doubt.
“What is it? You will take a trip around the world? Confucius says something?”
He merely smiled, shook his head, folded the paper, and stuck it in his wallet.
When they came out onto the street, the night was clear and cool. Chinatown had its own smells and sounds, and tonight, both were pleasant. “I love New York when it’s like this,” Lindsay said, breathing in deeply. “It feels so good in your lungs.”
Taylor was busily looking around. Nothing suspicious. Not a single nose seemingly interested in their business. When he turned back to her, she was still wrapped in the wonders of the night. He smiled at her, then hailed a cab.
“I’m seeing you home. I’ll see that you’re safe. I’ll see that you’re well locked in. I’ll come by tomorrow whenever you’re ready to go out.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll be there? You won’t do anything stupid? You won’t go out without me?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She turned on the seat to face him. “Look, it isn’t what you think. You don’t understand, really, but—”
“Just forget it. I wouldn’t care to finish that thought either.”
She fell silent.
“You won’t open your door to anybody you don’t know, all right?”
She nodded, but remained silent.
He checked through her apartment. Every bit of comfortable clutter was still in its place. Her bedroom was small and square, but light, with white-painted rattan headboard, dresser, chair, and several white carpets over polished oak parquet floors. He smiled at the panty hose and underwear strewn over a chair. One high-top running shoe was sitting on top of a pale-blue comforter, its mate tipped on its side on the floor beside the bed, a sock half stuck in it still. He remembered the small bathroom well enough. Taylor returned to her, instructing her like a child about her locks, of which she had four and already knew everything.
“Do you have an answering machine? Good. Don’t answer the phone, screen the calls first, be sure you know who it is before you pick up and speak yourself.”
When he left, finally, giving her one long look that she couldn’t decipher, she leaned against the front door and closed her eyes.
What had his second fortune cookie said?
Lindsay wanted to run. It was seven in the morning on a bright sunny Saturday and she was bored and antsy and she’d tried to get Demos twice already but he wasn’t there. Neither was Glen, evidently. Cowards, both of them. And Taylor wasn’t here, nor had she heard from him.
She wandered through her small apartment, absently drinking tea and chewing on an unbuttered slice of wheat toast.
Why the devil hadn’t she thought to get his phone number? Well, he’d forgotten as well. No one had called.
She kept looking toward the front door with all its myriad locks securely in place.
When the doorbell rang at precisely eight o’clock, she nearly dropped her teacup. She was fiddling with the locks, and when the last chain fell, she jerked open the door.
“I’ve been up for hours! Where have you been?”
“Good morning to you too. Why the hell didn’t you ask who it was? I could have been your friendly neighborhood rapist. I could have been Demos’ own personal devil.”
He saw she simply hadn’t thought about that. She was suddenly trembling, and he saw it, and he was sorry to have reminded her. But, dammit, she shouldn’t forget. Her teacup rattled.
“Come on, I didn’t mean to scare you, but you’ve got to be more careful.” He started to put out his hands to grasp her shoulders, then didn’t. No, she’d likely pull away from him as fast as she could.
“No, I’m not really scared. It’s just that I’d forgotten about the other. I’ve just been waiting and waiting, and your ring just startled me, that’s all. I want to go run and I didn’t know your number and I’d promised you that I wouldn’t leave the apartment. Is it safe for us to run?”
He would have preferred not to run, not out in the open like that, making them easy targets, but he saw the excitement in her eyes, so clear to him, and he grinned down at her from a distance of only three inches. “Safe enough, I think. We’ll just take a few extra precautions. And I came prepared.” He lifted a black canvas bag. “I’ve got lots of goodies in here, since I didn’t know what you normally do on a Saturday morning.” He paused a moment, a black eyebrow raised. “Can I change in your bedroom without you running away?”
“Yes.”
“Good. How about a cup of very strong coffee?”
“Bacon? Eggs? Toast?”
He said easily, “No, not if I’m going running with you, but thanks for the gracious offer.”
“Go change,” she said. “All right, I’m sorry for being rude.”
They took a taxi to Central Park South and spent the next hour running at an easy pace. He’d found out she always ran the other end of the park, around the reservoir, and told her that predictability was something to avoid from now on. They’d start from here and stay on the southern end of the park. Taylor’s shoulder holster was strapped down tight beneath a loose sweat-top. He wondered if she could see the bulge. He found its weight soothing. He kept to the inside of her, closest to any hidden spots where someone might be lying in wait. He was pleased at her endurance. He didn’t have to particularly slow himself down. It wasn’t a vigorous workout for him, but on the other hand, it wasn’t a piece of cake either. He’d seen no one suspicious lurking around. He recognized several questionable characters from his days as a cop, but didn’t worry about them. One of them, an old buzzard with no teeth, even waved at him, grinning widely.
She was wearing iridescent orange shorts, a loose green top, ratty running shoes, and a bright pink headband. She was sweating, her hair matted to her head, all the thick deep waves pulled back in a severe ponytail. Her face was clean of makeup. She was heaving, and there was a long sweat stain from her throat down between her breasts.
And all of a sudden he realized he wanted to kiss her, all over, everywhere, not miss a single patch, which would take a good amount of sweet time because her legs were longer than a man’s dreams. He pulled back, tossing her a towel.
She grabbed the towel and wiped her face as she said, “You’re barely sweating, you pig.”
“I’m a man,” he said, and to his astonishment, she stilled, withdrawing as she had the day before. He chose to ignore it, adding easily, “Like I said, I’m a man, not some sort of girly girl who can barely do a ten-yard dash. Besides, I thought the myth was that females didn’t sweat, they glowed or something like that. I just might have to turn you in.”
She came back, softly, slowly, but finally she was there again, the wariness, the stillness, quashed for the moment. But always there, always hovering near. What the hell was wrong with her? Maybe it was this threat business, nothing more. Yeah, maybe that was it. But he didn’t think so.
No, it was him as a man that scared her.
12
Lindsay always shopped at the Challed grocery market on the corner. Taylor had her write out a list for him. They’d taken enough risks today.
“It’s a habit,” he said. “Habits we break, all of them. We either go together, which isn’t smart, or I go alone.”
She gave him a list and he whistled as he added cookies, wine, beer, chips, and cold cuts to the grocery cart. He felt like hardening a few arteries. Maybe he could even talk her into eating a Frito.
She ate a sandwich with no mayo, no butter, and one slice of nearly fat-free honey ham and a glass of Diet
