Mistress of Magic (6 page)

“Wonderful. I didn’t mean to stand him up, but maybe I’m glad that I did!”

“Why did you? What are you still doing here?” he asked accusingly.

“What are
you
still doing here?” she demanded in turn.

She heard the grating of his teeth and knew that Max was annoyed with her. “Reggie—”

“Max.”

“All right,” he said softly. “I’d be here whether employee resignations were pouring in by the hour or not. It feels good to be out here. Good to be moving.”

“Good to use the energy?” Reggie suggested. She curled her bare feet beneath her and sat down on the asphalt Max had just swept.

He smiled at her. Still in his suit, he seemed incongruous with the industrial-sized broom. But then again, she must have seemed incongruous in her red tailored suit, plopped upon the ground. He smiled suddenly, leaning on the broom handle. “We always promised each other that the park would be clean. Remember when we were afraid to hire too many employees? We always swept up then.”

“I remember,” she said softly. She wanted to stand up, to put her arms around him. But as close as they were, Reggie knew that he didn’t want her sympathy right now.

“We’re going to survive this, Max.”

He started to sweep again. “Yeah. Well, the park deserves to survive.”

“And so do we, Max!”

He stopped again. “God, Reggie, if this—this thing—winds up falling on you, too—”

“Oh, Max, don’t! It’s not going to fall on me. I won’t let it. Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe Daphne will walk in on us tomorrow morning, laughing—”

“I wish she would. I really wish she would,” Max said softly. He smiled ruefully. “But I don’t think so.”

Reggie didn’t think so, either.

“Poor Daphne. But she really was such a bitch,” Max reflected.

“You married her,” Reggie reminded him.

“And though you always knew it was a mistake, you never said a word to me about her. I knew, though, of course. I always knew how you felt.”

Reggie raised her hand limply. “Sorry.” She was silent for a minute. “Why did you marry her?”

Max shrugged, dropping the broom and sitting down beside her. “I’ll be damned if I know,” he said at last. And then he smiled. A real smile. “Sex, maybe.”

“Max!”

“You asked.” He wagged a finger at her suddenly. “You haven’t answered me. Why are you still here? You know, you did agree to go to dinner with Wes.”

“I just got—busy,” she said lightly.

“He’s not going to be happy.”

“Oh, Max, I don’t mean to jeopardize—”

“You’re not going to jeopardize anything as far as I’m concerned. You’re usually so perceptive about people. Wes won’t betray me—no matter how you behave toward him. He’s not another Rick Player,” Max said bitterly.

“Then—”

“Hey—this is between you and him, sweet cakes.” Max laughed. “I’m just warning you—he’s not going to be pleased.”

She felt a shiver seize her and clamped down hard on her jaw, annoyed with herself. Why should she care what Wes Blake felt or thought? With any luck, he would just go away.

He wasn’t going to go away. Somehow she knew it.

The adrenaline seemed to come rushing through her again. He did make her think. And shiver.

And feel.

“I take it women don’t usually stand him up?” she said to Max, determined to break the silence before her brother could start to wonder what was really going on in her mind.

“
People
don’t usually stand him up,” Max said. “Men or women. I’m just warning you.”

“Well, you might have warned me that he was about our own age!” she told her brother.

One of his dark brows shot up. “I didn’t know that you assumed him to be anything other.”

She flushed slightly. “Well, I did. I thought he was some eccentric old millionaire.”

Max burst out with laughter. It was good to hear it.

“Why did you assume that? You knew we were in the service together.”

“Yes, but I thought he was one of your officers. Older. You know, the career military type.”

Max shrugged. “Well, he was that. Until our last war. Now he feels that there’s just too much shrapnel in his leg.”

“His left leg,” Reggie murmured.

Max’s eyes narrowed at her. “Yes,” he said.

She lowered her lashes. He was watching her too intently. She professed, with a loud yawn, “Tomorrow is going to be another long day.”

“They all get longer and longer don’t they?”

“Max—”

“Sorry.” He stood, reaching a hand down to her. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

“I have my car.”

“Leave it. I’ll get you at eight. That should be early enough to start another round of torture.”

“Max, we can’t let it become torture.”

“If we do,” he murmured bitterly, “I really will have let her won!”

“We’ve got to hold the magic.”

“You’ve always had the magic, Reggie. Always.” He shrugged suddenly. “Come on. Let’s get out of here for the night, eh?”

When they reached her house, Reggie was surprised that he saw her to the door. He took her key and opened the front door for her and looked around.

“What is it?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just feeling cautious. Hey, do me a favor. Call Wes tomorrow and explain what happened, huh?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

Gritting her teeth, she watched him leave. Damn Daphne. Even if she was dead. Oh, God, how awful! she chastised herself. I didn’t mean it, God, I didn’t mean it.

But she felt hollow despite her protestations, and the questions plagued her while she showered and slipped into bed. She was afraid that she would stay awake all night thinking about her ex-sister-in-law.

But she didn’t. She was exhausted. She fell asleep almost the minute that her head hit the pillow. And when she dreamed, it wasn’t about Max. Or Daphne.

She dreamed about a dinosaur. An oddly trim, lean dinosaur. It was coming out of the shadows. Stalking her.

It became leaner. More dangerous. Hard. Sharp. Suddenly there was light. Warmth. She knew she should run, but she was attracted to the warmth.

Then she realized that it wasn’t a dinosaur coming toward her at all. It was Wesley Blake. Slow, purposeful. He moved like a tiger in the night. Set on his prey. Sure of it. Determined in his pursuit.

She was his prey.

And still she didn’t move. She waited. He came closer and closer. And she felt the gold fire of his eyes and the touch of his hand.…

She had promised Max that she would apologize to Wes.

Max had given him an office just down the hallway from her own, but when she stopped by, he wasn’t in it. Damn him. She’d had her speech all ready. It wasn’t going to be easy to apologize. She could have done it without stuttering or faltering, if she had just done it right away.

She swallowed her annoyance and the entire tug of emotions caused by the man and hurried to her own office. It was going to be another very busy day.

If Max was going to remain at the helm, they were going to have to be very careful. She stared at the phone on her desk for a moment.

Even her phone was a dinosaur. It was David Diplodocus. David’s big, friendly body was the bulk of the phone, and his massive, curling tail was the mouthpiece and the receiver. She loved their creations, she really did. At the moment, though, she wished she had an ordinary phone.

She picked up David’s tail and started dialing. She was going to call on every friend she had ever made in the media.

Luckily, there were a number of them.

She called Niles in his office and spoke to him about what they would and wouldn’t say. Then she started with her round of people. There was a lot in her favor, she thought thankfully, when she reached Fran Rainier, entertainment editor of a major paper. Max Delaney hadn’t exactly courted the press in the past, but no one seemed to be able to default him as a human being. She was glad she had called Fran. The silver-haired widow was a grandmother of five, a no-nonsense lady who didn’t believe in sensationalism as a way to sell papers.

“Well, of course, we were wondering here what would happen,” Fran told her. “As soon as we saw the headlines on that rag
Tongue Tattler
—”

“Um, well, we assumed that everyone would be wondering what had happened once it came out. I’m sure you’ve gotten a lot of the facts already. Her apartment was discovered in a complete upheaval, and her little yacht,
Daphne’s Dare
, was found sunk out in the lake. The police believe that a hole was purposely bored out in the bottom, then filled with some kind of makeshift caulking that would dissolve with time in the water. But I assure you, there’s been no arrest. There hasn’t even been a warning of possible charges against Max. They’ve been divorced over a year, you know.”

“Yes,” Fran agreed, and she chuckled softly. “I’m a good friend, dear. You had best not sound quite so defensive with your next calls!”

Reggie sighed. “You’re right. I’ll try.”

“It’s going to get worse if they find a body,” Fran warned Reggie.

“Much worse,” Reggie agreed glumly. “But it’s so unfair—”

“Yes, it is unfair. I know Max Delaney. He has his temper, and he has his ways. But if he was going to kill Daphne, the man would have throttled her right out in the open, years ago! Don’t worry on my account. I’ll write a stirring article about his wonderful character and make it sound as if anyone suspecting him of foul play must be downright un-American! Biased reporting, and if you repeat a word of what I’ve said—”

“Never! Never!” Reggie promised.

Soon she hung up the receiver. She had several more calls to make, and as she made them, she became more and more grateful that she had called Fran first. She was careful not to sound too defensive. She thought the calls all went well.

Then the interoffice line buzzed and she picked it up. “Yes?”

“Reggie. It’s Max.”

“Max, it’s going super. I just spoke with—”

“Reggie, trust me, it’s not going so super. Ten more resignations in the last hour. Can you get to Dino-Shoe Falls right away? We’re missing a dance hall girl for the afternoon show.”

She swore silently. She couldn’t even remember the numbers for the dance hall review.

“Which character?” She asked.

“Patricia.”

“I’m on my way.”

The one good thing, Reggie decided as she hurried to the dinner theater stage and into a dressing room, was that Max didn’t give her much time to worry about what she would be doing. She was alone in the dressing room, although there should have been an assistant there. She found Patricia’s bright red dance outfit and the garish black net hose that went with it. She tried to remember all the songs and words. It was a forty-five-minute show, most of it ad-lib, and a whole lot of it audience participation. She’d be all right.

Out in the wings of the dinner theater stage she found the rest of the cast—Bob Winwood, Stevie Gentry and Alise Guest. The three were young, in their midtwenties, and had all started here together after graduating from a fine arts college. Max had given them their first big break. He paid them well.

“That Lorna had no right to walk out—especially on such short notice!” Alise assured Reggie with a quick hand squeeze. “Don’t you worry, we’re not going anywhere.”

“And we’ll make up for any mistakes you make!” Bob promised her cheerfully.

“Thanks,” Reggie murmured dryly. Well, hell, she probably would make mistakes!

They were being announced, so there was no more time to talk. Within seconds she and Alise were running out on stage, fluffing their boas into the faces of their audience and bursting into song and dance. Soon Bob came along on his bucking stuffed bronco-saur, the bad guy, ready to shoot up the saloon. Then Stevie, the blond, blue-eyed hero, showed up, ready to save the day.

Patricia’s character was the flirt, the slightly dangerous lady, who fell in love with the bad guy. It was her job to race through the audience and convince them all that Bob’s character mustn’t be hanged by the masses. She had a great song, one that used the whole audience. It was fun. It was so much fun that—for a matter of minutes—she was able to forget just how serious their problems were.

She strutted through the audience. She looped her boa around a bald man’s neck and asked his wife if she could borrow him for just a minute. His pink-cheeked, good-humored wife said that Reggie could borrow him for as long as she liked. Reggie assured her that she didn’t take any man for longer than a few minutes and turned her attention to the fellow behind him, one who had been sitting in the shadows. She stretched out a black-net-clad leg to climb up on his lap, flipping her boa out again.

And then she nearly screamed.

It was him again. Blake. Wesley Blake.

Now he was in casual light beige chinos and a maroon knit shirt. He had almost blended in with the saloon decor.

Damn. Over a hundred men out here, and she had found his lap to sit on.

She fought the panic rising in her when his gaze locked onto hers. He was smiling. He had to be angry with her.
People didn’t stand him up
. But she had.

Max had suggested that she apologize, and she’d tried, but he didn’t know that. And the way he was staring at her …

She needed to escape, but she was in the middle of a show!

“What did you find out there, Patricia?” Alise called out to her.

Damn. She’d been silent. Dead silent. In the middle of a show. With an entire audience watching her. Waiting.

But, oh … she hadn’t been expecting this!

She could feel the growing warmth of his lap beneath her. His arms had fallen lightly around her, and though she knew that he would release her instantly the moment she got up to go, she could feel the strength of them, too, and it was oddly disturbing. She was breathing his after-shave, something very light and subtle, something that combined with a natural scent and made her acutely aware that he was the opposite sex. She could almost feel his freshly shaven cheeks against her own.

And most of all, she was aware of his eyes. She could feel them, too. Glittering gold, with amusement, with more. They stared into her own. She grew hotter. His lips were curling into a smile. A knowing smile. As if she had come here on purpose. The smile was wicked, wicked.