Gray, Ginna (9 page)

Turning her back on Sam, Lauren spread her legs in a wide V and
began her warmup stretching exercises. She touched the toes of each foot with
the opposite hand, twisted from the waist as far as possible, bent to the sides
and rotated her head, shoulders and arms. She climbed to her feet and bent and
touched the floor thirty times, then, grabbing an ankle, she pulled her heel up
behind her to touch her bottom, repeated the action a dozen times, then
switched and did a dozen more with the other foot.

"Jesus! Can't you be still a minute? What the hell are you
doing, anyway?" Sam demanded when she began to jog in place.

"Isn't it...obvious? I'm exercising. I...work out at a
gym...three times...a week," she gasped between breaths. "To stay in
shape...it's important to keep...to a regular routine."

Sam snorted. "I wouldn't worry if I were you. You probably
got more exercise yesterday than you do in a month at your yuppie health
club."

Lauren ignored the snide comment and kept on jogging. Let him poke
fun. If they were going to hike down this mountain in knee-deep snow, she
wanted to be as fit as possible. If the trek was anything like what they had
done the day before, she was going to need every ounce of strength and stamina she
could muster.

For an hour Lauren jogged in place and back and forth across the
derelict cabin. Outside the grimy window the world had been reduced to a
blinding white swirl of snow. The wind whistled in through the gaps in the
chinking, bringing with it stray flakes, and now and then more found their way
through the evergreen boughs that Sam had thrown over the hole in the roof.
Except directly in front of the fire, the air in the cabin was cold enough to
vaporize their breaths, but by the time Lauren stopped exercising and sat down
on the sleeping bag again she no longer felt the chill.

She had intended to give Sam the same cold-shoulder treatment he
was giving her, but the longer she watched him the more curious she became.
While she had exercised he had somehow managed to pry the two long bound sticks
apart in the middle and lashed one of the short sticks at right angles between
them, about ten inches from one end to hold them open. Now he was doing the
same thing with the other short piece at the opposite end. The longer Lauren
watched the more intrigued she became, until finally she could no longer
contain her curiosity.

"What are you doing?"

He spared her the briefest of glances and went right on working
the twine over and around the joined sticks in an X pattern.

"I'm making snowshoes. We're going to walk out of here when
this storm passes. With all that fresh powder out there, we're going to need
these."

"Really? I've never walked in snowshoes before."

"Figures."

The sneer in his voice was too much. Ever since they'd met, his
manner toward her had been harsh and distant, even downright hostile. For the
most part, up until now, she had tread softly around him—partly because she
thought it wise not to annoy the man who was essentially her bodyguard, but also
because he made her uneasy. Something about this hard, remote man put her on
edge.

However, if Lauren's experience with Carlo Giovessi had taught her
nothing else, she had at least learned that ignoring a difficult truth or
pretending it didn't exist just didn't work. From now on she intended to face
her problems head-on...and Sam Rawlins's attitude was a problem.

Lauren cocked her head and gazed at him across the few feet that
separated them. By now he had lashed both short sticks between the longer one,
forcing them apart into an elongated oval with points at each end. Now he was
weaving heavy nylon twine in an open, diamond-shaped pattern, overall.

"You don't like me very much, do you, Agent Rawlins?"

"No."

A startled chuckle bubbled from Lauren's throat. "Well. That
was certainly direct and to the point."

She had expected denial, or at the very least, subtle evasion.
Something like—"What makes you think that?" or "You're imagining
things," or "I don't know you well enough to like or dislike
you?"—Not a blunt confirmation.

Although... given her experience with Sam Rawlins so far, she
supposed she should have been prepared for brutal honesty. Diplomacy and polite
white lies were not this man's style.

"Would you mind telling me why? I mean, you barely know me,
and I don't think I've done anything to you to cause such animosity. What,
exactly, is it about me that you find so objectionable?"

"Does it matter? My job is to keep you alive so you can
testify against Giovessi in court, not to be your friend."

"I understand that. However, since we're going to be spending
a lot of time together, a little civility would be nice. But unless I know what
it is about me that irritates you so much, how can I correct the problem?"

"You can't. The problem is, I don't have any respect for
women who sell themselves to rich old men. Especially mobsters."

"Pardon?" Lauren shook her head, sure she'd heard him
wrong. "What did you say?"

"You're Carlo Giovessi's mistress. In my book, that's the
same as a hooker."

"Whaaat!"

"Oh, spare me the innocent denials, okay?"

"No, it is
not
okay! Because I most certainly am
not
Mr. Giovessi's mistress! I don't know where you got that idea, but you're
wrong!"

"I don't think so."

"Look, I admit he helped me get on my feet after I left the
hospital. He located an apartment for me and an affordable car, recommended me
for the job at the university. Then a few months ago he offered me the job at
the club. But those were just friendly acts of kindness. Being a music lover,
he has a lot of admiration and respect for musicians, and he felt the accident
that ended my career was a tragedy, so he did what he could to help. I
explained all that at the police station. But Mr. Giovessi doesn't support me,
and he most certainly is
not
my lover!"

"Sorry, but that righteous outrage just won't wash. All the
evidence says otherwise."

"Evidence?
What
evidence? Just because I worked at his
club two nights a week that doesn't make me his mistress."

"How about the fact that Carlo visited you at your apartment
every Wednesday night?"

Surprise shot through Lauren. "How...how do you know
that?"

"Or that the two of you were alone together after hours at
the club every Friday and Saturday night?" he pressed, ignoring her
question.

"I explained that at the police station, too. I play the
piano for him those nights. That's also why he came by my apartment every
Wednesday evening. Oh, I don't believe this!" Lauren closed her eyes and
pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. "I just don't believe
this!"

Too agitated to sit, she jumped to her feet again and began to
pace. "For two years I've struggled to become independent and learn how to
stand on my own two feet, and now you're accusing me of being a...a
kept
woman!
All because I gave a nice old man—or at least, someone I thought was
a nice old man—a few hours of pleasure each week!"

"Yeah, I'll bet you did."

"Not
that
kind of pleasure," Lauren snapped,
shooting him a blistering glare. "I played the
piano
for him.
That's
all!"

"Yeah, right. And I'm supposed to believe that he doesn't
support your upscale lifestyle?"

"My what? What upscale lifestyle? I work two jobs to support
myself, and even at that I'm barely getting by."

"Uh-huh. What about that apartment of yours?"

Lauren gave him a blank look. "What about it?"

"The building belongs to Giovessi."

"What? I...I didn't know that." Stunned, Lauren stared
into Sam's dark face, an uneasy feeling creeping up the back of her neck. She
shook it off and tilted her chin. "But so what if he does? If you're
thinking that I live there free, you're wrong. I pay the rent on that
apartment, not Mr. Giovessi."

"Sure you do. It's just a coincidence that he always installs
his mistress of the moment in the very same apartment that you're currently
living in."

"I..." The statement caught her by surprise and sent a
flash of disquiet through her, but she quickly tamped it down. "Yes. Yes,
of course. It has to be. It's the only explanation."

"How much?"

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. How much rent do you pay?"

"None of your b—"

"How much?"

Lauren's mouth thinned, but she could see that he wasn't going to
give up until she told him. "If you must know, three hundred dollars a
month. Not that it's any of your business."

"Three hundred!" Sam snorted. "Lady, the cheapest
apartment in that building goes for ten times that amount."

"Ten..." The uneasy feeling threatened to turn into
full-blown nausea, but Lauren shook her head. "No. You must be
mistaken."

"C'mon, lady, Estes Arms is a luxury high-rise. One of the
most prestigious addresses in Denver. There's a waiting list to get in there.
You can't be naive enough to believe you could rent a place like that for a
measly three hundred a month? You had to know that Carlo was subsidizing you.
The only thing that surprises me is that he allowed you to pay any rent at
all."

"Oh, dear Lord. I...I had no idea." Dazed and sick,
Lauren sank back down onto the sleeping bag. "He told me the apartment was
in a rent-controlled building. That was why it was such a bargain."

"Nice try, but we don't have rent-control in Denver."

"I...I didn't know that." Lauren shook her head and
stared across the cabin, seeing nothing, feeling as though she'd been hit in
the stomach with a battering ram.

"Right. And how do you explain that snappy little car you
drive?"

"Mr. Giovessi found me a bargain—" The look on Sam's
face stopped Lauren in midsentence, and the sick feeling in the pit of her
stomach intensified. "Are you saying...?"

"It's a luxury car, lady." He told her what the vehicle
cost new, and Lauren moaned and covered her face with both hands.

"What an idiot I've been," she muttered against her
palms. "What a total idiot. No wonder you thought... Oh, God."

Sam
watched Lauren fall over onto her side on top of the sleeping bag
and curl into the fetal position. She lay staring into the fire, the picture of
despondent misery.

Unimpressed, he shook his head and went back to weaving fill-line
across the snowshoe frame. If she hoped to gain his sympathy with that pitiful
act, she was wasting her time.

For the next hour or so neither Sam nor Lauren spoke a word. He
worked steadily the whole time. The only time Lauren moved was to turn back the
top of the sleeping bag and burrow inside. Otherwise she lay motionless. If she
hadn't blinked now and then he would have worried that she was dead.

By midday Sam had completed two snowshoes and had made a good
start on a third when hunger forced him to take a break.

He rose and stepped around Lauren and built up the fire, then
prepared a meal from one of the dehydrated packets. While he moved around the
cabin, Lauren remained motionless and mute, her gaze still fixed on the flames.

Sam did his best to ignore her, but finally his patience came to
an end. Hunkered down in front of the fire, he glanced over his shoulder at
her, and his mouth thinned. "For God's sake, are you going to lie there
all day moping?" he snapped.

"Maybe. What do you care?"

"I don't. But it's time to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Too bad, you're going to eat anyway. It's important to keep
your strength up."

She looked as though she might argue, but after a pause she sighed
and tossed off the cover and sat up, pushing the heavy fall of hair away from
her face.

Sam dished up the meal and handed her one of the aluminum plates.

"I don't know what you're upset about. You have no one but
yourself to blame. You made the decision to get involved with Giovessi of your
own free will."

That earned him a quick, dagger look, but she continued eating and
did not speak.

"C'mon. Did you think no one would ever know you were his
mistress just because you worked at the club? Trust me, that job is transparent
cover. Carlo always puts his women on the payroll."

"I told you— Oh, what's the use? Talking to you is
pointless." She clamped her mouth shut and looked away, treating him to a
flawless profile.

The frosty dignity in her tone almost made him smile. She sat
there, cross-legged on the floor of this hovel, bundled up in long johns and
shapeless, bulky winter garb, not a speck of makeup on and her mussed hair
tumbling around her shoulders, eating camp food out of an aluminum plate...and
still she managed to look and sound as regal as a queen.

Which just proved how deceiving outward appearances could be.

"Look, you're obviously uncomfortable that your secret is
out, but what do you care what I think anyway?"

"Believe me, I don't."

"Then what the hell is your problem?"

She slanted him a pithy look. "Why should I tell you? You
wouldn't believe me. You've already made up your mind about me."

"So convince me I'm wrong."

Lauren huffed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, right. I'm sure
that's
going to happen."

She went back to eating, and so did Sam. When they were finished,
she picked up her plate and his and carried them to the hearth, where she
poured hot water into the skillet and started scouring the pan and dirty dishes.

Sam watched her, a bit surprised that she had pitched in on her
own without any prompting from him. He hadn't expected that, and it piqued his
curiosity even more. "So, are you going to tell me why you're feeling
sorry for yourself?" he said to her back.

She looked at him over her shoulder. "I'm not indulging in
self-pity. If you must know, I'm furious with myself." Sparingly, she
poured fresh hot water over the plates and spoons to rinse them, then set them
aside. Picking up the skillet, she headed for the door. "Excuse me,"
she said, stepping around him. "I have to rinse this pan outside."

"Leave it. I'll do it later. Finish what you were saying. Why
are you angry with yourself?"

Lauren sighed, but she set the skillet back on the hearth and
resumed her seat on the sleeping bag. "Are you sure you want to hear this?
For you to understand, I have to go back a ways."

Sam glanced out the window at the swirling snow beyond the grimy
panes and picked up the snowshoe he was making. "We've got plenty of time.
Shoot."

She plucked at the knee of her wool sweatpants, keeping her gaze
on her restless fingers. "As I told you before, I was a child prodigy. My
entire life was devoted to music. When I wasn't on stage, I was
practicing."

"Because your father insisted," Sam tossed in. He didn't
bother to hide the disbelief in his tone, which earned him another of her
glacial looks.

"Yes. That's right. Although...that was never an issue
between us. I loved playing and enjoyed practice. I still do, even though
now..." She shook her head. "Never mind. The point is my father took
care of everything else so that I could devote my life to my music. And by
that, I mean everything. He paid all our bills, booked concerts, made all the
arrangements and saw to all the mundane, everyday details of life, both when we
traveled and during the infrequent periods when we were home."

"And where was home?"

"An apartment in New York."

"What about your mother? Did she travel with you?"

"My mother died when I was born."

"Sorry."

"That's all right. You didn't know. Anyway, three years ago,
when my father died of a coronary, I was shattered. That's when his assistant
stepped in and took over his duties, and like my father, he saw to everything,
too."

"That would be Collin Williams, right?"

She darted him a wary look, then stared down at her plucking
fingers once again. "Yes."

"He was more than just your manager, wasn't he?"

Lauren's head snapped up. "What makes you say that?"

"You get a funny look on your face whenever his name comes
up."

She lowered her gaze once more, but not before Sam saw the flicker
of pain in her eyes. He waited, watching her, but she remained silent so long
he decided to prod some more. "So, am I right? Were you and Collin
lovers?"

"He was my fiancé," she replied in a voice barely above
a whisper. "He proposed right after my father died. The car accident
happened just three weeks before our wedding was to have taken place."

"I gotta tell you, lady, if this is supposed to convince me
you weren't involved with Giovessi, it isn't working. Seems to me you have a
history of going from one male protector to another."

Her head snapped up again. "I've done no such thing! That had
nothing to do with it. I was in love with Collin! And he lo— That is...I
thought he loved me, too."

"So what happened? Surely he didn't break off the engagement
just because your career was cut short?"

"Actually...yes. He did. I guess I was no longer an asset.
Certainly I could no longer provide him with the life he wanted."

"Which was?"

"Traveling the world, being a part of the music scene,
basking in the reflected glory of a wife who was a rising star. You see, Collin
enjoyed rubbing elbows with music patrons—the rich and famous and the society
types who attend classical concerts.

"After concerts there were parties in my honor and we were
wined and dined at the homes of some of the world's wealthiest families, or
even invited to stay at their villas or on their yachts during periods between
concerts. It was a heady lifestyle."

She looked back at the fire. "And Collin didn't exactly break
off our engagement. He just...left." Lauren shrugged. The gesture, meant
to convey indifference, revealed a world of hurt instead. "And he took all
my money with him. All but a thousand dollars, anyway. I guess his conscience
wouldn't let him abandon me in a strange town completely broke."

"He just cleaned you out and took off? While you were still
in the hospital?"

Lauren nodded, and plucked harder at the knee of her sweats.

"Did you file charges against him?"

She shook her head. "No. I told you, he paid all the bills
and took care of everything for me. He had full power of attorney. There was
nothing I could do."

"That would make the case more difficult to prosecute, that's
certain, but you could still have filed charges and had him picked up. Maybe
even recovered some of your money. How much did he take?"

"That's just it. I have no idea." She grimaced. "I
feel like an idiot, admitting this, but up until the accident, I'd never paid
any attention to the financial side of my career. I had never had to. First my
father, then Collin took care of that. The money was just...there. If I needed
or wanted something I had a credit card. Or I would simply tell Dad, or later,
Collin, and he would get whatever it was I wanted.

"Then suddenly I found myself alone and practically
penniless, in the hospital in a strange town, my career over. There was no one
I could turn to. I had no relatives. There were tons of acquaintances all over
the world, but we'd never stayed in one town long enough to develop any close
friendships. Not only was I heartbroken, I was scared."

I'll bet, Sam thought. On your own for the first time in your
life. Must have been a terrifying prospect for a woman who'd been sheltered and
pampered from the day she was born.

Provided she was telling the truth.

Lauren looked up, her green eyes awash with emotion, silently
pleading with him to understand. "I didn't know what to do or even where
to start. I'd never had a job other than giving concerts. I'd never paid a bill
or even written a check in my entire life. Cooking, cleaning, operating a
washing machine, buying groceries—the kinds of things that most people learn as
they're growing up—were a mystery to me. That's why, when Mr. Giovessi offered
to help me get back on my feet, I accepted gladly.

"I made it clear that I wouldn't take money from him, and he
seemed to respect that, but I didn't see anything wrong with accepting his help
in other ways." She shook her head. "What a naive fool I've been.

"Before I even left the hospital he'd gotten me the job at
the college and found me a car and a place to live. Since I'd never rented an
apartment or purchased a car before, the car payments and rent he quoted
sounded reasonable. It didn't occur to me that he was absorbing most of the
costs.

"Once I got over the initial shock and hurt of the accident
and Collin's desertion, I vowed that I would never again allow myself to be
dependent on anyone for anything or allow anyone else to run my life for me.
I'd gotten a late start, but I'm an intelligent woman and I knew that I could
learn whatever skills and knowledge I needed. It would just take time."

Lauren huffed out a long breath. "To think, I'd been
congratulating myself lately for all that I've accomplished. I actually
believed I'd become an independent woman. Now I find out that Mr. Giovessi has
been subsidizing me all along."

She shot Sam a resentful glare from beneath her lashes. "If
that isn't bad enough, now I'm totally dependent on you for everything,
including keeping me alive. Is it any wonder I'm angry with myself?"

"If it's any help, I'm no happier about this arrangement than
you are," Sam replied.

"Really? My, my, I never would have guessed."

Ignoring her frosty sarcasm, Sam stared at her, searching her face
for the slightest flicker of deceit or guile, but he found none. She merely sat
there, glaring back at him, her expression a combination of mulish innocence
and offended dignity.

Damn. Either she was telling the truth or she was one of the most
accomplished liars he'd ever encountered. During his years with the Bureau he'd
met plenty of the latter and damned few of the former, which made him skeptical
of her babe-in-the-woods claim.

Lauren began to squirm under his piercing stare. "You still
don't believe me, do you?" she blurted out finally.

Sam took his time replying.

"Let's just say I'm reserving judgment." He picked up
the snowshoe and went back to work.

Lauren's mouth tightened. "Thanks so much for your
understanding." She bounded to her feet, snatched up the skillet again and
headed for the door. "I knew talking to you was a waste of time."

"Don't forget the safety line," Sam cautioned. He didn't
bother to look up, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her spin around and
glare. She stood so rigid she was shaking, and he knew she was considering
heaving the skillet at his head.

Lauren stayed outside longer than necessary. Sam figured she was
still fuming and was dawdling to spite him. Either that, or she'd taken time to
"visit the ladies' room," as she so delicately put it.