Love Songs (39 page)

“Serena Strickland … Ann Carruthers. Ann is one of our esteemed alderpersons, Serena. We’re in fine company tonight.”

Considering the fact that her mind was on a missing person, Serena managed a cordial exchange that gave proof once more of Tom’s insightful analysis. She was sweet and serene, all the while troubled within by the question he had posed. But there were other questions, too, and they nagged at her mercilessly. Where was he now? What was it he wanted? And why did it all matter so much to her, anyway?

It was a definite relief when, after several moments of small talk, Ann was approached and whisked off by another of the guests. Unfortunately, though, André hung on to Serena to guide her through the ever-revolving sea of faces whose names flew past her within seconds of their introduction. Neither Serena’s mind nor her heart were on the party.

By pure accident André singled out Tom for attention. “Excuse me,” he spoke more formally than usual and with an edge Serena couldn’t quite identify. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m André Phillips.”

To Serena’s dismay Tom straightened from the doorjamb against which he’d been leaning, shifted his drink, and met André’s outstretched hand. “Tom Reynolds here.”

André hesitated for one awkward moment. “Tom Reynolds of the
Bulletin?
”

“The same.”

“Then I’m certainly pleased to meet you. Ann did say something about dragging you here.” What was intended as humor missed its mark, but neither man seemed to notice.

Serena stood suffering quietly beside André, her eyes glued to Tom’s face. She felt the wariness that verged on hostility between the two men and couldn’t begin to understand it. André had been the perfect host all evening and Serena knew how adept he was at hiding his feelings, yet here was a dagger nearly unsheathed. Was André interested in Ann? Was
Tom?
As though hearing her silent mention of his name Tom’s gaze slid to her face, softening instantly and setting a wholly new set of vibrations astir in the air.

André reacted quickly, again out of habit. “I’m sorry. Serena Strickland … Tom Reynolds.” He paused, studying each in turn. “But you two know each other, don’t you?” he asked, fitting the first piece into the puzzle. He clearly recalled the incident at the restaurant over a month ago. Then Serena had denied knowing Tom; now the expression on her face made a mockery of that denial.

It was Tom who came to Serena’s aid, a knight in shining armor. “We met earlier,” he answered noncommittally, avoiding a direct lie, but very clearly protecting her secret. Serena’s eyes transmitted their thanks as she nodded in ostensible greeting.

André, however, was less concerned with the connection than he was in gleaning information. “I understand you’ve begun to make some changes at the
Bulletin.
”

“A few.” Tom kept his distance. “I’ve only been there a very short time. I’ll need a while longer to have any kind of impact.”

André’s smile lacked its usual perfection. “So you are planning to stir things up? I’d heard rumors to that extent.”

“I’m planning to turn the
Bulletin
into a first-rate newspaper. If that takes stirring up, as you put it, then I’ll be stirring things up.”

“It must be a difficult business,” André went on pointedly. “There seems to be a backlash against newspapers and the power they wield.” Serena stiffened at his latent hostility, but neither man noticed. “I read about more and more lawsuits, for libel. You folks have to be very careful.”

While Serena’s stomach twisted at the direction the conversation was taking Tom seemed utterly calm. “We always have been and still are. That’s not to say that the occasional irresponsible reporter can’t do some damage. But it’s up to the editorial staff to prevent wanton mudslinging.” He tipped his head in a self-assured manner. “I’m not worried about the
Bulletin.
We’ll have our facts straight.”

“Excuse me,” Serena broke in, unable to bear the discussion any longer. “I’m going to freshen up.” She spoke softly to André, nodding to Tom as she turned and walked with forced steadiness through the crowd, into the foyer, down the hall, and into the peace of the bathroom. When she emerged her direction was even more sure. Retracing her steps, she stood at the entrance to the living room, located the tall figure she wanted and approached him without hesitation.

“Could we leave, Tom?” she whispered, not fully understanding her action, only knowing that she wanted to go … with Tom.

“André?”

“I’ll leave a message with … the butler.” She smirked, then sobered in a silent plea, slipping her hand into Tom’s, seeking his strength. His fingers tightened as he drew her beside him. She began to breathe freely only once she’d been comfortably settled in the front seat of his two-seater Mercedes. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds as he slid behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition, shifted into gear, and accelerated, leaving behind the bright-lit mansion and its crowd of partygoers, including, she thought quite happily, André. He had offended her with his subtle attack on Tom, though he had done nothing more than express sentiments with which she agreed wholeheartedly. Had she grown that protective of Tom that she took
his
side on such an issue? Impossible! She was simply tired.

Eyes still shut, she felt the gentle touch of Tom’s fingers on her cheek. “Headache?” he asked softly.

“No. I’d just had enough.”

The steady hum of the well-tuned engine was soothing. Serena felt strangely calm and totally trusting of her driver.

“Not a party girl?”

She chuckled. “Not by a long shot.” Then she quickly opened her eyes. “Oh, Tom, if you wanted to stay—”

“No, no.” He held out a hand to stop her. “I prefer my evenings quieter. I only went at Ann’s urging, but she really didn’t need an escort. I’m sure she won’t miss me.”

“Will she be expecting you to take her home?”

His smile was barely visible in the darkness. “I left my message with the butler, too. It’s good to know he’s served some practical purpose for the money he’s being paid.”

“Do you like Ann?”

“Sure I like her. But if I wanted to be with her I wouldn’t be driving you home right now.”

For the first time Serena glanced out the front windshield. “Tom, you’re going in the wrong direction. We have to head back toward the city to get to my apartment.”

“We’re not going there.”

“But you said—”

“Home.
My
home.”

With the tension of the party gone a new wave of emotion swept over her. “Oh, Tom. I don’t know.” She remembered his kiss, her kiss, earlier that evening. “I think you should turn around.”

“No way.”

“Tom…”

But he had no intention of altering course, despite her soft plea. Rather, he grew more adamant. “We’re going to my place to talk, Serena. There’s an awful lot I want to say, and even more I want to hear.”

“Tom, I don’t know if I’m up for this.”

“You’ve had a month!” With the force of his exclamation he swerved to the side of the road and stepped firmly on the brakes, his arm shooting out to hold her in place. When the car had come to a complete stop he turned to her, leaving only the memory of his strength where his arm had been a moment before.

“Listen, Serena. There’s something we have to hash out. Until we do we’ll both be in limbo.”

“No.”

“Yes! Don’t try to deny your response to me. I felt it back in that den tonight. I felt it back in your apartment that morning. Damn it, I felt it in that restaurant that very first day!”

“You’re confusing the issue, Tom,” she argued softly. “That first day I was stunned to see you—”

“Could it be that there was something more, even then? It happens sometimes, you know. Instant response. Biological attraction. Chemical communication.”

“No.”

“You’re
that
sure?” Darkness hid his expression, but his profile was uncompromising.

Serena shivered as she stared at him, simultaneously trying to consider and dismiss his claim. In the end she had to be honest, with him and with herself. “No,” she admitted wretchedly.

Tom started the engine. “Then let’s go. We’ll work this all out, one way or the other. I’ve got to know what’s going on in that head of yours or I’m apt to go right off the deep end myself.”

“Hmph … true justice…”

He ignored her sally. “Justice is your giving me an hour of your time in return for my rescuing you from André’s party.”

Serena’s eyes glittered in the passing headlights. “From the frying pan into the fire?” she quipped dryly, quietly, but not quietly enough.

“There’s always been a fire with us, Serena. That’s what this is all about. Fire can be either destructive or purifying. Either we douse it for good, or we let it flame.”

His point was well-taken, expressing much of Serena’s own sentiment. Tom had been on her mind enough in the past month to merit this time spent together. He was right; it
had
to be. For her own peace of mind as much as for his, they had to talk things out. Talk was good for the soul. But the body, what would answer its needs?

“I’ll take you home later, if that’s what you want.” Tom spoke gently, reading her mind, in total understanding of her fear. It was this very understanding that reassured her, and the fact that she did trust him. “OK?” he asked.

She hesitated for just a moment before giving the only answer conscience would allow. “OK,” she murmured and he purposefully stepped on the gas.

5

For a Saturday night the traffic was negligible, reducing what might have been a drive of forty minutes to a simple twenty-minute trip.

“I didn’t realize that you lived in Wayzata,” Serena commented, easily recognizing her surroundings.

Tom’s eyes remained fixed on the road. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know. Which will be changed soon enough.”

She shot him a slanted look. “Why does that sound ominous?”

“Does it?” he asked innocently. “I hadn’t meant it to be ominous. Perhaps … enticing?”

“Oh, yes, enticing.” Her echo held enough amusement to cover the trepidation she felt. What had she let herself in for?

“Having second thoughts?”

“Naturally.”

“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

Serena answered impulsively. “I wish you had made that promise years ago. My family might still be in one piece.”

“No, Serena. If it hadn’t been me it would have been someone else—reporter, detective, district attorney, take your pick. Your father broke the law. He had no one to blame but himself.”

“You didn’t know him,” she argued softly, lowering her gaze while images of her childhood passed before her. “He was a good man.…”

Tom considered her words and, more important, the heartfelt belief behind them. Serena had adored her father; even now, though she might acknowledge that he’d done wrong, she could not think of him as a criminal. In her dreams she often imagined him vindicated through the process of appeal. In reality he hadn’t lived long enough.

“Here we are.” With a turn of the wheel Tom turned from the main road onto a private drive that wound around for a short distance and ended in a graceful arc.

“Tom, this is beautiful!” Serena exclaimed, captivated at once by the moonlit manor before her. In the total absence of artificial light its profile was impressive—tall in the eaves, broad in the wings, and strong in the sturdy brick of which it was molded. “It’s you!”

Scrambling from the car, she was aware of Tom’s instant materialization by her side. “It will be one day. Come on”—he took her hand—“we go over this way.”

Bemused, she followed his lead, away from the larger house toward a small cottage on its far side. She heard the gentle sounds of her high heels tapping on the flagstone walk, the wind playing through branches just shy of their spring buds, and a softer, more rhythmic lilt from the lake nearby. But the hand of night was reluctant to reveal more than one bit of beauty at a time. Serena clutched Tom’s long fingers as he headed toward the single lighted lamppost.

“Tom?”

“Uh-huh?” He fished in his pocket for a key.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“What?” Amusement lacing his tone, he opened the door, reached within to switch on a light, and stood to the side for Serena to pass.

“The house …
that
house, is
it
yours or is
this?
”

“Would it matter?” he drawled tartly.

She shrugged. “Only to satisfy my curiosity, or if I needed an address to send a quart-sized carton of Cinnamon Red Hots to.”

“You’d be that cruel?”

“You wouldn’t
have
to eat them,” she said sweetly over her shoulder as she stepped across the threshold of the quaint brick structure and found herself in a surprisingly open single room, contemporary both in design and furnishing. “This is amazing, Tom! This is like a modern mountain hideaway.”