Hidden Gems (17 page)

He released her foot. “Don’t even joke about that.”

She was smiling. Glowing. “It’s going to be all right, Jamie. Somehow, I’m sure of that. Ever since the airport, when I saw you in a brand-new way, I’ve had this knowledge. A confidence that we’re…oh, I don’t know, maybe destined to be.”

Leaps and bounds of progress.

“To be what?” he asked, swinging for the fences.

Her mouth curved into a smile. “That’s all. To be. No question.”

To be together, he thought. She still wouldn’t say it, but he could wait. She’d already given him more than he’d expected.

THERE WAS A FEELING between them tonight that was different. A little scary, but very arousing. Tantalizing in its purest form, as headily intoxicating as champagne bubbles rising in a flute.

Marissa felt as if she could fly.

Jamie took her hand, pulling her close to him with a strength she hadn’t expected. She let out a little “Oh!” of resistance, but then let herself melt. Aside from the little stumble when she declared this a date, he was so sure and confident these days. All that overprotective, macho testosterone.

“Don’t look now,” he said, “but someone may be following us.”

She stiffened her neck, trying not to turn when every instinct demanded it. “Who?”

“I don’t know. I only caught a glimpse of a man’s reflection in a window. I might be paranoid.”

“I want to look.”

“No use. If he’s really following us, he’s staying far back.”

“Come with me,” she said. They hurried along West 4th to Washington Square Park, where leafy trees overhung rows of iron benches and fence. Still fighting her instincts, but this time to keep running, Marissa sat, pulling Jamie down beside her. Her heart was pounding double-time as she turned toward him. She reached for his face.

“What are you doing?” he blurted right before she kissed him.

“Shush. Keep kissing me.”

His hands tightened on her back as he pulled her in. She closed her eyes, not even fighting it, and let the kiss take over. For a minute. A surprisingly glorious minute, considering that she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about the kiss at all.

After another minute—she was weak—she cracked an eye, trying to see past Jamie’s head. There were a number of people out enjoying the perfect evening. One passerby smiled at her; another looked away. Most barely noticed, but a group of boys with skateboards watched avidly as they scooted back and forth, twirling and flipping their boards.

No sign of anyone shadowing them.

She closed her eyes again. “Keep kissing me.”

“No problem,” he muttered. “But our guy’s no fool.”

She was. A fool for love, or some facsimile of it. Why else would she be getting so turned on? Had to be the crazy hormones, shooting her brain full of a volatile, giddy infatuation.

“Kiss my neck,” she crooned. His warm lips and tongue worked their way lower, titillating her nerve endings so that she felt her skin light up like a glittering fireworks show. It was becoming difficult to keep her mind on the plan.

Her head fell back, her neck arched. Only because in that position, she was able to watch the street through her lashes.

They’d lingered a long while over dinner, but the light had held on as the days grew longer. An amber dusk was falling across the park, hushed and beautiful, for the moment held at bay by the lights along the street.

At last she saw the sign she’d been waiting for. The brief flame of a match or a lighter, instantly lost when the figure turned away. The spy was sticking to the shadows cast by the trees.

She waited. Jamie’s tongue licked along her collarbone. His thumb stroked beneath her breast.

Her nostrils flared, trying to catch the scent of tobacco. Something about the odor was unique, perhaps even familiar.

He was too far away. She dropped her head forward to whisper into Jamie’s ear. “I think I saw him. I can’t be sure he’s following us.”

“What for? What do we know?”

“It’s what we have—the photos.” They were in the breast pocket of Jamie’s jacket. The negatives were in a Ziploc bag at the bottom of Sally’s dog food.

He pondered that with a pleated forehead. “Doesn’t feel right. The parts don’t add up.”

“Ah, that’s the intriguing puzzle of it.” She kissed his cheek, trying to get another glimpse of their follower. No luck. “You know, we’re sitting ducks, like we were that night on the street when he went for my suitcase. Should we hop in a cab?”

“Exactly my point. Paul didn’t know about the photos when that happened.”

She was too intoxicated to concentrate on details as they walked out of the park. “There’s a cab.” She raised a hand to hail it.

Jamie caught her wrist. “No, let’s run. That will tell us if he’s really following us or if I’m seeing things.”

“I’m game.”

They went flying down the street, crossing under the cherry tree at the Thompson Street entrance. Pigeons flapped across the sidewalk. Pedestrians dodged out of the way.

They slowed at the corner, turning it instead of waiting to cross with the light, then picking up the pace again. There was a break in traffic and Jamie stepped off the curb, pulling her along.

At the other side, Jamie’s head swiveled back the way they’d come. “Is he following us?” she asked between gasps.

“Yes. Come on.”

They put on another burst of speed.

They turned another corner, gradually pulling up as they reached the midblock point. Jamie turned, searching the pedestrians, even the cabs that slowed and honked. “I don’t see him.”

Marissa looked up at a large stone Presbyterian church looming nearby. “Let’s go in here.” She tugged on Jamie’s hand. “Quick. Before he sees us.”

They raced up the circular cement steps and pushed through the heavy double doors into the narthex. Bountiful bouquets of creamy roses and tulips decorated the space. Two tall floor candelabras flanked the doors into the church proper, which reverberated with the stirring strains of organ music.

“A church service,” Jamie said.

“A wedding,” Marissa guessed. Her heels tapped across the stone floor. “Let’s take a peek.”

“We shouldn’t interrupt.”

“We’ll be quiet as mice.” She put her finger up to her lips, then eased open the door. A glowing light spilled out. The music expanded, accompanied by voices raised in song.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered to Jamie, who was looking over her shoulder. A white carpet ran up an aisle trimmed with more of the flowers and candles. The pews were almost filled, only those at the back of the church left open. She nodded to the front of the church. “Look.”

Beneath the high arched beams and gilded decor of the altar, a bride and groom stood in a pool of candlelight, holding hands as the hymn ended. The guests sat to the sound of rustling silk. A minister garbed in black and white began speaking about the sanctity of marriage.

An usher appeared at the door. “Bride or groom?”

Jamie stepped back, but she grabbed hold of his sleeve. “Bride,” she said, tiptoeing inside and slipping into the very last pew.

Jamie joined her. “What if—”

“Shh.” Whether it was the sanctified aura of the church, or the intimacy of the marriage ceremony, she was cocooned in a sense of warm, safe serenity. Her body settled, her mind calmed. When she looked at Jamie, she saw that he felt it too. His eyes were large, dark, flecked with the reflections of the candlelight. He reached for her hand.

Somehow, it seemed inevitable that they’d ended up here.

And very right.

The bride and groom radiated with their love for each other as they took their vows. Marissa didn’t hear every word, but she felt them inside herself, resonating with a strength and reverence that was greater—far greater—than her previous reluctance to accept an emotional need she couldn’t control. One that might overwhelm her. That would surely change everything about the way she looked at the world.

She and Jamie looked at each other at the same moment. She studied his face as if this were the first time she’d ever seen it. He was bravery, goodness, sex and compassion. And so much more.

I’m in love with him.

Their linked hands gripped tighter. She felt her heart expanding to accept Jamie’s love for her, and hers for him. It was a pure love, a true love.

Deeper than the earth’s very core.

Longer than time itself.

When the minister pronounced the couple at the altar husband and wife, it was Marissa and Jamie who kissed first.

ON THE STEPS outside the church, despair overtook the seething anger that Jean Allard had contained for so long. He hurried away without caring where he went.

They had toyed with him. Like a cat played with a mouse, teasing and taunting, giving him a moment’s hope only to snatch it away.

He’d known in his heart that they didn’t carry the amulet, but he no longer trusted himself. He’d followed them on a fool’s errand all around the city on the remote chance that they had found the treasure and intended to bring it to the authorities.

Too long, he thought bitterly. The White Star had been out of his grasp for too long. It was slipping away.

The bloodred scratches across his face were a constant, pulsing reminder that he had failed, and failed again. There seemed no more opportunity for him to get into the girl’s apartment. She was on guard now. She was defended.

Allard sped up his pace. His mind darted, wriggled, burrowed, searching for one small opening. One speck of light.

Suddenly he saw it. An answer so simple it was genius.

He wanted Marissa Suarez to find the amulet.

When she did, when she stepped onto the street with the White Star in her possession, she would be vulnerable. Even if the boyfriend was there.

Allard reached into his pants’ pocket. He turned the knife over in his palm, cradling its lethal promise.

The White Star was his.

He’d killed for much less.

She cleared her throat to gain his attention. “Mr. Howard? May I speak to you?”

He looked up. “Marissa! Certainly.” He stood, gesturing her toward a chair. “Please sit.”

“Thank you.” She smoothed her skirt across the back of her thighs and sat in one of the webbed white-leather-and-aluminum chairs that faced his desk. The box-shaped chair bristled with steel braces and bolts, looking strangely like a cross between a straitjacket and an electric chair. The comparison was not a comforting thought.

“How can I help you, Marissa?” Mr. Howard asked. He was gray-haired, bespectacled and smiling. Even though she considered him to be a friend, in a stern, fatherly way, she suddenly felt as flustered—and determined—as when she’d asked her mother’s kindly gynecologist for birth control.

“I have a problem, Mr. Howard.”

“I’ll be happy to help.” He folded his hands atop the desk. “But you must remember to call me Thomas.”

“Yes, sir. Thomas.” She swallowed. “It’s about Paul Beckwith.”

Behind chrome glasses with blue lenses, Howard’s eyes took on a speculative gleam. “Personal problems?”

She flushed. “Not exactly. It is a delicate situation.” Jamie had told her to wait, but she wanted the photos out of her hands. The entire affair, really.

She began. “Perhaps you know that I accompanied Paul to the Cayman Islands recently.”

Howard made a noncommittal sound. Probably thinking of keeping neutral in the likelihood of a sexual harassment suit.

“He was conducting business meetings there.”

Howard smiled as if she were a ten-year-old visiting his office on Take Your Children to Work day. “We have clients with Cayman connections. The firm often does business in the Caribbean. Nothing untoward in that.”

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, if not for—” She tried to think how to put her suspicions. Better to simply state the facts.

She laid the envelope of photos on his desk. “I took these from the hotel balcony.”

Howard thumbed through them. “I see.”

“I have no idea who the client is, and I don’t really want to know.”

“I’m not following your intention, Marissa. Are you suggesting that Paul’s business with this man was not aboveboard?” He pushed the photos around on his desk blotter. “I see nothing particularly troublesome. Is it the woman? She is rather, uh, obvious, shall we say? I’m sure you have reason to be displeased.”

Ugh! “No, that’s not it, sir.” Marissa gripped the arms of the torture chair.

The senior partner cocked his head. “Then you’ll have to tell me.”

“If you’ll examine the photos closely, you can see that Paul appears to receive the other man’s briefcase.”

Howard glanced down, then cocked his thumbs into the air before refolding them behind his knitted fingers. So?

Marissa’s father had used the same gesture when she was a little girl. In a very different context. This is the church, here is the steeple. Open the doors and see all the people.

“I thought that seemed suspicious,” she said.

“I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”

“Yes, I’d agree, if not for—” Again, she hesitated. If this went badly, she was putting her job in jeopardy. Certainly her advancement.

What, are you afraid? Go ahead. Plunge.

“Mr. How—Thomas. There have been incidents.”

He looked troubled. “What do you mean?”

“A mugging attempt on the street. Two break-ins at my apartment. I’ve been followed.”

“And you believe these events are…?”

“Connected to the photos, yes.”

“Why is that?”

“Because—” She frowned. “I’m not quite sure. But Paul seemed concerned that I’d taken the pictures and that was when the trouble started. Too much of a coincidence, I think.”

Howard huffed. “Did Paul threaten you?”

“Not really. He asked me not to bring this into the office.”

“Yet you are.”

“Yes, but I’m not making an accusation. There’s no proof, other than the photos, and they’re open to interpretation. I only wanted to give them to you, sir, and let you handle the matter.”

“I see.” Howard gathered the photographs. “I’ll speak to Paul about this client. He won’t be bothering you again, Marissa, you can be certain of that. I apologize on behalf of the firm for any upset you’ve suffered.”

Marissa’s spine stiffened. She was getting the brush-off. “I’m fine, sir.”

The lawyer smiled, less kindly than before. His eyes now seemed as steely as the frames of his spectacles. “You’ve always been an excellent employee. Let’s not allow a minor hiccup in judgment to affect your position here at Howard, Coffman.”

“No reason it should,” she said, rising.

He nodded.

There was a moment of heavy silence.

“I’ll expect to hear from you then, regarding your—” Investigation was too strong a word. She managed a neutral smile as she stood. “Regarding your inquiry of Paul.”

Again, the glint of steel. “That you will.”

“Thank you.” She turned to walk out.

Howard stopped her. “Just a moment, Marissa. Do you have the negatives?”

“Why do you need the negatives?”

“Need? I wouldn’t use that word. I have no particular requirement of them, but it seems prudent in the name of thoroughness.”

“Yes, I suppose.” She contemplated his request for a lengthy pause, wondering if she could make him squirm. Nope. Not the smallest tic. Maybe she was being needlessly suspicious. “The negatives should be in the envelope.”

He peered beneath the flap. “Ah, so they are.”

“I also believe in being thorough.” Marissa nodded. “Good day, Thomas.”

She walked out, smiling to herself. Luckily, she was so thorough that she always got double prints.

“CAN’T SLEEP AGAIN?” Jamie asked.

“I thought it was that lumpy sofa bed keeping me up.” After the first sleepless night, Marissa had insisted they spend a night at her apartment, in relative comfort. “Maybe I have insomnia.”

“Maybe.”

She sighed.

He waited.

“It’s been two days. And nothing!”

“What did you expect?”

“That Paul would storm into my office, if nothing else. Raging at me for getting him into trouble.”

“Does that mean he’s not in trouble?”

“Perhaps. Then again, Mr. Howard may not have questioned him because he didn’t take me seriously. Who knows?” She twisted onto her side, muttering, “Certainly not me.”

“How come you haven’t come right out and asked Howard what the hell is up?”

She put the back of her hand over her eyes. “Trying to be patient.”

“I’d rather you could sleep.”

“Me, too. It’s not easy being passive.”

He chuckled. “Some people call it cooperation.”

“Cooperation sucks.”

“Look at it this way. There haven’t been any more incidents.”

“Oh, I’m thrilled.” Her face turned toward the window. “Does that mean I can get the burglar bars removed?”

“Not yet.” Not ever, if he had a say.

“Harry doesn’t like them either. He stalks them.”

“Harry’s been very edgy lately.”

“Kind of like you.”

“Me? Edgy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“At least I haven’t peed in the closet.”

She laughed. “No, but how many times did you check the locks before bed?”

“I’m taking care of you.”

She rolled up against him. “We’re partners. We can take care of each other.”

His hand went to her hip, which was bare except for the elastic of her string bikini panties. “Mmm, sounds good to me.”

She kissed his chest. “Isn’t sex supposed to be a sleeping pill?”

“Hasn’t worked on you yet,” he said, “but I’m willing to keep trying.”

They snuggled against each other, their legs and arms entwining in a way that had become second nature in a very short time. Unless he added up the previous three years.

Since the evening of the church wedding, Marissa had been more comfortable with expressions of affection. They both knew that they’d taken a major step that night, but so far neither of them had attempted to put it into words.

He was more patient than Marissa.

She stroked his upper arm, her fingers tracing patterns around the muscles. “If Howard doesn’t come through, I’ll have to try something else.”

“We can always go to the police, the way I wanted to. Give them a chance to look into it.”

“My career would be over.”

“Not your entire career. But, yeah, maybe this one job.” He planted kisses along her forehead. “You have to decide what you’re willing to put up with, or do, to stay there.”

“There are compromises in every job. I’ve already had to represent clients whose business ethics weren’t my personal taste.”

“Did you say compromise? Not unlike cooperation.”

She went silent. He felt her breathing against his neck. Sensed the fight inside her.

Her hand dropped to the waistband of his boxers. “I get what you’re saying. And I am willing to risk a lot. But going to the police would truly be career suicide. When I close my eyes, I see myself back in Miami, working out of a shabby storefront, making out wills for old men in Madras shorts and black socks.”

“Come on. That won’t happen.” He grazed her with his lips. “And what if it did? Would that be so bad?”

“Hell, yes!”

“If I was there?”

“That would make it better. Tolerable.”

“Only tolerable?”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a woman wanting both a career and a hus—a fam—a satisfying love life.”

“Yeah, I hear those hus-fams are very satisfying.”

She giggled, playing with the tag on his shorts, running her finger along the puckered elastic. “So I’m exaggerating. There’s a point in there somewhere.”

“Yes,” he conceded. “But for the short term, let’s focus on the next few days. There’s not much you can do if your boss doesn’t want to bother with the photos.”

Her hand slipped inside his boxer shorts. “I could get more evidence.”

“How?”

“I’ll nose around. Ophelia knows everything that goes down.” She licked at his nipple as her hand closed on his growing erection.

He groaned.

“What was that groan for?” Her tongue swirled in his navel. “This?” Hot blood surged toward his loins. “Or my plan?”

He put his hand on the back of her head. “It’s a plan now, is it?”

“I’ll be careful.” She pumped his erection, knowing he needed the firm pressure. His hips lifted, thrust. Her lips opened, sucking the head of his penis into the satin warmth of her mouth. Her tongue rolled, circled, plunged. He slid deeper into heaven. What was left of his brain reeled like a carnival ride.

Unbelievable. A blow job in the middle of the night. He had to marry this woman or die trying.

Her head lifted. “Give it to me,” she said in a hoarse voice, her fist squeezing his shaft.

He thrust. She took him. Again and again, the driving instinct escalating until he was lost in a wet, dark world where there was only her hands and her sweet mouth and the love that he wanted to give to her, the love that she would learn to return, the love that was too big for words, for sex, for the humble human heart.

But that was all they had.

Marissa beckoned, taking him to the edge with her relentless, licentious mouth. He closed his eyes and saw lush greenery, a blazing sun, the golden-brown curves of a woman’s naked body. Love. Truth. Destiny. Paradise. With an animal cry, he dove into the raging torrent of his release, tumbling over the edge like a waterfall. His pulsing cock touched the back of her throat and she swallowed convulsively, the liquid movement of her mouth and tongue the only remaining touchstone in a capsized universe.

The rush!

He floated. Brainless. Undone.

Eventually he became aware of Marissa, her hot skin. The tantalizing peak, the roundness of her breast. Swaying beneath his hand.

She was kissing a path up his sprawled body.

“Sleepy yet?” he said, and her laugh was husky with sex.

“That would be you.”

“What are you trying to do? Put me out for the count so I can make no objections to your great plan to play the innocent heroine who stumbles onto evidence and gets captured and held over a vat of snapping crocodiles while the hero is shot at when he comes to save her?”

She dug her chin into his abdomen until he winced. “I must not give head as good as I thought if you can put together a sentence like that afterward.”