Promises in the Night: A Classic Romance - Book 2 (8 page)

The massive engine came instantly to life and the headlights pierced the darkness. He leaned backward until he could smell the scent of pine surround him. The car eased down the driveway and quickly disappeared down the winding road that led to Main Street.

Tomorrow morning the bearded man would see where the car’s metal skin had been torn away from the frame. He would wonder how the accident happened and would blame careless drivers or the vicious storm for the damage.

The thought wouldn’t occur to him that what had happened wasn’t an accident at all, that someone had meant it as a warning.

He smiled into the darkness as she began her nightly ritual.

The next time there would be no doubt at all.

I
T WAS 3
:00 A.M. A half hour earlier, Alex had finally given up all pretense of trying to sleep and now he lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Each time he had dozed off, that old dream about Rikki had been waiting to pull him back into sorrow, and he had awakened with a start, feeling both guilty and relieved.

Sometimes he found it impossible to remember the way she looked. He had thought her face would burn in his memory until the day he died, and the fact that time altered his memories both angered and scared him.

Only in this recurring dream was Rikki so vivid, so real, that he could see the cluster of freckles on her left shoulder and the scar on her right knee.

He thought he had let go of her. He had honestly believed he had made his peace with her death and continued with his life. He’d spent time with many women and found pleasure with quite a few of them. Yet no one before Larkin Walker engaged his heart or touched his soul in the way Rikki once had.

His emotions were a tangle of paradoxes: guilt battled with excitement; elation tangled with sorrow. He felt that he was rushing headlong toward something he might not be able to handle, but there was no power on earth that could make him slow down.

He had a right to create a new life for himself. Rikki would have expected it of him. However, falling in love at thirty-six was a vastly different experience from falling in love as a teenager.

The teenager believes love can live forever.

The man knows nothing does—sometimes not even the woman you love.

J
ayne Walker
never claimed she had psychic powers, but her daughter wasn’t so sure. Larkin had no idea how her mother managed it, but a long-distance phone call from Las Vegas seemed to coincide with every major emotional event in Larkin’s life.

So it was no surprise at all when Sharon buzzed Larkin on the intercom the next morning and told her Jayne was on the phone.

“I wasn’t going to call you until Sunday,” Jayne said, her sweet voice slightly tinny through the long-distance connection, “but I had a dream about you last night and—well, how are you, honey?”

Larkin laughed. “Just fine, Mom. How are you and Daddy doing?”

Jayne told her about her father’s latest land deal in the northern part of the state. “He’s trying to push through all the paperwork so we can break away over the holidays.”

Larkin nodded her thanks as Sharon put a steaming cup of coffee down on her desk. For once the office was quiet: Patti was still in Palm Springs, Vivian wasn’t due in until noon, and Gordon had called in sick. It was a welcome change from the normal insanity.

“Are you still planning on spending Christmas with Michael in London?” she asked Jayne.

“Well, of course, it all depends on your father’s schedule, but I’d love to see your brother and Naura.”

Why did it always depend on his schedule? “If Daddy can’t make it, why don’t you go alone? There’s no reason you should be deprived of the trip just because he’s busy.”

“Larkin, honey, you know I’d never want to leave your father during the holidays.”

Larkin took a sip of coffee. “What about all the times Daddy missed the holidays because he was away on some business deal?”

“That was work, Larkin. He was never away from us if he didn’t have to be.”

She decided to approach it from another angle. “Don’t you think Michael will be disappointed if you don’t make it there for Christmas?”

Her mother sounded hurt. “I didn’t call you to argue, Larkin. I simply wanted to hear your voice.”

“I know that, Mom. It’s just that when you start putting yourself last—well, I go crazy.”

“I’ve noticed. You do tend to take after your father at times.”

“Don’t you think a trip by yourself might be fun after all these years?”

“What fun would I have?” Jayne countered. “I would spend the entire holiday season missing your father.”

It was no use. Jayne Walker’s primary identification was as Bill Walker’s wife.

However, Larkin’s experience with Vladimir Karpov and his similar capacity for taking had made her question the wisdom of her mother’s way of life. Larkin had nearly vanished under Vladimir’s thumb, and it sometimes seemed to her that Jayne’s position in life was comparable. They chatted for a few minutes about the business lunch Larkin had set up for that afternoon and Jayne’s charity work at the pediatric unit. Larkin told her mother about

Roger’s plans for his Halloween party, but she carefully avoided any mention of Alex.

“Have you asked anyone to escort you?”

Obviously Jayne’s ESP was still in good working order.

“Mom, Roger’s house is right next door. I hardly need an escort.”

“You’re evading the question.”

So true. “Well, I did meet someone at the seminar at the Sheraton—”

“Is he single?”

“Widowed.”

There was silence for a moment; then, Jayne asked, “How long?”

“About four years.”

“Did they have children?”

“Do you want his phone number, Mom? Maybe you could ask him all this personally.”

“If you’re thinking of becoming involved with this man, I think you should know these things.”

Larkin bristled. “I promise you, if I think of becoming involved with Alex Jakobs, I’ll have him fill out a questionnaire first.”

Jayne, however, was undaunted. “How old is he?”

“I don’t know—thirty-five, thirty-six. He’s a psychologist.”

“Perhaps you could invite him to Roger’s party.”

“Perhaps.” Larkin couldn’t bring herself to tell Jayne exactly how far their relationship had progressed. Jayne was intuitive enough; she didn’t need further ammunition.

“It’s time you started thinking about settling down, honey. When I was your age, I had five children.”

“When you were my age, women had no choice.”

“I don’t regret any of my choices, Larkin.”

Larkin sighed. “I didn’t say you did, Mom. And I don’t regret any of mine.”

Jayne didn’t mention the notable exception of Vladimir Karpov. Larkin seriously doubted if she would have been able to pass up the opportunity herself if the situation were reversed.

“Well, honey, it’s time for me to start making breakfast. Jordan and Melanie and the baby are here, and you know how they love French toast and sausage.”

Larkin debated the wisdom of suggesting that her brother Jordan and his wife Melanie cook their own French toast and sausage, but decided against it. Jayne’s pattern of giving to those she loved was as much a part of her makeup as her fingerprints or her voice and, for once, Larkin kept her opinions to herself.

Maybe she was more her mother’s daughter than she realized.

It was an interesting thought.

A
lex finished
his speech before the Media Psychologists of America convention to polite applause, and he had the sudden and uncomfortable feeling that he had skated by more on charm than substance. His mind had been occupied by thoughts of Larkin Walker and how she had felt in his arms less than twelve hours ago.

“I liked those points you brought out on journalistic ethics,” Pete Brennan said as they rode the elevator up to the bar, where a buffet lunch was being offered. “Do you mind if I quote you in my newsletter?”

“Be my guest,” Alex said. “I don’t think I covered half of what needed to be covered.”

Pete gave him a funny look. “You covered twice as much as they’re going to remember. Most of our fellow psychologists are here for a little R and R.” Alex didn’t say anything. “You know, Jakobs—recharge the batteries.”

Alex knew exactly what Peter was driving at, and he chose to ignore it. He also knew that he was one of a dying breed of men for whom fidelity was an integral part of marriage.

The bar was smoky and hot and packed with psychologists trading stories with one another.

Alex ordered a Scotch on the rocks and was idly eavesdropping on Pete’s conversation with a therapist from Miami when he heard a woman’s voice at his side.

“You look like you could use a little cheering up.”

He turned around.

She was about his age, brunette and very attractive. She held a Bloody Mary in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “‘Alex C. Jakobs, Ph.D., Long Island, New York,’” she read from his name tag. “What does the
C
stand for?”

“Chamberlain,” he said, taking note of the fine curve of her breasts in the clinging navy dress.

“Family name?”

He nodded. It was easier than explaining how as a young man he had felt embarrassed by his lack of family history and so had borrowed the Chamberlain from the actor who played Dr. Kildare and invented a whole genealogy to go with it.

She took a sip of her drink. “You don’t talk very much, do you, Alex C. Jakobs? Aren’t you even going to ask my name?”

He gestured toward the tag on the swell of her left breast. “Not necessary,” he said. “You’re Kathryn Anne Ryan of
Family Psychology Magazine.”

“There are no secrets in this place, are there?”

“A few,” he said, “but not many.”

She stepped a little closer. “Do you have a few you’d care to share with me?”

“And three million other readers? Not very likely, Ms. Ryan.”

“I’m not talking about professional secrets, Alex. I was hoping for revelations of a more personal nature.”

He met her eyes. “I know that.”

“You’re an attractive man. Perhaps we could spend some time together.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m booked solid.”

“Can you be tempted?”

He laughed. “I can be tempted, but I can’t be swayed.”

“Too bad,” she said. “These conventions are so dull. I thought we might be able to liven things up a little.”

She moved back into the crowd, and Alex watched a number of his peers enjoy her graceful walk. Six months ago he might have taken Kathryn Ryan up on her invitation and enjoyed a few nights of passion.

However, last night with Larkin he had felt emotions he’d thought he would never experience again. She brought out in him a tenderness and optimism that made him feel he could conquer the world—or at least a part of it. The pleasures of the flesh were wonderful; but when the pleasures of the flesh were combined with love—well, that was something a man was willing to wait for.

Alex Jakobs was a man who knew his priorities.

L
arkin returned
from her business lunch around three o’clock that afternoon to find Patti, suffering jet lag but triumphant, waiting in her office.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, slipping out of her shoes and kicking them under her desk. “You’re supposed to be in Palm Springs with Harry David Parker.”

“Mission accomplished,” Patti said. “He signed on the dotted line.”

“Incredible! How did you manage it?”

Patti struck a campy, seductive pose. “Would you believe I used my feminine charms on him?”

“If I believed that, Franklin, you’d be on the unemployment line.”

“You have no sense of humor, Larkin.”

“You forget that your reputation precedes you.” Larkin sat down behind her desk, and Patti took the seat adjacent to it.

“He wants the publicity for his novels, and the Learning Center seems to be as good a way as any for him to get some.”

“Yes,” Larkin said wryly, “and the several thousand dollar fee didn’t hurt, either.”

“He’s a man of the arts,” Patti said, popping a candy into her mouth. “Money means nothing to him.”

Both women laughed at the absurdity of the statement. Over the years Larkin had discovered that those in the arts were the first to offer their services—for the right price.

“You’re lucky Parker lives on the East End most of the year,” Patti said, taking another candy. “Otherwise, I bet he’d expect you to pay all his expenses.”

“That’s one problem we shouldn’t have with the ballet series, thank God.”

Patti looked up from her inspection of her manicure “Did you get an answer from Karpo?”

“Karpov,” Larkin corrected. “And yes, I did. A letter of agreement arrived this morning, by express mail.”

Patti let out a whoop of excitement. “We can start, publicizing?”

“Monday morning, if you like.”

“The hell with Monday morning,” Patti said. “I’ll start right now.”

Larkin laughed. “Remind me to talk to you about your lack of enthusiasm.” She wished she felt one half the excitement Patti felt over Vladimir’s association with the Learning Center. Her wariness was a strange counterpoint to Patti’s elation.

“All we have to do is print a photo of that guy’s body,” Patti said, “and every woman on Long Island will be on line to sign up for the lecture series.”

Vladimir’s magnetic effect on women—and their effect on him—had been one of the main reasons Larkin ended their relationship. He was charmingly attractive and about as capable of being faithful as a tomcat on the prowl. Being second best had been a painful experience, and Larkin vowed never to be second best again.

So far, she had succeeded.

“I don’t know how you ever let him slip through your fingers,” Patti was saying. “The life you could have had—”

“Was highly overrated,” Larkin broke in. “Don’t believe everything you read about the glamorous life, Patti.” There was nothing at all glamorous about a broken heart or shattered self-esteem.

“You take things too seriously.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to do the same.”

“I don’t care what you say, Larkin. A man like Vladimir Karpov is worth five regular human beings.”

Larkin sighed and shook her head. Patti, might have known a lot of men, but she knew very little about life. Larkin’s own experience with men was limited, but she knew that a smile from Alex was worth more than all the promises of forever from a man like Vladimir.

A
t first Alex
thought he was in the wrong building.

Even though the sign out front said The Learning Center, he was convinced that he had somehow made a wrong turn in the parking lot or gotten his days mixed up. He was certain their lunch date was for Monday, but the parking lot was jammed with cars, and yet there didn’t seem to be a single living soul inside the school.

Now, he knew Larkin ran a series of odd classes that took people on leaf-peeping trips to New Hampshire and whale-watching jaunts to Cape Cod, but he had expected at least to find a receptionist in the office.

“Is anyone here?” His voice echoed in the quiet room.

He peeked into open classrooms stacked high with easels and stereo systems, woks and racquetball equipment. Still no sign of life anywhere. He was about to give up when he heard a woman’s voice, low and melodic, counting slowly backward.

“Eight... seven… six... five...”

It came from the last room on the left. The door was slightly ajar, and he poked his head inside to take a look. There was Larkin, looking lovely in a cobalt blue jump suit, stretched out on the floor along with thirty other women, while a woman with a yellow turban on her head counted backward.

He couldn’t begin to hazard a guess.

Suddenly he heard a familiar voice next to him. “They’re finishing a past-life regression.”

He turned to see Patti Franklin, Larkin’s assistant.

“That’s Madame Sonia in the party hat,” Patti continued. “She thinks she was Queen Hatshepsut in another life. The woman in the Harris Tweed suit was Alexander the Great, and the two women in Harvard sweatshirts were Nicholas and Alexandra.”

“Which one was Czar Nicholas?”

“The one with the French braids. Can’t you tell?”

He shook his head. “The accent had me fooled.”

“We’ve had six Marie Antoinettes, in the past two weeks,” Patti continued. “We’re thinking of giving out numbers.”