Night Smoke

  still be stronger than anything he’d ever experienced before.

  And he was well aware of his effect on her.

  He could hold her with sex alone. It might be enough for her. But he’d understood when he awakened beside her this morning that it wasn’t enough for him.

  No, it wasn’t enough, not when he’d started to imagine white picket fences, kids in the yard—the kind of things that went with marriage, permanence, a lifetime.

  That hadn’t been the deal, he reminded himself. And he had no right to change the rules, to expect her to settle. He’d already proven he wasn’t any good at marriage, and that had been with someone from his own neighborhood, his own lifestyle. No way was he going to fit in with Natalie, and the fact that he wanted to, needed to, scared the hell out of him.

  Worse than that, even worse, was the idea that she would turn him down cold if he asked her to try.

  He wanted all of her. Or nothing. So it made sense, didn’t it, to push her out before he got in any deeper? And he would do it here, right here, where the differences between them would slap her between the eyes.

  At the knock on his door, he carried his beer over to answer it.

  It was just as he’d thought. She stood in the hallway, slim, golden, an exotic fish completely out of water. She smiled at him, leaning up to kiss him.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi. Come on in. No trouble finding the place?”

  “No.” She skimmed her sweep of hair back, looking around. “I took a cab.”

  “Good thinking. If you left that fancy car on the street around here, there’d be nothing left but the door handles when you went back out. Want a beer?”

  “No.” Interested, she wandered over to the window.

  “Not much of a view,” he said, knowing she was looking out at the face of the next building.

  “Not much,” she agreed. “It’s still raining,” she added and slipped out of her coat. She smiled when she spotted another of his basketball trophies. “MVP,” she murmured, reading the plaque. “Impressive. I say I can outscore you nine times out of ten.”

  “I wasn’t fresh.” He turned into the kitchen. “I don’t have any wine.”

  “That’s okay. Mmm … Chinese.” She opened one of the cartons he’d set on the counter, and sniffed. “I’m starved. All I had was a stingy salad for lunch. I’ve been all over the city today, nailing down details for Saturday. Where are the plates?” Very much at home, she opened a cabinet herself. “I’m really going to have to make a sweep of the branches next week. I was thinking—” She broke off when she turned back and found him staring at her. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered, and took the plates out of her hands.

  She wasn’t supposed to stride right in and start chattering, he thought, and dumped food on a plate. She was supposed to see how wrong it was, right from the start. She was supposed to make it easy on him.

  “Damn it, do you see where you are?” He whirled on her, taking her back a step.

  She blinked. “Ah … in the kitchen?”

  “Look around you.” Incensed, he took her by the arm and dragged her into the next room. “Look around. This is it. This is the way I live. This is the way I am.”

  “All right.” She pushed his hand away, because his fingers hurt. Trying to oblige, she took another survey of the room. It was Spartan, masculine in its very simplicity. Small, she noted, but not crowded. A table across the room held framed snapshots of a family she hoped to get a closer look at.

  “It could use some color,” she decided after a moment.

  “I’m not asking for decorating advice,” he snapped out.

  There was something under the anger in his tone, something final, that had her heart stuttering. Very slowly, she turned back to him. “What are you asking for?”

  Cursing, he spun into the kitchen for his beer. If she was going to look at him with that confused, wounded look in her eyes, he was a dead man. So, he would have to be cruel, and he would have to be quick. He sat on the arm of the couch, and tipped back his beer.

  “Let’s get real here, Natalie. You and I started this thing because we were hot for each other.”

  She could feel the warmth drain out of her cheeks, leaving them cold and stiff. But she kept her eyes level, and her voice steady. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Things happened fast. The sex, the investigation. Things got tangled up.”

  “Did they?”

  His mouth was dry, and the beer wasn’t helping. “You’re a beautiful woman. I wanted you. You had a problem. It was my job to fix it for you.”

  “Which you did,” she said carefully.

  “For the most part. The cops’ll track down whoever was paying Clarence. Until they do, you’ve got to be careful. But things are pretty much under control. On that level.”

  “And on the personal level?”

  He frowned down into the bottle. “I figure it’s time to step back, take a clearer look.”

  Natalie’s legs were trembling. She locked her knees to stop it. “Are you dumping me, Ry?”

  “I’m saying we’ve got to look beyond the way things are in bed. The way you are.” He lifted his gaze. “The way I’m not. We’ve got plenty of heat, Natalie. The problem with that is, you get blinded by the smoke. Time to clear the air, that’s all.”

  “I see.” She wouldn’t beg. Nor would she cry, not in front of him. Not when he was looking at her so coolly, his voice so casual as he cut out her heart. She wondered if he’d been so gentle, so loving and sweet, the night before because he’d already decided to break things off.

  “Well, I suppose you’ve cleared it.” Despite her resolve, her vision blurred, the lamplight refracting in the tears that trembled much too close to the surface.

  The minute her eyes filled, he was on his feet. “Don’t.”

  “I won’t. Believe me, I won’t.” But the first tear spilled over as she turned toward the door. “I appreciate you not doing this in a public place.” She clamped a hand over the doorknob. Her fingers were numb, she realized. She couldn’t even feel them.

  “Natalie.”

  “I’m all right.” To prove it to both of them, she turned to face him, her head up. “I’m not a child, and this isn’t the first relationship I’ve had that hasn’t worked. It is the first time for something, though, and you’re entitled to know it. You jerk.” She sniffed, and wiped a tear away. “I’ve never been in love with anyone before, but I fell in love with you. I hate you for it.”

  She yanked open the door and dashed out without her coat.

  Chapter 11

  For ten minutes, Ry paced the room, convincing himself he’d done the right thing for both of them. Sure, she’d be a little hurt. Her pride was bruised. He hadn’t exactly been a diplomat.

  For the next ten, he worked on convincing himself that she hadn’t meant what she’d said. That parting shot had been just that. A weapon hurled to hurt as she’d been hurt.

  She wasn’t in love with him. She couldn’t be. Because if she was, then he was the world’s biggest idiot.

  Oh, God. He was the world’s biggest idiot.

  He snatched up her coat, forgot his own, and raced downstairs and out into the rain.

  He’d left his car at the station, and cursed himself for it. Praying for a cab, he loped to the corner, then to the next, working his way across town.

  His impatience cost him more time than a simple wait would have. By the time he hailed an empty cab, he was twelve blocks from his home and soaking wet.

  The cab fought its way through rain and traffic, creeping along, then sprinting, creeping, then sprinting, until Ry tossed a fistful of money at the driver and leapt out.

  He’d have made better time on foot.

  Nearly an hour had passed by the time he arrived at Natalie’s door. He didn’t bother to knock, but used the key she hadn’t thought to demand back from him.

  There was no welcome this time, no cozy sense of coming home. He knew
the minute he stepped inside that she wasn’t there. Denying it, he called out for her and began a dripping search through the apartment.

  So he’d wait, he told himself. She’d come home sooner or later, and he’d be there. Make things right again somehow. He’d grovel if he had to, he decided, pacing from the living room to the bedroom.

  She’d probably gone to her office. Maybe he should go there. He could call. He could send a telegram. He could do something.

  Good God, the woman was in love with him, and he’d used both hands to shove her out the door.

  He dropped to the side of the bed and snatched up the phone. It was then that he saw the note, hastily scrawled, on the nightstand.

  Atlanta—National—8:25

  National, he thought. National Airlines. The airport.

  Ry was out of the apartment and harassing the doorman for a cab in three minutes flat.

  He missed her plane by less than five.

  * * *

  “No, Inspector Piasecki, I don’t know precisely when Ms. Fletcher expects to return.” Cautiously, Maureen smiled. The man looked wild, as though he’d spent a very rough night in his clothes. Things were upended enough, with the boss’s sudden trip, without her having to face down a madman at 9:00 a.m.

  “Where is she?” Ry demanded. He’d very nearly caught the next flight out to Atlanta the night before, but then it had occurred to him that he didn’t have a clue where to find her.

  “I’m sorry, Inspector. I’m not allowed to give you that information. I will be happy to relay any message you might have when Ms. Fletcher calls in.”

  “I want to know where she is,” Ry said between his teeth.

  Maureen gave serious thought to calling Security. “It’s company policy—”

  He gave a one-word assessment of company policy and pulled out his ID. “Do you see this? I’m in charge of the arson investigation. I’ve got information Ms. Fletcher requires immediately. Now, if you don’t let me know where to reach her, I’ll have to go to my superiors.”

  He let that hang, and hoped.

  Torn, Maureen bit her lip. It was true Ms. Fletcher had ordered her specifically not to divulge her itinerary. It was also true that during the harried phone call the night before, nothing had been mentioned specifically about information from Inspector Piasecki. And if it was something to do with the fires …

  “She’s staying at the Ritz-Carlton, Atlanta.”

  Before she’d finished the sentence, Ry was out the door. It was best, he decided, if a man was going to whimper, to do it in private.

  Fifteen minutes later, he burst into his office, startling his secretary, and slammed the door behind him. “Ritz-Carlton, Atlanta. Get them on the phone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He paced his office, muttering to himself, until she signaled him. “Natalie Fletcher,” he barked into the phone. “Connect me.”

  “Yes, sir. One moment, please.”

  One endless moment, while the line whispered, then began to ring. Ry let out a long, relieved breath when he heard Natalie’s voice at the other end.

  “Natalie—what the hell are you doing in Atlanta? I need to—” Then he could only swear as the phone clicked loudly in his ear. “Damn it all to hell and back, get that number for me again.”

  Wide-eyed, his secretary hurriedly placed the call.

  Calm, Ry ordered himself. He knew how to be calm in the face of fire and death and misery. Surely he could be calm now. But when the phone continued to ring and he pictured her coolly looking out the window of her hotel room and ignoring it, he nearly ripped the receiver out of the wall.

  “Call the airport,” Ry ordered while his secretary goggled at him. “Book me on the next available flight to Atlanta.”

  She was gone when he got there.

  He couldn’t believe it. More than ten hours after his rushed departure, Ry was back in Urbana. Alone. He hadn’t even managed to see her. He’d spent hours on planes, more time chasing her around Atlanta, from her hotel to the downtown branch of Lady’s Choice, back to her hotel, to the airport. Each time he’d missed her by inches.

  It was, he thought as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, as if she’d known he was behind her. He dropped down on the couch, rubbing his hands over his face.

  He had no choice but to wait.

  * * *

  “I’m so glad to see you.” Althea Grayson Nightshade smiled as she rubbed a hand over her mountain of a belly.

  “That goes double.” Natalie laughed. “Literally. How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, like a cross between the Goodyear blimp and Moby Dick.”

  “Neither of them ever looked so good.” It was true, Natalie mused. Pregnancy had only enhanced Althea’s considerable beauty. Her eyes were gold, her skin was dewy, her hair was a fiery cascade to her shoulders.

  “I’m fat, but I’m healthy.” Althea’s lips twitched. “Colt’s been a demon about seeing that I eat right, sleep enough, exercise, rest. He even typed up a daily schedule. Mr. Play-It-By-Ear went into a tailspin when he found out we were expecting.”

  “The nursery’s wonderful.” Natalie wandered the sunny mint-and-white room, running her fingers over the antique crib, the fussy dotted-swiss curtains.

  “I’ll be glad when it’s filled. Any time now,” Althea said with a sigh. “I feel great, really, but I swear, this has been the longest pregnancy in recorded history. I want to see my baby, damn it.” She stopped and laughed at herself. “Listen to me. I never thought I’d want children, much less be itching to change the first diaper.”

  Intrigued, Natalie looked over her shoulder. Althea sat in a rocking chair, a small, poorly knit blanket in her hands. “No? You never wanted to be a mom?”

  “Not with the job and my background.” She shrugged. “Didn’t figure I was cut out for it. Then along comes Nightshade, and then this.” She patted her belly. “Maybe gestating isn’t my natural milieu, but I’ve loved every minute of it. Now I’m antsy to get on to the nurturing. Can you see me,” she said with a laugh, “sitting here, rocking a baby?”

  “Yes, I can.” Natalie came back, crouched and took Althea’s hands. “I envy you, Thea. So much. To have someone who loves you, to make a baby between you. Nothing else is as important.” Defenses crumbled. Her eyes filled.

  “Oh, honey, what is it?”

  “What else?” Disgusted with herself, Natalie straightened.

  “A man.”

  “A jerk.” She fought back the tears and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

  “Would this jerk be an arson investigator?” Althea smiled a little when Natalie scowled at her. “News travels, even to Denver. The fact is, your family and Colt and I have been biting our tongues, trying not to ask what you’re doing out here.”

  “I explained. I’m siting. I want to open another branch here. I was traveling, anyway.”

  “Instead of being in Urbana for your opening.”

  She resented that, laid the blame for it right at Ry’s doorstep. “I was in Dallas for the opening there. Each of my branches is of equal importance to me.”

  “Yeah, and word is it was a smash.”

  “The tallies for the first week’s sales look promising.”

  “So why aren’t you back home, basking in it?” Althea inclined her head. “The jerk?”

  “I’m entitled to a little time before I … Well, yes,” she admitted. “The jerk. He dumped me.”

  “Oh, come on. Cilla said the guy was crazy about you.”

  “We were good in bed,” Natalie said flatly, then pressed her lips together. “I made the mistake of falling in love with him. A real first for me. And he broke my heart.”

  “I’m sorry.” Concerned, Althea pushed herself out of the chair.

  “I’ll get over it.” Natalie squeezed Althea’s offered hands. “It’s just that I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I didn’t know I could. I’ve managed to get through my whole life without being hurt like this. Then, pow. It’s li
ke being cut into very small pieces,” she murmured. “I just haven’t been able to put them all back together yet.”

  “Well, he’s not worth it,” Althea said loyally.

  “I wish that were true. It’d be easier. He’s a wonderful man, tough, sweet, dedicated.” She moved her shoulders restlessly. “He didn’t mean to hurt me. He’s called several times while I’ve been on the road.”

  “He must want to apologize, to make things up with you.”

  “Do you think I’d give him the chance?” Natalie’s chin angled. “I’m not taking his calls. I’m not taking anything from him. He can send me flowers all over the country, for all the difference it would make.”

  “He sends you flowers.” A smile was beginning to lurk around the corners of Althea’s mouth.

  “Daffodils. Every time I turn around, I’m getting a bunch of idiotic daffodils.” She set her teeth. “Does he think I’m going to fall for that again?”

  “Probably.”

  “Well, I’m not. One broken heart’s enough for me. More than enough.”

  “Maybe you should go back, let him beg. Then kick him in the teeth.” Althea winced at the twinge. The third one, she noted with a glance at her watch, in the past half hour.

  “I’m thinking about it. But until I’m ready, I’m not—” Natalie broke off. “What is it? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” Althea let out a long breath. This twinge was lasting longer. “You know, I think I could be going into labor.”

  “What?” The blood drained out of Natalie’s face. “Now? Sit. Sit down, for God’s sake. I’ll get Colt.”

  “Maybe I will.” Gingerly Althea lowered herself back into the chair. “Maybe you’d better.”

  * * *

  Deirdre was glad she’d decided to take the work home with her. The miserable cold she’d picked up from somewhere was hanging on like a leech. At least she could take her mind off her stuffy head and scratchy throat with work.

  She sniffed disinterestedly at the cup of instant chicken soup she’d zapped in the microwave and indulged herself with the hot toddy instead. Nothing like a good shot of whiskey to make a cup of tea sit up and sing.

  If she was lucky, very lucky, she’d have the cold on the run and the preliminary figures in before Natalie got back from Denver.

  She took another hefty slug of the spiked tea and tapped keys. She stopped, frowned, and adjusted her glasses.

  That couldn’t be right, she thought, and tapped more keys. No way in hell could that be right. Her mouth became drier, and a thin line of sweat rolled down her back that had nothing to do with the slight fever she was fighting.

  She sat back and took a couple of easy breaths. It was simply a mistake, she assured herself. She’d find the discrepancy and fix it. That was all.

  But it didn’t take much longer for her to realize it wasn’t a mistake. Or an accident.

  It was a quarter of a million dollars. And it was gone.

  She snatched up the phone, and rapidly dialed. “Maureen. Deirdre Marks.”

  “Ms. Marks, you sound dreadful.”

  “I know. Listen, I need to talk to Natalie, right away.”

  “Who doesn’t?”