Wild Lady Part 4

Claudia sighed. "But he's very pretty."

"As to that, I couldn't offer a comment. He's not my type."

"You don't go for tall blondes?" Claudia asked, and remembering his kiss, wondered what kind of woman he would go for. The dark-eyed, warm-skinned mother-earth type ... She touched the wedding band on his left hand. "And what about your wife, Mac? How does she feel about you kissing other women? Does she know where you are right now?" His face darkened. She'd touched a raw nerve. She poked it harder. "Does she care?"

"I kissed you because I thought you'd done really well. It's tough making that first jump."

He was lying. Which was interesting. She would have sworn that he wouldn't lie. She lay back against the cushions. "Is it a courtesy you extent to all first timers, Mac?"

"Of course," he said, quickly. Too quickly.

"Or just the women?" He stiffened, but she didn't wait for his answer. "Tell me, do you and Tony normally hunt in pairs?"

"Hunt in pairs?"

"He softens the girls up with his winning smile and sugar-coated charm. You offer the shoulder to cry on when they find out he's a rat. It's a nice act. What do you do for an encore?"

He stood up. "You've had a bad day," he said, "so I'll forget you said that."

"Too d.a.m.n right I have. And you and Tony are the cause."

"Are we?" She raised a hand, the smallest gesture that left him to provide his own answer. Mac shrugged. "Tony's an idiot. But Adeline's been giving him a hard time for the last few months. Her hormones are up the creek and giving up a job she enjoys for motherhood seems to have lost its original appeal."

"Then find her a good creche and stop making excuses for Tony."

"Adele chose motherhood, Claudia. n.o.body twisted her arm. But now she's pregnant she wants the career too. She can't have it both ways. Life isn't like that."

Barefoot and pregnant. She had been right about that.

"It is for men," she said.

"You don't really believe that."

"Maybe not a hundred per cent," she conceded, "but it comes pretty close. Does Tony think the same way as you do?"

"Of course he does."

Of course? Or had he been brainwashed by his brother-in-law? "No wonder the poor girl is giving him a hard time. She probably sees herself chained to the kitchen sink for the next twenty years."

"You're just being ridiculous. But you can see why a smile from you must have seemed like a raft to a drowning man."

"Well, that's a very pretty compliment." She waited. He wasn't going offer any excuses on his own behalf?

"Have you still got the anonymous letter?" he asked.

No excuses. "It's in the bin under the sink. Watch out for the -" For the used teabags, she was going to say, but he had already gone. He was gone for a long time and when, finally, she couldn't stand the silence any longer and went to see what he was doing.

He glanced up, briefly from the breakfast bar where he was trying to piece the threatening letter together. She'd made a thorough job of tearing it into small pieces. "You shouldn't have got up," he said as she slid onto the stool opposite him.

"If you'd said that before I got out of bed this morning, you'd have contributed immeasurably to my well-being. As it is, you're hours too late."

"Go to bed now and I'll suggest it tomorrow if you like," he offered.

Her head was thumping and she felt like death lightly warmed over. The temptation to go to bed and stay there for a week was almost overwhelming. "Tomorrow I have two performances of Private Lives with a trip to the television studios in between," she said, resting her head on her arms.

"At least you don't have to get up at the crack of dawn to leap out of a plane. What time shall I bring you a cup of tea?" he asked.

What was it about married men, she wondered? Were they all utterly insensitive? One inadequate apology, one bunch of yellow roses and he actually thought he was going to stay the night. The roses, she noticed had been picked up off the floor where she had dropped them in her fright and had been put into a jug of water. "You've a whole lot of nerve, Gabriel MacIntyre," she mumbled into her arms.

He finally gave her his full attention. "It'll take me a while to piece this together, Claudia. I shan't disturb you."

"No you won't, because you won't be here. I don't recall inviting you in and now I'm asking you to leave." She lifted her head off her arms to look at him. "How did you get in anyway?"

"I told you. Security is my business. If I can't crack a system, then it's reasonably safe." He obviously hadn't taken her request to leave at all seriously. Instead he slotted another piece of the letter into place. "Yours was a piece of cake."

"Really?" She was unimpressed. "Actually I'm pretty sure I forgot to switch the alarm on before I went out," she said, yawning. "It's been one of those days."

"You switched it on. In fact after the kind of day you've had it would be have been strange if you hadn't remembered. But using your birthday as the code number was not very bright."

She stared at him. "You're guessing," she said, finally.

"One seven zero eight. It's not a state secret, Claudia, in fact it was in that article." He nodded towards the segmented photograph. "Your locks need changing, too. The average ten-year-old could get in here."

"They have to get through the front door first. There's a speaker system."

"I got past it," he reminded her.

He had a point. "How?"

He glanced up. "It wasn't difficult. I was helped by an utterly charming lady, somewhat past middle years, who was struggling through the front door with a large bag. She was very grateful for the a.s.sistance and she didn't even query my a.s.surance that Miss Claudia Beaumont was expecting me."

"I don't believe you." His description of Kay Abercrombie was close enough, but his a.s.sumption that she had such a continual stream of "gentleman callers" that he wouldn't be challenged was galling. It was also incorrect.

"You should believe me. The lady wasn't in the least suspicious. I was well-dressed, polite, helpful. And a burglar wouldn't carry your bag for you. Would he?"

Claudia was disgusted. "I can't believe you'd take such advantage of that sweet old lady."

"Can't you? Well, if it hadn't been her it would have been someone else. People are dangerously gullible and your anonymous correspondent got inside somehow. Unless you think someone in the block might have written this?"

"Someone I know?" She was horrified. "None of my neighbors could have written that."

"You'd be surprised what envy and spite will do to even the sweetest of old ladies," he told her. "But you can go to bed in perfect safety tonight. In fact I suggest you go right now before you fall off that stool."

She was too tired to argue, but she turned in the doorway. "Why did you come to the theater tonight, Mac? Your note said it was important."

"Did it? Well you obviously didn't believe it was that important. Certainly not important enough to spare me a few minutes of your time. Or did you think I'd be waiting for you at the stage door like some lovelorn pup?"

Maybe, if she was honest with herself, the idea of bringing Gabriel MacIntyre to heel had had a certain appeal, but she wasn't about to admit it. "You're no pretty pup, MacIntyre. You're pure wolfhound. But I was sure that if you were determined to see me, nothing I did would put you off."

"That sounds like the voice of experience."

"It is." She glared at him and he glared right back. "So? What was so important? I don't believe you were that desperate to check out a nonexistent publicity stunt?"

"Don't you? Then it's taken you a while to get around to the most obvious question."

"It's been a long day." And she was too tired to rise obligingly to his bait. "Well?" she demanded. "Are you going to tell me?"

For a moment he hesitated. "There are a number of reasons I came up to town this evening. First I came to apologize for shouting at you this morning. You might drive like an idiot, but that was no excuse for me to behave like one as well."

"If that's the best you can do by way of apology I'd advise you not to take it up for a living," she warned him. "You'd starve."

"I had intended to make my peace with you before you left the airfield this morning, but something must have put it clean out of my head." His head moved slightly to one side, his expression close to mocking and Claudia felt like slapping him all over again. But she didn't. She told herself she was far too tired. She also had a very strong suspicion that he wouldn't let her get away with it a second time.

"And?" she demanded.

"And?"

"You didn't drive all this way, then break into my flat just to say that. How did you find out where I live, anyway?"

"Tony gave me your address." He glanced around. "Has he been here?"

She was going to tell him he could go to h.e.l.l before she'd tell him that. Something about the way he was looking at her suggested he was expecting as much. "And?" she pressed.

He smiled slightly. "And I did have a free ticket for Private Lives." He gave the smallest of shrugs. "My brother-in-law discovered he no longer had a use for it."

"So he pa.s.sed it along?"

"Well, no. Not Tony. Adele. Although come to think of it she didn't exactly give me the ticket. As I recall she threw it at me, along with an less than flattering a.s.sessment of my character for having let Tony anywhere near something as dangerous as you."

What about his own wife? Didn't she care?

"Your apology is noted, Mr. MacIntyre. Kindly let yourself out when you've finished playing with the contents of my dustbin. You know how to reset the alarm." She slid off the stool and heading for the door.

"There was just one other thing." Something about the way he said it brought her to a halt. She turned and waited. "You said your brakes failed this morning."

"They did. As I recollect, you didn't believe me. Or am I overstating the case?"

"Not at all. But when I moved your car after you left, in order to a.s.sess the extent of the damage to the hangar, I discovered for myself that you were telling the truth."

"Then I think that calls for another apology, don't you?"

He ignored that. "And once Adele had a.s.sured me, somewhat astringently, that she didn't plant the photograph in your parachute, I decided to put your car on the ramp and check it out." He was taking a long time to come the point, but she continued to wait. "I think you should know that your brakes failed because they'd been tampered with."

She laughed. It was a small, uncertain little sound. "You're joking. I mean this time you are joking?"

"I told the mechanic who came to pick it up what I'd found. No doubt the garage will give you a full report which you may wish to pa.s.s on to the police. That's the important reason I'm here, Claudia. The parachute was a distraction," he said. "But I don't think there's any doubt about the intent."

"Intent?" Her brain had stopped functioning, it was merely recycling the last word it heard. Then it sank in. "Do you mean someone really wants to kill me?"

He paused just a fraction too long before he said, "I doubt it. With your seatbelt and an airbag it's unlikely you'd have sustained any serious injury. But it could certainly have been a lot worse."

"Yes," she said, slowly. "I could have hit Barty's Porsche."

"Claudia? Are you all right?"

Was she all right? She was in one piece, so that had to be a good start. But she wasn't sure whether she should laugh or cry. She decided that neither was appropriate. Not until she'd had a few hours sleep. "I'm going to bed, Mac. Don't wake the neighbors when you let yourself out."

Claudia stirred to the sound of a cup being placed by her bed but didn't open her eyes. She ached in every bone and her eyelids were just too heavy to lift.

Then there was a touch on her shoulder, warm fingers against her skin. "Claudia?"

She recognized the voice. Gabriel. She had her own personal archangel to bring her a cup of tea. That was nice. She smiled, but despite a latent curiosity about angels, she decided it was altogether too much effort to do more.

"Claudia, please wake up. It's eleven o'clock and I have to be somewhere else."

She blinked into her pillow, opened her eyes and immediately forgot all about angels. Gabriel MacIntyre was no angel. Far from it. "How the h.e.l.l did you get in here?" she demanded, lifting her head to turn and look at him then, as she realized that she hadn't made it into a nightdress, clutching her sheet to her before turning to confront him. "I know I locked my bedroom door."

"Do you?" He might think it funny but she didn't.

"Yes, I d.a.m.ned well do," she said.

"Then I'm sure you did," he replied, gently. "But don't worry about it. I'll be back in a while with something that will keep you just a little more secure." He paused in the doorway. "In the meantime, don't answer your door to anyone."

"Anyone?" she queried. "You mean anyone I don't know?"

"I mean anyone.

I'll be a couple of hours," he said, turning to leave.

"It won't do you any good, I won't be here," she called after him.

He came right back, which was not exactly what she had intended. "Where are you going?" he asked. "And when?"

She considered telling him to mind his own business, but since he seemed to consider her life was his business it would probably be easier to tell him. It was hardly a state secret. "I'm going to work. I've a matinee and I have to be at the theater at two o'clock."

"How do you plan to get there?"

"You should take this up for a living you know. If you bought yourself one of those big, bright torches to shine in your victims eyes they wouldn't stand a -"

"How do you plan to get there?" he insisted.

"My sister will pick me up." And this time she did tell him it wasn't his business. She might as well have saved her breath.

"Call her and tell her you'll make your own way to the theater." He produced a card from his pocket and placed it on the table beside her bed. "Ring that number when you want a car."

"Why?"