Friday's Child (23 page)

Rather than throwing it at him, Kate swallowed some of her champagne, then contemplated the bubbles in the glass. “I'm so glad you find us amusing.”

With effort, Derek sobered. “No, not at all. Michael and Chloe are two of my favorite people. I knew what he needed, even before he did. I'm just glad he found it.”

She cocked her head at him. “Somehow I don't see you as someone who celebrates happily-ever-afters.”

“They're fine.” He grinned. “For other people. But if Michael succeeds in convincing you to marry him, well—” he toasted her with his drink “—that's one more reason for me to envy him.”

Kate watched Derek melt away in the crowd before shaking her head in bemusement. The man made an unlikely cupid, but he did seem to think highly of Michael and Chloe.

Chloe. Her head snapped up and she scanned the crowd. It had been several minutes since she'd last seen the little girl. Automatically, she began moving through the throngs of people. The man Michael had following her wouldn't necessarily be able to head her off before she could find mischief. Kate felt a lot better when she was able to keep Chloe in sight.

Pushing the kitchen door open, she peeked inside. Chloe was sitting on the counter, humming and kicking her feet. The caterers worked around her, paying her no attention.

“Miss Rose!” The little girl's face lit up.

Kate crossed over to the counter. “What are you doing—hiding out?”

She nodded. “Don't tell Daddy, but his party is kinda boring. Do you think I should show everyone how I can whistle?”

“I don't think that would be a good idea,” Kate said. The little girl's shoulders slumped.

“When will this be over?” she wanted to know.

“I'm not sure. Maybe an hour or so.”

Chloe swung her feet harder and leaned back on her hands, staring at the ceiling morosely. “That's forever.”

“I know this isn't much fun for you, but I'll bet your dad is real proud of the way you're acting so grown-up tonight.”

Chloe's eyes brightened. “I am?”

Kate nodded.

“I haven't been doing somersaults or anything in the house,” Chloe assured her. “There's no room with all the people around, anyway. And when I don't like the food, I just spit it out in a napkin.”

Hiding a smile, Kate said, “That's very mature.”

Chloe nodded happily. “I guess I will go back for a while. I like those little cheeseball things. And those puffy white thingees with the meat in the middle.”

Laughing, Kate accompanied her from the room with the admonishment, “Better take it easy on the snacks, kiddo.”

Chloe skipped away while Kate looked around for Michael. Her eyes immediately honed in on his large, broad form. He looked up then, caught her gaze on him and smiled. It really wasn't fair, she mused, that all he had to do was look at her to make her blood turn molten, her limbs go soft and weak. She thought she could read impatience and polite boredom in the civilized manner with which he was listening to the man beside him.

She watched him excuse himself and make his way over to her, stopping to greet people and flash that charming grin. Men seemed to like him, admire him. And the women…he
had an even more predictable effect on them, she thought wryly as she watched the furtive looks that followed him.

“Hi.” He came to a stop beside her and looped an arm around her waist. “Are you bored to tears yet?”

She shook her head. “I'm afraid Chloe is, though. I just brought her back from the kitchen.”

He frowned and looked over her head in search of his daughter. “Maybe I should tell her it would be okay to go to her room and play.”

“Yes, I'm sure the security man you've had following her around all night would be grateful for the rest.”

He stiffened, then shot a look at her bland face. “Can't get anything past you, can I?” he murmured. “I didn't think it would hurt anything. You know how fast the little sprite can disappear.”

“I felt better knowing someone else had an eye on her, too,” she admitted, and he relaxed.

“Chloe's not the only one who's bored,” he said in a low tone. He lowered his face, his gaze heated and intent. “What do you say you and I disappear somewhere and neck?”

She pretended to consider it. “I don't think so,” she finally said. “Trask and I just returned from the storage closet, and I've already reapplied my lipstick.”

He stifled a laugh. “I'd believe that if he was running for his life across the lawn instead of circling the crowd the way he is.”

She punched him lightly on the arm. “Are you saying I'm frightening?”

“I'm saying that Trask would have a heart attack if a woman propositioned him, and he'd die a thousand deaths before he actually spoke to one of his own free will. Why, I remember one time when he…”

Kate missed the rest of his sentence. She was staring past him in shocked recognition. He followed the direction of her gaze and his features hardened abruptly.

“You've got to give the arrogant bastard credit, don't you? He does have style.”

Something in his tone diverted her attention from the sil
ver-haired man twining through the crowd toward them. “Did you know he was coming?”

“He wasn't invited, if that's what you mean. But they paged me from the gate. I told them to go ahead and let him in.” His mouth crooked with something that bore no resemblance to humor. “I'd rather be able to see him than to have to defend myself from a sneak attack.”

Kate eyed him carefully. His choice of words made it sound as if he were preparing for war. Which, she supposed he was. Another battle in a never-ending string of skirmishes where no clear victor emerged. “What do you suppose he wants here?”

Michael lifted a shoulder. “He wants to do what Jonathan Friday does best, I imagine,” he said grimly. “Spread a little misery around.”

“Well, Michael, it seems you've done it again.” Jonathan nodded to the display nearby featuring the new home security system. “A nice little program, actually. You're going retail with it, I assume.”

Michael inclined his head slightly.

“Of course. Should do quite well, too.” He raised his glass of champagne in Kate's direction. “Miss Rose, isn't it? So pleasant to see you again.” Her lack of response didn't seem to faze him in the least. “And that—” he turned slightly to indicate Chloe across the room “—must be my granddaughter.”

Kate quietly slipped her hand in Michael's and laced her fingers with his in an unconscious sign of support. His body was rigid, the muscles taut, and the air about him became lethally charged. “She's not
your
anything.” His voice was smooth and cool as silk, but the flame in his eyes would caution the more wary. “Blood doesn't mean everything. You taught me that.”

The man raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I wonder if the courts would agree with you. Some interesting test cases these days on grandparents' rights, don't you think?” He let his words sink in before turning and strolling away.

“Unbelievable,” Michael said in a low voice. His still,
careful control was more telling than a shout. The tension was all but coming off him in waves. As she watched, he tucked that awesome fury back into the mental pocket where he kept it. Kate wondered if he knew how close to the surface it lingered.

Her fingers tightened in his. When he brought their clasped hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles, she released a breath she hadn't been aware of holding. “And here I was thinking these things were dull.”

He slanted a look at her. “Stick with me, kid,” he said wryly. “I'll liven up your life.”

Looking away, she saw Jonathan on the other side of the room with one of Michael's security men close by. “Why don't I find Chloe and take her upstairs.”

Michael gave her a grateful look. “Would you? I'd feel better knowing Jonathan couldn't get within ten yards of her.”

Nodding, she turned and went in search of the little girl. She finally spotted the tips of small blue kid shoes peeping out from beneath one of the tables that had been set up in the dining room. Kate bent down and lifted the edge of the tablecloth out of the way. “Pretty good hiding place, Chloe. I almost couldn't find you.”

The little girl nodded but didn't respond. She was unusually quiet and pale.

Kate peered anxiously at her. “Chloe, are you feeling all right?”

“My stomach is doing cartwheels,” she confided in a thin voice. “I don't like Daddy's party.”

Kate held out her hand, and Chloe wiggled slowly out from beneath the table. Her heavy-lidded eyes and pinched mouth were more telling than her words. “I think you must have overdone it on the appetizers, honey. You don't look too good.”

She felt the little girl's clammy forehead, then lifted her in her arms. “You and I are going to go upstairs and get you ready for bed, how's that?” When Chloe nodded listlessly, Kate felt a small pang of alarm. She knew the child well
enough to know that bedtime usually didn't come without a battle.

Upstairs she helped Chloe change into her pajamas and brush her teeth, and then, when her condition worsened abruptly, she held her head while she was sick. Afterward Kate put her to bed and stayed beside her while she slept.

It was a couple of hours before Michael appeared at her side. “She's asleep?” he murmured, kneeling beside the bed. “How'd you manage that?”

Kate pushed back the blond strands from Chloe's face. “She didn't feel well.” At Michael's instant alarm, she said soothingly, “A stomachache, I think. She was sampling the food pretty freely, and some of the hors d'oeuvres were rich.”

“Does she have a fever?” Michael's hand went to his daughter's forehead, relief crossing his features when he felt her coolness.

“No, but she was sick once already. You might want to have something nearby in case she wakes in the night and feels ill again.”

“If she wakes up, I'll be here.”

Kate's heart turned over. Her hand went to his shoulder and massaged soothingly. “I know you're concerned, but it isn't necessary for you to wait up all night.”

“Oh, it'll be okay. I can bring a rocker in here, maybe catch a few winks.” His gaze caught hers then, and his expression was charmingly rueful. “You think I'm nuts, don't you?”

Her lips wanted to tremble, so she pressed them together and shook her head. That sweetness could still take her unaware, slip under her defenses and stir everything soft inside her. “Couldn't you just use the monitor?” she asked unsteadily, indicating the one that sat on Chloe's dresser.

“Yeah. Yeah, you're right. At least, that's why I bought it. I can turn it on and hear her from my room.”

“That will save you a stiff neck.”

“I just hate this, you know?” he whispered. Their voices were pitched low to avoid waking the sleeping child. “Every time she's sick I get such a helpless feeling. Maybe it's even
worse with her, because she's normally so darn active that seeing her lying still scares the hell out of me. I guess I'm just a typical overreactive parent.”

“Not typical,” Kate contradicted softly. Her voice was filled with the emotion that was gripping her heart. “Never typical.”

His hazel gaze met her blue one, and he brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss there. “This isn't exactly the ending to the evening I had planned.”

She smiled and gave in to an impulse to run the back of her hand along his jaw. He'd shaved before the party and his skin was still smooth, a hard, sensual glide. “There will be other evenings.”

He caught her hand in his, trapping it against his cheek. “You can count on it.”

“Michael.”

Both pairs of eyes jerked to the doorway, where Trask stood. He gestured with the cordless phone he held and, with an eye on the sleeping child, tried to pitch his voice lower. It came out a gravelly rumble. “You better take this. Trouble at the company.”

With a quick glance at Kate, Michael rose, taking the phone and stepping out into the hallway. Kate had time to do no more than raise her eyebrows questioningly at Trask before Michael was back. He gestured to both of them, and they followed him out of the room.

“That was the fire department,” he said without preamble.

“There's been an explosion at our office complex.”

M
ichael raised a hand, squelching their questions. “I don't have any details, but we have to get down there right away.” Then he stopped and looked worriedly toward his daughter's door. “Someone needs to stay with Chloe.”

“I'll do it,” Kate said. “You go ahead. I'll plan to stay the night.”

Relief lit his eyes. “Thank you,” he muttered, brushing a kiss across her forehead. He showed her how to work the monitor, then led her to a bedroom down the hallway. He stood there a moment, looking torn. “I'm going to take some of the men with me, but I'll leave one in the house and one outside.”

“We'll be all right here,” Kate murmured. When he reached for her, she went into his arms and laid her head against his chest. “Be sure and call me when you know something.”

He gave her a quick, hard hug and turned to leave the room.

When he got to the door, she said, “Michael? Please be careful.” He exchanged a long, level look with her before
turning away toward Trask. She could hear the urgent tones of the men as they hurried down the hall.

She looked at the bedroom that was to be hers for the night, and an unwilling smile tugged at her lips. This was the room where Michael had put the antique bedroom set that she'd told him about. Walking over to the dresser with its oval mirror and ornate knobs, she trailed a hand over its smooth, glossy surface. He'd done more than just buy the set, she noted. Despite his protests that he was incapable of doing so, he'd managed to furnish the entire room. Against one wall was a wardrobe with burled walnut on the doors. On either side of the bed were tables with scrolled legs, on top of which sat matching lamps with leaded shades. She crossed to one of them and with a finger sent the shade's beaded fringe dancing.

The bed was piled high with pillows. He hadn't draped it in romantic lace. Instead it was covered with an antique quilt. When she recognized the pattern, her eyes misted. The colors in the wedding ring design were muted by time, but age gave a richness to its beauty. The symbolism of the pattern was unmistakable, the pairs of entwining circles constant and infinite. Just as a pair of lives entwined. Just as hearts did.

Taking a deep breath, she turned away jerkily, seeking a distraction. She'd need something to sleep in. She didn't relish the thought of wearing her lingerie to bed, especially since she might need to rise and go to Chloe. After a moment's thought, she went in search of Michael's room and found it, located across the hall from his daughter's.

He'd spared no attention for his own bedroom. As Chloe had told her once, it was empty, save for a bed. A huge one, she noted, before tearing her fascinated gaze away. There was nothing in the space that spoke of Michael, no stamp of his personality. She went toward the closet and opened it, revealing an endless expanse of suits and shelving. It was from one of the shelves that she plucked a T-shirt to wear.

She checked on Chloe before returning to her room. The little girl hadn't changed position and seemed to be sleeping soundly. Although her cheeks were a little flushed, her skin
was cool, and Kate was satisfied that her diagnosis had been correct. An upset stomach caused by too much unfamiliar, rich food had probably caused Chloe's discomfort. Chances were she'd be back to her turbocharged self by morning.

Kate undressed, draping her clothes across the foot of the bed. As she slipped the T-shirt over her head, she fancied she could smell Michael's scent on the soft, worn cotton.

Pulling the bedcovers back, she slipped beneath them. The feather mattress was heavenly, the pillows soft. It was the kind of bed that could make going to sleep an exercise in decadence. But slumber didn't lure her. Worry teased at her mind; she wouldn't sleep until Michael came home safely.

It was ridiculous, really. There would be police and firefighters present at the scene. They would prevent any bystanders from getting hurt. She moved restlessly, the sound a murmur of cotton against cotton. Surely he wouldn't be foolish enough to try to enter the building.

She frowned in the darkness of the room, wishing she knew a little more about his holdings. In a company that dealt with software security, she couldn't imagine what would cause an explosion. She wondered if Michael had any clue, then berated herself for not asking him before he'd left. Not that his answer would have made the hours pass any easier.

She'd never been one to enjoy waiting, although it seemed as though she'd spent most of her life doing so. But waiting for her parents to change, for life to be different when she was a child couldn't compare to the worry-filled hours she had ahead of her tonight. The darkness had a way of mutating anxieties into full-fledged nightmares. Lurid imagination made a distressing companion at this time of night.

She twisted against the sheets in a restless, frustrated movement. What if Michael was injured tonight? A cold blade of fear accompanied the thought. Knowing him, he'd be right in the thick of things. When something of his was threatened, he went into a whole different mode. The idea of him hurt, maybe bleeding, made her sick and shaky inside. She wanted him back here, safe. She wanted to see him quirk the half-irritating, half-endearing grin and hear him wisecrack about
her concern. She wanted to feel his arms around her and know that he was going to be all right. She wanted…him.

She jackknifed upright in bed to relieve her strangled lungs. The thought of life without Michael left her heart barren, her soul bereft. What was this, then, if not love? How odd that the emotion she'd searched for all her life should have been so difficult to identify. So frightening to feel.

Because she was more than frightened…she was terrified. She couldn't imagine giving up what she had with Michael and Chloe, turning her back on her newly discovered love for him. She'd always been a sensible, practical person. By no means could she be called a risk taker. But now she was contemplating taking the biggest risk she could imagine by offering a lifetime of her love to a man who wouldn't, couldn't promise the same.

The minutes dragged by too sluggishly to count toward hours. Left only with her worries and doubts, she found the big old bed excruciatingly lonely. Twice when Chloe made a sigh or a whimper in her sleep, Kate got up and padded soundlessly to the little girl's room to check on her. Both times found her still asleep, her breathing steady.

After she checked on Chloe the second time, she was loath to return to her bedroom. She decided to go downstairs to the family room and avail herself of one of the books that lined the shelves there. Though reading might be as difficult to concentrate on as sleep, it would help pass the time until he was back.

The house was dark, but since Chloe's door was open, she didn't want to turn on the hallway light. She picked her way carefully down the stairs. If she could find the light switches downstairs, she just might go to the kitchen for a glass of milk to bring back up with her. And it wouldn't hurt to have a plate of crackers and some flat ginger ale ready in case Chloe woke up and needed something to settle her stomach.

At the bottom of the stairs she kept a hand to the wall to guide her way and then turned into the hallway. If possible, it seemed darker there, and her fingers went on a blind search
for the light switch. Before she found it, her bare toes met something immovable.

Kate stifled a gasp. Only her hand supporting her on the wall saved her from toppling over the crumpled figure on the floor in front of her. Her heart lodged in her throat. For an instant she just stood still, focusing on moving air in and out of her lungs again. Then she bent down and touched the person's shoulder gingerly. It was a man, that much she could tell. Though his features were difficult to discern in the darkness, she thought it was one of the security people who worked for Michael.

Her movement brought him to his back, and her fingers searched for the pulse below his jaw. It was thready but discernible, and relief filled her. She rose, intent on finding a light, any light, then rubbed her fingers curiously. They were wet and sticky with a substance she couldn't identify.

Dread curled in the pit of her stomach, and with it came certainty. It was blood, the man's blood, but she'd do him no good until she could see his wound. She didn't know the house well enough to remember where the nearest light switch or telephone were, but the kitchen was straight ahead, at the top of the hallway. If she could turn on the light there, enough would spill into the darkened hallway to aid her search.

She stepped over the man cautiously and hurried toward the kitchen. Forgotten was the book she'd meant to select. She moved past the door to the family room without giving it a thought. But once she'd walked past the next closed door, she stopped in her tracks as if yanked by an invisible chain.

Kate didn't breathe for a moment, straining all her senses in an attempt to convince herself that she was imagining things. But she wasn't. The sounds she'd heard were real. Real enough to have the blood congealing in her veins.

Someone was in the den.

She looked at the closed door out of the corner of her eye, as if even by moving her head she would alert the prowler to her presence. The noises were muffled but distinct. The tap
ping sounds could have been made by a pen against a desktop.

Or by fingers on a computer keyboard.

Fear trickled down Kate's spine. Without conscious thought she began backing up, slowly. She didn't want to take the chance of going to the kitchen now. If she was discovered, the only other way out of that room was a door to the outside. And she wasn't going to leave Chloe in the house unprotected.

She gave one desperate thought to the man Michael had said would be on security outside before dismissing it. She had no idea where to find him, and there was no telling what kind of shape he would be in. She could only imagine that the intruder would have had to go past him to get into the house.

No, her best bet was to get upstairs. Surely she would find a phone there, either in Michael's room or perhaps in Trask's. She could dial 911 and get the police here, preferably before the prowler found what he was looking for in Michael's den.

Fingers touched the back of one of her heels, and a scream tore up Kate's throat. In her distress, she'd nearly backed up over the poor security guard. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she muffled all but a thread of sound and stopped for a moment, praying it would go unnoticed. She was unable to hear anything over her hammering heartbeat. Her breathing seemed unnaturally loud as she strained her ears to listen for the sounds coming from the den that had alerted her to begin with.

She was too far away to hear them, she prayed, and made herself turn around. Taking great care, she stepped over the body sprawled in the hallway and hurried as fast as she dared to the staircase.

The first tread under her foot felt like the road to freedom. Odd, but she hadn't noticed the way some of the steps creaked when she'd been on her way down the stairs. She was halfway up now, and the air was getting a little easier to draw into her lungs. Only a few more yards. She wondered where the
phone might be kept in Michael's room, assuming he had one there. She hadn't noticed a table or stand for it.

A hand on the back of her shirt jerked her off balance, and terror clawed up her throat, shredding her voice. She grabbed wildly for the banister, her other hand making a fist and swinging out. It encountered a body, close, very close, behind her. Then an arm snaked around her throat, and her grip was torn away from the railing.

A gloved hand was slapped across her mouth and she bit down, heard the muffled curse. Her elbow jabbed out frantically, and she brought a leg back for a swift backward kick. The damage it did was probably minuscule, but her desperation lent a wildness to her actions that made her difficult to contain. The arm around her throat tightened cruelly, and her struggles weakened as her oxygen supply was inexorably cut off. Colors swam before her eyes and her knees went watery. When she was yanked around and forced to start down the stairs, the pressure around her throat was loosened just a little.

She had to keep Chloe safe, she thought dimly. And Michael. Would the intruder still be here when Michael got home? Her thoughts came slow, as if she were drugged, but she recognized the need to protect. She used the very real weakness in her limbs to her advantage and went suddenly, totally limp, pulling her attacker off balance. One arm released her and she used up the rest of her dwindling strength to give a mighty pull away.

She had only an instant to savor her freedom. She felt, rather than saw, the black-clad arm coming toward her and took an automatic step back. Her foot touched air and she teetered, arms circling frantically. Then, as if in slow motion, she lost the battle with gravity and toppled down the rest of the stairs.

 

Michael pushed open the hospital door and saw Kate sitting upright on the examining table. His eyes slid closed. Panic and relief ricocheted inside him. She was conscious, thank God. They'd told him that she hadn't been when she'd been
found. And then he opened his eyes and stared fiercely, cataloging her injuries.

She couldn't prevent an occasional wince as the doctor wrapped her ribs. His gaze traveled her form, saw the bandage wrapped around her ankle and the bruise marring one cheekbone and felt rage. Hot and quick it boiled, scalding him with its intensity.

“Come on in.” Her voice was strained, her smile wobbly, but her eyes were welcoming. “There aren't any needles in sight.”

He closed the distance between them and stood at her side, out of the way of the doctor's deft movements. Reaching for one of her hands, he brought it to his cheek and held it there.

“How's Chloe?”

“She's fine,” he assured her. He forced a deliberately neutral tone to his voice. “Never even woke up. Still no sign of fever, either.”

“Thank goodness. I was afraid…” The breath shuddered out of her then, and he pressed a kiss to her hand, then meshed her fingers with his.