When they reached the tall modern apartment building where she lived, Mark parked in front of it. As he tossed her a smile, she saw that one stray curl had fallen down on his forehead again, and she felt a strong urge to reach out and brush it back.
“Here we are.” His black hair shimmered under the interior light as he opened his door.
He came around and opened the car door for her, putting his hand casually on the small of her back as they walked up to the main door.
The night air had grown chilly, and the wind moving the bare tree branches overhead made circles of shadows under the street lights.
She turned to thank him for bringing her home. Her breath caught sharply as she met his warm gaze, and saw desire written there. Her lips parting in response, she looked up at him.
He bent and his lips met hers, sending electric sensations sailing down to her middle. Her hands reached up and she buried her fingers in his hair, as she’d wanted to all evening. It felt silky, yet springy and alive. She stroked those curls even as his lips stroked her lips. When he lifted his head to gaze in wonder into her eyes, she caught her breath, and pulled her hands down in embarrassment.
She murmured goodnight in as normal a voice as she could manage. She stepped inside, closed the door, and leaning back against it, listened for the sound of his motor as he left.
She pulled her red wool coat closer to her throat, as though its warmth could slow her rapidly beating heart.
He had not asked to see her again, but he knew where she lived, and she was certain he would call.
“Lacey?” The pudgy, round face of her landlord peered at her from his office door down the hall. His black hair was more disheveled than usual, and he appeared distraught.
“Ah, home at last. You’re late tonight. It’s after midnight.”
She straightened and stepped toward him, his voice bringing her back to earth. What did he want now? And since when did he keep track of what time she got home? It was none of his business.
“You’re up late yourself, Mr. Evers. Is something wrong?”
“You guessed it. Had a break-in tonight. First time for this brand new building. Thought I got away from that stuff when I left that run-down neighborhood and landed this job. Just goes to show you.”
“My apartment?” she interrupted, knowing the answer before he gave it. Why else was he waiting up for her to get home?
“Yes, only yours.” The usual unlit stub of a cigar hung from his lips, wriggling as he spoke. “The police just left.”
“Only my apartment? How did a burglar get into our secured building? Did you catch him?” Lacey nearly ran to the elevator and punched the up button.
Evers was right behind her. The doors opened immediately and they got on, Evers still talking. “I don’t know how he got in. Nobody saw anybody. But Mrs. Johnson, next door to you, called me. She noticed the lock on your door was broken when she came home just after ten. As soon as I looked in, I called the police.”
They glided smoothly to the sixth floor. “Why go clear up to sixth floor and not break into the lower apartments?”
“Beats me. Looks like it was someone who knew you and was ’specially looking for something. Keep anything valuable there? Most people use safety deposit boxes at a bank.” He frowned disapprovingly at her, his black bushy eyebrows almost hiding his dark brown eyes.
“I don’t own anything valuable,” she denied. “And no one I know would steal from me,” she added as the elevator stopped.
Evers shrugged. “The detective said you was to call him as soon as you looked around and let him know what is missing for his report. I couldn’t tell him what was missing. Don’t know what you had or didn’t have.”
“Of course.”
“Made kind of a mess, though, dumped out drawers and stuff like that,” he added, puffing as he tried to keep up with her as she hurried down the hall to her apartment. The door was closed, but the lock was broken so it opened freely under her hand.
She stopped inside the door, groaning as she surveyed the mess. Lamps were overturned and broken, sofa cushions were slashed and strewn on the floor and all her books were pulled out of her bookcase, lying in a haphazard pile on the beige carpet.
“Oh, no.” She rubbed her suddenly cold cheek, feeling sick to her stomach as she looked around her usually neat apartment. It would take days to straighten out this disaster.
She stepped carefully through the mess to check her desk, but could see nothing missing. Odd. Her bank savings book and the box of blank checks for her checking account were still in the drawer where she’d left them, even though it had been messed up as though someone had looked through it.
Why hadn’t the burglar taken them? Just overlooked? Or had he considered them too easy to trace?
She ignored Evers dark eyes watching her and walked through to her bedroom. Here, too, drawers were open, with clothes hanging out. The mattress was pushed off as though someone had searched under it, and bedding strewn on the floor. She walked over to her bureau.
Everything in her jewelry box was there, just as she’d left it. Not valuable enough to steal? Then why break in at all? Not that she had much jewelry. Just a few things were real: her grandmother’s antique gold chain, the wedding ring set that she hadn’t worn since her divorce, and the set of emerald earrings which Uncle Henry had given her for Christmas last year. She checked for each of those, sighing in relief when she saw them.
She turned to find Evers in the doorway, still chewing on his dead cigar stub. “Everything seems to be still here,” she said in a puzzled voice.
“That’s what the detective said. Said he thought it was funny he left the bank stuff and jewelry. ’Course we didn’t know what else you might have had.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, swallowing her anger at the idea of the two of them going through her apartment. She felt violated, used. First the burglar, snooping through her things, looking for who knows what, and then Evers and the policeman. She blushed as she realized a lacy pair of panties was hanging out of the bureau drawer next to her. She pushed them out of sight and closed the drawer.
Evers backed his bulky body out of her bedroom as she lifted her chin and stepped past him to return to the less personal atmosphere of the living room.
“Here’s the number of that detective. He said to call him right away, no matter how late. He’s on the night shift,” Evers insisted.
“Thank you, I’ll do that in a few minutes. I think I’ll make myself some tea first,” she said, glad to see he looked ready to leave.
“He broke the phone. I’ll get you another one first thing in the morning. Meantime, you can use the pay phone in the entrance hall downstairs. I’ll have a new lock put on your door tomorrow. Until then, that chain I put on should do okay.”
“Thank you, Mr. Evers. Goodnight.” Lacey closed and chained the door after him with a shudder of relief. Her building manager gave her the creeps, and she avoided him whenever possible.
Going to the kitchen, she made herself a cup of tea, her favorite cure-all for soothing upset feelings. She carried it back to her favorite easy chair and sank down into it and gratefully sipped the hot tea.
It could have been worse. You could have been here when he broke in and you might have been hurt. She looked around, fighting tears of anger and frustration. She had planned to go directly from work to Uncle Henry’s cabin tomorrow afternoon, but now she had to deal with all this. Thinking of Uncle Henry made her glance at the wall above her desk, where she’d hung The Lone Wolf print which he’d given her mother.
The wall was bare. Catching her breath, she put down her cup and saucer, got up and looked carefully through the messy room, picking up sofa cushions and newspapers, anything large enough to cover the picture. It wasn’t there.
She went downstairs to the pay phone and dialed the detective, explaining to him as well as she could. He sounded efficient and sympathetic, yet not hopeful that the burglar would be caught.
“Rather an odd thing to take,” he mused. “Was the picture valuable, by any chance? Perhaps an original rather than a print copy?”
“No, I’m sure it was just a cheap copy. I rescued it from my mother’s garage sale a couple of years ago. It had only sentimental value, really. My uncle especially liked that painting. He had a collection of different lithograph print copies of it, and he’d given that copy to my mother.”
“He gave it to your mother, yet it had sentimental value for you, but not for your mother?”
“Yes. I liked it, but she didn’t,” she said coldly, refusing to elaborate. The guy was sharp. But she was not about to explain the family quarrels to this stranger. Her mother and Uncle Henry’s estrangement could have nothing to do with this anyway.
Back in her apartment she sat on her sofa to think, unable to summon the energy to start cleaning up the mess.
She remembered the day she’d seen that The Lone Wolf print on the table with odd bits of dishes, clothes, toys, and old lamps her mother had put out in the garage, to get rid of before moving to Florida.
She’d picked up the old print with its scrolled metal frame, and exclaimed in astonishment, “Mother. You’re not getting rid of this? It was one of Uncle Henry’s best copies.”
“You know I’ve never liked that lonely winter landscape. Henry collects the oddest things. I can’t take all this old stuff to Carl’s elegant house in Florida. It won’t fit in with his lovely things.” Her mother’s lips pursed stubbornly. Lacey knew that look said, ‘Don’t argue with me.’
“May I have it?”
“Help yourself. I told you and your brother before to keep anything you wanted,” Kate said with a shrug.
So Lacey had carried it out to her car, wanting it badly enough to spite Kate’s displeasure with her action. She knew Kate’s feelings in the matter had more to do with her quarrel with her brother Henry than with her dislike of the picture.
Sighing, Lacey glanced at the clock. Almost one a.m., and she had to be at work at eight in the morning. There never seemed to be enough time. She really ought to stay here and work on her apartment instead of going out to Uncle Henry’s tomorrow night. She could call him and go out Saturday afternoon instead. That would give her tomorrow night and Saturday morning to put this place back in order.
Yes, that’s what she’d do. Whatever the hurry was, Henry would understand, and his customer would just have to wait another day for his information. What little she’d found certainly wasn’t that important anyway.
The next morning she almost missed the last bus that would get her to work on time. Several times during her work day, she found the image of Mark’s blue eyes and black hair replacing the images on her screen and her fingers would stop typing.
Once she caught herself with fingers on her lips, reliving his kiss, and shook herself to quiet her rapidly beating heart. “You’re dreaming worse than a teenager,” she scolded herself. But she couldn’t help wondering what he was doing, and whether she would ever see him again.
Of course, she mused, when she saw Uncle Henry tomorrow night, she could steer the conversation around to him. She smiled to herself at the comforting thought. Mark had accused Uncle Henry of planning their meeting once, hadn’t he? Well, next time it would be the truth if she hinted to Henry that she liked Mark. Henry was a born matchmaker.
Not that she wanted a match, mind you. Just to get to know him a little better. She’d never met anyone whose kiss could throw her like that. He seemed very warmhearted, nice and interesting, besides. Most men weren’t nice or interesting. Interested, of course. But that turned her off.
She jumped as the phone rang, calling her back to work.
It was noon before she remembered she hadn’t told Henry about her changed plans. She dialed several times during her lunch hour. But there was no answer at either his shop or cabin.
Perhaps he was out attending an auction, or having coffee with a friend. Half of his business seemed to be conducted over coffee or a card game, she reminded herself, disappointed. She tried several more times throughout the afternoon, with the same results. I’ll call him tonight. Or when I don’t arrive, he’ll call me.
When she returned home at six, she found the lock still broken. Honestly, that manager. Her apartment had been unlocked all day. Some security in this building.
She walked in and groaned anew at the sight of the mess. But as far as she could tell, everything was as she had left it that morning. Wishing she had time to wash them first, she changed into a comfortable pair of slacks and blouse, wondering with a shudder if the burglar’s hands had touched them. Exchanging her high heels for slippers, she went back to the kitchen to put on the coffee.
Although the cupboard doors and drawers had been left open as though searched, the kitchen had been left relatively neat. At least here there was some semblance of normality left.
She decided to fix something to eat before beginning on the cleaning. Something quick and easy. She broke a couple of eggs into a bowl and found some cheese and a slice of ham to make an omelet.
The doorbell jangled. Sighing, she went to open the door, fully expecting Mrs. Johnson or one of her other neighbors with lots of questions.
Instead Mark Lantro stood there.
“Mark.” She stared at him open-mouthed, not even aware that she had used his first name in the familiar way she had grown used to thinking of him.
He grinned and drawled, “Are you that surprised, Lacey?”
She snapped her mouth closed and gasped, “Yes, I mean, what are you doing here? And how did you get in? I didn’t press the outside buzzer.”
“I came in behind someone else, with a smile and a hello. Works every time. I got your apartment number from the mailbox downstairs. What happened to your door?” he frowned down at the broken lock.
“Someone broke in before I got home last night,” she explained, closing the door after him.
“Wow, I guess,” he exclaimed. He walked in and looked around. “I should have come in with you. Did you lose much?”
“No.”
“I brought you your briefcase,” he said, handing it to her. “You left it in my car last night.”
Her gaze, which had been preoccupied with drinking in the wonderfully casual look of him in navy slacks and soft blue sweater, shifted to the briefcase he was holding out to her.
“Oh, did I? I...I guess I’d forgotten all about it.” She certainly couldn’t add that she’d forgotten it because he’d had her full attention last night. She’d been incapable of remembering mundane things like briefcases.
She took it, and the action brought her back to earth.
He looked at her, frowning. “I knew you wouldn’t want to disappoint your Uncle Henry. In fact, I’m surprised you’re still here. I was afraid you’d have gone to his cabin for the weekend.”
“I am going to Uncle Henry’s, tomorrow. I have to get a bit organized here, first. Come on into the kitchen.” She turned and led the way, indicating the stools at the kitchen counter, and laying down the briefcase.
“Coffee?” she asked, trying to still the quaver in her voice. At his nod, she took out another cup and filled it, then refilled her own and sipped it, trying to act natural, while wondering why he made her feel so ill at ease.
“Tell me about last night.” He sipped the coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup.
His brows dipped thoughtfully as she told him all about it, including the missing The Lone Wolf print. “An odd coincidence, or maybe not a coincidence. There may be a connection. What did Henry say about it?”
“I haven’t been able to reach him today.”
“That’s odd.”
“I tried several times at the office. I’ll try again. I just got home a few minutes ago,” she explained.
“Give me the number. I’ll do it while you’re finishing that. Then I’ll help you clean up this mess,” he directed.
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not?”
“I hardly know you.”
“You’d let a neighbor help you in Landers, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s different.”
“I’m Henry’s neighbor in Landers. Pretend we’re there instead of here in Minneapolis,” he said with a grin.
She laughed, giving in. “All right,” she said. Though his bossiness made her bristle, she was grateful for his offer of help. It would be a big job straightening up.
She wrote the number on a pad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to him. “You’ll have to use the pay phone downstairs. The burglar broke my phone. It’s part of my apartment furnishings, so my landlord promised me another but hasn’t brought it yet. I should have known he wouldn’t and just bought an extra one at noon.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m making an omelet. Would you like some?”
“Sounds great,” he said over his shoulder as he headed for the phone.
She made a second omelet and turned the first. By the time she’d carefully turned the omelets out onto plates and toasted some raisin English muffins, he was back. She looked up questioningly.
“Still no answer. But of course, by this time of night, he could be at one of the other guys’ houses playing cards.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, but couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice. Too many odd things were happening too close together lately.
“Ready for more coffee?” he asked. He came up behind her and, resting his left hand on her arm, reached past her to take the server from its stand.
“Yes.” Did he notice the tremor of awareness at the touch of his long fingers on her arm?
She tried to force her mind to work, casting around for a safe conversational topic as she carried the food to the table she had set in the little breakfast nook, and then sat down across from him.
“How did you meet Henry?” Her gaze rested on his athletic frame as she voiced one of the questions she’d been wondering about.
“We were both bidding on the same lamp at an antique auction near Landers last summer. And both too stubborn to quit.”
She smiled at the mental image. “Who finally won?”
“He did. But only because he’d gone over my budget.”
Mark insisted on washing the dishes as she wiped them and put them away, then they attacked the mess in the living room.
“I’ll do the bookcase first,” he decided.
Lacey returned papers to her desk drawers, leaving the final sorting of them for another time. Then she stuffed the hamper with the washable clothes. She returned other things to the drawers and closets. He finished the books and swept up the broken glass from the lamps and knickknacks. Luckily, the overhead light from the kitchen gave them enough light to work by until she could replace the lamps. It went surprisingly fast with two of them working, although she knew she hadn’t taken time to properly fold clothes or sort things like they had been before. But at least the outward appearance of the rooms had some semblance of order again.
“Did you notice anything else missing?” Mark asked as she got them a soda.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe anyone would make such a mess here and then take only a picture that was hanging in plain sight all along,” she said.
“That’s what I was thinking. If he wasn’t after money or valuable jewelry, what was he looking for?”
They carried their drinks back to the living room and sat down on her sofa.
“Perhaps he only wanted to make a mess for me. There doesn’t seem to be much purpose to it at all.”
“Or perhaps he wanted to give the illusion of a search, when he really didn’t search for anything.”
“Like throwing out a red herring?”
“Yes. Or maybe he thought you had something you don’t. But what?”
“I don’t know,” Lacey sighed, sipping her soda. She slipped off her shoes and stretched her toes.
“You said the detective thought it might be someone you knew?” Mark pressed, watching her guardedly.
She nodded wearily. “But that’s impossible. None of my friends would think I had anything worth stealing. They all know I’m not rich.”
“This is a lovely apartment in a large, new building. Maybe someone mistook your apartment for someone else’s.”
“Maybe,” she said, her voice cheering up at this possibility.
“Then why take The Lone Wolf print?”
“You’re right, of course. It has to tie in with Uncle Henry somehow. I don’t believe in coincidences. That’s too handy an explanation.”
“Maybe it will make sense when you talk to Henry tomorrow. I’d better get going. I have an early morning appointment.” He set his empty glass down on the coffee table and stood up, stretching. Her gaze slid along the rippling muscles of his back and she itched to run her fingers over them and through those black curls along his shirt collar. She swallowed and set her half-empty glass down beside his.
“On Saturday morning?”
“Yes. One of my students wants some extra help. He’s really trying hard, so I feel I should give it to him. He has an extra job too, so it’s hard to find a time to meet.”
“I see. Thanks so much for your help.” She rose, so close beside him that his warmth touched her arm, but he made no move toward her. Instead he moved to the door, picked up his deerskin jacket and shrugged into it.
“Thanks for returning my briefcase, too,” she said, following him to the door with a definite sense of disappointment.
As he was about to leave, he turned. Her breath caught as his brilliant blue gaze met hers for a long moment. The warm current which had been flowing between them all evening as they worked seemed almost alive. Would he deny it this time and turn away again?
He reached out and pulled her into his arms. His firm lips met hers, and she found herself responding to his kiss as she’d been waiting to do for hours. Heat coiled low in her body as their tongues met and teased each other. Her hands slid inside his open jacket and her arms went round him. The long vibrant sensations went on and on.
Then he gently pulled away, and with a hoarsely murmured goodnight, he was gone. With a deep sense of loss, she replaced the chain on her door and went back to the sofa.
Picking up her unfinished soda, she sipped it thoughtfully. He was quite a man. One she would definitely like to see more of.
Then she shook herself. No. She was not going to let herself get interested in another man. Relationships always ended.