The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming) (9 page)

Perfectly safe.
She surreptitiously glanced at his chiseled profile, thinking that whether he was right depended—at least in part—on how she defined the term.

She was very aware that staying with him would
not
be conducive to keeping things platonic between them. Yet what else could she do?

She certainly couldn’t have asked one of her friends to put her up. Not when she’d have had to say, “Oh, and by the way, if anyone knocks on the door while I’m here, don’t answer. Because it might be a hit man.”

And she’d ruled out the idea of going to a hotel. She’d be scared to death on her own. Whereas with Travis...well, she expected she’d only be scared half to death at his place.

She sat staring out the car window, aware she’d never felt like such a ’fraidy-cat before. Not in her entire life. She was a New Yorker, and growing up in this city taught you to be self-assured and resourceful.

So what was the matter with her?

That was hardly a tough question to answer. She was probably still in a state of shock. After all, learning there was a contract on your life was hardly an everyday occurrence.

But she didn’t have to deal with the situation alone. She had Travis—thankfully.

And the hit man
wouldn’t
be able to find her. She’d already called her aunt and a couple of friends to say she was going to visit a girlfriend in Connecticut. That she would come back into the city for Steve’s service, then be gone again. So her cover story was in place. Now all she had to do was be patient while Travis got to the bottom of things.

Which meant that feeling so frightened was positively stupid. Instead of giving in to her anxiety, she should be making every effort to carry on as usual.

Well, not
exactly
as usual. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stop worrying entirely. And she’d be laying low. But if that was all it took to keep safe...

She almost smiled. She was thinking straight again, and it felt a whole lot better than having her head filled with fears.

“About Hank?” she said, telling herself that carrying on as usual included having normal conversations.

“What about him?” Travis asked.

“Are you going to tell him I’m staying with you?”

“Uh-huh. And he’ll get a big kick out of it.”

“Oh? Why?”

He shrugged, his expression sheepish. “He knows I like you.”

“You do?” she teased—then congratulated herself on managing to.

“Very funny,” he muttered. “You think I’d invite just any woman to stay with me? Especially one with a cat?” he added as Snoops let out a particularly sharp wail.

She actually did smile then. He’d been making the fact that he liked her perfectly obvious, of course, but his coming right out and saying so had her suddenly feeling a lot better about this mess she was in. There might not be a logical reason it should, but it did.

After a minute or two of silence, she said, “Travis...I really, really appreciate what you’re doing for me. Without you...”

She warned herself to stop right there. She was tempted to tell him she liked him, too. Liked him very much. But until she was sure
why
she did, she had to be careful. Otherwise, when this was all over she might realize... No, the last thing she wanted to end up doing was hurting him.

Reaching over, he rested his hand on hers. “You know, things aren’t anywhere near as bad as they seem. As I told you before, either we learn who this Ice Man is and take him off the street, or we establish who’s behind the contract. Then, before we arrest him, he calls it off.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m right, if Bryce is responsible, it will be.”

“But even if it
is
him, he won’t admit it. And he’s smart enough that there’ll be nothing to link him to—”

“Celeste, I make my living finding out things people don’t want me to know. So trust me.”

“I do,” she murmured.

“Good.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, then put his own back on the steering wheel.

She wished he hadn’t. His touch was reassuring, and she was nowhere near the point of not needing reassurance.

Thinking that she’d just have to keep on psyching herself up, she gazed out into the gathering dusk.

Down the block, a young mother was pushing a baby in a stroller and trying to prevent her dog from wrapping its leash around her legs.

Watching her made Celeste wonder if she’d live long enough to have the children she’d always wanted. Or even long enough to fall in love with a potential father.

Then she looked back at Travis and was suddenly imagining
herself
pushing a stroller—occupied by a little boy with big dark eyes.

* * *

W
HEN
T
RAVIS
HAD
told her he lived in Chelsea, a few blocks south of Madison Square Garden, Celeste had pictured a somewhat tired old apartment building. In reality, his place was half the second floor of a nineteenth-century town house that had been renovated into a fourplex.

He unlocked the door and switched on a light, then ushered her inside, setting her suitcase and the shopping bag full of Snoops’s things on the floor.

She put down the cat carrier—suddenly feeling even more nervous about the prospect of staying here with him.

“I’m afraid it’s not very big,” he said.

“Hey, this is Manhattan. I have friends living with people they absolutely abhor, because they can’t find anything they can afford on their own.”

Travis shot her a smile. “Yeah, you’re right. Actually, I know I was lucky to get it. The leasing manager is a friend of a friend, so I had the inside track. At any rate, if you take the bedroom we should be—”

“Oh, no, I can’t put you out like that. I—”

“Celeste, it’ll be the best arrangement. Cops have trouble sleeping. It’s a shift-work thing. And when I can’t sleep I watch TV. There isn’t one in the bedroom.”

“But—”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve drifted off on that couch a thousand times. It’s really pretty comfortable.”

It was an oversize, overstuffed piece covered in fabric the color of denim. And it
did
look comfortable. Even so, she felt guilty.

“Well...if you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure.”

Forcing a smile, she gazed around. The room was sparsely furnished and decidedly masculine, its pale gray walls decorated with framed charcoal sketches.

A gray coffee table sat in front of the couch and a black leather recliner faced the television set. On the end table next to the chair sat a cordless phone, an Elmore Leonard novel and a couple of hand weights.

There was no challenge to picturing Travis in the recliner watching the Yankees. Or a football game. Or...

As she realized she had no idea what his favorite sport was, or even if he
was
a sports fan, the thought that they didn’t really know much about each other drifted through her mind once more.

The truth was that they barely knew anything at all. Yet here she was, come to stay, even though moving into a veritable stranger’s place was completely out of character for her.

Seized by a sudden need to put distance between them, she wandered across the room and looked out into the gathering dusk. As she’d noticed when they’d arrived, there was a block of green space on the far side of the street.

“Chelsea Park,” Travis said, joining her at the window. “It doesn’t exactly rival Central Park, but it’s nicer than looking out on a row of buildings.”

She nodded slowly, certain he was standing far enough away that she couldn’t
actually
have felt the warmth of his breath on her skin. No more than she was really smelling his country-autumn scent or feeling his body heat. But her imagination had shifted into high gear, and she was so conscious of his nearness that her pulse was racing.

Somehow, being alone with him here wasn’t the same as being alone with him in
her
apartment. Here, in his own space, he seemed even more take-charge and self-assured—and even more appealing.

She was just telling herself she’d simply have to ignore the pull she felt toward him, when Snoops meowed plaintively from his carrier.

“He’s tired of being in there,” Travis said.

“Well, when I let him out his priority will be finding a place to hide. So I’d better set up his litter box first. Then I can show him where it is before he disappears. Should I put it in the bathroom?”

“I guess,” he said, looking as if he didn’t have a clue about cats. “It’s the first door down the hall. I’ll take this into the bedroom,” he added, picking up her suitcase.

By the time she’d finished with the litter box, Travis was back in the living room. He’d removed his jacket—revealing a gun in a shoulder holster.

Fleetingly, she wondered why she hadn’t realized he was wearing it when she’d been crying in his arms.

Just the angle it had been at, she decided as he took it off.

“I usually leave this on the bedside table,” he told her. “But with you staying in there...”

He paused, eyeing the way she was staring at it. “If I put it here by the phone, it won’t bother you, will it?”

“No, it won’t bother me.” Under different circumstances, it might. But considering she knew someone was out to kill her, she’d be glad it was there.

“Do you know how to use a gun?”

She shook her head.

“Well, I’ll show you the basics later. I’ve got a couple of others, and you might as well keep one close at hand when I’m not here. Just in case.”

“Good idea,” she murmured, refusing to let herself imagine a “just in case” scenario.

“Oh, and by the way, don’t use this phone. Too many people have caller ID.”

“I’ll only use it to check my answering machine.”

“Do
you
have caller ID?”

When she nodded, he said, “Then don’t even use it for that. Someone might decide to have a look around your apartment.”

“Ah.” That thought made her almost as uneasy as the fact that he figured she should have a gun.

“You can use my cell,” he added.

Just as he set his gun down by the cordless, it rang.

“Hey, you’re getting psychic,” Travis said after he picked up. “I was going to call you in a few minutes.

“Yeah?...Sure, I’ll be right there.

“That was Hank,” he told her, clicking off. “He’s only a few blocks away and he’s going to stop by.”

CHAPTER NINE

Wednesday, October 6, 7:43 p.m.

C
ELESTE
WAITED
UNTIL
Travis had gone downstairs to let Hank in, then took Snoops into the bathroom and freed him from the carrier. He didn’t even glance at the litter box before racing off, but he’d know it was there when he needed it.

It was a good ten minutes before Travis arrived back with Hank, and he apologized for being so long. “I was telling him about Bryce,” he explained.

She nodded, recalling he’d said that once he did Bryce would be Hank’s prime suspect—as well as Travis’s. Somehow, that made the possibility she actually
had
married a man capable of murder, or capable of hiring someone to murder
her,
seem more real.

As she told herself not to dwell on that, Hank said, “Staying here’s a good idea. You’ll be a lot safer.”

Obviously, Travis had also told him about the temporary living arrangements.

“Well, I know I’m imposing, but—”

“You’re
not
imposing,” Travis interrupted. “I wouldn’t have offered unless I’d wanted to.”

Something in his tone made her glance up at him, and the warmth in his eyes made mockery of the idea that they could ever be just friends. No matter how hard she worked at it.

Then she glanced at Hank and realized it was even apparent to him.

Their gazes caught for a second before he looked away and said to Travis, “There were a couple of other things I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’ll go and unpack,” she said.

“No, wait. You might as well stay and hear this. I paid Evan Reese another visit, and found out how he knew about you.”

“How?” Travis demanded.

“He poked around in her brother’s apartment. Did you tell Celeste about his showing up there?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, one time he was there, Parker took a personal call in the bedroom. So Reese poked through what was in the end tables—checked out some snapshots, Parker’s address book, things like that.”

“What a sleazoid,” Travis muttered.

“Yeah, but according to his way of thinking he had every right. He said that since he confided all his secrets to Parker, it was only fair that he got to find out a little about Parker’s personal life.”

“Kind of a warped view of a relationship with your psychiatrist,” Travis said.

“Well, we already knew he was warped. At any rate,” Hank continued, focusing on Celeste, “I told him not to contact you again.”

“I already did that, remember?” Travis said. “And it didn’t help.”

Hank grinned. “Yeah, but I told him politely. I didn’t threaten to...”

As Hank stopped speaking midsentence, Celeste looked at Travis. “What did you threaten to do?”

He shrugged. “Enough to get myself turfed off the case. But what about an alibi?” he asked Hank. “Does Reese have one?”

“Afraid so. He’s definitely not our killer. He was nowhere near Parker’s place last Saturday.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. He was on Long Island with his mother. Having dinner at Uncle Fred’s.”

* * *

H
ANK
STAYED
for dinner—ordered-in pizzas—then Travis walked him down to the front door.

When he got back to the apartment he discovered that Celeste had the dishes soaking in the sink, had put the empty beer bottles in the carton and was sticking the remains of the pizzas into the fridge.

Her back was to him, and he decided she had to have the loveliest hair in the entire state of New York. Maybe even on the entire East Coast.

As she turned toward him, he said, “You didn’t have to do the cleaning up.”

“No?” She smiled. “So it’s all right if I just move in with my cat and do absolutely nothing to help out?”

He laughed and she smiled again—such a captivating smile that his heart skipped a couple of beats. She walked past him into the living room, giving him a faint whiff of her sultry perfume.

He mentally shook his head, thinking he was growing used to the way he felt about having her around but hadn’t really come to terms with it.

His entire adult life, he’d always assumed he could continue on indefinitely, never getting serious about a woman. But that assumption had come crashing down around him when he’d met
this
woman and done an abrupt one-eighty.

He wanted to be with her every minute and thought about her constantly. Last night she’d even been in his dreams.

If those weren’t indicators of “serious” he didn’t know what would be.

And yet he had to listen to the voice of reason—busily reminding him that going “slowly” and “carefully” with Celeste made sense.

After listening to it for another couple of seconds, he decided it was right. So he’d just have to exercise a little patience and self-control.

With that plan clearly in mind, he headed into the living room and ordered himself to sit in his recliner. Himself, however, completely ignored the order and sank onto the couch beside Celeste.

“How long,” she said, “before they catch up with those two crooks Steve reported to the police?”

“It shouldn’t be long. It’s not as if our guys don’t know who they’re looking for.”

Of course, Hank had quietly mentioned that neither of the lowlifes had shown up at their apartments last night, which probably meant they’d heard the police wanted to question them. And there were a lot of places they could hide in a city the size of New York.

He wouldn’t say that to Celeste, though. She already had more than enough to worry about.

“And if they have alibis?” she asked. “Like Evan Reese? Are there any other suspects, or would that mean the contract is
definitely
connected to Steve’s murder?”

He hesitated, trying to figure out exactly what he should tell her.

She appeared to have come to terms with the situation. At least, she no longer seemed nearly as upset about it. But she still had to be pretty frightened. Anyone in her right mind would be.

“Hank hasn’t forgotten about the blond woman,” he said at last. “And the crime-scene boys might have come up with something of interest. We just won’t have the lab results for a while.”

“‘A while’ being?”

“It depends on how backed up they are.”

“So...I must be sounding like a broken record, but we won’t be
certain
whether the murder and the contract are related until...?”

“Celeste, Hank and I figure it would be a major coincidence if they
aren’t.
You already know that. But the important thing is that nothing will come of the contract. I’ll make sure you stay perfectly safe.”

“You promise?” she murmured.

“Yeah, I promise. I told you before, I’ll be doing everything I can to learn who this Ice Man is.”

“And what will I be doing?”

For an instant he thought she was trying to be funny, and it must have shown because she said, “Travis, the longer I think about it the more I realize I don’t want to just be sitting around your apartment with Snoops. This is
my
problem, and there must be something I can do to help.”

He nodded. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions you can answer. So will Hank.”

“But that’s nothing. I feel like some—”

“Celeste, just listen to me, okay? I understand how you feel, but you’ve got to lie low. Period. There aren’t any other options.”

“But I—”

“No. Look, I’m a cop. Dealing with things like this is what I do. And I’ve got contacts on the street. But they’re not the sort of people who’d talk to me if you were along. And you certainly can’t head off trying to do anything on your own.”

“I...” She shook her head. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. But I hate being so totally dependent on other people. It’s frustrating and...and I’m just so scared that...”

“I know,” he said softly.

She stared at the floor for several seconds, then gave him the most obviously forced smile he’d ever seen.

“You okay now?” he asked, resisting the urge to take her in his arms.

“More or less. So...where were we before I went off the deep end?”

“I think I just said I’d be trying to learn who this Ice Man is. And whether Bryce really
is
behind things.”

“And if it turns out he isn’t?”

“I’ll keep digging till I learn who is. Or Hank will find out.”

He held her gaze for a long moment. Then, when he tried to let it go, he discovered he couldn’t.

“Travis?” she said quietly.

“What?”

“I was so upset earlier that I can’t remember. Did I tell you how much I appreciate your helping me? And your letting me stay here?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Good.”

He tried again to stop gazing into her eyes—with no more success than he’d had before. There was something positively mesmerizing about their blue depth.

But he could still hear his common sense babbling on about patience and self-control. And telling him that kissing her, right here and now, would
not
be a wise move.

Despite that, he just couldn’t stop himself. He reached for her and drew her near.

Her scent enveloped him and she felt so right in his arms. Kissing her was even better than he’d imagined—her lips so warm and soft and smooth that he wanted to kiss her forever.

When she slipped her hands around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth even more closely to hers, his heart slammed against his ribs.

“Travis,” she whispered, her breath hot against his mouth.

He kissed her again, more deeply this time, his arms moving to envelop her.

“Travis,” she whispered again, drawing back a little and capturing his hands in hers.

He sat motionless, his heart hammering, desperately wanting to pull her back to him but not letting himself.

“Oh, Travis,” she murmured. “I knew this was going to happen. I mean, I thought maybe I could keep it from... But I knew I probably couldn’t. And...everything’s just so complicated already. Without us getting... So as much as I like you...”

Clearing his throat, he told himself he should say something. But he didn’t have a clue what.

“I just think,” she continued at last, “it would be better if we didn’t do this while I’m staying here. That we wait until the...
situation
is resolved and see how we feel then. As I said, things are so complicated already...”

“Right,” he managed. “You’re right.”

“It isn’t that I’m not attracted to you. It isn’t that at all.”

“No. No, of course not. It’s only...not sensible to make things any
more
complicated.”

“Exactly.” She gave him a tiny smile.

“Then...it would be better if we weren’t sitting so close.”

She nodded, easing off him and scooting a foot or so along the couch.

For a moment, the heat of her body remained part of him. Then it dissipated into the air, leaving him chilled. Once again, he was at a loss for words.

“You know what?” he finally said. “It’s been a long day, so I’m going to take a hot shower and turn in early. Unless you want to watch TV,” he added as an afterthought.

“No. I’ll just curl up in bed with one of the books I brought.”

“Oh. Good. Then...I’ll go get a few things from the bedroom...have that shower. And I still want to show you how to use a gun before I turn in. I haven’t forgotten about that.”

Celeste watched Travis head out of the room, wishing with all her heart she’d managed to handle that a whole lot better than she had. She shouldn’t have let things progress so far before calling a halt.

But when he’d started kissing her she hadn’t wanted him to stop. Goodness, when she’d
told
him to stop she hadn’t wanted him to. Not really. Not deep down.

No man had ever made her feel the way he just had—as if she was the most cherished woman in the world.

Cherished.
It was such an old-fashioned word, but it perfectly described the way Travis had made her feel. She didn’t know quite how he’d done it, but he had.

It was a feeling she wanted to recapture. To hang on to. But given the circumstances...

Exhaling slowly, she assured herself she’d done the right thing, that keeping all this from getting even more complicated was the only rational way to proceed. Yet if it was right, why had it left her feeling so alone and lonely?

Not wanting to even think about the answer to that one, she pushed herself up off the couch and wandered across the living room.

The hum of the city whispered to her through the window. Directly below her, though, West Twenty-eighth was still. On the far side, Chelsea Park lay in silent darkness.

The only movement she could see was the black shadow of a man walking slowly along the edge of the grass. He paused, putting his cigarette to his mouth.

She absently gazed at its tiny red glow. Then, suddenly, he looked in her direction.

It was nothing more than a casual glance, but it was enough to make her shrink from the glass, her heart pounding.

She nervously licked her lips, thinking she
had
been right to stop things with Travis. Regardless of how he made her feel, she was
definitely
in no emotional shape to be even contemplating what she’d been contemplating.

* * *

T
HE
I
CE
M
AN
took another drag on his cigarette and continued to watch Detective Travis Quinn’s window.

Going by the Langley woman’s place, again tonight, had been a good idea. And when he’d seen that her apartment was dark, his hunch about driving down here had been even better.

“A homicide detective,” he muttered, thinking again that it was a very good thing he’d had Quinn’s plate number run.

Once he’d gotten the name and address, filling in the rest of the blanks had been easy. And that had started danger lights flashing in his head.

A run-of-the-mill cop boyfriend would have been bad enough. A homicide detective was that much worse. After she was dead, this guy was gonna pull out all the stops trying to ID her killer.

But at least he knew where things stood. He’d just have to be even more careful than usual.