Midnight Vengeance (4 page)

As long as Jorge was alive, she’d never have it. Couldn’t have it.

Her knees were trembling. She had to get out of here. Fast.

She stepped toward Suzanne and hugged her. Suzanne hugged her back. “Take care of yourself now,” Suzanne said.

Lauren was shorter and was wearing flats, so she could bury her face against Suzanne’s shoulder, hiding the sudden rush of hot tears that pricked her eyes. For an instant she gave in to her emotions and clung to Suzanne. Soft, soft perfumed Suzanne. Loving friend, wife, mother. Who was a buzz saw when it came to business.

Lauren clung too long. She could feel Suzanne’s bewilderment when the moment to pull away came and went. Lauren simply couldn’t let go, not for the life of her.

Because, well, this was it. Her life was over.

If anything this past disastrous half hour had taught her, it was that she had to stay far away from everyone. The nicer they were, the farther she had to run.

What yawned before her was a friendless future of complete solitude. Keeping her head down, surviving. Relentlessly alone.

This might be the last time she hugged a friend. Maybe in her entire lifetime.

She squeezed more tightly. Suzanne understood that something was going on. Damn it, she was perceptive as hell.

This had to stop. Lauren forced herself to open her arms, step back, before the temptation to just cling forever overwhelmed her.

“Hey.” Allegra smiled, put a hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “I get one of those hugs, too, right?”

Oh, yeah.

This time Lauren was disciplined. The hug lasted the exact right space of time. When she stepped back, Allegra kept her hands on Lauren’s shoulders and frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Lauren swallowed, nodded. “Headache.”

“No.” Allegra shook her head. “Besides that.”

Damn. She was so freaking perceptive, too. All that harp playing. Messed with her, allowed her to tune into more frequencies than most people.

“No, no.” Lauren shook her head, gave a shaky smile that they would put down to a massive headache. “I just need to lie down in the dark for a while.”

Suzanne looked at Jacko, beautiful face serious. “You’ll walk Lauren to her door,” she said, “and see her in.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jacko replied. Suzanne acknowledged that with a hard look and a nod.

Suzanne turned to smile at her. “It’s going to be a busy weekend, but I’ll call on Monday. Maybe we can have lunch together.” She shot a look to her right. “Allegra’s practicing for a concert but I think we can bribe her to take some time off.”

“Alcohol and food? I think I can be bribed.” Allegra laughed and Lauren did her best to laugh, too. All that came out was a sick croak.

She would give years off her life to make that luncheon.

Suzanne mimed a telephone with her hands. “So I’ll call on Monday, then.”

“Sure,” Lauren wheezed. On Monday she’d be in Denver or Cheyenne or Cleveland. Or North Dakota or Utah. If her mysterious friend who provided her with documents was able to swing a passport, maybe she’d be in Toronto or London.

Lauren took a second, just a second, to mentally say goodbye to her friends in Portland. This was becoming her old life with every breath she took. She had an artist’s eye and she wanted to keep this picture in her head, take it out when the loneliness overwhelmed her in her next life. Right here, right now, she had a little living tableau of friendship and community in front of her.

Suzanne and Allegra with their husbands, looking at her carefully in case she needed something they could give her. Willing to do that with every breath they took.

Oh, damn. This hurt so much!
I have to go,
she thought.
Right now. Before I break down.

She smiled, turned around and walked away before she said something dangerous. Jacko was right by her side.

It was a crowded room but, again, walking with Jacko meant no jostling, no having to sidestep. He stuck out his elbow again at that odd angle and she slid her hand into that warm space between his huge biceps and his powerful forearm.

It made her feel a little better. She was walking out of a life she loved, but it was in style, with an escort.

She needed that support. Each step felt like her feet were made of lead, carrying her uphill where she desperately did not want to go—into a sere and barren new life, wherever that would be.

She got her coat from the coat check, though Jacko didn’t seem to have checked any coat in. He had only the tuxedo jacket.

They stepped outside and Lauren would have been nearly knocked over by a sudden gust of wind if she hadn’t still been clinging to Jacko. It was so cold her breath froze in her lungs.

They were outside on the white ultramodern marble porch that had turned slippery in the icy wind. Shivering, Lauren started picking her way to the steps, but stopped, snagged on Jacko’s arm.

“No.” Jacko hadn’t moved and Lauren turned to him in surprise. “It’s too cold out here.” He shrugged off his massive tuxedo jacket and put it around her shoulders. It was like being enveloped in a warm blanket.

“What about you?” He was dressed only in a blindingly white shirt and black satin bow tie.

“Not a problem.” Jacko turned her around, put a hand to her back and gently pushed her back into the warm lobby. “Wait here and I’ll bring my vehicle around to the front. Don’t move.”

Her eyes widened. “Aren’t you going to be cold without your jacket? It’s warm here in the lobby. I can give you your jacket back.”

“Nah.” Amazingly, he smiled. It was brief, really brief. A flash of white teeth in his dark face and it was over, but it had definitely been a smile. The first smile she’d seen on his face in the four months she’d known him. “I don’t mind the cold. Now don’t go anywhere.”

She shook her head. No, she wasn’t going anywhere. Where would she go?

Jacko disappeared around a corner. The second he was lost to sight, Lauren’s anxiety level rose. She was so exposed here.

The vestibule was a glass-enclosed space with white marble floors, like a movie version of heaven. There was no one in the vestibule and the glass must have been thick because it was soundproofed. It was as quiet as a cathedral. She glanced over her shoulder at the sight of revelry in the huge exhibit space behind two-story glass doors. Everyone looked like they were having a really good time. Only Lauren and Jacko were leaving.

There was something heartbreaking about watching the huge throng inside, laughing, chatting, eating, drinking, like a movie with the sound turned off. Before, in her previous life, it was the kind of party she’d have loved. If you were there, it meant you had some kind of interest in interior decor or at least a passing acquaintance with art. It meant you enjoyed beautiful things and you belonged to Lauren’s tribe. She’d loved exhibits like this, where everyone was dressed to the nines and really intent on enjoying themselves.

Take a good look,
she told herself. Because it was the very last time she would ever voluntarily be in a crowd. Crowds were dangerous in these times of Facebook and Pinterest and Twitter. Crowds shared.

Inside, everyone was spotlit, colors more intense, clothes fancier, smiles brighter than in ordinary life.

Inside everyone was enjoying life, their greatest care whether shoes matched purses. No one was running for their lives inside.

She was cut off from them by more than thick plate glass walls.

As long as her life was under threat, events like this were forbidden. As was rising in a career, any career. As was friendship or marriage or—God!—motherhood.

The thought of her life as it was now, continuously on the lookout, on the run, with a child in tow to protect—well that thought made her slightly nauseated

From now on it would be all about solitude and staying indoors and working through a computer under her assumed name for her book cover art. Working as Fabiola Chenet, who lived in France.

Nothing but work and solitude, for the rest of her life. Or for the rest of Jorge’s life.

The external doors suddenly opened. She hadn’t even seen Jacko arriving. For such a huge man, he was extraordinarily fast and light on his feet.

He was by her side in an instant. He pulled the lapels of his tuxedo jacket tighter around her neck. “It’s really cold. I’ve got my vehicle right outside with the engine running and the heater on. Watch your step outside—it’s slippery.”

Lauren wanted to roll her eyes and answer “Yes, mom.” Except it
was
really cold and the marble steps
were
really slippery.

There was no question of her slipping though, because Jacko had a big arm around her waist and he wasn’t going to let her fall. Her feet barely touched the marble stairs. Before she knew it, she was sitting in Jacko’s huge SUV, enjoying the heated cabin.

The backseats were all turned down and a big gleaming thing was back there, a mass of shiny steel and chrome, glinting in the darkness.

“What’s in the back?”

“My bike.”

Oh. The famous motorcycle everyone talked about. She turned her head and studied it. It was huge and looked more like a rocket than a bike. A car turning around in the driveway shone the headlights into the back and she could see it was lacquered a bright red. It looked dangerous, powerful. Sexy.

Jacko was looking at her, big hands dangling over the top of the steering wheel.

“Home?” he asked.

She nodded, throat tight.

Home.
Not for very much longer.

He seemed to understand that she didn’t want to talk. Couldn’t talk, actually. If she opened her mouth, the words choked in her throat would come tumbling out. So she turned her head and watched the landscape go by as he drove her back to her house, blinking back tears.

Such a pretty city, Portland. Cool, in every sense of the term. Less overwhelming, less snooty than Boston. And a million times better than the hot, money-soaked Florida her mother had wallowed in.

The snow that had been threatening all day started drifting down. Damn. Even the snow, on her last night in Portland, was pretty, turning the parks and lawns into a fairy-tale world like Narnia.

Enjoy it, she told herself. She’d loved her time here, loved the vibe of the dynamic yet laid-back city. Portland offered tons of cultural opportunities while remaining friendly and walkable. She’d sketched in all corners of the city, not just the wealthy homes Suzanne decorated—skateboarding parks, the tiny gate to the tiny Chinatown, and she’d even followed the changing light in Pioneer Square, though for that she’d worn a big floppy hat that hid her face.

She’d felt instantly at home here and it hurt so much to know she could never return. Not only that, it would be best to go to another kind of city entirely, so Seattle was out. Certainly the entire Pacific Northwest was out, maybe even the whole West Coast.

She should go to one of those Sunbelt places where old people lived and iguanas roamed the earth. Or maybe somewhere up north in one of those empty states where winter lasted eight months.

Somewhere where she would finally heed what her rational mind had been telling her all along. Make no connections. Make no friends. Stay home as much as you can.

At least she had Felicity. Anonymous, faceless, virtual. But a friend.

She watched the neighborhoods go by, memorizing the buildings, knowing she could never come back. And knowing that her life would be an empty shell from now on.

It occurred to her that she would never have a love affair, ever again. The past two years had been of necessity chaste—though she’d never had a wild sex life anyway. Time to face the fact that sex and love were out of her life, possibly forever. Like most women, she’d had it in the back of her head that someday her Prince, or if not her Prince at least a really nice guy, would come.

But that was crazy thinking. She had to stay unattached. If nothing else, she’d put the man in mortal danger. Unless...she sneaked a glance at Jacko, handling driving in the snow with ease. He handled most physical things with ease. She’d heard Suzanne and Allegra talking about him. He’d been a sniper in the military, was a superb shot. Apparently he was also an expert in several martial arts.

He’d be a hard man to kill, even for Jorge’s thugs.

Jacko...Hmm.

Well, why not? Her last night in Portland, spending perhaps the last night of her life in a man’s arms. Jacko was attractive in an unhandsome kind of way. He was certainly sexy. And though he was stiff and formal around her and acted almost as if he were scared of her, which was ridiculous, something told her he wouldn’t say no.

When he started hanging around her all the time, she thought maybe he would make a play, and the idea of sex with Jacko had flared up in her head, lodging there. But he hadn’t made a play. He’d actually avoided touching her unless he absolutely had to, so clearly he wasn’t interested in her that way.

Maybe she could interest him now, though.

Oh God, yes. A night of heat and passion when she felt so cold and alone. Who would it hurt? If Jorge’s goons showed up for some reason having somehow tracked her down here, she’d be long gone. And Jacko knew how to handle himself.

Could she do it? Could she seduce him? Did she have the nerve?

And...how? Well, start by inviting him in for coffee. Or better yet, alcohol. She had a nice bottle of aged whiskey a grateful student had given her. Would it be hard to seduce him? She definitely didn’t have the nerve to strip and curl her finger at him, but maybe that wouldn’t be necessary. Perhaps they could talk a bit, sitting close together on the couch and...

Jacko pulled up in her driveway, much too soon. She still hadn’t fully planned her mode of attack, thought it through. If he said this, she’d say that...

He unlocked the doors with a whump, put his hand on the driver’s side door.

She was taken by panic. Suzanne had asked him to walk her to the door, and he would. And then he’d turn and drive back. The thought of watching through her living room window as his vehicle drove away, the thought of never seeing him again, was almost more than she could bear.