Mysterious (9 page)

"Fine." Jennifer watched as he disappeared into the kitchen. That was the first genuine smile he had ever given her. Her heart swelled with hope. Could it possibly be that something good might come out of this nightmare?

Minutes later, using the couch as a backrest, they sat on the floor, watching crackling flames in the fireplace.

"Jerome," she said solemnly, "somehow I’m going to make it up to you that your rocking horse was smashed."

He rolled his shoulders in a negligent shrug. "Forget it."

"No, I won’t forget it," she insisted, and took a sip of her chocolate. "Actually I had a rocking horse when I was a little girl."

He looked at her with interest, grateful for whatever she could tell him that would give his mind a chance to rest and absorb everything she had told him. "You did?"

She nodded. "It wasn’t as big or as splendid as yours, of course, but I rode many a mile on that horse."

He fingered a swirling curl of her hair. "I wish I’d known you when you were a little girl. You must have been a heartbreaker, because you sure are now."

Her pulse became erratic and she answered breathlessly, "To my knowledge, I’ve broken no hearts."

"Let’s hope your record holds." he murmured.

All around them the room was dark except for the fire in front of them. Intimacy crept over them, mellowing resistance and wariness.

"Tell me what you were like when you were a little girl," he urged.

"You’re really interested?"

"I really am."

"Well, let me think. I had a happy childhood. Richard was just a couple of years older. We were close, and he indulged me outrageously."

"I bet you were easy to indulge."

The dimple finally appeared in her left cheek. Jerome couldn’t stop staring at it.

"Thank you, but I’m sure I was quite spoiled. I remember I used to play dress-up and Richard would play with me. My mother gave me an old lace dress of hers. It was white and I thought it was the most beautiful dress in the whole world. I’d put it on, along with a pair of her high-heeled shoes, and go clomping around the house, pretending I was a princess."

"And what would Richard do?"

"Ah, well, he was my prince."

She laughed and Jerome caught his breath. The firelight softly lit her face, heightening a beauty at once flawless, exquisite, and passionate. The thought that he had experienced only a small portion of that passion tormented him.

"We had this big Persian cat," she continued. "We would pretend he was the dragon, and Richard would sword-fight that cat up and down the hall until my mother was ready to scream."

"I bet the cat wasn’t so pleased either."

"He sure wasn’t." She chuckled, reminiscing. "He had a rotten sense of humor. He’d hiss and spit all during the fight, not at all impressed with his role as the dragon." Jennifer was quiet for a minute. "Richard was a wonderful brother. I really don’t know what I’m going to do without him." She paused. "I just wish I could have been there when he needed me."

With a brief touch of his finger Jerome turned her face to his. "Jennifer, you can’t blame yourself. If you had been there, you would have been killed too."

"You’re right. But that doesn’t make it any easier for me. I’ll mourn Richard the rest of my life." She sighed heavily. "That’s enough. Let’s talk about you for a change. I want to know all about you."

Without even moving, he seemed to withdraw from her. "My childhood wasn’t as carefree as yours."

Gently she laid her hand on his sleeve. "Tell me, Jerome. Please. You never say a word about yourself."

He shook his head. "It’s not pretty."

"I want to know."

He took a drink of his chocolate and thought about how few times he had told anyone what he was about to tell Jennifer. Actually only two people knew: Sami and Morgan. He hated thinking about his past, and worse, he hated talking about it. It was like giving pieces of himself away. Yet here he was, about to tell her everything.

He began. "I never knew who my father was. Of my mother I don’t remember that much . . . except that she was always drunk and that I was pretty much on my own, right from the earliest age. I think my recollections are deliberately vague about her. Because she was an alcoholic, there was always a distance between her and me. All I remember is a pale, emaciated woman."

He made his childhood sound so matter-of-fact, Jennifer thought, but she could imagine the scared little boy he must have been back then. She wished there was some way to ease his hurt, but she knew that kind of hurt was way too deep. It would take forever, if then. "In spite of everything, your mother must have loved you, Jerome."

To her dismay, his expression hardened. "If I’ve learned one thing in my life, it’s that being a mother doesn’t come naturally to every woman. Just because a woman has a child doesn’t mean she’ll automatically love it. Oh, she said she did, or at least I think she said she did. I can’t remember. To tell you the truth, I’ve blocked a lot of it out. It just hurt too much."

"I’m sure she did the best she could."

"I don’t know. But what I do know is that she up and left me."

"Left you?" Jennifer couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. "What do you mean?"

"She put me in a foster home, telling me it was the best thing for me." The laugh he gave was almost painful to her. It was so bitter and resentful. "But I wasn’t having any of that. I was angry because I felt I had been dumped, so I ran away and never went back. My home became the streets."

"How horrible for you!"

"Yes," he agreed simply. "It was. It was a constant fight... to eat... to live ... to find a warm place to sleep."

She couldn’t stop her heart from hurting over the little boy who had grown up without any toys and, much worse, without any love. It explained a lot. "How sad," she murmured.

His voice went from pensive to icy in an instant. "Life is a bitch, Jennifer, full of sad situations that you could spend the rest of your life crying about. Don’t waste your compassion on me. I’m one of the lucky ones. I made it."

Stung by his sudden change of mood, Jennifer edged away from him and stared into the fire. "So what happened?" she asked quietly. "How did you get from being a street kid to a lawyer?"

"I can answer that with one word: Sami."

"Her again," she murmured dispiritedly.

"Always and forever. She was wonderful. You wouldn’t believe how distrustful of people I was back then."

You haven’t gotten over it yet, Jerome, she told him silently. Aloud she asked, "So what did she do?"

"Well, she found me at a swap meet and took me home with her. I gave her some pretty rough times at first, circling her like the wounded animal I was back then. But it simply didn’t matter to her. She just clouded up and rained love all over me until I took root and grew. She gave me an apartment of my own, a place I could call home, made sure I had at least three meals a day, and at long last I began to flourish. She made me continue my education, and when I expressed a tentative interest in law, nothing would do but that I go on to law school, at her expense."

"And what did you do for her?" Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to keep the sarcastic edge out of her voice.

He didn’t seem to hear it. "Nothing. At least nothing compared to what she did for me."

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I hate her."

"Why?"

She really had no idea why and took a long moment to figure it out. Finally she decided it must have something to do with jealousy. Which made no sense. So she shrugged.

"You know what?" Jerome asked.

"What?"

"She’s going to love you."

"Uh-uh! No way. I don’t want to meet her, and that’s final."

"Knowing Sami, you won’t be given the choice. Once she’s ferreted out your existence, she won’t stop until she’s met you."

"She sounds like a remarkable lady," Jennifer admitted grudgingly.

"So are you," he whispered, and took her in his arms and kissed her.

The kiss should have been tender, considering the intimacies they had just shared, but there was too much built-up need and want between them, and they melted together. His mouth took hers fiercely, demandingly. His hands ran under her sweater urgently, closing around her breasts roughly, gentling only after he had touched her completely, squeezing and molding, filling his hands until they couldn’t get any fuller.

She strained against him, taking his need as her own and returning it tenfold. Jerome was someone she had desired from the very first night. And now that she was once more in his arms, she knew that she loved him. She had been through so much in the last few days. Still, if she knew one thing for certain, it was that she really did love him.

His smiles and touches were as necessary to her as the air in her lungs. And it had suddenly become vitally important to her that he have the love he had been deprived of as a child. His love was something she could only pray would come eventually.

She ran her hand inside his shirt, tearing away some of the buttons in her haste. She wanted to experience his flesh, search out his heat, touch his passion.

Their desire was colored dark like the night, and burned wild like the fire. It continued until, if they went on, there could be only one conclusion.

Jerome’s head was whirling when he finally drew away. Struggling, he fought to even his breathing. No, he thought. Not here. Not yet.

"You still don’t trust me, do you?" Unsteady, her voice came to him through the firelit dark.

With a groan he pulled her to him and buried his face in her neck, breathing in her springlike scent. Was that it? he wondered. God knew, he wanted her. But something . . . something was holding him back.

"Jennifer, bear with me. I want all of this resolved first." He framed her beautiful face in his hands. "Please understand."

"I do." Her lips felt swollen from his kisses. Brushing them against his, she felt him shudder. "You deserve better than what I’ve given you so far, Jerome. I’ll make it up to you, I promise."

#

Jerome had an appointment that couldn’t be broken. As quietly as he could the next morning, he made his way through the living room on his way to the front door, but he found Jennifer already stirring. Stopping, he leaned down and kissed her lightly. The edges of her mouth curved gently upward, and he placed another kiss on that irresistible dimple.

"I’ll see you about noon," he murmured. "Soon this will all be over, and then there will be time for us."

She smiled up at him. "I’ll be ready."

Jennifer lay where she was after he left, thinking about what he had said. Time for us. Jerome hadn’t mentioned the word love, and somehow she knew he wouldn’t. She didn’t blame him. Under the best of circumstances he wasn’t a man who would trust or love easily, and their relationship couldn’t by any means be called the best of circumstances.

But today would change all of that. Smiling, she threw back the covers and sat up. She had a lot to do before he returned home.

#

At noon Jerome approached his door with a jaunty step, whistling lightly under his breath. Inserting his key, he pushed open the door and came to a dead halt.

Stretched out before him, there on the floor of his living room, was the most up-to-date and elaborate train set anyone could ask for. Its track was laid out in a detailed maze, winding around the couch and under the chair, disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing to circle around the coffee table, then to take off again for the dining room. There were tunnels, trestles, and a water tower; mountains, lakes, and trees; and even a miniature town complete with people and a depot.

There were two trains; one was led by a steam locomotive. As it rolled along the track, it pulled a coal car, several passenger cars, dining cars, sleepers, and, of course, a caboose, and to top it off, it belched pretend smoke. The other train had a lighted diesel engine, and it pulled an assortment of freight cars, gasoline tanks, a couple of cattle cars, and even flat beds with trucks and cars tied on to them. The two trains ran merrily around the tracks, crossing and recrossing each other’s path without ever coming close to colliding. With their electronic whistles blowing, they passed a working waterfall, an automatic cattle loader, telephone poles, and crossing gates that went up and down with flashing lights and bells.

Jerome stared with open mouth. And then he saw Jennifer. She was standing in the bedroom door beaming.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it? It’s wonderful. But why? How? I don’t understand."

She made her way to him, carefully stepping over the track and around a train station. "This is a toy to replace your rocking horse." She gestured around her. "I know the train set can’t compare, but the salesman told me that trains make super toys for men."

"But how did you do it all in so short a time?"

"I called the department store. The man I talked with sent a salesman to help me set it up, and the doorman rounded up two guys to help us. We had a great time."

"Jennifer, I don’t know what to say."

"Just tell me that you like it."

"I love it."

"Oh, I’m so glad. It was something I very much wanted to do. If I hadn’t entered your life, your horse would never have been destroyed. And listen"—she laid an earnest hand on his chest—"I used the credit card you gave me, but I’m definitely going to pay you back just as soon as I can. This is my gift to you."

He pulled her into his arms. "Thank you."

Jennifer buried her face in his shirt, trying to imprint the moment of happiness in her brain . . . because she had a premonition that the days ahead might not be quite as easy as she and Jerome hoped they would be.

#

The hallway of the police station was crowded with an assortment of people. Jennifer clung to Jerome’s arm as he led her through them, feeling as scared as she had ever been in her life. She could just imagine how the police were going to react to her story. She had run out of the apartment, leaving Richard lying dead on the floor, and had not reported It. Nervously her eyes scanned the crowd.