The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming) (16 page)

She slowly shook her head. “Go to San Francisco or someplace and worry myself sick about you? Because that’s all I’d do.”

“Really?”

“You haven’t figured that out by now?”

Lowering himself onto the bed beside her, he wrapped his arms around her.

“Travis, I want to be wherever you are,” she whispered.

And he wanted to be wherever she was. He wanted to hold her close, just the way he was doing right now, and never let her go.

He loved her so much he could hardly believe it. And if she really felt that same insane way about him...

He just
had
to bring this nightmare to an end. Then they could get on with their lives. Together.

The word began echoing in his head, but he didn’t speak it aloud. That would only be tempting fate.

Yet wasn’t that exactly what he’d be doing if he involved her in something that could be dangerous? As much as he didn’t want to risk that...

Celeste tensed in his arms when his cell began to ring.

“It’s okay,” he said. “No one has any idea where we are.”

He answered the call and Hank said, “Hey, it’s me.”

His tone was upbeat, so things couldn’t be a total disaster in Chicago.

“Glad you called,” Travis told him. “How’s your father?”

“Well, he’s in intensive care. But they’ve got back some test results and the damage isn’t too bad. Nothing like they were afraid it might be.”

“That’s great, Hank.”

He repeated the news to Celeste and she smiled. “Tell him I’m aiming all my positive vibes toward Chicago.”

“She says she’s positive-vibing you.”

“Yeah, well, thank her for me. My mom’s doing better, too. Hearing that Dad’ll probably pull through made a world of difference.”

“I’ll bet.”

“At any rate, I’ll hang in here till we’re certain he’s on the mend, but I shouldn’t be away for too long. So, how are things there?”

“Actually, we’ve run into a problem.”

“I’m going to shower,” Celeste whispered.

As she headed for the bathroom, Travis began telling Hank about what had happened at Zia’s.

After he was finished, Hank muttered, “You know, you were right. We
should
have charged Reese with something. I don’t care who his uncle is. If it had made him back off, it would have been worth a hassle. But what are you going to do now?”

“I’m still considering.”

What he’d like to do, right this minute, was discuss his idea with Hank. Get his thoughts on it.

But the shower had stopped running, which meant that Celeste would be back out here any second. And he didn’t want her to know what he was thinking until he decided whether he was willing to involve her.

“Well, you take care, buddy,” Hank said. “And if you want to talk about what’s happening, just call. I’ve got my phone with me, so I’m just a speed dial away.”

“Thanks. I might do that.” But he probably wouldn’t. With his father lying in an ICU, Hank didn’t need anything more to worry about.

As he put down his phone, the bathroom door opened and Celeste appeared—dressed again, but with her hair still damp.

“That’s wonderful news about Hank’s dad,” she said. “From what you initially told me, I was fearing the worst.”

He nodded slowly, buying himself a few seconds of thinking time. If he tried going to talk to Bryce Wayland on his own, would the guy even see him? And if he did...

His best guess was that he wouldn’t get very far without Celeste’s help. So as uneasy as it made him...

Telling himself he just didn’t have a choice, he said, “I want to run something by you.”

She nodded.

“I’m thinking we might be able to force things to a head by paying Bryce a visit.”

“We,”
she said slowly. “You mean the two of us.”

“I would never let you go see him alone. Not without Hank here to orchestrate backup. So...are you game for another session with him?”

“Of course. Just tell me what we’re trying to do.”

He picked up his phone again and handed it to her. “First, call and see whether he’s home. Just click off if he answers, though.”

He’d rather not alert Bryce to the fact that they were coming—in case
he
alerted the Ice Man. But he certainly wasn’t going to say that to Celeste.

She pressed in a number, held the phone to her ear for a minute, then clicked off. “He’s there.”

“Good, then we’re on.”

“Okay, so we go to his apartment and...”

“Well, we can fine-tune this on our way there. But, basically, you’ll say you’re so upset about what happened in the restaurant that you just had to talk to him. That you want to tell him what’s
really
been going on with the two of us.

“Not that you’ll actually do that. You’ll say we
aren’t
involved with each other and you
were
seriously considering the idea of getting back together with him.

“And that you asked me to come along to help you explain why you’ve been staying at my place—since it’s such an incredible story.”

“And the incredible story is...?”

“The truth. Or parts of it, at least. We tell him that while Hank was asking around about your brother, he learned there was a contract on you. And, naturally, he told you about it so you could take precautions. But, not surprisingly, it made you really upset.”

“So upset that I totally freaked out,” Celeste said, continuing the thought. “Bryce would certainly believe that. Every time I talk to him he starts going on about all the stress I’ve been under.”

“Good. So you freaked out and Hank was trying to come up with a way of helping you.

“And it occurred to him that since I was just starting a couple of weeks’ leave I might agree to hire out as a bodyguard. You think Bryce would believe
that?
”

She shrugged uncertainly. “He
might,
although he’d wonder why I didn’t hire a
real
bodyguard. Someone who does it as his full-time job, I mean.”

“Because you wanted protection starting right then. And it would have taken a while to arrange...”

Travis paused, reminding himself that Wayland wasn’t stupid. He’d be suspicious of everything they told him. Still, they’d be catching him off guard, and if he said just one wrong thing...

“We’ll have to play it by ear after we get started,” he said at last.

“But the important thing is that we tell him we know about the contract and see how he reacts. Because he’ll immediately wonder if we’re aware that
he’s
behind it.”

“Travis?” Celeste said slowly.

“What?”

“How much trouble could you get in for doing this? With the department?”

“I’m not sure. None if nobody hears about it.”

“But if somebody does?”

“It might not be a big problem.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “I won’t be going to see him as a cop. I’ll be going as your friend.”

Of course, he actually had no idea whether that would make any difference to the C.O. Right this minute, though, he couldn’t care less.

The only thing he cared about was that nothing happened to Celeste.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sunday, October 10, 8:47 p.m.

C
ELESTE
HADN
’
T
BEEN
back to the apartment she’d shared with Bryce since the day she’d walked out on him, and the closer they got to Murray Hill the more anxious she felt.

But the prospect of setting foot in the apartment again wasn’t what was bothering her. It was thinking about what might happen while they were there.

If Bryce
had
killed Steve, then he had a gun. No, she corrected herself. According to Travis, he’d have gotten rid of it.

He could have bought another one, though, and... Or maybe
nothing
would happen.

Despite the way everything seemed to point to Bryce’s guilt, she still wasn’t
entirely
convinced he was the villain of the piece, was still having trouble believing she could have lived with him for three years without realizing he was capable of—

“Okay,” Travis said, turning onto East Thirty-sixth. “Which one is it?”

“That one ahead on the right.” She pointed to the stately old building that dated back to the late-nineteenth century.

“Nice.”

She nodded. A lot of Manhattan’s once-prestigious neighborhoods had faded from glory, but not Murray Hill. It was the personification of historic charm.

“I’ll just find a place to park, and—”

“No. Wait. That’s Bryce standing out front. That’s his car pulling up.”

Travis quickly stopped the Mustang, and they watched while the valet got out of Bryce’s silver Porsche and he climbed in. He was dressed casually—for him, at least. Tailored pants, deck shoes and a custom-made buttery leather jacket that she recalled had cost a small fortune.

“There’s no sense in just sitting around waiting for him to come home,” Travis said as the car pulled away. “We might as well see where he’s going.”

Bryce drove to Second Avenue and turned south. They followed along, Travis hanging half a block back.

Eventually, they cut over to Broadway and started south again, in Greenwich Village now.

“Any idea where he’s going?” Travis said.

“None.”

A few blocks farther along, Bryce turned onto Bleeker Street. It was a mix of low-rise tenements, storefronts, cafés and clubs. Some of the buildings were renovated; others looked as if the only things keeping them upright were their next-door neighbors.

“Is he the club type?” Travis asked as the Porsche crawled past a line of people waiting for admission to some obviously trendy spot.

“He didn’t used to be.”

“Well, he’s either looking for an address or a place to park.”

A few moments later, Bryce found a space and began maneuvering the Porsche into it.

“Duck down,” Travis ordered.

She ducked.

“Okay, we’re by him.”

When she sat up again they were a hundred yards farther along the street and parking next to a garage-type door with a sign reading:

Deliveries Only

ABSOLUTELY NO PARKING

Offenders Will Be Tagged And Towed

Enforced 24 Hours A Day

“I take it we’re ignoring that?” Celeste said.

He shrugged. “We don’t have time to look for another spot. Come on,” he added, switching off the interior roof light before he opened his door.

By the time she climbed out of the car, Bryce was rapidly walking back the way they’d come. Travis grabbed her hand and they started after him.

When he got to Broadway, he crossed to the other side and headed down a street just north of Bleeker.

It didn’t seem to have a street sign. It also didn’t have any lights. Or if it did they weren’t working.

She couldn’t help thinking they’d probably been shot out, and that made her frightened enough to be very glad she knew Travis was wearing his gun.

Up ahead, between two dilapidated hulks of buildings, was an alley—a faint glow filtering from it. The dark shadow that was Bryce disappeared into it.

Celeste and Travis hurried forward, then stopped a few feet from the opening.

Travis pressed her against the old building and told her to wait right there.

Then, reaching under his jacket, he drew his gun and stepped toward the alley.

* * *

I
T
SEEMED
TO
C
ELESTE
that an eternity passed before Travis eased back toward her, reholstered his gun and stepped away from the building to have a look at it.

“What?” she whispered.

“This is the Winslow Lane Theater,” he said. “Ring a bell?”

When nothing came to her, she moved over to where he was standing and gazed at the facade. Sure enough, it was a run-down old theater.

The poster behind the wire mesh on the door advertised a play called
Talking Too Loud,
running from September 4 through October 9.

October 9th. Yesterday. The day of Steve’s memorial service. The end of the play’s run.

Tonight, the theater was dark and deserted.

She eyed the poster, certain she’d never heard of
Talking Too Loud.
Yet something was tugging at her memory.

Then she recalled that Carol Schoenberg had mentioned the Winslow Lane Theater.

“This is where Donna Rainfield was acting,” she said.

“You got it. And guess who just let Bryce in the stage door.”

“Donna?”

Travis nodded.

“You’re
certain?
”

“Uh-huh. There’s a light over the door. It’s not too bright, but it was shining directly on her, and she looks exactly like that picture Hank showed us. Besides, who else would Bryce be coming here to see?”

“Right,” she murmured.

“She must have had a key while she was in the play and kept it.”

“I guess. But what’s going on? Why is Bryce here?”

“I haven’t got a clue,” Travis admitted. “At least now, though, we know he didn’t kill her.”

Yet.

The word formed in the darkness, like a little neon sign before his eyes. Was
that
why Bryce was here?

Had he come to dispose of the crazy lady who’d trashed his apartment? Who’d then vanished, probably hoping people would wonder if he’d had something to do with her disappearance?

And maybe she’d done more to cause him grief. Things they knew nothing about.

If so, he might well have decided he’d had enough. Especially if he’d murdered Steve Parker and figured he’d gotten away with that. If he could succeed once, why not twice?

Travis uneasily rubbed his jaw. If Bryce was here to kill Donna, he had to prevent it from happening.

“I’d
love
to know what’s going on in there,” Celeste said.

So would he. Man, would he ever.

He considered the situation.

He’d noticed the door hadn’t closed tightly after Donna let Bryce in. The thought that they should be more careful had crossed his mind.

However, since they hadn’t been, getting into the theater would be no problem.

But going in and leaving Celeste out here wasn’t an option. There could be a dozen different kinds of human vermin lurking in the dark doorways on this street.

Yet if he took her inside with him and they walked into trouble...

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Just give me a second.”

The question was, would it be trouble he couldn’t handle?

Bryce and Donna. He could certainly handle them. Even if Bryce
was
a killer, he was an amateur.

Besides, if they were standing near the door, their conversation should be audible from the alley. And if they were someplace else, with any luck he and Celeste could get inside without them knowing about it.

Deciding, he said, “Want to go in? See if we can get some answers?”

She nervously licked her lips, then nodded.

“Okay, if they’re right at the door we stay outside. Otherwise, the plan’s to keep quiet and not let them see us.”

When she nodded again, he took her hand and they headed down the dead-end alley.

As they neared the door, he put his finger to his lips and stood listening.

Not a sound.

He eased the door open an inch. There was no sign of anyone, so he drew Celeste inside with him.

The door slowly and silently swung closed behind them—but not quite all the way. He reached out to give it a shove, then stopped himself.

It was an old metal door in a frame that looked kind of warped, so it might make a huge racket if he forced it shut. And the remote possibility that some street person would wander in was the least of his concerns.

Leaving the door as it was, he turned toward Celeste. When he saw how anxious she seemed he whispered, “You okay?”

She nodded. “I just need to take a couple of deep breaths. While we were outside, I didn’t realize how hard my adrenaline was pumping.”

They started forward, past the battered desk that stood just inside the doorway.

An ancient phone sat on it, and absurd as it seemed considering the circumstances, the thought that she hadn’t seen a rotary dial phone in years flitted through Celeste’s mind. Then she focused all her attention on the moment.

If there was any heat on in the theater, the thermostat was turned down low. The air was almost as cold as the air outside, and had a musty smell. A combination of perspiration, stage makeup, stale perfume, dust and a hundred other scents.

The interior was dim; the only light in this part of the theater came from a single bulb in the hallway stretching ahead of them.

She remembered someone once telling her that a lot of old theaters were haunted by the ghosts of long-dead actors. If that was true, she’d say this one was a prime candidate.

Travis squeezed her hand as they headed quietly down the hall. Faintly, in the distance, was the sound of a radio.

As they passed a row of tiny dressing rooms, she began to hear the murmur of voices up ahead. That sent another rush of adrenaline through her.

They walked on, into the virtual darkness of the stage wing. From there, they could see Bryce and Donna standing center stage. Beyond them sat the radio, tuned to a station playing Shania Twain.

There were also a couple of props on the stage, a dining room table with a lamp sitting at one end of it—providing the only light out there.

Travis drew Celeste farther into the wing’s darkness as Bryce was saying, “I don’t have all night, so would you stop talking about how miserable you’ve been and cut to the chase?”

“Because you don’t care how miserable I’ve been, right?”

“Donna...” he said, switching from apparent annoyance to what Celeste had always thought of as his eminently reasonable tone of voice. “I’m here, aren’t I? You called me. I came. So I obviously care.”

“Really. Do you think I’m an idiot?” Donna flounced across the stage, then wheeled to face him once more—looking every bit the actress.

“The only reason you came is that I threatened to kill myself if you didn’t. No, let me rephrase that, because you’d probably be
happy
if I killed myself.

“The only reason you came is that I said I’d leave a letter for the managing partner of your firm. With something in it that would ruin you professionally.”

“Please, Donna. Do you think I believed that? You don’t
know
anything that could ruin me. There
isn’t
anything.”

“No? Then why
did
you come? Because you were thinking about how creative I am? Were you afraid I’d leave something for your friends? Maybe make up a juicy story about how you’re the bastard of the century?”

She checked her watch, then focused on him again. “Or were you imagining an article in one of the gossip columns? About a lawyer with the staid law firm of Price, Whitechurch and Hoskins leading a perverted sex life?”

Celeste glanced at Travis. He nodded, telling her he figured that Bryce
had
come because he was afraid Donna might attack his reputation.

“Look,” he said, “I’m here because I don’t want us to part on bad terms. Oh, I know I said some awful things to you the other night, but if I could take them back I would.”

She gave him a frigid smile. “I notice you didn’t say that if you could take
me
back you would.”

“Donna, I won’t lie to you. We’re over. There’s just no way—”

“You won’t lie to me? Since when? You’ve been lying to me all along. You’re getting back together with your wife, aren’t you? Just like I always knew you would.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Ha! You were in a state of shock when she left you.”

“I certainly was not! I—”

“You’re lying right now! You didn’t even take her photograph off your desk for the first month I was living with you. Every time I went into your office, I’d see her stupid face and—”

“You had no business in my office! I told you that was the one room in the apartment I—”

“Oh, I had plenty of business in your office. You keep enough files at home that it took me weeks to go through them. But my point is you’re a liar. After all the times you told me you and Celeste were finished, now you’re getting back with her.”

Bryce shook his head. “I don’t know what gave you that idea, but—”

“Gave me that idea? How about I saw what’s happening with my own eyes? How about I followed you today? Saw you go into that restaurant with a big smile plastered on your face. Saw you give her a superfriendly kiss hello.”

“You followed me?” Bryce snapped. “You know, you’re stark raving mad!”

“Am I,” she said coldly. “Well, guess what. You’re just plain stupid.”

She glanced at her watch a second time, then added, “If you’d stuck with me, you’d be getting Adele Langley’s estate.”

Celeste stopped breathing.

Travis’s hand tightened around hers.

Bryce slowly said, “What?”

“Your ‘Langley’ files were the very first ones I went through,” Donna told him.

“You’ve got a copy of Adele Langley’s will. Celeste’s too. And after her mother’s accident, I went back and reread them carefully.