Part 6 (1/2)
”You might have called the police ”She trailed off into another sigh.
”You believe I could have done that?”
”I couldn't be altogether sure. What happened five years ago taught me not to be sure of anybody.” The way she said thata”all defiance gone now, only a near-sob lefta”reminded him of back in the ballroom, when he'd recognized how lonely she was. Nothing could be lonelier than living without trust, afraid to let anyone close enough to become a threat. He could imagine the poignancy of that life because he'd lived some of it himself, though never as completely or with the degree of desolation that had been her fate. Nick's anger melted away, maybe not forever but for now. He reached out and folded hera”Delia, Becky, Rebecca, whoever she might bea”into the comfort of his arms.
Chapter Twelve.
Delia clung to Nick for what felt like a very long time but not nearly long enough. She would have wanted to make love again. Making love with Nick was being swept away on a wave of emotion deeper and wider than anything she'd ever known. She could let that wave take her. She could give up thinking about what was going to happen next and what she should do about it and simply be borne away, higher and farther than anyone's touch had ever taken her before. She could use that kind of release right now. She longed for it. She even sensed that Nick might feel the same, but neither of them made a move. They'd been through so much in these past hours together, they needed to be still for a while. His arms cradled her body. Her arms circled his neck. They were safe here for the moment in the silence. Delia knew that couldn't last. Unfortunately, there was more to be talked about. When the next question came, she'd already told herself she had to be ready for it.
”What about Clyde Benno?” Nick asked. ”Have you told me the whole story on him?”
Nick kept his arms around her. There was no anger or bitterness in his voice. Still, she could feel the chill wind of the inevitable in his words, and that made her sigh.
”There is no Clyde Benno. I made him up.”
She was amazed at how easy it was to let that cat finally out of the bag and at how relieved she was to watch it scamper away, beyond her control. In the meantime, Nick only nodded and continued to hold her. ”You don't seem surprised,” she said.
”I spotted that guy last night for a professional. I didn't think you'd have a thug for a boyfriend, not even one who knows how to pa.s.s as respectable. I didn't think an angry ex-boyfriend would hire a guy like that, either. Usually, angry ex-boyfriends prefer to do the dirty work themselves. They get more satisfaction that way.” ”
It was Delia's turn to nod. ”That sounds right to me,” ” she said.
”The thing that almost threw roe off was his eyes. That part of him looked like he could be the psycho boyfriend after all.”
Delia remembered those eyes much too clearly. She doubted she'd ever forget them. She s.h.i.+vered, and Nick folded her closer to the broad, hard safety of his chest. She nestled there gladly.
”Those eyes could be the key to tracking him down,” Nick said. ”Either he really is crazy or he's taking something that makes him look that way. My guess is one or the other's got him noticed. Maybe if I ask the right people the right questions, I could find out who he is. That would put us closer to finding out who hired him.”
”I know who hired him.”
”You do?”
Nick thrust her away from him when he asked that, so he could look into her face. She nearly sighed again. She was being pushed out of the warm circle of his arms. It might be a long time before she nestled there again.
”I don't know the specific ident.i.ty of the person who did the hiring,” she said, resigning herself to getting back to business. ”But I'm almost a hundred percent sure what they're after.”
”What are they after?”
”The Lester money, and they have to make sure I'm out of the way for real and for good to get it, just like they got rid of poor Morty Lancer.”
Delia pulled her robe from the bottom of the bed and put it on. She was all the way out of his arms now. She felt a lonely pang of regret.
”Have you ruled out other possibilities, like somebody connected with PEI? The company could have angered a lot of people over the years, and you're the most visible target.”
I'm the only target, she thought. I'm the company.
She wasn't ready to tell him that part yet. One major revelation at a time was all she could manage right now.
”I know this hasn't got anything to do with the company,” she said.
”How do you know that?”
By the angle of the hair standing up on the back of my neck, was what she almost answered. She decided to be less abrupt than that She knotted the tie of her robe then turned fully toward him.
”I've been living with running away for a long time,” she said. She made sure her voice didn't plead for sympathy. She just wanted to explain how it was for her. ”I've developed a kind of added sense that most people don't have. That sense lets me know who I should watch out for and why. Right now it's letting me know my past has finally caught up with me.”
This time his saying that didn't bother her ”I imagine you do. You must have your own radar for trouble to be as good as you are at what you do.”
”That's how I knew that guy last night was somebody more than just Clyde Benno from Long Island.”
”I'm sorry about lying to you,” she said. ”I've been living a lie for so long now. Sometimes I think it's more natural for me to make up things than to tell the truth.” ”You're good at it. I can vouch for that.” Delia felt herself blush.
”I want to be nothing but honest with you from now on,” she said.
”Then tell me why you left Colorado the way you did.”
”The cards were stacked against me, that's why. I'd have been charged with Morty's murder for sure, and very possibly convicted of it, too.”
”I would have helped you.”
”Oh, Nick,” she sighed. ”What could you have done? Other than maybe destroy some of the evidence against me. I knew you were too straightforward for that.” She touched his cheek gently. ”I want to be just as straight with you from this moment on.”
Nick put his fingers gently against her lips. ”There'll be time for promises later,” he said.
Delia nodded. ”Okay.”
She prayed he was right. With somebody out to kill her, and maybe Nick, too, there might not be a ”later” for them, after all.
”WHAT DO YOU WANT me to call you?” Nick asked. ”Delia or Becky?”
They'd decided to leave the Waldorf. The pro who was after them might not have their room numbers yet, but it was only a matter of time till he did. Nick had told Delia to throw her few belongings back in her bag, and they'd left the five-star life behind by the back entrance taxi port. Nick kept himself from thinking about how much he'd rather stay holed up in that hotel room making love to her forever. That was just one of the thoughts about her he couldn't get into, at least not till she was out of danger.
”Call me Delia,” she said after a long moment when she must have been considering her answer carefully. ”Becky was five years ago. Delia is now. They're not the same woman.”
Nick looked across the cab seat at her, while memory overlapped what he saw. She was right. Delia and Becky were very different from one another. He wondered how deep those differences ran and what they meant to what had happened in Delia's bed last night. That was something else he couldn't let himself be sidetracked into thinking about right now. He forced himself to stop looking at her and turned toward the window. Her beautiful face and how much it was coming to mean to him was the biggest distraction of all. He had trouble keeping his head clear when he was looking at her. His head needed to be clear as gla.s.s if he was going to keep her safe. He resolved to make that kind of clarity his first and foremost priority. They rode the rest of the few blocks from the Waldorf to the Lincoln Building in silence.
EMPLOYING a private mail service was another one of Delia's hedges against detection. Not even the company letterhead carried the actual address of her Rockefeller Center office. All mail went to her mail service in the Lincoln Building on 42rid Street. She left Nick in the cab, behind the Lincoln on 41st, while she went to the eleventh floor. He'd wanted to come with her, but she insisted she'd be only a moment and hopped out into the street. She'd disappeared around the corner before he could have time enough to pay the fare and follow. She trusted him for the most part. After last night, maybe she even trusted him altogether. Still, she went to the mail service office by herself. This same company handled her telephone messages as well as her mail, and she wanted to explain her present confused situation in person. They could forward calls to her Rock Center number or take messages. She'd call in regularly for those messages, but they wouldn't be able to contact her directly except at her office. The pleasant woman in the back office wrote down Delia's instructions but asked no questions. They were discreet, which was part of the reason Delia used their services.
She left the eleventh floor office with a plastic bagful of what looked like mostly bills and junk mail, except for one piece. It was square and st.u.r.dy, as if whatever might be inside was made of card stock rather than regular stationery-weight paper. Delia examined that envelope warily. This was the season for sending and receiving holiday cards. Most people would not have taken so much notice of such an envelope. Most people would have lots of friends and relatives sending them greetings of the seasons. Delia, on the other hand, had no such circle of acquaintance. She hadn't received a Christmas card, other than corporate greetings from business a.s.sociates, in five years. This envelope was handwritten and didn't look like a corporate mailing.
Delia thrust her trembling index finger under the envelope flap and tore it open, leaving a ragged edge. She'd been fight. There was a card in the envelope, on green card stock with a snow-covered country scene on the front. She flipped the card open and let her eyes slide past the printed greeting to the signature. She didn't gasp. She simply stopped breathing and stood, still and transfixed as that snow-covered scene, just around the corner from the elevator bank, in the middle of the beige marble hallway on the eleventh floor of the Lincoln Building. There were three words handwritten on the bottom of the inside flap of the otherwise ordinary Christmas acknowledgment she held in her shaking hand. Those three words made this card about as out of the ordinary as it could be.
Those three words were, ”Merry Christmas, Topsy.” Delia's mouth had dropped open. Fortunately, the hallway was deserted. She would surely have attracted attention if there was anyone around to see her, standing so obviously aghast as she was. The last thing Delia wanted fight now was attention. She would have liked to sit down, but the hallway was as empty of furniture as it was of people. Her legs were unsteady under her. If they became any more so, she might have to sit on the floor before she fell there. Still, she made no effort to compose herself. She had neither will nor presence of mind to make such an attempt right now. She was too riveted on those three scribbled words and beyond them to the a.s.sociations they made for her. Only one person in her entire life had ever called her Topsy. It was a nickname that n.o.body else knew about. That person was her father.
Delia shut her mouth and swallowed the sob that threatened to rise from her throat. She was oy barely conscious of the dryness of that swallow as she forced herself to think once more. She stared at the handwriting on the card and tried to remember her father's penmans.h.i.+p, but her mind moved slowly still. She seemed to recall his handwriting being close to a scrawl, like the writing on the card. It had been so long since she'd seen anything written by him. Besides, she'd made a point of putting the details of her former life as far from her present thinking as she could push them, Now she found that retrieving those details was difficult. Still, one unforgettable truth remained. Her father had pledged never to reveal her secret nickname, and he never had. She was certain of it. Or maybe she only wanted to be certain of it because that would mean the most impossible of Christmas miracles had come to pa.s.s and her father was still alive.