Mac's Angels : Sinner and Saint. a Loveswept Classic Romance (9780345541659) (20 page)

Niko watched the woman who was intrigued by their destination in spite of her attempt to remain disinterested. There was so much about her he didn't know. But he knew she had courage and that she'd given him something he hadn't even known he wanted.

Karen Miller had forced Niko to acknowledge his loneliness. She'd opened up that wound and, for a time, filled it with herself.

“Haven't you ever been to SoHo?” he asked.

“No, I don't think so. But I've read about it. Is this where the artists live?”

She kept piercing his armor, this time with her childlike innocence. He was delighted. “Only the successful ones. Though in some cases a number of them pool their resources to live together.”

“I thought the buildings would be, oh, I don't know, more dilapidated. Didn't they use to be factories?”

“They did.” Under the guise of pointing out a special building to her, he leaned over her shoulder, allowing himself to touch her. “Look at that gallery. That's where Andy Warhol's paintings were once exhibited.”

“I think I might like to live in a place like this, or maybe even Greenwich Village. I never had time to explore the city like I wanted to.”

Karen didn't notice that he was touching her until
he slid his hand behind her neck. Then she felt his fingers, warm, possessive. For a second she let herself imagine how it would be if they were really going to a party, just a normal date.

But this wasn't a normal date. This was a trap designed to fill in the piece of her missing memory. Immediately she pushed him away and leaned back, forgoing any further examination of the area.

“So you never had time before. Maybe once things are resolved, you can do what you want.”

“No,” Karen said quietly. “I wish I could, but I don't think so. Not yet.”

Niko heard the new sense of purpose in her voice. She might not know what was coming, but she was gearing herself up for it. She didn't need a Gypsy lover any longer.

He wished she did.

Sam spoke up. “I don't know. Change is good. I always thought that it would be good to swap wives and careers every twenty-five years.”

“Sam, you aren't married, and I can't imagine you not being a reporter,” Niko said. “People are what they are even when they try to be something else. Did our press release get out, Sam?”

“You mean does the world and anybody else interested know that you'll be attending the fund-raiser? I think so. Your friend Mac seems to know how to get things done. Are you going to tell me what you expect to happen?”

“I expect the man who came after Karen to be here.”

“Why?”

“Because he thinks she's decided to go back and testify against him.”

“And has she?”

It was Karen who answered. “Yes.”

“And we're going to do what, Niko?” Sam asked.

“Make certain that she can.”

Karen turned her attention to the narrow street. The buildings lining it had quiet, elegant façades with oval windows and wrought iron balconies.

“Suppose he doesn't show himself?”

“Then we'll eat raw fish, drink expensive champagne, and raise lots of money.”

“I don't know about that,” Sam muttered. “Your wealthy patrons sure have strange tastes. A fund-raiser at the Metropolitan Museum I could understand, but here? I don't know.”

He slowed the car, studying the building numbers in the limited light. “Spooky,” he commented. “Don't guess you know exactly where we're going, do you?”

“No, but I'd guess that's the place up ahead.”

Suddenly there were a number of cars lined up, discharging passengers in front of a dark green canopy edged with tiny blinking lights. Sam eased the Town Car to a stop and waited for his turn to pull up.

Green-jacketed parking attendants swarmed forward, opening the door for Karen and assisting Niko out behind her.

“Shall I park the car and join you inside?” Sam asked.

“No, you come with us.”

The paparazzi gathered on either side of the carpeted walk and focused their cameras on Niko and Karen, blinding Karen with their lights.

“Hey, it's Nikolai Sandor and—”

“Who's the lady, doc?”

“Hey, just stop for a minute. I'll put you on the front page, beautiful.”

“Whistles, cat calls, Sharon Stone wouldn't have engaged the fantasy of the press any better,” Sam Wade observed. “You sure know how to get attention.”

Unconsciously, Karen pressed closer to Niko, who smiled, slid his arm around her shoulders, and strolled casually toward the door, where he stopped and turned back.

“Thank you. You know how much we depend on the press to help us attract the people who support our medical research. My lady is very involved in seeing that those responsible for an event get the proper credit, aren't you, Karen?”

“Of course, darling. That's why we're here, isn't it?”

Niko narrowed his eyes for a moment and moved inside. He'd done it, drawn everyone's attention to Karen's presence. “Now,” he said under his breath as he flashed a wicked smile to those inside, “we've run up the flag, let's see who salutes.”

ELEVEN

Friday the 13th—three days and holding

Karen was spellbound by the gallery's interior. The building had apparently once housed a locomotive-manufacturing business. It had been refurbished, leaving the two-story ceiling in the center intact. Converting the circular ramp around the walls into display areas for the paintings and sculpture had been a stroke of genius.

Their value documented for tax purposes, the paintings were donated by wealthy patrons, to be resold to other wealthy patrons. The hospital fund benefited. The gallery retained a small commission and the artist's reputation was enhanced.

Tables of food and drink were arranged in the center of the ground floor. At the back of the room a string quartet played, almost drowned out by the laughter and conversation of the guests.

In the foyer, Niko and Sam shed their topcoats,
allowing another green-jacketed attendant to drape them over his arm. “May I take your coat, madam?” he asked.

Reluctantly, Karen allowed him to take the fur away. She didn't know whether it was exposing herself to the curious eyes of the guests or the loss of its warmth that made her shiver.

“Well, let's get to it.” Niko folded Karen's arm over his and started toward the bar.

“Niko, you rascal,” a henna-haired matron with a southern accent called out and intercepted them. “Who is this lovely young woman, and why haven't I seen her before?”

“Karen, this is Abigale. She operates one of the largest modeling agencies in the city.”

“Abby, meet Karen Miller. Karen has just arrived from the land of snow and ice.”

“Norway?” Abigale asked. “How interesting. Your hair and your gown are exquisite. You're either a model or an actress.”

“Nothing so exciting,” Karen corrected her. “I'm from Minnesota. And I'm a schoolteacher, first grade.”

“What a waste,” Abby chirped, leaning down to whisper in Karen's ear. “I'm from Alabama myself, but if you keep my secret, I'll keep yours.”

Karen began to relax. She couldn't hold back a smile. As if anybody on the face of the earth would ever take Abigale for anything but a Southerner. She liked Abby. Maybe the evening wouldn't be so bad.

“And how'd a schoolteacher from Minnesota end up with Mercy General's resident sinner?”

Karen couldn't resist tweaking Niko a bit with her answer. “Haven't you heard? He's traded in his pitchfork for a white horse. Now, if the hospital could just stop his fascination with house shoes, they'd be happy.”

“House shoes?”

“It's an inside joke,” Karen explained.

After that, Abby made it her personal commitment to introduce Karen to everybody there. By midnight Karen's feet hurt. If Niko wasn't holding her elbow, he was close enough for her to feel his eyes boring holes of fire straight through her dress.

But there was no sign of either Miles Lambert or the newspaper reporter.

Whatever Niko had hoped to accomplish hadn't happened, and Karen had a splitting headache. Excusing herself, Karen slipped into the ladies' room.

She'd done her part. Obviously she'd been wrong about Niko's being in danger, or he'd overestimated the response to his press release. If she could get out, she'd just take a cab back to her boardinghouse. She couldn't protect anybody anymore, not Niko and not herself.

From the ladies' room she could see that there was no way she'd get out the front door. Niko was guarding it and the lobby. And even if she did, they were miles from her room. She didn't have so much as a subway token. She'd need taxi fare.

She noticed Sam halfway up the platform display
area. He was feigning an interest in a wrought iron creation that looked like a refugee from a junkyard. Obviously he was keeping watch from the top.

If she could just get Sam on her side, she'd—Karen waited until Niko's attention was distracted by new guests entering the building. This was her chance.

Moments later she was making her way up the ramp. She shielded herself from Niko's view by mingling with the other patrons, pausing when necessary to acknowledge a greeting, but using her interest in the exhibit to discourage conversation.

Just a few feet above her at the top of the ramp she saw Sam turn his head toward an open door that she hadn't noticed before. Before she could reach him, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Now what was she to do? Surely he wouldn't be long. Stepping behind a large sculpture composed of mirrors and some kind of cracked silvery rock, she waited. The displays were less well lit up here, but this exhibit caught the light of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling and sparkled like a jewel.

In spite of her frustration, she stared at the mirrors in fascination. Then she saw the door open. Sam was standing in the shadows, watching.

Good. Karen glanced down at Niko. When a tall, heavyset woman stepped between them, Karen dashed up the remaining steps to the top. “Sam?”

Sam turned and looked over his shoulder toward her. Then he moved into the doorway. His face caught the light.

It wasn't Sam. She'd seen this man before. He was wearing the same specter's mask she'd seen at the haunted house. “Miles!”

Karen let out a little scream and whirled to run down the ramp. Then she remembered Sam and turned back. She could only hope that Niko was watching from below.

“What have you done with my friend?” Karen demanded, jutting out her chin and taking a step forward.

“Do you want to see?” The specter reached out and caught Karen's wrist with fingers of steel. He jerked her inside the room and locked the door before she could pull away.

“I'll scream!” Karen threatened, knowing that remaining calm would be a better way to handle the situation than showing her fear. “There are people down there who will hear me.”

“You promised. Why didn't you stay away?” the whispery, muffled voice asked.

“I promised what? Why don't you tell me what I promised?”

“You know, foolish girl. After I sent the note, you promised.”

Karen studied the darkness, trying to get her bearings, wondering what had happened to Sam. “If I promised you something, I'm sure I would have done it.”

“I promised too, but he knew I wouldn't stay. But he wouldn't let me go, even after I told him the truth. Because of you I had to stay in that awful place.”

Karen listened carefully. The person sounded familiar, but with no opening in the mask, it was hard to understand the muffled voice.

Before, she'd been concerned about bringing danger to Niko. Then Sam. For the first time, Karen was afraid for herself. This person was mentally unbalanced, and she knew that such a condition was often accompanied by great physical strength. Niko's plan had worked.

Too well.

Suppose Niko hadn't seen her. She might die without him ever knowing that she'd fallen in love with him. She tried to free her arm, but the gloved hand holding hers was too strong. Now she was being dragged through the dark room toward a second door opened to the faint glow of moonlight outside.

“Come with me, Karen. I have a little surprise for you.”

Karen's teeth had begun to chatter. Her breath was shallow and fast. But it wasn't from the cold. It was from the possibility of loss. She might have left Minnesota, but she wouldn't let anybody force her to do something she knew was wrong, not ever again.

“Wait,” Karen said, “it's freezing out there. I need my coat. Just let me get it and I'll go wherever you want me to go.”

“You won't need a coat. In a very few minutes you'll have all the heat you want.”

There was a laugh, angry, guttural, demonic. “You should have listened. Now I'll have to punish you.”