Chapter Ten

The cleaning woman’s feet were only inches away. Faith saw dirt ridges in the folds of the white sport socks and double knots securing the laces. The wet spots under her arms grew cold in the rush of outside air.

The door shut. She squeezed her eyes closed. Thank you, God.

The shoes squeaked as the woman walked away. She shook out the clean towel with a snap.

The vacuum noise stopped. The woman in the bathroom called out, “The floor is okay here. Leave it be until tomorrow.” She walked to the door and the light went out.

Spanish chatter came from the office. The scent of lemony furniture polish.

Minutes passed that seemed like an eternity. Wheels squeaked, maybe on the vacuum. The office lights went out, and the outer door clicked closed.

Faith’s heart hammered, and her blood roared in her ears. Her buttocks hurt from the hard floor. The darkness closed in, and her hands trembled. She counted off thirty seconds. The cleaning crew should be gone.

She shifted her weight, freed an arm, reached between the toilet paper packs and pushed against the door. It swung open. She dropped onto the floor on her side and pushed her body from the closet by levering her feet against the back wall.

Pins and needles prickled her legs and arms. She lay on the floor and rubbed her extremities, gritting her teeth against the painful surge of blood as her circulation returned.

When the numbness and pain lessened, she stood, flicked on the light, kicked the toilet paper back into the closet and shut the door. She turned out the light and stood silent for ten more seconds. The only sound was the whir of the air conditioning fan. Torrents of cold blew over the perspiration-soaked dress plastered to her back and goose flesh prickled her arms. She shivered, extended her fingers, and felt her way out of the bathroom.

The office was dark. Scary dark. She ran her hand over the wall, groping for a light switch. Nothing. Hands in front of her like a blind woman, she crept in the direction of the exterior door. Her fingertips scraped a wall. She bumped a piece of furniture. Something heavy slammed onto her foot. Pain exploded in her arch, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

The intense pain radiated up her leg. She couldn’t move. Tears stung her eyes. She sank cross-legged onto the floor and rubbed her bruised bones. Was anything broken?

Please beam me up and get me out of this nightmare. Or at the very least, let the sun rise and take away the darkness.

The thought of sunrise jolted her brain. Her time in the closet had seemed like an eternity but probably wasn’t. Oh, crap, how long had she been in the office? She sucked in a breath and lit up her watch display. Nine forty-six. She pictured a night watchman locking the back door and trapping her inside the store, and quickly pushed to her feet. She had no time to feel sorry for herself or lick her wounds. She had to get the hell out of here.

Running a hand along the smooth wall and gingerly stepping on her throbbing foot, she felt her way toward the exit. Her fingers touched a door casing, and she slid them lower. Switches. She flicked the lights on and huffed out a sigh of relief as the demons of darkness retreated.

Her heartbeat a little steadier, she turned and scanned the carpet behind her. A bronze statue of a horse lay on its side. She hobbled over and set it on the nearby table. Then reluctantly turning off the lights again, she pressed her ear to the door. Quiet.

Faith cracked the door open and scanned the outer office. Empty. She wiped her sweaty forehead with her sleeve, pulled the door shut behind her, and limped away.

After the penthouse elevator doors whooshed shut and the car started to descend, Faith slipped off her gloves and stuffed them into her pockets. Her hands still shook and she clutched them together. One more elevator then she’d be out of the building and safe. She was close to getting away with breaking and entering.

Shame rolled through her in massive waves.

The elevator stopped. Head down, she scanned the corridor. Empty. She switched elevators and held her breath until the cab stopped in the lobby. Rushing to the back door that was the only unalarmed exit, she retraced her actions of the last couple hours and shivered in shock.

She’d become a criminal. After twenty-five years of her mother trying to raise her to be a good person, she’d met Victor, and in less than two weeks, given in to her tainted genes.

…

She hurried home, staying in the bright circles cast by the streetlights and watching every shadowed entryway and alley for any hint of danger. She wanted to run like a sinner stalked by the devil. No, control your pace, don’t attract attention.

Once she’d secured the locks on her apartment door, adrenaline stopped spurting into her veins. Her legs felt rubbery, her body drained of energy. She wanted to sink to the floor and cry. She’d been through a hellish night, all for naught.

She looked down at her outfit. The spider web. The closet floor. Eyeing her bed longingly, she kept herself upright, stripped off her cleaning woman disguise, shuffled into the bathroom, and turned on the shower.

Faith stepped under the steaming spray. The cleansing water soaked her hair, cascaded off her shoulders, and rolled down her back. She closed her eyes, raised her face to the pounding spray. The sounds she’d heard from the bathroom closet echoed in her skull. Images of the sex in Victor’s office assaulted her brain.

A chill rippled up her back, and she adjusted the water temperature until it threatened to singe her skin. Steam enveloped her. She grabbed the soap and washcloth and scrubbed, wishing she could eradicate the foul sounds and images, dislodge every trace, and rinse them down the drain.

Refusing to rerun the mental sex tape again, she shoved back the memories and concentrated on the conversation afterward. Why would Victor instruct the woman to buy something then return it?

She pondered the question while she shampooed her hair, but found no logical answer. She rinsed her hair and banished the incident from her mind. Gifts to a mistress were part of a sleazy, but legal, lifestyle. What she needed was a confession to the rape he’d committed or concrete proof of another crime.

Feeling marginally cleaner, she turned off the water and stepped from the shower. A rapping noise. Someone knocking on her door?

Her skin prickled. She didn’t know anyone who would visit this late. Maybe the building was on fire!

She grabbed a towel and turbaned it around her dripping hair. “Coming.”

As she rushed toward the door, she slipped on a long fluffy robe, and cinched the belt around her waist. Her heart pounded. If not a fire, what other emergency?

The police.

She froze, staring at the closed door. Her heart seized up and refused to beat. Her chin trembled. Had they recognized her on the security tapes and come to drag her off to jail? She hadn’t checked the office for surveillance equipment. Was there a separate system that had caught her every move?

Too late to worry about it now. One door to her apartment. No way to escape.

Faith tiptoed to the door and peered through the peephole.

Kent.

Her breath whooshed out. Tears of relief rushed to her eyes. She stood gulping oxygen. When she’d regained her composure, she cracked the door on the security chain. “What in the world are you doing here?”

He leaned and looked in through the crack. “Hi, can I come in?”

“Ah…” Questions zinged through her mind. Why had he come here and how did he get past the security gate in the lobby? Did he know where she’d been tonight? Were the police on their way?

“I stopped by your office earlier, but you were nowhere around,” he said, looking sheepish. “Your phone went to voicemail. I was worried when you didn’t answer. You said you weren’t dating, and it’s not safe for a woman to be out wandering the streets alone at night.”

Her mind flashed on a young girl who’d been out alone. Been raped. Swallowing hard, she came back to the present and searched for something reasonable to say. She grabbed the first excuse for her absence that popped into her mind.

“I walked to the library. Turned off my phone so it wouldn’t make noise.”

A library visit was believable. She had books stacked on every flat surface in the room. But instantly she regretted her choice. Faith would go to the library and be happy browsing the stacks for hours, but Kent knew her as social-butterfly Josie.

He seemed unfazed. “That’s a relief. The only other explanation I had for your disappearance was that you were at the store looking for company secrets in the corporate offices.” He gave her a penetrating look, paused, and then chuckled. “Well, now that I’m here and you’re safe, could I come in?”

She gulped. He’d made the remark about corporate offices as if he were joking, but it was too close to the truth for comfort.

When she didn’t move or speak, he frowned. “May I?”

The question was more daunting than it should be. Having dinner with him was a far cry than inviting him into her apartment late at night, especially when she was naked under her robe and had just finished breaking the law.

But worrying about her was a sweet gesture. She’d be rude to send him away.

Her instinctive response as Faith warred with what she should probably do as Josie. He wasn’t a complete stranger. Turning him away might make him suspicious. “Just a second, I need to get dressed.”

She shut the door and glanced toward her closet. Her gaze landed on the pile of discarded cleaning woman clothing with the gray wig conspicuously on top. Yikes!

Biting down on her bottom lip, she ran to the pile, gathered the evidence of her clandestine activities, and stuffed them into the farthest corner of the closet. She scanned the room. Was anything else incriminating? The rubber-soled shoes. She tossed them into the closet, too, and slammed the door. Anything else? No, the room looked clean.

Her pulse pounded in her veins. She’d already kept Kent standing in the hallway too long. He’d wonder what was taking her so long. No time now to dress. She’d thank him for his concern and send him home quickly.

She stepped into pajama bottoms, cinched the robe tighter around her waist, slipped the security chain, and opened the door.

He flashed her a smile and stepped inside. “I could have driven you to the library if you’d said something.”

She left the door open. Better safe than sorry.

“Thank you for offering, but it’s not that far. I’m sure you would have been bored.”

“Actually not. I read quite a bit.”

His gaze seemed overly intent, and she wrapped her arms across her chest.

He cocked his head to one side and looked puzzled. “Your eyes are brown.”

Her blue contact lenses! She’d taken them out.

“I wear tinted contact lenses once in a while,” she said, tamping down panic and forcing a laugh. “It’s fun to change your eye or hair color occasionally. Tonight I decided brown eyes fit my mood.”

“I like the color, it goes with your skin tones. Your natural blue is beautiful, but the brown is soft and warm.”

She swallowed hard. Get him off my eye color. “What do you like to read?”

His gaze slipped from her face and wandered around the room, stopped at a pile of books. An expression of something like relief came over his face. “Mysteries, adventure, sci-fi. A lot of nonfiction. What about you?”

“You’d probably call it woman’s fiction. Family sagas, stories of life, love, friendships. Once in a while, I enjoy sci-fi or a techno-thriller.”

She realized she should ask him to sit, but resisted the impulse. Her nerves were too raw for small talk or banter, and his presence in her living room was discomforting. He was dressed casually in neatly pressed slacks, boat shoes, and a maroon Izod shirt. But as usual, he oozed sex appeal. She’d be smartest to keep a distance between them and give him the bum’s rush out her door.

When he swung his gaze back to her face, she blurted, “I don’t understand, Kent. Why are you here?”

His expression turned serious. He shook his head. “In all honesty, I don’t know.”

He held her gaze for a long minute, then raised his hands, and removed the towel from her head.

She froze. Her breath caught in her throat. What in the world was he doing?

He worked his fingers into her hair and his face softened. “On second thought, maybe I do.”

His fingertips smoothed the tangles in her hair and caressed her scalp. Awareness curled low in her belly. She instinctively knew what he would do next.

He lowered his mouth to hers. Warm. Soft.

A quiver shook her frame. She raised her palms to his chest to push him away, but her arms seemed to move of their own accord, circling his neck. She stretched onto her tiptoes and pressed their bodies closer. Parted her lips.

His tongue found hers. Her knees went to jelly. Erotic sensations spiraled through her torso.

He slipped his hands down to her neck, around to the opening of her robe. His thumbs rubbed across her collarbone, setting her insides aflame.

She struggled for air and control. Longing warred with reason. Some primal instinct sent blood rushing through her veins, made her skin sensitive, sparked a physical craving like none she’d known before.

He broke their kiss and captured her eyes. His raspy voice seemed to caress her entire being. “You’ve become important to me. I came here tonight because I want to be with you, Josie.”

Josie.

The name slapped her in the face. She jerked back to reality and schooled her expression. He’d kissed her, but he didn’t even know who she was. He didn’t want her. He wanted a mirage, someone who didn’t exist. A woman who was half Faith, half Josie. 100 percent phony.

Little daggers jabbed her heart. She backed away from him and clutched her robe at her neck, raising the collar and closing it tight. “I’m sorry, Kent. I think you’d better go.”

He nodded and then smiled sadly. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I value your friendship. I was foolish to come here uninvited this late at night and put our relationship at risk. Forgive me?”

He looked so contrite that she wanted to take him into her arms and soothe him. She gulped and nodded. “Forgiven.” She stepped to the door and held it open, fighting back the urge to cry. “Good night.”

He huffed out his breath. “Good night. Pleasant dreams.” Then he walked out the door leaving his masculine scent perfuming the air, his taste lingering in her mouth, and a terrible loneliness in her soul.

…

At the end of the hallway, Kent punched the call button for the elevator and tapped his foot until it arrived. After making a fool of yourself, it was always best to make a quick exit.

When the doors were shut and the cab started down, he balled his hands into fists and tapped them on his thighs. What the hell had he been thinking? She hadn’t been out playing Mata Hari. She’d gone to the library. For heaven’s sakes, why had he shown up here at her apartment at this hour of the night?

He stabbed his hand through his hair. His suspicions were a handy excuse. And yes, he’d been a little concerned because she was new in town and might not be familiar with which neighborhoods should be avoided at night, but there was really no contest about his true motive. He’d just plain wanted to see her.

Damn it! The woman turned him inside out. Less than five minutes with her and he was a disaster. With one kiss, she’d managed to shake loose emotions he didn’t know he had. What the hell was she, some kind of mythical siren trying to lure him onto the rocks?

The elevator reached the lobby. He stomped off and out the building’s front door, stepped off the sidewalk and into the traffic. A horn blasted. A man yelled an obscenity out his window. Staring straight ahead, Kent stepped onto the curb on the far side of the road and headed for the Mustang.

For Christ’s sake. He was supposed to be the one in control. He was supposed to be the one throwing her off balance. Every other woman he’d known had always fawned over him.

He got in his car and slammed the door. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was falling in love. Well, he did know better. He wasn’t crazy enough to fall in love. All this acting like an idiot teenager with raging hormones had to end here and now. He had to regain his sanity.

Jamming the key into the ignition, he started the engine, peeled out of the parking spot, and rammed the gas pedal to the floor.

Teeth grinding, he vowed he would get a grip. There would be no more asinine visits to her apartment like a pathetic puppy.

…

In the morning, Faith sat behind her desk feeling jumpy as hell and regretting last night’s excursion into Victor’s office. She thought of the duplicate key sitting on her kitchen counter at home and resolved never to use it again.

Footsteps approached her office door and her pulse spiked. A man walked by without even glancing inside. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Something dropped with a loud noise. She jerked backward. Her elbow hit her morning coffee. It spilled and soaked her muffin. She dropped the soggy mess into her trashcan, clenched her jaw, and tried to bury herself in work.

Her feet jiggled, and she couldn’t sit still. Her brain seemed short-circuited, and her fingers kept striking the wrong keys. The minutes ticked by. Nine o’clock. Ten o’clock. Eleven o’clock. Lunchtime came and went. No one came to drag her away to jail.

By the time the second hand swept up to the twelve and made it officially five o’clock, she felt like she’d run a triathlon. She straightened up her office and went home, looking forward to changing into pajamas, slipping into bed, and cuddling up with a book.

She remembered Kent’s words about liking to read and imagined him, head propped on a pile of pillows, chest bare, stretched out beside her. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. If Kent were lying in bed beside her, she doubted they would be reading.

A tiny pang of sorrow squeezed her heart. She hadn’t seen him all day. Maybe after she’d sent him away last night he’d never come back. Her mind was a frenzy of confusion. Suddenly, her fatigue seemed overwhelming.

The walk home seemed twice its usual length. She yearned for the solitude and sanctuary. Her cell phone rang shortly after she bolted her door and slid the security chain into place.

Maybe it’s Kent.

Her heart raced as she dug in her purse, grabbed the phone, and swiped the screen to answer. “Hello.”

Steve Zurich’s voice. “Hey, Josie. My buddy combed through the NYC records. There’s nothing there about a marriage or divorce.”

Disappointment pushed down on her shoulders, but then Steve’s words registered, and her blood heated. Since she sent his investigator friend to New York, her Internet searches had turned up the record of a marriage between Victor and the woman in question. It took place in another city borough, but a sharp investigator would have been thorough enough to find the record. All Steve’s reports had been sketchy. Now he’d missed something even an amateur could uncover. Obviously neither Mr. Zurich, nor his friend, were up to the job. She was wasting her money.

“Did you get the recording device I need, yet?” she asked.

“Yeah, you want me to Fed-Ex it over?”

She tossed her purse on a chair and started to pace. “No, I’ll stop by your office so you can show me how it works. You might as well prepare your final bill after that. I don’t think I need your services any longer.”

“I’ve set up an appointment to talk to an old friend who’s real close to Telemann now and could know some valuable dirt.”

She considered the remark. It was probably meant to be a teaser and keep her sending checks, but could she afford to ignore it? She clenched her teeth. Damn him. He had her hooked.

“Go ahead and follow that one lead, then, but afterward, the job is over.”

…

Twenty-four hours later, Kent popped in her office door wearing an expensive-looking pinstriped suit and a pearl white silk tie. His appearance was always impeccable, and she wondered how he afforded his designer wardrobe on a mid-level management salary. Did he shop at Emmeline’s and get an employee discount?

He smiled ear to ear. “TGIF. How about coming sailing with me tomorrow?”

He radiated masculinity and sex appeal. The scent of his aftershave made her heart contract with longing. “Sailing?”

“Yes, you know, water, boats, sunshine, those big white things catching the wind.”

She chuckled. “I know what a boat is, but I don’t know how to sail.”

Her eyes went to the pale streaks in his hair. If he was a sailor, that explained the wonderful, sun-bleached look. She pictured him tousled, tanned, and bare-chested in his swimsuit. Awareness curled in the pit of her stomach.

“You don’t have to know how to sail. All you need to do is lie on the deck looking gorgeous. I’ll do the rest. I’ll even supply lunch.”

Excitement shivered up her spine. “I’d love to go, thanks.”

“Okay then. Wear a bathing suit, bring something dry to change into later, and I’ll pick you up in the morning at nine.”

…

She rushed home after work and checked Josie’s wardrobe for a swimsuit. She lifted the two tiny scraps of spandex and the blood drained from her face. No way.

Her phone rang, and she dropped the bikini parts back into the suitcase.

“Hey, babe, how’s it going?” Josie asked.

“Do you actually wear those miniscule scraps of spandex at the beach?”

“Of course. The horizontal print emphasizes my boobs. It will look great on you. When and where are you going?”

“I have a date to go sailing tomorrow.”

“That same guy Kent who you’ve been going to dinner with?”

“Yes. I can’t wear that bikini in front of him. I’ll feel naked.”

“Then wear the one-piece tiger print with the halter top and plunging neckline. You can show a bunch of sexy cleavage without worrying about falling out. The legs are high-cut and will show off your butt. And the back is real low so he’ll have to help spread sunblock where you can’t reach.”

Her pulse did a happy little jig at the image of Kent’s hands sliding over her back. She felt her cheeks warm and shut down that inappropriate line of thought. “Maybe I’ll shoot out to a store tonight and buy something more modest.”

“Oh no you don’t. You promised.”

Faith sighed. “I’ll try on the other suit. It better not be indecent.”

“You want this guy to spill his guts, don’t you? Then dazzle him. Once he starts drooling, he’ll tell you every company secret he knows.”

“He’s a nice guy. I’m not trying to trick him with false expectations of sex.”

“Are you finding anything out otherwise?”

“Not much. The detective I hired contacted a friend in New York to do some digging into that marriage license. He blew it, so I’m firing him. Otherwise I’m spinning my wheels. I’ve had to lay off on asking questions because people are getting suspicious. Trying to find new sources of information is driving me crazy.”

“Well, then play this angle for all it’s worth. Wear the bikini. Live dangerously.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Maybe. But remember, you’re me, so that means you have to be impossible too.”

She remembered Kent’s provocative kiss, and her pulse accelerated. “I’m not very good at it.”

“Practice makes perfect. Listen, I called because I have something to tell you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, this concerns you. I went to the library today.”

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy. Buy mail order or download e-books on the Internet.”

“I have been, but I also have to get out from inside these walls once in a while if I’m going to keep my sanity. Anyway, I took a cab so I didn’t have to drive and only stayed an hour. You need to hear what I found.”

“Found where?”

“In the newspaper archives. That’s why I went. I’ve been doing some searching for information about your father too. And I found a reference to his family I wanted to check out.”

“Something about his brothers?”

“No, his father. He was a Norfolk cop who got fired for taking a bribe.”

Faith sat down hard on the floor. “When was this?”

“Back when Victor was in high school. His father and several other cops were suspected of extensive corruption, but only one charge could be proven.”

“I hope you’re not hinting he has an excuse because he grew up in a household where he didn’t learn right from wrong.”

“No. Not at all. But it does give us a little insight into what formed his personality. Having a bad cop for a father probably gave him a warped sense of morality. Plus, the shame of your father being arrested has to be hard on any teenager. Something like that could cause a kid to rebel or act out.”

“I don’t care about his psychology. Nobody forced him to commit rape.”

“Agreed. I just thought you might want to know.”

Faith wondered: Did she want to know? Her grandfather was a corrupt cop on top of her father being a rapist. Half her family tree was rotten to the core.

She shook off the veil of hopelessness that was threatening to fall. “Thank you for helping. It’s not good news, but might be useful to know.” She shifted her focus to Josie. “Please don’t go out on my behalf again. The last thing we need is you giving birth in a cab.”

Josie laughed. “I’ll try not to. Listen, I gotta run and start dinner. My mom is coming over in half an hour. Have fun tomorrow.”

“I’ll try.”

“Promise you’ll wear the tiger print?”

Faith laughed, feeling grateful for Josie’s support but longing for her company. “Okay. Promise.”