The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming) (12 page)

“Zia’s.”

Reese wheeled away and started off.

Travis watched him for a few seconds, willing his blood pressure to drop back to normal, then headed rapidly in the opposite direction. He rounded the corner of Eighth and began to jog.

Earlier, when he’d checked to make sure that Pazzia’s back door was unlocked, he’d introduced himself to the uniform posted in the alley. So this time he merely nodded to the guy, then stuck the receiver in his ear—just in time to hear Reese say, “Ms. Langley, I’m Evan Reese.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said amid the noise of a chair scraping across the floor.

Travis wasn’t sure whether she actually sounded nervous or it was only his imagination.

“You don’t like Joe Allen?” Reese asked.

“Oh, no, it isn’t that. I just knew I’d feel more relaxed here. It’s one of my favorite places. I come in all the time, and I thought, since it was just down the street, you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t. This looks fine.”

“Good. I know it was presumptuous of me, but I’m not very comfortable about meeting strangers, so I decided... I’m babbling, aren’t I. That’s one of the dumb things I do when I first meet someone.”

“Don’t worry about it. We won’t be strangers for long.”

There was a silence, then she said, “I could hardly sleep after we talked last night. Just couldn’t stop thinking that once you tell the police who killed Steve they’ll be able to wrap up the case. But it was thoughtful of you to want to tell me first. So...the suspense is killing me.”

He could picture the gorgeous smile she was giving Reese, and the image made him clench his hands. He didn’t want the woman he loved having to force smiles for a creep like that.

The woman he loved.

The realization he’d gotten to that stage hit him like a proverbial bolt from the blue.

Oh, he’d been aware, for days now, that he didn’t want
them
to end when this was over. Aware he wanted enough time to find out how they’d be together under
normal
circumstances. But the fact that, without even noticing, he’d crossed the emotional line and fallen in love with her...

How could he possibly have let that happen?

He ordered himself to put the question out of his mind for the moment, because Reese had started speaking again.

“Before we get to who killed your brother,” he was saying, “there’s something else I want to discuss.”

Travis clenched his fists. He was already sensing that Reese had no intention of playing straight.

“Oh?” Celeste said. “What?”

“I was very close to him. I mean, I know all about transference between a patient and his psychiatrist, but I’m talking more than that.

“There was something unique between us. A bond. An incredibly strong thread of communality.

“Now that he’s gone, I feel as if there’s an emptiness in my life that I have to fill. And I keep thinking...

“Remember what we discussed on the phone that first time? The cosmic connection between us? You, an editor. Me, a writer. You, Steve’s sister. Me, having a special relationship with him.

“It’s like the ‘six degrees of separation’ thing. But with you and me there was only one degree. Your brother.

“With him gone there shouldn’t even be one. I guess there already isn’t, since we’re here together. And...Celeste, I want to be your friend. I want—”

“Mr. Reese?”

“Evan. Please call me Evan.”

“Evan, then,” she said slowly,
definitely
sounding nervous now.

Come on,
Travis silently urged her.
You’re doing fine.

“As I explained last night,” she continued, “I’m still pretty shaky, emotionally speaking. So it really would be better if...if we left talking about any relationship between us for another time.”

“I see,” Reese said icily.

Suddenly conscious of the fact that he still had his hands clenched, Travis uncurled his fingers, reminding himself two police detectives were sitting not ten feet from Celeste. But he wanted to be inside the restaurant himself. Right there at that table between her and Reese.

“Well, if you don’t feel up to talking now,” he said, “it’ll have to wait for another time. Waiter?

“We won’t be eating after all,” he said a few seconds later. “But here’s something for you.”

The waiter thanked him. Then, after a pause, Celeste said, “Evan? What about my brother’s killer?”

“What about him?”

“You were going to tell me who he is.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I was. But you know, I’ve decided I don’t feel like getting into that. So let’s leave it for another time, too.”

A chair scraped across the floor, that sound followed by faint, fading footsteps, then silence—until Celeste whispered, “Travis, he’s just walked out the door.”

* * *

C
ELESTE
COULDN
’
T
remember ever having been so utterly disappointed in herself. If only she’d said the right things to Evan Reese, if only...

On the other hand, maybe Travis was right. Maybe, regardless of what she’d said...

She didn’t want to ask him yet again, but when he opened his apartment door she couldn’t keep from saying, “You
really
don’t think he knows who killed Steve?”

He gave her a weary smile. “No. Hank’ll pay him another visit. Make absolutely sure. But I’m certain he just wanted to meet you. And he’d have said anything he thought would make you agree.”

“But why would he want to meet me? Oh, stupid question. Because he’s crazy. Because he’s decided we’re cosmically connected.”

“Celeste...”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, tossing his jacket onto the end of the couch.

She stood gazing at the gun in his shoulder holster, reminding herself that the meeting with Reese could have gone a lot worse than it had. At least he hadn’t pulled a gun on her.

But her hopes had been so high, and if she’d just handled things better...

“Celeste, Reese
doesn’t
know. Trust me on that. So no matter what you said or did we still wouldn’t have the name.”

“Thanks, I needed that,” she murmured, although she still had a horrible suspicion that Travis wasn’t
entirely
certain, that he was only trying to make her feel better.

“Why don’t you go take off that wire,” he suggested. “I know how itchy the tape can get.”

She nodded, then started for the bedroom.

Snoops, who was lying in the center of the bed, lazily watched her remove her blazer and sweater.

That done, she stood looking down at the securely taped listening device, telling herself she wasn’t going to be a big baby about getting it off. She couldn’t be, because if she was she’d have to ask Travis for help. And she was only too aware what a dangerous move that would be.

Tentatively, she tugged at one corner of the tape. Not even a millimeter came free. It only pulled her skin—which hurt.

“You’re being absolutely ridiculous,” she muttered, having a shot at a different corner. It hurt even more.

She ordered herself to just rip the strips off, but she’d never in her entire life been able to go that route.

She didn’t have a particularly low threshold for pain when it came to anything else. And she’d always known this was a stupid hang-up. But it had never made her feel like quite such an idiot before.

“Celeste?” Travis called. “You okay in there?”

“Fine, thanks. I’ll just be another minute.”

So what was she going to do? Live with a wire taped to her chest until the adhesive wore out?

She doubted that was even an option. Travis would have to return the transmitter long before then.

Annoyed with herself, she pulled her sweater back on and headed for the living room.

Travis had removed his gun and was sitting in his recliner, glancing through a magazine.

“I have a little problem,” she told him.

“Oh?”

“I mentioned it before, remember? A thing about taking off bandages. I’ve always got to shut my eyes and have someone else yank them off while I’m not looking. And Snoops just isn’t up to it.”

Travis grinned. “I guess not having hands can be a real problem.”

“Yes, well, being a chicken can be a real problem, too,” she said, easing her sweater up a few inches.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Friday, October 8, 2:11 p.m.

T
HE
MOMENT
T
RAVIS
rose from the recliner, Celeste realized that asking for his help had been an even more dangerous idea than she’d been thinking.

His dark eyes were looking straight into her soul; and a smile played at the corners of his mouth as he crossed the room.

“So,” he said, stopping in front of her. “You close your eyes and I yank away. That’s the deal?”

“Unless you’ve got a pain-free method I’ve never heard of.”

“’Fraid not,” he said. “It
is
going to hurt a bit.”

He waited, obviously expecting her to say something more, but the jumble of words in her head wasn’t making the slightest sense.

And she knew why. The reason was standing not six inches from her.

She liked Travis Quinn. But she still didn’t want to make a mistake. Still didn’t want to take their relationship any further without being sure it was a wise thing to do.

He reached out and rested his fingers beside one end of the tape. She gasped, even though his touch was gentle.

“Hey,” he said quietly, “it’s not supposed to hurt until I pull.”

“I...ah...”

She knew she must be positively radiating the message that she wanted him to kiss her. So why was he still just standing there?

Because
he’d
decided it wouldn’t be a good idea? For all she knew he’d decided he didn’t even like her.

A dozen second thoughts began racing through her mind, every one of them prompting her to say, “Travis...maybe we should just leave this for a while.”

“And delay the inevitable?”

He gave her the biggest grin she’d ever seen, which left her uncertain whether he meant that pulling off the tape was inevitable or...

“Close your eyes and let’s just do it,” he said.

She closed her eyes. A second later, she yelped as he tore off the tape.

“Sorry,” he said.

“No. No, it wasn’t really that bad.” And he’d pulled both strips at once. Thankfully.

“Sure you’re okay?” He trailed his fingertips along where the bottom length of tape had been—making her skin tingle.

“Yes. I’m fine.” Except that she felt as if she were melting inside.

After tossing the transmitter and the balled-up tape onto the couch, he simply stood gazing at her.

“Travis...I...”

“What?”

She had to decide. Now. And since she’d never before felt the way she felt about him... She loved him. How could it possibly be anything but love?

Taking a deep breath, she reached up and gently rested her hand on his jaw.

He drew a breath that was every bit as deep as hers, then murmured, “Celeste...the other night you said you didn’t want to rush into anything.”

“That was the other night,” she whispered.

He smiled again, another slow, soft smile that did further devastating things to her insides. Then he swept her up in his arms and kissed her.

“You know how long I’ve been wanting to do this?” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.

“No. How long?”

“From the first moment I saw you. I just wouldn’t admit it to myself right away.”

“Why not?”

“Because...does it really matter?”

“No,” she murmured. Nothing mattered except the here and now. The two of them.

* * *

T
RAVIS
WANTED
THE
WORLD
to stop turning, wanted everything in it to stay exactly this way for eternity. She had come to him. She recognized there was something special between them.

His wildest imaginings had been nothing compared with the reality of making love to Celeste. And now, lying with his sweat-slicked body curled around hers, a damp tendril of her hair tickling his neck, he knew he’d be happy to stay this way forever.

Happy? He couldn’t stop himself from grinning. How about
deliriously
happy? Or wildly? Ridiculously? Incomparably?

“What?” she murmured, snuggling even more closely against him on the couch where they had settled.

“What, what?”

“I can feel you smiling.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

He nuzzled her shoulder. “You must be wrong. I can’t smile and do that at the same time.”

“Well, you
were
smiling.”

“Yeah, I was,” he admitted as she lifted her face face to him.

“Why?”

“Because of the way you make me feel.”

That started
her
smiling. “How do I make you feel?”

“Oh, you know. Heart pounding like a jackhammer. Ten feet tall. Able to leap high buildings in a single bound. All the standard stuff.”

“Standard for what?” she said, running her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.

He took a deep breath. He’d never said the words, and the prospect of saying them made him feel as if he were balancing at the end of a mile-high diving board.

“Standard for being in love,” he told her at last. “Or so I hear. It’s never happened to me before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

“Oh, Travis. It’s never happened to me before, either. Not like this. Not anywhere near like this.”

His heart began hammering harder still. Now she had him thinking he could leap a hundred high buildings in a single bound. “Well...that’s good, then, isn’t it.”

She kissed his chin. “If I were in editor mode, I’d change the
good
to
fantastic.
”

He laughed. “Is that how it’s going to be? Whenever I open my mouth, I’ll be at risk of your editing what I say?”

“Mmm, it’ll depend on what you say.”

He was sorely tempted to say he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. See if she edited that. But he didn’t.

Even though it seemed as if he’d known her forever, in reality it hadn’t been long. And there was still the major problem of that contract.

Until they got to the bottom of it, there’d always be the danger of the world suddenly crashing down around them. And he had to eliminate the chance it might before they could talk about the future.

He didn’t consider himself a superstitious man. He simply didn’t believe in tempting fate.

“Travis?” Celeste murmured, looking so serious that he wondered if she’d been reading his mind.

“What?”

“I suddenly started thinking about Steve’s service being tomorrow. And it seems so...us together like this when...”

“There’s nothing wrong with us being together like this, Celeste. Nothing at all. People can’t control when they fall in love.”

He kissed her throat, then cuddled her closely once more and sat back. But now that she’d raised the subject of her brother’s service, his concerns about it were front and center in his mind.

They were no closer to identifying the Ice Man than they’d been on day one. He wouldn’t know the guy if they were standing in the same elevator. Or sitting in the same funeral home chapel, as the case may be.

And what if the lowlife
did
try to kill Celeste tomorrow?

It might be unlikely, but it wasn’t out of the question—a fact that was still worrying him when his cell began ringing.

Too much of a cop to ignore it, he pulled away from Celeste and headed into the kitchen.

“Quinn,” he answered.

“It’s me,” Hank said. “I said I’d stop by, remember?”

“Right, of course,” he lied. His head had been too full of concerns about Celeste to remember a thing.

“Good. I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Yeah, okay.” He put the phone down and strode rapidly back into the living room.

“Hank’ll be here in a couple of minutes,” he said. “He wants to hear about your meeting with Reese.”

“Oh, man,” Celeste murmured. “He seems to work twenty-five hours a day. We’ve got to find him another wife. Maybe then he’d go home more often.”

Travis laughed, but her words reminded him why he’d always sworn he’d never get married. Although standing here gazing at her, still flushed from holding her... Well, he wouldn’t be the first guy in the world to change his mind.

That thought rattling around in his head, he went downstairs to let Hank in. By the time he got back up to the apartment, Celeste was curled up on the couch, her nose in a book.

“So?” Hank said without preliminaries.

“I didn’t do well,” she told him.

“She did just fine,” Travis said. “Reese was the problem, not her.”

After they’d given Hank a detailed summary, he said, “I’ll bet Travis is right. The creep doesn’t know a thing. So let’s forget him for the time being and talk about tomorrow.

“I’ll pick you up here, Celeste, and be right beside you the entire time. I spoke to someone at the funeral home, and the family stays in a little anteroom until just before the service. I’ll be in there with you. Plus, we’ll have people in the chapel.”

“What about her wearing a vest?” Travis said.

“You mean a bulletproof vest?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Not a good idea,” Hank said.

“Why not?”

“Because this Ice Man probably checked her out as soon as he took on the contract. And she’s thin enough that if he’s seen her before he’d realize she was wearing one.”

“Wait a minute,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Do you actually figure he’s going to be there? Travis and I talked about that, but...”

As her words trailed off and she shook her head, Travis shot Hank a glance to say he was scaring the wits out of her.

“No,” he quickly said. “I
don’t
figure he’ll be there. I just don’t want to rule out the possibility. Not completely, I mean.”

“Listen for a sec,” Travis said. “We’re not really thinking he’d
try
anything there. We’re just thinking he might have learned you’re not staying in your apartment. And that if he has, he could be planning on finding out where you
are
staying by following you from the service.”

“But—”

“We’ve got that covered,” Hank interrupted her. “You don’t have to worry about it.

“As for the vest,” he continued, focusing on Travis once more, “if he
is
there, and it’s obvious she’s wearing one, he’ll figure it’s because we’ve heard about the contract. And that would make him a dozen times more careful.”

“Or it might make him give up on the hit,” Travis pointed out. And that would be the best thing in the entire world.

“Uh-uh, buddy. You’re into wishful thinking. You know these guys. Every one of them is convinced he’s smarter than we are. So, as I said, he sees a vest, it only makes him more careful. Which is the last thing we want.

“Oh, and by the way, I dropped in on Carol Schoenberg. Figured she might tell me something useful about Bryce.”

“And did she?”

“Not really. She gave me a picture of Donna, though.” He produced an eight-by-ten photograph from a folder and handed it to Travis. “One of her publicity shots.”

Travis gazed at it, thinking Donna Rainfield was an extremely good-looking woman—somewhere in her twenties, with glossy dark hair and enormous eyes.

“May I see it?” Celeste asked.

When he handed it to her, she murmured, “She’s beautiful, isn’t she.”

He wanted to say she wasn’t nearly as beautiful as Celeste, but he’d save that until after Hank was gone.

* * *

T
HE
MEMORIAL
SERVICE
was set for eleven in the morning; Hank arrived at Travis’s apartment well before ten.

Celeste managed a smile for him—just barely, though. She was both more upset and more frightened than she wanted to admit, which made smiling difficult.

Last night, she and Travis had done their best to pretend everything was fine in their little corner of the world. They’d ordered in Chinese and eaten it curled up on the couch while watching a movie.

But this morning the bright light of day had chased away her illusions. Things were about as far from “fine” as they could be.

“I saw Evan Reese again after I left here yesterday,” Hank told her as Travis closed the door.

“And?
Does
he know who killed Steve?”

“No, I really don’t think he’s got a clue. He told me he’d only said he knew because he wanted to meet you, face-to-face. And he figured that would make you agree.”

“Scuzzball,” Travis muttered. “We should be charging him with something.”

“What? Lying?” Hank said grimly.

“How about obstruction of justice? Or at the very least, public mischief.”

“Yeah, well, let’s not forget who his uncle Fred is. I don’t think we want to do anything that could be construed as harassment.”

Travis simply shook his head, his expression dark.

“Oh, and by the way, Celeste, I’m afraid he’s going to be at the service.”

“You’re joking!” Travis said.

“Uh-uh. I told him I doubted she’d want him there, but it didn’t do any good.

“He said it’s a free world. And that it was only appropriate for him to go. That Parker wasn’t just his psychiatrist. They were also close friends.”

“In his dreams,” Travis snapped. “But is everything else under control?”

When Hank nodded, Celeste looked at Travis once more.

He was watching her, a clear message in his dark eyes. As he’d told her yesterday, he wished
he
could be the one playing bodyguard.

That was what she wished, too, yet if they didn’t want anyone to suspect she was staying here with him, they just couldn’t risk being seen together.

She forced her gaze from his, telling herself that when this was all over they’d be able to be together—anywhere and everywhere—without worrying about who might see them and what they might think.

* * *

T
RAVIS
CHOSE
A
SEAT
near the rear of the funeral home’s chapel, so he’d have a good view of everyone coming in.

Only a few people had gotten there before him, and he recognized a couple of them as NYPD detectives. A man and a woman who were nonchalantly standing in separate places near the entrance, both looking expectant, as if waiting to meet someone.