Promises in the Night: A Classic Romance - Book 2 (5 page)

Judy carne back into the kitchen mumbling something about speed limits, then put the two men to work peeling vegetables for dinner. Phil kept up a running line of banter about his work as a clinical psychologist working with depressed government officials, and Judy’s asides were pungent and wickedly on target. It was exactly the kind of afternoon of warmth and friendship that he flew down to share with them at least every six weeks.

However, today he felt slightly distanced from both Judy and Phil, acutely aware of his singularity as he sat at the familiar table scraping potatoes for the roast beef dinner. It would have been nice to have someone he could grin at when Judy was being especially witty or Phil especially longwinded.

It would have been nice if that someone were Larkin Walker.

During the entire plane ride down from Long Island to Virginia, his mind had been torn between vivid fantasies of the beautiful Ms. Walker and the equally vivid reality of bad weather that demanded he give total concentration to keeping the small Cessna on course.

And now he wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have turned that plane around and headed back to Long Island and given as much thought to his future as he’d been giving to his past.

L
arkin was
about to climb into a warm bubble bath and stay there until her next birthday when the phone rang. Amanda, her incredibly lazy cat, opened one eye and glared at Larkin in reproach.

“Don’t blame me,” Larkin said, scratching her behind one fluffy ear. “It might be for you.”

The answering machine clicked on after the second ring, and the sounds of her own voice drifted in to the bathroom as she added some scented oils to the tub.

“Leave your name and number and a brief message, and I’ll get back to you. Thanks.”

Beep. “Larkin?” The voice was deep and extremely masculine. She stopped, the vial of perfume still in her hand, and listened. “I told you yesterday that I’m not averse to talking to machines. However, I’d much prefer it if you were there.” A slight hesitation. “This is Alex Jakobs. I--”

Larkin raced into her bedroom and picked up the phone. “Alex! I’m so glad to hear from you.”

His voice was even more seductive than she’d remembered. “You sound out of breath. Did you just get in?”

It was her turn to hesitate. “Not exactly.” She glanced at her naked body in the mirror over her dresser and grinned. Thank God picture phones had yet to be perfected. “I had decided to let the machine answer, but when I heard your voice, I—”
Slow down! There’s such a thing as being too honest too soon.
She’d made that mistake once before.

His laugh was low, and it curled itself up inside her ear, warming her despite the chill in her room.

“Are you in Virginia?”

“Yes. Phil and Judy just went off to a play at the Kennedy Center, and I was left babysitting their two perpetual motion machines. The kids finally went to sleep, and I poured myself a glass of Scotch and decided to call you.”

She sat on the edge of her bed. “I’m glad you did.” It was hard to imagine the gorgeous Dr. Jakobs playing babysitter to two little children, but the idea had its charm.

“I’ve been thinking about you since we said goodbye last night, Larkin.”

“Still want to interview me for
Metro Monthly?”

“No, but I would like to take you to dinner Monday night if you’re free.”

Monday nights she led the class in Beginner’s Ballet. “Monday’s no good,” she said, “but Tuesday is open.”

Silence. Then he said, “I have group sessions at Stony Brook on Tuesday.”

On Wednesday they both had commitments.

Larkin wrapped a patchwork quilt around her shoulders against the chilly air of the bedroom. She sighed. “This doesn’t seem to be working out. If I remember right, you do a taping on Thursday.”

“I do,” he said, “but if I remember right, you don’t have a blind date every Thursday night. At least, I hope you don’t.”

Her spirits lifted again. “Believe me, that was my last one. The next time my brother Billy says he’s found a wonderful man, I’m going to tell Billy to date him himself.”

“The taping will be over around 9 o’clock. I could pick you up around nine-thirty, ten—if that’s not too late.”

“I’ve never been to the Viacom studio,” Larkin said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit in on part of the taping. We could leave from there.”

“After being in the ballet, I’d think watching a cable TV talk show being taped would be a lesson in boredom.”

“I don’t think watching you work will be boring at all, Alex.”
Oh, wonderful.
Next thing she knew, she’d be telling him about the erotic dream she had had about him last night. “Besides, you’ve only touched the fringes of boredom until you’ve spent five hours practicing your pliés. In some countries I believe it’s considered cruel and inhuman punishment.”

Alex, started to say something; then Larkin heard the sound of a small, high-pitched voice somewhere in the room with him.

“Larkin, I’m afraid we have a minor emergency here. Cameron decided to try sticking her mother’s pearl earring up her right nostril, and it seems as if it’s taken up residence there. I’m going to have to see what I can do.”

“I understand,” she said, thinking about the odd things her nieces and nephews had attempted over the years. A pearl in the nostril seemed rather sedate. “I’ll bet graduate school didn’t prepare you for anything like this.”

He groaned. “I don’t think there is anything that can prepare you for something like this. Phil and Judy deserve Medals of Honor.” She heard him cover the phone and comfort the child with words that sounded soothing and warm, even though she couldn’t quite make them out. “I’m looking forward to Thursday, Larkin,” he said. The sound of his voice sent a warm thrill through her body. “I want to see you again.”

After she hung up the telephone, Larkin found herself unable to consider anything as passive as relaxing in a hot tub. The sound of Alex’s voice had acted like a shot of adrenaline, and she slipped into jeans and a sweater, grabbed her raincoat, then headed off to South Shore Mall to find the sexiest dress imaginable for her date with Dr. Jakobs on Thursday, five days, twenty-two hours and thirty-six minutes from now.

Not that she was counting.

S
o much for romance
.

Alex’s dream of witty conversation rich with tension and promise had vanished along with the pearl earring in Cameron Lincoln’s right nostril. Fortunately the emergency had turned out to be easily handled—even by a man with little hands-on experience in pediatric traumas. With some deft maneuvering, the pearl earring had popped right out, none the worse for wear, and he had been able to soothe Cameron’s soul—and her brother’s as well—with a quick trip to Baskin-Robbins.

It was going to take a bit more than chocolate-chocolate chip to soothe Alex’s soul.

He had dialed Larkin’s number with more trepidation than any thirty-six-year-old Ph.D. ought to feel and had been appalled at the way his stomach knotted up when he heard her sweet, clear voice on the answering, tape.

Ridiculous. Totally and absolutely ridiculous.

But there it was. At just the sound of her voice saying his name, he was flying ten feet off the ground like a lovesick teenager ruled by raging hormones. He knew all the names for such crazy feelings: infatuation, limerence and that good old standby, lust. He had spent years memorizing those handy terms in order to neatly categorize the different facets of human behavior.

What a surprise it had been to learn that not one of those damned terms came even close to encompassing the wild surge of emotion he had been feeling since Larkin first glided onto the stage at the Sheraton Smithtown less than thirty-six hours ago.

The last time he had felt like this, he had been a boy.

Well, he wasn’t a boy any longer, and life had taught him not to put too much stock in the inevitability of happily ever after. They were going to have a late dinner together Thursday night. That’s all. He wasn’t going to hang a lot of expectations on it, nor was he about to pretend he was dealing with anything more than two adults who were going to share a meal and some conversation.

However, right now, before Tommy decided to try out the pearl trick for himself, it would be damn fine to sit before the fire, Scotch in hand, and think about all the ways he could imagine to make Larkin Walker smile.

H
idden in the shadows
, he watched the familiar bedtime ritual of the woman across the street.

Her slender arm ducked under the orange kitchen curtains as she removed the plants from the windowsill, one by one. Next she closed the drapes in the living room, blotting out her soft amber hair from his sight. Each movement was as unvarying, as choreographed, as a dance.

He took a long drag of his cigarette and moved farther back into the shadows. Seconds later she stepped out the side door, looking for her long-haired cat. She leaned against the side of her red car and folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself against the cold.

He could almost imagine how it would feel to touch her, to be touched by her.

Two houses down, a neighbor pulled out of a circular driveway, and her beautiful face flashed in the glare of headlights—so brief a glimpse as to seem almost subliminal.

He watched her check the lock on the front door, the windows. The routine was so familiar to him; he even saw her perform it in his dreams.

She picked up the cat, and they both disappeared through the side door. He moved forward again and leaned against the streetlight. Five minutes later, her house went dark. For a second or two longer, he stared at the white house with the dark green shutters, then zipped up his rust-colored leather jacket, tossed his cigarette into the street and headed for his car.

One day he would be able to come out of the shadows.

It was only a matter of time.

L
arkin wasn’t
in the best of moods Thursday evening by the time she got into her car and headed to Hauppauge, where the studio was located in the center of a bleak industrial complex. Patti was in Palm Springs tracking down a speaker; Vivian was on vacation, and Sharon had called in sick. Larkin was left alone to hold down the fort, and of course everything that could go wrong, had. The day had been a disaster and the night wasn’t looking much better.

She was headachy and hungry. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and her green eyes were deeply shadowed; even her carefully applied makeup hadn’t been able to hide the fatigue.

And as if that weren’t enough, the jade green dress she had chosen for its body-clinging tendencies seemed today to spotlight every ounce of premenstrual puffiness. Cramps, sharp and steady, began as she got off Veterans Memorial Highway, and she wished she were heading home.

But then she thought about the silky sound of Alex’s voice on the telephone, the way he had looked at her as they shared a drink in the Tree House, the touch of sadness in his eyes that drew her to him in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Five minutes ago the thought of spending the evening with a heating pad sounded more appealing than sharing lasagna and wine with Alex Jakobs.

Right now, however, now that she was moments away from seeing him again, it was no contest. The winner was Alex Jakobs, hands down.

I
nside the studio
Alex was having difficulty keeping his mind on the matter at hand. Every time he heard the studio door creak open, his eyes automatically turned to see if Larkin had finally shown up.

They had finished taping one segment of his show and were now moving into a live segment, something they had attempted only a couple of times before. Sal, the sound man, was explaining the different signals they’d be using on the phone feed and Alex was finding it very difficult to grasp much of what the man was saying.

“And if anyone seems to be getting a little too weird, you just give me this sign and I’ll hit it.” Sal shrugged and looked at Alex. “Any questions?”

Yes. Where is she?
Instead of speaking Alex merely shook his head. “Everything seems to be in order, Sal.” He straightened his tie and smoothed the lapels on his dark suit. “By the way, how was the poker game last week?”

“Lethal,” Sal said; “We murdered Larry before the sandwiches even arrived. You should’ve been there, Doc. It was a massacre.”

“Maybe next time.” Alex glanced at the clock. 7:57 P.M. Still no sign of the elusive Larkin Walker. The studio was empty except for the crew, and Alex wondered how in hell he was going to muster enthusiasm for another show—live, no less—when he felt as if he’d used up his daily quota of sound advice.

“Sixty seconds to air time… thirty seconds...ten... nine...”

Alex cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and composed his thoughts. The theme song filled the studio while the opening credits rolled. The director was crouched down next to the camera, ready to give Alex his cue to open the show. Just as Marty was about to give the sign, the door creaked open and there stood Larkin Walker, looking lovelier than Alex had imagined—even in his more detailed daydreams.

The pre-taped announcement said, “And here is your host, Dr. Alex Jakobs.” Marty pointed at Alex to begin.

From across the studio Larkin smiled at him. He looked into the camera and smiled back.

“Welcome to
Helpline,”
he said, “I’m glad you could join me tonight.”
Very glad.

L
arkin felt
ridiculous standing there with her raincoat slung over one arm, staring at a mass of wires and equipment scattered all over the cavernous studio and wondering where on earth she was supposed to sit for the next hour or so until the show was over. Finally a wizened old man she could only assume was a stagehand took pity on her and pointed out a straight-backed chair off in the corner.

Larkin turned her attention to Alex, who was talking with one of the forty million Americans who had a weight problem. His advice was practical, realistic—certain to be of some help to the caller, but the spark of electricity she had been expecting was conspicuously absent.

So maybe fighting flab wasn’t his strong suit. She waited while he went on to the next call.

“This is Dr. Jakobs. You’re on
Helpline.
What’s your problem?”

“Hi, Dr. Jakobs. This is Marie from West Islip.”

“What can I do for you, Marie?”

“I lost my job three months ago and I haven’t been able to find another.”

Larkin shifted in her seat and suppressed a smile.
Marie, do I ever have a course for you!

Alex leaned forward, his dark grey eyes focused intently on the camera aimed at him. “Have you been looking for work, Marie?”

“What do you mean, have I been looking?” Larkin didn’t blame Marie for sounding upset. She would have hung up on him for that remark. “Why would I call you if I haven’t been looking? No one wants a fifty-seven-year-old unemployed waitress, Doctor, and that’s the truth.”

“How did you lose your job, Marie?”

The woman launched into a story about new owners and tight money. Marie and her plight certainly had Larkin’s sympathy, but she found her attention wandering.

Even her delight in unabashedly staring at Alex’s handsome face while he took the call was tempered by the growing feeling that she should have stayed home with the heating pad, after all.

She glanced at her watch and sighed. Next time she’d meet him at the restaurant.

If there
was
a next time.

I
f he didn’t know better
, Alex would have sworn it was Friday the thirteenth. The three shows he had taped before Larkin arrived had snapped and crackled with style and substance—any one of them would have made her sit up and take notice.

Calls on everything from premature ejaculation to senility to chronic gambling had kept his adrenaline level high and his brain sharp. The shows in the can were dynamite.

Unfortunately, Larkin hadn’t been there for any of it. The second she walked into the studio and took a seat near the monitor, the dynamite fizzled. It was a good thing
Helpline
was on cable TV rather than commercial, because any sponsor in his or her right mind would have pulled out after the last forty-five minutes of boredom. The fact that Larkin Walker was still in the studio was a testament to her innate class. If he weren’t the host, Alex would have walked out himself.

“This is Dr. Jakobs. You’re on
Helpline.
What’s on your mind?”

Silence. The connection was still open; he could hear the sound of a TV in the distance. Another case of telephone stage fright.

“Turn down the volume on your TV,” he said, smiling into the camera to reassure the caller. “The feedback can be very distracting.” The volume was lowered. “That’s better. Now, how can I help you?”

A woman’s voice, soft and almost impossible to hear. “I, um, I want to—”

“I’m sorry but we’re having a little trouble with the telephone lines.” Alex motioned for Sal to up the volume but Sal indicated he had done as much as he could. “Could you speak a little louder, please?” A slight flicker of alarm passed through him.

The voice was more audible now, a little husky, as if she had been crying. “I took some pills.”

Every nerve in Alex’s body slammed into overdrive. He focused straight into the camera, summoning up his best professionally comforting look. “What kind of pills?”

“Seconal,” the woman said. “I intend to kill myself.”

T
he studio was overheated
and stuffy, and Larkin was about to doze off despite her best intentions when the caller’s words sank in.

“I intend to kill myself,” the disembodied voice repeated. “I planned it all out. Every detail.”

Instantly Larkin was wide awake. Stagehands who had been playing poker or reading the
Daily News
suddenly sprang to life. Larkin stood up. Her pocketbook clattered to the studio floor, unnoticed.

Alex still looked calm and in control. His sense of authority was almost palpable.

“Have you already taken the pills?” he asked, looking straight into the camera.

“Oh, yes.” The woman’s words were slurred, the
s
sound long and drawn out.

“How many?” He leaned forward, as if he wanted to reach out and grab the caller before she slipped over the edge. “One ... two?”

Larkin’s heart was pounding so hard she could scarcely breathe.

The woman on the phone laughed again. “A bottle, dear Dr. Jakobs. I don’t want to make any mistakes.”

How many times during her years in the Empire Ballet Company had Larkin seen dancers, exhausted by their rigid schedule and racked by pain, gulp down a bottle of Seconal or Valium in an attempt to end their misery? It was obviously a cry for help, but for a few unlucky ones help didn’t arrive in time.

A man who appeared to be either the producer or director told one of the stagehands to order a trace on the call, then pushed ahead of her to get near the cameraman.

“Five seconds,” he said to Alex. “We’re cutting off.” The phone connection would be maintained, but the station would run a movie in place of the show.

It made sense to Larkin. The situation was too serious to risk turning it into a grandstand ploy for publicity.

So it shocked her when Alex, still on camera, said, “Keep that camera running, Marty. This is too important.”

“Damned fool!” Marty motioned for the camera to keep rolling. “He’s asking for nothing but trouble.” He turned to look at Larkin. “Have you ever seen him do anything this stupid?”

“I haven’t known him long enough to see him do anything at all,” she said. “You know him better than I. Have
you
ever seen him do anything like this?”

“Hell, this is a little local show. The most urgent calls I’ve seen him handle are referrals to AA or a cocaine hotline. This is a hell of a lot more than we bargained on when we went live.” He shook his head. “I hope he can handle it.” •

Despite her disappointment in Alex’s choice of methods, Larkin had little doubt that he would be able to handle anything that came his way. She had only to look at the way he commanded the camera to know that Alex understood his power and how to use it.

She hadn’t suspected that he was a man like Vladimir—a man who liked the spotlight and wasn’t about to relinquish it without a fight.

W
hen Marty threatened
to turn off the cameras, Alex had nearly vaulted across the desk and put a stranglehold on his director. If she had really taken a bottle of Seconal, the woman on the other end of the telephone line was probably no more than one hour away from death, and the only thing Alex had in his favor was the fact that she was able to see him on her television, to watch the look in his eyes as he tried to pull her back from the edge.

That human contact, however distant, was his only hope to keep her awake, keep her alive long enough to find out who she was

“Where are you calling from?”

“Now, you don’t really expect me to tell you, do you, Doctor?” Her voice faded away at the end of her sentence. He could hear her take a long, shuddering breath. “I’d hate for you to try a melodramatic rescue. You’d really ruin my weekend plans.”

He motioned for the camera to move in closer. “I think you want your weekend plans ruined.” His gaze was steady, unyielding.

“You’re nuts.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why would I want you to find me?”

An opening. He motioned for the camera to move in closer. “If you didn’t want me to find you, you wouldn’t have called
Helpline.”

“Maybe I just want to help your ratings.”

Marty groaned, and Alex looked over at him. Larkin Walker stood to Marty’s left, watching. Alex intently. Once again, his professional responsibilities had to take precedence over his personal desires.

“If you’re really concerned with boosting my ratings, why don’t you give me your name so we’ll know whom to thank when the Nielsens come in?”

She took longer to respond this time. Damn it! The pills were beginning to take hold. Why in hell was it taking so long to trace the call?

“You have me at a disadvantage,” he continued, marveling at his understatement. “All of my callers at least give me a first name.”

There was a pause. “Karen,” she said finally. “Not much help is it, Doctor?”

No,
he thought, glancing quickly at the studio crew, who all seemed to be staring back at him, as if waiting for instructions.
Not much help at all.

She said something else, but her words were lost in a flurry of background noise on her end. Loud strains of opera filtered through to him.

“Do you have a radio on, Karen?”

“I don’t have a radio.”

“Turn down your stereo then,” he said, trying to control his anxiety as she slipped further out of his reach. “We’re getting some more feedback from the opera you have on.”

He waited for a response. Nothing. He could feel Larkin’s eyes riveted to him. Sweat began to slide down the back of his neck. “Karen! Answer me, Karen! Did you go to turn off the opera?”

“Can’t,” she mumbled. “It’s a school downstairs.”

“Downstairs where?”

“Don’t know second floor... somewhere.”

He caught Marty’s eye. “Does the school have a lot of students, Karen?”

“Mmm. They take the train.”

“The subway?”

A chuckle. “No.”

“What train, Karen? How do the students get there?” His stomach twisted into a knot of steel.

“The train.”

Good God, just let him control his temper a little longer. “Which train, Karen? I love opera.”

“The Long Isl—Oh, no, Doctor. No fair...”

What wasn’t fair was the way this woman was drifting into death, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to stop her.

S
he’d been wrong
, one hundred and ten percent wrong.

As Larkin watched Alex Jakobs attempt to pull Karen back toward life, she suddenly knew exactly why he had ordered the camera to keep rolling.