Wait Until Dark, page 6
She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, propping up her chin as she pondered what had just occurred.
Whoever was responsible for that call knew she was leaving for Newport in the morning. They were getting desperate. So they'd decided to go for the jugular and threaten her safety if she didn't sell the house.
She tossed off the blanket and got up, all semblance of sleep having vanished. She was unnerved, yes, but she was also furious. The voice at the other end of the phone had been unfamiliar - some dirtbag paid by the Falkners, no doubt. Which one of her loving stepsiblings was desperate enough to arrange for that call - Tracy or Stuart? Or was it both of them? Were they so intent on forcing her out of their lives that they'd resort to scare tactics to accomplish their goal? And did they honestly think she was stupid enough not to guess they were the ones behind the call? Who else knew she'd inherited the manor? Who else cared if she kept it? No one but the Falkners had an interest in the place.
Wrong. There was one more person. Nicholas Warner.
An uneasy shiver darted up Lindsay's spine, although her mind was already screaming its denial.
Or was it her hopes doing the screaming?
Nicholas had called her three times since she left Newport eight days ago. And not only to make arrangements for her stay at his house. They'd talked for almost an hour each time, about nothing and everything, until Irene had started giving her daughter knowing looks and leaving the room so she could have some privacy.
Lindsey wasn't sure she needed privacy. In fact, she wasn't sure what she was feeling when it came to Nicholas. Excitement. Attraction. Desire.
Not trust. Not yet.
Could he possibly be the one who'd arranged for that phone call? He hadn't brought up the manor since their lunch two Fridays ago, except to ask an occasional question about the contractors she'd hired. Not over the weekend, and not during any of their subsequent phone calls. Nor had he made a single attempt to convince her to sell him the manor for his condo development. Was he still hoping to accomplish that?
Even if he was, would he stoop to threatening her into selling?
No. She didn't believe it. She wouldn't believe it.
She walked across the room, turned on the light, and began packing some last minute things. Whoever had arranged for that call was going to be sadly disappointed. Their theatrics had failed. She was going ahead with her plans. In fact, since she was wide awake anyway, she'd leave for Newport immediately.
Nicholas stood in the doorway to his bedroom, staring at his bed and trying not to picture Lindsey lying naked on the sheets, her body intimately entangled with his. Unfortunately, it was an image that came to him a lot these days. And it was bad for his concentration. He had a job to do. Getting involved with Lindsey Hall was going to make it tougher for him to do it.
That wasn't going to stop him from accomplishing his goal.
He'd made a promise to Harlan - one he intended to keep.
Newport was exquisite at dawn.
Lindsey stopped her car at the entrance to the manor's driveway, easing her gear shift into park so she could turn and admire the view. The sun was just starting its shimmering ascent, and she rolled down her windows so she could truly drink it in. She gazed out toward the ocean, watching as slices of lemon and orange tinged the sky, glistened on the water.
Feeling a sense of peace that had eluded her since last night's phone call, she drew a slow, appreciative breath, letting her mind and body relax. She'd needed that tension release. She hadn't realized how much.
Leaving her windows down, she shifted back into drive, the ocean breeze rippling through her hair as she continued the rest of the way to the manor. She pulled around front and stopped.
The house looked regal at this time of day, the rays of the sun hovering over the manor like a golden crown.
The workmen wouldn't be here for two hours. That gave her tons of time to review her designs, to polish off the extra-large Styrofoam cup of coffee she'd picked up down the road, and to imagine her mother's face when she moved into her new home.
She let herself in, flipping on the lights and wandering through the hallway. It was odd to think she'd been conceived here, in one of the bedrooms upstairs, or maybe in the staff quarters behind the kitchen. Odder still, that that thought didn't bother her, but somehow gave her a sense of validation. After the history her mother had relayed of the love affair she'd shared with Harlan Falkner, Lindsey was having a harder and harder time viewing the man as an intangible entity, much less one to be despised. He'd obviously loved Irene enough to try to find some way to stay in her life and to offer something to their child.
If circumstances had been just a little different - if Harlan Falkner had been less integrally tied to his family and his high-visibility world - she might have gotten to know, or at least to meet, her father.
To Lindsey's surprise, tears stung at her eyes. She hadn't let herself walk down this road before, to contemplate these deeply personal might-have-been's. Not in any one of the handful of times she'd walked through the manor. Then again, she hadn't had any quiet time here, time to be alone with her thoughts.
She wished she knew more about Harlan Falkner. Not the business mogul, and not the fervent lover her mother described. But the man - the man who'd struggled between loyalties, who'd opted to leave her this manor with the full realization of what the consequences would be.
When had he made the decision? Before or after his wife's breakdown? Did Camille know about his affair with Irene? Was her drinking the result of that knowledge, or was it the other way around?
"A penny for your thoughts."
Lindsey whipped around, stunned to see Nicholas standing in the front hall. She'd never heard him come in. And the last thing she wanted was to have him see her in this vulnerable state. She wasn't ready for that.
Especially after the nagging question of who was behind last night's phone call...
"What are you doing here?" she managed, blinking the moisture from her lashes and trying to keep her voice steady.
He frowned, walking toward her. "You're crying. Why?"
She took an inadvertent step backward. "It's barely past six o'clock. Why are you out here?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"I couldn't sleep. I rode out early."
"I know. I called your apartment to see when you were leaving. I got the answering machine. So I drove out to surprise you. I planned to be waiting when you arrived. It never occurred to me you'd be here already." He reached her, his forefinger tipping up her chin. "Are you okay?"
"Did you think I wouldn't be?"
His frown deepened. "Lindsey, what is it? What's wrong?"
She searched his face. He looked tired, lines of weariness etched around his eyes. As for guilt, he was either the best actor she'd ever seen, or he had no idea what was bothering her.
With that in mind, she took the risk.
"I'm tired and on edge. I got a pretty upsetting phone call at three in the morning." Seeing no flicker of comprehension register on Nicholas's face, she continued. "I was warned to sell the manor and stay away. Oh, and to keep my parentage a secret. Or else."
Nicholas's eyes narrowed. "Or else what?"
"The caller wasn't specific. He just suggested I stay healthy by following his advice."
"Did you recognize the voice?"
Her gaze was steady. "No. Then again, rich, powerful people don't usually do their own dirty work. Do they?"
Her point got through, loud and clear, and Nicholas's jaw clenched. "You think I had something to do with it?"
"Did you?"
"No. Then again, if you have to ask me that, I doubt you'll believe me."
"Frankly, Nicholas, I don't know what to believe. It's hard for me to imagine your being that cruel. On the other hand, you told me yourself how much you wanted this manor."
"I also told you I'm not the self-indulgent hedonist you think I am. I don't always get what I want. When I don't, I live with it. I don't resort to the kind of tactics you're describing."
"How about your friend Stuart Falkner? Does he resort to those kind of tactics? Or what about his sister, Tracy?"
Nicholas rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with her question. "I can't speak for Stuart. Or for Tracy. I can only speak for myself." He reached out, gripped Lindsey's shoulders, his probing stare boring through her. "Look at me," he commanded, waiting until she'd complied. "I realize we haven't known each other long. Whatever it is that's happening between us is happening fast. That scares you. Who I am, how I live, scares you. I can accept all that. But I can't accept suspicions like the ones you're battling now. Trust your gut, Lindsey. Do you honestly think I'd threaten you just to get this house?"
Lindsey released her breath on a sigh. "No. I don't." She felt frustrated, unsettled, and just plain drained. "But someone would. And I'm getting a little sick of this cat-and-mouse game. It's starting to get out of hand."
"I agree."
Something about Nicholas's tone struck her, a hard decisiveness that was new.
"Why is it I can't get past the feeling that you know a lot more than you're willing to say?" she asked. "Are you protecting someone - Stuart, for example?"
"Nothing like that," Nicholas weighed his words carefully. "Whatever I might or might not know has nothing to do with you, or with last night's phone call. Let's leave it at that."
Puzzled, Lindsey inclined her head, studied Nicholas's unreadable expression. She felt more curiosity than suspicion, an indication that, with or without any logical basis, she believed him. Whatever was troubling him clearly related to the Falkners, but in what way, she didn't know.
"You still think I'm lying," Nicholas stated, watching the speculative look on her face.
"Actually, no. I think you're telling the truth."
"Then what is it you're so deep in thought about?"
"I'm trying to fit together the pieces. How do you factor into the Falkners' lives? How close are you really, and what is it about them you're hiding?" She waved away the evasive reply she knew was coming. "Never mind." Just as quickly - before she had time to chicken out - she added, "Would you answer just one question for me - one that has nothing to do with your relationship with Stuart and Tracy?"
"All right," Nicholas agreed warily.
Now came the hard part. Lindsey wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "You told me you knew Harlan Falkner for twenty years, that he gave you your first business break. What about personally? How well did you know him?"
Nicholas never averted his gaze. "He was like a father to me. My own father died when I was in my teens. Harlan took over from there. He was both mentor and friend. Why are you asking? Is this about his commitment to his family again?"
"No, this is about my getting to know my father," Lindsey managed to say. "I never had the chance before. I wouldn't have taken it if I had. But now... I had a very enlightening talk with my mother. Things have changed."
"I see," Nicholas murmured. He studied her with a delving intensity that was unnerving. It was as if he could see inside her, read her thoughts, and her emotions.
Gently, he reached out, caressed her cheek, wiped away the fingering traces of moisture near her eyes. "So that's why you were crying." He didn't wait for a response. "I tell you what. The contractors won't be here for almost two hours. That pathetic Styrofoam cup of coffee I see sitting in the corner must be ice cold by now. I brought a whole thermos of it with me, hot and freshly brewed, along with a half-dozen of the best doughnuts you'll ever taste. Why don't we sit outside, eat some breakfast, and talk? This time we'll get past the superficial questions. This time we'll really talk about your father."
Over the next hour Nicholas talked, and Lindsey was a rapt audience. He told her about Harlan's driving ambition, his dry sense of humor, his mile-wide stubborn streak. He got into Harlan's commitment to the environment, his aversion to shellfish and his affinity for classical music. He spoke of a man who prided himself on his people skills, who pushed himself to excel at everything he tackled - from investments to golf - and who tried a dozen different methods to get over his chronic seasickness, all unsuccessfully.
"He couldn't even look at a boat," Nicholas chuckled. "Not even when it was docked. The mere sight of it rocking from side to side made him lose his lunch."
"So that's where I get it from," Lindsey noted aloud. "Oh, I'm not quite as bad as that. I'm fine on kayaks, rowboats, canoes, even an occasional sailboat. But anything bigger than that?" She shuddered. "I went out on a friend's yacht once. The minute we dropped anchor and the boat started bobbing around, my insides started churning. I dived into the ocean and alternately swam and treaded water until it was time to head back. I love the water, but only as a spectator, a paddler, or a swimmer. Not as a passenger on anything serious enough to have a motor."
Nicholas shot her a sympathetic look. "Hearing that, I'm glad you're staying at my house and I'm using the yacht. I guess I won't be offering you any moonlight cruises."
"Not unless you're dying to send our clothes to the cleaners."
"I see your point." A wicked grin. "On the other hand, that would mean having to take our clothes off. Maybe we should try out my yacht after all."
Lindsey rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
"Um-hum. But am I making headway?"
Averting her gaze, Lindsey wondered how the conversation had gone from teasing to intimate. "I don't know how to answer that."
"You just did."
Electricity crackled in the air.
Lindsey's cell phone rang.
She jumped, startled by the sound, and stared blankly down at her side where the phone lay. Recovering, she snatched it up. "I hope none of the contractors is canceling," she muttered, punching the talk button. "Hello?"
A slight pause, after which a male voice inquired, "Lindsey?"
"Yes?"
"This is Stuart Falkner. I need to speak with you. It's important. Can I buy you breakfast?"
Her gut tightened. "I've already eaten."
"I see. Lunch, then. Say, about noon? There's a great restaurant overlooking the Cliff Walk that..."
"That won't be possible. I've got contractors coming any minute. They'll be here all day. I can't get away." A heavy sigh. "I realize you're leery of me, and my motives. The truth is, Tracy and I feel very bad for the way we've treated you. We'd like to make amends. Plus, we really do have something important to discuss with you. Can you just break away for an hour?"
"So now it's you and Tracy." She wished she knew where Stuart's head really was, what he was and wasn't guilty of. "Honestly, Stuart, I really can't. I don't have time for lunch. I don't know my way around Newport, and I don't have time to ask directions - "
"I'll drive you," Nicholas interrupted.
Her head whipped around. "What?"
"Wherever it is Stuart wants to meet, I'll take you there."
"Is that Nick?" Stuart jumped in eagerly. "He knows where the restaurant is. He can join us."
Lindsey was on the verge of refusing when Nicholas plucked the phone from her hand. "Stuart? Where and when?" A pause. "We'll be there." He pressed END and handed Lindsey the phone.
Resentment simmered through her. "Why did you do that? I have no desire to meet with - "
"Because I want to find out if either of them had anything to do with that phone call you got last night,"
Nicholas broke in. "I can read them better than you can. Plus, I think you should hear what they have to say. We both should - for different reasons, maybe, but equally valid ones." He met and held her gaze, although he didn't elaborate on that statement. "The contractors I referred you to are all pros. They don't need you here every minute. Trust me. Let's have this lunch."
Her indignation slowly abated. "You have some kind of agenda, I wish I knew what it was."
"Trust me," he repeated.
Slowly, she nodded, wondering if she was going to regret this. "I do."
9
THE RESTAURANT WAS CHARMING, elegant in a Newport-vacationer kind of way. Lindsey was glad she'd stopped off at Nicholas's house long enough to drop off her bags, freshen up, and change out of her jeans and into a pair of linen slacks and a blazer before heading off to this farce of a meal.
Nicholas seemed to sense her tension, because he wrapped a steadying arm around her waist as he escorted her through the lounge and up to the reservations desk.
"Hello, Henry," he greeted the maitre d'.
"Mr. Warner, how are you?" Henry waited politely for Nicholas to respond before he plucked out two menus and gestured for them to follow him. "Mr. and Ms. Falkner are already here. I'll show you to your table."
They made their way to a quiet corner table near the open French doors that had a magnificent view of the ocean and plenty of privacy. Stuart and Tracy Falkner were seated there, drinking wine and having a heated discussion.
From the corner of his eye, Stuart spotted them, and cut short whatever he'd been saying. With a cordial smile he rose, his gaze lingering on Lindsey as if he still couldn't believe her resemblance to his family.
Tracy followed her brother's gaze, angling her head in their direction and watching them approach, her expression closed and emotionally contained. But the tight, arrogant set of her jaw told Lindsey that the restraint she was demonstrating was costing her, and that it was all an act.
Then again, this whole lunch was probably an act.
"Thanks for coming," Stuart said, addressing Lindsey but shooting a grateful look at Nicholas. "I know you're busy."
"Yes. Busy supervising the work you're doing on the family vacation house," Tracy added.
"I am." Ignoring the accusation lacing Tracy's tone, Lindsey slid into the chair Nicholas held out for her. "But whatever you needed to see me about sounded important. And Nicholas offered to drive me. So here I am." In response to the waiter's quiet request, she turned and ordered a glass of sparkling water.
