Protect Me, Love Part 5

Chapter Ten.

Delia clutched the small, gold box to her chest and kept her tears from falling. All she could think of was getting to her room where she could be alone and let the feelings come tumbling out. She didn't dare look again at the contents of the box. She didn't dare even think about those contents. If she did that, she'd be lost. The tears and the memories would be unleashed and stopping them would no longer be possible. She must make it to the sanctuary of her room before she could allow that to happen.

Fortunately, there was n.o.body in the foyer to see her scrambling exit from the ballroom. They were all back inside, cl.u.s.tered around Santa or opening their gifts. Even Nick hadn't yet followed her out of there. She knew she should wait for him to catch up, but she simply had to make her escape.

She glanced up at the parade of chandeliers on the ceiling of the wide' corridor leading away from the ballroom. Potted palms lined the mirrored walls. The ceiling was high, arched and vaulted, with paintings like those in the ballroom. The black and white squares of tiled floor reflected the glittering chandeliers. This was one of the most elegant places Delia had ever seen, more of a showcase than a place to hide.

She turned right, back up the stairway that had first led her and Nick to the party in the ballroom. Those stairs felt steeper and appeared to be at least twice as numerous as they had when she was hurrying down them toward sounds of holiday merriment. She could hardly wait to get away from that merriment now. She was climbing so hastily her foot slipped on the carpeted step and she had to grab the handrail to steady herself. She kept a tight grip on that rail as she continued to climb. Otherwise she might have lost her balance straight off when the man lunged at her.

She hadn't noticed him coming up the stairs behind her. She'd been too deeply immersed in the welter of her thoughts to notice much of anything. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, he was bearing down on her. She recognized him instantly as the same man who'd chased her through Rockefeller Plaza the other night. She'd seen his face more clearly than she realized at the time. The face looming over her was unmistakably the same, except for the eyes that were far more frightening than could have been detected at a distance. He'd seemed ordinary in appearance then, though taller than average. She could see now that his eyes were also anything but average. They were wide open and round and staring with something not quite sane at their center. She knew for certain that she'd never seen him before the other night, and that made him even more terrifying somehow.

"You won't get away this time," he said.

His voice was pitched low, but he couldn't have been more menacing. if he'd shouted. The corners of his mouth turned up in a parody of a smile. That, along with the eyes, gave him a maniacal look that made Delia want to turn and run back down the stairs. Unfortunately she couldn't manage that without letting go of the handrail. Instinct told her he was hoping she'd do just that. Then he'd push her backward, down onto the hard parquet floor at the bottom of the stairs. She held her ground and her grip on the rail. She didn't let go of the gold box, either. She wouldn't relinquish her precious gift without. a fight. Instead she lifted the box in a menacing movement of her own.

"Get out of my way," she said.

She was surprised by the strength of her voice considering" that she could feel her legs trembling beneath her. His lunatic stare moved from her face to her raised hand and lingered there a moment, as if he couldn't believe she was nervy enough to try threatening him with a flimsy, pasteboard box.

"I told you to get out of my way," she repeated even more firmly.

He returned his glance to her face and chuckled. He didn't move away as she'd commanded. He leaned closer and unwittingly gave her the opportunity she needed. At this angle he was slightly off balance. She saw that and launched her attack. The open box sc ended It might have appeared a futile missile except that she knew what was inside, still exposed between the sheaves of tissue paper she hadn't taken time to fe wrap when she'd hurried from the ballroom.

The edge of the object in the box caught him, as she'd hoped it would, just below the temple. The red blood was so quick to appear there that Delia was startled by it, but not sufficiently startled to miss her chance. He teetered on the stair just long enough for her to let go of the rail and push, hard as she could at his chest. He had one hand up to touch the wound on his forehead. Maybe that was what kept him from maintaining his stance. He staggered toward the opposite wall of the stairwell.

She brushed past him, retrieved the box and bolted up the stairs, fully expecting him to grab her arm or even her ankle at any moment. She'd let go of the handrail. Hanging on would have slowed her down so she took the risk of letting go. The Smooth soles of her boots slid precariously over the carpeting. She pushed on, leaning forward both to propel herself in that direction and to keep from falling backward down the stairs. With each step, she was certain he would overtake her and was astonished that he didn't. Then she heard the reason whya"the sounds of muttered oaths and scuffling.

Delia reached the top of the stairs. She turned to see the man and Nick grappling halfway up the flight. She hesitated just as Nick glanced in her direction. "Run," he shouted in a tone so urgent and demanding she almost didn't recognize it as his. That tone plus her own common sense told her she should obey. She did exactly that. She ran down the corridor away from the stairs and didn't look back.

WIJN }ms^w the guy after Delia, Nick just about went out of his head. He sprinted up the stairs two at a time and grabbed the guy by the shoulders. She'd already done some damage. Blood ran down his forehead into his eyebrow. Nick was proud of her for that. She knew how to stand up for herself. Now he'd finish the job. He shoved the guy so hard up against the wall the mirrors rattled above them.

"Leave her alone," Nick growled. "Stop following her around."

He punctuated his words by slamming the guy against the wall again. He grunted in reply. He was a weaselly looking character. Nick couldn't imagine beautiful, accomplished Delia with somebody like this. She really had him go' rag all right. His eyes blazed out of his face. Still, Nick didn't feel sympathy for this guy any longer. No matter what she'd done to him, he had no right to make her life miserable. He especially didn't have a right to try to hurt her. Nick slammed him again, and the guy's head lolled on his neck like a rag doll.

"You come near her again, and I'll kill you."

Nick was shocked by how strongly he meant those words. He wasn't a killer by nature.

"No, buddy," the guy said in a cracked voice, his eyes glittering like burning coals. "I'll kill you."

Nick sensed the gun before he saw or felt it. This guy might have eyes that were on fire, but Nick had some rage of his own to vent right now. This creep was try-Lug to hurt Delia, and Nick wasn't about to stand for that. His reaction was lightning swift, faster even than a trigger finger and far less expected. He raised his arm and drove his elbow into the guy's throat in a single, powerful motion. The blazing eyes went blank for an instant. In that flash, Nick grabbed the guy's gun arm and twisted till the weapon dropped free. Nick yanked him away from the wall, turned him toward the descending stairwell and pushed. The man toppled backward, arms flailing, down the stairs, grunting and cur sLug till he hit the parquet floor where he lay crumpled and quiet.

Nick followed down the stairs. The guy was knocked out but still breathing. Nick knew he didn't have to shove the guy down the stairs like that, but he'd needed a lesson he wouldn't forget. Now, Nick had to make himself scarce before security showed up and brought this mess back to Delia's doorstep in a way she wouldn't like.

The gun had bounced down the stairs and was lying next to its owner. Nick picked it up. The thought that this creep came here after Delia with a gun on him had Nick white-hot again until he looked down at the weapon in his hand. It was a 9mm Beretta. Something about that very serious weapon and the look of the guy in general clicked a recognition switch in Nick's head. He'd been too angry to put it together before. His cop's instinct was usually with him every minute, but he'd let himself get emotionally involved here. That could screw anybody up. His instinct was back on course now, and it was telling him something very disturbing. This guy on the floor wasn't just some flake from Long Island. He was a pro.

Nick would have liked to toss the guy's pockets right here, but he didn't have time. Somebody was bound to come out of the ballroom any minute. There'd be trouble for sure then, and that wouldn't be good for Delia. If all they found was this guy pa.s.sed out on the floor, they'd figure he drank too much and fell. If what Nick suspected about this guy was true, he'd most likely go along with that story. He wouldn't want hotel security in on this any more than Nick did. On the other hand, if somebody came out here and found Nick standing over this dude, there'd be alarm bells going off all over the place.

Nick pocketed the Beretta and headed back up the stairs. He picked up the gift package he'd dropped before grabbing the guy. No need to leave any traces behind. Nick pulled absently at the red wrapping paper as he hurried down the hallway toward the corridor that would take him out of sight of the stairwell and in the direction of the elevators. Alarm bells of his own were clanging in his brain to beat the band. Had Delia been stupid enough to let herself get mixed up with a professional gunman? Everything Nick had ever learned in this business told him that didn't ring true.

Loose ends of her story that he hadn't paid enough attention to before were suddenly dangling right in front of him. There was definitely something off-line with what she'd told him. He could see that now plain as day. He was used to being lied to. Clients lied all the time, even when their lies made it more difficult to keep them protected. He'd expected more than that from Delia, and not just because she was in the business herself and should know better. He'd expected more because of what he'd started feeling for her. "Fxnotions cloud judgment." If that bodyguard manual of his had a first-of-all rule, this was it. He'd forgotten his own first rule. Nick told himself he wouldn't forget it again.

By the tune he reached the elevators, he'd torn the wrap pang off the gift box and opened it without even realizing what he was doing. He glanced down at the box while he waited impatiently for an up arrow to flash red above one of the elevator doors. The tissue paper had been pushed aside to reveal a necktie in very proper regimental striped design except for the Santa face in the center. Nick pulled the tie out and put the box down beside a vase of flowers on a table next to the elevator hank. He ran the length of silky fabric between his fingers. He couldn't help wondering who should be strangled with this thinga"the professional hitter back there laid out on the floor or Nick's own lying client.

Nick spent the rest of the trip to his room calming himself down and doing some thinking. When he raised his fist to knock on the adjoining door to Delia's room, he had more than one big question on his mind. It took a couple of knocks to get an answer.

"Who is it?" she asked from the other side of the door.

"It's Nick," he said, subdued a little by what sounded like fear in her voice. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, though he could hear that wasn't true. "But I'm not up to talking right now."

Nick could feel the tremor in her voice melting his resolve. Tremor or not, there was one thing he had to find out. He leaned close to the door "panel so he wouldn't have to talk loud.

"How did that guy know we were here?"

She was silent for a moment before she answered. "I did something very dumb."

"What was that?"

Another pause. "I left the hotel phone number with my office answering service. I always let them know where I'm going to be. He must have called and found out where I was, then waited down in the lobby till we showed up."

Nick sighed and shook his head.

"Can we please talk about this later?"

She was pleading now. That, plus the thought of her being so conscientious about her job that she put her-serf in danger, deflated his anger faster than he would have guessed was possible.

"Sure," he said. "Get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Thanks," she said, her voice smaller than ever. "Good night."

"Good night."

Nick stared at her door for a moment longer. He had yet another question. Wasn't she just a little too devoted to that job of hers? Or was he just being overly suspicious to make up for not being suspicious enough before? Whatever his reasons, he was determined to get the answers to all of his questions in the morning. He could use some sleep himself. But, with the way he had the Santa necktie clutched into a tight ball in his fist, he wasn't likely to find much sleep on his agenda tonight.

DELIA WAS DREAMING when the sound began, trying to get her feet off the ground to fly. Then the jangling started and the dream dissolved. What was going on? What was this noise, and where was she, anyway?

The last answer came first. She was in a hotel. That's why she didn't know where anything was. She groped off the side of the bed where the table lamp should be and found empty s.p.a.ce. The darkness in the room was total. She'd drawn the blackout drapes before going to bed. Now she wished she'd left them open for the light from the street to come through. She'd be able to get her bearings if she could see something. Her hand hit the smooth, china surface of what had to be the hotel bedside lamp. She felt upward over the curved surface but found no switch. She ran her hand back down to the bottom of the lamp and around the circular metal base, still feeling for a switch.

Meanwhile the sound continued, more of a buzz than the jangling it had first seemed to be. She'd figured out that the buzz must be from an alarm clock. She was trying to piece together why she'd set the alarm when her fingers. .h.i.t the light switch. She twisted it, and the room filled with light. All she saw was the clock radio on the other side of the lamp. She grabbed it and poked the b.u.t.tons on top till the buzzing stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

Two hours had pa.s.sed since she'd drifted into an tin-easy sleep. She wasn't yet entirely awake. She was still caught at the edge of dreaming when another real world sound reached her ears, softer and less jarring than the alarm buzzer had been. Delia drifted up from the bed and followed the knocking sound to the door between her room and Nick Avery's. This time she would open that door.

Chapter Eleven.

Nick heard Delia disengage the lock on her side of the door. He'd recognized the alarm clock sound and wondered why she would have set it for the middle of the night. As her bodyguard, he needed to know the answer to that, especially if she planned to leave her room on her own for any reason with that tall, blond guy from last night still on the loose. Besides, Nick had been sleeping only fitfully himself.

There was silence after the door clicked. "Delia'?" Nick called.

"Are you there?"

The silence continued for a moment before she answered.

"I'm here, Nick." Her voice was faint but unmistakable.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

No answer again. Maybe something was wrong. Could the tall man have gotten to her somehow? Could she be his prisoner? If that was true, he'd be using her as a shield. Nick slipped to his bed stand grabbed his gun and checked the clip before returning to the doorway. He took hold of the doork.n.o.b just as it was turning in his hand. That made him think caution, but he moved rapidly like a spring suddenly released. In a lightning-quick snap he had yanked the door open and stood at an angle in the opening. What he saw made him relax in one way and tense further in another.

Her eyes looked almost as if she might still be asleep. They were heavy-lidded, gazing at him with a curious expression, as if she couldn't quite remember who he might be. She wasn't entirely awake, though she'd put on a robe. That must have been what kept her from opening the door right away. Her nightgown was visible underneath her partly opened robe. The gown was made of white cotton and hung long enough to touch the floor beneath the hem of her robe. The garments were loose rather than formfitting. They might as well have been slinky, transparent and halfway up her thighs. Nick saw her as maddeningly s.e.xy, anyway.

He had just about enough sense left to note that there was n.o.body but her in the room. The louvered closet door was open across from him, and he could tell no one was hiding inside. They were alone. He should have made one more visual survey of the rooma"checked under the bed and in the bathrooma"but her face told him everything the professional part of him needed to know. If somebody had broken in here and surprised her while she was sleeping, her eyes would be startled, not dreamy. He could see just a hint of apprehension there, but instinct told him that wasn't because someone was lurking in the bathroom.

Every guideline of businesslike behavior, including the ones in his own head, insisted Nick should turn directly around right now and go back to his own room. Instead he pulled the connecting door closed behind him and flipped the latch to locked position. The flicker of apprehension in her eyes intensified a little then, but she didn't move. She held her ground with her full lips slightly parted as if she might be about to say something. He could hear her soft breath coming faster than before.

Nick couldn't stand it any longer. He whispered her name. Then he was across the s.p.a.ce between them and she was in his arms, pressed against him where he so very much needed her to be. He'd been sleeping in just a T-shirt when the sound from this room awakened him. He'd pulled on his jeans, and he could feel her now through the denim. She was warm even though the room had cooled from its earlier temperature. Or was that his own heat he was feeling?

He knew he was hard as a rock inside his jeans. He'd been that way from the first instant he saw her. He pressed that hardness against her. He wanted her to feel how much he wanted her. She moaned softly. She'd felt it, and she wasn't moving away. She wanted him, too. He didn't let himself think that maybe it wasn't really him she wanted, maybe she was just lonely. He didn't let himself think about anything. In fact, the last thing his sensible mind registered was that he still had his gun in his hand, and he didn't want it to be there.

He was looking for a place to lay his weapon down when Delia slid her hand down his arm behind her back and took hold of the gun. He maintained his grip for a moment. That much instinct was left in his besotted braina"to resist having his weapon taken from him, but not for long. His fingers loosened, and he let her ease the pistol from his grasp. She stepped back out of his arms and held the gun in both hands for a moment. She seemed to be caressing it, or maybe Nick just. saw it that way. He felt that caress as if her hands were on the most intimate part of his body. He wouldn't have thought he could get any harder there, but he did now.

He heard her put the gun down on top of the credenza next to the ice bucket and gla.s.ses, yet he only half realized her hands were empty again as he lifted her in his arms and carried her toward the bed. Suddenly she was clasping him around the neck and had buried her head against his shoulder. Her hair brushed his face. The sweet scent of those sleek locks was overwhelming. He might have staggered, but he was too intent upon getting her to the bed to lose even a second from faltering along the way.

He lay her down gently on the rumpled sheet with her head on the pillow. He straightened to almost his full height and looked down at her. His own lips were parted now, and he could hear his ragged breathing. He had never seen anything anywhere near as beautiful as her hair, fallen against the white pillowcase. He longed to leap on top of her and crush her to the bed with his body, but he also longed to make the exquisite ache of looking at her last.

Nick's gaze traveled slowly over her, pausing to take in the most breathtaking details. Her lips were so full and reddened, they begged to be kissed. He hadn't kissed her yet, other than a thousand times in imagination. He would kiss her soon now. That thou made him pull his T-shirt over his head and toss it onto the floor. His gaze moved along her creamy throat to the soft heaving of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He opened the b.u.t.ton at the waistband of his jeans and took hold of the metal tab. His gaze moved downward over her as his fingers pushed his zipper in the same direction. The zipper sis ted moving over the hard mound beneath, but her body didn't resist his eyes. She moveda"just a littlea"a slight roll of her hips toward him. There could have been no more sultry invitation as far as Nick was concerned. His breath turned rapid as well as ragged.

She pulled the tie loose on her robe and let it fall open. The delicate cotton of her gown molded her body and was nearly transparent in the soft light. His gaze rested on a shadow of darkness between her thighs. She wasn't wearing panties. She was totally nude beneath her gown, and waiting for him. Nick shoved his zipper the rest of the way down. He wasn't wearing underwear, either. He pushed his jeans down over his hips and felt himself spring freea"harder and longer and maybe even more menacing than the barrel of his gun had been. But he didn't plan to use this or any other part of himself as a weapon, only as an instrument of plea sure.

He saw her gaze travel down his body. Her eyes widened when they reached his loins. Her full lips moved lazily into a smile. Her hips rolled again, even more obviously inviting this time. Nick swallowed but couldn't really catch his breath. He slid his jeans down more and pulled his right leg free of them. He was almost crazily overjoyed that he hadn't put on socks or shoes. He pulled the other leg out of his jeans without taking his eyes off of her, but he didn't stumble. His rational mind might be on another planet, but the rest of him was right here and steady on course toward taking this woman as he had never taken a woman before.

Her hand had been at her side. She drew it across her body, letting her fingers barely touch herself, over the gentle rise of her belly, upward to her breast and over the swelling there, very slowly, to her nipple, which was visibly taut beneath the delicate doth. Her lips were still parted, and her breath was still in what he could hear was the rhythm of desire. She was tantalizing him, and she was tantalizing herself at the same time. She had picked up on his determination to take this at a certain pace, to torture every delicious moment till they both felt about to explode. Then to go on and do the same thing with the next moment.

Her fingers trailed around her nipple in a circle that nearly killed him as surely as if she had shot at him with his gun. He could see the point of her tongue just behind her parted lips, beckoning him to put his own tongue there, just as her circling fingers were beckoning him to her breast. His mesmerized senses flashed on an image of another part of her, as pink and moist as the tip of her tongue. His own fingers and tongue and then the hard evidence of his wanting her, now thrusting straight out from his body, would claim that part of her, too.

Her fingers left their circling path and continued up to the lacy strap of her gown where the robe had slipped from her silky shoulder. She was about to push that strap aside, but Nick said, "No. Let me do that. Let me do everything." And she did.

IT WAS HOt mS later before they finally slept. In the morning, Delia awoke first. This time she had no doubt about where she was or about the difference between reality and dream. Last night, her reality had been a dream. She could feel the man at the center of that dream still asleep at her side. His warmth added to her own beneath the sheet and blanket, like a cozy nest against the winter cold. She could hear him, too. The soft cadence of his breathing was proof to her that their lovemaking actually had happened, no matter how impossible its beauty might seem. No gift could be more precious than that, and she thanked her Christmas angel for it.

That thought made her reach toward the bedside table. Last night, after hurrying back from the. ghastly scene on the ballroom stairway, she'd left the gold gift box on the table. She touched the edges of the object still nestled among its tissue wrappingsa"a crystal angel with a golden cord suspended from its halo for hanging in a window or from a tree limb. This little angel had been more than a decoration last night. This angel had been her guardian in a crystal clear way, literally arming her to ward off danger, just as years ago her father had said a very similar gla.s.s angel would protect her from harm. It was that special gift she'd remembered when she'd first opened this bx. A single glimpse inside brought with it a shock of memory that had sent her running from the ballroom. She'd left that other gla.s.s angel behind five years ago in her haste to escape Colorado. She'd regretted its loss ever since. This new angel felt like a test oration of some of that loss, all tied together in her heart with the man who lay next to her now.

Suddenly, feeling and hearing him were not enough. Delia needed to see him, too. She rolled slowly toward her edge of the bed, be' rag careful not to pull the covers from his body. She didn't want him to wake up just yet. She sat up on the side of the bed and listened. His breathing remained steady, undisturbed. She slid from beneath the covers and stood. The cooler air of the room chilled her skin, but she didn't search for her robe. Moving around to do that would be too likely to make noise. She tiptoed naked to the window instead and felt for the edge of the blackout curtain. She pushed the opaque drapery back from first one side of the window then the other, taking care to slide them silently along the track above.

She was shivering as she crept to the bed. She would have liked to dive under the covers to get to their warmth as fast as she could. She restrained herself from that and slipped slowly between the sheets. Her attentiveness was rewarded by the unbroken rhythm of Nick's breathing. He was still asleep. She longed to burrow her icy toes beneath the toasty shelter of his body, but that would surely wake him and not gently, either. Delia pulled the sheet and blanket up to her chin and turned her face toward his on the pillow. His arm was flung across his eyes while the morning light fell lovingly on the rest of his face. She knew it might not sound manly as a description, but to her in that moment he was entirely beautiful. In that moment, also, she knew what she must do. She must tell Nick the whole truth, no matter what the consequences.

NICK felt her there even before he opened his eyesa"not her exactly, but the soft brush of her hair against his chest. In any other circ.u.mstance he would have bolted straight up off the pillow the instant someone touched him in his sleep. He'd probably also make that move with a weapon in his hand, but he wasn't about to do that now. First of all, for once, he'd gone to sleep without a firearm under his pillow. He'd had things other than guns on his mind last night. For once, he'd allowed himself to be a man ahead of being a professional. Of course, he'd noticed the safety lock was on the door when he came into Delia's room. He wasn't about to put her in danger, after all. Still, he'd come to bed without packing iron so he had no weapon to brandish now, even if he'd wanted to.

And he did not need one. His immediate immersion in Delia's presence let him know that, all the way to the very center of himself. His first waking awareness was of her being with him. The scent of her enveloped him like the fragrant breath of soft wings fluttering. He could feel the coolness of her skin even without touching her. The impression of her face was on the inside of his eyelids long before they eased open to that same face, lovelier still than in his imaginings. At first he didn't think to wonder why she wasn't smiling, why her extraordinary eyes held such a Srious expression. He needed a full waking moment before that question could form in his mind.

" "Good morning," she said.

The melody of her voice might have banished all notion of questioning anything about her if it hadn't been for the melancholy edge to that melody. Something was wrong. He could hear it. He could see it. Still, he wanted it not to be true. In that moment he wished with his entire heart to be mistaken and for everything to remain perfecta"as it had been last night and should be now.

"Nick," she said. "I have something to tell you." Here it comes, he thought. His first impulse was to clamp his hands over his ears, or maybe over her sweet mouth, before the words that he sensed would sharer everything could be spoken.

"Do we have to talk now? Can't it wait?" he asked. Nick ordinarily prided himself in meeting every challenge straight- n, whatever it might be. Nevertheless, fight now he didn't fault himself for his squeamishness. Other qualities than boldness were important here. Delia only shook her head in answer, but with that small movement she sealed their fate. Nick was sure of it. He might even have an inkling of what she was about to saya"a premonition, or maybe even a sure knowledge, hidden by a mist just above the surface of his thoughts. He had the feeling that all he would have to do was press a little harder at his memory and he would know her crucial news on his own. She spoke before he could apply that effort.

"My name isn't really Delia Marie Barry," she said. "At least, that's not the name I was born with,"

Nick's mouth opened, as if to finish what she was saying, though his conscious mind had no idea how he would do that.

"We've known each other before," she continued. A tear had formed in the corner of each of her lovely eyes. "My real name is Becky Lester."

Nick gasped, but it came out sounding more like a groan. One of her trembling tears fell onto his chest before she could duck her head and hide her face. He would have liked to lift her chin and wipe the tears from her eyes. He would have liked to tell her she didn't need to cry because everything would be all right. He couldn't do that because it wouldn't be the truth. "Rebecca," he breathed.

It never occurred to Nick to doubt her words. The instant she spoke them, he'd felt things slide together like the pieces of a puzzle. Dangling elementsa"things she'd told him, things she hadn't told him, hints of a connection he hadn't quite grasped her orea"wove themselves into a discernable pattern at last.

"Why?" he asked. It was all he could do to think clearly enough to talk.

She continued to hang her head, shaking it every moment or so as if in a daze.

"I had to tell you the truth," she said, her words m.u.f.fled by the haft screening her face.

She'd answered another question that would have come later, but not the one he was asking now."

"Why did you lie to me?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me the whole story from the start?"

Nick had to fight to keep his voice from quavering, like her tears, which were dropping, sad seconds apart, from her averted eyes.

"I didn't dare tell you the truth," she said.

"Why not?" He did take her chin and lift her face now. He SWallowed against the heartache he saw there. He mustn't weaken before he had his answer. "Why couldn't you tell me?"

She sighed so deeply he could feel the tremor of it across the s.p.a.ce between theft bodies.

"I wasn't sure I could trust you," she said.

"What did you think I'd do?" He was still holding her chin so she couldn't look away.