“Let’s get one thing straight, from the beginning, Mr. Harm. I’m submitting to Sheila’s blackmail only because I have no choice. Personally, I’d rather eat ground glass than spend one day, much less three months with you.”
“Fine. Then you won’t be offended when I tell you I’m getting hazardous duty pay for this job.” The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.
Baboon!
“If the job’s so distasteful,” she goaded, “you certainly didn’t have to take it. Yourself, I mean. Surely you must have minions you could have foisted me off on.”
“Not after what happened to Pete Fowler,” he shot back without thinking.
Elgin blanched as if the words had struck her physically. A look of real pain appeared in her dark eyes and unaccountably, he felt an instant pang of sorry. An apology formed in his throat and he had a momentary urge to reach out and touch…no, comfort her.
A look of cold fury replaced the pain. Taking a step closer, she pulled herself straight and glared up into his face.
“How dare you speak to me like that you knuckle-dragging Neanderthal,” she growled. “I didn’t shove Pete in front of that car. You put him in that street. You and Sheila and some maniac. Difficult as it may be for your macho, pea brain to accept, Pete’s my friend too.” Her voice caught and she had to stop a second to regroup.
“I’m not going to have you or anyone else laying this off on me. It’s not my fault.”
“Then who the hell’s fault do you think it is?” Harm felt his own temper rising.
“I don’t know. Some lunatic who’s developed a sick crush on me. It’s nothing I’ve done. And anyway, I thought you were supposed to catch this creep.” The snarl’s volume escalated.
“Crush?” he repeated, a short, derisive snort punctuating the word, his own voice raised. “The guy’s a nut and a pervert. But considering the porn trash you crank out, what did you expect to attract? A minister?”
Flash point!
He saw it erupt, not just in those fiery eyes but in the crimson flush spreading up her face and her balled fists.
“Don’t you say that,” she screamed. “It’s not trash and it’s not porn! I’m a good writer and don’t you dare come into my home and attack me or my writing.”
Another snort and he waved his hand dismissively.
“News flash! Ayn Rand was a writer. Agatha Christie was a writer. You? You’re no writer…you’re the madam of a literary whorehouse.”
For a long moment she stood there, trembling with silent rage, her fists clenching and opening at her sides in tempo with her rapid breathing. Harm thought she might even try to hit him and he felt his own hands close tightly.
But worse yet, he could see in the blazing fire of those deep eyes he’d blown his chance. Even if her publisher made good on her threat, he could feel that Elgin Collier had made up her mind that he wouldn’t get anywhere near her or her retreat. Ever.
“I’m…” he started.
“Get out,” she growled.
“I’m sorry.”
“Get out of my house, this instant.” The flat, cold tone of her voice more chilling than the screams.
“Ms. Collier, can’t we discuss…”
Abruptly, she turned on her heel and went to the phone. Holding it up so he could see the keypad, she placed an index finger almost touching the nine.
“You see this? That’s my emergency speed dial. Push it and in thirty seconds it will bring security. Three more minutes and this place will be full of police. I don’t think the head of Harm’s Way Security wants to be arrested and charged with attempted rape. You look like you’re in shape so I’ll give you fifteen seconds to get out of here, starting now.”
The look in her eyes told him further talk was useless and would only bring security and the police. In her present emotional state, any accusation might have a ring of truth.
“God damnit!” he cursed to the empty elevator as it took him swiftly back to the lobby. He’d been this close to setting his snare. Why did she have to be such an irritating, short-fused, crazy bitch? And why did just being around her seem to make him crazy too?
Perhaps, he thought forlornly, he could give her a couple of days to cool off. Be reasonable. After all, both the stalker and the danger were very real. He could press Sheila Forbes a little more too.
Harm slid behind the wheel and stuck his key in the ignition.
A peace offering maybe. Flowers. Women liked flowers.
The engine rumbled to life. As he pulled away from the curb, he wondered idly if Jessica still had the name of that carnation florist.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, I’ve changed my mind.”
Sheila shook her head in disbelief at her friend sitting calmly across the desk from her.
“Let me see if I understand this. The last time you and I spoke about Campbell Alexander Harm, you were screaming incoherently about castration, dull straight razors, and boiling oil. Now, fast forward three days and suddenly the idea of going into the woods with him for three months is the best thing since sliced bread?”
Elgin smiled broadly. “You got it.”
“Okay El,” her publisher asked suspiciously, “what gives?”
“Why Sheila darling, whatever do you mean?” Elgin batted her eyelashes innocently.
“Don’t give me that shit. I’ve known you long enough to know your life’s motto is, ‘Don’t get mad, get even.’ I also know what an evil, black Irish soul and devious mind you’ve got. You’re cooking something up and it doesn’t smell like Grandma’s gingerbread. Give.”
“Actually, I’m just doing my oldest and dearest friend a favor.”
“Such as?”
“Well, didn’t you ask me to work on an outline for my next book at the cabin?”
“Uh-huh.” The more her friend talked, the uneasier Sheila became.
“Well, suppose I bring you back a whole, finished book? Would that make your greedy, grasping little banker’s heart go pitter-pat?”
“I don’t know. Is it a romance or a murder mystery?”
Elgin got up, settled on the corner of her friend’s desk and grinned.
“I’ve been thinking and if I’m the madam of this literary whorehouse, C. A. Harm is about to become the piano player. My next book is going to be about two lovers in an idyllic, secluded paradise.”
She leaned down and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s going to be non…stop…sex. Morning, noon, and night. In the cabin. In the woods. In the lake. In a hammock, even, if I can choreograph it right. I’ve got things planned for these two that will have the Chinese acrobats scratching their heads.”
Rising up again, she laughed and her voice returned to normal. “What do you think of Kemp Harmon for the hero? Sound macho and studly and alpha enough? And just to make sure no one misses the point, I’m even going to dedicate it ‘to my dear friend Campbell Alexander Harm for being…invaluable to my research.’ What do you think?”
“I think when you play dirty pool, you run the table.” Sheila frowned. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”
“Absolutely,” Elgin assured her emphatically. “When I’m finished with the great C. A. Harm, he’s gonna think he tangled with a buzz saw.”
“I don’t know, El.”
“Oh come on, don’t be such a Fudd. He’s a mean, heartless sonofabitch and a bully in the bargain. It’s time somebody took him down a peg and Yours Truly is just the girl to do it.”
“But he’s only doing this to protect you.”
“Bullshit! He’s doing it for the money and I’ll wager, to salve his guilty conscience for not catching this homicidal maniac before he almost killed Pete.”
“Still, you could damage his reputation, his business. His life even.”
“Don’t dramatize,” Elgin snapped. “Oh sure, there’ll be a huge flurry of excitement when the book comes out and he’ll be embarrassed. But he’ll get tons of free publicity and far from damaging his reputation, it will probably put a whole new luster on it. Besides, three months later, the whole thing will be forgotten.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Not to mention this book is going to be your biggest seller yet. You won’t have to worry about it being banned in Boston, either. It’s going to be so hot, you’ll have to worry about the environmentalists picketing the place for contributing to global warming.”
“Well, maybe I could look at the draft.”
Elgin laughed again and patted Sheila’s arm.
“That’s the spirit. I get to kick that brute in his furry little balls and we both make a ton of money to boot. Who says there’s no justice?
“Now, call our friend Kemp…I mean Camp and break the good news to him.”
“Suppose he’s changed his mind?”
“Add more zeroes to the check. I’m sure he’s got one of those big, honking, macho SUV’s so we can go in that. Tell him to pack his silk boxers, bikini swim trunks, leave his cell phone and other assorted James Bond toys at home and be at the Roxbury Street entrance to my parking garage at six-thirty a.m. Monday morning. We’re shoving off at seven sharp.”
She stood up. “Well, I’ve got to be running along. I have about a jillion things to do before I leave. I probably won’t see you before I leave but I’ll call Sunday night.”
“Which e-mail will you be at if I need to get in touch with you?”
“I told you, Sheila, no e-mail.”
“Well if you’re going work while you’re up there, you’ll have you’re laptop.”
“I’m only taking the little one and some CD’s for storage.”
“What if there’s a crisis? Yours or mine?”
“Don’t know about you,” Elgin giggled, “but I’m not going to worry because I’m going to be with the world’s biggest Boy Scout.” She stopped and wrinkled her brow in thought for a moment.
“That’s great,” she announced with a snap of her fingers.
“What is?”
“The Scout thing,” Elgin replied, her eyes gleaming as the scene began unfolding in her head. “Camp…I mean, Kemp and the heroine are out backpacking or something way to hell and gone. They stop to look at the view and fuck and she gets concerned about protection and presto, he whips out a condom, smiles and says, ‘I was a Scout. I’m always prepared.’ Then they go at it like rabbits, being sure to dispose of their used rubbers in an environmentally responsible fashion.”
“You are a sick and depraved human being,” Sheila told her seriously. “You know that don’t you?”
“Good thing for you, too,” Elgin agreed cheerfully. “Otherwise, you couldn’t afford to indulge your weakness for cheap guys in expensive leather.”
“Bitch.”
“I love you too, Sheila. See you after Labor Day.”
When Elgin left, Sheila picked up the phone and pressed the intercom for her secretary.
“Lynn, get me Harm’s Way Security, Mr. Harm please. Tell him it’s important.”
“Well,” Sheila chirped, “I guess that takes care of everything.” She put down her pen and smiled at the woman across her desk. “I’m glad we could get everything taken care of so promptly, but Mr. Harm really didn’t need to send you personally.”
Jessica smiled. “It’s all right, really. I’m actually delighted to be here at Fantasy Publishing and to meet you.” Her cheeks colored a bit and she looked down at her lap for a moment. “I’m…well I’m a big fan of Gillian Shelby’s. I was totally blown away when I discovered that not only is Ms. Collier really Gillian…I mean, the other way around, but that she…rather you, were going to be a client. I kind of hoped I might even get to meet her.”
“Well, maybe that can be arranged,” Sheila replied. “After all, she and your boss are going to spend three months together. At the very least, I’m sure I could get you an autographed copy of her latest book.”
“Oh that would be wonderful,” the other woman exclaimed. “I mean, I’d love to meet her in person but an autographed book would be terrific too.”
“Consider it done.”
“Thank you. And thank Gillian…I mean, Ms. Collier too.”
“When I tell her what a fan you are, she’ll be delighted.”
“I’m actually kind of surprised that Mr. Harm took this case,” the secretary remarked. “I mean, he’s got a pretty low opinion of what he calls ‘women’s porn’ to begin with and I got the distinct feeling that he and Ms. Collier didn’t exactly hit it off. Then, after what happened to Pete…well, it just surprised me, that’s all.”
“How is Pete?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“Doctor’s say he’s coming along fine although it’s still too early to say absolutely about his leg. But Dr. Criner…you’ve probably heard of him. World famous orthopedic surgeon?”
“I think I’ve heard the name.”
“Dr. Criner read about the case in the papers and called to see if he could consult. It’s practically a miracle. Anyway, he seems to think that with a series of operations, maybe as many as six or seven, Pete could get enough use of his leg back so that he’ll at least be able to walk. Probably won’t be able to be a field agent anymore, but Mr. Harm’s already offered him a desk job when he can come back to work. Regular hours, an office and a raise.”
“I’m glad to hear things are going so well. Remember me to Pete the next time you see him.”
“I will, thanks. Can I…can I ask you a question, Ms. Forbes?”
“Sheila, please.”
“Okay, Sheila. I’m Jessica. It’s about Gillian…Ms. Collier.”
“Ask away. If it’s not too personal, I’ll try to answer.”
“Why did she agree to go away with Mr. Harm for three months? I mean, I know they don’t get along and he said they got in a terrible fight in less than five minutes at their last meeting. How can they possibly think they can go that long without killing each other?”
Sheila smiled. “When El and I were in college, we had a Western History class in our sophomore year. First day, she got into it with this great looking guy named Jeremy Hodge. Spent half her time telling me what a moron and a gorilla he was and the other what a great ass he had.
“Every time they saw each other, they ended up in a fight. Then, one Thursday afternoon before midterms, he up and calls her out of a clear blue sky and asks if she wants to come over to his place and study. Amazingly, she said yes.”
“What happened?” Jessica asked anxiously.
“I didn’t see her again until Sunday night. Her neck and other portions of her anatomy were covered in hickey bruises and teeth marks, she had her blouse on inside out, one sock missing and she could barely walk. In class the next day, you could see the scratches on Jeremy’s back through his T-shirt, his neck practically purple and he not walking any better than Elgin.”
“You mean…?” Her eyes were big with amazement.
Sheila grinned and nodded once.
“But…but I don’t understand. I mean…if they didn’t like each other how…?”
“When’s your boss’s birthday?”
“Uhm…July twenty-eighth. Why?”
The publisher nodded again. “I thought so. A Leo. Elgin’s August sixteenth. She hates wimpy men almost as much as she hates giving up control.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Have you ever seen those nature films? The ones about the big cats mating?”
Jessica nodded her head, the amazement in her eyes now replaced with bewilderment.
“And you’ve seen their foreplay usually consists of a lot of growling, snarling, snapping and biting?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well,” Sheila finished, the grin growing larger, “I have a feeling that when these two Leos finally get it on, the jungle will never be the same.”
Harm checked his rearview mirror again but the road behind them remained empty. Glancing at his watch, he saw that they’d been on the road for almost three hours and he still had no idea where they were going.
Expecting her to be “fashionably late,” Harm had been surprised when, pulling up to the garage entrance at six-thirty, he’d found her waiting for him, two large leather duffel bags and a computer carrying case sitting at her feet, an oversized maroon fanny pack around her slim waist. He also saw that her well- fitting blue jeans and simple long sleeved white turtleneck revealed nice curves of breast and hip he hadn’t noticed before.
After exchanging perfunctory greetings, he’d loaded her gear in the back of the SUV.
“Take the Barksdale Parkway to Thirty-six north,” she’d told him and that had been their last conversation. Tipping back her seat slightly, she’d buckled up and concentrated on the scenery sliding by outside her window.
The city had rapidly melted into the suburbs that had gradually given way to flat, open farmland, the interstate reduced to two lanes in each direction. In the last half an hour though, they’d begun a gentle climb into rolling hills covered with pine forests and small meadows. He didn’t know much about this part of the state and the knowledge two of his best agents were tracking them with the GPS did little to quiet his vague sense of unease.
Up ahead, a road sign appeared to let them know the next town lay three miles further on.
“If it’s all right with you,” she said, turning to look at him, “I’d like to stop at French Creek. I always like to top off the tank, check the car and get a bite to eat before I head into the mountains. Cabin’s still about three hours away and it makes a nice stopping place.”
“Well, since you’re the only one who knows where we are or where we’re going, I guess we’d better do it your way.”
Inside, Elgin grinned. She’d deliberately given him only sketchy directions. He liked doing things “Harm’s Way,” and she knew it must gall him not to be in control.
Get used to it, she thought maliciously. This is only the beginning.
The off-ramp curved to the right and became the main street of French Creek. A smallish, old-fashioned coffee shop called The Maple Grove and an adjoining gas station, a small market across the two-lane blacktop street, a few shops and a little post office completed the town.
At her direction, he pulled into the gravel parking lot of the restaurant and alighted. She stretched, raising the hem of her shirt and showing a couple of inches of pale, bare skin.
Soft, I’ll bet. The rogue thought vanished almost as soon as it appeared, but it surprised him even so.
Inside, the almost deserted shop consisted of large picture windows on either side of the glass entrance, a few scattered tables, three booths and a row of red stools in front of the white laminated counter. The walls were covered in knotty pine paneling, sharing their space with large framed photographs of what he supposed were the surrounding mountains and forests and advertising signs of all kinds, some modern, some not so modern. Cooking aromas hung in the air, completing the homey, Grandma’s kitchen sense of the place.
They slid into opposite sides of a high backed, knotty pine booth and almost instantly, a chubby, matronly woman appeared, a large floral apron covering her tee shirt and jeans.
“Mornin’ folks,” she remarked cheerfully. “Getcha somethin’ to drink?”
“Coffee, please,” Elgin answered.
“Make that two.”
“Okay then. Be right back.”
The menus were small, tucked neatly behind the stainless steel napkin holder.
“What’s good?” he asked scanning the page.
“If I were you, I’d definitely have the Country Breakfast. It’s the one at the top.”
“Juice, three eggs, any style, choice of ham, link or patty sausage, or bacon,” he read. “Cottage fries, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, grits or seasonal fruit, toast, English Muffins, short stack of pancakes or homemade biscuits and fresh preserves.”
“That sounds pretty good,” he said. “I’m hungry too.”
The woman arrived with their coffee. “Now, what ken I getcha?” She poised her pencil stub over her order pad and looked expectantly at Elgin.
“I’ll have the Good Morning platter, please. Scrambled eggs, bacon, fruit cup and biscuit.”
“And you?”
“I’ll have your Country Breakfast, please. Orange juice, eggs over easy, link sausage, cottage fries and fruit please and a double order of biscuits and preserves.”
“You must be hungry,” the waitress commented as she finished scribbling.
In a moment, she returned with a water glass of orange juice.
Harm, expecting a juice glass half the size, looked at it quizzically and then at Elgin.
“I guess you looked like you needed extra vitamin C,” she responded, trying not to giggle.
Shrugging, he drained the glass in a few gulps and replaced the glass.
“So, you say your place is about another three hours?”
“Uh-huh.”
The door opened and a man and woman came in, dressed in jeans and T-shirts. They took a table on the other side of the room. The waitress went to their table.
“Howdy folks,” she greeted them brightly. He ordered coffee and she ordered tea and the waitress retreated again.
After bringing the newcomers their drinks and taking their orders, she reappeared at their table, burdened with platters and smaller dishes.
“Okay, here ya go,” she grunted, retrieving plates and placing them on the table. “One Good Mornin’ and one Country.” She set a regular sized dinner plate in front of Elgin and a serving platter in front of Harm and a soup bowl of mixed fruit off to the side. A covered basket, two tubs of butter and a rack of small glass jelly jars, red, orange and purple.
“Getcha anything else?” she inquired. “Catsup er hot sauce fer yer eggs? More coffee?”
“No, I think we’re fine.”
“Well, you holler if you need somethin’. Enjoy.”
Harm stared at the mountain of food facing him.
“Christ,” he exclaimed in a hushed whisper, “look at this. These must be ostrich eggs. And there’s gotta be half a pound of sausage here. I didn’t realize when they said ‘Country’ they meant enough food to feed one.”
“Well, I’m sure you can handle it.”
He could almost feel the sharp point of her jab. She was making fun of him, convinced he couldn’t get it all down. Well he’d show her.
They ate in silence but he could almost hear her counting the bites, waiting for him to throw in the towel and admit defeat. Fuck you, bitch.
She sipped her second cup of coffee when he finally forced down the last bite of potato and dropped his fork.
“Whew,” he breathed, “that’s quite a feed.”
“I’m surprised you finished it,” she purred. “Takes quite a man to handle the big jobs.”
“Yeah, well if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to see a man about a horse.”
He stood and looked around the room.
“In the back,” she helped. “Down the hall, all the way to the end. Can’t miss it. Got a picture of ‘John’ Wayne on the door.”
Stuffed, he could barely move and the men’s room seemed to be on the other side of the moon. Inside, he checked the single stall and went to the urinal. A few moments later, the door opened and the other male patron took his place beside Harm.
“Anything?” the stranger asked.
“Just that we’re still about three hours from wherever we’re going. We stopped here to eat and top off the tank before we start into the mountains.”
“Jan’s keeping an eye on her. When our friend hits the powder room, she’ll try and strike up a conversation. See if anything drops.”
“Wave her off,” Harm replied. “She’s a smart cookie and despite the façade, she’s nervous as a cat. Caught her watching our back practically as often as me. If she sees you coming in here and then Jan starts asking questions, she’s bound to add it up. I don’t want to take any chances on blowing this. Again.”
“Okay. We’ll peel off here then. GPS is tracking you from about two miles back. We’ll keep in touch.”
“Thanks.”
Finished, Harm washed his hands and left, still weighed down with the enormous breakfast. It had been a stupid, childish thing, he realized now, taking her up on what had amounted to a dare. Something Jeanne might have…
Stop it, he told himself, angry that she’d surfaced so unexpectedly, especially in the same thought as this woman.
Returning to the main dining room, Harm saw that the booth and the table were empty. Oh well, it couldn’t be helped. Women used the restroom in places like this and perhaps Jan could glean something useful in passing.
Raising his hand, he signaled to the waitress.
“Can I have our check please?”
“Lady already paid it,” she answered uncertainly. “Right after you went to the men’s room, she asked for the check, got up and went down the hall. Expect she’s in the ladies.”
“Thanks.”
A couple more minutes went by and Harm checked his watch again. Why the hell did women always take so long in the bathroom?
Jan appeared at the other table but didn’t sit down. Instead, she threw Harm a panicked glance and tilted her head ever so slightly toward the rest rooms. Picking up her jacket, she moved back down the hall. After waiting a few seconds, he stood, stretched and followed her, trying to appear casual and unhurried.
He found her just around the corner, pretending to use the pay phone.
“She’s gone,” Jan blurted out, anxiety and fear making her voice a harsh whisper.