No Turning Back Part 7

"You must be Sheila's neighbor Kathleen," she said when we'd reached the top. I moved around her to unlock my door. She followed me inside.

"I am," I confirmed, setting my bag on the kitchen counter. She did the same. I had the sinking feeling she didn't know about Sheila's death.

"It's nice to finally meet you," she said, her smile was wide and had a touch of mischievousness about it, which only enhanced her beauty. "I'm Gracelyn, but my friends call me Gracie."

"Thanks for helping me, Gracie," I said, and couldn't help smiling back at her, she was so friendly and cheerful. I dreaded what I knew was coming and sure enough, she confirmed my suspicions.

"Do you know where Sheila is?" she asked. "She was supposed to have dinner with me last night, but she didn't show. I left her a few voice mails and she hasn't called me back." At that, I turned and looked at where I'd left the phone on my kitchen counter this morning. It was gone. The uncomfortable realization that someone had been in my apartment made me pause before I answered her.

"I'm so sorry to have to tell you this," I said to Gracie, "but Sheila is dead." I flinched inwardly at the abruptness of my words, but didn't know how else to put it.

Gracie's face froze in shock for a moment, then she seemed to recover herself. She didn't cry. Actually, she looked more resigned than anything else.

"How did she die?" she asked quietly. I swallowed heavily before answering.

"Someone killed her," I answered. "I found her late Sat.u.r.day night in her apartment."

Gracie leaned back against the counter and looked up at the ceiling, blinking her eyes rapidly. I remained silent, letting her absorb the news about Sheila and regain control of her emotions. Finally, she took a deep shuddering breath and looked at me again.

Smiling a little, she said, "She talked about you, you know. She really liked you. Said you were sweet and kind and brought her coffee in the mornings." Now I was the one who felt tears stinging my eyes.

"We got along pretty well," I said, clearing my throat from the tears clogging it. I began unpacking my bags and Gracie helped. As I put things in the refrigerator, I had a thought.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" I asked, and her bright smile appeared again.

"I'd love to," she said, "thank you."

It would be nice to have someone to cook for, for a change, I thought. Usually, it was just me. I felt a brush against me and looked down to see Tigger winding his way around my legs.

"You have Tigger!" Gracie exclaimed, bending down to scoop him up. I winced. Gracie was wearing dark jeans that fit like a second skin and a long-sleeved black blouse. Tigger was going to shed all over her.

"I couldn't let him go to the animal shelter," I said, "and I thought Sheila wouldn't mind me taking him."

"Yeah, she would have wanted you to have him," Gracie confirmed, nuzzling Tigger's fur. He purred contentedly in her arms.

I started cooking dinner while we chatted. Finding half a bottle of wine in the refrigerator, I poured two gla.s.ses. I found out that Gracie was originally from Ohio and had moved to Indianapolis with a boyfriend, but they had broken up a while ago.

"So how did you know Sheila?" I asked, ladling soup into two bowls.

"We worked together," she answered, as we sat down at my small kitchen table. I thought I knew what that meant even though she clarified. "For the escort service, you know."

"I don't plan on doing it forever," she said, taking a sip of her wine. "I'm saving my money so I can travel. I've always wanted to go to Ireland."

"My family is Irish," I said, and her eyes brightened with interest. "Well, my dad's side anyway."

"Have you ever been there?" she asked excitedly, and I hated to disappoint her but I shook my head.

"No, but I'd like to go sometime." She asked what I did for a living and I told her about the firm and working at The Drop.

"You know," she said, eyeing me with interest, "you could probably make pretty good money doing what me and Sheila do - did," she corrected herself. "You're really pretty and you've got gorgeous hair, a real unusual color." I was embarra.s.sed by her scrutiny and her compliments, though I thought she was being overly kind. I was sure I'd look exactly like a dumpling standing next to her.

"I don't think so," I said. "I don't think I'm...cut out...for that kind of work."

"You know, it's not always s.e.x," she said, which caught my attention. I thought that was what they did. At my questioning look, she explained.

"Some men really do just want a pretty and entertaining companion for the evening." She shrugged her shoulders. "They pay for someone so they don't have to worry about getting involved or any entanglements." Huh. Well, that was interesting. It certainly didn't sound like a bad job. I remembered with more than a little longing what Sheila had told me she made. Then I shook myself out of my reverie.

"No, I couldn't. It's just not me."

"Suit yourself," Gracie said, "but let me know if you ever change your mind."

We finished our meal in companionable silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. When we'd finished and I was cleaning up, I brought up something that had bothered me.

"Gracie," I said, "you know, you didn't seem all that surprised to hear about Sheila." I turned from the sink to look at her as she stood petting Tigger, who had jumped up on my counter. I shooed him off onto the floor.

"I suppose I'm not," she said. "Sheila had told me about a guy that kept requesting her from the service."

"She did?" I asked, trying to contain my excitement. If Gracie knew about him, she might know who he was.

"Yeah," she said, "but I don't know his name." My heart sank and she noticed my disappointment. "A lot of them don't even use their real names," she explained. "They're businessmen, political figures. They have a lot to lose if someone were to find out they'd used an escort service."

She thanked me for the meal and gave me a hug. Jotting down her number on a piece of paper, she handed it to me.

"Call me if you change your mind," she said before she left, and I didn't have to ask what she meant. Resolutely, I ignored the temptation of easy money. If it sounded too good to be true, I reasoned, it probably was.

The next day at work I avoided both Diane and Blane. I had no idea how I was supposed to act with him. My stomach tied itself in knots at the mere thought of going up to his floor. I took the chicken way out and called Clarice from my desk.

"What happened yesterday between you and Blane?" she demanded the minute I said h.e.l.lo. I thought frantically of the kiss in my car before realizing she hadn't meant that, but the scene in his office.

"We just had a slight disagreement," I said weakly.

"'Slight' my a.s.s," she retorted. "I got grilled within an inch of my life about you after you ran out of here."

"What?!"

"Exactly," she said. "Blane wanted to know everything I knew about you, including what you and I had talked about yesterday."

"You mean my date with James tonight?"

"Yes. He wanted to know if you had been out with James before, if you had dated anyone else in the firm, just everything. I couldn't believe it!"

"What did you tell him?" I demanded.

"Well, I had to tell him the truth," she hedged. "He is my boss, after all. Don't worry, nothing bad, I was just so surprised that he wanted to know." Yeah, her and me both.

"Um, yes, Mr. Galloway, we do have those files you requested," I heard her say, and was briefly confused before I realized Blane must be within earshot.

"He's there, isn't he?" I hissed into the phone.

"Absolutely," she answered. "You're correct about that, sir." I grinned.

"Thanks for running interference for me, Clarice," I said. "He's the last person I want to see right now."

"I a.s.sume you mean me and not the aforementioned Mr. Galloway."

c.r.a.p! Blane must have taken the phone from Clarice. The jig was up. I grimaced and leaned over, banging my head lightly on the desk.

"I'd like you in my office, Kathleen," Blane continued. "You have three minutes." The line clicked. Hanging up, I took a deep breath. I could handle this. So we had kissed, so what? Lots of people did that all the time. It didn't mean anything. But that didn't explain why my heart was racing and b.u.t.terflies were throwing a party in my stomach.

Nerves jangling, I took the elevator up to Blane's floor. I couldn't resist smoothing my hair in the reflection off the elevator door. Stepping off the elevator, I tugged nervously at the hem of the fuzzy sweater I wore today. It was a deep raspberry color and I thought it brought out the red in my hair. Not that I'd cared what I wore to the office. Okay, so maybe that wasn't precisely true, but I could pretend.

Clarice looked furtively at me as I walked by and I thought I saw the ghost of a smile on her face. I stuck my tongue out at her. Traitor.

I tapped lightly on Blane's open office door and he glanced up from where he'd been standing behind his desk, bent over studying some papers. Seeing me, he straightened and waved me in.

"Close the door behind you," he ordered, and I did as I was told. He must not have had to go to court today because he wasn't in a suit, but dressed more casually in black slacks and a black, long-sleeved s.h.i.+rt. The cuffs had been folded casually back.

Coming out from behind the desk, he strode toward me. I froze like the proverbial deer in headlights, halfway across the room. He stopped an arm's length from me.

"Did you bring that list for me?" he asked, taking me by surprise. Then I could have kicked myself. Of course this wasn't personal. He'd remembered I was supposed to bring him the numbers off Sheila's cell phone.

"No," I said. He set his hands on his hips and looked at me, waiting. "It was gone when I got home last night." He frowned.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Just what I said. I left the phone on my kitchen counter yesterday and when I got home last night, it was gone." Now that I thought about it, it occurred to me that Blane himself might have taken it. He was the only one who'd known I'd had it.

"Was your apartment locked?" I nodded.

"I always lock my apartment." He didn't say anything to this, his eyes dropping to the floor, seeming to be lost in thought. After a few moments of silence, I cleared my throat.

"Is that all?" I asked, not sure if I hoped it was or wasn't. Looking back up at me, he was still frowning.

"I don't like the idea of someone breaking into your apartment," he said.

"Yeah, you and me both," I shot back. I saw the corners of his mouth twitch in an almost smile. His hands dropped from his hips and he stepped closer. Swallowing, I stood my ground.

"You're so combative," he accused softly. "Are you this way with everyone or just me?" His question startled me. I was unsure how to answer. On one hand, he had a point, but, from my perspective, I was just trying to guard against him. If anything, the last few interactions between us had shown me how susceptible I was to him.

"I...um," I stammered, not knowing what I was going to say. His eyes held me captive as he lifted a hand. The back of his knuckles grazed my jaw and my breath caught in my throat.

"I like that color on you," he said softly, moving closer to me. I saw his eyes drop to my mouth and panic flared inside me. I couldn't allow him to kiss me again. It meant something to me, something that I knew it couldn't mean to him. I was just a plaything for him and I had to remember that.

Stepping backward beyond his reach, I blurted, "I have to go. I have a date tonight." His eyes narrowed and he moved toward me again. I kept walking backward, him stalking me, until I was suddenly stopped by the wall against my back. Placing his hands on either side of my head, he effectively trapped me.

"So you said," he said, his eyes searching mine. "Though somehow I doubt James will be to your liking."

"What do you mean?" I said, disliking the breathlessness in my voice. "James is a nice man," I defended him. I couldn't stop my gaze from dropping to his mouth and watched as his lips curved in a knowing smile.

"Maybe," Blane murmured. "But I don't think you like nice men."

"That's ridiculous," I protested. "Of course I do." I could feel the heat of his body through his clothes as he towered over me. His s.h.i.+rt was unb.u.t.toned at the top and I could see a glimpse of skin at the base of his throat. I licked my lips and tried not to think of how that skin would taste.

Leaning closer, he placed his lips at my ear. "But I'm not a nice man," he whispered, "and I know you like me." The words slithered into my ear and then I felt his lips touch my neck in a feather light caress.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the silence and I jumped about a foot. Blane didn't move, his eyes locked on mine. His hand cupped my jaw, his thumb lightly brus.h.i.+ng my lips.

The knock came again and I took the opportunity to duck under his arm and escape. I threw the door open on a surprised Derrick.

"I'm sorry, Blane," he said, looking from him to me. "I didn't realize you were in a meeting?" His statement came out as a question as he looked at me. I don't think he even knew who I was.

Smiling brightly, I said, "I was just leaving," and beat a hasty retreat, not daring to look back at Blane as I hurried down the hall.

Chapter Five.

Heading to my car, I drove home, glad to be done for the day. The scene in Blane's office had me rattled. I didn't understand what kind of game he was playing with me. And that's what I'm sure it was. A game. Maybe he just couldn't handle the idea of a woman not eager for his advances. Not that I had shown myself all that uneager, I thought ruefully. I didn't want to think about what might have happened if we'd had another few moments in his office. Blane was like the proverbial flame - irresistible even though I knew I'd just get burned.

Shoving thoughts of Blane aside, I took a quick shower so I could blow dry my hair. It was fluffier and s.h.i.+nier if I blow dried, but it just took so long, I rarely had the patience to do it. This was my first real date since coming to Indy and I thought it was worth the effort.

I surveyed my closet, trying to figure out what to wear. It was chilly so something warm would be best. I pulled out a black sweater dress that was s.e.xy without being trashy. Black tights, black high-heeled boots and some silver jewelry and I thought I looked pretty good. The color set off my fair skin and my hair which hung in waves past my shoulders. The dress hugged my curves without being skin tight. I was just putting the final touches on my makeup and adding a spray of perfume when I heard a knock on my door.

Peering through the peephole, I saw it was James and I smiled in welcome as I opened the door.

"Wow," he said, grinning appreciatively as he looked me up and down. "You look fantastic." I was slightly embarra.s.sed but enjoyed his frank admiration.

"Thanks," I said. "You look pretty good yourself." And he did. He was wearing black pants, a gray s.h.i.+rt and dark sport coat.

I locked my door and he offered his arm as we walked down the stairs. With my heels, he was only an inch or so taller than me. He drove a white BMW, a much more sensible car than Blane, though certainly not a cheap one. I realized I was thinking about Blane and deliberately shut those thoughts down.

"Do you like Italian?" James asked as he started the car.

"Love it," I answered. We talked as he drove, chatting about inconsequential things. I had been a bit nervous, but James' warm and una.s.suming demeanor put me at ease.

He pulled up at a small, exclusive Italian restaurant and gave the car keys to the valet. Another valet opened my door for me and I stepped out. James was there and offered me his arm again as we went inside.

I had, of course, never been to this restaurant before and it was very cozy. The decor was tasteful without seeming pretentious. The maitre d' led us to a corner booth far from the kitchen. I scooted into the leather seat and James slid in next to me, situating us side by side in the corner. The maitre d' handed us menus then quietly disappeared.

A waiter came by and James ordered a bottle of wine for us. Everything on the menu looked delicious and I was having a hard time deciding. James ordered something with seafood while I chose the eggplant parmesan.

James was an entertaining date and he had me laughing with stories of past clients and some of the stranger cases the firm had litigated. The wine was excellent and I found I was enjoying myself. Our meal came and the food was delicious. James made a signal to the waiter and a new bottle of wine appeared. He kept refilling my gla.s.s, and though I was Irish and could handle my liquor better than most, I could feel that the wine had affected me. I was giggling more easily and was rather unconcerned about how close James was sitting to me. His hand had drifted to my thigh as we talked and I didn't mind.

Someone stopped at our table and we looked up. I sobered quickly. Frank Santini was standing there watching us.