Protect Me, Love Part 6

"You might have called the police "She trailed off into another sigh.

"You believe I could have done that?"

"I couldn't be altogether sure. What happened five years ago taught me not to be sure of anybody." The way she said thata"all defiance gone now, only a near-sob lefta"reminded him of back in the ballroom, when he'd recognized how lonely she was. Nothing could be lonelier than living without trust, afraid to let anyone close enough to become a threat. He could imagine the poignancy of that life because he'd lived some of it himself, though never as completely or with the degree of desolation that had been her fate. Nick's anger melted away, maybe not forever but for now. He reached out and folded hera"Delia, Becky, Rebecca, whoever she might bea"into the comfort of his arms.

Chapter Twelve.

Delia clung to Nick for what felt like a very long time but not nearly long enough. She would have wanted to make love again. Making love with Nick was being swept away on a wave of emotion deeper and wider than anything she'd ever known. She could let that wave take her. She could give up thinking about what was going to happen next and what she should do about it and simply be borne away, higher and farther than anyone's touch had ever taken her before. She could use that kind of release right now. She longed for it. She even sensed that Nick might feel the same, but neither of them made a move. They'd been through so much in these past hours together, they needed to be still for a while. His arms cradled her body. Her arms circled his neck. They were safe here for the moment in the silence. Delia knew that couldn't last. Unfortunately, there was more to be talked about. When the next question came, she'd already told herself she had to be ready for it.

"What about Clyde Benno?" Nick asked. "Have you told me the whole story on him?"

Nick kept his arms around her. There was no anger or bitterness in his voice. Still, she could feel the chill wind of the inevitable in his words, and that made her sigh.

"There is no Clyde Benno. I made him up."

She was amazed at how easy it was to let that cat finally out of the bag and at how relieved she was to watch it scamper away, beyond her control. In the meantime, Nick only nodded and continued to hold her. "You don't seem surprised," she said.

"I spotted that guy last night for a professional. I didn't think you'd have a thug for a boyfriend, not even one who knows how to pa.s.s as respectable. I didn't think an angry ex-boyfriend would hire a guy like that, either. Usually, angry ex-boyfriends prefer to do the dirty work themselves. They get more satisfaction that way." "

It was Delia's turn to nod. "That sounds right to me," " she said.

"The thing that almost threw roe off was his eyes. That part of him looked like he could be the psycho boyfriend after all."

Delia remembered those eyes much too clearly. She doubted she'd ever forget them. She shivered, and Nick folded her closer to the broad, hard safety of his chest. She nestled there gladly.

"Those eyes could be the key to tracking him down," Nick said. "Either he really is crazy or he's taking something that makes him look that way. My guess is one or the other's got him noticed. Maybe if I ask the right people the right questions, I could find out who he is. That would put us closer to finding out who hired him."

"I know who hired him."

"You do?"

Nick thrust her away from him when he asked that, so he could look into her face. She nearly sighed again. She was being pushed out of the warm circle of his arms. It might be a long time before she nestled there again.

"I don't know the specific ident.i.ty of the person who did the hiring," she said, resigning herself to getting back to business. "But I'm almost a hundred percent sure what they're after."

"What are they after?"

"The Lester money, and they have to make sure I'm out of the way for real and for good to get it, just like they got rid of poor Morty Lancer."

Delia pulled her robe from the bottom of the bed and put it on. She was all the way out of his arms now. She felt a lonely pang of regret.

"Have you ruled out other possibilities, like somebody connected with PEI? The company could have angered a lot of people over the years, and you're the most visible target."

I'm the only target, she thought. I'm the company.

She wasn't ready to tell him that part yet. One major revelation at a time was all she could manage right now.

"I know this hasn't got anything to do with the company," she said.

"How do you know that?"

By the angle of the hair standing up on the back of my neck, was what she almost answered. She decided to be less abrupt than that She knotted the tie of her robe then turned fully toward him.

"I've been living with running away for a long time," she said. She made sure her voice didn't plead for sympathy. She just wanted to explain how it was for her. "I've developed a kind of added sense that most people don't have. That sense lets me know who I should watch out for and why. Right now it's letting me know my past has finally caught up with me."

This time his saying that didn't bother her "I imagine you do. You must have your own radar for trouble to be as good as you are at what you do."

"That's how I knew that guy last night was somebody more than just Clyde Benno from Long Island."

"I'm sorry about lying to you," she said. "I've been living a lie for so long now. Sometimes I think it's more natural for me to make up things than to tell the truth." "You're good at it. I can vouch for that." Delia felt herself blush.

"I want to be nothing but honest with you from now on," she said.

"Then tell me why you left Colorado the way you did."

"The cards were stacked against me, that's why. I'd have been charged with Morty's murder for sure, and very possibly convicted of it, too."

"I would have helped you."

"Oh, Nick," she sighed. "What could you have done? Other than maybe destroy some of the evidence against me. I knew you were too straightforward for that." She touched his cheek gently. "I want to be just as straight with you from this moment on."

Nick put his fingers gently against her lips. "There'll be time for promises later," he said.

Delia nodded. "Okay."

She prayed he was right. With somebody out to kill her, and maybe Nick, too, there might not be a "later" for them, after all.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT me to call you?" Nick asked. "Delia or Becky?"

They'd decided to leave the Waldorf. The pro who was after them might not have their room numbers yet, but it was only a matter of time till he did. Nick had told Delia to throw her few belongings back in her bag, and they'd left the five-star life behind by the back entrance taxi port. Nick kept himself from thinking about how much he'd rather stay holed up in that hotel room making love to her forever. That was just one of the thoughts about her he couldn't get into, at least not till she was out of danger.

"Call me Delia," she said after a long moment when she must have been considering her answer carefully. "Becky was five years ago. Delia is now. They're not the same woman."

Nick looked across the cab seat at her, while memory overlapped what he saw. She was right. Delia and Becky were very different from one another. He wondered how deep those differences ran and what they meant to what had happened in Delia's bed last night. That was something else he couldn't let himself be sidetracked into thinking about right now. He forced himself to stop looking at her and turned toward the window. Her beautiful face and how much it was coming to mean to him was the biggest distraction of all. He had trouble keeping his head clear when he was looking at her. His head needed to be clear as gla.s.s if he was going to keep her safe. He resolved to make that kind of clarity his first and foremost priority. They rode the rest of the few blocks from the Waldorf to the Lincoln Building in silence.

EMPLOYING a private mail service was another one of Delia's hedges against detection. Not even the company letterhead carried the actual address of her Rockefeller Center office. All mail went to her mail service in the Lincoln Building on 42rid Street. She left Nick in the cab, behind the Lincoln on 41st, while she went to the eleventh floor. He'd wanted to come with her, but she insisted she'd be only a moment and hopped out into the street. She'd disappeared around the corner before he could have time enough to pay the fare and follow. She trusted him for the most part. After last night, maybe she even trusted him altogether. Still, she went to the mail service office by herself. This same company handled her telephone messages as well as her mail, and she wanted to explain her present confused situation in person. They could forward calls to her Rock Center number or take messages. She'd call in regularly for those messages, but they wouldn't be able to contact her directly except at her office. The pleasant woman in the back office wrote down Delia's instructions but asked no questions. They were discreet, which was part of the reason Delia used their services.

She left the eleventh floor office with a plastic bagful of what looked like mostly bills and junk mail, except for one piece. It was square and st.u.r.dy, as if whatever might be inside was made of card stock rather than regular stationery-weight paper. Delia examined that envelope warily. This was the season for sending and receiving holiday cards. Most people would not have taken so much notice of such an envelope. Most people would have lots of friends and relatives sending them greetings of the seasons. Delia, on the other hand, had no such circle of acquaintance. She hadn't received a Christmas card, other than corporate greetings from business a.s.sociates, in five years. This envelope was handwritten and didn't look like a corporate mailing.

Delia thrust her trembling index finger under the envelope flap and tore it open, leaving a ragged edge. She'd been fight. There was a card in the envelope, on green card stock with a snow-covered country scene on the front. She flipped the card open and let her eyes slide past the printed greeting to the signature. She didn't gasp. She simply stopped breathing and stood, still and transfixed as that snow-covered scene, just around the corner from the elevator bank, in the middle of the beige marble hallway on the eleventh floor of the Lincoln Building. There were three words handwritten on the bottom of the inside flap of the otherwise ordinary Christmas acknowledgment she held in her shaking hand. Those three words made this card about as out of the ordinary as it could be.

Those three words were, "Merry Christmas, Topsy." Delia's mouth had dropped open. Fortunately, the hallway was deserted. She would surely have attracted attention if there was anyone around to see her, standing so obviously aghast as she was. The last thing Delia wanted fight now was attention. She would have liked to sit down, but the hallway was as empty of furniture as it was of people. Her legs were unsteady under her. If they became any more so, she might have to sit on the floor before she fell there. Still, she made no effort to compose herself. She had neither will nor presence of mind to make such an attempt right now. She was too riveted on those three scribbled words and beyond them to the a.s.sociations they made for her. Only one person in her entire life had ever called her Topsy. It was a nickname that n.o.body else knew about. That person was her father.

Delia shut her mouth and swallowed the sob that threatened to rise from her throat. She was oy barely conscious of the dryness of that swallow as she forced herself to think once more. She stared at the handwriting on the card and tried to remember her father's penmanship, but her mind moved slowly still. She seemed to recall his handwriting being close to a scrawl, like the writing on the card. It had been so long since she'd seen anything written by him. Besides, she'd made a point of putting the details of her former life as far from her present thinking as she could push them, Now she found that retrieving those details was difficult. Still, one unforgettable truth remained. Her father had pledged never to reveal her secret nickname, and he never had. She was certain of it. Or maybe she only wanted to be certain of it because that would mean the most impossible of Christmas miracles had come to pa.s.s and her father was still alive.

Delia's thoughts, so sluggish only an instant ago, began to race. The helicopter crash that had supposedly taken her father's life had been a devastating one. The chopper had plowed into the side of a mountain and exploded during a snowstorm. By the time the rescue party got to the wreckage, there were few remains left to investigate. The police said there were two bodies, one of a man and the other of a woman, but Delia had never seen either of them. Some identifiable personal effects had been recovered, but the bodies were too completely destroyed to leave even dental evidence of ident.i.ty behind. Delia had a.s.sumed, along with every body else, that the two people who died in the crash were her father and stepmother. Could that a.s.sumption have been wrong?

Delia believed what the police had said about n.o.body be' rag able to survive such a devastating crash. But what if her father hadn't been on that helicopter in the first place? What if somebody else had been with Ca.s.sandra? But why would that be the case, and why wouldn't he have gotten in touch with somebody since then? Especially, why hadn't he been in touch with her? They were so close. Delia pressed the Christmas card to her breast and held it there while tears formed in her eyes. She'd missed her father terribly in the years between his death and her escape from Colcrado. She'd tried not to think about him after that, but he came into her mind anyway, particularly at this time of year. He'd loved the holiday season. He was the one who'd taught her to love it, as well.

Delia began walking slowly toward the elevator, her feet placing themselves automatically one in front of the other without her being aware of the movement. What if, by some miracle, her father hadn't been on that helicopter? What if he'd survived and gone into hiding for some reason? What if he had finally not been able to resist getting in touch with her any longer? It would be just like him to do so with a Christmas card. Maybe he knew something about whoever was trying to get to her now, and he wanted to warn her. But where was he?

Delia stopped just short of the elevator bank and looked down at the envelope she was still holding. There was no return address, and in her haste to get at the card she had torn through the corner where the postmark would be. She pieced the ragged edges together again.

There was no postmark. She squinted at the envelope to make sure that was true. The corner was blank and emptya"no postmark, no stamp. That ne ant the card might have been hand delivered to the mail service office. She could go back and ask if they remembered who'd brought it. Delia understood how unlikely that was at this hectic time of the year when deliveries of packages and cards and letters were arriving one after another, but she could ask all the same. Delia examined the rest of the envelopea"front, back, insidea"but found no further clues to its origin. She looked at the card again, read the printed greeting carefully through but found no clues there, either, only the standard good wishes. She turned the card over and stopped dead still again. There was more handwriting on the back, in the same scrawl as inside.

"Come to South Street Seaport tonight," the scrawl instructed. "I will meet you at the end of Pearl Street under the FDR Drive at 8:00 p.m."

Delia read the message through several times. She probably should have gone back to the mail service of-lice then and asked if anybody remembered this card, but she was sure they wouldn't. Besides, the part of her most closely governed by her heart wanted to believe the card came from her father and that he'd be waiting for her tonight by the East River as it said. She might have been afraid the mail service people would tell her otherwise. Whatever the reason, she didn't turn around and retrace her steps down the eleventh floor hallway. She hurried forward to the elevators instead, already calculating how she would give Nick the slip so she could go to the Seaport on her own. Maybe that wasn't a wise or sensible thing to do, but she wasn't thinking wisely fight now. She was thinking as Topsy, and Topsy was only a childa"a child with a very special and private relationship with her father, too private a relationship to share, even with Nick.

Chapter Thirteen.

The snow had begun at around noon, while they were still at the Waldorfa"large, fluffy dumps of flakes tumbling lazily down. By the time Delia exited the Lincoln Building, that picturesque snowfall was blowing itself into a blizzard. She stepped back into the shelter of the entrance long enough to pull her watch cap from her pocket. She shoved the hat down onto her head and poked her hair up underneath it. She kept hold of the precious card all the time she was doing that, even though having something else in her hand made the process of covering her head much more difficult. It occurred to her then that the snow might smear the handwritten message, which was even more precious to her than the card. Reluctantly, she opened her coat and slid the card carefully into the inside pocket. One of the reasons she wore a man's style overcoat like this one was because of that special inside pocket for stashing things away. She ducked her head as she emerged from the doorway onto Madison Avenue. The wind hit her with a barrage of icy snow that stung her cheeks like flying needles. She tucked her chin into her neck and pulled up her collar as she hurried toward Forty-first Street where Nick was waiting with the cab.

At least, he was supposed to be waiting there. Delia rounded the corner to find the cab gone and Nick with it. She tried not to be too obvious about scanning the street. By now, she'd forced herself back to her usual sensible self, attentive once again to remaining inconspicuous. Granted, it was hard to believe anybody would be lurking at ambush for her in weather like this, but sore experience had taught her she was wise to be cautious in all circ.u.mstancesa"even a storm packing what felt like gale force winds. If not for those precautions, she would have begun to shout Nick's name right here and now.

They'd left the Waldorf at going on three o'clock. She told Nick that her traveler's club gaye her late checkout privileges. Actually, while he was in the bathroom, she'd called the desk and paid for the extra time. It was after three now, but the heavy snow and hovering clouds had turned the sky dark as dusk. Still, it was too early for the street lamps to be on, which added to the gloom. Delia gave the street one more sweeping glance. She couldn't hang around here much longer. She was too easy a target standing in one place like this. Besides, if she stayed here on this corner she was bound to be buried beneath a snowdrift before long.

What could have happened to Nick? Maybe they hadn't evaded notice leaving the Waldorf after all. Maybe whoever attacked her in the stairway last night was after them again today. He could have crept up on Nick as he waited in the cab. Fearful images darted one after the other through Delia's thoughts. The last thing she wanted in all the world was for Nick to be hurt, especially on her account. Until that moment, she hadn't considered the danger he could be in because he was protecting her. Before last night and their lovemaking, he'd been the bodyguard and she'd been the client. Exposing himself to danger on her behalf was his job. Now all of that had changed, and she could only think of how much she wanted him to be safe. That was why, when she heard his voice behind her, she spun around and all but jumped into his arms.

"Delia" was what he'd said before she made that impulsive leap.

NICK HAD WAITED in the cab as long as he could. He'd have preferred to be with Delia, but she'd insisted on going into the Lincoln Building alone. What could be so d.a.m.ned private about a stop at her answering service anyway? He understood that she'd spent years being secretive. Keeping herself and the details of her life under wraps was second nature to her by now. Still, her suspiciousness, however ingrained it might be, wasn't making his job any easier.

On the other hand, maybe a few minutes on his own wasn't a bad idea. After all, he'd had the second biggest shock of his life only a couple of hours ago. The first biggest was five years past and delivered by the same woman. Nick looked out the cab window at the fast-swirling snow. Weather like this reminded him of Colorado. Before today, he'd have stopped himself from making that connection. Suddenly, Colorado, the I. esters and Rebecca were no longer off limits to his memory. That was something of a shock in itself.

Pieces had been popping into place in his head ever since Delia told him who she really wasa"like why PEI had never hired him to do a job for them before. She couldn't take the chance he'd recognize her. Nick was amazed by how much she had changed. He was essentially the same guy he'd always been. Meanwhile, Rebecca had made herself into almost a whole new woman. He figured women in general were better at that kind of thing than men. Still, he found it pretty amazing. His mind was lost in that wonder, swirling like the snowfall, when the cabdriver's voice interrupted the reverie.

"Hey, buddy. I can't sit here no longer. I got a cop on my tail."

Sure enough. Nick looked out the window to find a blue and white police car with the officer in the window motioning for the cabbie to move on.

"Maybe they wanna bring a snowplow through," said the cabdriver. "So, if your lady ain't comin" down the street right this minute, I gotta take off. You can come with me and we'll circle the block, but I can't guarantee how long that'll take."

Nick had rolled down the street-side window. The snow blew so hard into his face that he'd had to squint to see. He'd strained to make out the figures coming around the corner from Madison Avenue. Delia wasn't among them.

"That's okay," he said, counting out money for the fare. "I'll get out and wait here."

"Sorry, buddy," the driver said as Nick handed over the bills. "I hate to leave ya out in the cold like this, but when the boys in blue give a guy the word, he's smart to take it."

"No problem," Nick said, climbing out of the cab. He hoped he was right about that as he trudged through the snow to the curb, all the time watching for Delia to return.

The wind was sharp and frigid. Nick shoved his hands deep into his pockets. His fingers folded around the grip of the Beretta he'd stuck in his right pocket for fast accessibility. His own gun was still in the back of his waistband as usual. He was glad he had on gloves. The cold steel of the Beretta wouldn't feel very good to the touch right now.

Somebody was coming around the corner from Madison Avenue, hunched over against the snow and wind. Nick strained to make out the figure, then shrugged so hard that snow shook off his arms. It wasn't Delia, just a man in a cap and a long coat, not the right size to be the guy from the Waldorf, either. Nick looked back toward the corner again.

He'd moved into the shadow of the doorway so he wouldn't be conspicuous from the street. His wrist.w.a.tch read almost 4:00 p.m." but the sky was already dark as evening from the storm. Darkness came early at this time of year, anyway. The guy in the w ol cap and long coat had come up even with Nick's hideaway in the shadows The guy stopped and looked around. Even through the blizzard and gloom, Nick recognized the profile that was becoming more and more dear to his heart.

"Delia," he called out.

In an instant she was in his arms and he was whispering words that were stolen by the wind almost before they could be spoken.

"LEt's c-o to my hotel," Nick said. "We can hole up there while we figure out what to do next."

"All right ."

Delia knew she had to find some way to get away from him before she went to the Seaport. At least his hotel was closer to that destination than where they were now. Unfortunately, there were no free cabs to be found, either around the Lincoln Building or down Forty-first or Forty-second streets.

"Nick, why don't we take the subway?" They'd walked all the way to Lexington Avenue by then. "That would be much faster. See what I mean?" She pointed to the snarl of aboveground traffic.

The sidewalks were overflowing with people leaving work early because of the storm. They swarmed toward Grand Central Station, many of them huddled beneath umbrellas distorted into ungainly shapes by the wind. Delia and Nick had to be careful where they walked to keep from being mowed down.

"A cab is safer," he shouted against the wind before running out into the street for the half-dozenth time in a vain attempt to flag down a taxi.

Delia grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the crosswalk at Lexington Avenue.

"I'll get the next one that comes along," he protested.

Delia paid no attention and tugged on. Finally he relented and followed her, probably because they were attracting attention, with her out in front laboring to pull him across the street like a reindeer hauling Santa's sleigh. She kept her grip on his arm and hurried toward the side entrance to Grand Central. Otherwise they might have been separated by the relentless advance of the crowd. She could see Nick glancing furtively this way and that, no doubt on the lookout for the man who was after her. She thought about telling Nick that long experience with making herself anonymous in this city had taught her well the art of getting lost in the crowd.

"I don't like this at all," Nick said while keeping up his frenzied surveillance.

Delia didn't answer. She conceded only to the rapid pace he insisted upon, until speedy progress proved impossible along the congested underground walkway to the downtown platform for the R-line train. They simply had to let themselves be carded along b3 the momentum of the ma.s.s and concentrate on keeping hold of each other as they went. Delia remembered being panicked by situations like this when she'd first come to New York City. Ordinarily, she still didn't care for the feeling of being controlled by the movements of the crowd. Right now, however, with Nick's arm linked firmly through hers, Delia was at ease with letting herself he swept along.

Part of that ease could be credited to the fact that she'd figured out what she was going to do to get away from him later on and keep her appointment on the waterfront. The timing of that plan was one reason she'd insisted they take the subway. Usually, the trip on the R-train from Grand Central to Prince Street in Soho would take twenty minutes tops. Unfortunately that timetable didn't take into account an extra-hectic rush hour and waiting for a second train because the first was too jammed to force their way into. Delia could tell how crazy this situation was making Nick. He might as well have had his head on a swivel the way he was trying to keep watch in every direction at once. As for attracting attention, under any other circ.u.mstances, his behavior would definitely have made them the object of considerable curiosity. But this was Manhattan at rush hour in the middle of a blizzard. Everybody around them was intent upon getting home, and vigilance was required for them to accomplish that under these conditions. Nick would have to do something a lot more bizarre than swivel his head around to attract much notice here.

Delia wasn't really concerned about that anyway. She had her plan and her timetable to make her more worried by the minute. When they finally made it to Prince Street and piled out of the train and up the stairs to street level, her watch told her it was past five o'clock. "We'll stop at the deli for sandwiches," Nick said. Delia had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in protest. They hadn't eaten since their room service breakfast at the Waldorf late that morning. She had to concede that Nick might be hungry again by now. "Okay," she said. "We'll order them to go."

Delia nodded. At least, that was a relief. On the other hand, the line at the deli counter was long. Working Manhattanites might just be the world's leading devourers of takeout cuisine. On a night like this, when the effort simply to make it home used up even more stamina than usual, lots of New Yorkers had little desire to cook supper. Delia understood that reality, but understanding didn't make her patient. She was about ready to fidget out of her skin by the time they finally got their sandwich order filled and had pushed through the crowd out of the shop.

They made their way along narrow streets that were almost as congested as the deli had been. Sometimes traversing this city was more ha.s.sle than just about anyone could bear. This was one of those times for Delia. Meanwhile, Nick kept up his head-swiveling routine all the wayout of the train, at the deli, along the street. Delia didn't bother to tell him how futile she believed that exercise to be. She definitely didn't mention how far her current concentration on her own particular quest had carried her from sharing Nick's obsession with her safety. She was going to meet the person who sent her the Christmas card invitation, no matter how much danger that journey might place her in, and she had to get there on time.

Delia was very relieved to find that Nick's hotel was only a block and a half from the subway stop and even closer to the deli. The Hotel Tivoli might not be in the same league as the Waldorf in the estimation of travel guide writers, but Delia was as happy to arrive there as if it had been the Taj Mahal. On any other occasion, she would have paused to take in the small, quaint lobby with its warm touches of old, deep-grained mahogany and cozily worn Oriental carpet. Tonight, however, she had an agenda to keep moving. She didn't even take time to register the way her obvious hurrying of Nick toward the elevator brought a quizzical expression to the desk clerk's face.

"I'm really hungry," Delia had said as her excuse for rushing Nick along.

Of course, that meant she actually had to eat some of the very thick ham and Swiss on rye, which had been her order at the deli. The sandwich was delicious and made her wish she had time to savor it. She also couldn't help thinking about how much she would enjoy taking full advantage of yet again being in a hotel room alone with Nick. She caught him gazing at her, between bites of his corned beef, with a look in his eyes that told her he might be pondering that same advantage. This was the signal for her to press forward with her plan. She'd al ready rehea.r.s.ed what she was going to say a dozen times in her head.