Judith McNaught (58 page)

For a moment her smile stayed on him and he basked in its warmth, then she transferred her smile to

Katherine and quipped, "Cancel the hemlock!"

which made him laugh.

Breakfast was a thoroughly delightful experience, Paul thought contentedly as he got up and filled his coffee cup while Julie and Katherine loaded dishes into the dishwasher. An extraordinarily pleasant time—and he knew exactly why that was so. As he'd just discovered to his complete enchantment, when Julie Mathison finally decided she liked someone, she liked them wholeheartedly and without reservation.

From the moment he'd told her that he'd tried to ensure she wasn't arrested, she'd treated him with unaffected warmth, smiling when he spoke, teasing him if he stiffened up and behaved like an FBI agent.

He was thinking about all that when he realized she was asking his advice, which he also found
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profoundly gratifying: "Yesterday," she explained, as she dried the omelet pan, "I talked to Mr. Duncan, our school principal, and he agreed that I could go back to work tomorrow, but only if the press doesn't disrupt classes trying to get to me. Katherine thinks the only way to stop them from doing that and to get rid of them completely is to call them all together and give them a detailed formal statement about what

happened and then answer any other questions they have. What do you think?"

"I think she's absolutely right. In fact, that was one of the things I intended to suggest to you when I came

over here this morning."

Frustrated at the necessity to defend herself, Julie yanked open a cupboard and put the omelet pan away. "I can't tell you how much I resent the idea that a world full of strangers thinks they're entitled to an

explanation of something that has nothing whatsoever to do with them."

"I can understand that, but you only have two choices: deal with the press now, on your own terms, or

let them keep printing damaging conjecture and chasing you everywhere you go."

Julie hesitated and then sighed, "All right, I'll do it, but I would rather face a firing squad."

"Would you like for me to be there to back you up?"

"Would you really do that for me?"

Would he really do that for her, Paul thought wryly.

For her, he would not only do that, but he'd probably slay a dragon … beard a lion … move a mountain. By God … he'd even dry a frying pan!

"Inasmuch as the FBI's presence here is part of the reason the press is hounding you," he said as he walked over to the sink and picked up the dish towel Katherine had laid aside when she went to answer the phone, "it's the least I can do."

"I—I don't know how to thank you," she said simply, trying not to notice how much more he reminded her of Zack when he was being charming.

"How about thanking me by having dinner with me on Wednesday?"

"Wednesday?" she exclaimed, appalled. "Are you still going to be here on Wednesday?"

The dragon he'd intended to slay for her reared up and sank its teeth into Paul's ass, the lion roared with laughter at his folly, and the mountain rose up before him, gigantic and immovable. "Try not to sound so enthusiastic," he said.

"I didn't mean it that way," she said, laying her hand on his sleeve and looking abjectly apologetic. "Truly I didn't. It's just that I—I hate being spied on and questioned, even by you."

"Has it occurred to you that Benedict could decide to come after you here or that your life could be in danger?" he said, slightly mollified by the sincerity of her apology and much more so by her

unconscious

gesture. "Benedict is a murderer and by your own admission, you didn't give him any trouble after he tried to save your life. Suppose he decides he misses the pleasure of your company? Or the pleasant security you provided him when you were a hostage? Suppose he suddenly decides you aren't loyal to

him any more and decides to get his revenge the same way he got it on his wife?"

"Suppose that frying pan you're polishing decides to become a mirror and hangs itself on the living room wall," she countered, shaking her head at what she obviously viewed as his absurdity.

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And at that moment Paul wished, very devoutly, that Benedict would hurry up and make some sort of move against her so that he could save her from the bastard and simultaneously prove to her he was right.

For reasons he couldn't explain or understand, every instinct Paul possessed shouted at him that Benedict was going to come for her. Or try to contact her.

Unfortunately, Dave Ingram completely disagreed, and

he had a derisive explanation for Paul's "instincts"

that was embarrassing as hell: Dave said Paul was so damned besotted with her that he couldn't
believe
Benedict wouldn't have fallen for her, too.

"What about dinner Wednesday night?" he said, reaching for the spatulas and drying them, too.

"I can't," Julie said. "I teach an adult reading class on Wednesday and Friday nights."

"Alright, how about Thursday night instead?"

"That sounds nice," Julie said, suppressing her dismay that the FBI intended to keep her under surveillance for so long. "Would you like me to invite Katherine to join us?"

"Why in hell would I want you to do that?"

"I am beginning to feel," Katherine laughingly remarked from the doorway, "quite horribly unwanted

around here."

At the sound of her voice, Paul tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and hastily invented an excuse for his tactlessness: "I am not usually so obnoxious or so clumsy. I know Dave Ingram will insist on making it a foursome if you come along, Katherine, and I didn't particularly want to spend another evening with

him, which was why I said what I did about inviting you." He opened his eyes and found himself the object of amused pity from both women, who were visibly enjoying his plight.

"I think we should forgive him," Katherine said.

"So do I," Julie replied.

Paul was muttering a brief prayer of gratitude for their mutual gullibility, when Katherine added blandly,

"He's lying of course."

Julie gave him a knowing smile. "Of course," she agreed. "About the press conference," Katherine said,

turning serious and looking at Paul for advice,

"where is it going to be, what time do you want to have it,

and who should we notify?"

"What building around here can hold the biggest crowd?" Paul asked, his mind turning to the business at

hand.

"The high school auditorium," Julie put in.

After a brief discussion it was decided the press conference should take place at three o'clock.

Katherine volunteered to phone the high school principal, who would open up the school, and to call the

mayor, who would then handle the press and any other arrangements. "Call Julie's brother Ted," Paul added as he put on his jacket. "Ask him to notify the rest of the sheriff's office so they can be there to keep the press from mobbing Julie if I can't hold them off alone." To Julie, he said, "Why don't you get

dressed, then I'll drive you home so you'll have plenty of time to make whatever notes you'll need before

you face the world via satellite and newsprint."

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"What a terrifying way to put it," Katherine chided.

"It isn't terrifying at all," Julie astonished everyone, including herself, by saying. "It is maddening, and it is

also absurd, but it isn't terrifying. I refuse to let them terrify me or intimidate me."

Paul's smile was filled with approval, but all he said was, "I'll go warm up the car while you get dressed.

Katherine," he added with a lazy grin, "thank you for a lovely morning and a wonderful breakfast. I'll see you at the press conference."

When the front door closed behind him, Katherine turned to Julie and said bluntly, "In case you haven't noticed, that is one very special man. And he is crazy about you, Julie. That's obvious to anyone who looks closely." She winked then and added, "He also happens to be tall, dark, handsome, and extremely sexy—"

"Don't," Julie interrupted. "I don't want to hear all that."

"Why not?"

"Because he reminds me of Zack," she said simply.

"He always has." She pulled off her apron and headed for the foyer.

"There are a few major differences between the two men," Katherine pointed out, following her up the staircase. "Paul Richardson isn't a criminal, he isn't an escaped convict, and instead of trying to break your heart, he's doing everything he can to shield and help you."

"I know," Julie sighed. "You're right about everything you said, except one thing: Zack is
not
a criminal.

And before I put him completely out of my mind tomorrow, I intend to take care of something via

'satellite and newsprint' today."

"What's that?" Katherine said worriedly, following Julie partway into the guest bedroom she'd slept in last night.

"I intend to make absolutely certain the rest of the world knows that I don't think he killed anyone.

Maybe if I do a good enough job at the press conference, public opinion might force the authorities to

reopen the case!"

Katherine watched her peel off her robe. "You would still do that for him, even though he misused and hurt you as badly as he did?"

Julie gave her a winsome smile and nodded emphatically.

Turning, Katherine started to leave, then she turned back and said with a sigh, "If you're determined to make yourself into Zachary Benedict's spokesperson today, my advice is that you look your most beautiful. It's grossly unjust, but a lot of people are more swayed by a woman's looks than what she says."

"Thanks," Julie said, so filled with purpose now that she was completely devoid of nervousness and already mentally reviewing her wardrobe for the best thing to wear. "Any other advice?"

Katherine shook her head. "You'll be wonderful because you're sincere and you care, and that will show

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through everything you say and do today. It always does."

Julie scarcely heard her, she was searching for some strategy to accomplish her goal. She hit upon the idea of treating the incident—and the media—in a lighthearted way and paused, the clothing in her hand

momentarily forgotten. A serious, formal accounting of the incident during which she would try to soften their attitude toward Zack would be best, she decided, followed by a relaxed, smiling attitude when the

questions started coming at her.

Smiling. Lighthearted. Relaxed.

Zack was the actor, not she, and she didn't know how she was going to pull that off, but she was going

to manage it somehow.

In a Chicago penthouse overlooking Lake Shore Drive, Zack's former neighbor and best man, Matthew

Farrell, looked up as his young daughter raced into the room, followed by her mother, and plunked herself on his lap. With her silky blond hair and blue eyes, Marissa's resemblance to her mother, Meredith, was already so striking that Matt grinned as he looked at both of his girls. "I thought it was nap

time," he said to his daughter.

She looked at the glossy stock prospectus he'd been reading and obviously mistook it for one of her story books. "Story, Daddy. First. Please."

Before answering, he looked inquiringly at Meredith, who was president of Bancroft & Company, a

large chain of exclusive department stores founded by her ancestors, and she gave him a helpless smile.

"It's Sunday," she said. "Sundays are pretty special. I guess naps can wait a few minutes."

"Mommy says okay," he said, settling his daughter onto his lap as he thought of a story. Meredith saw amusement spark his eyes as she curled up in a chair across from the pair, and she realized the cause of it the moment Matt began his story:

"Once upon a time," he said in a very serious voice,

"there was a beautiful princess who sat on a throne at Bancroft & Company."

"Mommy?" Marissa chirped.

"Mommy," he averred. "Now besides being beautiful and wonderful, this princess was very smart. But one day," he said in a tone of dire gravity, "she let a wicked,
wicked
banker talk her into investing some money into a company that—"

"Uncle Parker?" Marissa asked, grinning.

Meredith smothered a laugh at Matt's description of her former fiancé and said hastily, "Daddy's joking.

Uncle Parker is not wicked."

"This is my story," Matt argued with a grin, then he continued. "Now it so happened that the princess's husband, who happens to know a
lot
about investing money, warned the princess not to listen to the
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wicked banker, but she did it anyway. In fact," he added in a deep, emphatic voice, "the princess was so

sure
she was right that she made a bet with her husband that the stock would go up, but it didn't. It closed down two points on Friday. And do you know what happens now that the princess lost the bet to her husband?"

She shook her head, smiling because he was smiling.

Sending a speaking look at his wife, Matt finished meaningfully, "She has to pay up. That means the princess has to take a long, long nap with her husband today."

"Mommy has to take a nap!" Marissa chortled, clapping her hands.

"That's exactly how I feel about it," Matt said.

Standing up, Meredith reached for Marissa's hand, but her warm smile was for Matt. "A wise mommy,"

she told her daughter, "only makes bets that are nice to lose." The cozy atmosphere was interrupted by the arrival of Joe O'Hara, the family bodyguard/

chauffeur, who regarded himself—and was treated like—a member of the family.

"Matt," he said, looking anxious, "I just saw on the television in my room that Julie Mathison, the woman

Zack took as hostage, is going to give a press conference. It's starting right now."

Meredith had never met Zachary Benedict, he'd already been sent to prison by the time Matt and she got together, but she knew the two men had been fast friends. Now she took one look at Matt's grim expression as he turned the television on and said quickly, "Joe, would you take Marissa to her room for