Читать книгу Happy New Year--Baby! - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 9

T he man made her feel uneasy, but years of experience had taught her how to mask her feelings. Nicole lifted her chin.

“I’m afraid that there has been some mistake made, Mr.—”

If she was attempting to be defiant, it made less than no impression on him. “Standish.” The name rolled smoothly off his tongue. “Joseph Standish.”

The name meant nothing to her. The dislike Nicole felt was immediate and intense. If the man continued to look vaguely familiar, it was because Joseph Standish, if that was really his name and she doubted that it was, reminded Nicole of the type of people Craig had taken to hanging around with the year before he died. Dangerous people.

People she didn’t want anywhere near her or her unborn child.

“Mr. Standish,” she acknowledged coldly. “I’m afraid that I don’t have anything of yours.”

His lips parted slightly in what could have passed for a smile if it hadn’t been so mocking. His tone remained mild and all the more chilling for it.

“Oh, but I’m ‘afraid’ that you do, Mrs. Logan.” His eyes swept past her and the man behind her to look at the apartment. It had to be hidden here somewhere. “Mind if I take a look around?”

Nicole’s breath caught in her throat. He was going to push his way in. She didn’t want him touching her things. She squared her shoulders. “Yes, I do mind.”

Whether she minded or not didn’t matter to him. What was on that disk that Logan had managed to steal did.

Dennis took a step closer to Nicole, his eyes locking with Standish’s. They were as flat as the eight-by-ten photograph he’d been given at his initial briefing. Dennis had seen more warmth in a tray of ice cubes.

“Is there a problem here?”

Nicole was weary of fighting her own battles, but used to it. So much so that she automatically resented any interference. Still, she had to admit that a small part of her felt better having Dennis here beside her. It made her feel less vulnerable.

Standish assessed the man behind Logan’s widow with a speed that had become second nature to him. Tall, rangy, the man didn’t really appear as if he’d pose much of a threat, but then, you never knew.

“The only problem is you butting into a private conversation.”

His eyes flickered over Nicole. Even with that swollen belly, she was something to look at. Probably had been a hot little number in bed. Too bad Logan hadn’t spent more time at home in bed and less at the tables. This trip would have been unnecessary, then. Standish hated loose ends almost as much as he hated unpaid debts. He had thought that things had been all tied up with Logan’s death—until they couldn’t find the disk.

“My business is with Mrs. Logan.”

Since she didn’t know him, that meant whatever connection Standish had, had been with Craig. That was all behind her now. She didn’t want any part of it. Nicole looked at him coldly, even as her heart hammered.

“I don’t have any business with you.” Turning the doorknob, she started to close the door. “So if you’ll please leave—”

Standish’s hand shot out like a rattlesnake striking its prey. With his palm splayed against the door, he prevented her from closing it. He had no intention of leaving yet. He hadn’t gotten to where he was by allowing people to walk away from him when he wasn’t done with them. And this was far from finished.

His words were measured and sharp, like hail falling against a tin roof. “You’re right, you don’t have any business with me. Your husband did.” His eyes remained on Nicole, cutting the other man completely out of the picture. “Too bad he had to die so young. My condolences.”

Nicole felt as if she were looking into the eyes of Death. “Thank you.”

“A few weeks before he died, he took something from me. Something I’m very sentimental about.” He smiled, showing off two perfect rows of teeth. “I was hoping it was here.”

She hadn’t seen anything out of place amid the things Craig kept here and if Standish was sentimental, then she was a choirboy. “What was it?”

He had no intention of telling her. “I’ll know it if I see it. Don’t trouble yourself by looking, I’ll just—” He began to enter the apartment.

She didn’t want this man here. Like a militant soldier, she barred his way. “You’ll tell me what it is, or you’ll leave.”

She was going to be trouble, just like her husband, Standish thought. He hated using a gun. It was far too messy and personal, but he had no qualms about eliminating what was in his way.

“After I look around.”

Very gently, Dennis pushed Nicole to the background, his body a buffer between her and Standish. “The lady said to leave.”

She saw something that frightened her flicker in Standish’s eyes. Damn Craig and his stupidity. What had he gotten them into?

She placed her hand on Dennis’s arm, silently telling him that she could handle this. “Craig kept very little of his things here, Mr. Standish. He traveled a lot. Maybe whatever it is that you’re looking for was left behind in some hotel room.”

Rooms in seven different hotels had all been systematically torn apart. “I’ve already eliminated that possibility. He was here before his last race.”

For a total of about ten minutes, she thought. Bent on partying before the big race, Craig had left her behind like so much lead weight. Even so, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go through Craig’s things yet. She’d meant to, but every time she started, the pain of memories prevented her.

Nicole sighed. “Leave your number and I’ll call you if I find anything, but I doubt—”

“Don’t doubt, Mrs. Logan. He had it. I know that for a fact. I suggest you find it, Mrs. Logan.” Each time he said her name, she felt as if he were laughing at her. “And quickly.” His glance lowered from her face to rest on her abdomen. “Unfortunate things have been known to happen, even to ladies in your delicate condition when they don’t cooperate.”

Numbed by the barely veiled threat, Nicole curved her hand protectively over her belly. Words failed her.

Dennis shook off her hand from his arm, pushing himself directly into Standish’s face. Though the same height, he guessed that the other man had about five years on him. And a few more pounds. The slight bulge under his coat was what he used to even things out. Dennis knew he could disable him before he ever reached for his weapon, but that wouldn’t be in keeping with the image he was trying to project for Nicole.

“She said to leave.” His voice was as low, as deliberate, as Standish’s. “I think she meant now.”

There was nothing to be gained by a physical confrontation, at least not one with a witness. Standish was accustomed to picking his places. There would always be time enough for that later, if necessary. Trask said to keep the body count down to a minimum after Logan. Trask was getting old and soft, but for now, he still ran the Syndicate and had to be obeyed.

Standish inclined his head, addressing himself to Nicole. “Fine. I realize that all this must have taken you by surprise, Mrs. Logan. I’m not an unreasonable man. But I do tend to grow impatient if I’m kept waiting too long. I’ll be back.”

He paused to consider a time frame. “Say in a week?” He had no intention of waiting that long. His eyes skimmed over her girth before he stepped away from the door. “In the meantime, if I were you, I would give very serious consideration to what I said.”

Hands shaking, Nicole slammed the door closed behind Standish. Only then did she give in to the fear that had taken hold of her.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

She looked as if she were going to faint. Dennis quickly took her arm. Her skin had turned almost translucent and her hands were clammy. “Are you all right?”

Nicole passed her hand over her face. What could Craig have possibly taken from that man? It couldn’t have been money, Standish would have asked for that outright—wouldn’t he?

She didn’t look at Dennis as she replied. “Not really.”

Dennis guided her to the chair in the kitchen, then placed a hand on her shoulder, gently urging her into it. “Why don’t you sit down?” He studied her face, wondering how to handle this new turn of events. Either she really didn’t know the man who was just here or anything he was talking about, or she was one hell of an actress. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged helplessly. She could call the police, but what good would that do? There wasn’t really very much information she could give them. They usually responded after the fact, not before. “It was probably just an empty threat.”

Men like Standish didn’t make empty threats. It was bad for business. “It didn’t sound very empty from where I was standing.”

“No,” Nicole whispered, “it didn’t.” She looked up, suddenly realizing that she had said the words aloud. She tried to gloss over the situation. “Craig periodically got involved with people who wouldn’t have met with approval at a Daughters of the American Revolution meeting.”

Dennis nodded his head toward the door. “So then this is nothing new for you?”

“I didn’t say that.” Nicole took a long, steadying breath. She could handle this. She’d handled everything else until now. She just didn’t know how yet. “They’ve just never made house calls before.”

God, what a fool Craig had been. Could she have really been in love with him? Could she have really been so damn blind and missed all these defects when she had agreed to run off with him?

She knew the truth now. She hadn’t been running away with Craig so much as running away from home. And her father.

Nicole ran her hands along her arms. She felt cold, even as the heater was turning over.

“It wasn’t enough for him to have it all,” she murmured, half to herself, half to Dennis. “Fame, women hanging on him, money, it wasn’t enough.” Sadness rimmed her smile. “He wanted more.”

She looked at Dennis, who was patiently listening to her. Why, she still hadn’t figured out. Just as she didn’t know why she was even saying this, except that it had been bottled up for so long and he was a stranger, not a friend. Sometimes it was easier to talk to strangers.

“There were a few pockets of time when he gambled away more than he earned, even with all the endorsements coming in.”

They’d come, she remembered, courting the new king of the track, and he had eaten it up. Anyone else would have been set for life. But not Craig. With him there had been this huge hole that no one and nothing seemed to be able to fill.

She sighed as she looked at the door she had slammed in Standish’s wake. He’d be back. She didn’t know what she was going to do when he came. She was almost positive that she didn’t have anything that might belong to him. “I guess this is one of those times.”

She looked so small, so vulnerable. It made Dennis forget for a moment that he wasn’t supposed to get involved in anyone’s troubles.

“So, what are you going to do?” he repeated.

For a moment, she’d forgotten that he was here. She’d been talking out loud to herself. But he was here, and he shouldn’t have been. She distanced herself from him. “That’s my problem.”

He’d had a feeling she’d say that. Feisty didn’t begin to describe her. Though it got in his way, he had to admire that. “Living next door to you kind of makes it mine.”

The logic escaped her. “And just how do you figure that?”

Dennis grinned at her. “It’s that neighborly thing again.”

As she had said, it wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t anyone’s problem but hers, courtesy of Craig. She’d find a way out. Tomorrow, when she was less exhausted and could think clearly. After all, she couldn’t give Standish what she didn’t have. He had to be satisfied with that—didn’t he?

Nicole blew out a breath as she looked at Dennis. “There’s such a thing as being too neighborly. Don’t worry about it.”

The woman had more courage than brains. There was no doubt in his mind that she hadn’t seen the last of Standish. “Do you want me to stay here tonight?”

Nicole stared at him. Where had that come from? She was exhausted and hugely pregnant. That should have turned anyone off.

“No.” As soon as she turned him down, something small within Nicole wavered, afraid. She buried it quickly. She was a big girl now, and had been on her own for a long time.

The offer seemed like the right thing to say. Besides, though he was next door, he didn’t like the idea of her remaining alone for the night. Standish might decide that a week was too long to wait and return in the middle of the night. If the man entered through the door, it would trip the alarm system he had rigged, but if he entered through the sliding patio door, Standish could harm Logan’s widow before he had a chance to reach her.

“Would you rather stay at my place?” He kept the suggestion low-key. “I’ve got a sofa that folds out in the den. You could have my bed.”

God, he almost sounded chivalrous, but she knew better. No man was altruistic. They always wanted something in return. “No.”

She was being difficult. It only stood to reason that she’d feel better with someone she knew. “Do you have any other place to stay?”

“If I wanted to.” Her eyes met his. She saw the question he was about to ask. “I don’t want to. It’ll be all right,” she added with an assurance she only hoped was true. Maybe if she said it a few times, she would eventually believe it.

He’d hidden his surveillance equipment while the delivery was being made, but he was going to set it up again as soon as he left her. And it looked as if he were going to be staying up late tonight. He knew that Dombrowski would cover for him while he slept, but somehow, that didn’t seem good enough just now.

Dennis noticed a pen in the corner of the counter. Leaning over the table, he pulled out a blue napkin from the plastic holder and wrote seven digits on it.

“Here.” He held out the napkin to her.

She stared at it, making no move to take it. “What is it?”

It was like trying to lead a mustang to water. He was getting kicked for his trouble. Dennis took her hand by the wrist and placed the napkin into her palm. “My phone number.”

She wasn’t helpless and she didn’t accept aid from a stranger under any circumstances. Despite the meal they’d shared, that’s what they were. Strangers. She didn’t know any more about him than she knew about Standish.

Except that he didn’t make her blood run cold, the way Standish did. And he smelled good.

“Why would I want that?”

This one put a new spin on stubbornness. He wondered if it was her pregnancy that had her behaving this way, or if she had always been so bullheaded. “So you can call me in case you have any strange visitors in the night that don’t go ‘Ho-ho-ho.”’

Nicole frowned at the napkin, but she didn’t crumple it and throw it away the way he half expected her to. Instead, she folded it in half as she looked at him.

“Why would you want to get involved in this?” she challenged.

There was nothing in it for him. She had long since passed the point where she was dazzled by a sexy smile and a drop-dead body. And if she had once wished for love and acceptance, well, that had fallen by the wayside as well. The price tag was too high and the returns too low on the emotional investment that was required of her. Love was a highly overrated emotion. So what was he doing, offering to be her protector?

She was suspicious of his motives. He wondered if she had something to hide, or if she was just being prudent. If that was the case, he couldn’t say he blamed her. Craig Logan might have been a winner on the track, but he was a real loser otherwise. He could understand her being leery of men.

“Let’s just say I’ve always had a secret fantasy about rescuing a damsel in distress.”

Nicole’s frown deepened. Did he really expect her to believe him? “In this case, the damsel probably outweighs you.”

Dennis laughed. She was large, there was no disputing that, but she was also petite and that exaggerated the image. Having seen a photograph of Nicole before she had become pregnant, he knew exactly how stunning she could be.

“I sincerely doubt that. I hit the scales at 185.”

And all of it looked pretty solidly built from what she could see. Nicole shook off the thought. She was being adolescent. “If you think I’m telling you what my scale says, you’re more naive than I thought.”

Naive, now there was a word that wouldn’t have described him, not since he was nine years old. Children of gamblers grew up quickly.

He leaned against the doorjamb and smiled engagingly. “And why would I be naive?”

She glanced at the remainder of their meal. “For getting involved with a pregnant widow whose late husband seemed to have ran afoul of the wrong crowd.”

He lifted a shoulder and let it drop casually. “What’s life without a challenge?”

She didn’t need a challenge. She needed a little smooth sailing for a while. Maybe forever.

“Life is challenge enough,” she murmured, looking out the window. She hoped that Standish would keep his word and stay away for a week. Maybe by then she’d be able to find whatever it was that he was looking for.

It would have helped if he had been more specific. Dennis saw the worried look flitter through her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want—”

“I’m sure,” she said abruptly, cutting him off before he could try to change her mind. This time, she might just let him. “Thank you for dinner.”

He enveloped her hand between his. It felt small, frail. Her manner had almost made him forget just what a delicate woman she really was. “The pleasure was all mine.”

He was being incredibly polite. Her mood at dinner had been rather surly and then Standish had made his appearance. All in all, it didn’t make anyone’s listing of top ten evenings.

“Then I would say that you have a very low threshold of pleasure, Mr. Lincoln—”

He arched a brow. “It’s Dennis, remember?”

She sighed and nodded. “I remember.”

“And my threshold isn’t low at all.” He had a feeling that she had very little to smile about. Maybe he could do something about that. His smile widened beguilingly. “Maybe we can discuss that threshold some time.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, closing the door behind him. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” she added quietly.

Nicole tucked the napkin with his phone number into her pocket and went to clear the table.

Surveillance equipment in place, Dennis maintained vigil until two in the morning. He knew that Dombrowski had spelled Winston in the converted VW van that was inconspicuously parked in the carport. Two sets of eyes were better than one.

Accustomed to snatching catnaps whenever he could and able to run on next to no sleep, he managed to get a few hours in the recliner beside his monitors. Even then, he slept lightly, anticipating the telephone ringing at any moment.

It didn’t.

When he opened his eyes again, it was a little past seven. Immediately, he looked at the monitors. Nothing had changed in the parking lot. The same cars that had been there last night were still in their designated spots. The second monitor showed only an empty room. Nicole wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Dennis sat up. Rotating his shoulders and stretching, he was instantly awake, instantly alert.

That was due to his training. By nature, he wasn’t really a morning person. His sister Moira was one of those. Bright and cheerful before her first cup of coffee. He didn’t understand it.

He needed a cup of coffee now, he thought. A strong one.

Still wearing the jeans he’d had on last night, Dennis padded out to the kitchen. He turned on the coffeemaker and opened the front door to get the paper.

As he bent over the mat, reaching for the newspaper, he heard her.

There was a gasp, followed by a cry of anguish and then a few choice words that could have only been evoked under duress.

She was in trouble. Damn, how had Standish managed to get in without either he or Dombrowski seeing the man?

Moot point, he admonished himself.

She hadn’t called him, but then maybe she hadn’t had the opportunity. Maybe she had been overpowered instantly. It was the only thing that made sense.

Adrenaline pumping, Dennis banged his fist on Nicole’s door.

“Nicole, are you all right?” he demanded. There was no reply. He pounded on it again. “Nicole, open the door!”

It was a fire door. He could dead lift twice his body weight, but there was absolutely no way he could force the door open. But he could break open a window.

Dennis turned away from the door and toward the kitchen window when the door swung open.

She stood in the doorway, wearing a pink dress that was far more cheerful that she was at the moment. The apron that no longer fit around her waist was slung over her right shoulder.

Exasperation filled her voice as she snapped, “No, I am not all right and why are you yelling like that?” He’d scared her half to death, banging on her door. She thought it was Standish.

Her sharp tone faded a little as she realized that he was wearing only his jeans and that he had failed to close the snap. It hovered more than an inch below his navel, adhering to tapered hips that belonged in an exercise video. She’d already guessed last night that he was muscular, but she hadn’t realized just how well developed those muscles were. His torso had almost perfect definition. If her hands weren’t already damp, they would have become so.

“What’s wrong?” Dennis demanded as he looked beyond her shoulder into the apartment. There was no one there.

She wiped her hands on the edge of the apron. “You’re the one yelling and banging, you tell me.”

Whatever the problem was, it wasn’t Standish. “I heard you gasp and cry out.”

Her brows drew together as she fisted her hands where her waist used to be. “What are you doing, standing at my door and listening?”

“No, I was getting the paper.” He raised it to substantiate his story. “When I heard you gasp I thought that maybe Standish had forgotten how to count and turned up. I was worried,” he added for good measure. It irritated him that it was partially true.

What he said made her feel guilty. He didn’t deserve to be the target of her waspish tongue. It wasn’t Dennis’s fault that her garbage disposal had decided to pick today to throw up. Lately, that seemed to be the way her life was going.

She sighed, dragging a hand through her hair, her expression softening. “Well, you can rest easy. No one took a contract out on me during the night. Except, maybe, for my garbage disposal.” She glanced over her shoulder. “It seems that it’s not up to grinding chicken bones anymore and has sought retribution by clogging up my sink.”

The tension created by the spontaneous flow of adrenaline began to ease from his body. A grin lazily crept over his lips. “They run independently of each other.”

She didn’t want logic at a time like this. She wanted an unclogged sink. Annoyance raised its hoary head again.

“Well, something is clogging up my sink.” She gestured toward the kitchen floor angrily. “I was rinsing out a frying pan and suddenly, I’ve got a lily pond in my kitchen.”

Not waiting for an invitation, Dennis walked into her apartment. Barefoot, he picked his way gingerly across the wet floor to the sink. He flipped the switch closest to the door and was rewarded with a whining noise that sounded like a car slipping a gear. A moment later, a wisp of smoke emerged from the midst of the rubber covering over the in-sink eradicator.

He shut off the disposal quickly. Squatting, Dennis opened the cabinet doors beneath the sink and looked in. He began moving aside an army of cleansers as he worked his way to the wall.

Nicole tried to bend down and peer over his shoulder. The ache in her back curtailed the effort. “What are you doing?”

He found the cord and followed it to the plug. He worked it free from the wall. “Unplugging your disposal before you have a fire.”

She looked down at the floor. It wasn’t exactly a lily pond, but there was enough water to remove the wax shine. Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed.

“The water would put it out,” she said wearily.

Dennis rose, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Got a mop?”

“Of course I’ve got a mop,” she said defensively. Just because she wasn’t a neat freak like Marlene didn’t mean she was an utter slob. “Why?”

Justifying everything to her was getting a little old. “I want to dry the floor before one of us lands on our butts.”

He said “us” but he meant her. She could tell by the way he looked at her. She didn’t need someone inferring that she was a klutz. “Well, leave and then you won’t be in danger.”

He only laughed and shook his head. “Nicole, you are definitely a challenge to be neighborly to.”

All right, so she was being grumpy, but she couldn’t help it. She was always grumpy when she was tired. Stubborn about maintaining her independence, she’d remained up most of the night, listening to every noise that didn’t sound as if it belonged. In a garden complex of 203 apartments there were a lot of noises that sounded as if they didn’t belong.

She gestured toward his apartment. “It’s Saturday. Why aren’t you watching your new TV?”

He had a simple enough answer for that. “I don’t watch cartoons.”

“You don’t have a VCR?”

He thought of all the electronic equipment in his apartment. Equipment trained to document her life. For the first time, he wondered what she would have said if she knew.

“I haven’t hooked it up yet,” he said evasively.

“Well maybe you should do just that.” Her tone was dismissive. Nicole picked up the telephone receiver. “And I’ll call maintenance about this.”

Confident that she was sending him on his way, she tapped out the numbers to the rental office.

Amused, Dennis crossed his arms before his chest and leaned a shoulder against the wall. He knew it wouldn’t be long. Briefed on everything surrounding her complex, he knew that maintenance had a reputation of always being somewhere else when they were needed.

Three minutes later, Nicole sighed and hung up the phone.

“Nobody there?” he asked innocently.

She slanted an annoyed look at him. “Just the machine.” But she had a feeling that Dennis already knew that.

Dennis hooked his thumbs on the loops of his jeans. “I don’t think it’s been programmed to fix disposals.” This couldn’t have worked out better if he had planned it. “So, do you want my help?”

She hated asking, but it was either that, or start washing dishes in the bathtub. “Yes.”

With a satisfied nod, Dennis turned toward the door. “Okay, just let me get my tools.”

She picked her way carefully to the broom closet for the mop. “And get a shirt while you’re at it.”

He turned in the doorway, surprised by the request. “Why?”

“Because you’re too distracting running around without one.” She saw him raise an amused brow. “I might be pregnant, but I’m not dead.”

“Nice to know.” He disappeared inside his apartment.

Muttering under her breath, Nicole grabbed the mop and began drying her floor.