MasterStroke (15 page)

She wondered what Mariel would have done in the same circumstances. She would undoubtedly have kicked Jack’s ass, tossed him aside and stormed off. Mariel didn’t share the spotlight with anybody else, even ghosts. She collected men the same way she collected hats and there was always another just around the corner if the current one didn’t suit.

It might have seemed harsh but, in Mariel’s world, she was always number one. Undoubtedly, she had issues which she always avoided discussing; Sandrine had long entertained theories on why this would be so. But the bottom line was that she and Mariel were completely different people despite certain minor similarities.

Both Mariel and Sandrine traditionally avoided long-term relationships but, while Mariel had an endless procession of admirers and flitted from one to the other like a butterfly in a field of flowers, Sandrine rarely took lovers. Emotionally, they preferred to remain distant and in control.

Yet Jack had changed all that for her. In the space of a quick few weeks, she’d bucked against years of experience. She hadn’t selected Jack, he’d pursued her and she’d fallen like a dizzy schoolgirl. She knew so little about him, dangerously little it now appeared, but they’d become lovers so quickly it was crazy. And now, in complete defiance to everything she’d ever done before, she was in love. Not just feeling it but declaring it before she had any inkling about how he felt.

That was a frightening red flag of danger, another in a long line of cautions thrown up since she’d met Jack. When she was alone, the doubts came so easily. Once Jack was close, however, nothing mattered except to be as close as possible to him.

Mariel would kick his ass
, she thought again.
And he deserves it. You love him, you’ve said it and there’s nothing you can do about it. But be careful.

Sandrine crossed her legs and instantly regretted it. Squeezing her thighs together only spiked desire within her.
Jeez, my body is just too sensitive.
She fought to focus on the conversation. It was a way of exerting some control over her body. As long as she didn’t look at Jack’s sensuous mouth, which reminded her of the way his lips and tongue had brought her so easily to orgasm. Or his eyes, which brought to mind the intensity of his gaze as he lay atop her, thrusting his cock, hard and fast, into her. Or any other part of his body or him in general or his smell or his touch or this apartment or………anything at all.

It was an uphill battle. She sipped her tea and concentrated on the brush marks of red rose petals on the hand-painted cup. It was the only thing that seemed to calm her.

“I still have to hear back from a couple of people,” Jack was saying. “But it seems our friends aren’t part of the local Russian mob. They have a different approach. They’re more covert, content so far to stay in the background.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“More or less. But it doesn’t give us much indication of why they’re here and what they want. We’ll start with the basics. They quizzed you about your boss.”

“Yes but Marcus is in Europe on business. It’s all pretty routine. One of our regular clients died and he’s been helping sort through the estate. There are some items he can sell easily.”

Jack fell silent, staring into the computer monitor for a while.

“You said he emailed you about a courier delivery.”

“Yes.”

“They may have already hacked into your computer. I have a contact that can examine the computer at the store and find out for sure. He can also sweep for bugs.”

“Marcus emailed me at home.”

“I’ll have that computer checked as well. When does the delivery you were talking about arrive?”

“It already has.”

Jack looked up, alert.

“It has?”

“Yes, a few days ago.”

“Then they’d know about that as well. We have to assume they’re watching the store.”

“But the courier delivered via the rear loading dock. It’s not often used. Maybe they’re only watching the front.”

“What was in the delivery?”

Sandrine shrugged.

“Rare books plus a number of art portfolios with mid-nineteenth century prints, drawings and the like. All Pre-Raphaelite. Some beautiful pieces but not exceptionally valuable.”

“I’d like to see them if that’s OK,” Jack said casually. “We still need to be careful. While the Russians continue to shadow us, we don’t want them suspicious that we know just yet.”

“Jack, are they dangerous?”

The warmth of his smile went some way to calming her fears.

“They don’t seem to be. They’re proceeding softly-softly at the moment but it can turn in an instant. Until we know exactly what they want, we have to be very careful.” Jack looked at his watch and grimaced. “In the meantime, we have to get back to the mall. It’s been five hours since we went into the movies. By now, they’ll be getting concerned. We need to let them find us.”

The thought of returning to the Russians, of being so close to them that they could do anything they wanted, unsettled Sandrine. She felt safe in Jack’s home. They didn’t know she was here. She desperately wanted to curl up with Jack. His close physical presence calmed her, made her feel secure and safe. Jack wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She had complete and utter faith in him, trusted him without question.

Jack was her shelter in the storm she suspected was rapidly approaching.

Chapter Nineteen

At Jack’s direction, the taxi dropped them at the supermarket tucked into the ground floor corner of the mall. Jack had already outlined a plan and Sandrine knew what to do. Checking first to ensure they weren’t being watched, she walked rapidly into the supermarket and grabbed a basket.

Jack ducked away, saying he’d be back in a couple of minutes. By the time he joined her, ten minutes had passed and she was in the breakfast cereal aisle. He was carrying a number of large folded bags, bearing a prominent department store logo, of the sort used to hold clothes.

“Why?” was all Sandrine could say. She was mystified.

“We need to look as if we’ve been shopping. These will help.”

If the young woman on the check-out thought it odd they were wrapping cereal boxes in tissue paper before placing them into the department store bags, she hid it well. Chewing gum and curiosity were obviously mutually exclusive. Jack paid the bill in cash and they carried the bags up the escalators to an upper mall level.

“By now, the Russians are probably panicking. We’ll wander around for a while until they find us.”

It took nearly half an hour. They visited a number of stores; in one, Sandrine tried on a dark grey shirt-waist dress in a soft clingy knit material that Jack found particularly alluring. He urged her to buy it. It wasn’t her usual style but the thought of seeing Jack’s reaction when she wore it with high heels and no underwear convinced her otherwise. At the cashier’s desk, he offered his own credit card over Sandrine’s protests. She noticed it was a black American Express, a Centurion card. She’d heard much about these ultra-exclusive cards but never seen one.

As they walked from the store, Jack pulled her into a tight embrace and kissed her hungrily. Shoppers stepped around them.

“Don’t look around but they’ve found us. Down towards the south end, outside the coffee shop. The same two who followed us this morning. They look relieved.”

“Can we go home now?”

“Sure. Your place, if you don’t mind. I don’t want them following us back to mine.”

“Anywhere, Jack. I just want some private time with you,” Sandrine breathed huskily, her pulse racing.

They strolled slowly, hand-in-hand. Anyone looking at them would see an attractive couple, obviously devoted, laden with shopping bags. What they didn’t know, and very likely wouldn’t understand, was that only one held what it should. The three large department store bags were laden with boxes of breakfast cereal.

In the car park, Jack took his time easing out of the spot and then set off towards Sandrine’s apartment. Traffic was light in the late afternoon and they were parked in the street outside before the sun set.

Heathcliff was sleeping in the kitchen. His bowl was empty. He woke, stretched lazily and growled a greeting that betrayed an edge of recrimination. Sandrine emptied a tin of tuna into his bowl while Jack opened the picnic basket on the kitchen bench.

The chicken and salads were portioned out, bread sliced and spread with Danish butter and, with the cheeses on another plate, were carried into the dining room. The Beaujolais was smooth and light, and complemented both the chicken and cheese.

“This is wonderful, thank you. So much thought went into this,” she said after they’d consumed most of the food. “I’d forgotten just how hungry I was.”

“It’s been a busy day,” Jack observed.

“Full of surprises. All sorts of surprises.”

“I thought you liked surprises,” Jack teased, arching his eyebrows.

“Some more than others,” she replied earnestly.

“Come here, my beautiful girl.” Jack stood up and Sandrine folded herself into his arms. There was slow music playing and they barely moved, swaying gently in place more than dancing, luxuriating in their closeness. She was snug and warm and feeling completely safe. She also felt loved and the realisation sprung within her and blossomed so beautifully with pleasure she couldn’t speak.

It was a gratifying moment and they held each other for a long time. Sandrine arched her arms around Jack’s neck and pulled him into a deep and lingering kiss.
Oh, so wonderful
, she thought lazily,
Jack is so hard. His body loves me.

The swell in his crotch throbbed against her and she knew she was more than ready for him.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” As far as she was concerned, it was a foregone conclusion.

“Sorry, Sandrine. Not tonight. I’d love to and wish I could, but there’s still a few things I have to find out. There are people I need to talk to and they won’t be available until after midnight.”

She was deeply, almost bitterly disappointed. She didn’t want Jack to go away. She wanted him to stay forever. Silence hung between them like a curtain of frustration.

“Could I come back later? It shouldn’t be too late.”

Brightness returned, like a cloud that had suddenly passed from the front of the sun.
I’m being unfair
, she berated herself.
I shouldn’t automatically assume he’ll stay with me every night.
But she did, she realised, and the idea that she might be forcing him to stay against his will depressed her.

Sandrine broke away and sat on a chair as far from him as she could. It might as well be in another country. He stood in the same spot, watching her coolly and carefully, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I shouldn’t have asked that. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and there must be more you need to do.”

“Can I call you later?” he asked slowly.

“Yes, please. I’d love to hear from you. But I may be asleep so forgive me now if I don’t answer.”

“Sandrine, I’m sorry if I’ve done anything wrong. I don’t mean to hurt you.”

She shook her head emphatically.

“No, no, I’m just being silly. I understand you’re trying to help me. Do what you have to do and please give me a call when you finish.”

He looked around, a little lost and confused, to find his coat. As he leaned over her to plant a kiss on the forehead, she pulled him closer and hugged him fiercely. Then he walked out the door.

The music had stopped and the stillness in the room had a suffocating quality. Her mood had darkened so quickly, she found it confusing, and a wave of guilt swept across her.

Heathcliff took this moment to leap onto her lap. He curled into a fat tabby ball and purred loudly.

“Oh, Heathy. Why do I make such a fool of myself? Jack didn’t deserve that at all,” she said, stroking his soft fur.

It was a question that went unanswered.

At eight o’clock that evening, the telephone rang. She hurriedly answered it, thinking it might be Jack but was surprised when it was Mariel, out of breath and almost in a panic.

“Babs, darling. Are you alone? Is he there?” she said, words tumbling out in a rush.

“No, he’s not. I’m all alone. What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk. Can you meet me at Russet & Brown’s as soon as possible?”

Sandrine glanced at her watch and sighed. She had been considering an early night but Mariel sounded anxious. It was out of character for her, usually so calm and cool. Her wit had temporarily abandoned her and that was a bad sign.

“Sure. See you in thirty minutes.”

Chapter Twenty

Russet & Brown’s was one of Sandrine’s favourite restaurants, a crazy place that was a careful recreation of the 1970s, where the wait staff sped along bare timber floors on roller skates and the ladies room was wallpapered in pages from Wonder Woman comic books. At the reception desk, the manager warmly greeted Sandrine and pointed out Mariel sitting at a table near the back of the room, already on her feet and waving madly.

“How many martinis has she had, Andre?”

The suave little man with a pencil-thin moustache shook his head.

“None. Not here at least.”

“Then better send one over. Looks like she needs it. And I’ll have a glass of dry white wine, thanks.”

Sandrine was very nearly crushed by Mariel’s hug. A big sloppy kiss followed. There was no trace of alcohol on her breath.

“Where have you been and why are you in such a state?” Sandrine asked.

“Came straight from the office and needed to talk to you immediately. It couldn’t wait.”

A waitress rolled by with an impossibly tall hot fudge sundae, one of the specialties of the house, made more outrageous by the sparklers spitting stars of incandescence in all directions.

They made small talk until the drinks arrived.

“Thank you, babs. You are just too-too much,” Mariel downed the martini in one gulp, placed it back on the waiter’s tray and ordered another. “Colder. Less vermouth. More gin, please.”

“What’s this about?”

Mariel directed a baleful glance across the table.

“You know I love you dearly and I’d never do anything to hurt you.”