Crazy in Chicago (23 page)

But not too early to go to work.
The Streeter
was open all night. It wouldn't be the first time he'd stumbled in during the middle of the night to write a story. After that nightmare, he didn't even want to try to return to sleep.

Nor could he stand to stay here, watching Roberta, asleep and innocent of his torment and all that it meant. Wanting her, yet knowing he daren't touch her, shouldn't touch her.

After one long, silent look, he stood up. In the darkness he reached for his clothes, his heart a dead weight in his chest.

 

Chapter 12

 

Roberta snuggled deeper into the warmth of the bed. She rolled over onto her back and stretched lazily, luxuriating in the wonderful physical and emotional satisfaction of a woman who has been loved long and well, and who has loved in return.

She opened one eye, then shut it. Blinding sunlight streamed through the sliding door from Cody's bedroom. We must have forgotten to pull the blinds. She smiled to herself. Too busy, I guess.

Still smiling, she opened her eyes to slits. Golden light bathed the bedroom. Even through the closed doors, she could hear the hum of workday traffic below. She glanced at the clock. Eight a.m. She'd be late for work. Too bad. Her smile grew broader. Garnet would just have to wait.

She ignored her uncharacteristic response and looked around, then tilted her head to listen. Was Cody in the shower? She couldn't hear water running. She sat up straighter, oblivious of the sheet falling to her waist, and listened again. No clatter from the kitchen, no aroma of freshly-made coffee. Where was Cody?

She swung her legs to the floor, gathered the sheet around herself, and trudged into the hallway. The door hung open to the bathroom, and no lights were on. She padded into the kitchen, from where she could see the rest of the apartment.

Empty. Absolutely empty.

She frowned. Maybe he'd gone out to get coffee. Weren't men always running out of basics? She entered the kitchen and opened a few cupboards. She found a full bag of ground coffee. In the refrigerator, she found milk, bread, butter, and even orange juice.

Roberta mulled this over as she took a glass down from the cupboard. She poured herself orange juice, then sat at a stool by the counter. She took a sip. Had he left for work without even waking her? If so, why?

She frowned. Unless—unless he couldn't sleep. That had to be it. Just because she'd drifted into sleep so easily after lovemaking, didn't mean it had happened for him. It had the first time, yes, but well, who knew? With someone suffering from insomnia, anything could happen. And when you're so tired and you can't sleep, it must be frustrating watching someone else sleep away the night.

Roberta drained the glass and stood up. That was it. It had to be. Frustrated by his lack of sleep, Cody had gone to work.

Determined to prove her theory, she found the phone and the phone book, and looked up
The Streeter
's number. She punched the numbers in and waited, still clutching the sheet around her.
 

She listened impatiently through the automated receptionist, and finally punched one to speak to a live person. The receptionist connected her to Cody's line.

The phone rang once, twice, three times, then clicked onto voice mail. “Hello, you have reached Cody Walker's voice mail. I'm not available at the moment but you can leave your . . .”

Roberta grimaced. When you wanted the real thing, voice mail just didn't measure up. But she'd better leave a message anyway.

“It's me. Roberta, at eight fifteen. You can call me at home during the next half hour, or later at work. You really should have woken me up. I missed you this morning.”

Roberta set down the phone and sighed. What were they going to do about Cody's insomnia, not to mention the visions and nausea attacks? She remembered Cody's visit to Allie. Cody still hadn't told her about it. Perhaps that would offer something new to explore.

Thoughtfully she rounded up her clothes scattered about the living room. She'd better get dressed and get home quick in case Cody called.

* * *

The words on the computer screen blurred. Cody blinked once, twice, and looked again, but the words remained as stubbornly blurred as they had only moments before.

He slumped back into his chair. Lack of sleep was slowly eroding his ability to do anything. Thinking, driving, and now even reading. And the problem was, he didn't know what to do about it. Investigating his disappearance was all well and good, and would probably help him in the long term. But he needed help now. He'd tried everything. Everything, that is, except pills. Pills and a return to doctors.

He stared hard at the screen, willing the words to come into focus. Finally they did. He sat forward and started to type again, only to have the words fade away again.

He slammed his fist onto the desk and dropped back into the seat. Who am I trying to kid? Insomnia is only part of the story. It's worry that's eating at me. Worry that I'm losing my mind, once and for all! Worry that I'm turning into the same kind of strange and irresponsible man as my father!

And worry, he acknowledged, that he would have to leave Roberta behind. Either because he was unfit for a relationship with anyone, or because he attacked her beliefs concerning aliens in public.

He blinked again and reread the opening lines of the opinion piece he was writing to end his series. While the individual stories that made up the series had all been written as objectively as possible, he'd been asked to conclude with an article outlining his opinion about whether or not aliens were visiting Earth.

He frowned. He couldn't help it. He just didn't believe aliens and UFOs existed anywhere but in individual people's minds, any more than he believed that dragons, leprechauns and fairies existed outside of fairy tales. Certainly, he and Roberta had agreed to accept their differences in this area. But would she feel the same way about a public attack on the ideas she supported and the organization she worked for?

He raked his fingers through his hair and stood up. There were too many problems to deal with; in his sleepless condition, he couldn't cope, much less think clearly.

His stomach growled, reminding him he'd eaten and drunk nothing since waking. And it was already after eight o'clock. He left his cubicle and headed for the food and drink machines that stood in for a cafeteria.

Returning a few minutes later with a cup of black coffee and a chocolate bar, he noticed Nate heading for his office. Seeing the city editor reminded Cody that he wanted to ask him about Erik's background.

Cody frowned. After his discussion with Allie, he'd tried to dismiss the psychic's comments about Erik. No matter that Allie's behavior had seemed a little odd, that she had obviously been disturbed by his questions. Erik was her husband, and she loved him. Cody supposed that he might have been disturbed by similar questions in a similar situation.

But the voice in his head, that was something else. He couldn't say for sure that it had been Erik's voice. But why had Erik stared at him with such cold fury? And what was it he was supposed to leave be?

The memory of the voice sent a chill down Cody's spine. Maybe it had nothing to do with Erik. But he couldn't let it go.

Cody followed Nate and tapped on the open door to his office. “May I come in?”

“Sure.” The small, gray-haired Nate looked far too roly-poly to be an inquisitive and demanding city editor. But anyone who underestimated Nate usually ended up assigned to the night beat for a long, long time. Little escaped his sharp assessment.

Nate continued perusing the notes and telephone messages in his in-basket while Cody settled himself against a long, hip-high table covered with page proofs. He sipped his coffee, then grimaced.

“I'm finishing up that opinion piece today to conclude the alien series,” Cody ventured.

Nate didn't look up. “Good. Response to the opening article has been great. Circulation says all the boxes in the downtown area were cleaned out. If this keeps up, we'll be boosting production.”

Nate tossed the messages to one side. He rubbed his pudgy hands together. Behind his glasses, his blue eyes lit up. “Aliens! Who would have thought it?”

Cody shrugged. “Well, you've seen the statistics. As many Americans believe in aliens as believe in God. Maybe more. What can you say?”

Nate grinned. “Hallelujah and praise ‘em all—as long as it ups circulation.”

Cody's hand tightened on the cup. “Erik's photos for the first story really drew attention.”

“Oh yeah. Especially that one of that alien abductee clutching his daughter. From the look on his face, you'd think he was expecting an alien to grab her any minute.”

Nate sat back in his chair, his hands on his stomach. He chortled. “I don't know how he does it, but Erik never misses. He always catches something in his photos that no one else does.”

Erik nodded. “For a guy who shows so little emotion, it's hard to believe.”

“Maybe. But he's been that way right from the start. You saw those photos he took to go with Allie's columns on your disappearance. Even the one of your abandoned car—I've never seen a photographer capture mood and mystery like that before.”

“Speaking of Erik, how'd he come to work here? I know he wasn't here before my . . .” Cody gulped, and forced himself to spit out the words he hated saying. “Before my disappearance. By the time I came back to work, he'd become a fixture.”

Nate paused; his brow puckered. “Ah, yes. I remember. Erik showed up the day George Aiken retired from the photo department. You remember George? Well, Erik showed up that morning with his portfolio. It was great. Doug and I hired him on the spot.”

“I understand he'd been working in Australia?”

“Yeah. Sydney. The Sydney Examiner, for about five years I believe.”

Cody chose his words with care. If Nate thought there was a reason behind Cody's inquiries, he'd hang on until he'd unearthed the answer. The trick was not to raise his suspicions.

“So, I take it you checked his references?” Cody sipped his coffee and looked out the window as if the answer was of no interest to him.

“Didn't have to. I saw his portfolio. And he'd worked for a guy I met in Hawaii a few years ago.”

“That's a little more trusting than you normally are,” Cody observed.

Nate snorted. “What's with all this concern about Erik and his references? You know, Allie came in with much the same questions a few weeks after Erik started here. The next thing I knew, she married the guy.”

Cody struggled to keep the surprise from showing on his face. Why didn't Allie tell me that? Why had she, too, been concerned about Erik's background? Had the psychic's warning about Erik rattled her, too?

Nate stopped. His eyes narrowed. “You aren't considering some kind of business venture with Erik, are you? Something that would take you away from the paper?”

Cody forced himself to laugh. “Oh, yeah. It's the first thing on my agenda.” He straightened. “I'm not ready to throw in the towel on reporting yet. I don't think Erik is, either.”

Nate scowled. “I hope not. Because you're my best reporter, and he's the best photographer here.”

“I'll have to remember that the next time I ask for a raise. No, it's nothing like that. Just curious, that's all. You know how little Erik says.”

“Yeah.”

Cody stood up and headed for the door. “I'd better get back to that opinion piece.”

“Fine. Oh, yeah, there's something else that might interest you.”

Cody pivoted at Nate's parting comment. “What?”

Nate sat back in his chair. “Well, I told you Erik started the day George retired. I just thought of something else. It was also the day the police found your car abandoned on Lake Shore Drive. I remember, because I sent Erik and Allie out to look at it. Some coincidence, huh?”

“Yeah.” Cody turned away. “Some coincidence.”

Between Allie's questions about Erik, and Erik's starting date, there was just a little too much coincidence, thought Cody as he headed back to his desk.

And I don't like coincidences. Especially coincidences that involve me.

* * *

Rush hour traffic had ended by the time Roberta hit the road. As she tooled along, enjoying the freedom of no congestion and still balmy morning breezes, she noticed a familiar street sign to her right. Allie and Erik's street.

On a whim, she turned. She hadn't planned to visit Allie this morning, but why not? Cody had already spoken with Allie, but perhaps he'd missed something. Reporter or not, it was easy to overlook important factors when you were personally involved. With a new baby, Allie was bound to be up. Garnet was likely already mad because she was late for work, so another half hour wouldn't make much difference.

She slowed down and peered out the open window, looking for Allie and Erik's building. Roberta didn't know the number, but she knew she'd recognize the building on sight.