Protect Me, Love Part 3

"Is it possible that the person you saw following you last night could have been a woman?"

Delia paused to check her memory one more time. "No," she said. "It was definitely a man."

He said that with concern in his voice this time. Maybe that was why Delia didn't think to be irritated.

"That means we're dealing with two people then," he said.

"Yes," she said. "I know."

She went into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. She was careful not to let herself look in the direction of the windowsill.

NICK INSISTED they take a cab yet again, this time to the settlement house. Delia tried to tell him that would only make them more conspicuous, a violation of the invisibility rule for staying undercover if she'd ever heard one. Not many people took cabs on Hester Street. She certainly never had. The subway came close enough with a brisk walk added on, but Nick wouldn't hear of it. She understood his concern. He was only trying to do him job. Right now, that job was protecting her. She did appreciate how conscientious he was being about it, especially now that there might be two pursue's to look out for instead of one. She hadn't said anything to Nick yet, but she suspected that her next encounter with whoever was after her could be a violent one. She wasn't sure why she antic.i.p.ated that, more intuition than anything concrete. She hadn't mentioned these thoughts to Nick simply because they were so unfounded. Besides, he might start asking more questions about her alleged ex-boyfriend. Intuition again, and common sense, told her the Clyde Benno story could wear thin with too much use so she avoided the subject as much as possible. Unfortunately, the true story here was a lot scarier than the one Delia had made up. The person or persons she was actually afraid of had committed murder already, probably to get their hands on the money that would have been hers on her twenty-fifth birthday had she still been around to claim it. In just two more years, the other heirs could have her declared officially dead, as long as she didn't re-emerge as Rebecca Lester in the meantime. She didn't intend to do anything of the kind, but they wouldn't know that. Their interests would be best served by having her out of the way permanently, as in dead, rather than only underground somewhere. If she'd been spotted by someone or finally traced to her present location, as she'd always feared would happen someday, then she was in even greater danger than Nick believed. Delia would have preferred to take her chances with a psycho ex-lover, with or without an embittered spouse, than to find herself at the mercy of whoever had left poor Morty Lancer murdered in her bedroom five years ago.

Consequently, she hadn't given Nick too much of a hard time about the cab. Still, she couldn't res' st a comment when he hopped out ahead of her in front of the settlement house and wouldn't let her follow until he'd thoroughly perused the street.

"Now everybody on the block thinks I'm either a felon being towed around by a cop or an heiress with so many valuables she needs somebody to check out the alleyways before she walks by."

"In that getup, you look more like the felon than the rich lady."

Nick was referring to her Hester Street outfita"ancient faded jeans with rips at the knees backed by flannel patches and an I Luv NY sweats.h.i.+rt that had started out white until it got mixed up in a load of dark laundry and turned an odd combo of several dingy colors. Brown leather hiking boots with heavy, tire-tread soles finished off her ensemble along with a banged-up leather bomber jacket that had become what they call "distressed" without any help from the manufacturer. Usually, she jammed a navy blue knit watch cap over her head and pulled it down over her ears. She hadn't done that today despite the biting weather. She told herself she didn't need a hat to ride in a cab. She understood, all the same, that her choice of bareheaded-ness had more to do with not looking like a stevedore in front of Nick than it did with anything else.

Maybe that's why she responded to him by asking, somewhat defensively, "What's wrong with my getup?"

He hustled her inside the door to the settlement house building before answering. "Not a thing, really." He looked her over, and she could feel her cheeks heat up from more than just being indoors. "You look very downtown," he said.

"Is that good or bad?"

His at least twice-over glance stopped at her eyes. "I imagine anything would look good on you."

They were standing just inside the door. There was plenty of activity here as alwaysa"a kid bouncing a basketball down the hallway, a social worker with an armload of manila folders talking with a police officer, a variety of other characters old and young. In an instant, all of that came to a halt for Delia, like in a dream or a movie where the background noise goes silent and the action becomes slow motion for a while. She hadn't expected Nick to answer her so directly or in such a serious tone. They'd been bantering up till then, on the way over here in the cab and coming into the building. Now he was standing there looking down at her with something in his eyes that froze her in fear and, at the same time, made her heart leap under her discolored sweats.h.i.+rt. She was both relieved and disappointed when he broke the spell.

"You said you had an appointment here. Who's it with?" he asked.

"Her name is Jaycee." Delia was surprised to hear her voice work so well over the lump of tangled emotions in her throat. "She's probably waiting for me now. She never misses a lesson."

Delia took off down the hall in a hurry, both because she didn't want to be late for her session with Jaycee and to put some distance between herself and Nick. Right now, she needed that buffer zone against the way her body apparently couldn't stop responding to him at close quarters. Unfortunately he caught up and kept pace with her easily. There was no way to get away from him, short of breaking into a run. She wasn't about to resort to that, and he'd probably just start running himself if she did. She slowed her step to a speed more in sync with this generally pretty-laid-back place. They reached the room where she did her tutoring, and she was about to ask him to wait for her out here in the hallway when the door opened on Jaycee and her lopsided grin.

Delia wasn't sure if Jaytee smiled that way because she might have a stroke in her past medical history or from some kind of street injury to her face. She'd been no stranger to the violence that plagues those who live by their wits without permanent shelter in the city. Still, Delia had never once met with Jaytee that she didn't have that crooked smile on her face and a happy word to say.

"Hi, there, sugar. I was wonderin" if you'd be making it down here tonight, what with Christmas comin" and all."

"I wouldn't want to miss a lesson with you, Jaycee, and if I had to, I'd make sure I got a message to you in advance."

"And I "predate that, too, honey. I can't tell you how much. Now tell me, who's this handsome lad?"

Delia turned to see Nick eyeing Jaycee warily. Delia might have reacted similarly the first time she met Jaycee except that by then Delia had been volunteering at Hester Street for quite some time and it no longer even occurred to her to expect the people here to look like they were turned out for a fas.h.i.+onable afternoon on Fifth Avenue. Still, she could understand what Nick might be thinking now.

Jaycee's appearance was eccentric to say the least. Her hair was wild, gray frizz that could never be quite contained by any of the various forms of headgear she chose to wear. Today's chapeau was a rather shabby Shriner's fez, complete with top ta.s.sel and Jaycee's own personal modification, flaps of red fabric sewn onto the rim and long enough to cover her ears. The st of her costume generally consisted of all or most of the garments in her possession, worn in differing order from one of her meetings with Delia to the next. Today a once-blue denim drop-wasted dress was on top. From beneath the long hem protruded the boots Delia herself had scouted out at the big Salvation Army store on West Forty-sixth Street. She'd known better than to buy new boots, however much she wanted to. New boots would attract too much envious attention among Jaycee's fellow street dwellers.

The most extraordinary thing about Jaycce's appearance was how clean she was able to keep herself and her clothing, all the many layers of it. This was no mean feat for a woman with no bathroom to call her own. Delia respected Jaycee's privacy and didn't ask how she accomplished that feat. Public rest rooms, facilities here at the settlement house, quarters not easily come by h.o.a.rded for the coin-operated laundry. Delia suspected that Jaycee took advantage of all of these and any other opportunities to get to clean water and a little soap, as long as it didn't involve going to a city shelter. Jaycee had told Delia how dangerous those places were and vowed to stay out of them at all costs. Delia couldn't take Nick aside to tell him these things now. Instead she decided to have him sit in on the reading lesson, after all.

For the next two hours he stayed at the back of the room and watched while Jaycee struggled over one word after another but wouldn't let Delia help her much. Jaycee's determination to learn to read by her own diligence was as strong as her determination to maintain her personal hygiene and the dignity that went with it. By the end of the session, out of the corner of her eye, Delia could see Nick leaning forward in his chair mouthing the words he had already figured out just from listening, wanting to help Jaycee in her valiant struggle. Maybe Nick had learned a lesson of his own that day on Hester Street, Delia thought as the three of them walked down the hall to the front door of the settlement house at the end of the lesson.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Jaycee said as Delia and Nick were about to leave. "I got a prediction for you. An important one."

"Jaycee is believed by many to have the power of future sight," Delia said to Nick in response to his questioning look. He nodded his head but didn't say anything. She could pretty much imagine his skeptical thoughts, since she had some of those herselfa"though she never mentioned them to Jaycee.

"What I see for you is two gifts," Jaycee said, "both comin" on Christmas Eve. One'll come from me. The other's gonna be from heaven." Jaycee folded her arms across her many-layered bosom and smiled crookedly. "You jus" keep your heart true, honey, and my sight's gonna prove true, too."

"Thanks, Jaycee. I'll keep that in mind."

"You got a true hear ting you, whatever your secrets may be, sugar. I know that for a sure fact."

Delia was stopped short by that statement. If Nick hadn't been there, she would have asked Jaycee what secrets she was talking about, but Delia didn't want him to hear the answer. She didn't really believe in second sight, psychic powers, that sort of thing. But she didn't entirely disbelieve, either. She'd steer the subject in another direction if Nick brought up the predictions. Unfortunately, what he actually wanted to talk about after they'd left the settlement house was even touchier.

"Have you considered the possibility that your friend Jaycee could be the one trying to break into your place?" he asked.

"No, I haven't considered that." Delia sounded even more belligerent because she didn't want to believe that what he was suggesting could be true.

"I guess you weren't watching when she was' pointing out the words she was reading with her finger."

"What are you talking about? Of course, I was watching."

"Then you should have noticed that Jaycee has very small hands."

Delia shrugged and turned toward the corner. She had suggested they walk to one of the wider thoroughfares where they'd he more likely to find a cab to flag down. They stepped off the curb in that direction. Nick might have made his customary visual sweep of the vicinity; Delia didn't notice. She was too disturbed by his observation about the size of Jaycce's hands and by the fact that it happened to be accurate. Delia also didn't notice the late-model, dark-colored car suddenly hurtling toward them until the last moment of possible safety. Then it was Nick's fast reaction and strong arms that saved her from being mowed down. He picked her up off her feet and spun backward to the curb in a single motion that carried them both out of the path of death just in the nick of tune.

After the dark sedan had sped off down the street, Delia clung to Nick's jacket and gasped for each terrified breath with his arms around her, and very welcome. He didn't have to say that this wasn't likely to have been an accident. She didn't have to say that Jay-tee, the homeless woman from the settlement house, wasn't likely to have been the person behind the wheel.

Chapter Seven.

Nick couldn't believe he didn't get the license plate number. They were under a streetlight when it happened, and he missed the tag. He didn't give chase, either. Those things were usually second nature to him, but not today. When that car came bearing down on them out of nowhere, there'd been nothing in his nature-or his mind and hearta"but Delia. He could say he was doing his job, protecting the client, but he knew that wasn't why he'd forgotten every lawman instinct he'd ever had to pick her up in his arms and s.h.i.+eld her with his body till the danger had pa.s.sed. She'd huddled trembling against him while he'd murmured comfort into the sweet scent of her hair.

Because of that, they had nothing to go on now when it came to proving Benno, or his wife, tried to run Delia down. The streetlight made mistaken ident.i.ty extremely unlikely. The way the car veered to the right from its direct path confirmed that this Was a deliberate attempt to hit her. Otherwise, Nick had no evidence and, of course, there'd been no witnesses. They were in a part of town where n.o.body sees anything, especially when it involves strangers. That meant no details on the driver except a description of a dark sedan that could have been any of a thousand cars.

As if all of that wasn't bad enough, he'd let Delia have her way when she'd insisted they come straight home. Agaiu, he hadn't been using his cop's good judgment. At the time, he could only think about taking her where she'd feel safe. Still, he knew very well that this apartment, even with all of her security measures, was the last place she should seek refuge. Both Benno and his wife would expect her to come here. Nick had tried to tell Delia that, but she wasn't being rational fight now. He could understand how shaken and terrified she had to be. He'd been pretty scared for her himself, too scared to be as cool and calculating as he usually was on a case. All he could focus on was keeping her in the shelter of his arms from that corner of Hester Street back here to her apartment. Even now that they were inside, with the locks engaged and the heavy drapes pulled shut, he didn't want to let her go. He wished he could hold on to her forever. The startling nature of that thought was what finally allowed him to step away from her side.

"We need to get the police involved now," he said after he had her settled on the couch with a cup of hot tea in her hand and a blanket tucked around her. "No police," she said.

She'd been saying that from the first time he'd suggested it in the Sea Grill. She was even more adamant now.

"He tried to run you over with his car," Nick insisted just as emphatically while he paced her small living room. "By the way, was that his car?"

"What?"

She looked up at him with a vague expression on her face, like she was still too knocked off kilter by what had happened to comprehend his words. Nick forced his cop sense to overrule the urge to run to her side and fold her into his arms again. He'd done enough of that already. It was time for other, more deliberately defensive action now.

"I asked if you recognized Benno's car."

"I guess so." She sounded vague, too. "I couldn't really be sure. It was dark."

He wouldn't argue with her while she was in such a frazzled state, but they'd been beneath the streetlight. Still, he. let it pa.s.s for the moment.

"If we went to the police, they could check out the exact model of his car so we'd know if it fits the general description of the one we'd seen tonight. You do know what he drives, don't you?"

"We're not going to the police. How many times do I have to say that?"

Her hands were shaking again, hard enough to make the teacup rattle in its saucer.

"Okay, okay," Nick said. He'd have to change his approach here. "Then let me go after Benno at his home. You said he lives out on Long Island. Right?"

"You're not going to do that. You're going to stick with me and be my bodyguard. That's what I hired you to do. It isn't your job to play detective, or strong-arm man, either."

She sounded like she was back in control, as if the effort to make herself heard by him was bringing her to her normal self again. But that wasn't what captured Nick's attention most. What came through to him loud and clear was the rightness of what she'd said about the nature of his job. A bodyguard stuck with the client first and foremost. He didn't go running off to hunt down the perp. Nick might have been a cop a long time ago, but he wasn't one anymore and hadn't been for almost ten years. There was no excuse for forgetting that. The client and the client's wishes had priority, and that included going along with her if she wanted to keep the law out of her business. Many people who hire personal protection do so for just that reason, to avoid official intrusion and inquiries into their private concerns. Delia had every right to want that, too.

"You win," he said, and halted his pacing to sit down next to her on the couch. He took the cup and saucer from her and put them on" the end table. She'd taken only a sip or two, and the tea had gone cold. "We won't go to the police, and I won't go after Benno. But I am going to insist on some other aggressive precautions." "What would those precautions be?"

She sounded strong again, more like herself. Still, Nick would have loved to put his arms around her once more.

"First of all, I want you to move out of this place for a while."

"Where would I go?"

"Don't you have some family somewhere?"

"No family," she said, pulling the blanket closer around her.

"What about all of those people over there?"

Nick gestured toward the photographs on the claw-looted table by the window. Once again, she didn't seem to comprehend what he was saying to her. She was apparently still more shaken than he'd thought, which would be natural for somebody who narrowly sc aped death only an hour ago.

"They're all too far away," she said after a moment, averting her eyes from the photos, as if she couldn't stand to be reminded of the long distance she was from home. "Besides, I have no intention of leaving e city."

He could hear that she was refusing to let this guy run her out of town. Nick had to admire and respect the courage of that conviction.

"Then we'll move you somewhere else in Manhattan for a few days. Benno may cool down some in the meantime."

"What kind of move are you thinking of?" "Someplace where there's good security, like a ho Nick had lived in hotels himself for so long that it was almost automatic for him to think of them as a residence alternative. Delia didn't say anything. She looked like she might be allowing the idea to settle in. At least, she didn't start right off with a negative response as she had with his other suggestions. He shut his mouth and let her think quietly. She could be very stubborn. He'd already found that out about her. Now that the shock of Hester Street was wearing off and she was returning to normal, that characteristic stubbornness could pop up like a wall between them at any moment. If he pushed her too hard, he could make that happen, which was the last thing he wanted.

Nick settled back against the couch cus.h.i.+ons and watched her clasp and unclasp her hands in her lap. She had beautiful hands, pale-skinned and tapered and rather delicate. That thought caught in Nick's investigative mind like a piece of silk on a snag. Were her hands about the same size as the prints on the windowsill? Was there any possibility she could have made those marks herself? If so, why would she do that?

Nick shook himself mentally. Exactly. Why would she do that? She had no reason. His automatically suspicious mind, long trained to find deception everywhere, was working overtime again. This was a case of unrequited love gone haywire, with a jealous mate thrown in for good measure. The stalking lover angle was something of a different wrinkle on the theme but not by much. Stalkers were getting to be as commonplace as outraged spouses these days. Nick had no reason to read anything more than that into this case. Besides, now that he thought about it, Delia's fingers were longer than the ones in the prints on the windowsill and window. He let himself dwell for a moment on how much he'd like to cover those hands with his own and what her reaction might be if he did. He was still thinking about that when she finally spoke.

"A hotel might be a good idea," she said. "One of the first-cla.s.s ones where they keep a large security staff and a tight safety net because they have so many high-powered guests."

She seemed to be musing to herself as much as she was talking to him. Nick spoke quietly so as not to in-tern apt her thoughtful and, at last, calmer mood.

"Did you have someplace specific in mind?" he asked.

"The Waldorf," she said with the finality of someone who has come upon the perfect solution to a problem.

Nick was stunned into silence for a moment. He'd expected something a little less grand.

"Wouldn't that be a bit pricey?" he asked. She was only an office manager, after all. How much money could she make?

"Pricey?" She seemed to come suddenly back from wherever her mind had been off to. "Oh, I belong to the Hilton Club. They give you free nights and special rates. The Waldorf's a Hilton Hotel now."

She would know about hotels, of course. Shehad to put clients up in them some limes As for the Hilton Club, Nick knew about frequent traveler plans. He wondered where she'd traveled to get enough points for free nights in a place like the Waldorf. Most of all, he couldn't help wondering who'd taken those trips with her. Could it have been this Benno character? He takes off on what he tells his wife is a business junket and sneaks his other woman along. Nick grimaced to himself at the thought. So far, he'd been doing a pretty good job of keeping himself from connecting Delia s.e.xually with Benno. He didn't want to start making those connections now.

"The Waldorf it is," Nick said.

DEt. KNEW she'd almost blown her cover with that question about the Waldorf. So much was going on that she'd forgotten for a moment to watch out for the details of her daily life cover story. She was generally careful to keep her spending habits realistic for her alleged salary level, which wasn't difficult for her. She was content with a small, simple apartment. She no longer wore jewels like the ones she'd taken with her when she'd fled Colorado. She'd used those expensive trinkets to set herself up in business and begin a modest investment portfolio. Not bad for Becky Lester, a flighty twenty-something who wasn't supposed to have a brain in her head. As Delia Barry, she'd taught herself to manage those investments wisely to build a solid financial foundation. Most of all, Delia had worked. The result was that she could well afford the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel.

On the other hand, for Della Marie, office functionary, such accommodations would be more than a pinch. Considering that, she'd resisted the impulse to take a two-bedroom suite and booked them into two regular, but adjoining rooms.

"We're all set," she said as she dashed around her apartment, throwing things into one duffel and a single suit bag.

"Good. I want to get out of here tonight."

"What about your things? Or do you travel with what you can carry on your back?" L'ike some ancient vagabond or Old West cowboy, she couldn't help thinking.

"I'll stop back at my place later to pick up my kit." Delia decided he might be the modern day version of a high plains drifter after all, which gave her even more reason to want him installed in that adjoining room. She needed a hired gun on her side right now. More than she would have admitted out loud to him or anyone else, she was afraid.

She remembered this kind of fear as a version of what she'd experienced that morning five years ago. Her breath came high in the back of her throat, and she could barely swallow over the dryness there. At some moments the fear would rev itself up to panic pitch, as if she were in the middle of a nightmare not knowing which way to run since every direction led to disaster. All of her will and determination had to be pressed into service to wrestle that frenzy back under control. Otherwise chaos could break through onto the surface. Then she was actually likely to go darting off, this way and that, and back again. Even with all of her control instincts engaged, she could feel her breath high and shallow, as if she'd been doing that furtive das.h.i.+ng about in more than just her imagination.

Nonetheless, she hated leaving her apartment, being chased out of the home she'd made for hear self She'd felt safe there till now, tucked up in her cozy nest of three warm rooms. Unfortunately she wasn't safe there any longer. She understood that even more clearly than Nick did. Whoever was after her had strong reasons for wanting her dead. A pile of money was at stake, multiples of her tidy investment portfolio and PEI's profit margin combined. Working for rich clients these past five years made her very aware of how far some people will go to get their hands on that kind of money and what lengths they will take to keep from losing it. She had no doubt at all that her pursuers, as soon as they w.a.n.gled a clear opportunity to do so, would kill her, and maybe Nick, too. Delia was not too proud to admit that thought terrified her.

So she'd packed her bags to go into hiding, Her heart saddened as she took one last look at the blue spruce still standing bare-branched in her living room. She'd so looked forward to arranging colored lights and draping garland. She'd also looked forward to doing that with some company this year. She could see Nick, in her mind's eye at least, disentangling the light strings while she unpacked gla.s.s Christmas b.a.l.l.s from their tissue storage wrappings. She imagined his chiseled silhouette in the halo of twinkling tree lights and could most hear the carols she played each Christmas Eve. She'd played those carols all by herself for several seasons now. In the last twenty-four hours she'd come to remember what it was like not to be by herself any longer.

She'd been lonely these past five years, some- : times desperately so. No amount of hard work and keeping busy could cover up that reality. Before yesterday, she might have been able to tell herself she was settled into her hem it life and resigned to staying there. Tonight, she understood how untrue that was. Thus, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the tree had taken on even more importance for her than usual.

FORTUNATELY, the Waldorf had gone out of its way to make the season bright.. The grand chandelier in the foyer sparkled with light. This already majestic cascade of twinkling gla.s.s prisms had been left free of holiday festoonery, but the rest. of the foyer made up for that one concession to simplicity. SculptS. shrubs in pots were wound around with burgundy velvet and gold net sas.h.i.+ng. A tableau in motion depicted an eighteenth-century street scene, circa the era of the original Waldorf-Astoria. Huge poinsettia plants in bra.s.s tureens lined the railing above the marble entrance stairs. Delia stopped for a moment and turned almost full circle in the middle of the famous Wheel of Life mosaic. There it wasa"up on the balcony near the lobby piano loungea"a lovely tree so tall it barely cleared the ceiling. The tree had been draped in more velvet sash, hung with large gilded pinecones, then twined the full length in woven vines of winter brown.

"Isn't it all so very beautiful," she breathed, hardly aware that at the moment she sounded about eight years old.

"Yes, it is," Nick answered.

The stillness of his tone prompted her to complete her circling in his direction. He wasn't extolling the splendor of the foyer. He was looking directly at her, and she suspected he'd been doing so all along. Delia dropped her glance and felt her cheeks warm in a blush that would have suited the bonne ted young lady in the nearby Victorian tableau. Delia had noticed Nick admiring her before but never so openly as now. Her long winter overcoat was suddenly too warm beneath his gaze. She fumbled to undo the b.u.t.tons as she walked toward the main lobby with more haste than might have been usual for a place as genteel as the Waldorf. The events of the past twenty-four hours had consumed her mind so completely that she'd had little time for pondering the present much less the past. Even in their few tranquil moments she'd kept herself from thinking much about the fact that she'd once been infatuated enough with Nick to want him for her lover. Now she had to stifle an impulse toward panic, as she realized how difficult it might be to continue suppressing that past desire with the two of them staying in the same hotel together, only a door's width apart.