Red Midnight (16 page)

“I have certain friends within the KGB. And a few … other … ways of knowing things. I don’t think the Russians would have listened politely and let you go. They have reason to believe you might be a spy.”

“What?” It wasn’t really spoken; it formed on her lips.

He raised a cryptic brow and smiled. “That surprises you?”

“Oh, please! Dear God, don’t start that stuff on me now!” Erin exclaimed, her voice rising hysterically. She tried to set her mug down; the liquid spilled all over the table. Jarod finally rose to haunch down beside her and help her sop it up with his handkerchief.

“Don’t, don’t!” Erin hissed. “I’ll get it.” But as she tried to wrest the handkerchief from his hand, she dumped the remaining coffee over his sleeve.

He rather painfully went still, staring at her with resignation and reproach. “Damn! you really are an occupational hazard.”

“Oh, go to hell!” Erin spat out, tossing the handkerchief down. “How can you worry about a coffee spill at a time like this! Talk to me! Tell me what the hell is going on!”

He stood again, tight features portraying a tense and controlled anger as he jerked out of his jacket. “All right, Erin. We’ll take this at face value. You don’t know a thing. But information is coming into and leaving the country—all linked by ciphers indicating that you might be involved in espionage.”

“Me! Ciphers!”

“Codes, Erin!” he snapped, ripping away his tie and working on the buttons of his shirt. “Key codes—numbers—easily passed. A sign, a word, a motion. The key that links everything else together. They think you might have been leaving the country with that key.”

Erin gasped. “I wasn’t!”

He said nothing else at the moment, but started up the short staircase to the second level, his chest bare, his stained clothing left upon the tile where it had fallen. He reappeared a moment later, buttoning up a new and crisply ironed shirt. His attention was focused on his dressing. For a moment Erin felt as if she weren’t even there. He was getting ready to leave, she realized, and she was still floundering in darkness.

“Jarod!” Erin stood with hands clenched tightly at her sides. “What information? Please! Talk to me. I swear to God I don’t know what’s going on. I still don’t understand why we had to go through that ceremony.”

He continued to button his sleeves, staring at her coldly. “I don’t know what the information is yet. I’m going to have to keep working with Catherine to try and break the code. There was only one way for me to protect you and watch you myself—diplomatic immunity. As long as a country is among the so-called civilized, foreign ministers cannot be detained or searched. Nor can their wives.”

Erin sank back to the couch. “Oh, God,” she murmured.

She felt him as he paused behind her, shrugging into a fresh jacket. “I don’t suppose you could help me with that code?”

It was the finishing straw. They were in a mess which hadn’t even fully registered in her mind yet and he was still going on about codes.

Her fingers curled around the empty mug, she threw it against the fireplace with a flaming rage, rising and swirling to face him. “What do I have to do to convince you?” she grated. “Son of a bitch, Steele! You have to be worse than the Russians, worse than the KGB—or else you should be with them.”

His face went white beneath the tan, his hands shot out over the back of the sofa for her wrists.

Not my wrists, Erin thought desperately, not my wrists.

“Don’t ever talk to me like that again,” he muttered darkly, his icy eyes suddenly searing. “Or else I will be sorely tempted to turn you over to the real KGB—and Siberia is still cold, lady. Very, very cold.”

She couldn’t even answer him, she didn’t really hear him. My wrists, she thought, my wrists…. Panic took hold of her, she felt the loosening of his hold and she twisted to strike out with animal fear, catching him squarely across the cheek.

The sharp sound, the red staining of his flesh, brought Erin back to a modicum of control and reason. She watched with horror as emotions filtered through his eyes; as his facial features, already tight, hardened muscle by muscle. For a wild second she was terrified that he would retaliate, and she hadn’t even meant to strike him—he couldn’t know what he had done.

But he didn’t retaliate. He blinked once, fathomless. Cold blue ice reigned, and he took a step backwards.

“I have to leave,” he said simply. “Please do us both a favor and sit tight here today. The kitchen is fairly well stocked, there are all kinds of books and magazines upstairs in my room. Towels are in the hallway closet if you want a shower. I’ll be back about six.”

Erin swallowed sickly. She wanted to apologize; she didn’t think it would make any difference, she couldn’t explain. But more than anything, she didn’t want him to leave, not yet. She didn’t know what was going to happen.

“Wait, Jarod, please!” she murmured. He lifted a brow to her and she awkwardly continued. “What do we do now? I mean, you said that marriage was real. When will I be able to get out? How do we go about getting out of this?”

He paused, hesitating a second. “I’m afraid it will be a while before I can get you out of the country. This is all getting sticky. We can jeopardize everything if you attempt to waltz out now, and I won’t have my position jeopardized.” He shrugged. “When you are back in the States, you can arrange for a divorce. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Oh, God, Erin thought desperately. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. She had to swallow again to speak, and even then her voice was as weak as she felt her legs becoming.

“How soon do you think that will be?”

His reply was another shrug. “Two months? I’m not really sure.”

Her knees gave. Thank God she was still by the couch.

Her reaction irritated him. “Listen, Erin, I’m really sorry I so inconvenienced you by saving your neck. But you will have to be inconvenienced. What is at stake here is far more a priority than the leisure and working life of a model—even Erin McCabe.”

Steele, Erin thought, hysteria rising within her. My name just became Steele. But he certainly didn’t seem to register that fact. Of course not, it was only a part of the game plan. He certainly didn’t really consider her his wife.

An icy strength suddenly returned to her veins. She tilted her head to look at him, silver flashing in her eyes. “I wasn’t thinking only of myself, Jarod, believe it or not. I do appreciate what you’ve done—I realize you can’t possibly run around marrying all your suspects. I’m sorry for what this may cause you—I’m a divorcée already. A bit notorious. A marriage to and then divorce from me can hardly be advantageous to your career.”

He blinked, and his blink hid something, a streak of emotion, that she almost caught. But it was gone. “Don’t worry, Erin. I was never the material for a presidential candidacy anyway. And no, I can’t marry every suspect, but you needn’t feel overly obligated. I didn’t particularly do it for you, but because I
will
get to the bottom of Project Midnight.”

Cold, hard, to the point. Why waste time on feelings? He had never pretended any, unless a certain desire, another “occupational hazard,” could be stretched and called, emotion.

“Project Midnight?” she heard herself say.

“Umm,” he murmured, watching her. “Perhaps I’ll tell you about it someday.”

He turned then, striding for the door.

“Jarod!” she called again.

He turned to her once more, impatience showing.

“What …” She had to moisten her lips. “What am I supposed to do for two months … here …” Her voice trailed away.

“Do you knit?” he inquired politely.

“No.”

“Then I suppose you have plenty of time to learn.” He sighed suddenly. When he turned to leave once more, she didn’t call him back.”

It was strange being in Jarod’s apartment. She remained before the fire at first, smoking cigarette after cigarette, rising only to refill her coffee cup until she had drained the pot. All she managed to do was make herself more nervous.

And she still couldn’t believe all that had happened; everything was so much worse than she had ever believed could be possible. The enigma had deepened, only now the enigma had a name, Project Midnight. Somehow she had become a player in a high-stakes game, and she hadn’t even known she had ever rolled the dice.

She had twisted furiously at her bracelets subconsciously, then realized she was also twisting at the mysterious diamond and the gold band that encircled her finger above it. I’m married to him, she thought incredulously. But the fact had no substance; it simply wasn’t credible. She couldn’t be Mrs. Jarod Steele; Jarod Steele was a hard man she would never understand.

“I’m surprised he left me alone in his apartment,” she murmured bitterly. “There mustn’t be any family jewels around; surely I would steal them!”

Two months! The thought hit her with a walloping panic. Tears filled her eyes; she had a decent life back in New York; good work, good friends. But here she was, stuck in the home of a man who seemed to despise her the majority of the time. She couldn’t possibly stay here with him.

But she would have to. She was supposed to be his wife—was his wife. He would never let her go. Her feelings meant nothing next to Project Midnight. She had heard of marriage for money, but never for a cipher!

I can’t stay here, I really can’t. I don’t believe this, any of this, it can’t be real…. But it was real. She could see the warm earth tones of the living room, feel the leather of the couch, hear the crackle of the fire….

Lost and overwhelmed, Erin finally began pacing the apartment.

The music room drew her, and she idly ran her fingers over the keys of the grand piano. The chords sounded ominous and she left off. In the far corner of the room was an instrument that somewhat resembled a guitar. It was large and deeply bowled. She plucked out a chord, and the sound was sweet. A balalaika, she thought, frowning as she strained to remember the display at one of the Kremlin museums. It was an old Russian instrument.

She jumped half a mile when she heard the ringing of a phone. It was several seconds before she realized she should answer it. Then it occurred to her that she had no idea where the phone was.

She forced herself into action and raced for the living room. No phone. Of course, idiot, I’ve been sitting in there for hours—I would have seen the phone.

The kitchen. It was, she was sure, sitting on the overpass counter.

She was right, but by the time she reached the receiver, the ringing had been going on for quite some time and she was panting and breathless.

“Hello?”

“Erin?” It was Jarod’s voice; it was sharp. “Are you all right?”

She took a deep breath—he had almost sounded concerned. “Yes, I’m fine. I—uh—couldn’t find the phone.”

“Oh.” He fell silent for so long that she began to believe they had been cut off.

“Jarod? Are you there?”

“Yes. I called to apologize for … our argument.”

She wondered from his use of words if she were supposed to be careful of what she said on the phone. “It’s all right,” she said softly.

“Things will work out,” he told her. “I left you rather abruptly. I’m going to take off early and we’ll go out to dinner.” He hesitated a moment again. “Feel at home in the apartment.”

Did that mean she shouldn’t fear cameras or mikes? Probably; he had that special immunity, and she sincerely doubted he would allow such an intrusion into his life no matter where he was.

“I—I will.”

“Be ready about five. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Yes,” Erin murmured.

He hung up without a good-bye. Erin very slowly returned the receiver to its cradle.

The apology from him had been startling at the very least. It hinted of something human within the burning ice. Then she started to shiver again. She was better off a bitter enemy of the man. Friendship could mean catastrophe.

She was his wife now and destined to play the role.

She slowly looked up from the phone. There was a clock on the far wall; it was moving past three.

She should have been in Paris in the little pension overlooking Montmartre. Russia should have been behind her. Memories of Jarod Steele should have been fading into a strange past.

After three! If she were going out she had better get moving.

For the first time, she treaded her way up the staircase. There were only two rooms on the second level, an office and a bedroom, also in earthtones … deep chocolate drapes matching the bedspread. An array of masculine toiletries stood upon the one handsome dresser. There were no closets, only an old-fashioned wardrobe.

And I’m going to have to live here. What on earth are we going to do? We’ll constantly be at one another’s throats, she thought miserably.

Surely he would give her the bedroom and-take the couch. Don’t count on that, she told herself wryly. He wasn’t the most gallant gentleman she had ever come across. That wasn’t fair either. Whatever his motives, he had a tendency to be there, authoritative, offering certain security, when she discovered she needed him.

But was he really helping her? Or merely assisting her to jump from the frying pan to the fire? She just might have been better off in jail.

No. She was logical enough to realize that, whatever happened between her and Jarod Steele, she was better off with him. She had heard of Americans who had been imprisoned in other countries for years, and she was wise enough to realize she might have been given a long stay, in Siberia.

She thought of young Ivan. Treason. She didn’t envy him; she felt tremors of terror arcing through her again. She didn’t want to think of Ivan. And if she didn’t hurry, she wouldn’t have time for the one luxury offered her at the moment. A bath. A long hot bubble bath with the supreme luxury of knowing she wouldn’t be watched.

Her suitcase sat upon the bed. She discovered as she opened it that the lining was gone. She closed her eyes for a second, and then reopened them. She wouldn’t have time to wash her hair, so she clipped it high above her head. And then she reached for her bubble bath and robe. On second thought she raced back to the kitchen. There was wine in the refrigerator—what respectable U.N. delegate would be without it? With a long stemmed glass in her hand, she returned upstairs, ran water in the tub in the spacious bath off the bedroom, poured in a ton of bubbles, sank in the heat, and finally, finally, found that she could begin to relax….