and stepped across the threshold. Suddenly, she stopped.

There it was again. That creepy sensation of something being wrong. Out of place.

No, it couldn’t be. Not here in her home.

Forcing herself to take several calming breaths, she turned to lock the door behind her, when her foot crunched on something on the carpet. Moving her foot, she saw that she’d stepped on an envelope that apparently had been slipped under the door.

Relief flooded through her.

Something had been out of place. Her subconscious had simply picked up on the envelope lying on the floor.

It looked like an invitation. Must have been hand-delivered, she mused. Plucking the envelope off the rug, Mary engaged the dead bolt and kicked off her shoes. She hated wearing high heels every day, but Camille insisted that a woman of “Mary’s station” should always wear heels in public. Wriggling her toes in the thick pile carpet, Mary crossed into the living room and nestled on the shell pink damask sofa. She curled her feet beneath her and opened the envelope.

For a moment, she stared with perplexity at the single sheet of paper. After reading the brief message for the third time, she watched the paper slip from her numb fingers. Acting purely on instinct, Mary picked up the telephone and punched in Jonathan’s office number.

“Oh, Ms. Wilder, it’s you. Again.” Robert Newland sighed, as if her telephoning twice in one day was a tremendous trial for him.

Swallowing a biting retort, she said quietly, “May I speak with Jonathan? It’s quite important.”

“Of course. I’m certain Mr. Regent won’t mind another interruption.”

“Thank you.”

When Robert finally transferred her call, Jonathan’s voice sounded harsh, impatient. “What is it, Mary? I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

Briefly, her voice as cold and hard as the chunk of ice forming inside her, Mary told him about finding the note inside her apartment door.

“So? I’m afraid I’ve missed the point, dear. What did the note say?”

Mary didn’t have to retrieve the note to recite the ugly words cut from magazine articles and pasted onto the sheet of white bond paper. They were already branded into her soul.

“Oh, Jonathan, it’s so awful. It said, ‘Life isn’t like a fairy tale where Cinderella lives happily ever after with Prince Charming. If you marry Jonathan Regent, you will not live happily...or ever after.’”

Jonathan sighed. “Damn that Mark Lester. I told you he was behind all this. Mary, darling, the idiot is only trying to take his petty revenge because you dumped him. He obviously wants to frighten you into breaking our engagement. Don’t give him the satisfaction of responding to his childish game.”

Mark? She could imagine Mark storming over to her apartment and shouting at her through the door, but sending anonymous threatening letters? Mary desperately wanted to believe it was Mark’s wounded pride causing him to act so horribly and not some madman pursuing her. “Do you think that’s all it is? Mark, acting out?”

“Of course. Now, just throw the silly thing in the trash and forget all about it. And, by the way, sweet, I’m going to have to cancel dinner tonight.”

“Oh, Jonathan, I’d looked forward to it.”

“Me, too, but it can’t be helped. Have to take care of business, you know. But if you’re so upset that you really feel I should cancel this meeting, then, of course...”

Mary’s nerves were so jittery that she hated the idea of spending the evening alone. Still, Jonathan had so much responsibility with his corporation that she felt guilty even considering asking him to cancel his business appointment. After taking a few seconds to rationally evaluate the situation, Mary responded, “Don’t worry, Jonathan, I’ll be fine. You go ahead with your meeting. Maybe I’ll call a friend from the bookstore. I may go to a movie, or something.”

“If you think that’s wise,” he responded tartly. On several occasions, Jonathan had hinted that Mary should drop her friends from Arlington. He felt she should cultivate new friends in his social circle. Jonathan didn’t understand that his social level was as unfamiliar to Mary as a foreign culture.

Interrupting her thoughts, Jonathan said, “What I think you should do, honey, is to take a long nap. Then soak in a bubble bath and order up room service. Leave Mark Lester to me.”

Mary bit her lip. She didn’t want Jonathan to get into a fight with Mark, but she also wanted to defuse this disturbing situation before it got worse. Reluctantly, she agreed.

“Good. Now, don’t you worry your pretty little head another minute—”

“Jonathan! You make me sound like a Barbie doll.”

There was a long pause before he continued, “I see you’re still distraught. I can understand that. But really, dear, you have to stop finding offense in every minor comment. Now, you take a nice nap and I’ll speak with you later.”

Mary felt less than satisfied with the outcome of their discussion but she was too emotionally drained to continue. After double-checking the lock on the apartment door, she went into her bedroom and pulled the drapes shut.

That king-size bed did look awfully inviting.

Ten minutes later, Mary was fast asleep.

* * *

“AH, ARMSTRONG! Glad you’re able to give us a hand on this.” Robert Newland ushered the newcomer into the conference room. Tossing a thick manila file folder on the polished teak conference table, Jonathan’s personal assistant raised a hand, offering Armstrong a seat.

The tall, slender man lowered himself into one of the swivel chairs and faced Newland. “What’s up? Another possible industrial spy you want us to run a check on?”

Newland seated himself across from Armstrong and steepled his fingers. “No, nothing like that.” He broke off and stared into space for a long moment, as if to gather his thoughts. “This is something that’s more of a...a personal nature.”

Armstrong leaned forward. “You know I can keep a confidence. Why don’t you just spit it out?”

Newland reached for the file folder he’d thrown on the conference table and pulled a sheaf of papers from it. The first item he passed to Armstrong was a color photograph of Jonathan Regent and his fiancée—taken from the cover of Newsweek magazine. “Did you happen to see this?”

Trace Armstrong glanced at the photo. “I haven’t been in Antarctica for the past two weeks. Of course I knew Regent was engaged. Kind of cute, isn’t she?”

Newland raised an eyebrow. “Cute like a fox. Crafty, shrewd and devious are words that come quickly to mind.”

“I gather you don’t care for the woman. Why not?”

Newland raised a hand. “Oh, it’s nothing personal, understand. It’s just that I can recognize a brass-plated gold digger when I see one. And believe you me, this Mary Wilder is a gold digger with two shovels!”

Trace retrieved the magazine photo and took a second look at the woman. Interesting. From the soft, guileless expression the photographer had captured, he would never have suspected the sweet-faced Mary Wilder of being after Regent’s money. “And you want me to dig around in her background, come up with a little dirt for your boss?”

Newland hesitated, then said, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. But let’s hold off. Things may work out on their own.”

“How’s that?”

“It seems our sweet Mary is being followed. Stalked. Mr. Regent wants me to hire a full-time bodyguard for her. Of course, I thought of you.”

Trace shrugged. “No problem. I can put one of my people on it right away. Or did you want round-the-clock protection?”

“No.” Newland shook his head. “Right now, we think just someone to stay with her during the day. When she’s out and about. She’s staying at the Georgetown Regent. I think she’s pretty secure at night, but, of course, we’d like you to double-check the security.”

“Of course.”

Newland drummed the tabletop with his fingertips. “The other thing is, I don’t want one of your operatives on this job. I’d like you to handle it personally.”

“Wait a minute!” Trace’s head popped up. “You know that I don’t do fieldwork anymore. I’m retired to a desk, remember?”

“I know, and normally I wouldn’t ask you but...”

“But what?”

Newland paused, appearing to weigh his words. His slight, rabbitlike features were more pronounced than usual. “I want you to do more than protect the young lady. I want you to watch her, form your own opinion.”

“On what?”

Again, Newland paused. He glanced around the large office as if searching for listeners hiding behind the empty chairs. “Remember, this is in confidence?”

Trace Armstrong frowned. “You don’t have to ask, you know that.”

Leaning forward, Newland continued in a conspiratorial manner. “I think the whole thing is some kind of a con. I don’t think there’s a stalker. I think Mary Wilder is playing a game. Manipulating Mr. Regent into moving up the wedding date so she can get her hooks into his money that much quicker.”

“I see,” Trace said, not sure what else to add. He’d done a half-dozen jobs for Regent Hotels in the past year or so. They always paid well and promptly. Yet in all that time, Trace had never seen the slight personal assistant so riled. So agitated. This Mary Wilder must be some piece of work.

Trace rose to his feet. “I think I can free myself for a couple of weeks. Let’s see what our Miss Wilder is up to.”

* * *

MARY HAD NO IDEA how long she slept, but the insistent ringing of the bedside phone finally brought her to wakefulness.

Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she yawned into the receiver. “Hello?”

“Mary? What took you so long to answer? I was starting to get concerned.”

“Oh, Jonathan. I decided to follow your advice and take a nap.”

“Still sleeping? Oh, well, it really doesn’t matter. Listen, dear, I’ve been doing some more thinking about this problem. Even though I’m convinced that Mark Lester is our culprit, there’s no sense taking chances. Anyway, Bob Newland knew of a private bodyguard who has an excellent reputation and I’ve decided to hire him.”

“A bodyguard? That seems a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“More extreme than your buying a gun?”

“No,” Mary admitted, “I guess not.” But the very word bodyguard conjured up an image of a hulking brute about the size of a tractor trailer with bulging biceps and corded muscles where his neck should be. In the movies, bodyguards always had names like Moose or Tank. And their intelligence quotients usually matched their names. Nevertheless, right now she needed protection, not someone who read the Encyclopedia Britannica for pleasure.

As if taking her lack of argument for concurrence, Jonathan went on, “Anyway, this guy—his name’s Armstrong, by the way—should be at your place any minute now. Tell him everything that’s been going on. Show him the note. I realize I told you to throw it away, but you haven’t yet, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. But...do you really think I need a full-time bodyguard? It’s not like I’m a rich rock star, or something.”

Jonathan’s sigh was long and deep. “You still haven’t grasped the changes yet. Mary, sweet, you may not be wealthy but I am. This whole business stinks of Mark Lester, but I could be wrong. Someone could be using you to get to me. There could be a kidnapping in the works, who knows? I’ll just feel better if I know you’re protected.”

Mary heaved a sigh of her own. She was the one who had kept insisting that her intuition be taken seriously. She was the one who kept jumping at every shadow. So why was she now trying to decline the very help she’d been asking for?

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Mary raised an eyebrow. To Jonathan she said, “Well, at least your bodyguard’s prompt. What did you say his name was—Armstrong?”

“That’s right. Be sure to see his identification before you let him in.”

“Jonathan, I’m not a child,” she said through clenched teeth. Honestly, sometimes his protective nature was a little confining. Before she could protest further, the doorbell buzzed again. And again.

This Armstrong might be prompt, but apparently patience wasn’t one of his virtues.

After finally breaking the connection with Jonathan, Mary ran her fingers through her hair, then grabbed her robe off the bed and stuffed her arms into the sleeves as she hurried into the living room.

The hulking bodybuilder in the hallway had punched the doorbell twice more while she was en route.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she called as she tiptoed up to look out the peephole. “Who is it?”

“Name’s Trace Armstrong. Sent by a Bob Newland.”

Mary couldn’t see anything through the peephole but a vague shadow. She unlocked the dead bolt, but left the brass safety latch in place and peered out the small slit. The man stood between Mary’s vision and the soft lighting behind him, casting his form into a backlit silhouette. But he sure didn’t look as large as she’d imagined. “Could I see some identification, please?”

“At least you have some common sense,” he grumbled as he handed her a plastic card case.

Mary looked at the state-issued identification card and shrugged. What was she supposed to be looking for? The card was issued to a Trace Armstrong and it looked official. Still, from his ID photo, Armstrong looked like an escaped felon. She passed his card case to him through the slit. “Just a moment,” she murmured as she shut the door in order to undo the security latch.

The door opened. Expecting the muscle-bound hulk of her imagination, Mary started when the lean figure eased across her threshold. As the diffuse light from the overhead lamp illuminated his face, Mary’s breath stopped. Trace Armstrong wasn’t pretty-boy handsome, but he literally reeked of raw, masculine power.

Closing the door softly behind him, he thrust his hand in her direction. “Mary Wilder? I hear you’ve been having a little problem.”

Mary slipped her hand into his and looked up, losing herself in the most incredible pair of eyes she’d ever seen.