Falcon's Flight (12 page)

“The woman who accused me was my best friend’s...bride.” Flint’s pause over his last word was telling, as was the sneer that curled his lip. “She did so in an attempt—successful, I might add—to cover her own transgressions.” His smile was wry.

Leslie was having enough trouble assimilating the fact that Flint’s friend’s wife would even dream of accusing him without having to contend with his cagi-ness. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “You can’t let it go at that,” she insisted. “Why would she—” Leslie broke off as the waiter arrived with their food. The moment the waiter finished, she moved to push her plate away. Flint’s low voice halted her as her fingers touched the plate.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he said. “If you’ll eat every crumb of that sandwich, I’ll try to explain her motives. Deal?” His eyebrows shot into an arch.

“It’s a deal,” Leslie agreed, picking up half of her sandwich and taking a bite.

Flint favored her with one of his spine-tingling smiles. “Okay, you eat, I’ll talk. Don’t interrupt.” His smile flashed again; Leslie almost choked. “It was all rather stupid,” he began in a tone of utter boredom. “As it happened, six months after their wedding, my friend’s wife discovered that she was three months pregnant, which in itself should have delighted my friend.” He paused for a sip of wine while Leslie took note of the fact that he never referred to his friend by name. When Flint continued speaking, his voice was heavy with cynicism.

“But, understandably, my friend wasn’t delighted, since at the time he had supposedly impregnated his wife he was half a world away on special assignment for the oil company that employed him.”

“Why, that—” Leslie exclaimed.

“Precisely,” Flint concurred, “and you’ve only heard the half of it. Upon questioning by her outraged husband, the sweet little bride broke down and admitted that she had been raped.”

“He bought that?” Leslie’s expression was skeptical.

Flint laughed sarcastically. “Not initially. But on further questioning the little woman sobbingly named her rapist.”

“You.”

“Yeah.” Flint sighed the word on a sharp exhale. “He didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence, all circumstantial, appeared to give credence to her story. I had been to see her several times during his absence. It was common knowledge to all our friends that I had dated her a couple times before my friend ever met her.” His lips twisted. “She was very convincing on the stand, weepy and remorseful for being so friendly with me, however innocently.” He nodded solemnly. “She gave a great performance. The jury was out less than twenty minutes.” He sneered. “And twenty was the magic word; they gave me twenty years.”

“Oh, Flint.” Leslie’s lips were dry, but her eyes were wet.

Flint shook his head. “It’s over and not worth your tears.”

Leslie took a sip of her wine and dashed her tears away with her fingers. “You were paroled?”

“I was exonerated.” His smile held a tinge of pity. “I had served three years of the sentence when my friend caught his wife with another man. He finally forced the truth out of her; then he took her to repeat her story to the authorities.” He shrugged. “And here I am—” he inclined his head toward her plate “—waiting for you to finish that sandwich.”

Leslie obediently lifted the second half of her sandwich. “Didn’t your friend ever try to contact you?” she asked, immediately biting into the sandwich.

“He tried,” Flint drawled.

“You wouldn’t see him?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re very hard.”

This time, Flint’s laughter held a biting tone. “With reason, darling, with reason.”

“I know.” She sighed. “But even though he should have believed you,” she argued, wondering why she was playing the devil’s advocate, “he loved her, Flint. She betrayed both of you.”

“Love.” Flint snorted. “If that’s what love does to a man’s brains, I’ll take a rain check, thank you. And anyway, why are you pleading for love? It sure as hell gave you nothing but grief.”

“Too true.” Conceding the point with a smile but wondering why she felt suddenly empty, Leslie polished off her food and wine, then tossed her napkin onto the table. She needed people, faceless people, and action, gaming action. In short, Leslie suddenly needed her escape hatch. Flipping her mane back with one hand, she gave him her most rakish grin.

“I feel wonderful now that I’ve eaten,” she lied. “And now I want to play until they toss me out at closing time.”

Seven

It didn’t work anymore, dammit! It simply didn’t work, Leslie thought, staring disinterestedly at the cards before her on the table. She had been sitting at the blackjack table for nearly two hours. She had even won a tidy sum of money. And she was bored, bored, bored!

Dejected, Leslie fingered two ten-dollar chips, responding automatically to the table play. And the evening had begun with such promise, too, she reflected, suppressing a sigh.

Flint had allowed her to sleep a half hour over his deadline, and when he had woken her it had been with light kisses and teasing admonitions to “Get it in gear, woman.”

He had set the mood, and Leslie had happily gone along with him. The bantering and teasing had continued while they dressed and through dinner. Though Flint’s accusation about her barely touching her meal was correct, Leslie had thoroughly enjoyed herself, laughing discreetly at his droll yet on-target observations concerning the various modes of dress displayed by the other patrons in the restaurant.

From the restaurant they had gone on to a show at the theater in Falcon’s Flight, becoming one with the rest of the audience in their enjoyment of an outrageously funny young comedian who had preceded an aging singer on the program. Still in high spirits, they had left after the show to prowl the casinos. The downhill slide for Leslie had begun when those two women had entered the ladies’ room.

“Dealer pays nineteen.”

Leslie blinked and stared at her cards, an eight, a deuce and an ace. It was time to quit- She didn’t even remember signaling for an additional card! Watching the dealer stack her winning chips into a neat pile, Leslie crushed out the cigarette she couldn’t recall lighting, let alone smoking. Yes, she decided, motioning to the dealer that she was out of the play, it was definitely time to quit.

Scooping the chips into her beaded black silk evening bag, Leslie smiled at the dealer and turned away from the table. Flint found her at the exchange desk just as the attendant was counting out crisp new bills to the tune of seven hundred dollars.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured close to her ear. “Since you got lucky, want to hire my services for what’s left of the night?”

With a mercurial switch, Leslie’s spirits soared again. Laughing, she glanced at the desk attendant. If the young man had overheard Flint’s suggestion, he hid his reaction well behind a bland expression. Stuffing the bills into her purse, she turned to face Flint. His eyebrows were raised slightly, as if in expectation of a reply from her.

Leslie ran a contemplative glance the length of his lean, gorgeous body. “Are you any good?” she asked haughtily.

“No.” Flint grinned wickedly. “I’m very bad.” “Are you very expensive?” Leslie purred.

“No.” Flint’s eyes glittered with devilry. “But I’m very demanding.”

Leslie gave him a slow smile and a smoldering look from her long, shimmering green eyes. “Sold,” she said in a throaty voice, linking her arm through his. “Your place or your place?”

“You’re really ready to leave?” Flint attempted an expression of amazement. “A full forty-five minutes before closing time?”

“I’m really ready to leave,” Leslie said, mimicking his tone. “A full forty-five minutes before closing time.” She paused for effect. “If you will be so kind as to retrieve my stole from coatcheck?”

“Done,” he said, striding away from her. “I’ll meet you at the front entrance.”

“No! Flint, the boardwalk entrance!” Leslie called after him. Flint pivoted to stare at her.

“You want to walk at this hour of the morning?” “I like to walk.” Leslie shrugged. “Besides, I need some fresh air. Okay?”

Flint smiled. “Whatever. A brisk walk in the cold air always stimulates my, er, appetite.”

The air was cold. Leslie stood still on the boardwalk, inhaling the scent of the sea. “Umm,” she murmured, smiling up at Flint. “I love the seashore; the atmosphere, the smell, even the noisy seabirds. But most of all I love the sense of peace and freedom 1 always feel by just gazing at the restless ocean.”

“I know what you mean.” Flint had shifted his gaze to stare out at the inky, white-capped waves. “For all its power, the sea instills a strange sense of serenity on its observers.”

They were silent for long moments, each into their own thoughts, drinking in the night and the Atlantic’s ambience. Leslie shivered, breaking the quiet.

“You’re cold,” Flint said briskly, draping his left arm around her shoulders to draw her close to the warmth of his body. “Come on, woman, let’s go home to bed.”

“You know, Falcon, you really are a self-confident so-and-so,” she said, laughing and curling her arm around his waist and snuggling close to him as she fell into step with him.

Flint didn’t answer, but without breaking stride he bent to capture her mouth with his own. Oblivious to everything but each other, neither Leslie nor Flint noticed the shadow that detached itself from the depths of an entranceway to a closed, dark store. The first sign of danger came with the sound of a low, raspy male voice.

“How romantic,” the voice sneered. “If you want to live to get what all this kissin’ is leading up to, man, hand over your wallet and don’t play the hero.” Leslie’s feet froze to the boardwalk as her glance sliced to the barely discernible figure of the young,

scraggly-looking man crowding Flint’s right side. The man was dressed in jeans and a poplin windbreaker with slash side pockets. He had his right hand inside the jacket pocket, and Leslie’s horrified eyes saw the outline of what appeared to be a gun pressing against the material. His face was shadowed by the brim of the cap he’d pulled low over his forehead. Moonlight reflected glints of gold off a small hoop looped through his pierced ear.

Flint didn’t say a word, nor did he seem to move as much as a muscle. Seconds passed; then, with blurring swiftness, Flint went into action. Suddenly his right hand was level with the startled man’s jaw, and the moonlight reflected off the gleaming steel blade that was held almost casually in his fingers. Flint flexed his wrist and the blade speared the man’s earring, gold encircling steel.

The thief gave a muffled yelp as Flint’s wrist flexed again and the blade moved, tearing the ring from his ear. Leslie watched as the gold hoop spiraled into the air before plunging to earth. The would-be attacker was babbling before the ring landed on the boards.

“Hey, man, don’t cut me!” he gasped, shrinking back as Flint moved the tip of the blade from the man’s ear to his jugular vein. Though the point of the blade made an indentation in the skin, it didn’t draw blood.

“Man
is the operative word,
boy.”
Flint’s voice was low and contained an iciness that chilled Leslie’s spine. “Let me offer you some free advice,” he added in that same icy tone. “Don’t horse around with a half-breed with a knife up his sleeve.”

The young man was gasping for breath when two tall shapes materialized to stand on either side of Flint. “You all right, Mr. Falcon?”

What little breath Leslie had left in her body swished out in relief as she recognized Flint’s bodyguards. In a blink the blade was gone, back to its home nestled close to Flint’s arm.

“Yeah,” Flint muttered, tightening his hold on Leslie’s shoulders as he began to move away. “Take care of this two-bit amateur.”

“Yes, sir!” the guard called to Flint’s back.

Leslie was cold, so very cold, frozen to the depths of her being. The incident had frightened her badly; Falcon had frightened her even more. Flint hadn’t been frightened—that Leslie knew without a doubt. Flint hadn’t appeared to feel much of anything except an icy anger. A shudder ripped through Leslie’s already trembling body. Flint’s arm tightened on her.

“Damned punk.” Flint’s coldly snarled curse intensified the chill permeating Leslie. “It’s over, Leslie. Forget it.” His cool attitude dismissed the attack as if it had been of little importance.

Forget it! She screamed silently. She’d never forget it! And she’d never forget the glimpse she’d had of
him
—the inner him. The man he had revealed to her within those brief seconds was cold, unfeeling, incapable of human fear and emotion! Leslie’s thoughts tumbled wildly. Flint Falcon really was like a devil incarnate, inhuman! Leslie shivered visibly.

The warmth inside Flint’s apartment had no effect on the chill gripping Leslie. His gaze narrowed on her white, pinched face. Flint released her only long enough to secure the lock; then he drew her back into a close embrace.

“Leslie, relax,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re safe here.”

Leslie bit back hysterical laughter. Safe? Oh, God! Closing her eyes, she willed herself into utilizing her acting talent. “I’m sorry, but nothing like that has ever happened to me before. I—I know it happens all the time,” she babbled on, unable to stop herself. “Not only here in Atlantic City but in cities large and small all over the world. It’s just that it has never happened to
me\
”

Flint’s broad hand stroked her quivering back. “Actually, you were not in any real danger at any time,” he said softly. “To get at you, he would have had to go through me.”

The arrogant self-confidence underlining his soft voice snapped the last of Leslie’s control. Afraid she’d literally fall apart, she pushed herself away from him. “I’m, uh, going to take a hot shower,” she blurted out when he frowned. “Maybe it will take away the chill, at least on the outside.” Scooping the velvet robe from the foot of the bed, she dashed for the bathroom.

“I’ll have a brandy waiting for you,” Flint called after her, “to take the chill from the inside.”

A brandy?
A
brandy? Leslie repeated to herself as the hot water burst from the shower to cascade over her body. She was afraid that an entire cask of brandy could not take the chill from inside her body.