Mysterious (6 page)

"What do you mean?"

"Mailer doesn’t ordinarily bother with hotels or cabs. But then, the lady was strictly out of the ordinary." Phil tossed his empty coffee cup over the counter and into the garbage can he knew was behind it. "See you tomorrow. I’ll let you know if I hear anything."

"Sleep well, Phil," Leo returned, and watched the cab take off down the street. When it was out of sight, Leo pushed back the jersey hood covering the gray braids that encircled her head and raised her eyes to the top floor of the apartment building across the street. . . Jerome Mailer’s apartment.

#

Dawn found Jerome already awake, showered, and dressed, and sitting in a chair across from the couch, contemplating his deeply slumbering guest. Was she really what she appeared to be? So beautiful, so innocent. Lying there in the unguarded position of sleep, she appeared as fragile as a piece of fine Venetian glass. Yet when they had been in danger, she had had instincts almost as quick as his. Who the hell was she? And perhaps a better question would be, why did she affect him so?

He would start with the first question, he decided grimly.

Her purse lay on the end table. He reached for it and opened it. Cigarettes, matches, lipstick, a comb, a bottle of nail polish, a gold wedding band, a charm bracelet with a broken clasp, a billfold with a few dollars in it. He flipped to the ID section and found a driver’s license.

It held her picture all right, but the name on it was different from the one she had given him. The license named her Jennifer Blake. He looked further and found a credit card which also had the name Jennifer Blake stamped across the front of it. An odd sense of betrayal and a fine obsession mixed, then firmed inside him.

She stirred, turning her head slightly, and the early morning light settled a ribbon of the palest gold across her brow. She reminded him of an angel, with her dark untamed hair curling about her face and the ridiculously thick lashes forming fringed shadows over her ivory cheeks. Attempting to analyze it, he supposed it was her lips that really got to him. How could they look so innocent and, at the same time, look as if they had just been thoroughly kissed only moments before?

Incredible. He had never wanted a woman as he had wanted her last night.

Irrational. He knew she was a liar. What else was she?

He stuffed everything back into her purse and returned it to where he had found it. Picking up his leather briefcase, he clicked it open and pulled his glasses from the inside pocket of the suit coat he had hung on the back of the chair. Putting them on, he began trying to read a brief he needed to familiarize himself with before a ten o’clock meeting.

But his mind wasn’t on the papers in his hand, and minutes later his gaze was pulled back to Jennifer. Awakening out of her sound sleep, the soft word, "Jerome," escaped her slightly parted lips.

Damn! How did she do that? he wondered angrily. Had it really come up out of her subconscious, the name of a man she had known only twelve hours? And what in sweet hell was he supposed to think about a married woman who awoke with his name on her lips?

Waking slowly, Jennifer stretched with a leisurely grace before opening her eyes. She frowned momentarily, then almost immediately remembered the circumstances of her situation. Swiveling her head, she encountered the hard blue-eyed gaze of Jerome Mailer.

"Good morning."

Her lips curved upward, making the tiny dimple in her left cheek appear and disappear. And seeing it, Jerome felt a sudden urge to hit something. He took off his glasses and plunged them back into their case. "You better get up and get dressed. I’ll go make us some breakfast." He put aside the papers he had been studying and stood up.

"Oh, please"—she sat up, clutching the blanket against her—"don’t go to any trouble on my account."

"Don’t worry about it. Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes."

So much for pleasantries, Jennifer thought, watching as he stalked from the room. Fifteen minutes. That would give her time for a shower. No telling when she’d be able to take her next one.

A quarter of an hour later Jerome was placing two plates on the table as Jennifer appeared in the doorway of the small breakfast room that adjoined the kitchen. He seemed so stern. She ventured another hint of a smile only to see his jaw tighten more as he took in her dimpled cheek, her wet but neatly combed hair, and the white dress she had had to put back on. His gaze traveled to her legs. They were covered with the same wispy hose he had held in his hands last night, then thrown across the room.

"Sit down," he said, disappearing through the doorway, then reappearing in a moment with a pot of coffee and two cups.

She obeyed with a sick feeling, realizing that he was still very angry with her. But then, did it matter? She had a plan, however vague, and would be leaving soon. She would never see him again. The thought made her strangely despondent.

"This is wonderful," she murmured, looking at her plate containing bacon, eggs, toast, and a bowl with a sectioned half grapefruit in it. "That strawberry jam looks delicious. I don’t usually eat this much."

"It would be fascinating to know what exactly it is you usually do." With that pointed comment he poured steaming black coffee into her cup and seated himself across from her. The idea that she was hiding something from him angered him, but it was an anger directed more at himself than at her. Because, rightly or wrongly, and even though he knew she was married, he had come to consider her his.

Unease pricked at her. She was wrong. This was a different mood from the one he had been in last night, and one possibly even more dangerous. She put her cup of coffee down and eyed him warily.

Jerome rested one of his arms on the table and leaned forward. "Let’s talk about names."

"Names?"

"Yours to be precise. Such pretty names. Just Jennifer. Jennifer Smith. Jennifer White."

It was a trap. She knew it in her bones. Regardless of what she would rather do, she knew now was the time to leave.

She addressed him with quiet dignity. "Jerome, since I won’t be seeing you again, I—I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had tossed me out on the street last night."

"But I didn’t, did I? Instead, I helped you out of a tight situation, put myself in danger, and let you stay in my apartment. In my book that means you owe me, sweetheart."

"Owe you?" Alarm feathered over her skin, producing chill bumps. "I don’t have any money right now, but I’ll send you what I owe you as soon as—."

"I mean you owe me the truth, Jennifer, and your name will do for a start."

"You know my name. What are you trying to do?"

"Give you enough rope to hang yourself with— Mrs. Jennifer Blake."

How had he found out? She glanced around for her purse. Then she remembered. It was on the end table beside the couch. He had gone through it while she slept.

She shook her head, fighting a sudden urge for a cigarette. It shouldn’t hurt this much that he knew she had lied. But it did, and she attempted an explanation. "Look at it from my point of view. You were a stranger. I thought it might be better if you didn’t know my last name."

"You’re good," he commented, reclining back in his chair. "You’re very good."

"Jerome, listen to me—"

"But you’re just not good enough, sweetheart."

It was simply no use, she decided. She should never have involved him in the first place, no matter how desperate her situation. But since she had, the best thing she could do now was to get out of his life.

"I’m leaving," she stated. She threw down her napkin and stood up.

"Dammit, you’re going nowhere!" With a sudden explosion his fist hit the table, causing Jennifer to drop back into her chair and Jerome to frown. Browbeating was a tactic he disdained, but he needed the truth from her and he was determined to get it. "You’ve got no protection. You’ve got no money. How in the hell are you going to manage? What are you going to do tonight, pick up another man?"

"That’s not fair!"

"Tell me about fair, Jennifer," he invited in a hard, cold voice, all the while wishing for the right to take her in his arms and banish the hunted look he saw in her eyes. "Of course, all your problems would be solved if you went back to your husband, wouldn’t they?"

"I—I can’t do that."

It was obvious to him that she was afraid, and her fear struck deep into him. He had known fear, known what it was like to be afraid with no place to turn. Why wouldn’t she let him help her?

Some of the harshness left him, but his tone remained firm. "Listen to me. Jennifer. The streets are no place to be on your own. They’re tough and they kill. You’ll never make it out there. It would be like an orchid trying to survive in the Antarctic."

"You’re wrong," she protested stubbornly. "I’m used to taking care of myself."

"And you’ve been doing such a good job of it too."

She glared at him. "So far."

Even though it exasperated him, he had to admire her courage. Everything seemed stacked against her, but she wasn’t about to crumble. Her bravery was badly misplaced, though. It wasn’t making it easy for him to help her, and if he couldn’t get her to tell him the truth, it was going to kill her.

He shoved his fingers through his sandy-colored hair. "Dammit, Jennifer, I’ve never known a woman as infuriating as you, and, believe me, I’ve known some infuriating women in my time."

Jennifer tried not to care about the women in Jerome’s life and instead attempted to reapply herself to her bacon and eggs, knowing that this might be her last meal for a while. It was useless, though. The food wouldn’t go down. It just seemed to stick in her throat. Pushing the food around on the plate, she pondered her situation. It would be infinitely easier for her if she just told him. She hated lying to him. But uppermost in her mind was the need to protect him—if he would just let her.

"You need a plan, Jennifer."

She laid down her fork and met his eyes. His expression had turned brooding. "Look, this is my problem, not yours."

"Okay." He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "What are you going to do? For Instance, how are you going to live?"

"I can get a temporary job."

"And what are you qualified to do?"

"Office work. I’m a very good secretary."

"Is that what you did before you met Richard?"

She hesitated and hoped he wouldn’t notice. "Yes."

He did notice, she could tell by his expression, but he said, "And how long do you think it will be before he tracks you down?"

"I don’t know. There’s a chance they won’t find me."

"A chance." He snorted. "Don’t you think it would be better to confront Richard and get things settled once and for all?"

"No!" Her face lost color. "Oh, God!" She lowered her head to her hands. "I don’t know."

"Jennifer." He reached across the table to grasp one of her hands so that she had to look at him. "I’m a lawyer, a damned good one. Let me handle this for you. I’ll institute divorce proceedings for you, and I’m willing to bet that Richard won’t contest. He’ll be too afraid of what you might tell in court."

Jerking her hand back, Jennifer rose and walked to the window. She wrapped her arms around herself. What was she going to do about Jerome? Behind those smoldering blue eyes of his, there was high intelligence, real competence, and a strange sort of sympathy. Surprisingly she wanted to trust him. Yet she couldn’t help but worry, not only about the danger she was in, but the danger she could be placing him in too.

She felt cold. She had felt cold ever since that moment two, almost three days ago when she had run out of the apartment where she and Richard had been living. Sensing Jerome’s penetrating gaze on her, she turned and tried one more time. "I can walk out your door and it will be as if I were never here. You can get on with your life and I can get on with mine."

His answer was stony silence.

In despair, she began to chew on her thumbnail. He just wasn’t going to let her protect him!

"You’re cold, aren’t you?" Jerome asked quietly, still sitting at the table. "Look, let’s take this one step at a time. I think the first order of business should be buying you some clothes."

"I can’t let you buy me clothes!" Jennifer protested, horrified.

He eyed her consideringly. "Most women love it when a man offers to buy them clothes."

"I’m not most women!"

"I think I said something of the sort just a short while ago." He tossed his napkin on the table and got to his feet. Up to this point, his life might have been a bit unusual, but no matter what, it had always made sense. He had always known why he was doing something. Now, though, the only thing he was sure of was that he couldn’t let Jennifer leave him. "You can pay me back later if it will make you feel any better. Frankly I couldn’t care less. It’s unimportant. For the time being it would be best if you stayed in the apartment, out of sight. I’ve got to get to the office for a meeting, but I’ll be back before lunch."

"Wait a minute! You’re railroading me. I never said I’d stay here. I’m not sure I can. Last night, you said—"

He broke in curtly. "Last night emotions were running pretty high. You have to admit, we hadn’t had what you might call your average garden-variety first date."

Unexpectedly his voice turned coaxing. "Let me help you, Jennifer." Then, seeing her closed expression, he sighed and shook his head. "You really have no other choice, you know, because I’m not letting you out that door, at least not without me."

He strode into the living room, and she followed, watching as he slipped his arms into his suit jacket. "Do you really think I’ll be safe here?"

"I hope so, but I’ve got to tell you that if those men go back to that bar, there’s every chance they’ll find someone who knows my name. I’m afraid I’m fairly well known. It will take them a while, of course, and the bar doesn’t open until two in the afternoon, so we’ve got some time." He walked over to her and touched her cheek softly. "Don’t worry. You’ll be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you."