Читать книгу Double Take - Leigh Riker, Leigh Riker - Страница 12

Blood dripped from her fingers.

The room spun around her and Cameron stared down at the knife she’d dropped on the counter. Her new employer’s personal assistant looked at the accident scene. And swallowed.

“I can’t believe I was that stupid,” Cameron said, her assurance seeming to come from a distance. This was all Ransom’s fault, she wanted to think. Ven… I’ve decided he was…warning you. She hadn’t slept at all last night after Ransom left but had startled awake at every sound. It was only the afternoon but she felt bone-tired. “You’d think I never attended culinary school, or learned how to cut an onion without dicing my own finger.”

Grace Jennings paled another shade. She wrung her hands. “Should I call 911?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then let me get the first-aid kit.”

While she was gone, Cameron grabbed a towel. Her heart was thumping, but she breathed deeply to get it under control. It wasn’t only Ransom who troubled her. She couldn’t seem to do her job today without thinking about her father.

After holding the two fingers that she’d clipped with the sharp blade under cold running water, she accepted a pair of bandages from Grace, who still looked as if she was about to faint.

Cameron hoped she wouldn’t pass out herself. She hadn’t seen Grace leave the kitchen of Emerald Greer’s large coop apartment, hadn’t heard her come back. Grace moved like a ghost. Or Cameron felt too shocked by her own negligence on top of her anger at Ransom to register anything but pain. Her fingers began to pulse with it.

“Hand me that bowl of zucchini, please.” She was still shaking but hoped Grace didn’t notice, Emerald Greer either if she happened to appear at just the wrong moment. Cameron shot a glance at the kitchen doorway but with relief found it empty. She added green squash to the other fresh vegetables sautéing on the industrial-style range, and another enticing aroma wafted upward into the warm, moist air.

Maybe she shouldn’t have tried to work. But activity seemed preferable to pacing her apartment all day, fretting. Or remembering Ransom.

He wasn’t easy to forget. Or to ignore, for that matter. She tried to think objectively. Broad shoulders, lean build, long legs, well-muscled arms and strong hands…he had a powerful physique, but so did other men. Ransom’s masculine appeal didn’t stop there. Her first sight of him last night might have stolen her breath, not to mention her will. His sensual mouth and piercing blue eyes could melt any woman’s defenses. But Cameron didn’t intend to let him—or his masculinity—slip under her guard.

With swift, abrupt motions she stirred the mixture in the pan. “If this doesn’t tempt the boss from her exercise room, I don’t know what will.”

“Emerald hates vegetables.”

“I’ll change her mind. Ratatouille Provençal has never failed me before.”

Brave words. Cameron wasn’t that sure about Emerald. Neither was Grace.

“She’ll change your mind first,” Grace said.

Cameron’s hand throbbed. She didn’t exactly regret her decision to work for Emerald Greer. Time in the celebrated but injured tennis star’s kitchen bought Cameron a valuable client—and time she hadn’t expected to need to calm her nerves about Ransom.

To her fury, he hadn’t given up as easily as she thought last night. He’d obviously followed her to work this morning, his footsteps echoing hers. Briefly at first, she had let her paranoia kick in again until she realized—this time—who walked behind her. A couple of weeks in this well-appointed setting couldn’t hurt, the money either, but Cameron refused to call it hiding out.

The money.

Ransom was wrong. Let him dog her trail if he liked. No one but him was after her.

“Now the yellow squash,” she said, tipping pieces into the pan. Fresh garlic had gone in first with salt and pepper then a splash of red wine. She added the onions that had led to her accident.

“How did your other clients go today?” From her perch on a stool at the center island, Grace brushed wispy brown bangs from her forehead. “Two, you said,” clearly trying to distract them both.

“A psychiatrist on West End Avenue and that dress designer in the Village. I saved time by making both of them similar menus. Did all my shopping at once—” She broke off. “Don’t let me bore you with Fulton Market. But that veal saltimbocca…”

“You leave everything in the refrigerator when you’re done?”

“For some clients, a week at a time. Three meals per day, seven days.” It usually took Cameron six hours at each of their apartments to cook and fill the containers. Today, she’d taken only four and hurried to leave time for Emerald. “I put their prepared foods in the fridge or the freezer. I don’t usually cook in-house for someone like Emerald and stay to serve.” She was being well paid to do so, however, and then there was Emerald’s upcoming wedding, a top story in all the newspapers. She stifled a yawn. “The doc wanted a huge fruit salad, the designer likes pasta. Everyone has favorites.”

Grace looked wistful. “Wish I could afford your services.”

“It’s not expensive. You’d be surprised. You will be surprised when I give you my bill for Emerald.” She stirred the vegetable mixture then added a waiting bowl of quartered tomatoes. Cameron would catch up on her sleep later, and the pay she earned was only part of her concerns. “After I cook for my clients, I clean their kitchens. That’s the worst part.” She held up her chapped hands. “If you can recommend a good dishwashing liquid, let me know. I do all the pots by hand. Are you staying for dinner, Grace?”

Sometimes she did, Cameron had discovered, sometimes not. It depended on the workload Emerald gave her, Grace claimed, but Cameron suspected the decision depended more on Emerald’s mood. Cameron had quickly learned that her newest client was not only a celebrity, she was a very difficult woman.

Before Grace could answer, Emerald entered the kitchen, still sweating from her workout with Ron, her personal trainer. Cameron’s exercise program consisted of her nightly walk home. Emerald wore hot-pink tights and a crop top today. Oh, and a frown. When the front door closed in the distance, Cameron remembered hearing raised voices earlier from the fitness room. So Ron wasn’t staying. Emerald cast a glance at the sink where the bloodstained towel lay.

“What happened in here?” She turned to Grace. “Attacking our new chef? What did she suggest—skim milk and dry toast?”

Despite Grace’s obvious embarrassment, which made Cameron uncomfortable, too, she decided the high color in Grace’s cheeks improved her looks. With her mousy brown hair and almost colorless eyes, she normally appeared bland, even invisible. Grace seemed to define the old term spinster, and even the little mole beside her mouth had more color than her drab beige clothes, which failed to hide Grace’s plump yet small-boned figure.

Cameron’s heart went out to her. She checked the pan of salmon fillets poaching on another burner. “It was my fault. I honed my knife too sharp.”

Grace looked thankful for Cameron’s intervention, but Emerald quickly dismissed the incident in favor of her own problems. She seemed to be Grace’s opposite, a classic blue-eyed blonde in contrast to Grace’s brown on brown, always outspoken compared to Grace’s softer tones. In the overhead light a huge diamond flashed on Emerald’s hand.

And a collage of recent media coverage went through Cameron’s mind.

Emerald was engaged to Theodore Kayne, a Wall Street success story who’d made his fortune buying up midsized companies then turning them into giants in their consumer specialties. Rich wasn’t the word for him.

“We’re still waiting to hear from that French bakery?” Emerald asked Grace as if she couldn’t wait another second for the answer. She slid onto the stool beside her. “Their quotes for the wedding cake and the groom’s cake were both too high. They promised to refigure by today.”

“They’ll call first thing tomorrow morning.”

Cameron smiled, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Piece of…cake. I could bake for you, Miss Greer, if you’d like me to.”

She was already handling the rehearsal dinner. What was another task? More income, she thought. She would use fresh edible flowers on the cake, purple and yellow and white pansies, maybe a few marigolds for trim…

“We’ll see.” Emerald shrugged. “Gracie, go home. I’m too tired to work tonight. Ron forced me to a near cardiac arrest today. Pure torture. He’ll have my biceps looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s before he’s done. I’ll be too muscle-bound to hold a racket. And my poor knee so soon after surgery…that man is a sadist.” She went to the refrigerator to get a soda. “Did Ted call?”

“Mr. Kayne’s assistant said he has meetings all evening. He’ll phone tomorrow.”

Emerald looked displeased with her fiancé. “What about the Zeus reception?”

Grace’s gaze flickered. With irritation?

That surprised Cameron. She didn’t imagine Grace had much passion. Zeus Sportswear was Emerald’s latest sponsor and Kayne’s newest acquisition. With Emerald as celebrity spokesperson for the company, he intended Zeus to move from its present middle-of-the-pack position to a dominant market share of the industry.

“Eight o’clock tomorrow night,” Grace told Emerald. “The limo will pick you up at seven-thirty.” She stopped. “Will you need me then?”

Emerald smirked. “I never need you, dearest. I keep you around for amusement.” She grabbed a carrot then slid off the stool, her assistant apparently forgotten. “Do I have time for a shower before dinner?”

Cameron sent Grace a look of commiseration.

“A half hour,” Cameron said. “I need to finish the endive salad, too.”

“I don’t need salad. I need fat, protein and cholesterol.”

Cameron forced the smile this time. “That’s not why you hired me.”

Without answering, Emerald stalked from the kitchen, limping a little every few paces, letting the door swing shut behind her. Cameron stirred the vegetable ratatouille, trying not to see Grace’s glare for her employer.

“She didn’t mean that,” Cameron murmured. “About you—or dinner.”

“You don’t know her. Yes. She did.”

“She’s a champion,” Cameron pointed out. “Temperamental.”

Which had a benefit for Cameron. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Emerald’s rudeness had made her forget Ransom, at least for now.

Grace scoffed, “She’s worried about her career. You should have been here right after her knee surgery. The first time Ron worked with her, she turned the air blue.” Grace shrugged. “Wonder how Ted Kayne will deal with her.”

For the second time, Cameron saw that look of resentment.

“Everything comes easy to her,” Grace complained. “Too bad she doesn’t appreciate it.” She rose from the stool at the counter as if she knew she’d said too much. “With the ‘champ’s’ permission, I’m off.”

“Have a good night, Grace. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“The only thing I worry about is Emerald Greer living to be a hundred.”

Her words lingered in the fragrant kitchen and Cameron stared after her. Like Cameron, she supposed Grace was too well paid to quit her job.

If Cameron did her own job here, did it well, she might even keep from going mad over her father’s death. She might be able to overlook Ransom and the traitorous desire he aroused in her.

Still, working for Emerald wasn’t easy. If I didn’t need the money…

The thought died before it had formed, to be replaced by another.

Tell me about the money.

Cameron pushed aside Ransom’s words, too. She couldn’t afford to indulge him or to antagonize Emerald Greer.

In a best-case scenario, if Cameron’s wedding reception for her was a success, Emerald might recommend her to her friends, assuming she had any.

WHILE EMERALD ATE DINNER alone that night, Cameron took an hour off. The click of silver on china from the dining room had set her nerves on edge. So did the empty echo of each movement in the silent apartment. So did Ransom’s visit last night. She needed a break. She would wash the pots and pans later.

Outside, after taking a breath of air, she refused to check the street for any sign of her unneeded “protector.” Keeping her gaze straight ahead, she stopped first at a nearby pharmacy to buy emery boards and nail polish. In her line of work, her hands suffered every day. Then at the corner banking center she deposited her last week’s receipts. The mundane tasks should have calmed her, eased the pulse of blood in her cut fingers. But they didn’t. Cameron felt the back of her neck tingle again.

When she turned from the automatic teller, Ransom stood there.

Frowning at her. Wouldn’t you know.

Cameron’s heart whapped against the lining of her coat. She shivered, feeling cold.

His deep blue eyes regarded her in the darkness, and then the ATM. “Did you know that’s one of the most dangerous things you can do?”

“What?”

“Stick a bank card in a machine on the street. With your back turned to anyone who might approach.”

Cameron eyed him without apparent interest. “I don’t need a keeper, Ransom. Quit following me. The only one after me is you. I’m perfectly safe.”

He hitched his chin at the line of stores across the street. “There’s a suspicious character over there by the tobacco shop.”

She barely glanced in that direction. “He’s just a homeless guy. The city is filled with them, sad to say.”

If she could afford to do so, Cameron would start her own soup kitchen. But she didn’t even have a day off lately—for which she was actually grateful, because that meant business was getting better—and at least for now, she couldn’t afford to donate her services. Yet she knew exactly how it felt to be without a home, or roots.

“Don’t be naive,” Ransom said. “He could be a druggie. Insane. Violent…”

Cameron studied his grim expression. Even that couldn’t disguise his beautiful eyes. “It must be even sadder to feel so jaded about mankind.”

“I’m surprised you don’t. Considering how you grew up.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Ransom.” She started off down the street. He followed her again. “I never did like the U.S. Marshals. I haven’t changed my mind.” She went fifty feet before she spun around again. The whole day was getting to her. His reminder of James’s death. The money, and Destina. No sleep. Three clients today, one of them too demanding to make even the money that appealing. Cutting her hand had topped off the day, not to mention Ransom, stalking her like a madman himself. “Will you stop? I don’t need protection.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“Oh,” she said, “just doing your job?”

“More or less.” He lifted a broad shoulder, defined by his wool coat. “I’m on leave of absence,” he admitted. “Burnout,” though that didn’t seem to be the full explanation. “Too much, too long on the Destina case. Guess I should have mentioned that last night.” His breath frosted in the chill air, reminding Cameron that she felt colder by the minute. When he didn’t go on, she started marching down the sidewalk toward Emerald’s building, its cheerful Christmas lights and welcome heat.

Ransom trailed two paces behind.

“You work late,” he said, but Cameron wouldn’t look at him.

“That’s how I build my business. Emerald Greer is my most important client to date.”

“Talk about a tough case.”

“You know her? Not just from the TV news?” Surprised, she couldn’t keep from asking. Ransom was at her shoulder now, inches away, his stride matched to hers. Cameron felt her blood beat faster, warming her from the inside.

“I know of her. She had a nut, a guy named Edgar Mills, harassing her on the circuit a while back. A friend of mine—the guy I’m staying with—works the stalker unit here in New York. Said he had to sympathize with the stalker.”

“Did your friend arrest him?”

“Gabe never had enough to make it stick.”

She missed another step. “So Edgar Mills is still on the loose.”

She could sense his smile in the dark. “And I suppose you’re Emerald Greer’s new best friend. You always did want connections.”

“I always wanted to get out of some crummy, run-down house in some crummy, run-down neighborhood—”

“In some crummy, run-down town,” he finished for her. “I can’t blame you.”

“Well, I’m out now. I’m making a new life—for myself. Friends are going to be part of that.” As soon as she had time. She had reached the entrance to Emerald’s building, and Cameron stopped with one foot on the first step to the lobby. “So is walking to the corner bank without a shadow.”

She felt him shrug again. His shoulder brushed hers and a slow trickle of heat crept down Cameron’s spine like the prickle of awareness last night at her door. She didn’t have to think hard to realize she’d almost prefer having to look over her shoulder for an assailant than feel any attraction to Ransom.

“Disagree if you want,” he said. “That’s your right. It doesn’t change anything. I won’t have you end up like your father.”

When he reached for her hand, alarm jerked along her nerve ends. Ransom held it up between them and Cameron’s twin white bandages gleamed in the dark. “How the hell did this happen?”

“Nothing sinister. I got careless with a knife.”

Cameron’s heartbeat slammed. His nearness surrounded her, seemed to smother her like that attacker from behind. Or a lover? By the time Ransom released her, she no longer felt chilled. She was sweating.

“Be more careful,” he said, his eyes dark and hot.

Hoping to comfort herself, she turned and went up the steps. The lighted lobby, with its Christmas tree, beckoned her. She saw Emerald’s doorman step out from behind his podium. “I can take care of myself,” she said like a litany.

“With my help,” Ransom added. Then he faded again into the night.

She had no doubt he would be waiting for her when she left Emerald’s apartment later. Waiting, in the dark.

EMERALD GREER DIDN’T SEEM to have any friends.

No one came to see her that evening. At midnight she summoned Cameron into the den just as Cameron prepared to leave for the day, and a sense of utter loneliness seemed to hang in the air. More than that, so did some undefined tension.

Cameron stepped across the threshold into the discreetly lighted room all done in white: ceiling, walls, carpet, deep-cushioned chairs and sofas. It was so totally different from her own nearly barren apartment that immediately she felt out of place.

Emerald looked edgy. Perhaps Cameron was about to be fired.

In that case, never mind her employer’s lack of friends or her own hope for more clients like Emerald. How would Cameron pay her rent?

Emerald flicked a glance at the phone then went to the bar. “Drink?”

“No, thank you.” It didn’t seem wise to try being cozy with her boss.

“Your back must be aching by now. Your hands look raw.”

She did hurt—her cut fingers, too—but Cameron managed a smile. “The pots are clean. And breakfast for tomorrow is in the fridge.”

Lifting her glass of wine, Emerald made a gesture with her free hand.

“Sit down. You work too hard.”

“I don’t mind. I have to.”

Emerald studied her. “I suspect you always will push yourself. Even when there’s no need. You and I are alike in that.”

So true. And they shared other similarities. Their builds, for instance, if not their opposite coloring. Although Emerald’s slightly heavier frame supported more muscle, they were the same height and nearly the same weight, Cameron guessed. Yet this very apartment pointed up their differences. It was a far cry from the program, when Cameron had lived simply, and even at first her father’s modest monthly government stipend didn’t buy luxuries. At times even food and clothing had been hard to come by. Sadly, her mother had borne the brunt of responsibility to support the family. And finally it had killed her. Cameron wouldn’t forget that soon. She needed to take care of herself.

“I’ve worked in restaurants since I was sixteen,” she said. “After I finished culinary school in Arizona, I became sous chef in a local spot, later moved to several other places—” she had never mentioned specifics before, and only now because her father was gone “—then became head chef at a golf club before I moved to New York, where I hope to stay.”

“You lived in Scottsdale? Phoenix?”

The two resort communities were loaded with golf courses, but Cameron raised an eyebrow, not answering directly.

“I left home to play tennis at nine,” Emerald said. “Thank fortune—and my lethal serve—I’ve never been back. That little upstate town was a nowhere place.”

Surprised by the confidence, which only confirmed her suspicion that Emerald was essentially a solitary person despite her celebrity, Cameron relaxed into her chair. Where was this late-night girlie session leading? She watched Emerald pour more wine, rattling the glass with a none-too-steady hand as she detailed her own unhappy childhood before tennis. Finally, she sighed.

“But enough of that. I’m pleased with your work, by the way.”

Hope flared inside her. Maybe this wasn’t bad news then. If it was, why would Emerald open up to her? Cameron felt obligated to offer something, too. She wouldn’t hide the truth. She straightened—then told Emerald about her life in Witness Protection. It was the first time in three years that she’d told anyone.

To her surprise, Emerald didn’t judge her. “That was your father, not you. Whatever his problem, you and I are self-made women. I like that.”

Neither of them had led normal lives, Cameron realized. Could she form a personal bond with Emerald? Having admitted to her own past, Cameron seized the opportunity she’d been given. “Ms. Greer, I’d welcome the chance to continue working for you. If you have colleagues who need someone like me…”

She smiled. “I’m also a selfish woman. I like the notion of exclusivity.”

Cameron frowned. “I couldn’t afford just one client, if that’s what you mean.”

“We’ll see.” She fidgeted with her glass and Cameron again thought she seemed nervous, not about letting Cameron go, but as if she was filling the silent air with conversation while she waited for something, someone.

She had a nut harassing her…

A clock ticked on the mantel. Twelve-fifteen. Emerald’s second sharp glance at the phone beside Cameron made Ransom’s words seem more immediate. Or perhaps Emerald simply expected her fiancé to call. But no, Grace had said tomorrow.

Cameron’s frown deepened. She really should go. It was late, and after last night she needed sleep. Obviously, she wasn’t about to be fired…but what was going on here?

If Cameron hadn’t wanted to avoid Ransom as long as possible, she would have left much sooner. And found him waiting downstairs, no doubt, to walk her home in the dark. When the telephone shrilled next to her, Cameron jumped as if he’d suddenly appeared from nowhere.

At the next ring, her gaze darted to the phone. Emerald startled, too, then froze. Her carefully made-up face paled.

“Please. Answer.”

On the third ring Cameron caught up the receiver, feeling even more uneasy when the caller spoke. His vicious tone made her pulse lurch, her stomach tighten.

“Listen, bitch. I’ve had enough. You tell me what I want to hear, or else… I’m coming after you. Understand?”

He hung up before Cameron could hand the phone to Emerald.

Stunned by the violence in the man’s gravelly voice, which sounded mechanically altered, she slowly replaced the receiver then turned to Emerald. For an instant, Cameron had feared the call might be for her. But who would call her here? Unless Ransom wanted to frighten her into accepting his unnecessary protection.

Emerald asked, “What did he say this time?”

By the shocked look on her face and her words, she had heard from this man before. Edgar Mills?

Cameron repeated the message then watched Emerald’s face turn even whiter.

“He’s phoned every night for the past week. I can’t imagine why, except that my engagement to Ted was made public right before the calls began.”

“Did you tell the police?”

Emerald moved stiffly toward the bar again. She filled her glass and drank half the wine down in a single swallow then topped off the glass. And confirmed what Ransom had said earlier.

“I’ve told them. It never helped.”

“But surely if you—”

“I am not phoning the police. They’ll say the same thing they did before—that unless the man physically confronts me, which they consider ‘unlikely,’ there’s little they can do. And they’re probably right. I already have a restraining order.”

Cameron’s pulse was still racing, hard. Now she understood why Emerald would stay home alone at night, why she didn’t appear to have friends. Maybe she never knew who to trust, a familiar feeling for Cameron, too. Emerald tried again to defuse the call’s importance.

“The man is a rabid fan…one of the type that always feel they own you. It’s possible my coming marriage has upset him.”

“And he wants you to say the engagement is off.”

But then, why such threatening words—even though he hadn’t mentioned murder? Emerald finished her wine. She had more color in her face now, but the topic was obviously closed. “Thank you for staying, for talking.”

“I can stay longer if you like. Or call Grace for you. And Ron.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s foolish to allow someone like that to upset me.”

Forcing a smile, she walked to the door of the den, and taking her cue that it was time to leave, Cameron followed her. She hesitated then reached out to touch Emerald’s forearm in comfort. She felt hard muscle under quivering flesh.

“You’re sure…?”

Emerald didn’t answer. She pulled away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ah, she was being dismissed—and put back in her place.

But Cameron couldn’t as easily ignore the threat she’d heard.

I’m coming after you…

A fan—perhaps Edgar Mills again—who had become unhinged but posed no real danger to Emerald?

Cameron didn’t know.

But all the way down in the elevator to the street, the words reminded her of Venuto Destina’s vow of revenge. Of her father. And of Ransom’s caution.

With her heart still in her throat, she walked out into the night.

You’re in danger. You’re next.

She couldn’t shake the feeling. If Ransom had been right, which she doubted, it seemed she wasn’t alone.

Emerald Greer didn’t have friends. But she did have enemies.

THE DARKNESS SWALLOWED Cameron up. The feeling of menace followed her home.

Even the blast of taxi horns, of people laughing in the doorways of restaurants and bars, made her skin twitch and her senses buzz. If Ransom was behind her, somewhere in the darkness, he was a darn good tail. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t even smell that subtle scent of his aftershave.

If he was there, as she assumed, maybe it wasn’t such a terrible thing tonight.

Should she stop, turn around, tell Ransom about Emerald’s caller?

No, that was a matter for the NYPD. And his friend Gabe.

She didn’t want Ransom trailing her, she reminded herself. She didn’t want him in her life, except to find James’s killer.

As for the missing money and Emerald’s telephone threat…

None of that related to Cameron.

Why feel so spooked, then?

It was Ransom’s fault, she decided, key clutched tightly out of habit in her hand when she left the blackness of night and prepared to step out of the shadows near her building. Just a few paces more and she’d be in the light. Inside, with her doors locked and the dead bolt thrown. Maybe she’d toss the covers over her head tonight.

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she sensed movement.

“Ransom!” she cried out.

That quickly, a hand had touched her shoulder. She froze, heart lurching into high gear, as if it would reach a thousand beats per minute, her pulse throbbing in her injured fingers.

Cameron tried to wrench away. But in the next second, she learned it wasn’t Ransom.

The man behind her tightened his grip on her shoulder and she screamed.