Finger Prints (20 page)

By the time Carly and Ryan returned home, they were exhausted.

“I don’t believe it,” Carly moaned, bending to unzip her boots the instant they reached the atrium’s carpeted stairs. “My feet are killing me.” She pulled off first one, then the other. “That’s better.”

Ryan, leaning against the railing, made no move to help her. “If you think your feet ache, you should feel my head.” He turned and headed up the stairs, mumbling, “I need aspirin.”

Making her slow way after him, Carly reached the second floor and glanced despairingly toward the third before deciding that the temptation of Ryan’s open door was too great. With her feet finally free of the high-heeled demons she’d been walking on since morning, her legs themselves had begun to protest. Feeling like something of a zombie, she dropped her coat, boots and bag on a chair and went straight for the sofa, where she collapsed and gave a helpless moan as she gingerly stretched her legs onto the coffee table. Her head fell back and, eyes closed, she was in the process of massaging her throbbing temples when Ryan returned from the bedroom.

“Aspirin?” he offered.

She shook her head. “I’ll be all right.”

“How about a Scotch? My aspirin’s not working.”

Carly turned her head, opened her eyes and snickered. “You just took it.” Then she winced and returned her fingers to her head. “Make mine heavy on the water and I’ll take it.”

He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, then was back with two glasses, one of which he handed to Carly moments before he sank into the chair opposite her.

“I never thought it would be like this.” He took a slow drink. “I feel like I’ve been through a wringer. When I close my eyes I see endless arrangements of sofas and chairs.”

“Uh-uh.” Carly moved her head in slow motion against the cushions. “Bedroom sets. If I see one more platform bed with built-in drawers and attached shelves, I’ll scream.”

“It was supposed to be fun. What happened? I feel dizzy.”

“Burnout. In one day. Maybe we just did too much. Six stores in as many hours….” With a grimace, she dragged her legs from the table and folded them by her side. “And we were supposed to be in such good shape.” She sighed. “Well, at least you’ve got something to show for our pains.”

“Yeah,” he managed to chuckle. “Sales slips totaling half my life’s savings.”

“
You
were the one who chose those stores. Most people can’t get into them. Where did you get those decorator’s cards, anyway?”

“A decorator,” he stated. “I represented her in a small matter two years ago. Nice lady. When I called her this week to ask where to go, she was more than willing to help. She wanted to come along.” His eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. He was feeling better by the minute. Carly’s presence had a way…or was it the aspirin…or the Scotch…? “I told her that I was taking a very special lady with me and that she was somewhat shy and that I wanted to snow her with my quiet expertise.”

“‘Somewhat shy’?”

“You are in a way. Anyhow, it worked. The cards were on my desk the next morning.”

“Not bad. Are you sorry?”

“Sorry about what?”

“That you didn’t let her take you around. You might have gotten it all a lot easier. She would have known just what to suggest. You probably would have gone to half the number of stores.”

“Oh, sure. And the finished product would have had the stamp of a designer all over it. No, I’d rather have your stamp. I love what we bought.”

“We did get it all, didn’t we,” she observed in self-satisfaction, stretching more comfortably. “Every major piece of furniture is on order. All that’s left now is to pick up accessories.”

“Accessories?” Ryan forced the word out as though it had a vile taste. His expression reflected that opinion.

“You know, art and area rugs and window treatments—all the stuff you’ve got such great ideas about. Since you’ve ordered the sectional and wall units in slate, you could use either navy
or
burgundy.” She pondered the choice. “Burgundy, I think. Very rich, very masculine.”

“How can you even
think
about that, after today? God, I need a while to recuperate. I don’t think I want to set foot in—”

“Come on, Ryan,” she coaxed, amused. “The hard stuff is done. What’s left is the fun part.”

“Fun? Hah!” he grumbled and took a drink. “I think I’ll leave that up to you.”

“No way. It’s your place. You’re the one who’s got to live with it.”

“But I want you to like it too.” He paused, then dared a test. Despite its inauspicious beginnings, the day had been one of closeness and warmth. Even their exhaustion was shared. They’d been a couple shopping together. More than once a salesman had referred to Carly as Ryan’s wife. One part of Ryan very definitely liked the way it sounded. “There’s still the issue of the spiral staircase….”

Carly sucked in a breath and gripped her drink more tightly. “Ryan….” She slowly shook her head.

“I own the place now. I can do whatever I want.”

“You don’t own my place.”

Though her voice was very soft, her meaning was clear. She wasn’t ready yet. But after the day they’d spent together, one more in evidence of their true compatibility, one more cementing them together, Ryan felt positive. It was only a matter of time until she understood that their relationship was meant to be.

“Then how about tomorrow night?” he ventured, thinking how odd it was that he hadn’t asked earlier. But then, he and Carly had for the most part taken things one day at a time. He’d been wary of scaring her off. Of course, there was always the chance that he feared rejection. Living together was one thing; he could appreciate her hesitance to commit herself to something as conclusive. But a date was simpler; he didn’t want her to refuse.

“New Year’s Eve?”

“Do you have plans?”

She paused. “A fellow from Rand is throwing a party. I told him I didn’t think I could make it.”

“But you don’t have a date.”

“No.”

“Let
me
take you. I’ve got a party too—a bash being thrown by one of my partners. She’s a swell person. You’d like her.”

“I don’t know, Ryan. I’m not big on parties.”

“Neither am I. That’s just it. If we were together, we could make an appearance, stick it out as long as we want, then leave. What do you say? It’d be perfect.”

Carly drew herself up as though she were in pain. In fact the pain was there, but it was psychological. Ryan’s urgent gaze told her how much he wanted to spend the evening with her. One part of her wanted it no less. But there was the part of her that shied from all unnecessary exposure. And there was that other part that feared what would happen after appearances had been made…and they left, together, alone.

A sliver of warmth stirred inside her. Oh, yes, there was the fear of what she knew would be inevitable. But for the first time there was a need that surpassed that fear, a desire that seemed to make the fear worth risking. New Year’s Eve was a time for hope and joy, for kisses, for love. Damn it, she deserved to splurge.

A shy smile slowly curved her lips. “Okay,” she whispered.

Having fully expected to be shot down, given that her expression revealed the war going on inside her, Ryan was momentarily stunned. “You will?” he asked in such surprise that Carly’s smile widened.

“Yes.”

“That’s great!”

His reaction was ample justification for her decision, and, for the first time in four years, Carly found herself looking very much forward to New Year’s Eve.

She might have been more wary had she known the scheme that even then Ryan was beginning to hatch.

c
ARLY SPENT MOST OF NEW YEAR’S EVE DAY
thinking, planning, dreaming. Running with Ryan in the early morning, she was attuned to the air of expectancy shimmering between them. His excitement was obvious. He dropped her at her door with a soulful kiss, the gleam in his eye speaking of his anticipation of the evening to come. Only later, alone, did she wonder if she’d made the right decision.

For the first time she would be introducing Ryan to her friends, to the people she worked with, to those who would know that Carly Quinn was coming out of her shell. For the first time she would be introduced to
his
friends, to the people
he
worked with, to those who would know the reason he hadn’t lived and died the law, for a change, for the past month and a half. On all the mornings they’d run, they’d been alone. True, they had bumped into people when they’d gone to Locke-Ober’s or, having spent more and more time together since Thanksgiving, caught a movie or strolled down Newbury Street. But New Year’s Eve was something else.

At least it had always been so for Carly. She could remember when she’d been a teenager and her brothers had fixed her up. She’d felt awkward then, knowing exactly what she was missing when, on the stroke of midnight, bursts of glee had exploded, throwing people into one anothers’ arms. Her dates had kissed her. She’d kissed them back. But the absence of genuine feeling had always grated. After several years, she’d taken to escorting her father to a grand dinner from which they returned well before the witching hour.

Then had come Matthew. They’d seen eye to eye on that particular night and its festivities, and had always chosen to entertain a few close friends at home. It had been warm and lovely ringing in the New Year that way. After Matthew died, she might have preferred to spend the night alone, but her friends wouldn’t hear of it. There had always been some quiet get-together to which she was, not wholly against her will, shanghaied.

And now there was Ryan. She had no doubt the evening would be wonderful, even if—perhaps precisely if—it ended as she suspected it would. There was no better night to look toward the future. If she was ever to know whether she could be Ryan’s lover, the time was right.

Yet even if things worked out well, she couldn’t help but fear that she’d be leading Ryan on. They might well prove to be as wonderful lovers as they were friends, but what then? The spiral staircase Ryan had in mind? A commitment for something even more?

That was what frightened her. Ryan still didn’t know. She wasn’t free, she wondered if she’d
ever
be free of the dark cloud that hovered. Her life, as she’d chosen it, involved a danger she simply couldn’t impose on anyone else, least of all him.

Sam’s call brightened her.

“How’re you doin’?” he asked gently.

“Fine. Have you heard anything?”

“Only that you’re not to worry. I’m in close touch with both Meade and Hoffmeister. They’re on top of everything.”

“Good.” She hadn’t really wanted to talk about that, preferring to push it from her mind for the day, at least. “I hope you’re planning something smashing with Ellen for tonight.”

“Actually, we’ve hired a sitter. We’re spending the night at the Ritz.”

“Good for you! You deserve it!”

“Ellen deserves it,” Sam corrected with a chuckle. “How about you? Any plans?”

“I’m going out with Ryan.”

“Ahh. That does my heart good. Anywhere special?”

“To a party. Actually two.”

“Sounds busy. And fun. Enjoy yourself, you hear? Live it up and don’t worry about a thing.
You
deserve it!”

She laughed. “That’s what I’m telling myself. That’s what I’m telling myself.”

Late in the afternoon, her father echoed Sam’s sentiment. “He sounds like quite a man, this Ryan of yours. Go on out and have a good time. If anyone’s earned the right, it’s you.”

That was the thought that kept a smile on her face. In a way it was defiance that gave backbone to her bravado. She
did
deserve it, damn it. She
had
earned the right to a good time. And a good time she was determined to have. She lingered in a bath, painted her fingernails and toenails a pale mauve to match her dress, took special pains with her makeup and hair, then dressed in silk. When Ryan appeared at her door looking debonair in a dark suit, crisp white shirt and boldly striped tie, she sensed she was in for a New Year’s Eve not to be forgotten.

Whatever fears she’d once had of exposure were pushed aside by the sheer pleasure of being with Ryan. He was the consummate escort, mixing easily with her friends, drawing her into an easy mix with his. It wasn’t boredom that moved them from one party to the next with speed; contrary to expectation, the company was relaxed and pleasant. Rather, their momentum was spurred by anticipation. When they hit the air after leaving the second party, that anticipation was enough to leave them breathless.

Wordlessly Ryan helped Carly into the car, circled to his side and joined her. Leaning over the center console, he kissed her once. His ardor was barely leashed; she could sense the tension in his body. Then he held back to look at her, giving her one last chance to demur. When she lifted a hand to stroke his neck, he had his answer.

He started the car and they were on their way. Reaching over, he took her hand and held it tightly. Carly’s insides quivered. She clutched his fingers as though they were the only real things in existence and didn’t take her gaze from his face until they’d left the lights of Boston behind and were headed down Memorial Drive. Then she closed her eyes and tried to contain the excitement that set each of her nerve ends on fire. She tried to blame her condition on the potent punch she’d drunk, but knew she couldn’t. She tried to blame it on the fact of seeing Ryan with her friends, but struck out there too. There was one cause for the shimmering current of heat in her veins, and one cause alone. She was with Ryan now, for the night.

It was only when she assumed they were nearing home that she dared open her eyes again. To her surprise, they’d passed their building and were heading north on Route 2.

“Where are we going, Ryan?” she asked cautiously. He must have made reservations for a late supper. But she was stuffed. Between the two parties, there had been hors d’oeuvres to feed an army.

“You’ll see,” was his quiet reply. And he drove on, holding her hand, eyes glued to the road.

Carly’s were too. They passed through Fresh Pond, ruling out two restaurants there that she knew, then sped through Arlington and Belmont to the northbound ramp onto Route 128.

“Ryan?” Looking at him, she thought his features were tense. In turn she was puzzled. But he simply lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a firm kiss to her fingers.

“Shh. Just relax.”

“Where are we going?”

“Farther north.”

“To a restaurant?”

“In good time.”

If he’d meant to reassure her, his words did anything but. For an instant, Carly felt a surge of raw fear. Then, dismissing it as irrational, she concentrated on watching the highway. But when Ryan turned onto Route 3, still heading north, she couldn’t contain her apprehension.

“Where are we going?” she demanded, tearing her hand from his as she sat straighter. She recalled the first time she had ever run with Ryan, when she’d been well aware of how easily he might hoist her over his shoulder and carry her off. Over the weeks, she’d come to trust him completely. Suddenly she wondered if she’d been wrong, if she’d misinterpreted every clue, if she’d seen and heard only what she’d wanted to see and hear. Heart thudding, she watched as he shot her a fast glance. Between her own terror and the dark, she couldn’t see his perplexity. Only the tautness of his profile was clear, and that upset her further.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said evenly, gripping the wheel with both hands.

“You have. Where are we going?” She clutched the handle of her door, whether in support or poised for flight she didn’t know. The latter was an absurd notion, since the car was traveling at the speed limit.

Suddenly that speed diminished and Ryan pulled up on the shoulder of the road. Everything around them was dark as pitch. Though he couldn’t see her fear, he could feel it in the vibrations that came his way.

“I rented a place in Vermont for the night. There’s a beautiful—”

“You
what
?”

“Rented a place. What’s the matter, Carly?” he asked, bewildered and slightly frightened by her reaction. She had to have known what the evening would bring, and he’d only hoped to make it more idyllic. “I thought you’d be pleased.” Mixed with the greatest gentleness was a note of hurt in his voice. “There’s a beautiful inn in the middle of the woods with cottages strewn all around. I rented one of them. You’ll like it. The inn has a terrific restaurant, and if we don’t feel like going outside, they’ll bring food to us. I stayed there once before. Right after my divorce, when I needed to get away. It was lonely then. I’ve been looking forward to being there with you.”

“A…cottage?” she whispered, beginning to feel foolish. If he was planning on doing her harm, he could as easily have done it right here in the dark without having to fabricate a story about an inn in the woods, a cottage and room service. Moreover, if he was lying, he had to have been an actor of Oscar caliber to exude such sincerity. “You rented a cottage?”

“Yes. The thought came to me while you were in the Bahamas, when I had nothing to do but daydream. I’d been wondering when I could get you up there. Yesterday, when you agreed to go out with me tonight, when you seemed as…eager as me…I called and booked the place.”

“You did?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, unbelievably relieved and at the same time incredibly excited.

“Like I said—” he reached out to stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers “—I wanted it to be a surprise. Instead, I seem to have scared the hell out of you. Why, Carly? You don’t have any cause to be scared with me.”

The hurt was in his voice again, and Carly hated herself for putting it there. She tipped her cheek toward his hand, covered that larger, stronger one with her own. “I know,” she murmured, then turned her face and kissed his palm. “I know, Ryan.” She inhaled the musky scent of his skin and gained strength. “But I can’t help myself sometimes. And tonight, well….” Her eyes met his over their hands; even the darkness couldn’t dim their gleam of longing. In a final gesture of apology for all she’d thought but not expressed, she leaned forward with an invitation that Ryan accepted instantly.

With both hands he framed her face, kissed her deeply, then pulled back. “You’ll come with me?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her once more before letting her relax back in her seat and starting the car. Again he held her hand, this time more gently and with reassuring warmth. They’d driven for another half hour before either spoke, and then it was Carly whose eagerness got the best of her.

“How far is it?”

“Another hour and a half.”

“And you didn’t think I’d ask questions?” she teased.

“I half thought you might have fallen asleep, what with all that booze. Actually I should have gagged and blindfolded you.” At her helpless shudder, he squeezed her hand. “Just joking, just joking. Don’t like surprises?”

“Not much.” Particularly regarding gags and blindfolds. But she couldn’t dwell on that when her thoughts were on a mysterious cottage and the fact that she’d be spending the night there with Ryan, waking in his arms. “Ryan! I don’t have any clothes!”

“I do,” was his smug reply.

“That’s fine. So while you’re dressed freshly in jeans and a sweater, I’ll be wearing a wrinkled silk dress?”

His laughter shimmered through the car. “I’ve got clothes for you too.”

“Clothes for me?”

“I went shopping this morning.” He raised one brow and darted her a glance. “Hope I guessed right on sizes.”

She laughed. “I hope you did, too.” Regardless, she was pleased as punch that he’d shopped for her, that he’d taken the time, that he’d thought everything out. Abduction schemes took great planning, whether evil minded or not. And since this one was so very clearly benevolent, verging on the divine, she fully appreciated it.

Tucking Ryan’s hand between both of hers, she laid her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, clearing her mind of all but the most exciting of thoughts. Ryan naked…how would he look?
Her
naked…would he be pleased? She turned her head to the side and peered at him. His profile was every bit as strong as she already knew his body to be. When he cast her a quick smile, she felt her insides quiver.

And quiver. The ride seemed endless. They paused at one toll booth, then a second. She was grateful to be sitting. Her legs felt like rubber, as if she’d just completed a twenty-mile run. In a sense, she had. The decision she’d reached was a momentous one. She prayed she was doing the right thing.

Leaving the highway at last, Ryan turned onto a local road that took them more deeply into the heart of Vermont. The way was dark. Only the occasional car crossed their path. Had Carly been alone, she might have been terrified. A breakdown here, and a person was truly helpless. But she wasn’t alone. Ryan was with her. As though reading her thoughts, he gave her hand a quick shake.

“Hungry?” he asked quietly. “We could stop for something.”

“No. I’m fine,” she whispered, heart pounding.

Several minutes later they turned in at a private lane. An elegant country home loomed before them, strategically lit by a rash of spotlights and seasonal bulbs. “The inn,” Ryan said and carefully directed the car around the main building and onto a narrow path. “The cottages are around this way.”

“Don’t we have to check in?”

“I did by phone this afternoon. They’re expecting us. They’ve left a key at the door.”

As he spoke, the headlights of the car fell on a small cabin, its front light as welcoming as the golden glow from within. Braking, he killed the engine. Then he was out of the car and at her side to help her out. His arms lightly circled her. He studied her face, lit by the warm porch beacon, his gaze shifting rapidly over her in excitement, apprehension and a bit of disbelief that she was actually with him.