Secretive Stranger

Sophie tried yanking off her jacket, petting Cav and responding to her sister at the same time.

“I haven’t talked to you in a week, and I’ve been worried to bits about how you’re doing. I was out on the water and just couldn’t get a connection.” Cate’s voice was as forceful and vibrant as Sophie’s was soft.

Cate was thirty, and had carved out a career as an adventure chef, which meant, as far as Sophie could tell, that her sister got to travel to every exotic place on the planet. Cate had cooked her way from Madagascar to Antarctica to halfway up Everest-rough-and-tumble places that Sophie had never gone or aspired to go to. But that was Cate. “You sound different from last week,” her sister said suspiciously.

“Well, I’d hope so. I was a wreck when I talked to you last. I’d just found my neighbor’s body.”

Cate listened to the latest rundown of events, but then interrupted again. “There’s still something different in your voice. There couldn’t be something really unusual in your life-like a man-could there?”

“No. Well, yes. I mean, not exactly…” Sophie wanted to stare at the phone in exasperation. How was it her sister could smell a rose in a patch of peonies? “Yes, there’s a man in my life, but it’s not how it sounds. He’s related to my neighbor. So it’s not as if we met in the usual way.”

“Soph, if you waited to meet guys in the usual way, you’d be a virgin at ninety-five. Like your current work project. You talk to old ladies and spend the rest of the time huddled in front of a computer. Guaranteeing you won’t meet any men.”

“That’s so unfair. And untrue,” Sophie began. She tried to sit, but Caviar climbed on her lap, tried to cuddle under her neck, batted her face when she failed to give him her complete attention.

“Just tell me straight. How far has it gone?” Cate waited all of three seconds, and when Sophie didn’t respond that fast, she burst out, “Well, hell, that far? You?”

“What do you mean, me? You’ve been known to leap into bed with a guy who rings your chimes.”

“But that’s me, baby. Not you.” Cate dropped the teasing note altogether. “That’s the thing, Soph. We’re both always waiting for a fire. Waiting for our lives to blow up, in some way we can’t possibly foresee or control. So I pick men for a day, never give them a chance to stay. And you steer clear of anyone you can feel close to. It’s really the same coin, just two different sides of it. We’re both always ready to have to jump out a window at a moment’s notice. But suddenly you’re coloring way, way outside your lines.”

“I did. I admit it. It’s probably nuts.” And just when she was getting into a real heart-to-heart with Cate, the buzzer for the front door interrupted.

“I don’t know whether it’s nuts or terrific,” Cate grumbled. “I just think I should fly over there. Anyone messing with my baby sister better know there’ll be hell to pay if he hurts you.”

“Cate. Come on. People get hurt all the time. It’s life. Nobody can save anybody else that.”

“Horse hockey. I’ll strangle him if he isn’t good to you. And damn it, I have to go-but I expect a complete report before next week. And I’m calling Lily, so she knows what’s going on. What’s this guy’s name?”

Caviar tried to trip her en route to the door, and she almost dropped the phone. It would help if she weren’t galloping. She hadn’t expected Cord to get here until closer to the dinner hour, but just picturing him on the other side of the door had her pulse doing the jazz riff of a love song.

“Cord,” she said automatically as she opened the door, only to find Penelope Martin there instead. She motioned her friend in, still trying to end the call and handle Caviar at the same time.

“I heard you say Cord’s name,” Penelope said a few minutes later as she made herself tea. “That’s why I stopped by. Finished a little early on Capitol Hill, and I just kept thinking how troubling this has all been for you. I wondered if the police had any leads on the person who broke into your apartment.”

The stop by was a surprise, but Sophie told herself she might have expected it. Penelope inhaled gossip the way an alcoholic buzzed for the scent of scotch, a requirement every day, more valued than air. As always, Penelope looked groomed to the gills, doing the navy and white thing today-except for the flash of red in her ears. Sophie suspected Pen would consider rubies a justifiable expense to enable the patriotic color scheme.

“The police haven’t found a single thing?” Penelope echoed with total disappointment. By then they both had mugs of tea; Sophie had scrounged up some not-too-stale snickerdoodles and run in and out of the bedroom, shedding her flannel skirt for jeans and a black sweater. Only, then she decided to run back in and change her bra- not that she was certain something would happen with Cord tonight.

That reality suddenly drowned her upbeat mood. She really didn’t know how Cord would greet her tonight. How he’d feel about last night. How he’d feel about her. If he’d regret what happened between them.

“Sophie, you mentally wandered off again. Did you even hear me?”

Of course she’d heard Penelope. She was just too busy having a nervous breakdown to concentrate. And suddenly she was feeling particularly dumb and vulnerable because she’d changed to the yellow froth of a bra that she shouldn’t have bought to begin with, it was that frivolous and sexy and silly and…

“Sophie.”

And he’d probably take it as invitation. Which wasn’t what she meant. Or maybe it was. She scraped back her hair, feeling completely exhausted. “I don’t know what the police have found, Penelope. Except that I think Cord believes-and so do I-that his brother’s death wasn’t as simple as an accidental fall. He’s been trying to go through Jon’s apartment, but he’s working, so he has to fit it in a few hours at a time. There’s no way he can do it quickly.”

“So…he’s just getting started? Has he found anything good so far? You know what I mean. The scoop on Jon and his women and all the stuff we always talked about. Jan’s been on pins and needles, wondering whether Jon kept something from the time they slept together.”

Sophie started to respond, then hesitated. “For sure, there was nothing about Jan. Cord met Jan and you and Hillary that one time. So he knows we’re friends, so I think he’d have mentioned it if he found something related to any of us. Otherwise, I don’t know.”

Caviar pawed at her knee, showing off some treasure of a toy again, giving her the excuse to drop her eyes. She felt bad, not being totally straight with Penelope. A week ago, she’d have freely told what she knew. Now everything was different. It wasn’t a matter of not trusting Penelope or anyone else. It was about fearing what the murderer believed-about Jon, about her, about Cord. About who really had access to the blackmail evidence-or thought they did.

Penelope sighed with disappointment and stood up. “Darn it. I was hoping you’d picked up more. You’d tell me if you found out anything, wouldn’t you? You know…Jan always bragged about sleeping with Jon. But I’d feel bad if she somehow got hurt because of it. If you found out something, we could try to protect her.”

“I’d hate to think of her getting hurt, too.”

Penelope pulled on her coat. “I’ve made this sound like a selfish visit. You know I love scandal. But I was honestly worried about Jan. And much more, about you. That break-in was no small thing. Anytime you want me to stay with you, just give me a call. You still must be petrified.”

Sophie didn’t think she was suffering leftover symptoms from the break-in-until she almost jumped out of her skin when she heard the next rap on the door.

Penelope had been gone for more than a half hour by then, and Sophie had installed herself in front of her computer, saving-and double saving-the interview work she’d done that day. She was afraid to trust her hard drive or her backup. Afraid every time she heard a creak in the walls or a whistle of wind.

When she heard the second rap on the door, she thought: It has to be Cord. So it’s okay.

Only, her heart was still thundering like a wild drum. Apparently, nothing was going to be “okay.” Any sense of safety in her life, in her heart, had been frayed at the edges.

There was no “safe” anymore. She’d learned that at five years old. How could she have forgotten that?

When Cord charged up the stairs and thumped on Sophie’s door, he was wound tighter than a violin string. The meeting with Ferrell and Bassett had been unsettling and tricky.

The problems with his brother kept becoming more complex, more ugly, more dangerous. Cord was a problem solver. Give him an avalanche or a fire or an accident, and he dove right in-no fear, no hesitation. It wasn’t as if he liked trouble, but he thrived when he had something to do. This business of waiting and waiting and waiting for another axe to fall, another piece to fit in the blackmail puzzle, was grating on his nerves.