Keepsake (22 page)

“You don’t like me, yet you liked kissing me—is that what you’re hinting at?”

She raised her palms in an apologetic gesture. “I’m getting to like you better,” she confessed.

“Well, then—”

“But still, these, uh, these hormones, they only add to the confusion. I don’t need any more confusion, Rob.”

It was the first time she’d ever called him Rob.

He liked it.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m having some of the same misgivings. Feeling hormonal towards a suspect is not recommended
in the Homicide Investigator’s Guide.”

“Look, it’s late. I’m going home.”

“Not alone, you’re not. It’s well after dark now. I’ll walk you.”

She looked at him, her eyes level. “I can’t invite you in.”

“I know,” he said. Damn, he thought.

“Not that I wouldn’t like to,” she said, this time with a smile.

Gently, he stroked her cheek. “Sometimes it’s the wisest course to go ahead and act upon your feelings. Take a few risks.
Live a little dangerously.”

She gave an uneasy laugh. “I already am living dangerously.”

Back off, he ordered himself. Too much eagerness was never the best course. And besides… he knew he’d regret this when he
was out of here, away from her, in control of himself again. Allowing himself to be tempted by her would be harmful to both
of them. It couldn’t possibly go anywhere.

He didn’t want to be hurt by April Harrington.

Nor did he wish to hurt her.

The rest of their walk through the shadows in Central Park was uneventful, but April was glad to have Blackthorn at her side.
In the darkness it was far too easy to imagine villains behind every rock and tree.

They emerged on Central Park West and walked the two blocks to her building on West Sixty-second Street. When they reached
the glass doors that led into the lobby he made no attempt to follow her inside. But he surprised her by saying, “I’ve been
invited to a party Friday night. I was wondering if you might like to come.”

She blinked at him. “You mean, like a date?”

“Not exactly,” he hedged. “Actually I figure it’s a good opportunity for us to do a little digging.”

Us? Was he regarding her now as an ally rather than an adversary? “In the investigative sense, you mean?”

“The party’s being given by Isobelle and her boyfriend. Apparently it’s her birthday next weekend.”

“Who’s her boyfriend?”

“You know him, April. Charlie Ripley.”

She shook her head. “Isobelle and Charlie? They’re seeing each other?”

“You sound surprised.”

“They seem so different. Charlie’s so—so nice, so cooperative and helpful, but Isobelle—”

“Yeah, I know, she’s been giving you a hard time.”

That was an understatement. “She and I don’t get along, Rob. I don’t think she’d like to have me at her birthday party.”

“Nevertheless, she invited me and suggested I bring a date,” he said with a grin. “I’m sure she’ll be a courteous hostess.”
He hesitated. “I’m not worried about that, actually.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“I suppose you might term it an unusual sort of party,” he said slowly. “People are likely to be dressed in some rather odd
get-ups. Tell me, are you easily shocked?”

She tilted her head to one side as she considered him. “What do you think?”

“I’d say not, on the whole. Tell me this, then: Have you ever felt the urge to act out an erotic fantasy?”

April felt her cheeks growing warm. Sure, with you, was what she was tempted to reply. Her lips still felt tender where he’d
kissed them. And there was still that restless feeling deep inside. It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel
anything similar. “Murder shocks me a whole lot more than sex,” she managed.

He nodded. “Me, too. Okay, let’s go to the party, then.
If it makes you feel uncomfortable, we can leave. I’ll pick you up around eight.”

“Wait. What should I wear to this mysterious party?”.

A mischievous light came into those big blue eyes of his. “Black leather would be appropriate, if you get my drift.”

Silence while she digested this. Then, “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Isobelle?”

“Charles?” he said with a similar intonation.

April laughed. “You’re right. Isobelle’s a little strange anyway, but Charlie seems so clean-cut. Isn’t he a born-again Christian
or something?”

“You gotta watch out for the clean-cut ones.”

“Blackthorn? What are you going to wear to this kinky party?”

His only answer was a devilish laugh.

Daisy Tulane enjoyed the hard pattering of water on her naked back as she stood in Christian’s shower, freshening up after
her flight from Dallas. As she stood there, she allowed all the random thoughts of meetings and appointments, press conferences
and campaign planning strategy sessions to wash off her and twirl away down the drain. She was here, with her handsome young
lover, to relax. All those burdens would be waiting for her when she flew back to Texas, but for now, she was going to forget
they existed.

Seize your power, change your life. The pouring-troubles-down-the-drain routine was one of dozens of imaging tricks promoted
by Power Perspectives that she still used on a daily basis. She had meant every word she’d said in
that famous infomercial she had made for Rina’s company. Rina’s methods worked.

But you had to be dedicated and disciplined to make them work, and Rina had been better at that, Daisy thought with a sigh.
Rina had been better at so many things.

She finished showering and dried herself with one of Christian’s huge, fuzzy towels. She went to work on her hair with a silver-backed
brush and her blow-dryer. When that was done she stood naked in front of the mirror and considered her body. She was pleased
to see that the fat was staying off. It had better, considering all those grueling hours spent in the exercise room. Dieting
was not a problem—her old distaste for food still persisted after all these years. It’s not much of a problem staying slender
if you have no appetite.

Well, no appetite for food. Daisy pulled on the pink and ivory teddy she’d bought at Victoria’s Secret during her last retail
therapy outing. It was exactly the sort of thing she hoped Christian would adore. It made her look feminine, sensual and…
eager. Eagerness was a feeling she was trying to cultivate.

After a light redo of her makeup, she padded out into the bedroom, looking for him. He must still be downstairs. She took
one more glance in the mirror, fluffed up her hair, smiled the candidate’s smile, then stepped out into the hall.

As she passed Kate’s room, the door opened. The girl stood there on the threshold, dressed in pajamas and clutching a cute
stuffed puppy.

Daisy wished she’d thrown a robe over the sheer teddy. It was after midnight. Didn’t she ever go to sleep?

“I had a nightmare,” Kate said. Her voice quavered and she looked as if she were about to cry.

Instinctively, Daisy put her arms around her. But Kate jerked away. “Don’t touch me!”

“It was just a bad dream, honey,” Daisy said soothingly. “Some of ‘em are awful, though, I know. How about a nice warm cup
of cocoa? That always makes me feel better.”

“I hate cocoa,” Kate said.

And you hate me, too, don’t you? Daisy thought. Poor kid. It wasn’t surprising, considering all the losses she’d sustained.
Her mother’s death had been bad enough. And now Rina’s…

“You won’t be able to fool my father forever,” Kate said. “He may be blind, but he’s not dumb.”

“I’m not trying to fool your father, Kate,” Daisy said patiently. “One thing your father and I both believe is how important
it is to be honest about everything.”

The girl blinked at her, then burst out laughing. Daisy felt a tightness-rush along her nerves. It was silly, of course, but
she didn’t like to be laughed at. Attacks, she could deal with, even personal attacks. People with thin skins shouldn’t get
into politics, and Daisy had worked hard on making her hide as tough as a Texas armadillo. But mocking laughter could still
penetrate it, she realized to her chagrin.

Even the mocking laughter of a twelve-year-old.

Why was she laughing? she wondered.
What did she know?

She forced a smile. “You go on back to bed, now, hon, okay? Think happy thoughts and the dream’ll pass and morning’ll be here
before you know it.”

“Goodnight,” Kate said, politely this time.

“Goodnight, Katey, hon. See you in the morning.”

Kate closed the door. Daisy started down the hall again, a little confused by her behavior. Anything was possible if
the child was bleary with sleep, but she’d looked completely wide awake.

“Daisy?”

She turned. The door was once again open and Kate’s smile was malicious now. “Um-hmm?”

“You’re gonna lose the election,” Kate said.

Laughing again, she slammed her door.

Daisy flushed with anger. My daddy would have taken a brat like her out behind the woodpile and whaled the living daylights
out of her, she thought.

Christian better darn-well do something about that child.

Something was wrong, April realized.

As she unlocked the door to her apartment after leaving Rob Blackthorn downstairs in the lobby, she felt an instinctive wariness.
Everything looked just the same as usual—the doors and windows appeared to be closed, and all the lights were off, just as
she had left them. But something didn’t feel right.

Don’t be so jumpy, she told herself as she stood still in the front hall. The living room and dining area were to her left.
The small kitchen was straight ahead, and the bedrooms were down a long corridor to the right.

All was silent except for her own rapid breathing.

It didn’t smell right, she realized. There was a faint odor of—of something. Disinfectant, perhaps. It smelled as if a cleaning
lady had been in to scrub the floors. But April didn’t have a cleaning lady.

Maybe there had been a maintenance problem in the
building while she’d been gone? She’d left for work around noontime and she hadn’t been back since.

Slowly, she walked over to the kitchen, flipping on the lights as she entered the small room. It didn’t look as if anything
had been disturbed—all cabinets and drawers were closed, just as she had left them. From there she walked through into the
dining area and back into the living room. Again, it was neat, as usual, but… had that chair been pulled so far away from
the wall? It didn’t look quite right. And that pile of magazines and newspapers—they’d been messy, but had they been that
messy?

Stop imagining things! she shouted at herself.

She walked slowly down the hall that led to the bedrooms. Her palms were slick. If someone were hiding, it would be up there,
in one of the closets, perhaps, or in the bathroom.

The bathroom on the right side of the hallway was empty. Her bedroom opened on the left. She hit the light switch and bright
light flooded the room, filling the corners. No one leapt out at her. She took a quick look in the bathroom, the closet. Her
clothes were hanging there, undisturbed.

Nothing. No one.

April leaned back against the wall, drawing a deep breath. She must have been mistaken. Maybe she’d just imagined the smell
of disinfectant. She couldn’t smell it now.

Maybe she was working too hard and worrying too much.

Blackthorn had rattled her, too. She’d been truly terrified when he’d chased her through Central Park. And then that kiss—so
sensual, so seductive…

The last room to check was the spare bedroom, immediately at the end of the hallway. She was using it as an
office. Frequently, she would come home at the end of a long day at the Power Perspectives office only to sit for hours in
here reading and trying to absorb as much as she could about the company. She listened to Rina’s audio-tapes and watched her
inspirational videos. She reviewed the notes of her mother’s planning sessions for the various new directions of the company,
as well as her personal notes.

The door to the office was closed. She couldn’t recall whether she’d left it that way.

As she pushed open the door, the scent that she’d thought she’d imagined burst out at her. It was as if she’d just entered
a medical clinic or a hospital—the smell of iodine-based disinfectant was powerful.

Poised and ready to run, she hit the light switch. There was no sound or movement in the room. But the room was a wreck—drawers
open and papers spilled all over the place, books turned out of the bookshelves, utter chaos on the surface of her desk.

Painted in high mustard-colored letters on the white wall over her desk were the words, “Power Corrupts. You’re Next, Bitch.”

“I’m sorry to drag you back here tonight,” April said to Rob Blackthorn when he knocked on her door a little later that evening.

He shrugged in that loose-shouldered manner of his. “Hey, I’m glad to be here, whatever the reason.”

As he entered she felt a jolt of emotion. Those pesky hormones again. He wasn’t a drop-dead handsome man, but he was the physical
type she liked—tall and hard and lean.

After discovering the mess in the office, April had
phoned the police. A pair of cops—a man and a woman named Cirillo and Flack—had come quickly, but they had not stayed long.
Cirillo rather rudely made it clear that they had far more important cases to deal with in New York City on a hot June night
than breaking and entering. Flack, the woman and “good cop” of the pair, had been more sympathetic, but even she had little
consolation to offer.

If they knew—or cared—about Rina de Sevigny’s murder in California, they gave no indication of it.

A crime-scene team headed by a couple of young techies had quickly dusted, taken measurements and a few photographs. Lieutenant
Flack, meanwhile, had offered April the usual advice about investing in better security locks, maybe an alarm. Then she and
Cirillo had packed up and left.

“I discovered the break-in as soon as I got inside,” she told Rob. “It doesn’t look like anything was stolen. The intention,
it seems, was to frighten me.”