Sudden Recall. Jean Barrett
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“Why? Where are you going?” He hadn’t meant the question to sound harsh, but that’s the way it came out.
“To my office.”
“It’s Sunday. Offices aren’t open on Sundays.”
“I need to check my answering machine for messages.”
That sounded reasonable enough. He moved aside in the doorway.
She slipped by him, caught up her purse from the table, and crossed the parlor toward a closed door on the other side.
“If you won’t lie down,” she called over her shoulder, “then at least sit down. I’ll only be a minute.”
She went into her office, closing the door behind her. He stood there for a few seconds, and then a warning went off inside his head. Why had she taken her purse with her? Why had she shut the door? Danger!
He crossed the parlor as swiftly as his game leg would permit, bursting into the office. He found her standing behind her desk, the phone in one hand and her other hand poised to dial. She shot him a startled look that told him she knew he knew the truth about them.
He was at the desk in a flash, snatching the phone out of her hand before her finger could punch the buttons. Slapping the receiver back into the cradle, he faced her accusingly.
“You were calling the cops, weren’t you?” He couldn’t let her turn him in to the police. Couldn’t end up being held. Although he realized now the urgency that had driven him to her door last night was all wrong, he was still convinced there was something he must do, someone he had to reach.
“I was returning a client’s call.”
She was lying. He could see it in her eyes, along with her fear. “We’re not husband and wife, are we?” he challenged her. “You don’t even know my name. You never once called me by name. You don’t know any more about me than I do.”
She didn’t answer him. She looked increasingly nervous, and that’s when he saw it. On the desk in front of her was a small key, which explained why she had taken her purse into the office with her. She must have removed the key from her purse to unlock—what?
Yes, the top drawer in the desk. It was still slightly ajar, as though she had closed it hastily with his sudden entrance. She’d noticed the direction of his gaze. Her hand swooped to the drawer, yanking it open, reaching for what was inside.
Something kicked in, old instincts and skills that had him sensing he’d handled this kind of thing before. Whatever it was, it served him well in this instance. He shoved against her, throwing her off balance. Before she could recover herself, he had taken possession of the semiautomatic in the drawer. The pistol felt familiar in his grasp.
He had to admire her. As frightened as she had to be, she faced him defiantly. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Yeah, I trusted you. That was my mistake. What I can’t figure out is why you didn’t call the cops last night when I stumbled in here. Why is that?”
She didn’t answer him.
“What is it you’re after?”
“Look, give me the gun, and we’ll talk about it.”
Until he knew differently, he had to assume she was his enemy. But she was an enemy from whom he needed answers. “Oh, we’re going to talk.”
“Not until you lock the gun back in the drawer, and if it makes you feel better you can hang on to the key. At least do that much.”
He had no intention of surrendering the pistol. He might need it. “Be quiet,” he ordered her roughly. “Let me think.”
He wanted answers all right, but this was a dangerous place to try to get them. They were in the city with cops close by and neighbors all around. Neighbors like that guy out in the garden. He needed somewhere that was safe, removed from the threat of people while he figured out what to do. Where? That’s when he remembered the painting above the fireplace.
He knew now what he was going to do. He was getting out of here, going to that isolated houseboat on the river, and he was taking her with him.
Chapter Three
She had a full bottom lip that made her mouth sultry. Had the circumstances been otherwise, he would have been tempted to explore that inviting mouth with his own. But right now his only interest in her lower lip was how it trembled with emotion as those wide blue eyes of hers stared at him in disbelief. He had just informed her of his intention.
“You can’t,” she objected.
“This says I can.” He waved the pistol in front of her nose.
“You don’t want to do this,” she attempted to reason with him. “Aside from the fact that forcing me to go with you constitutes kidnapping, there’s nothing for you to gain by taking me along.”
“What do I want to do instead, Eden? Borrow that car of yours out in the alley, have you cheerfully promise me you won’t call the cops while I run for it? Assuming, that is, I have a reason to run.”
Her silence told him she realized any further argument in that direction would be useless. They both knew he couldn’t leave her behind, couldn’t trust her now out of his sight.
“It’s a houseboat, isn’t it, Eden? Well, you and I are going to play house on it while you tell me everything I want to know, and maybe before we’re through I’ll be able to decide just what the hell is going on. Oh, don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen to you. Providing,” he added, his voice slow and raspy as he leaned in close to her, “you behave yourself.”
“Look, I can help you if you let me. I will help you, but not this way, not—”
She got no further. They were interrupted by a male voice calling out to her from the direction of the parlor where she had left the door open to the piazza.
“Eden, you in there?”
“It’s Skip Davis from next door,” she whispered.
“Answer him. Tell him you’ll be there in a minute.”
“I’ll be out in just a second, Skip.” She lowered her voice again. “Now what?”
“Get rid of him. Whatever he wants, tell him you’re busy and you’ll talk to him later.”
“And what if he caught a glimpse of you and wants to know who you are?”
“Tell him your long-lost husband is back from the dead,” he said, unable to keep the sharp edge of sarcasm out of his voice. “You ought to be able to convince him of a little lie like that. You had me believing one.”
There was more than just fear in those blue eyes now. There was also healthy anger.
“Get going,” he ordered her before she could express that anger. “Make it good. And, Eden?” She paused on her way to the connecting door, looking back at him reluctantly. “Be careful. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
She nodded, understanding him, knowing he had the pistol and that he would be listening and watching from behind the office door. Leaving the office, she crossed the parlor, greeting her neighbor who waited in the open doorway.
Through the crack, he could just make out the heavy figure of the retired naval officer, hear him as he asked Eden to join him and his wife for lunch. There was a pause after the invitation was issued. He tightened his grip on the pistol and tensely wondered if she would do or say anything to alert her visitor.
But to his satisfaction, she was too smart to make this kind of mistake. She probably figured he was so desperate he wouldn’t hesitate to use the pistol at the first sign of a threat to him. Let her go on thinking just that. He would be safer that way, and so would she.
“I’m sorry, Skip. I wish I could, but I have to