Guilty Pleasures (16 page)

It rang again.

“Don’t.” Shudders racked her in waves. Her arms still throbbed, and her side where the intruder had kicked her. Every inch felt bruised.

Again the phone rang.

Polly rocked, and moaned. The darkness hammered her— darkness and fear, and the certainty that he waited, knife poised, to hack her to death, to kill Bobby, and, if Nasty wasn’t ready for the attack—to kill Nasty, too.

Ringing. Ringing.

It stopped.

A voice. Rather than risk talking himself, he’d let the answer machine pick up. She hummed loudly to close out the sound of her own voice reciting the message. The man would open the door now and wait for Nasty and Bobby to come up.
Polly listened to silence, felt the pressure of another presence, heard the build of soundlessness in a void.

Seconds passed.

He was waiting, too.

She knew then what he planned, to use them—each of them against the other. Keep one at bay with the threat of stabbing another, then stabbing anyway, until only one remained.

The one remaining would be Polly. He would kill Nasty first because he’d have to, or face a fight to the death when she and Bobby were dead.

She beat the carpet with her fists.

Why?

A cool current slipped across the floor, curled over Polly’s wet face.

He had opened the front door, just as s
h
e had opened it thinking it was Nasty who had returned.

But he couldn’t have opened the front door because he was here with her. She held her breath and listened—opened her eyes.

A hint of light tinged the darkness. Not the white light from his beam. This was as if it glowed from somewhere else in the condominium.

Cautiously, she raised her head. The bedroom door stood partially open. The light she saw shone through the living room from the foyer. From where she lay the front door was out of sight.

She could see the foyer mirror. Polly sat up. A shadow—a suggestion of a shadow—touched the edge of the glass. She rubbed her stinging eyes. Not even a suggestion of a shadow now.

“Get away! ” There was nothing she could do but try to save Bobby and Nasty. “Run. There’s a man here. He’s got a knife.”

She panted, expected the creature to descend upon her.

No one answered.

“Nasty! Get Bobby away from here. Please!”

A tall shape launched itself across the threshold, smashed the door all the way open against the wall.

The lamps beside her bed flooded on and she peered through her matted hair at Nasty. He braced a gun in his right hand and made sleek, sharp sights around the room. Nasty, but not the Nasty she knew. Remote didn’t describe his face now. Not even cold. No feature moved except his eyes, eyes turned to amber ice.

“He’s got a knife,” Polly whispered. “He wants to kill us all.”

“Stay down.”

With only a flicker of a glance in her direction, he moved smoothly through the room, repeating his slammed entry into her bathroom before turning his attention to the closet.

“Where’s Bobby?”

Nasty didn’t answer. Like
a powerful wraith he skimmed the room and left. Polly sat with her knees drawn up, the ragged shreds of her clothes tumbled about her.

She heard doors bang in other rooms, then, so clearly she flinched, Nasty’s loud, “Shit!”

Polly almost made it to her feet before he erupted back into the room and swept her into his arms. Swaths of red slashed his high cheekbones. He set her on the bed and stripped away the tatters of cloth. His hands were gentle but firm as he examined her.

“Please,” she begged, feebly batting at him. “Don’t.”

“Did he cut you?”

“I don’t know. Bobby—”

“Bobby’s with Dusty. I shouldn’t have left you.”

“You were going to get him.” Her jaw clenched.

He looked into her face. “I turned back. This is what I do—what I trained to do. Instincts. Do you understand?”

She shook her head. She didn’t understand anything but that she felt his anger.

“I felt”—he smoothed her hair away from her face and some of the icy control slipped—“I felt you needed me. My
mistake was trying to fight what I felt—and not making you do what I wanted to do in the first place.”

“He pretended to be you.”

Nasty pulled the quilt around her. “He beat you.”

Polly leaned against him.

“Your head. It’s still bleeding.”

“A lamp fell on me.” She giggled. “He made me smash my dragon.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Polly giggled afresh, and hiccuped. “And
…
and he cut up my clothes. And he said he would kill Bobby, and—” Her laughter sealed her throat. She bumped her face against his chest and moaned.

“And? What else did he say? Did you see his face?”

“No.”

“Did you recognize his voice?”

Yes.

“Polly, did you know him?”

“I think he’s the man on the answering machine.”

“Why did he leave?”

“The phone. When you called up to be let in.”

“I didn’t call.”

She looked into his face.

“The downstairs door was blocked open. I just came in.”

“But the phone rang.” Bursts of trembling shook her. “It doesn’t matter. It stopped him.”

“Thank God,” Nasty said. “He won’t get another chance at you.”

She would not sacrifice him to save herself.

He slid a knee onto the bed and sat where he could look at her. “Darling,” he said tentatively. “Hell, I’ve never been this scared, or this angry.” Gently, he tipped her against him and smoothed her hair over and over again. “You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you now.”

And she almost believed him. Polly turned her face into his chest.

“We’re going to have to call the police.”

She nodded.

“They’ll ask a lot of questions. And they’ll want you to be examined.”

Polly shook her head.

“I’ll take you. And I’ll stay with you, if you want me to.”

“He didn’t rape me.”

She felt him let out a big breath. “For that, I’ll always be grateful,” he told her. “I couldn’t stand to think of you going through—that. And I don’t know how easily I’d live with so much hate.”

“I think I’m going to cry.” Her throat clogged. “I want my robe.”

Nasty stopped her from getting off the bed and brought her blue terry-cloth robe from the bathroom. With sensitive efficiency he removed the quilt and helped her to get comfortable. She wrapped the robe more tightly around her.

He paced, stopping from time to time to study her.

“I’m okay,” she said, still shaking. “I can tell the police everything. You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m staying.”

“I’ve got to get Bobby. He’ll be worried.”

“No kid was ever worried with Dusty. He’s every kid’s dream grandpa.”

“You’ve already done too much for me.”

“I haven’t even begun to do things for you. You’re going to be my life’s work, Polly Crow.”

And if she gave in to what she wanted and accepted that wonderful offer, she’d kill them both. “Don’t be silly. You’ve got a business to run. This is something the police will have to deal with.”

“They’ll go through the motions. But you’d better get used to knowing I’m never too far away to hear you breathe.”

“Xavier—”

“That means I’m going to be very close. All the time.”

And if she didn’t refuse, that could mean she’d be very dead anyway. “He said I had to do what he wants me to do.”

Nasty came to stand over her. His lips curled away from his teeth. “You only have to do what you want to do. What did the sonovabitch say to you?”

“He
…”
She wanted to trust love, and to trust it with this man. To send him away would be to send a part of herself away. “He wants me. That’s all. He just wants me for himself. He’s mad.”

“Shush,” Nasty said, gently touching her cheek. “It’s okay.
I’m here with you now, and I’m not leaving.”

Polly smiled at him. Her stomach knotted so tightly she felt sick again. “Nasty, will you let me tell you the way it is? Without interrupting.”

The downturn of his mouth was mutinous but he gave one short nod.

“I’m afraid to let you stay.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You said you wouldn’t interrupt. I’m just as afraid to let you go.” She had his entire attention. “And I want you as part of my life. I’m so muddled up
I
don’t know what decision’s the right one. There isn’t a right decision. Whatever I decide is goi
ng to kill one or both of us.”

“Could you make that a bit clearer for me?”

“When you said the man who’s been making the calls isn’t just a crank, you were right. We know that because he was here tonight, and I think he came close to stabbing me to death. He made it clear that if
I
don’t stay away from you, he’s going to kill me. And you. And Bobby.”

“Sonovabitch,” Nasty said distinctly.

“But he wants me. He’s going to find a way to get me, I know he is.” Panic surfaced again. “If he does, I might as well be dead anyway.”

Nasty visibly gathered himself. “He isn’t getting you. First, I’m calling the police. I should already have called them.”

“Don’t leave me!”

Something close to rage convulsed his face before he controlled his emotions. “You’re not in danger now, Polly.” But he took her hand and led her into the living room. “Sit here while I make the call. Then you can give me instructions on how to make you some of that tea you love. It’s supposed to be good for calming people down, isn’t it?”

Her smile felt good. “Uh-huh. They say it got the British through the Second World War.”

Nasty wrapped her in his arms, and she felt him tremble. “Tea it’ll be, although our friend is going to need more than tea for the war I’m going to put him through. There’s a message on your machine.”

Polly glanced around and saw the flashing red light.

Nasty pressed the “play” button.

“Oh, d
ear,” the whisperer said. “And I
hoped you might have understood that I will not tolerate this behavior. But you’ve defied me, again. Well, I’m a forgiving lover, my love, but don’t push me too hard. Stay away from him. This is number two. And the rest is up to you.”

“It wasn’t him.” Polly sat down on a chair with a thud. She pointed at the machine.
“He left a message while…
That man was here when the call came.”

“Stay calm,” Nasty said. “I’m going to call the police now.”

“How many people are threatening to kill me?”

Ten

M
ary Reese was a Class A bitch. Nasty listened to her as
he browsed the shelve
s at Totem Book Shop. “Remember
we’re doing you a favor,” she
told the owner. “You need us.
We don’t need you.”

The woman Polly had introduced at TGIFriday’s—Caroline—with one lighting assistant, operated the sole camera for
what was to be a short segment aimed at reinforcing the wonders of bookstores.

“We’re on a tight schedule here,” Mary Reese snapped. “Let’s move it. Polly, ask your friend to wait outside. He’s in the way.”

“Chill, babe,” Jack Spinnel said. He aimed a conspiratorial grin at Nasty. “Plenty of room.”

Nasty didn’t trust Jack’s newfound charm.

“The hell there is plenty of room,” Mary said. “How come we’ve got to drag some of these assholes onto the set when they’re supposed to be there, but they’re all hanging around here when we don’t need them?”

“Language, my pet,” Jack said mildly, indicating several local children who’d been brought in to take part in the scene.

As far as Nasty could tell, the only redundant cast member was Gavin Tucker, who showed absolutely no reaction to Mary’s barb. He hung around Polly—hung too close for Nasty’s comfort—and found reasons to touch her.

The two acrobats held an impossible position beside small chairs provided for the children. Each standing on one hand,
they propped their knees and feet against each other with nonchalant ease, while turning the pages of books.

Seated in a chair, Polly prepared to read a story on camera. Dressed in bright pink, she smiled as if she’d had a great night’s sleep, rather than suffered a vicious attack and spent hours with the police before returning to the condo to clean up.

Nasty stared at her until she looked back. Her smile faltered, replaced by an unmistakably intimate glance that filled him with triumph.

Gavin Tucker moved between them and bent over Polly, spoke to her in tones too low to hear.

“Get your goddamn—”

“Mary!” Jack said, aiming a ruefully apologetic grin at the shop’s pretty blond owner. “We’re all a bit uptight this morning, Dorothy,” he told her. “You’ll have to forgive us. You can cuddle Polly later, Gavin.”

“She shouldn’t be here at all,” Gavin said, turning on Jack. Gone was the languid pose. “After everything she’s been—”

“That’s enough,” Jack said, visibly gritting his teeth. “We’re all together in this. A solid front. The less said, the better.” He inclined his head significantly toward the owner.

Gavin appeared ready to argue. Instead he blew at the limp brown hair that flopped over his forehead and ambled out of camera range, muttering as he came to stand beside Nasty. “You were there, then,” he said, his voice dramatically lowered. “You got there afterward?”

The fact that Polly had chosen to share last night’s events with the cast of the show didn’t thrill Nasty. “Yeah.”

“Keep your voice down.” Gavin propped a shoulder against a shelf and studied the book Nasty held. “You into South America?”

“I used to be.”

“You been there?”

“Uh-huh.” End of topic. “Polly says you’re great to work with.” When he wasn’t a pain.

The painter didn’t hide his pleasure. “Polly brings out the best in everyone. She’s a natural. But I guess you know that.”

“
Sure,” Nasty agreed, not at all sure he knew Gavin’s angle.

“So what really happened last night?”

Nasty looked past the other man and through the store windows. Sunshine bounced off the tops of cars filing into the back lot of a nearby strip mall. “Whatever Polly told you happened, happened,” he said.

“The guy”—Gavin came closer than Nasty liked to be to any man—“you didn’t get a look at him?”

Shouting interrupted them. Mary Reese banged a clipboard against her forehead. “Wake up, Jennifer, darling. You’re supposed to be bloody moping now, not prancing. You’re expecting to be made fun of because you don’t read as well as the others.”

“Bloody moping,” came a husky female voice from inside one of the monster heads. “Anything you say, Mary, babe.” The acrobat seemed suddenly to melt. She descended to the floor and lolled. “Better?”

“Silence,” Mary fumed. “And watch the babe, bit,
babe.”

“Things are going from bad to worse around here,” Gavin murmured. “I don’t mind for myself. I’m used to it. But Polly’s a shooting star, a fragile shooting star, and she hasn’t been around the block like I have. This pressure could break her spirit.” Serious brown eyes regarded Nasty.

He felt tense. Not frustrated from dealing with a man he disliked, but on edge without being sure why. The air seemed thinner, hotter—tropical.

Tropical?

“You know what I mean?” Gavin asked.

“What did you say?”

“Polly. She’s under too much pressure, and not everyone’s as keen for her to succeed as I am—if you know what I mean.”

Did he know? “Why don’t you explain?”

“There are some who think they’d do a better job hosting the show than she does.”

Nasty frowned. “Like who? There’s only one other woman in the cast.”

“You’ve got it.”

The female acrobat remained slumped on the floor. “Jennifer Loder, right? Polly says she’s a good friend.”

“Polly’s too damn trusting.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“Mary’s picking on me, Art,” Jennifer complained theatrically. “I reckon she doesn’t love us anymore.”

T
h
e other acrobat batted her playfully. “Who couldn’t love us, sis. We’re irresistible.”

“Hear that, Mary?” Jennifer said. “You gotta love us.”

“Was it your idea for Polly to tell the world what’s been happening?” Gavin asked.

Nasty’s back turned clammy. He undid another button on his shirt. Damn, but he didn’t have time to be sick.

Gav
in
nudged him. “I’d have thought it could be dangerous to spread it around. Might make this crazy do something stupid—even more stupid.”

Good old Gavin had a brain or two. “It wasn’t my idea. And I thought she’d just told the show insiders, not the world.”

“In theory. If I were her, I wouldn’t trust everyone who qualifies to keep their mouths shut.”

“She decided she needs your support. And she doesn’t want to keep explaining me away.”

“Planning to stick around a lot?”

Nasty didn’t meet the other man’s eyes. “I’ll do what I think’s necessary.” He got a fleeting impression of trying to see through darkness, of someone calling him.

“How did you go from voyeur to sidekick?”

Nasty did look at him then. “Voyeur?”

Gavin chuckled. “Figure of speech. I’m not the only one who knows you’ve spent time watching Polly from your little rubber boat. Maybe you should be making sure no one questions your motives.”

“I’m Polly’s friend.”

“New friend.”

“Good friend.”

Something different entered Gavin’s eyes, and it wasn’t friendly approval. “Okay. Good friend. So how badly was she worked over last night,
good
friend?”

“Whatever Polly’s told you is what she wants you to know.”

“He roughed her up?”

“You could say that.”

“Would
you
say that? Or would you say he did more than that?”

Nasty wanted to believe the man was concerned for Polly. Instinct picked up something other than concern, something closer to prurient interest. “There was no sexual attack.” Not the complete truth, but what Polly would prefer to be generally accepted.

“Is that the official story?”

“It’s the story.” He’d chosen the direct approach for this first morning—an open presence. From here on it might be better if he was less evident. “You’re not in this segment?”

“No. I’m here for Polly, like you.”

The inference wasn’t subtle. Gavin Tucker would prefer to be the one watching over Polly. “I’m sure she’s grateful for your support.”

Laughter riffled among the children seated at Polly’s feet. She appeared to be performing an imitation of a bored turtle—in pink.

“Isn’t she something?” Nasty said.

Gavin’s response accompanied a lascivious grimace. “You might be able to say that. I certainly can’t—yet.”

“What does that mean?”

Laughter came too easily to the Gavin Tuckers of the world. “Hell,” he said, elbowing Nasty lightly. “You know what it means. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want a piece of her.”

In this instance Gavin might do himself a favor by lying. “Polly isn’t a woman who gives out
pieces
,”
Nasty commented.

“Except to you? She’s already put out for you, hasn’t she?”

“Do you lik
e the way your face is arranged?
”

“I’m not afraid of you, fucker.”

“You should be. Touch Polly, and you’ll find out why.”

The children laughed again, and Polly began singing. Down and Out joined in, harmonizing while they set up an exaggerated swaying behind her.

“It’s time,” Jennifer Loder said, wiggling her fingers at the small audience. “Time to do our thing, kiddies.”

Polly gathered the kids around her and encouraged them to clap.

Sweat breaking out on his brow shook Nasty. He took a stick of gum from his jeans, unwrapped, and slid it between his teeth.

Animosity—no, too weak—hatred emanated from Gavin.

Too bad. Gavin wouldn’t be a problem. Nasty understood weak, twisted people. Their very desires were what stopped them every time.

The ankle wound hurt as it hadn’t hurt for months. Nasty shifted his weight. What the hell was going on with him?

“I’m going to make sure you aren’t welcome on the set again,” Gavin said very softly.

Nasty didn’t say anything. The pain intensified. So did the flow of sweat. He blinked as it stung his eyes.

There was something here—something he ought to be able to place.

“Time,” Jack Spinnel called. “Time, people. Good job.”

Nausea joined Nasty’s other discomforts. He slid the book back on a shelf.

Darkness. Heat.

He’d lost his gun, but not the knife.

He was remembering when it happened! The night in Colombia when someone tried to kill him. He’d eventually played dead so well that they’d left him to drag his smashed ankle back to the waiting chopper.

“You do know I mean what I say?” Gavin Tucker asked.

“What?” Nasty looked at him blankly

“Polly won’t do anything to jeopardize her part. It means too much to her. You’re a liability. You’ll have to go.”

“You stupid sonovabitch,” he said, swallowing. “Get away from me while you still can.”

He’d been taken by surprise. Everything should have been right on target—smooth. Then the figure had appeared through the undergrowth, beckoning. And he’d had to take the chance. Wrong chance. It had cost him his ankle—and his career.

It had cost the other bastard a back and shoulder wound that probably meant he was no longer singing in the church choir. Nasty would have given big odds that the guy bled to death.

Polly rose from her chair. She bent to hug one child after another. The owner of the bookstore chatted with Jack and Mary.

“Play time.” Jennifer whooped and tore off her costume head. A few seconds later the children were taking turns being Main Monsters.

“Polly isn’t your type,” Gavin murmured. “Or you’re not her type.”

What was it he couldn’t recall? Most of that night had become a blur.

“She’s an artist—a performer,” Gavin said. “You may be able to get inside her pants, but you’ll never get inside her head.”

Nasty straightened and faced the man. Shielding what he did, he found Gavin’s “artistic” right hand and put a light lock on the wrist. “Outside,” he said shortly. “Now.”

“My hand!” Gavin hissed. “You’re hurting my hand.”

Tightening the lock was second nature. “Outside.”

His face deathly pale, Gavin backed up. The moment Nasty released him, he shoved his hair out of his eyes and rushed from the shop.

Nasty was close behind.

“You’re dangerous.” Gavin fumbled for his car keys. “Damn dangerous. And I’m going to fix it so Polly knows I think so.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Nasty moved menacingly close. “Do you think I’ll bow out if you do?”

“Men like you are used to this, aren’t you? Using your brawn to smash your way in where you don’t belong. Women fall for it. Men don’t. It’s time someone stopped you.”

Nasty looked over his shoulder into the bookstore, then at Gavin again. Pieces of a night he’d tried to forget were pouring back. The doctors had talked about the brain’s ability to block out trauma; they’d said he’d probably never remember more about what had happened.