Repairman Jack [02]-Legacies

Jack's call this afternoon had unsettled her. That Thomas had an Arab backer willing to pay the ten million she'd asked for the house had shocked her; that they were convinced the house held a secret many times more valuable had floored her; but Jack's plan to sneak into the house and search it had stopped her dead in her tracks.

And he wasn't talking about some unspecified time in the future. He wanted to go in tomorrow. Tomorrow!

She'd said no. No, no, no. She'd have to prepare herself for something like that. If he wanted to search the place tomorrow, he'd have to go by himself.

But Jack had insisted, saying she'd grown up there, she knew all the hidey holes. She had to be along.

Telling herself it was only a damn house, she'd agreed.

Jack would be picking her up tomorrow night at seven.

Alicia shuddered and looked up from her meal. Will and the waiter were watching her… expectantly.

'I'm sorry,' she said. Obviously she'd missed something.

'Do you want to do the honors?' Will said, pointing to the fresh bottle of wine in the waiter's hands.

'No,' she said. 'If it's the same as the first bottle, I'm sure it will be fine.' She could never get into that wine-tasting rigmarole. Her palate wasn't that discerning anyway. Either you liked the wine or you didn't.

'So,' Will said after the waiter had refilled their glasses, 'what are your plans for the week?'

I was an accessory to an illegal trespass in Midtown today, and I'm planning a breaking and entering tomorrow night.

'The usual, I guess. You know, stamping out disease. How about you?'

'Like you, the usual: seeking out the weed of crime and tearing it out by its roots.'

They laughed. Maybe it was the wine, but she found she liked Will's offhanded manner, the way he didn't take himself too seriously. She liked his slightly crooked smile and the way he held his wineglass by the rim, letting it dangle from his fingertips as he talked, and the way he looked into her eyes when she talked. All things she'd never noticed about him before.

They just about killed that second bottle of merlot, and so by the time they left the restaurant, Alicia was feeling warm and happy. She heard herself ask Will to come in when he dropped her off at her place.

She felt a spasm of alarm—Why did I do that?—but told herself to be calm. It would be all right. Tonight, in this place, with this man… it would be all right. She wanted this… she needed this.

'Want some coffee?' she said as she hung up his coat.

'No,' he said. 'That coffee we had at Zov's will probably keep me up half the night as it is. But I would like something else.'

As Alicia turned to face him, he took her in his arms—gently—and pulled her close.

She fought a stab of anxiety and moved closer. She sensed his tentativeness, and knew if she resisted, he'd back off. That was good. But she didn't want to resist. She wanted to be held, to feel protected, to relax and let go, and for once, just once, feel that she didn't have to be alone all the time, didn't have to be so completely self- contained and able to handle everything on her own, do everything on her own. Just once to feel that she could have someone to share with. Just once.

Her anxiety level surged as he bent his head to hers, but she didn't pull away.

It's all right… it's going to be all right…

Their lips met and his were soft and warm, and the wine was warm within her, and yes, it was going to be all right…

But then his arms encircled her and suddenly she couldn't breathe. She felt trapped, and she had to get away, get free, get some air.

She tore her lips from him, got her hands between them, and pushed.

'Let me go!'

Will released her and backed away, his expression stunned. 'Alicia—what's—?'

'Get away!'

He held up his hands and backed up another step. 'I am away. Look.'

Panic—wild, formless, constricting, suffocating, unyielding to reason—choked her, and she wanted to run, but she couldn't, she lived here, so he had to get out. Part of her cried, No, let him stay! but a larger, fiercer, stronger part was in control.

'I'm sorry, Will,' she said, forcing her voice to stay calm. Still, the words seemed to rattle in her throat. 'I just can't… I can't do this right now. Okay?'

He looked so confused. 'Okay. Sure. I just thought… is it me?'

'No… yes…' I'm babbling. 'I just can't explain it now.' Not now, not ever. 'Would you mind if we just call it a night? Please?'

She was so embarrassed she wanted to cry.

'Yeah. Sure.' He reached out to touch her arm but withdrew it before contact. 'I'll call you,' he said, retreating into the hall. 'To see if you're all right.'

Alicia nodded. 'I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.'

And then she closed the door. Finally,' the panic faded. She leaned against the door and sobbed.

I'm out of control, she thought.

She'd almost lost it in Haffner's conference room this morning, and now she'd done the same with Will.

She'd never done too well with men, but this was over the top.

What's happening to me?

The house… it had to be the house. Nothing had been right since that man and his house had forced their way back into her life. She'd tried to burn it, and tomorrow night she was going to have to go back there… inside…

That was the problem: Going back…

The house was the whole problem. She had to conquer that house, because by doing so, she'd conquer him. And then she'd be free of both of them.

Or would she? Would she ever be free?

TUESDAY

1.

'It's going to be okay,' Jack said as they drove east on Twenty-third in his rented white Chevy. He glanced over at Alicia sitting straight and silent in the passenger seat. 'Don't worry. We won't get caught.'

'What makes you think I'm worried about getting caught?' she said.

'Because you look like you're ready to jump out the window.'

She'd been like an overwound spring since he'd picked her up.

She's afraid of that house, he thought. That empty house.

As he reached Broadway, the traffic light went amber. Good. He'd been waiting for this opportunity. Instead of speeding up, he held back until the light turned red, then he gunned it and yanked the wheel to the right, turning downtown.

'Maybe it's your driving,' Alicia said, and made a poor try at a smile, as if to let him know she was kidding —maybe. 'And if we're going to Thirty-eighth Street, this is the wrong direction.'

'I know,' he said, pulling over and studying his rearview mirror.

'And how come we're not taking a cab?'

'Because I wanted to make sure we weren't followed.'

He watched the street behind them, waiting to see if anyone ran the red to keep up with them. Since leaving Alicia's place, he'd had this vague feeling of being watched, usually a good indicator that somebody was following him. Or maybe someone was following Alicia.

But nobody else turned off Twenty-third.

'Well?' Alicia said. 'Are we?'

'Not that I can see.' Or if we are, whoever's dogging us is damn good. 'I also figured the car's a good idea