Wild Lady Part 19

"Oh, Claudia!"

"You don't believe me? Watch this s.p.a.ce, kid. You'll see speculation on a scale that will make your teeth curl." She stood up. "Now I really must shower and get ready for my appearance on Late Date. Are you busy, or do you want to come along for the ride?"

"Me? Where's the gorgeous Gabriel MacIntyre tonight?"

"Not here. Tonight or any night. I told you, darling, he just wanted the name of my insurance company."

"Sure. And I'm a wallaby's aunt. What happened?"

"Nothing that you won't read about in tomorrow's newspapers."

"Oh, Claudia!"

"Have a care, sweetheart, you're beginning to sound a touch repet.i.tive. Now, are you coming with me? Or have you got something more exciting to do?"

"What could be more exciting?" Claudia gave her an old-fashioned look, but didn't argue; she was too grateful for the company. "And I can't wait to see you in your new dress." She glanced at the pale blue silk crepe halter-necked gown hanging over the wardrobe door, s.e.xy but incredibly elegant.

"Then you're going to be disappointed. It was a terrible mistake, not my style at all. And you know the program, it absolutely screams for something ... well, you know."

"Yes, I do. I guess it's the red dress, then?"

"Give the lady a coconut, she's won first prize."

It was over.

He had removed every sign of his presence from her flat, disconnected the electronic surveillance equipment that guarded the doors and telephone and then moved on to the theater to reclaim his bugs and recorders.

It had been the work of moments, but he'd been glad to get out of the place. The centuries old timbers had creaked and strained as they settled in the quiet and although he wasn't superst.i.tious, it didn't surprise him that most theaters claimed a ghost. He'd been startled enough himself when he'd heard a crash and a muttered curse that echoed eerily through the wings until he had realized that it had come from the lighting platform and that, on calmer reflection, he knew the voice. Phillip Redmond had said they had a problem up there and he was obviously taking the opportunity to work on it while the theater was empty. He offered the man his silent apology for all the bad thoughts he'd harbored about him.

It was over.

Mac dumped his bag on the sofa that Adele had been occupying a few hours earlier and then noticed the light blinking on the answering machine and touched the play b.u.t.ton.

Adele's voice broke the silence. "I'll bring a pair of wire cutters," she declared, without preamble, then hung up. He smiled wryly at her defiance. He might have known his sister wouldn't let him have the last word.

He unpacked the bag he had carried in from the car, removing the tapes from the recorders, putting the surveillance videos to one side before returning the hardware to the secure store at the rear of his office.

Then he considered the tapes. He ought to look at the videos, listen to recordings from the theater. He didn't want to, he was certain there wasn't any point. But he couldn't just wipe them. It wouldn't be professional. Finish the job properly, he promised himself, and then it really would be over.

There was a television with a VTR in the corner of the office and he crossed to it and turned it on before bending down to slot in the video. As he straightened he came face to face with Claudia, her lips softly parted as she laughed at something the show's host had said to her, her hair tossed about her face in an artfully disheveled style that made her look as if she had just tumbled out of bed, her shoulders pushed forward in an expressive shrug that offered the tantalizing valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to the camera's greedy gaze.

And the bright red dress that this morning hadn't been good enough for the show, was now clinging seductively to her body as he had known it would the minute he had set eyes on the wretched thing.

Over? While he could still remember how she felt in his arms. While he could still remember the taste of her mouth, the aching clamor of his body. Who was he kidding?

Mac stretched out his hand to switch channels, but then something else caught his eye. The long diamond drops swinging from her ears as she tilted her head to laugh at something the man sitting next to her was saying. Were they really fake diamonds? For a fake temptress? What else?

He snapped the b.u.t.ton, unable to bear it as she flirted with the men around her and the screen fizzed temporarily before the recording began to roll.

It was not the usual kind of security video used by stores; flat, black and white and so fuzzy that it had little real use except as a deterrent. His equipment was concealed, it recorded in good quality color and anyone who came close enough to be picked up would be identified.

Most of the comings and goings were the tenants of the block. He and Claudia were the first to make a move, just before six. After that it was quiet for a while, Claudia lived in a fairly quiet side street and there was just the occasional pa.s.sing pedestrian. A few cars and delivery vans.

Nothing.

He ran the second tape. A messenger came with a package for Claudia. Kay Abercrombie signed for it. Then a taxi drew up and Claudia got out. She stared after it for a long time until Kay called her. And when she turned, she looked ... unhappy. Something inside him twisted painfully. He didn't want her to be unhappy.

Then as she disappeared inside the building he called himself every kind of a fool.

Nothing else happened. Then he stopped the film. There was a van parked on the other side of the road, the driver, wearing a deeply peaked baseball cap that hid his face, was just sitting behind the wheel. How long had he been there?

He rewound the tape.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

"DARLING, you were sensational!"

Claudia barely stopped herself from flinching as Charley Long, the host of Late Date, flung himself at her to kiss her effusively on both cheeks. He might think she had been sensational, she knew that she had been outrageous.

She had flirted with the show's host. She had flirted with the other guests. She had exposed more bosom than she cared to think about and had lived up to her image, or depending upon your point of view, down to it, with a fervor that now the show was over made her feel positively sick. And to make matters worse Melanie was looking at her as if she was a stranger, someone she didn't know any more.

It was hardly surprising. Claudia scarcely recognized herself. But since being herself didn't seem to impress anyone half so much as being the person they all seemed to think she was, did it matter?

"We're going on to a party, darling," Charley was saying. "You are going to come aren't you?"

"A party?" The last thing on earth she felt like doing was going to a party. But she didn't want to go home either because when she got home everything of Gabriel would be gone. Her apartment would feel empty in a way that it never had in all the time she had lived there alone. "Fantastic!" She turned a blinding smile on Melanie. "What about you, Mel, do you want to come along?"

"It's awfully late, Claud," Mel said doubtfully. "Don't you think you ought to go home?"

Her sister's pretty face was creased in concern but Claudia didn't want anyone to be concerned about her. "No one is forcing you to come, darling," she said, just a touch sharply.

Darling. Could that false tone be catching, she wondered, from some cold miserable spot deep inside her, along with the shallow posturing, the pretense? Did it even matter since it was simply a game and no one was fooled by it, no one hurt by it? Only the real thing could hurt. She was just beginning to understand how much.

Charley slid his arm around Claudia's waist and pulled her against him. She hated the feel of his soft hand squeezing her waist, hated the overpowering muskiness of his after-shave. Hated everything about him that was so different from the hard-edged physique, the outdoors scent of Gabriel. But Gabriel didn't want her. Gabriel thought she was capable of lying and cheating and anything was better than facing that, facing up to the fact that she would never see him again, never be held as if she was something special. Never know what it would be like to love someone who loved you in return.

So she let Charley in on her smile. "I'm sure this dear man will look after me. Won't you, darling?" she prompted.

"It will be my pleasure," he murmured, rea.s.suringly.

Melanie was not rea.s.sured. "Do you really want to go? I just thought -" she began, but Claudia didn't want to hear what she thought.

"Don't think, Mel." Claudia leaned forward to lightly touch her sister's creased forehead with the pad of her forefinger, using the opportunity to ease herself out of Charley's clutches. "Thinking will give you wrinkles." And looping her free arm through Melanie's she squeezed it. "Just for an hour, um?"

"Just an hour, then," Melanie agreed, giving in with a barely perceptible shrug. "Someone had better come along an look after you."

It was nearer three hours later when they pulled up outside Melanie's flat. "Why don't you stay with me tonight, Claud?" Mel glanced meaningfully at the young man driving the car, but Claudia was apparently oblivious to the hint that it might be advisable to shake off her amorous companion while she could.

"I'll be fine. This sweet boy will see me to my door and he shall kiss my hand for his gallantry. Off you go, now. I want to see you inside before we drive away."

Mel gave up and Claudia breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her. "Now, James. Home, I think."

"My name isn't James, it's Nigel." There was a touch of petulance in his voice and Claudia turned and stared at him. She loathed men who took themselves too seriously. Especially when they were young and rather silly men who had done nothing to justify their seriousness. Under her disparaging scrutiny he suddenly discovered a need to clear his throat. "Of course, if you prefer calling me James..." he conceded, with something that in a girl would have been described as a giggle.

She didn't even bother to answer. He'd given her a lift home because he'd wanted to be seen leaving the party with Claudia Beaumont. Well, he'd been seen and he'd been photographed and if he was lucky he might get his photograph in the newspapers. If that wasn't enough, he'd discover that sometimes charity had to be its own reward.

"Just down here on the left," she said, and sensing that he was about to pounce, she had her hand on the door even as they pulled up. But the door was wrenched from her hand and she almost fell out as it was opened without ceremony from the other side. "What the -?" she began, but never finished her furious demand as two strong hands caught her and hauled her out of the car, dumping her onto the pavement. Then she was looking up into the blazing eyes of one seriously angry man.

"Where the h.e.l.l have you been, Claudia?" Mac demanded, giving her a sharp little shake. She didn't care about that. All she cared about was that he'd realized his mistake and he'd come back. That he was waiting for her.

Her heart was racketing with excitement, with something so close to joy that she couldn't bear to trust it, refused to trust it.

"Gabriel, how unexpected," she murmured, her attempt at indifference somewhat marred by the tremulous shake in her voice. "I thought you'd already said everything this afternoon."

"Did you? Then you were wrong. I've been waiting here for hours."

"On the pavement? Don't tell me your own locks defeated you? Or did Kay take your warning to heart and refuse to let you in this time?"

"For G.o.d's sake, Claudia, I've been worried sick about you. Where have you been?"

Worried? The joy swelled. He'd be worried sick about her.

"I've been to a party. After the show. The chat show, that is. You'd have enjoyed it."

"I doubt it." He looked so fierce, deep lines chiseled into his cheeks, his brows drawn down in a dark line. Did it mean that he was jealous? If it had been anyone else she would have enjoyed his discomfort, but she didn't want Gabriel to be jealous, she wanted him to know that she loved him, she just didn't know the right words because she'd never told anyone that before.

"James very kindly brought me home." She indicated the agitated young man who was practically hopping from foot to foot behind her, not knowing quite what to do, but certain he should be doing something and this gave him his opportunity.

"Look here," he began. Then, squaring up to Gabriel, he said, "You can't just -"

But Gabriel was not impressed. "I can and I will. It was good of you to see Claudia safely home, James, but we won't keep you," he said, without ceremony and taking Claudia's elbow he urged her towards the front door.

"My name is not James." He trailed, somewhat petulantly, after them. "It's Nigel, Nigel Thomas."

Mac glared at him, clearly thinking the man was quite mad. "Well goodnight, Nigel Thomas," he said, without breaking his stride. And when they reached the door, he turned the searchlight of his attention on Claudia. "So," he began, "tell me about David Hart."

"David?" He was jealous. Claudia, hands shaking, knees giving a fair imitation of warm jelly as she retrieved her keys from her bag, glanced up at him.

Gabriel took the keys from her and opened the front door. "Yes, David. Is he your press agent? Or just an obliging friend?"

She just hated the way he said "friend". It gave her a very bad feeling. The day had been long and stressful and despite that initial leap of pleasure at seeing him, she had a terrible feeling that it was about a get a lot worse. "I thought you'd already made your mind up about that."

But he wasn't interested in what she thought. "Tell me, Claudia. Am I just being made a fool of here, or should I be worrying about you?" Suddenly his anger seemed far more important than the fact that he was standing on her doorstep at three in morning, desperate to see her because he was worried about her. And it occurred to her that he wasn't angry because she'd arrived home late with another man. He was angry with her, full stop.

The bad feeling was more than justified, she decided. The rush of warmth that had swept through her at seeing him, at hearing him say how worried he had been as he waited for her to come home, ebbed away leaving her chilled right to the bone. "You don't have to worry about me, Gabriel. I'm quite capable of looking after myself." After all what was the odd nasty letter compared to someone telling you face to face that they thought you were a liar, a fraud? Someone you loved.

"And as it's been a very long day," she observed, "you'll understand that I have no wish to stand here on the doorstep playing your silly games -"

"My games? You're the one playing games, Claudia and since you weren't too tired to go partying until all hours, despite getting up at dawn for the television show and despite your shopping trip afterwards, you can spare me two minutes to tell me exactly what is going on." His gaze swept over the seductive red gown, his lip curled back in disapproval. "You can start by telling me what happened to the new dress that you simply had to have this morning? Was there a dress? Or was that all just part of the performance, part of the wind-up to get me good and edgy for the coupe de grace at the restaurant?" He stepped back, releasing her so suddenly that she staggered slightly in her high heels, holding his hands up as if touching her might in some way contaminate him. "My G.o.d. I've fallen for it again, haven't I?" He continued to stare at her. "I watched that surveillance video and suddenly I was so certain ... G.o.d, what an idiot I am. He was put there to keep me interested wasn't he? The guy in the van watching the flat? You keep trailing these enticing lures and like a hungry pike, I keep on getting caught. Why?" He was staring at her now with an expression so dark that it sent a shiver up her spine.

"I don't think I can answer that question for you, Gabriel."

He brushed aside her answer with an angry gesture. "You know what I mean. Why are you doing this to me? Haven't I done enough for your personal publicity crusade?" Claudia turned away, heartsick at his undisguised contempt, unable to listen any more, but he blocked the way with his arm.

And Claudia, her hopes so cruelly raised for the briefest of moments, felt her heart break as surely as if it was made of gla.s.s.

She didn't know what he was talking about, but it was clear as day that she had got it wrong again. He hadn't come racing back to her to say that he was sorry, to ask her to forgive him for even thinking she could be so false.

He'd been lying in wait for her because he wanted more answers. More b.l.o.o.d.y answers. Well she didn't have any answers for him and she didn't know anything about a man in a van, but she knew how to get rid of Gabriel MacIntyre. It was easy.

"Why? Because you're a gift, Gabriel." Claudia was hurting so much that she needed to strike back, so she invested her voice with a deep husky warmth, using his given name because she knew in some deep pocket of her soul that he'd hate that most of all. "You respond so beautifully to the slightest suggestion of danger..." She didn't know exactly what had sent him rushing back to her, so she kept it vague. "Offer you a clue and you're like a bloodhound after the scent. I knew it would bring you running back - " ... she stretched out her hand and clicked her fingers ... " - just like that. Am I a clever girl, or what?" She looked about her. "It's just a pity there's no one about to see your performance."

Mac lowered the arm that blocked her way and taking her hand in his, dropped the keys he was holding into her palm before stepping back, leaving her alone on her doorstep. Then he stared at her for one long moment before he turned on his heel and strode across the road to the four-wheel drive parked opposite her flat.

He smashed his fist against the bonnet. He'd been so stupid. Again. What was it about the woman? She had addled his wits, driven him crazy. He'd been right all along, from the very beginning, he just hadn't wanted to believe it. Couldn't bear to believe it.

Yet something about the man watching the flat had been so disturbing. He'd been there all day. Not in the same place. He'd moved up and down the street, first one side and then the other, avoiding the traffic wardens, not wanting to become too obvious. But he was always watching the flat.

But Claudia had admitted that it was all a publicity scam. So he'd left his office, gone back to the empty soulless flat that had no memories determined to forget all about Miss Claudia Beaumont. Put her out of his mind. But his mind refused to cooperate. It just kept running a scenario where she went home late at night and when she walked in, the man in the baseball cap would be there, waiting for her in the darkness.

Mac knew it was stupid. He'd changed the locks. He'd changed the code of her alarm. He'd at least made her safe from casual intrusion.

But suppose the kindly old lady downstairs had been persuaded to let someone in? If he were polite, convincing, she wouldn't think twice. How would he do it? Tell her that Miss Beaumont had called the managing agent's office to complain of a leak. In workman's clothes, with the right bag, she wouldn't even ask for ID. And if she did, he would have had something convincing to show her.

He opened the car door and slumped into the seat, glancing up at the window where she was probably right now laughing her socks off. She had made a fool of him and he had let her do it. Then he shook his head. No. No. That wasn't right. She'd simply gone along with what he had said, just the way she had this morning.

He was so d.a.m.ned confused. She'd admitted it was all a stunt ... but she had been angry with him. And suddenly he wasn't sure what she had been angry about. If it had been because he had misjudged her, because he had leapt to the wrong conclusion...? He had seen how sensitive she was when her moral integrity was challenged. And she was volatile, she would have reacted without thinking of the consequences, she was quite capable of leaving him to think what he liked and let the devil take the consequences. And if that were the case, she'd still be in danger.

But she wasn't. He was the one reacting with his emotions instead of his head. In fact, he was in desperate need of a cold shower. His hand was shaking slightly as he reached forward to put the key in the ignition and he let it fall. Several cold showers. He opened the window to let in what pa.s.sed for fresh air in London, sat back, glanced again up at her flat. Her light hadn't come on. He watched for a moment, but her windows remained dark and his gut contracted. It was the same feeling he had whenever he thought of her in danger. The feeling that had sent him rocketing up the M4 without a thought for the speed limit. The feeling that had kept him cooling his heels outside her flat until the small hours of the morning.

He reached forward and started the engine. Her light still hadn't come on but it probably meant nothing, except that she was standing behind her curtains in the dark quietly enjoying his vacillations, maybe hoping to tempt him to come up and check that she was safe. Yet he still couldn't bring himself to drive away and leave her alone in the dark even when he knew that to ring the bell because he needed to rea.s.sure himself, was to invite ridicule.

What was the matter with him? Why on earth was he still sitting there? Her new locks would take too long to pick for even the most skilled locksmith to take the risk of discovery. Her alarm would have sounded if she hadn't switched it off by now. She had the personal attack alarm he had given her.

Then, quite suddenly, he began to laugh because he knew what had happened. She had forgotten the new code for the burglar alarm. She was standing outside her flat door trying to remember it, knowing that if she got it wrong it would wake the street, bring out the police ... It would serve her right if he left her there.

But he wouldn't.