Like a Knife (8 page)

He ran to the doorway. "Frank!" The older man turned, careful and dignified. But Nick couldn't ask, not straight up, not knowing whether or not he'd be revealing something too deadly to say out loud. "Where's Rennie?"

Frank pursed his lips, eyeing Nick with a long, assessing glance. "I should have you whipped for pulling a piece on me. I'm your friend, Nicky, your best friend. And as your friend I'm telling you, you're acting crazy again. Like you did right before you left the last time. And that means no one's going to trust you with nothing. Especially Rennie."

With a last disgusted glance, Frank shuffled down the corridor. Nick watched him go, knowing Rennie could be plotting a thousand things, all of which could have nothing to do with Rachel. But until he heard the denial from Rennie's own mouth, until Nick saw the truth in those ice-blue eyes, he wouldn't count out Spier as the man behind last night's attack.

In the meantime, sweat and sleeplessness had taken their toll. With no desire to linger, he took the elevator down to his suite and headed straight for the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, be was dressed in a fresh shirt and a clean suit. Knotting his tie, he gazed in the mirror. The scarlet set off the sleek white of the starched shirt. The jacket draped his shoulders with elegance and sculpted his waist at exactly the right point.

Nick looked at his reflection, and his skin crawled.

He yanked the tie off his neck, then turned his back on the sight of himself.

* * *

At six, Rachel peeked out and saw Nick's car in front of the church, just as he'd promised. The sight of him sent a small wave of warmth through her. He'd been nearby all afternoon. She knew because she checked, disobeying him for a few seconds to peek out the window. His presence eased the fear that had beat at the back of her skull all day, fear for herself, but also worry about the boy in the photograph. Watching the children had been a constant reminder. They were safe; was he?

She slipped out the door. Nick waited at the top of the steps, his gaze moving constantly. Using his body as a shield, he escorted her down the stairs and into the car. He ran around the front, got behind the wheel, and a second later peeled away from the curb.

At some point he'd managed to change his clothes, but in deference to the heat, his jacket and tie were lying on the backseat. The day had taken his edge off. He looked worn down, face tired and lined. She didn't wonder. If his night had been anything like hers, he hadn't gotten much sleep. And who knew what he'd done to keep himself awake during the day.

"Did you eat today?"

He cut a glance over at her. "I'm fine."

His brusque reply was a repeat of the morning. She tamped down her irritation, leaned back, and closed her eyes, just as happy not to talk either. Three-, four-, and five-year-olds were tough enough on a good night's sleep. They were murder on a bad one.

To add to that, she'd been jumpy as hell all day, gasping at her own shadow. But she'd made it through. No threats from Bill Hughes, no warnings from Father Pat Her school was alive, her children safe. That was worth a month of sleepless nights.

She yawned. What she wouldn't give for a few hours' peace. But in that dark apartment, by herself...

She shuddered and sat up. They were on the expressway, past the exit to her apartment. "Where are you going?"

"Shortcut."

"Shortcut? You missed the exit."

"Did I?" He seemed unconcerned.

"If you get off at the next exit, you can double back around."

"I know where I'm going. Why don't you take a nap? I promise to get you there."

She looked at him suspiciously, then sighed. What did it matter how long it took to get home? According to her manager, the power still hadn't been turned on. Which meant another stifling night in the dark. At least the car was air-conditioned. And safe. She leaned back and closed her eyes again.

She didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until she heard Nick calling her name from a great distance. But when she opened her eyes, he was right next to her in the car, holding out his cell phone.

"Say hello," he whispered. He shoved the phone at her so she had no choice but to take it.

"Hello?"

"Rachel, dear, is that you?"

"Aunt Julia?" She sat up, blinking away sleep, and looked around. The iron gate that blocked the road and the large homes beyond it were all painfully familiar.

"What a nice surprise! Come up, we'd love to see you."

The gate swung open slowly, and Nick drove through.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped as she ended the call.

"I couldn't get your door fixed until tomorrow. You need a safe place to stay tonight."

"I told you-"

"I don't give a damn what you told me." He slammed on
the brakes and, leaning an elbow against the door, raked a hand through his hair. "Look... I've got something to do tonight, and you can't stay alone in that apartment."

Should she strangle him now or later? She glowered out the window as he eased off the brake, but couldn't hold on to the anger. Truth was, she didn't especially want to spend the night alone in the apartment, no matter what she said. But how in holy hell was she ever going to explain to her aunt and uncle without making them hysterical?

"If you had to pull a
stunt
like this, I'd rather go
to
a motel."

"You'll be safer surrounded by people. And now that I've seen your family lives in a gated community, staying here is even better."

"I suppose you've been hatching this little plot with them all day."

He gave her a mild look. "Relax. They didn't know you were coming until I called from the gate. I used a phone book and a map of Long Island to find them."

Somewhat mollified, she said, "So they don't know anything?"

"Just that we were passing by, and you thought it would be fun to see them."

"Fun?" She shook her head. "Next time you make plans that include me, I'd like a little advance warning."

"They're your family. They took you in when you needed them before, they'll take you in now."

"Oh, yes, they were kind enough to take me in." She paused, hearing the irony in her voice. "I guess you could say they were kind... when they weren't calling my father a damned commie or blaming him for my mother's death."

"Blaming him?" Nick shot her a surprised look. "How could it have been his fault?"

'Trust me, they have it all figured out. Thank God for my cousin Chris. I would never have survived my childhood without him." She sighed. "You know what the sad thing is? As much as I defended my father to my aunt and uncle, they were right about one thing. He always eared more about the 'cause' than he did about me."

Old wounds. She forced herself to shake them off as he drove through the stone pillars at the end of the cul-de-sac and moved up to the house, where the drive curved in a bow around the entrance. Several other cars were already parked when they arrived.

He threw his tie around his neck and got out of the car, using the side-view mirror to knot it. He had to bend down and contort himself to see his reflection in the little mirror. "Is it straight? I can't tell."

She came around the Porsche's front end and examined him. The tie was slightly off center, and as she reached up to adjust it, she made the mistake of raising her gaze to his face. All thought of the past fled, and she was instantly caught in the moment. Nick looked down at her, wistful and hungry. The reflection of the setting sun made his obsidian eyes glimmer with heat and accented the blue highlights in his inky hair. Her heart sped up, a tremor fluttered the fingers at his throat. As if he felt her tremble, his hands covered hers, steadying mem. An electric pulse shot through her.

"I.. I don't know why you're bothering with a tie."

His eyes ate her up. "I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

"You won't."

Another silence. Spellbound, she couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

In the distance, a door opened. "Rachel, what a treat!"

. Rachel blinked and stepped back. Nick reached for his jacket, shrugging into it as Julia came down the steps toward them.

"I'm so glad to see you. What a great idea this was." She smiled and enveloped Rachel in a perfumed embrace. A petite woman with large, dark eyes, Julia had shoulder-length, gray-swept hair pulled back from her face. Trim and ten years younger-looking than her actual fifty-five, she wore a black linen sheath and chuaky silver beads. "Come in, come in. You're just in time for dinner." She walked them up the columned front entrance and into the house.

As always, the sweeping foyer with its two-story-higii ceiling and imposing granite, walls made Rachel uncomfortable.

Nick leaned in and asked in a low voice, "You okay?"

She nodded. It always took a few minutes to adjust to the splendor of "Castle" Bradshaw.

The sound of voices drifted from farther inside the house. She turned to her aunt. "You have guests."

"A small dinner party. Plenty of room for two more. In fact, there's someone here you should meet. But first, aren't you going to introduce me?"

Before she could reply, Nick did. He extended his hand to Julia. "I'm Nick, a friend of Rachel's."

She slipped her hand into his and looked up at him. Her initial smile turned to puzzlement. "You know, you look familiar. Have we met before?"

Rachel tensed, remembering his picture plastered all over the newspaper. But Nick only smiled. "I'm sure I would remember meeting such an attractive woman. And in such a beautiful setting."

This was a new Nick. A charmer. And Julia beamed, lapping it up. "Thank you. But you should save that kind of nonsense for my niece."

Nick threw an arm around Rachel as if he did it twenty times a day; "Plenty more left over for her," he said with a Squeeze.

Julia noted the embrace with interest, and Rachel repressed a groan. Interest, meant questions. Questions Rachel didn't want to answer.

Julia said, "I hope you're hungry."

Rachel had had enough. No matter what Nick said, a motel would definitely be better. "Actually, we're only stopping for a few-"

But Nick tucked her arm through his. "We're starved."

She scowled at him, and he ignored the look, pulling her relentlessly toward the dining room.

"Good. I'm so glad you came. Rachel, you've been ... well, distant lately. Is everything all right? That man hasn't come back, has lie? The one involved in the death of that Spier woman?"

Nick's hand tightened over hers. "No," she lied. "Everything is fine." Just fine.

They reached the dining room. Nine people sat around the dark cherry table. She recognized several lawyers from her uncle's firm, a couple of women from her aunt's charity league, and in the middle, hair longer than was fashionable, wearing a T-shirt under a casual, if expensive, sports coat, sat her cousin Chris.
An ally. Thank God.

She sent him a silent plea for help, but the rat was in one of his mischievous moods. He grinned and winked at her while his mother made a big production of the introductions, tapping on a water glass to gain everyone's attention and then addressing the entire group.

"For those who haven't met her before, this is my wonderful nieee, Rachel Goodman, and this-" She turned to Nick.

"Is Nick." He completed Julia's sentence, and everyone laughed. But Rachel noted that he hadn't divulged his last name.

"Elliot Bradshaw." Her uncle, a burly man with iron-gray hair, rose to shake Nick's hand. "Please, sit down." He gestured to the two empty places that had been quickly laid. "What do you do, Nick?"

The inquisition had begun. Rachel drew in a taut breath, but Nick paused only a moment before saying, "I'm in... cleaning and repairs."

"Really," Elliot said, laying down his knife and fork. "Do you know Max Sinclair, New York Sanitation? One of our clients."

"Haven't had the pleasure," Nick replied smoothly.

Elliot's eyebrows rose. "Interesting. He runs the biggest cleaning network in the five boroughs."

A server placed a salad in front of Rachel, and she stared at the food. How could she eat? Every question held a hidden trap, every answer had to be a lie.

Chris piped up, a too-innocent expression on his face. "So Nick, are you a member of any political"-he wrinkled up his nose as if the word carried an unpleasant odor-"organizations? You don't make speeches, do you?"

Nick looked at him calmly. "No."

"Well, that's a relief." He grinned at Rachel. "Now all you have to do is swear you'll send the poor girl flowers every once in a while. She's a sucker for yellow roses," he confided. "And if you make her cry or break her heart, well... I'll have to kill you."

"We'll all have to kill you," Julia said.

Rachel's gaze flew to Nick's, the talk of murder, even in jest, scraping too close to the bone. But he was smiling. "I better watch my step, then."

From the head of the table, her uncle's voice boomed. "Chris, introduce her to Dana."

A look of irritation crossed Chris's face, but he turned to the attractive blond sitting next to him, "Rachel, this is Dana Gershon."

"I'm so glad to meet you at last," Dana said with a warm smile. Slim and polished, she had a keen, blue-eyed gaze and a professional air that belied her soft, feminine looks. Rachel wondered if she was one of Elliot's lawyers.

"At last?"

"Dana wants to do a book on your father," her uncle said.

Not a lawyer. Worse, a writer.

"No one's done a definitive biography yet," the woman said, her voice taking on enthusiasm. "I've already talked to my publisher, and they're very excited."

Rachel frowned. The year after her father's death, she'd been plagued by writers with ideas for articles, books, and TV interviews. The tumult had faded, but every now and again someone approached her. Reluctant to relive her complicated relationship with her father, she always gave the same answer.

"I'm not interested."

"It wouldn't be all that involved. I'd like to interview you, of course, and the Bradshaws." She nodded at Elliot and Julia. "But I was really hoping for a look at his personal papers, records, diaries, anything like that."

"No."

Dana exchanged a glance with Chris, who said in a low voice, "I told you so."

Turning back to Rachel, the writer said, "May I ask why?"

"Sure." She smiled. "My relationship with my father is none of your business."

An embarrassed silence followed. In the middle of it, a fork clanked loudly onto a plate. Heads turned. Julia sat white-faced, her mouth open. She was staring at Nick.

"I remember where I've seen you." She pointed a finger at him. "You're that... that janitor from the school. The one involved in the Spier murder."