Finger Prints (16 page)

Slowly she opened the door to look up at him. Dressed for running, he wore a long-sleeved all-weather suit. He held a wool cap and gloves in his hand.

He smiled cautiously. His voice was soft. “Hi.” Then he took in her rumpled hair, the redness on her cheeks, the hint of grogginess in her eyes, and his smile faded. “I woke you. God, I’m sorry.”

When she would have denied his charge, she couldn’t. “It’s all right.” Nervously she tucked a handful of wayward curls behind her ear. “I should have gotten up to run. You, uh, you weren’t waiting, were you?”

“I was late myself. I thought I might have missed you.” He studied her too closely for comfort. “You look tired. Didn’t sleep well?”

Three hours? Maybe four? She averted her gaze. “No.”

“Listen, I’m running into the Square to get fresh doughnuts. Make us some coffee, okay?” He was at the stairs before she could stop him. “Be right back.”

She opened her mouth to protest, closed it when she realized her protest would be in vain. What Ryan wanted, it appeared, Ryan got. A running mate, a dinner at Locke-Ober’s, a kiss, far more. Doughnuts and coffee were the least of it.

Closing her door, she realized that he’d not been at all put off by what had happened last night. Albeit reluctantly, she was glad.

“Are you all set to go?” Sam asked as they strolled side by side through the Public Garden. It was Tuesday. Carly’s exams had been given and corrected. After faculty meetings Wednesday morning, she’d be on her way to New York.

“I think so,” she said, wrapping her scarf more tightly around her neck. It was sunny but cold. The wind raced in from the harbor, choreographing a lively dance of dried leaves by their feet. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Any worries?”

“Always worries.”

He waited for her to go on. When she didn’t, he prodded. “Well, what did you decide? Will it be Robyn or Carly?” They’d discussed the issue at length. The woman who would meet John Lyons at LaGuardia could be straight-haired and blue-eyed under the premise that Carly should be kept hidden from her family. Or she could have gray eyes and curly hair, in keeping with Robyn’s demise. In the end, Sam had left the choice to the one who struggled with them both.

“It’ll be Carly,” was the quiet response.

He smiled his approval. “I’m glad. What made you decide?”

She looked up at him then. “I’m tired, I guess. And you’re right in everything you’ve said. I’ve got to make the break. I’ve got to forget about Robyn. She’s gone. Erased. A nonperson. I can’t straddle two identities when one of them is no longer viable. Maybe if I share the new me with my father, it’ll make it all easier to accept.”

“You’ll tell him your name?”

“Yes. I have this need to. And besides, if anyone does follow us—”

“No one will.”

“But if anyone does, it’d all be blown if he called me Robyn. Anyway, he’ll see that my plane’s come from Boston. He still won’t know my address. For his own safety, the less information he has the better.” She gave a sarcastic laugh. “Maybe we’ll pretend that he’s taken up with a younger woman. He’s booked a suite at the hotel. The clerks will never know the difference.”

“Sounds cagey.”

“I’m learning.”

Lapsing into silence, they crossed the footbridge over the duck pond. Had it been summer they might have leaned on its rail to follow the swan boats with their contingent of riders. They might have tossed peanuts to the mallards, might have bought balloons from a vendor and let them sail from their wrists. But it was near winter, and the only movement on the pond was that inspired by the wind.

“Sam?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I went out with Ryan Cornell last weekend.”

“Good girl.”

“You didn’t…you haven’t come up with anything on him, have you?”

At her slight stammer, he eyed her intently. “No. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“You like him?”

“He’s nice.”

“Will you be seeing him again?”

“I suppose.” She took a breath. “We run together every morning.”

“Sounds serious.”

Only when she cast him a defensive glance did she see he was teasing. Somehow she couldn’t laugh. “I don’t know. It could be. And it scares me to death.”

“Why should it? You’ve got nothing to hide.”

“But I do,” she argued, eyes wide. “I’ve got a whole past. It’s fine and dandy to want to live in the present, and I do, to an extent, when I’m with Ryan. But what do I do if he sees me without my contacts? What do I do if I have a nightmare and wake up screaming?”

Man that he was, Sam heard Carly clearly. “It
is
serious, isn’t it?” If she was thinking of sleeping with the guy, it had to be. Sam knew her well enough to know that.

Awkward, she looked away, wishing for an instant that she hadn’t said anything. But she had to talk to someone, and Sam’s advice was always sound. “Let’s talk hypothetically. What do I do if I
do
get involved with someone?”

“You give him answers.”

“But my cover—”

“It doesn’t have to be sacrificed.”

“But my eyes—”

“You’re near-sighted, and you also want to tone down your blues.”

“And the dreams?”

“Your husband died in a fire. That’s part of the story. It’d be very natural for you to have nightmares. You loved him.”

“And my family—what about them?” She had got to thinking after Ryan mentioned meeting his folks sometime. “I mean, if I ever was really serious about someone, I couldn’t very well hide my family away. They’re a vital part of me. And they call me Robyn.”

“After this weekend your father won’t.”

She regarded him skeptically. “But my brothers will. And the kids. I’ve always been Aunt Robyn to them. How do you tell a child that his aunt just…decided to change her name? Can you actually expect him to remember to call her by something new?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, there’s always the chance, if you’re that deeply involved with a man, that you’ll decide to tell him everything. If that man is someone like Ryan Cornell, I believe he could be trusted. And if it was a situation where you’d be forever worried that he’d find out anyway….”

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, eh?” she muttered.

Sam threw an arm about her shoulder. “It’s not that bad, Carly. Take it one step at a time. Time does amazing things. If the time is ever right to reveal everything to a special someone, you’ll know it. Hasn’t the decision about your father come fairly easily?”

“I suppose.”

“Then let it ride. See what happens.”

Another thought popped into mind. While they were discussing the matter, Carly rushed to air it. “What about Sheila?”

Sam drew a blank. “What about her?”

“What do I tell Ryan? He knows your name and that we’re good friends. And your occupation is no secret; sooner or later he’ll know you’re a federal marshal. But how do I introduce Sheila? I mean, she’s dropped in on me twice now, and Ryan lives right downstairs. He’s bound to bump into her at some point. What do I tell him? And won’t he think there’s something strange about both of you doing what you do?”

“Tell him she’s a friend of mine, that you met her through me.”

“By the way, how did I meet you?”

“I went to school with one of your brothers. You and I met way back and renewed the friendship when you moved here.”

“God, you’re good at this,” Carly said, admiration mixing with dismay. “You’ve got all the answers.”

“I’ve been at it a while longer than you have. Speaking of which, I’d better be heading back.
Our
friend Sheila is spending the afternoon with me.”

“You’re a busy man.”

“Yeah. This one’s apt to drive me to my grave.”

“How could that be? She only started work yesterday.”

He shook his head slowly, his sandy hair blown by the wind. “I don’t know, Carly. You may like the woman, but I still think she’s a flake.”

“You just got off on the wrong foot with her.”

“Maybe,” he grumbled, not at all looking forward to the afternoon. Sheila Montgomery had already made it clear that there were certain cases she’d handle and certain ones she wouldn’t. Had hers not been a civil-service position, he’d have canned her on the spot. For the umpteenth time, he reminded himself of the recommendations she had. “What about you?” he asked Carly. “Have you enjoyed seeing her?”

It was only for an instant that Carly hesitated, but it was long enough. “Yes.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

She tried to put into words what had been nagging at the back of her mind. “I am, I guess. It’s just strange. When I’m with Sheila, I feel torn. She’s such a blatant reminder of my past. I mean, it’s nice not having to hide anything, and she’s great fun to be with. It’s just….”

“You’re ready to move on.”

For his faultless insight, Carly sent him a look of gratitude. “I think so.”

Not far away, in a Newbury Street café, Sheila Montgomery drained the last of her coffee and turned her full attention to her date. She’d met him the Wednesday before in a bar at the foot of Beacon Hill. Originally from Virginia, he’d said, he was with one of the larger banks in town and was the newest on a long roster of vice-presidents. He was good-looking, smartly dressed and sexy. They’d met at her apartment for a brief but intimate interlude late Friday afternoon, then again on Monday. She liked him. “Thanks, Jordan. This has been lovely.”

“My pleasure,” he said, eyes gleaming. “It’s the least I could do. You’ve been good to me.” His expression elaborated.

She blushed becomingly and spoke more softly. “Will I see you later?”

He glanced at his watch as though it held his appointment calendar. It didn’t, but it might have for his response. “I can’t make it today. I’ve got a meeting at five. How about tomorrow?”

“Same time, same place?” she drawled seductively.

Leaning forward as though to whisper, he nipped her earlobe. “You got it.”

“Jordan?”

He was still by her ear, lingering at the shot of Shalimar she’d applied in the ladies’ room moments before he’d come. “Mmm?”

“How about Thursday? I’ve got a turkey just right for two, with stuffing and sweet-potato casserole and cranberry sauce—the works. It’d be pretty lonely to eat all that by myself. Join me?”

He took a deep breath. Sheila sensed it had nothing to do with the Shalimar. “Oh, darlin’. I’m sorry. I can’t.” Straightening in his seat, he waved for the waiter.

“You’ve got other plans? Hey, listen, if it’s a question of time, I could make it earlier or later.”

He smiled less comfortably. “I really can’t. Another time, huh?”

“I’ll even throw in the
TV
. You can watch the damn games—”

“Sheila, I can’t,” he said firmly. Pulling out his wallet, he studied the bill set down by the waiter, placed three crisp tens on the tray and stood.

Sheila lingered for a minute, studying his set features, then joined him. They said nothing until they got to the street, where he caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Tomorrow…your place?”

When she nodded, he flashed her a lascivious grin, winked, turned and headed east down Newbury Street. Walking stiffly, Sheila headed west.

c
HEEKS RED, RYAN AND CARLY SAT AT THE BOTTOM
of the atrium stairs. In deference to the cold, they hadn’t run as far as usual. Each seemed abundantly aware, though, that it was the last run they’d have together for several days. They lingered.

“That was good,” Ryan said. He leaned back on his elbows and flexed one leg.

“Mmm.” Sitting with him, looking over at his dark head, his solid frame, Carly knew she’d miss him.

“What time is your flight to Des Moines?”

“I’m not going to Des Moines,” she said softly.

“No?” Beneath the random fall of his hair, his brow creased. “I thought you were spending Thanksgiving with your dad.”

“I am. I’m meeting him in New York.”

“Oh.” He thought on, still puzzled. “Then you won’t be seeing your brothers and their families?”

“They can’t make it.”

“I’m sorry, Carly. You’ll miss them.”

Her eyes acknowledged this, though she tried to make light of it. “I’ll see them another time. Dad hasn’t been to New York for a while. We thought it would be fun.”

“It should be. New York’s a fun place.”

She nodded.

“What time’s your plane?”

“Four o’clock.”

“I’ll come by for you at three. That should allow plenty—”

“Ryan, you can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve got work to do. It’d screw up your whole afternoon!”

“It’s my afternoon, isn’t it?” he asked, eyes twinkling. “And I choose to take you to the airport.”

“But the traffic will be awful.”

“I don’t care.”

“Really. I can take a cab.”

“Over my dead body.” Standing, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up; she fell gently against his muscled length. “Besides,” he murmured, his gaze sliding from one to another of her features, “I want to see you safely on that plane. Airports can be decadent places, and a beautiful woman alone is a likely target. All I need is for some guy to pick you up….”

Prickles of fear raised the hair on Carly’s neck. Ryan was thinking of something relatively innocent; she was not. For the first time, she wished she weren’t going anywhere. Cambridge, this building, Ryan himself seemed suddenly safe and comforting. “No one will pick me up,” she asserted mechanically, her focus on Ryan’s warm, firm lips.

“I’ll see to that.” He kissed her boldly, released her reluctantly. “Three o’clock?”

Just then, Carly wanted to throw her arms around his neck, to kiss him madly, to cling to him until she missed her plane. Instead she simply nodded.

Ryan drove her to the airport, insisted on parking and walking her to the gate, then waited with her until her flight was called. They sat quietly, each with so much to say, neither speaking. When it was time, they stood and waited until most of the other passengers had moved through the gate. Knowing she couldn’t postpone the inevitable, Carly turned to him.

“I’ll see you when I get back?”

“What time…” he asked, then cleared his throat of its hoarseness. “What time does your flight get in?”

She saw the direction of his thoughts and began to slowly shake her head.

“What time, Carly?” he demanded more forcefully.

“Same time Monday. Four o’clock. Ryan….” She drew his name out in subtle protest. School didn’t reopen until Tuesday; she knew Ryan didn’t have the extra day’s grace.

“I’ll be here.”

“But—” Her words were dammed at her lips by his finger, which was as gently obstinate as his expression.

“Till four Monday.” He leaned down and, putting his lips where his finger had been, gave her a last, soft kiss, then straightened. “Have a happy Thanksgiving.”

She fought the tightness in her throat. “You too, Ryan.” She forced a smile. “See you then.”

‘So, who is she?”

Ryan took his eyes from the road only long enough to shoot his brother a sharp look. “What?”

“Who is she?”

“Who?”

“Whoever it is that’s put that expression on your face.”

With a glance at the side mirror, Ryan pulled into the left lane to pass a minivan. He wanted nothing to obscure his view of the open road, wanted nothing to distract him from his thoughts. “What expression?” he asked innocently.

“The one you’ve been wearing for the past half hour. God, it’s benevolent. Tender, if you care to be romantic. And don’t tell me you’re thinking about work. I know you love the law, but not like that.”

Ryan waited to speak until he’d returned to the middle lane. Traffic was light, but then, it was barely nine. They’d gotten an early start. He had wanted to make the most of the day. And since he had nothing better to do in Cambridge….

“Am I that transparent?”

“Who is she?”

“One of my neighbors.”

His brother eyed him with sharpened interest. “The pretty one with long black hair and sexy legs?”

A smile played at the corner of Ryan’s mouth. “She’s got sexy legs, all right, but black hair? No way. It’s auburn.”

“Is the rest of her sexy?”

“What d’you think?” It was a turnaround, Ryan having the upper hand on his brother in the love-life department.

Tom rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “I dunno. Alyssa was beautiful enough, but sexy?”

“Carly’s nothing like Alyssa.”

“Carly it is then. Carly what?”

“Quinn. She’s a teacher.”

“A
teacher
? Geez, Ryan, a
schoolteacher
?” His voice dropped an octave. “Forget I mentioned sexy. Anyone who has to control thirty wailing banshees six hours a day, five days a week, hasn’t got the energy left to be sexy.” As though on cue they crept up on a station wagon filled with five such banshees and their parents. The kids were lined up at the back window as far away as possible from the adults. Their mouths were going, all in different directions. When one flashed a peace sign, Tom gave him a grin and returned the gesture, at which point Ryan pulled to the left again and passed them.

“Are you down on kids, or sex?” he teased.

Failing to see humor in the question, Tom scowled in disgust. “I met this great woman. Super lady. Real potential.”

“But?”

“I had dinner at her place last weekend.” He grunted. “Have you ever tried making love to a woman with three kids running in and out?”

“She didn’t put them to bed?”

“Oh, yeah. She did. One came down for a drink of water. The second complained that the first one woke him up. Then the third threw up all over his bed and I had to keep all three of them occupied while she cleaned it up. Talk about a bucket of cold water….”

Ryan laughed. “Where’s your compassion? Sounds like the poor woman’s got her hands full.”

“That was what I told myself when I crossed her name out of my little black book. Anyway—” he drummed his fingers against his thigh “—there’s a world of other women out there.” The drumming stopped. “Just wish I could find a good one.”

“Know what your problem is?”

Tom sent him a droll glance. “What?”

“You’ve got too much upstairs to be fixated downstairs, if you know what I mean.”

“Ahh, hell.” Lecture time. His gaze flipped to the window with imminent boredom. Then, in a burst of annoyance, he looked back at Ryan. “No, I don’t. Spell it out.”

“You’re a bright guy. You need someone just as bright. But you’re so hung up on sex that you walk right by some of the best women out there.” He held up a hand. “Hey, so you don’t get them to bed the first night. Maybe it’d be worth it for a woman you could talk to.”

“Like a schoolteacher?” Tom drawled.

Ryan was about to correct his brother’s misconception of Carly’s job, then thought better of it. “Like a schoolteacher,” he echoed and let the subject drop. He was in no mood for sermonizing, particularly when, at the moment, it would have been a case of the pot calling the kettle black. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get Carly to bed; he just knew they both needed it badly.

Carly’s plane landed on schedule Monday at four. Hoisting her bag to her shoulder, she waited behind the other passengers for what seemed an eternity until at last the line began to move down the narrow aisle. She was nearly as excited now as she’d been when she’d landed in New York. It had been a wonderful five days, filled with everything she’d expected and more. But she was glad to be home.

Her eye began to pick through faces the instant she stepped into the terminal. Many of the passengers were students who hurried through to catch the public transit or businessmen heading for cabs. Others were met by friends or relatives. Heart pounding, she stood still, searching the crowd for the one face she’d missed over the holiday. Passengers from behind circled her; she took several slow steps forward and moved to the side and let her bag slide to the floor.

He wasn’t there.

She checked her watch. It was nearly four-ten. Once again she scanned the room, its crowd thinning fast. Braced against a wall, she watched the crew filter out and disappear. Five more minutes passed. No Ryan.

Disappointment came in a crushing wave, offset only by a glimmer of fear. Airports were decadent places, he’d said, where a woman alone was a likely target. Not only, it seemed, was Carly alone, but she very definitely was also a likely target.

Shouldering her bag, she left the arrival gate and started down the long corridor. The sooner she got a cab, the sooner she’d be locked back in her safe cocoon. Safe, if alone. She sighed. She’d done it before, she’d do it again. If only she hadn’t been so looking forward to….

A tall, dark figure came into sight, running toward her, his topcoat flaring open. She stopped walking. Three weeks before she might have been terrified had such a ravenlike creature homed in. But much had happened in three weeks. Her hopes soared. This man had the steady gait of a runner. No way could that bearded countenance be mistaken for anyone but Ryan. Again her bag slipped to the floor. This time she didn’t care whose path she blocked.

“Oh, hell!” Ryan gasped, skidding to a halt before her. Though his hair was blown every which way, he was dressed to kill…or to try a case. In either event, he looked thoroughly perturbed. “There was a breakdown in the tunnel. I sat honking my horn for twenty minutes, then was in such a rush that I took a wrong turn and drove in circles around the damn airport, trying to get into the parking lot.” He raked his hair back from his brow with tense fingers, then held them at his neck, as though seeing her for the first time. “I’m sorry, babe,” he whispered. “I wanted to be here.”

A deep, deep affection stirred within Carly and she broke into a smile. “You are here,” she breathed, reaching out as though to verify it. With exquisite tenderness, given his most recent state of agitation, Ryan took her into a close embrace.

“I am,” he whispered against her hair, then held her back to look at her. “It’s good to see you, Carly. I missed you.”

“Me too.”

His kiss was as urgently tender as his embrace had been. Strange, he’d spent so much time in the past few days thinking about getting Carly into bed, yet the only thing that mattered now was having her here by his side.

“Come on,” he said softly, lifting her bag without once taking his eyes from her face, “let’s go.” He put his arm around her shoulder and they started forward. “I want to hear all about New York. Think you can put up with me for the next couple of hours?”

Her hand found a perfect niche at his waist; her steps matched his comfortably. “I think so.” It was the understatement of the year.

The next few weeks flew. Carly would never have believed she could have been so happy, given the circumstances in which she lived. Sam saw the difference, as did her friend Bryna Moore.

“You look pleased with yourself,” the other woman observed as the two sat in the school cafeteria one blustery mid-December day.

“Why not?” Carly mused. “We’re doing
Pride and Prejudice
in my Lit II class. It’s a favorite of mine.”

Bryna waved aside the pat offering. “Besides that. You look more confident. Happier. Maybe you’re finally feeling more at home?”

Carly knew it was true. Not only was she more relaxed, but also there was Ryan, always Ryan.

Sheila Montgomery, too, noticed Carly’s glow. She pondered it as she paced her tiny apartment after returning from Cambridge one chilly Sunday afternoon. It wasn’t fair. The woman had everything. And what did Sheila have?

She thrust back the simple cotton drapes on her single small window and scowled out at the street. Two pairs of denim-clad legs passed by, one masculine, one feminine, and she felt worse.

A little luck was all she asked. Where was it? New city, new assignment…and nothing. Jordan was married. She’d suspected as much when he’d brusquely refused her Thanksgiving invitation; she’d confirmed it the following day when he’d appeared at her door and she’d confronted him. So much for one up-and-coming bank executive.

Even her job grated strangely. Maybe it was Sam Loomis, always guarded, abundantly skeptical of her abilities. Oh, she was good. She didn’t doubt it for a minute. She knew just how to handle her wards. Hadn’t she proved it last week when the family of one of her charges had staged a near riot outside the courtroom? She’d been firm and in charge, and the clamor had died. But had Sam appreciated her efforts? No, sir.

Then again, maybe she was tired of the whole job. Maybe the real reason she’d requested a transfer from Chicago had been in hope of retrieving the spice that seemed to have vanished somewhere along the line. She was going nowhere. Turning, she made a despairing perusal of her apartment. Oh, she’d done it up well enough, with reds to brighten things. But aside from splurging on her bed—double job covered with ruffles and lace—it was bargain basement all the way. Not that there was much of a way to go. Perhaps she was lucky the place was so small. Less to furnish. Less to heat.

But she wasn’t a pragmatist by choice. She wanted something better, damn it. Something better!