Chapter One Hundred Fifty One

A few minutes later, Clay wiped the bathroom floor dry, then put dry towels down across the floor before he turned on the shower. He grinned as he stepped under the warm needle spray. Tomorrow he'd see about getting at least a throw rug or mat to head off any more catastrophes.

Catherine pulled the shower curtain back far enough to talk to him. "I see by the meticulously covered floor that you're making sure you don't end up looking like me."

Clay laughed. "I wish I'd thought about that when I should have." He sobered when his gaze lit on hers, but there was mischief in those blue eyes.

"Hey," he said seductively. "Come on in."

"Nope," she said lightly. "I just came to ask where you put your laptop."

"But I'm lonely."

Catherine giggled. "Lonely isn’t exactly the word I'd use." She slapped away the hand that reached to encircle her waist. "No, seriously. I have something I need to do. But keep the water running for me because this won't take long."

Clay winked at her. "In that case I'll wait for you."

"Your laptop," she repeated. "Where is it?"

"On the closet shelf," he answered, more than a little curious. "Why?"

"That's for me to know," she told him and walked out of the bathroom.

True to her word, Catherine was back in only a few minutes and climbed into the shower with Clay.

“What was that all about? Why did you need my laptop?” Clay asked, nuzzling her neck as he drew her into his arms.

Instead of answering him Catherine began to hum House of the Rising Sun.

“Good Lord, woman, you’ll be the death of me,” Clay groaned as her now wet body melded into his, her soft curves beneath his hands rattling him all over again. But he was far from complaining as his mouth came down on hers and their inner temperatures soared well past that of the steaming water.

***

For over an hour, Clay sat at the meeting table as he had the previous day, more than a little wary of Roger’s new, very obviously ingratiating attitude.

“Soooo,” Clay said to a patient Michael Rapp, head of Krispy Kreme advertising. “Let me get this straight. You want Catherine and me to play movie characters in movie parodies. The plan is to film four different spots, replacing the first one with the next one every three months.”

“Yes,” Rapp answered, smiling from intelligent brown eyes that dominated a young thirties face most movie-stars would covet. “One of the ideas was to pair you with another popular public figure, to pursue a vigorous comedic approach, but I honestly think that you and your wife doing Gone With The Wind spoofs will be a much bigger draw and a much more successful campaign.”

Rapp looked away from Clay just long enough to frown at Roger, then he returned to Clay. “You’re certain your wife is onboard with this? I admit, when you came in alone today I wondered if perhaps the situation was irretrievable.” He cast another deep frown at Roger.

“I’m sure when I explain the details to her that she’ll be fine with it,” Clay said. “She wasn’t feeling well this morning so I advised her to sleep in, that this meeting didn’t require her attendance.”

“Nothing serious, I hope,” came the smarmy, suck-up comment from Roger.

Clay didn’t even look at him, and his voice was cold. “Thank you for your concern.” His voice returned to normal and he asked Rapp, “Providing all the bumps have been worked out, when will this start shooting?”

Rapp turned a questioned look to Roger.

Roger smiled. “In three to four weeks, perhaps a little longer. At your and Catherine’s convenience, of course.”

“Of course,” Clay answered, but knew he couldn’t keep contempt from his eyes so his gaze rested on the massive desk between them.

Rapp extended his hand and Clay met and returned not only his firm grip, but his smile.

“Krispy Kreme is behind you one hundred percent, Clay,” Rapp told him as he retook his seat. “Your participation is very important to them, to their current marketing strategy. If there’s anything at all we can do to help you, in any way,” he emphasized with a curt look toward Roger, “you will let us know.”

All eyes turned to Clay when his cell phone rang. The tune? House of the Rising Sun.

Clay battled not to grin as he flipped his phone open. Now he knew why Catherine needed his laptop last night. To download and send a midi ringtone to his phone.

He forced a business tone into his voice. “Hello?”

“Hi sweetie,” Catherine said. “I’m standing here in this blue towel and I have this terrible urge to dance. How long will you be?”

Heat shot through Clay and he knew his face had reddened. But he merely nodded, said, “On my way,” and hung up.

He offered a pleasant nod to Roger and Michael Rapp, said, “Sorry, gentleman, I have an emergency that can’t wait.”

He strode out the door, down the elevator and out of the building, knowing speed limits were made to be broken.

And, oh, boy, were they about to be.

 

Chapter One Hundred Fifty Two

Clay walked into the apartment and heard Catherine muttering in the bedroom, accompanied by noises of drawers banging and slamming. She must have heard him come in because she stalked from the bedroom before Clay was halfway across the living room.

She pointed into the bedroom. "Come here and listen to this," she said icily, then returned to the bedroom.

"What's wrong?" Clay asked, hurrying to catch up with her.

Catherine stood next to the nightstand, her finger on the phone. "I got into the shower right before I called you," she told him. "And just now saw the message light flashing."

Clay rubbed Raleigh’s head, then sat on the bed as Catherine pushed “play” on the message machine, then crossed her arms across her chest.

Clay groaned when he recognized Eileen Harper’s snooty voice.

“Good morning, Mrs. Aiken. I cannot tell you how delighted we are that you’ll be part of our Angels of the Night fashion show. We have several weeks yet before the show, but there are a few details to catch you up on. As we do every year, we’ve reserved Spago Beverly Hills for this show. Our very dear friend Wolfgang is always so accommodating! We also need to decide for which designer’s work you would be the best showcase.” A pause, then, “I know we didn’t have the best start, Mrs. Aiken, and I’d like to put that aside for the good of the show.”

Catherine hit stop and looked at Clay, her eyes so dark with anger the blue had almost disappeared behind her swollen eyelids.

“Oooookay,” Clay said. “I don’t get why that upset you.”

“You will,” she answered in a soft, cold voice. She hit “play” and Eileen Harper’s voice again filled the room.

“I’m…I’m offering you the solo in the finale. Please get back to me as soon as possible so we can decide which song and whom you prefer to arrange it.”

Catherine hit “stop”.

Clay went cold, then hot. He’d been right. The biddy was setting Catherine up for public humiliation. The only thing he didn’t understand was why this had enraged Catherine, since she heard nothing wrong with her singing and had made it clear that she would jump at the chance to solo, especially with Entertainment Tonight cameras on her. He lifted his gaze to Catherine’s, but before he could speak, she did.

“Now for the best part,” she said quietly, but she was clearly seething as she hit “play”.

“I’ve been rethinking our policy of having only society men be part of the show and to escort the models on the runway during the finale. I didn’t realize how popular and well known he is until Vincent pointed it out to me. This can be a tremendous addition to our show, and I promised Vincent to extend an invitation to him to participate. I’m sure that since you’ve agreed to help us with this worthwhile benefit, that this will factor into his own decision.” A sigh, then, “Please get back to me as soon as you can so we may begin. If you’re free later today, our apartment is 5C.”

Angry that Catherine had indeed been used to get to him, Clay studied Catherine’s face. Hurt, anger and disappointment flashed across her face, but her eyes were stone.

“I’m going over there,” she told Clay.

“No,” Clay informed her. “As a matter of fact it’s probably better if you have no more contact with her at all. I’ll have someone take care of it. You’ll back out with dignity.”

Catherine whirled on him. “Dignity scmignity,” she informed him. “Do you have any idea how used I feel?” Tears shone in her eyes but she fought them and won. “You were right, Clay, and I was stupid, stupid enough to blind myself to her real motive.”

“Hey, now wait a minute,” he protested, and rose to hug her, but she was already in motion.

She went to her bureau and grabbed makeup jars. She almost tore the cover off a bottle of foundation, dipped her fingers into it and slathered it onto her face.

Clay stared as Catherine layered makeup around her eyes to try and hide the discoloration.

“Catherine,” he started. “You’re not…”

“I am,” she said flatly and continued with piling makeup on until she had an unseemly gob of it on her usually flawless, beautiful face.

Before Clay could stop her, she’d stormed to the living room, hunted in her purse for her sunglasses and strode out of the apartment.

He caught her at the elevator and took her arm, determined to get her back into the apartment, to drag her if necessary.

“You’re not thinking clearly.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my thinking,” Catherine huffed. “I’m about to give that horrible woman a piece of my mind.” She turned to face Clay, her face reddening. “How dare she? How dare she try to use you after she made it plain that in her eyes you’re nothing but…how did she put it…oh, yeah…show business rabble?” She turned away, smacked the elevator door and yelled, “Where’s the elevator?”

Clay grabbed her again, “Catherine!”

Catherine broke free and headed for the stairs, pushed open the door and took them in a near-run until she hit the bottom floor.

Clay stayed at her side, determined to talk her out of whatever she had planned.

When he tried to stop her at the door to the apartment building Catherine turned on him and jerked off her sunglasses, her eyes resolute. “You can either go with me or wait for me in the apartment. But I am going over there. Right now.”

Clay closed his eyes in frustration, but when he opened them again Catherine’s expression hadn’t changed. And he knew there was no stopping her.

“Let’s go,” he said in resignation. “But promise me you’ll control your temper.”

“Sure. Cool, calm and collected,” she said, a little too quickly for Clay’s liking.

Catherine wasted no time in finding 5C, three buildings away from theirs.

As they waited for the elevator, Clay put his hands on her upper arms and made her look at him. “You’re not going to upset yourself anymore over this. If I see that you’re losing it or if she becomes unpleasant I’m taking you home, and I’ll throw you over my shoulder if that’s what it takes. Understand?”

Catherine nodded and Clay gave her a brief hug. The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. Catherine’s finger nearly pushed the “5” button through the wall.

Oh, good, Clay thought as the doors whisked shut. Cool, calm and collected Catherine.

When the elevator stopped at the fifth floor, Catherine hurried into the corridor, searching for numbers. There were few apartments on this floor and the doors had great distance between them. Finally she stopped in front of 5C.

Vincent Harper answered Catherine’s knock.

“What a wonderful surprise,” he gushed. “Won’t you please come inside? Eileen is on the phone, but…”

“Thank you, but no,” Catherine said politely. “I need to speak with your wife, Mr. Harper, but we’ll wait out here.”

Harper gave her a surprised look, but nodded. He smiled at Clay and extended his hand. “Vincent Harper, and I know who you are. This is a great pleasure for me.”

Uncomfortable not only because of the situation but because he immediately liked Vincent, Clay shook his hand and said, “Thank you.”

Catherine’s gaze stayed inside the apartment, watching Eileen Harper on the phone.

Clay cringed inwardly when he saw Harper do a double take at Catherine’s thick, unsightly makeup.

An awkward silence was broken by, “Vincent, please invite Mr. and Mrs. Aiken inside.”

“No, thank you,” Catherine called loudly.

The telephone held against her chest, Eileen Harper walked to the door, her face puzzled.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, giving an I told you these people are rabble look to her husband. In return, he directed an angry frown to her.

Catherine’s chin lifted. “Mrs. Harper, I am here about the fashion show.”

Eileen Harper’s face lit up. “And I can’t thank you enough! I have to be honest, when I first heard his name I had no idea he is such an influential man. Vincent told me all about him. I wasn’t aware how big a public draw he is, what a following he has…then, of course when I learned of your connection to him, it seemed so natural to ask him to not only be part of the show but to escort you during the finale.”

Clay held his breath, but Catherine maintained her cool when she answered, “I’m afraid none of that is going to happen. I have no intention…”

Stunned, Eileen interrupted with, “Is something wrong, Mrs. Aiken? Is it because I asked him before I waited for your answer about inviting him? I apologize for that, but I was so excited I went ahead and called him. When I told him that he would be partnered with you he agreed almost instantly.”

Catherine’s jaw dropped and she whirled on Clay.

Clay’s hands went up. “Uh uh. I have no idea what she’s talking about,” he protested.

Eileen stared at Clay, then at Catherine. She cleared her throat and added delicately, “My dear, I certainly didn’t mean Mr. Aiken.”

Catherine’s face was total confusion.

Eileen extended the phone toward Catherine. “Your brother is on the telephone now if you’d like to confirm this for yourself.”

 

Chapter One Hundred Fifty Three

Catherine's mouth moved but no sound came out, so Clay took the phone.

"Hey, Eric," he said smoothly, then his words came in a clipped rush. "Great news that you'll be strutting the fashion runway with Catherine. Talk to you later." He almost threw the phone back to Eileen Harper, spun a still gaping Catherine and hurried her down the long corridor toward the elevator.

"Catherine's headache is back," he threw over his shoulder to Vincent and Eileen Harper, who both watched in stunned silence.

Clay hit the elevator button and Catherine's gaze fell on him. Her mouth still moved, but she still made no sound.

"Shhhh!" Clay warned, in case she found her voice and decided to bellow her disapproval back down the hallway to the Harper's. "Wait until we get home."

Catherine snapped out of it then. "Oh, no," she said curtly. "I want to know how...why..."

She started back down the hall and Clay grabbed her. "I warned you," he informed her and swept her off her feet and over his shoulder just as the elevator door opened. He stepped inside and pushed "1", but refused to put Catherine down until she'd regained her composure. And from the comments she spewed, that would be at least a few minutes.

"How did she know Eric is my brother?" she fumed. "And now she's using him?"

"That Eric McCandless is your brother was part of the story when the papers revealed our marriage," Clay reminded her calmly.

Catherine peppered the entire elevator ride with interesting remarks, but despite her fuming, Clay kept her firmly hanging over his shoulder.

When the elevator reached the ground floor and the door swished open, Clay gave an involuntary start when he realized someone was waiting to step inside. Then he closed his eyes and emitted a deep groan.

"Well, what do you know," Junior said casually, taking in the sight of Catherine dangling down Clay's back. "If it isn't the elevator pervs."

Catherine forced Clay to put her down but only after she nodded to his raised eyebrow question of got yourself under control? did he do so.

Clay gave Junior the eye. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

"No, you don't."

"I do now."

"Since when?"

"Since this morning. It's a little pricey, but you already know that."

Clay grinned. "Nice to know I'm overpaying you to the point where you can afford a place like this."

Junior shrugged. "I can almost afford it. We need to talk about a raise."

Clay grinned and shook his head, guiding Catherine out of the elevator and around Junior. "I don't think you're going to like your neighbors."

Junior grinned back at him. "I already know they're perverts."

Clay laughed, but Catherine cut him off, and that's when Clay realized she'd hadn't calmed down at all.

"Not us, Junior," she stormed, and Clay bit back a laugh. Catherine had more or less confirmed they were perverts, though he didn't think it particularly wise to point it out right now.

"Your neighbors on the fifth floor...well, one of them, anyway...thinks Clay and I are rabble. Looks down her nose at us and then asks for special favors."

Junior glanced at Clay for explanation.

"The Harpers on the fifth floor. Big society hoohas." He shrugged. "Vincent Harper seems a nice guy, but his wife takes some getting used to, to say the least. She went behind Catherine's back and invited Eric to come here as Catherine's partner in this society wingding, obviously because he'll bring in a huge crowd. He'll be Catherine's partner in the fashion show and the finale." He shook his head. "I think snagging Eric was nothing more than a way to make sure Catherine wouldn't back out."

Catherine perked up then, her eyes lighted with interest. "Really, Clay? You believe Eileen Harper wants me...me...that badly?"

Clay stopped his words before he uttered them. How could he tell Catherine that the old biddy was making sure Catherine stayed part of the fashion show so that revenge was ensured? His smile was light. "Yes, hon, really. That badly."

"Eric's coming out here?" Junior asked, a broad grin on his face. "Wow, man, that's great news!"

"We haven't spoken with him about it yet," Clay cautioned. "But I intend to call him as soon as we get home to find out exactly what he's been told. If that biddy misled Eric about absolutely anything, I'm pulling Catherine from the show."

He silenced Catherine with a stern later look.

Junior looked puzzled. "I don't get it. What's the downside to Miss Catherine starring in this charity fashion show?"

Clay cleared his throat and locked gazes with Junior, but even though he kept his tone normal he knew his meaning rocketed through. "Not only is Catherine headlining the fashion show, Junior...she's been given the finale solo...in front of Entertainment Tonight cameras and reporters."

Realization smacked Junior's face and his expression slowly dissolved into a look that suggested he'd just bitten deeply into a rotten egg.

 

Chapter One Hundred Fifty Four

When Junior's eyes met Clay's, Clay knew that Junior understood exactly why Catherine had been tagged for the finale.

"The moon..." Junior started. "This is..."

Clay hastily intercepted the word "revenge" with a detouring, "This Is The Night? I don't think Catherine will choose that song, but having a moon background for it is certainly an idea." Behind Catherine, Clay made a "cut" motion with his hand, signaling Junior to drop it.

Junior ignored him. "Miss Catherine, how do you feel about this show?"

Clay stifled a groan and his eyes briefly fluttered shut in disbelief. If Junior planned to point out Catherine's talent level, or better yet, to tell her point blank that she stinks and this was nothing more than revenge...

Clay broke in with, "We're still deciding."

Junior's gaze stayed on Catherine. "May I ask a favor, Miss Catherine?"

Catherine nodded, clearly puzzled.

Junior smiled. "The night of the show, may I act as your personal bodyguard?"

"I...I don't think I know what you mean," she answered.

Anger shot through Clay to the point he was absolutely steaming, and despite his harsh, continuous motion of "cut" to Junior behind Catherine's back, Junior's gaze never left Catherine's.

"I mean," he said, "that I've never been involved in anything like this before, never been near anyone as famous as those involved..."

Clay's jaw dropped.

Tension had gradually eased from Catherine's face since they stepped from the elevator and she now smiled. "You want to be my bodyguard so you can meet famous models and celebrities. Is that what you're saying?"

Junior grinned.

Once again, dark foreboding hit Clay like lightning, too sharp and deep to be ignored or brushed away. His voice was cold. "No."

Catherine turned a quizzical look to him. "What?"

"No," he repeated, his steady, firm green eyes locked with a very irritated set of blue. "No show. No Junior."

Catherine's return look was blistering, but Clay didn't yield.

"It seems to me," she reminded him, "that your propensity to give orders is what pushed me to accept this offer in the first place."

Clay's gaze was sincere. "And for that I apologize. But I haven't changed my mind. You in this show is not going to happen."

Catherine spun back to Junior, her face flushed red. "Junior," she clipped out. "It will be my pleasure to have you bodyguard me the night of the fashion show."

Fuming, Clay grabbed her arm and shot out, "Catherine..." but Catherine jerked free and stormed out the door.

Clay watched as she headed for their apartment, then he turned on Junior, anger spewing with each word. "Start talking."

Junior shrugged. "She'll be fine."

Clay stared at him. "Are you CRAZY? She can't wait to sing in front of millions of people. You've HEARD her sing."

Junior's gaze was mild. "Know why your way of stopping this fiasco didn't work? Because it looks, even to me, like you're jealous of her in the spotlight."

Flabbergasted, Clay barely got out, "Whaaaaat?"

Junior grinned. "Biddy Harper made it real clear that you're rabble, right? But she wants Miss Catherine and her famous brother in the show. So it looks like you're getting the old snubberoo and that you don't like it...with you being a famous heartthrob and all and Miss Catherine being nobody."

Clay scowled and Junior laughed.

"That's not what this is about," Clay said curtly, annoyed that he hadn't recognized how poor was his method of convincing Catherine. "I have a horrific gut feeling about this, Junior, and I intend to protect Catherine from..."

Junior's voice and eyes turned hard as he stepped into the elevator. "Me, too." He sent a glance upward, as though it could penetrate to the fifth floor. "You know how I feel about Miss Catherine. I need you to trust me on this, perv."

Clay's gaze stayed level with Junior's, but Junior's gave away nothing.

Junior hit the button for his floor, then just as the doors slid shut offered a quiet, "You just leave everything to me."

 

Chapter One Hundred Fifty Five

Clay knew he should beat feet back to his apartment and at least try to explain it all to Catherine, but he was boiling. Trust Junior? To do what? Well, he did trust Junior, but he wasn't too thrilled with not knowing what plan Junior could have possibly dreamed up so quickly. And what if the remedy proved worse than Eileen Harper's manipulation?

He drew, then blew out, a long breath. Worse than Biddy Harper's plan to have Catherine serenade the country? Unbidden, Simon's shocked speechless face flashed through his brain, along with Simon's pronouncement of, "Dreadful. Absolutely dreadful!".

Clay pushed Simon and his nasty comments out of his mind as he walked out of the building, stood on the sidewalk and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He could care less about Simon and even less than that about anything Simon might have to say. Unless there was a major intercession that Catherine agreed to, disaster lurked in her future. Disaster. Humiliation.

He sank onto a wooden bench in the grass just off the sidewalk, the line of tall palms no shade against the warm sun.

What if the same impression had struck Catherine as it had Junior? What if Catherine believed that Clay's protests, his unwillingness to support her in this, was rooted in some sort of jealousy?

He and Catherine were so happy together that it never occurred to him that she might feel overwhelmed at being Mrs. Clay Aiken. He sighed. To be honest, he thought that was where her happiness originated. Not from being wife of a singer, a star or anything else associated with fame. But from being married to Clay Aiken the man. Clay Aiken, the husband who adored his wife and never hesitated to tell her, to show her. To shout it to the rest of the world.

He dropped his head into his hands. How could he stop her from modeling in this show without a major battle? He rubbed his face and raised his gaze to the cloudless blue sky, squinting against the sun's glare. He knew the answer. He could no nothing. With luck, Junior could turn it all around.

Clay headed for his own building. His gut told him there would be no intervention, no last-minute reprieve or change-of-Catherine's mind.

When he entered the building, he finally recognized the unsettled feeling that had crept over him. What he liked least of all was letting Junior do what he himself should be doing. Protecting Catherine.

He stepped into the waiting elevator and pushed "2". When the elevator started to lift he wondered what Catherine would say if he tried to wheedle an invite into the show, to be able to stay closer to her than sitting in the front row.

He dismissed that idea immediately. That would really give credence to the jealousy picture.

Then it hit him.

Eric.

Junior had heard Catherine sing. Eric hadn't.

Clay nodded to himself. Clay would be very, very delicate when he explained this situation to Eric. He knew Eric would never tolerate a scheme against Catherine and would be more than happy to help extricate Catherine from the show with Catherine being none the wiser as to why. All he needed to do was to arrange for Eric to hear Catherine sing.

When he approached their apartment door, Catherine jerked it open, the little bit of her blue eyes he could see dancing with excitement.

Clay's heart thumped. God, how he loved her.

He opened his arms and she leaped into them, hugging him and spinning around.

Clay laughed, his heart feeling like a million tons had lifted. He brushed her lips with his own. "This is great, sweetie," he said. "I wasn't sure how to open this conversation again."

Catherine gave him a quick kiss, then stepped back, puzzled, but with excitement still blazing in her eyes. "Yes, it is great," she began, then looked at him. "Again? You mean you knew about it?"

Now Clay was puzzled. "Knew about what?"

"Eric," Catherine answered.

Clay stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "What about Eric? The fashion show?" he asked, but the foreboding came back, this time hitting him in wave after dark wave, with full, unabated force.

"No, silly," Catherine said, then giggled. "The commercial. Isn't it great?"

"Whoa, whoa," Clay stated, thoroughly confused. "The commercial? The Krispy Kreme commercial?"

"Yes," she informed him. "I just got off the phone with Eric. Clay, isn't this super news? The three of us will be doing the Gone With The Wind commercial spoof!"

Clay stared at her. Super news? Maybe to her it was super news. To Clay it was the cold chill that cemented his gut's warning that something was very, very wrong.

 

Chapter One Hundred Fifty Six

Ten days later, events were in full swing. Junior met Eric's plane at LAX, then after Eric picked up his rental car, Junior drove ahead of him to the apartment complex.

After parking, Eric stepped from the black Mercedes and looked around the apartment's meticulously manicured, lush landscape, California palm trees swaying in the October breeze beneath a cloudless blue sky. "Nice," he murmured.

Junior waited beside his car for Eric. "Yeah, and you bunking with me is a lifesaver. I can't afford this place on my own."

Eric went to the rear of the Mercedes and removed his luggage from the trunk, tossing Junior a quizzical look. "And you rented this place...why?"

Junior looked sheepish. "Weak moment is my only excuse."

Eric raised an eyebrow. "Your weak moment lasted all through the apartment tour, having an attorney evaluate the lease and then all during the meeting when you signed? That doesn't all happen in the same day, so I'm guessing you really know how to stretch out a weak moment."

Junior grinned. "If I can't wheedle a raise in pay I'll be scouting for side jobs."

Eric laughed. "Good luck on the pay raise. Catherine told me what they pay you."

Junior laughed again. "Well, you never know. This way," he said and gestured to building five.

During their walk a group of three young women stopped in their tracks, gawking open-mouthed at Eric's nearly perfect good looks, well-muscled arms straining the short sleeves of a pale blue dress shirt. Eric didn't seem to notice, so Junior nudged him and nodded toward the young women. Eric offered them a smile and small wave, getting delighted squeals in return.

Just before they entered the building the girls hurried to them and the two men politely stopped.

Eric's smile was warm, his blue eyes friendly.

The two dark-haired women glanced to the third, a buxom platinum blonde who cleared her throat, then said in a deep, sexy voice, "May we bother you for an autograph? We don't usually do this type of thing...please don't think we're bold..." she stopped and her laugh was a merry tinkle. "But we are such huge fans we broke our own allow them their privacy rule."

"Of course," Eric said instantly. "I'd be honored."

Junior jumped in with, "And let me add, you ladies are looking very fine today."

All three women, and Eric, turned to give Junior an odd look.

Junior cleared his throat, a flush creeping up his neck.

From her purse, the blonde produced a pen and lined paper, a medium sized piece which she tore into three sections. Her voice lowered almost to a conspiratorial tone. "To be honest, this is the closest we've ever gotten and we're thrilled beyond words."

She gave Eric a dazzling smile. "If you don't mind signing three..."

"My pleasure," he assured her. "And your names are...?"

"Mary."

"Debbie."

"Holly," the blonde said in a low, breathy voice.

Eric took the paper and signed each one, ignoring the gazes of female adoration burning into him. He handed them each a signed paper and nodded his thanks.

"Thank you, ladies, and it's been nice meeting you, but we really need to get going."

"No," said the blonde. "Thank you." She then glanced at the paper and frowned, then looked back at Eric.

"I thought your name was Peter?"

Realization lit Junior's face and he snickered, but Eric was puzzled. "I beg your pardon?"

The blonde stared at him, then read the paper's autograph aloud. "To Holly...best always, Eric McCandless. Who is Eric McCandless?"

Eric's frown line deepened. "I don't understand. You asked for my autograph, now you're asking who I am?"

The blonde's adoring look had cooled. "Well, you fit his description and you are with his bodyguard. We thought you were Peter, Clay's hairdresser."

 

Chapter One Hundred Fifty Seven

Catherine glanced nervously over at Clay, who drove skillfully, if not slowly, through LA traffic.

"Relax," he advised. "It's only a fitting and a walk-through. Besides, Eric is already there so you'll have someone to literally hold your hand on the runway."

"I know," Catherine answered, checking her hair for the umpteenth time for nonexistent strays or frizzes.

Clay breezed the Volvo into the Gucci lot on Rodeo Drive, then he and Catherine walked to the store entrance. The uniformed doorman nodded, held the door for them and they stepped into a temperature-perfectly-controlled spacious room.

A tall, very slender woman came from the back room and extended both hands to Catherine. "You're Catherine Aiken. I'm Lilah. Welcome."

"Thank you," Catherine said in the low voice that always signaled to Clay that she was nervous. To offset that impression she quickly smiled at Clay, then asked the woman, "Is it okay if my husband sits in on the walk-through?"

Lilah turned a dazzling smile on Clay. "Of course. Maybe he'll like what he sees and put in a few orders."

Clay's eyes twinkled and he met Catherine's gaze. "I already like what I see and I have a standing order."

Catherine blushed to her honey blonde roots and threw Clay a look of reproach, but knew her giggle gave her away.

Lilah merely raised her brows, then turned, said, "This way," and walked ahead of them through the spacious store and into a large back room.

Clay spotted Junior front and center to the makeshift runway and after Catherine had followed Lilah into a dressing center Clay walked over to sit beside Junior.

"What are you doing here?" Clay asked, noting they were the only two present.

"Eric let me come along."

Clay smirked. "Wouldn't have anything to do with meeting beautiful women strutting their stuff, would it?"

Junior just grinned, his gaze peeled on the dressing center's curtain.

They sat for half an hour, and finally Clay said, "This could be awhile, Junior. What do you say we go and get something cold to drink?"

"You go," Junior told him, his gaze still steady on the curtain. "I'll save your seat for you."

All of a sudden the curtain opened and behind Lilah walked three people, one man and two women, dressed in fashions from Gucci's winter 2004-2005 collection. Clay immediately recognized jazz singer "Doc" Mandon, high fashion model Ralna and Broadway actress Mindy Hunter.

Junior sat up straight and Clay snickered, itching to offer Junior a drool bib.

Lilah walked to a podium and read aloud from written descriptions of the models clothing as the models took their turns striding the runway.

Clay noted that "Doc" Mandon and Ralna seemed perfectly at ease, but Mindy Hunter had anger on her face and it mirrored in the jerky steps she took. Not exactly a boon to "buy this outfit".

One by one the models came out to stride the runway. Some were definitely experienced, some visibly inexperienced, and the latter met with sharp criticism from Lilah.

Junior gave his full attention to them all. Clay spotted the short notes he jotted down and realized this was to ask Eric about who was who. And probably what type chance Junior would have with each one.

Eric was the first of the male models and Clay was surprised at the ease with which Eric walked the runway.

Clad in a light blue velvet suede biker jacket over a sky blue lightweight cashmere turtleneck sweater that mirrored his eye color, Eric's long, muscled legs wore white denim jeans. Clay knew the women in the audience would go crazy for Eric, but a sideways look told him that Junior was impatient for Eric to get off so that more women could model.

Finally Catherine came out, but she avoided looking at Clay. From her expression she was a jumble of both severe nerves and the giggles, either one of which would let loose as soon as her gaze met his.

Clay caught his breath as Catherine took the runway. He knew she wasn't being deliberately sensuous in her slow walk. It was as natural to her total being as loving her was to his.

Catherine's body was exquisite in an optical white silk, viscosa jersey sleeveless asymmetrical gown with a gold dragon brooch. Her long elegant legs ended with her feet sporting a high heel ankle strap with plateau in gold leather.

Mindy Hunter came from behind the curtain in her street clothes, threw an angry look at Catherine and stalked to Lilah.

"That outfit is mine and I want it."

"Now, Mindy," Lilah said mildly, giving Catherine a reassuring look. "We decided this suited Catherine better. Everyone needs to be showcased in what..."

"Baloney," Mindy snapped, tossing long red hair over her slim shoulder. She glared at Catherine, then at Clay before turning back to Lilah. "This is Eileen Harper's doing. She was coerced into putting someone she told me is rabble into this show and now this rabble is wearing the clothing you promised me."

Catherine had gone still as a stone and Clay leaped to his feet, angry. He closed the distance between himself and Lilah and confronted Mindy. "Now wait a minute. You can't..."

"Oh, I certainly can," she informed him. "I was promised that outfit and the closing number. How did she end up with both?" she demanded.

Before Lilah could answer, Mindy threw her hands in the air. "FORGET IT. It's not worth it. I quit."

She stormed out, leaving a frowning Lilah staring at her back. Lilah turned to Clay. "Temperamental, isn't she?"

Catherine had stepped from the runway, tears glistening in her eyes. "Maybe I should drop out..."

Yes! Clay thought.

Lilah waved a pooh-pooh hand. "Nonsense. She does this same routine every year. She'll be fine. And if she isn't, there's a long line willing to replace her."

Catherine gave Clay a helpless look, then nodded to Lilah, but there was no enthusiasm in her voice. "I need to get ready for the finale," she said softly and walked behind the curtain.

Catherine walked to her dressing area, unsure of whether staying was the right thing. Making an enemy wasn't supposed to be part of a fashion show for charity.

She had just pulled the curtain closed to change when someone knocked on the wooden side of her changing booth.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Aiken? May I see you for a moment?"

Catherine didn't recognize the voice, but pulled the curtain open to find a very pretty dark-haired girl of about nineteen.

The girl flushed and Catherine noted her hands shook. She glanced nervously in all directions, but took Catherine's right hand and pressed something into it.

"Night Angel's East," she said quietly. "Ask for Nadia's brother, Billy."

 

Chapter One Hundred Fifty Eight

The girl's dark eyes held Catherine's, steady and unblinking. "It's crucial that you see Billy as soon as you can. It's also crucial that you tell no one. No one." A small smile played at the corners of the girl's mouth, but a smile never formed. The sad dark eyes wouldn't allow it. "It's hand-wringing, eye-rolling melodramatic to say that someone's future depends on your decision and your silence...especially your silence...but that's exactly what's at stake."

Before Catherine could say anything the girl turned and hurried away.

"Wait," Catherine called and though the girl stopped, she remained facing forward.

"Are you Nadia?"

The girl kept her back to Catherine, but looked over her shoulder to answer, her somber tone laced with sorrow. "No. Just someone who cares."

Catherine watched her walk away, then looked at the paper in her hand. An address. She was unfamiliar with LA and had no idea where this location might be. She could look it up at Mapquest or Yahoo, or on a city map. Or just ask Clay if he'd drive...no. This girl said tell no one. Catherine frowned and looked to the now empty dressing area corridor. She couldn't possibly have meant don't tell Clay either, could she?

Catherine closed the dressing room curtain but instead of changing she sat on the long bench before the full length mirror and stared at the paper. Someone's future depended on her? What the heck did that mean? She blew out a short breath, then chewed her lip. Surely this wasn't a ploy to get someone's music in front of Clay. She gave her head a short, negative shake. She didn't think so. The young woman looked much too intense about enlisting Catherine's aid to mean anything as trivial as "listen to Billy sing" or "listen to Billy's music".

Catherine sighed and pulled off her heeled sandals. Just in case, she wouldn't ask Clay to take her to this address. He'd be angry beyond words that someone had used such a tactic to get them to visit or just to get personal publicity.

She undid her ankle straps and tossed the sandals to the side, then nodded. She wasn't comfortable driving through strange LA streets or areas alone and she suddenly realized who best to ask to go with her. If they wouldn't tag along, no questions asked, then she'd go by herself.

Night Angel's East? Sounded like a club name to her. She closed her eyes and grimaced. She certainly hoped it wasn't a club. If it was, she was reading this thing entirely wrong. Her grimace deepened as she pulled the expensive white viscosa jersey gown over her head and placed it on a thickly padded hanger. If I'm wrong, it won't be the first time my judgment failed me, now, will it? She didn't relish explaining later to Clay why she went behind his back. Especially if her judgment was totally off-target.

Before she could pick up the sleeveless, v-necked black mini she'd wear for the finale another knock sounded on the side of the booth.

"Catherine?" called Lilah.

"I'm hurrying," Catherine assured her, slipping the dress on as quickly as possible, then scouting for the heels and spangled evening bag that went with it.

Catherine pulled back the curtain to prove she wasn't dawdling, even if she wasn't fully dressed yet.

Lilah smiled at her, her eyes going over Catherine's figure. "My dear, you will be the absolute highlight of this show."

"Thank you," Catherine said demurely, hobbling on her heeled right foot while she pushed the left heel on.

"But that's not why I'm here," Lilah continued. "Today's fitting and walk-through need to be cut short. There's a problem at Spago's with the space needed for the show and it seems we need to find another venue."

Catherine straightened and blinked. "Something happened to Spago's?"

Lilah shook her head. "No. We need a larger space. Ordinarily, those unable to obtain tickets for a Gucci show would just have to stew in their pea-green jealousy. But since this is for charity, we're willing to move it to a larger venue in order to allow more donors and buyers to attend. And since the show is in less than three weeks, we need to do this without delay."

Catherine laughed. "Well, that sounds like a good thing."

"Trust me, my dear," Lilah answered lightly. "It is. It's also unprecedented for this charity show." She gave Catherine a critical eye. "Have you worked out your finale number yet?"

"No," Catherine answered truthfully. "I have a few song ideas mulling, but wasn't sure if Mrs. Harper wanted something upbeat or...not upbeat, considering what charity this benefits."

"Word of advice," Lilah told her. "But being married to a singer I think you already know this. Always involve the audience and make them feel involved, part and parcel of what you're doing and giving. Especially in a finale."

Catherine nodded. "Clay loves his fans, his audience, no matter how small or large his concert or show. And his favorite part has always been when he interacts with them."

"Well, I don't think you need to interact with the fashion show audience, just let them know how important they are by somehow making them feel involved."

She started to leave, then tossed over her shoulder, "I'll call you as soon as I know where you need to report for the next rehearsal. In the meantime, concentrate on your finale number."

"I will," Catherine assured her, then watched as Clay nearly bumped into Lilah.

Clay hurried to Catherine and stopped short as he took in the sight of her in the exquisite, form-fitting black mini. A low wolf-whistle and growl sent a blush all the way to her toes.

"You're not supposed to be back here," she told him.

Green eyes did a slow walk over her body. "Sweet cheeks, if I had time, I'd close that curtain right now and start playing the ringtone you put on my phone."

Catherine frowned. "What do you mean...if you had time?"

"Krispy Kreme just called a meeting. We have to go."

Catherine kept her gaze level with Clay. She hated what she was about to do, but hadn't expected such an easy opportunity.

"Clay, can you go without me? Something's come up that I need to take care of, and I need to do it now."

Clay's forehead furrowed and green eyes searched Catherine's blue ones. Or rather tried to, since she lowered her gaze, then turned away to change into her street clothes. "Is something wrong, Catherine?"

"No," she said quickly. "I..." She stopped, then faced him and met his gaze. "I can't tell you why, or I would. Please trust me. There's something I need to see right away, someone I have to meet."

Clay's hands slowly lifted to rest on Catherine's cheeks and he made sure she couldn't look away. "I don't know what's going on but I'm getting a bad signal here, Catherine. Are you in trouble?"

Startled, Catherine's laugh was genuine. She hugged Clay tightly to her. "You are the dearest man," she murmured into his neck, guilt creeping into her voice. "But I'm not in trouble," she assured him, leaning back to give him a quick kiss. "It's just something..." she sighed. "Please trust me. That's all I can ask."

Clay held her gaze and she didn't look away. Finally he nodded. "Okay. Tell you what. I'm going to trust your judgment on this, but just in case...Eric has to be at the meeting, too, so wherever it is you're heading, Junior is going with you."

Catherine nodded. "Okay."

Clay held her to him, kissed the top of her head, then drew her into a long kiss. "I'll meet you back at the apartment. But I expect a phone call or two or three or ten before that. Understand?"

Catherine melted into Clay's arms, wondering how, considering the heat they generated just by being in the same proximity, they ever accomplished anything else. Her kiss to him conveyed exactly that. His return kiss said he oftened wondered the same thing.

When their lips parted, Catherine's breath caught. "Understood," she agreed.

She watched him walk away from her. With luck this trip to Night Angel's East would result in an interesting chat over dinner tonight with Clay.

Without warning, the young girl's tell no one again resounded in her head.

 

Chapter One Hundred Fifty Nine

Catherine didn't know what Clay had told Junior about accompanying her and she didn't ask. Junior's expression and eyes were unreadable, something Catherine knew from experience meant that Clay had instructed him to not leave Catherine's elbow. Junior's evaluative gaze burned into Catherine when she let him know he was not to ask questions, he was to do nothing but accompany her. She ignored both his gaze and his silence, but she had no problem that he had slipped into full bodyguard mode. Especially since she had no idea into what she might be walking.

Catherine spotted, in Gucci's main shopping room, the young woman who had handed her the note. She held a clipboard and was giving instructions to store personnel that Lilah had given to her. She seemed awfully young to be Lilah's assistant, but that appeared to be her job.

Catherine waited patiently until the girl, who grew more and more nervous when she realized Catherine and Junior were watching her, finished her detailed instructions to the staff.

When she started to hurry off, Catherine quietly said, "I need directions."

The girl stopped in her tracks, then spun to face Catherine. The hope in her eyes was so bright Catherine grew uneasy, to the point of wanting to take back her request for directions and to race to catch up with Clay.

***

Catherine ignored the dark looks Junior threw at her while they drove to Night Angel's East. To say they weren't in the best section of Los Angeles would be an understatement of epic proportions. They found the street they wanted and Junior moved the car slowly down it while Catherine scanned the numbers on the dirt-and-grime covered dilapidated buildings.

Few lawns showed signs of grass, even grass that would have browned anyway by this time of October. Most held scrawny trees that allowed sunlight to pour through to the dirt and pebbled ground. The lucky lawns paraded sparse patches of what might have been summer flowers, now shriveled or gone to seed.

October sunshine did nothing to brighten either the atmosphere or the landscape.

"Clay isn't going to like this," Junior said flatly. "At all."

"You let me worry about Clay," Catherine said pointedly. "And besides, I told you that as far as this trip is concerned you're deaf and blind, remember?" She pointed to the right, to a narrow, two-story faded gray building that looked like it may have once housed a church. Above the arched double-doored entrance was a sign emblazened Night Angel's East.

"There it is," Catherine stated. "Stop."

Junior pulled to the brown-leaf littered curb of the two lane street and hit the brakes, then turned an angry face to Catherine. "If you think I'm going to sit back and let you waltz into an unsafe place, you're crazy."

Catherine's brows raised and she fought a smile. "Is that any way to speak to your boss? Especially when you've hinted at a raise?"

Junior didn't smile. "You think I'd let money dictate whether or not I do my job?" He shook his head. "Forget my job, Miss Catherine. I can't let you do this. I don't like it. It's got a bad feel to it."

Catherine shook her head and undid her seat belt, her eyes scanning the building all the while. "I more or less made a promise, Junior. And I'm going to keep it. This shouldn't take more than a few minutes." She opened the door and turned to smile at him. "You wait here."

Junior laughed so hard he had to wipe tears, then his hand shot out to grip her arm before she could get out of the car. "You take one step out of that door before I'm around to your side and I'll take you to Clay instead. Do we understand each other?"

Catherine's deep sigh didn't impress Junior, nor did her level gaze. Only when she'd verbally agreed did he let go. After locking the car they headed for the building and Catherine said nothing when Junior stepped through the double doors and into the cool interior ahead of her.

The room did seem to be a renovated church. Some pews were still intact, used as waiting benches. Waiting for what, she couldn't guess.

Narrow windows lined both sides of the room, a room which took up about half of the first floor. A large desk dominated the front of the room and, seated behind the desk, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair watched them.

An extremely pretty teenager with short black hair, donned in a long, green kitchen apron over jeans and a white tee shirt, came from a door on the right. She didn't spare Catherine a glance, just walked to the desk. In a concerned tone she said, "It's been a long day for you, Mrs. Ducain. I just made a pot of herbal tea. May I bring you some?"

Mrs. Ducain offered a weary smile. "That would be really, really nice. Thank you."

Catherine slowly approached the desk, glancing around at the interior as she went. She couldn't quite figure out what type of business this was, but knew the only way to find out would be to ask.

"May I help you?" Mrs. Ducain asked, looking from Catherine to Junior and back.

Catherine smiled at the woman, taking an immediate liking to the woman whose tired eyes emitted a quiet, very genuine warmth.

"I'm not exactly sure why I'm here," Catherine said truthfully.

Puzzled, the woman asked, "I beg your pardon?"

Catherine smiled. "I'm here at someone's request," she explained. "A young woman at Gucci's asked me to come here."

Mrs. Ducain smiled. "That would be Melissa. She's apprenticed to Lilah and she's one of our success stories. Melissa has made us very, very proud."

Encouraged, Catherine continued, "She said I was to ask for Nadia's brother, Billy."

A sudden cry of horror turned all their heads toward the kitchen doorway, where the black-haired girl had just entered and the tea set had crashed to the floor.

The girl stared at Catherine, stark terror in her eyes.

Behind her, a young man appeared. "I'll clean it up, Nadia."

Mrs. Ducain rose to her feet, her gaze drawing and locking Catherine's. The warm eyes were now as hard as steel, but her tone was gentle. "Billy, please go upstairs with Nadia."

 

Chapter One Hundred Sixty

Nadia's slim form seemed frozen and terror never left her eyes. Billy appeared to be in his early twenties and was slightly taller than Nadia, but the resemblance was marked. He had the same black hair and light green eyes as his younger sister, and, like Nadia, was well above average in looks.

Billy tugged urgently on Nadia's arm, his words edged and taut. "Come on, Nadia." The third tug on her arm broke the spell and Nadia grabbed Billy's hand and raced into the kitchen.

"Wait here," Mrs. Ducain ordered Catherine icily, then hurried after Nadia and Billy. Though her terse voice reached back to Catherine and Junior, whatever words she spoke to Nadia and Billy were unintelligible.

Catherine gave a questioning, befuddled look to Junior but his sharp gaze never left the kitchen doorway.

The friendly persona of Mrs. Ducain had all but vanished when she returned, replaced by a cool, very aloof, all-business brusque.

A directed stride brought her in front of Catherine and Junior, to whom she offered a chilly once-over before she spoke to Catherine. "Who are you?"

Catherine raised both hands and took a step back. "Look, I don't know what this is all about, but I already know I want no part of it."

Junior didn't move but Catherine nodded goodbye and started to leave.

Mrs. Ducain's sharp, "What else did Melissa tell you?" stopped her, but just long enough to shrug a response.

"Nothing," Catherine admitted. "And, to be frank, I'm eternally grateful she didn't."

Mrs. Ducain hurried to step between Catherine and the door, ignoring Junior's glower, her gaze dead-locking Catherine's. "I have to know," she said coldly. "What did she tell you about Billy? About Nadia?"

Angered, Catherine kept her cool as best she could. "I don't have to tell you anything. But to keep Melissa out of trouble I will. She told me nothing, including her name. I didn't know that until you told me. She handed me a piece of paper, in secret, with this address and told me to ask for Nadia's brother, Billy." She gestured to the doorway. "Now, if you don't mind...we're out of here."

Apparently Mrs. Ducain did mind and again blocked Catherine. Catherine raised a hand to halt Junior from moving Mrs. Ducain.

Mrs. Ducain's brown eyes remained expressionless. "You expect me to believe that Melissa approached a shopper, a stranger, out of the blue..."

Catherine cut her off with, "I don't expect you to believe anything. And I wasn't shopping. Melissa came to me during the fashion show rehearsal..."

Suspicion filled the, "You're in the show?"

Catherine's anger increased at the persistent grilling. "No," she said sarcastically. "I was there exterminating cockroaches. Now, if you'll excuse me..." She stepped around Mrs. Ducain and had wrapped her fingers around the brass doorhandle when Mrs. Ducain touched her arm.

"Get your hand off of her," Junior's tight voice warned.

Catherine turned to see the ice receding from the woman's eyes, a woman who continued to ignore Junior.

Mrs. Ducain's voice was soft. "Who are you? Why would Melissa..."

From the kitchen doorway Nadia said, "I think I know who she is, Mrs. Ducain. And I believe I know why Melissa did this."

Mrs. Ducain turned a gentle gaze to Nadia. "Where's Billy?"

Nadia came to where they stood. "I sent him up to his room so I could listen," she admitted. Light green eyes, guarded and determined to not let anyone see inside her heart or soul, met Catherine's blue ones. "I think I've seen your picture. You're Clay Aiken's wife, aren't you?"

"Yes," Catherine answered.

Nadia's attempt to smile trembled, then failed. She shook her head, her eyes bright with tears that didn't spill. "When you return to Gucci's, please tell Melissa thank you from the bottom of my heart. But she's wrong. No one can help Billy and me. Not even Clay Aiken."

Nadia turned and walked away, disappearing into the kitchen.

Catherine was stunned to see the depth of compassion and sadness in Mrs. Ducain's eyes, eyes that remained on Nadia until she was out of sight.

What the heck had Melissa tried to involve her in? Something that Catherine definitely would be glad to leave behind as soon as she made it through this front door and back to the shelter of the car.

Catherine looked toward Junior, who watched her with raised brows. "I didn't bother opening the front door, Miss Catherine, because that would say I don't know you well enough to guess your next move. And I surely do."

Catherine's small smile didn't reach her eyes.

She left Junior standing beside the front door with Mrs. Ducain.

Junior would explain to Mrs. Ducain's questions called to her when Catherine quickened her steps to catch up with Nadia.

 

Chapter One Hundred Sixty One

Despite throwing the Krispy Kreme commercial script onto the gleaming boardroom table, Roger's voice was light. "You know, Clay, I went to a great deal of trouble to put together this Gone With The Wind scenario, to make sure you, Catherine and Eric all receive prominent spots in this commercial."

Clay's smile was fleeting. "I'm sure you did," he said, not bothering to remind Roger that he'd done everything he possibly could to boot Catherine from the commercial. "And don't think that your hard work is going unnoticed."

Roger's expression changed so fast from pleasant to angry and back to pleasant that Clay doubted anyone else noticed it.

"I was really counting on Catherine's uniquely creative thought process, but since she was unavailable today, the least you can do," Roger said mildly, "is be attentive, be willing to input, to throw your ideas into the hat with mine. Improvement..."

"I gotta go," Clay announced and rose without apology to his feet, his script tucked under his arm. Eric rose with him, his own script rolled like a diploma.

"It's been a pleasure, gentlemen," Eric said, shaking hands with Roger and each of the three Krispy Kreme execs. "I look forward to working with you."

Clay said a quick goodbye to the Krispy Kreme execs, nodded to Roger, who'd been surprisingly genial to Clay and to Eric throughout the lengthy meeting and almost hit the door running.

No one had said anything when Clay continuously checked his watch, probably, he figured, because they knew how tight, how hectic his schedule. But he'd been checking his watch waiting for Catherine to call. When she hadn't, he'd called her. He was more than a little alarmed when she didn't answer any of his eight calls. He couldn't care less what anyone in the room thought about his repeated dialing of his cell phone and muttering, "Pick up...pick up."

Similar calls to Junior's cell phone had reached his voice mail.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Eric remarked, "Roger's pretty much a jerk, isn't he?"

Clay snorted, taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. "Pretty much? You underestimate him. He's a thoroughbred."

As they hurried down the metal steps, Clay again dialed Catherine. No answer.

His jaw tightened and his body tensed. He always knew when trouble hovered. At least when it hovered around Catherine. Only this deepening gut feeling was assuring him that trouble not only hovered, it was poised with a heavy blanket.

When they reached the outside and strode toward where Clay had parked the Volvo, Eric asked, "Is something wrong? You said Catherine had an errand. I gather it was more than that."

Clay's voice was as tense as his body and after he and Eric tossed the Krispy Kreme commercial scripts into the rear seat, he started the engine, then uncharacteristically gunned it. "I wish I knew," he said from between gritted teeth. "Catherine wasn't exactly clear about where she was going or why. I made her take Junior with her, but he hasn't answered his phone either."

He peeled out of the lot, his face grim. "Let's just hope they're both in a condition to explain why Catherine didn't check in like I asked and didn't answer her phone when I called."

Clay exceeded the speed limit all the way back to the apartment. He didn't overtly run any stop signs or red lights, but knew a cop might view that differently. Fortunately, he didn't encounter any as he rapidly wound the Volvo through the streets to home.

Junior's car was back in the parking lot.

Relief surged through Clay like a hot iron as he screeched the Volvo to a halt in his own space. He nearly ground the car into park and leaped from it, the car still rocking, irritation at Catherine causing him to worry displacing his fear for her.

Eric grabbed both scripts from the back seat and kept stride with Clay, advising him, "Calm down, Clay. There's probably a very innocent explanation."

Again, Clay ignored the elevator and took the quicker stairs. His apartment door was not only unlocked, it stood ajar.

He went inside, calling a terse, "Catherine!"

No answer.

Then he saw movement on the balcony and headed that way, then came to a dead, sudden halt, Eric so close behind him that Eric rammed him forward.

Catherine stood at the balcony railing, her face pale, but wearing a stubborn set with which Clay was all too familiar. Junior was pacing, his hands waving as he visibly, vehemently, argued with Catherine, but with the door closed Clay couldn't hear about what.

But, oh, boy, did he intend to find out.

 

Chapter One Hundred Sixty Two

Catherine turned toward Clay with a surprised look when he slid the balcony door open harder than intended. He shot Junior a look, but directed his curt question to Catherine. He tried, but failed, to keep his voice free of anger. "Where have you two been? Did you turn your phones off?"

Her look was one of complete astonishment.

"Oh, my gosh, Clay, I'm sorry!"

She hurried to hug him, and though he returned her hug he remained cool and repeated his question.

Junior glared at Catherine. "Tell him. Or I will."

"You won't," she warned, returning Junior's glare in kind. "I'll handle this, if you don't mind. In my own way."

"I do mind, Miss Catherine," Junior burst out. "It isn't right to keep this from Clay. And you know it isn't."

"What it isn't," she said flatly to Junior, ignoring Clay's tightening jaw, "is any of your business. Butt out."

Junior drew back as though Catherine had struck him. Their eyes met and held in a battle of angry wills, a slow flush creeping up Junior's neck and face. Finally, Junior turned and stalked back into the apartment, then pulled the still ajar front door closed behind him without a word or backward glance to Catherine.

Eric stared at Catherine in disbelief, but Clay burst out an angry, "Start talkin'."

To his shock she cried, "Oh, leave me alone", burst into tears and raced into the apartment, slamming the bedroom door behind her. Raleigh, on the couch, covered her face with her little paws.

Eric's jaw dropped and when he politely muttered, "Guess I'll be going...", Clay didn't even hear him. He was right on Catherine's heels and he was as angry as she was upset.

He gave a loud knock on the door to let Catherine know that, like it or not, he was about to confront her. He barely heard Eric leave.

He pushed open the bedroom door. Catherine stood at the window, the heels of her hands braced on the sill, her gaze staring beyond the glass into the umber October dusk at nothing.

Clay whirled her around to face him. "You put an awful scare into me today," he said in a low, barely controlled voice. "I want to know why. And what was that bit with Junior? What were you two arguing about?"

"Nothing," she said, but kept her gaze lowered. "It was a small disagreement is all."

"Bull. What's going on, Catherine?"

Silence.

Clay tipped her chin up, fighting to keep his voice level and free of anger. He forced her to look at him, to maintain his gaze. "Don't keep secrets from me, Catherine. There's nothing in this world you can't tell me." His voice softened as he looked deep into the eyes of the wife he adored. "You do know that, don't you?"

Tears spilled from blue eyes and trickled down smooth cheeks. Clay's fingers gently brushed them away, but his gaze stay locked with hers.

"I...I can't," she said quietly.

"Yes," he said tenderly, fear filling him that Catherine was indeed in trouble and refused to let him help. "You can. There's nothing, nothing, you can't bring to me, that we can't face together, that I can't help you through."

Catherine moved into Clay's arms, into the warm haven of safety, of deep, steadfast love that he offered without condition, without hesitation.

He held her, his heart pounding, relieved beyond words that she came to him. There was no room left in Clay's heart for anger, only room to love her, to comfort her, to help, no matter what the reason his help was needed.

When she stepped back from him, her eyes were clear when they searched deep into his.

Catherine's words were barely audible and her voice cracked with emotion. "Clay...I did something that may bring terrible pain into someone's life. Someone who doesn't deserve it."

Clay had no idea what or whom she meant, but he stayed silent, just letting her talk it out.

"I may hurt a very loving man," she added, so low he almost didn't hear it. "I...I can't tell you anymore than that," she said, tears filling her voice. "All I ask is that you trust me to make the right choice."

Disappointed, Clay didn't answer, but searched her eyes for a hint of what she could mean. Nothing.

"Catherine, I don't think..."

"I can't tell you!" she burst out. "Don't you think I would if I could?"

She stormed from the bedroom and this time Clay let her go.

A small cloud of doubt seeded in Clay's heart as Junior's words roared into Clay's brain..."It isn't right to keep this from Clay. And you know it isn't."

Catherine hadn't meant she needed to make a decision that might hurt him, had she? The only decision Catherine could make that would hurt Clay was a decision to leave him.

No, that wouldn't hurt him. It would destroy him.

A thunder of pain ripped his heart.

 

Chapter One Hundred Sixty Three

They drove home from dinner at The Ivy in silence. The same silence that had dominated Catherine barely picking at her spaghetti bolognese had precluded her from enjoying the restaurant's French countryside feel, something she'd loved and remarked over each time she and Clay had visited. But she'd been unfailingly polite and friendly to Clay's fans that had worked up the courage to approach their table. She'd even smiled softly when the four women, when they walked away, squealed in conspiratorial delight that Clay had graciously allowed them to interrupt dinner for an autograph.

But Catherine had quickly retreated back into her thoughts, thoughts that Clay could tell from the profound sadness in her eyes were deeply troubling. His intended light banter about the breadsticks and bolognese sauce fell flat and eventually he joined Catherine in silent eating.

While he covered the miles back to their apartment, Clay glanced at Catherine in the Volvo's dark interior. He'd not followed her when she stormed from the bedroom to take a quiet seat on the sofa, pull Raleigh into her lap and then lift the puppy to gently nuzzle her neck.

But he'd watched from the doorway, his heart hurting for her, his spirits faltering almost irretrievably when he saw Catherine brush tears from her face, saw her shoulders slump in a gesture of hopelessness before she suddenly straightened, a look of determination replacing her tears.

Whatever personal pain Catherine felt, she'd decided not to share with him. Clay ignored the knife in his heart and fought to bolster his courage. If Catherine needed time, he'd give it to her. Clay's gaze rested on Catherine, on the blue-eyed honey blonde who controlled his heart and could reduce him to a puddle of...anything...with nothing more than a shy glance in his direction. No. It didn't require a glance, shy or otherwise. Or even her presence. The mere image of Catherine in his brain was all it took to sear Clay's heart.

Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, he would be at her side. If she'd allow him to help he'd let her know she didn't need to tell him why she required that help. He'd find the right way, the right moment, to say exactly that to her. Through love. Through patience. Through his own show of silent, unshakable support and strength.

As he watched Catherine with Raleigh, it was all he could do to not grab Catherine, squeeze her tightly into his warm, loving arms and tell her that he wanted to make whatever hurt her go away. That he would move whatever mountain necessary to heal her pain, to bring joy back into her eyes.

He waited half an hour, then told her he'd like to go to The Ivy for dinner. To his absolute amazement, she did nothing more than nod. Not, "I don't feel like it", not, "a cozy dinner after our argument? No thanks.", not anything at all. Just a nod. The Catherine he knew would have told him off in a hurry. This Catherine had become lackluster and remote. And it scared the hell out of him. Catherine had obviously sworn Junior into a very reluctant, very angry silence, but if there were a way to get the truth from Junior without compromising his promise to Catherine, Clay would find it.

Now, he glanced over again at Catherine through the Volvo's dark interior.

What could possibly have happened to her in the relatively short time since they'd parted company that afternoon to when he'd found her and Junior were home again?

He steered the Volvo into the lot, undid his seatbelt, then went around and held Catherine's door for her. Catherine looked at him, unhappiness still dominating her eyes, but she smiled, then kissed his cheek.

"I'm sorry I ruined your dinner," she said quietly.

Clay took Catherine's hand in his, lacing his long fingers with her small, slim ones, but said nothing as they walked toward their apartment building, determined to show her he was her pillar, one willing to wait.

As they neared the building, from the corner of his eye Clay saw Junior coming toward them.

Junior raised a hand in greeting, but gave Clay no more than a swift glance. His gaze was riveted on Catherine. "May I talk to you?"

Catherine's eyes filled with tears. "I can't do this tonight, Junior."

Clay was about to intercede when Junior's quiet voice said, "I'll only take a minute. Please hear me out."

Clay shook his head and squeezed his grip on Catherine's hand. "No, Junior. Whatever it is can wait until..."

"It's okay," Catherine told Clay.

To Clay's instant anger, Catherine and Junior walked off a short distance, but far enough that Clay couldn't make out what they said.

Until their voices rose in battle.

Junior's chest huffed and puffed, alerting Clay to that Junior was growing livid. He should step between them, should tell Junior to watch how he spoke to Catherine. But if he did what he knew was right, would he stop them from saying words that might tell him what was going on, what was behind Catherine's odd behavior?

Junior's next words sent shock ricocheting to Clay's core, launched ice water through his heart and drenched his soul with fear.

"You fell in love today," Junior almost shouted. "You and I both know there's nothing wrong with that. But you can't..."

Clay broke into a near run for Catherine, to put a stop to Junior's attack. Clay couldn't bear to hear another devastating word.

"You feel the same way I do," Catherine fired back. "But you of all people know exactly why we can't tell Clay."

Those final words of soul-scarring treachery rammed Clay's mind so hard he saw an effusive explosion of red.

The bright scarlet of anger.

The deep, swirling crimson pain of betrayal.

Incomprehensible emotions slammed into him as his protesting brain absorbed that Junior and Catherine had fallen in love and Junior now argued that Clay had a right to know.

Without warning, Clay grabbed Junior, gritted, "You bastard," drew back his fist, crashed it into Junior's face and sent him sprawling to the sidewalk.

 

Chapter One Hundred Sixty Four

Catherine's hand muffled her scream, but not enough to keep the apartment building's burly security guard from running out of the lobby and over to them.

"What's going on here?"

"I fell," Junior said flatly from his seat on the ground. He waved the guard off. "Everything is fine here. You can go back inside."

Clay cradled his right hand in his left, intense pain shooting through every knuckle and straight up his arm. When the guard looked at him and Catherine for affirmation, they both nodded, and Clay added, "We're fine."

The guard grunted, then strolled back toward the entrance.

When he'd gone inside, Clay whirled on Junior, his tone harsh. "So you're in love with my wife, are you? And you think..."

Junior looked horrified and burst out, "Good God, no!"

Catherine grabbed Clay's arm. "It's not what you..." she stopped and spun to Junior, who rose to his feet, his hand on the jaw Clay had punched. "Good God, no? What is that supposed to mean?" She shook her head. "Never mind," she told him, and turned back to Clay. "Me and Junior? Are you craaaazy?"

"Now wait a minute," Junior objected to Catherine.

Catherine tossed him a glance. "No offense intended, Junior..." she turned back to Clay. "But, really, Clay. JUNIOR?"

Clay leveled an icy glare at each of them in turn, then directed his words to Catherine. "I'm not deaf, Catherine. I heard you both admit you fell in love."

Clay raised his chin to Junior, his cold stare daring Junior to deny he'd made a move on Catherine.

He expected denials, expected some sort of flimsy cover story. He didn't expect anything close to Catherine's reaction.

She laughed so hard she bent double, then dropped to her knees, holding her stomach and rocking with mirth.

She could barely talk. "Oh, Clay. I had no idea you thought something was going on. And with Junior, of all people."

"Heyyy," Junior protested again.

Clay's right hand continued to hurt like the devil, and from the way Junior still rubbed his jaw Clay had caused him considerable pain. In light of Catherine's gale of laughter that was now a little less satisfying that when he threw the punch.

"Then what is going on?" he demanded. "You two are locked into some sort of scheme that's making Catherine miserable. No more lies," he said, his voice like granite. "I want an answer now," he informed them, abandoning his previous determination to patiently wait for her to bring her trouble to him. When it came to Catherine, not only could he never predict her actions and reactions, he also couldn't predict his own.

Catherine stopped laughing and rose to her feet. Her demeanor changed so fast Clay thought that his head might spin. Her tears of laughter were now behind a blue curtain of sorrow.

"I...I can't," she told him. "I'm asking you to please understand."

Clay gripped her upper arms in exasperation, for the first time ever, ungently. "Not this time," he informed her. "I just punched a man because of a terrible suspicion that the both of you planted, intentionally or not. Now I want to know why."

 

Chapter One Hundred Sixty Five

Catherine's gaze never left Clay's. "Someone's future depends on my silence, and whether or not I can fix what I very stupidly did." She cleared her throat to continue, but was unable to keep the catch in her voice from Clay's ears. "I made the choice to involve myself," Catherine stated. "And I've also made the choice to keep you out of it."

Clay's grip involuntarily tightened on Catherine's arms, if only for a second, but she didn't flinch beneath his fingers or his steady gaze.

He gave her a slight shake, but his low, frantic demand was filled more with worry than anything else. "What have you done?" When she still didn't answer he released his grip and ran his hands through his hair. He barely took note of Junior's steady, disapproving look on Catherine. "I'm going to ask you one more time," he warned. "Where did you go this afternoon?"

She stood rock silent, her gaze lowered. When his patience frayed and he reached the end of his limit, rather than continue the fruitless pursuit of answers, Clay spun on his heel and headed for the apartment building.

Her soft, tear-cracking, "Clay...please help me", barely reached him.

He turned to find a look in her eyes as vulnerable as he'd ever seen her.

He walked back, his gaze level on hers. Was she really going to tell him anything, or was she going to insist again that the best way to help her was to not ask for any answers or details?

He raised his hand to the side of her head and softly brushed her hair back. "No matter how much I want to," he said tenderly, "I can't help you if you won't talk to me. I don't care what you've done," he told her, emphasizing it with all the emotion he could convey through his gaze. "I'm here."

Even though relief flooded her eyes, it was mitigated by caution. "I need you to come somewhere with me," she told him. "To meet someone."

"Miss Catherine," warned Junior. "Just showing up there might not be a good idea."

Catherine exchanged a long look with Junior, then nodded in agreement. While he watched, she fished her cell phone from her purse and punched in the number for Information.

"Los Angeles. Night Angel's East," Clay heard her answer the recorded query.

Catherine listened to the number, hit end, then punched in the number she'd obtained from Information.

Clay waited without a word, his curiosity peaked to an all-time high. Who could possibly be so urgent to Catherine that she was willing to barge into their house at this time of night?

"Hello," she said into the phone. "Sharon Ducain, please." A pause, then, "Catherine Aiken."

Catherine offered Clay a small smile while she waited for the person she wanted to come to the phone. Clay's heart lightened when he saw that a lot of the clouds had receded from her eyes.

"Yes," she suddenly into the receiver. "Mrs. Ducain, I am really sorry to bother you, but I thought this was important. I...I'd like to bring my husband there...to meet Nadia and Billy."

Catherine frowned, then looked dismayed.

"Bu...but..." she stopped and listened, then spoke hastily. "No, I haven't told him, but he can help, he will help, if only you'll let..." She stopped again and Clay saw her shoulders droop. "Yes. I do understand. Won't you please hear me out..."

Clay could tell by the deep heartbreak engraved into Catherine's face that the call had ended not only abruptly, but badly.

Catherine wouldn't look at Clay, but her trembling voice mirrored her expression. "She said I've done enough damage."

Clay glanced at Junior.

Junior ignored Clay and went straight to Catherine. Tears streamed down Junior's face as he embraced Catherine.

"We'll fix this, Miss Catherine, don't you worry."

Without warning, he jerked Clay into the group hug. "She's got five minutes to tell you the truth. Or I will."

 

Chapter One Hundred Sixty Six

Clay listened without interruption as Catherine haltingly told him all that she knew about Nadia and Billy. His face darkened when she ended her story with what she had done, why Sharon Ducain had told her that she'd done enough damage.

"Maybe the damage isn't irreparable," he told her, but his voice held no surety.

Catherine's cell phone rang and she almost ignored it, then cried, "It's the Night Angel's East number I just called," and answered it with a breathless, "Oh, thank you, Mrs. Ducain..."

Catherine strained to hear the whispered, "Is this Catherine Aiken?"

Startled, Catherine responded, "Yes."

The voice stayed low. "This is Nadia. I heard Mrs. Ducain talking to you..."

"Nadia." Catherine nearly crowed in relief, then she broke into a rushed plea of, "May we please come over to see you? My husband wants to help..."

Catherine heard a hastily whispered, "I'll meet you on the corner," then the line went dead.

Catherine slowly lowered the phone, then looked up to find both Clay's and Junior's intense gaze on her.

"She wants to see us. She said she'd meet us on the corner."

Junior frowned. "That's a pretty rough neighborhood. Going there in the daytime was one thing. But this time of night is definitely not a good idea."

Catherine shrugged, but turned toward the parking lot, throwing over her shoulder, "If Nadia has the courage to wait on the corner, on foot, I think I'm brave enough to drive up in a car."

"Hold it, Catherine," Clay called, then turned to Junior. "I trust your judgment on this." He didn't add, "Much more than I'd trust Catherine's right now", but both Catherine and Junior heard it nonetheless. "Go and get Eric to ride along with us. You both can keep an eye out while we talk to this girl. Get the keys to your car, too. It's less conspicuous than mine."

Junior nodded and headed toward his apartment building.

***

With Clay and Catherine in the rear seat and Eric beside him in the front, Junior slowly drove through the rundown neighborhood that housed Night Angel's East.

Catherine pointed. "That's the place, the one that looks like a converted church," but though Clay and Eric studied it, that was all she said as they passed it, still peering into the heavy cloak of night for a glimpse of where Nadia waited.

It was a long block, but all four corners nearest the target building, along with a great deal of the cracked sidewalk, were occupied by groups of young people, of many races, both genders. Most street lights were dim or out completely, and three of the four corners offered the haven of shadows and empty lots to the youths should they feel the need for privacy or decide to meld into the night. Each group eyed the car with suspicion and one young man flicked his cigarette into the glass of Clay's darkened window. The streets were pretty well deserted of traffic, their car the only moving vehicle on the street. Parked cars, their doors wide open, blasted various types of rap, hip hop or rock, each section of the block competing to be the loudest.

But every set of eyes leveled in their direction held the same expression.

Distrust.

Junior turned a reassuring glance to a visibly nervous Catherine. "I'm sure some of those kids hanging out around here are actually undercover cops."

"Where is she?" Catherine asked in a shaky voice. "I don't like this at all. Something may have happened to her."

"Slow down," Clay instructed Junior as a young girl with short black hair emerged from the shadows and offered a short, curt signal of stop.

"That's her," Catherine cried and before Clay could grab her arm she leaped from the now stopped car and headed toward Nadia. Clay scrambled out the door after her so fast he couldn't breathe.

He put a death-lock on Catherine's arm. "Hold it," he commanded and stepped in front of her, blocking her from anything this young stranger might have up her sleeve. Clay didn't need even to take a slight glance around to know that he didn't like anything at all about this. Junior had been right.

Junior had appeared silently at his side. Eric stood beside the car, watching for unexpected movement from the surrounding blackness.

Despite Catherine's struggle, Clay forced her to stay behind him. "Who are you?" Clay demanded of the girl.

"Get back into the car," she said quietly. "I'll go with you. Please don't ask any questions until we're inside."

Clay gave her a wary look and was about to refuse.

The smile Nadia offered Clay held no warmth. "The people in those shadows, the ones you can't quite make out, couldn't care less who you are, only about what you have that they can take away from you. If you value the safety of everyone here, you'll follow my advice and get back inside the car."

 

Chapter One Hundred Sixty Seven

Junior hustled Catherine and Clay into the back seat, with Clay seated between Nadia and Catherine, deliberately, Clay knew, in case of potential trouble. No one said anything until Junior and Eric had taken one last, satisfied look around the area and climbed into the front seat.

"Where to?" Junior asked, his gaze holding Nadia's in the rearview mirror.

Nadia's gaze drifted to Eric, who openly studied her in return. "Who's he?" she asked bluntly.

"Eric is my brother," Catherine answered. "Junior is Clay's bodyguard, though he was with me this afternoon, and I know you recognize Clay."

"He's not a cop or anything, is he?" Nadia asked, still watching Eric.

"No," Eric answered. "But just how important is it that I'm not?" he added pointedly.

Nadia ignored his question, sighed and leaned back against the seat. "Okay. I just had to be sure that you didn't bring somebody along that you shouldn't have."

"Where to?" Junior repeated curtly, and Clay realized that Eric and Junior were both on high alert. They all should be. None of them knew this girl and for all they knew she was leading them somewhere to be robbed, or worse.

"There's a narrow driveway to the side of Night Angel's that goes around to the back. Pull to the rear of the building and we'll talk."

Catherine frowned. "Is that a good idea? I mean, Mrs. Ducain wouldn't even allow me to talk to you on the phone. What will she do when she sees that we came here anyway?"

"You let me worry about her," Nadia answered smoothly.

Junior and Eric exchanged glances, but Clay kept his eyes on Nadia. She didn't look at him, just watched out the window during the short ride to Night Angel's East.

The building was dark and appeared to be closed up tight until morning.

"There's the driveway," Nadia told him, pointing to an overgrown dirt pathway they hadn't seen that afternoon. "Follow it around to the back."

Junior stopped the car before they entered the driveway. "Clay...there's no lights at all back there. You sure you're okay with this?"

Nadia turned to look directly at Clay. She held his gaze just as steady as he held hers. He'd never seen such an inscrutable expression.

All he had was a gut feeling.

With his eyes still on Nadia's he raised a hand to quiet Catherine when, from the corner of his eye, he saw her open her mouth to speak.

"Yeah," he told Junior. "Go on in."

The car moved at a creep down what could only be loosely called a driveway. The length of the building, then the driveway curved and swung outward, away from the house.

Nadia opened her car door and stepped out into the darkness, and though Junior turned off his headlights he kept the motor running.

Clay glanced at Night Angel's and put a hasty hand on Catherine's arm to stop her when she started to open her car door. The front of Night Angel's East had looked closed and dark for the night, but light outlined the drawn shades of a rear room.

Nadia stuck her head into the back seat and though she smiled, her voice was impatient. "Hurry up. Mrs. Ducain and Billy are waiting."

 

Chapter One Hundred Sixty Eight

Clay again stopped Catherine and asked Nadia, "Who else is in there?"

Nadia smiled, then gave her head a short shake, her smile fading to sadness. "Too many homeless teenagers."

Stunned, Clay watched as Nadia walked up a short staircase to the back door. She gave three short raps, then someone Clay couldn't see opened the door.

With the kitchen light now illuminating her from behind, Nadia turned and silently looked back at Clay.

Clay kept his gaze on Nadia, but asked Junior and Eric, "Do you two believe her or do you think this might be a trap?"

Catherine jerked her arm from Clay's grip and her voice was terse. "This is one of the shelter's that the fashion show benefits." Clay lunged to stop Catherine from getting out, but she was too quick and he grabbed empty air as she shut the car door.

"You three sit here and dissect the situation," she shot at them as she rounded the car and headed for the back door. "I'm going inside."

Clay jumped out of his side and stopped her whether she liked it or not. A side glance told him an equally wary Junior and Eric had also gotten out.

Rough neighborhood was an understated description of where they were.

Junior kept his eyes on the open door and a quietly waiting Nadia.

"I'm going first," Junior said flatly, then nodded at Eric. "He'll bring up the rear."

"We're not marching off to war," Catherine snapped, but followed Junior and Clay up the steps and into the lighted kitchen.

Nadia stepped aside and Clay took a quick look at both the room and those in it.

The room was a bright, very large, old-fashioned kitchen, but renovated to provide space for a restaurant-sized stove and refrigerator. A long table dominated one wall and supplies stacked on it said that it served as both storage and prep area. White cabinets ran the length of two walls and an extra long double sink sat beside the refrigerator. An older model dishwasher recessed beneath one side of the sink. On the far wall a railinged narrow staircase led to a second floor.

But Clay's gaze leveled on the two people sitting at a white farmhouse table in the middle of the floor. A middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a young man in his early twenties. His resemblance to Nadia was so striking Clay knew this had to be Billy.

Nadia closed the door.

Catherine turned to Nadia, puzzled. "I don't get it. Why the secrecy?"

Sharon Ducain rose to her feet. "We had to be sure you weren't followed, and that you didn't bring anyone else with you." She glanced at Nadia. "Apparently Nadia is satisfied that these people are okay."

Billy smiled at Catherine.

Catherine's face paled and she turned to Nadia. "I...I am so sorry..."

Mrs. Ducain interrupted. "We'll discuss that later." She gestured to the table. "Please, everyone sit down."

Junior and Eric chose to remain standing near the door and Clay saw Junior's gaze continually sweep not only the kitchen, but the darkened front room and the staircase. Eric kept watch of the yard and car by pulling back the edges of a window shade.

When Catherine and Clay had each taken a white slat-backed chair, Nadia looked straight at Clay. "What is it you think you can do to help us?"

Catherine interjected, her hand lightly on Clay's arm before he could answer. "I haven't told him anything, Nadia. I thought it would be better if you tell your story in your own words."

Nadia and Catherine locked in a silent exchange, then finally Nadia got up and walked to stand beside Billy. She bent down and gently brushed a stray lock of black hair from his forehead. "Go upstairs for a little while, Billy? Marlena said something about reading to you tonight. I think she's ready."

 

Chapter One Hundred Sixty Nine

Billy stood, but he shook his head. "No," he told Nadia, a hint of stubbornness in his voice. He looked again to Catherine. "I want her to read to me. I like Catherine. I like Marlena, too, but Catherine's prettier than Marlena."

Clay bit back a smile, but it would have wiped from his face anyway when a thin, teenaged girl with very short, spiked platinum blonde hair, oversized hooped earrings and a pierced nose bounded down from the second floor.

She scanned the room with a cool gaze, giving no indication she recognized Clay when her gaze fell on him. She nodded to Mrs. Ducain then spoke to Nadia. "I saw the car out back and heard voices downstairs so I figured you'd need me about now." Her voice and gaze softened. "Ready, Billy? Huck Finn promised not to float down the Mississippi until we get back."

Billy looked to Catherine. "Pleeeeeeeeeeease?"

Marlena's brows lifted and she glanced to Nadia. Nadia raised a single hold on finger to Marlena and looked in silence to Catherine.

Clay waited, also, then Catherine rose to her feet and smiled at Billy. "If it's okay with Nadia and Marlena, I'd love to read to you tonight, Billy," she told him.

Billy's face lit up and Marlena shrugged. Before anyone could say anything, she'd hurried upstairs and returned with Huckleberry Finn and a thin denim jacket. She tossed the book to Catherine.

Clay noted that the bookmarked tome was dog-eared and pretty worn, so he guessed it was a favorite that Billy liked to hear over and over.

Marlena pulled on the jacket and headed for the door, staring down Junior and Eric until they'd moved from the way. She turned back to Mrs. Ducain. "Since Nadia doesn't need me and I can pull an extra shift tonight behind the counter, I'm outta here." She winked at Billy and blew him a kiss. "We'll catch up with Huck tomorrow night, sweetie. Just make sure the nice lady marks where she leaves off in the story."

"I will," Billy answered earnestly. "Thank you, Marlena. Have fun at work."

Marlena rolled her eyes, then laughed. "I sure will, honey. Those smooth-talking truckers always add tons of excitement to a boring night."

When Marlena had closed the door behind her, Nadia turned to Catherine. "Normally I wouldn't let you near Billy's room, but it's not...a good idea...for him to hear this...again."

Catherine nodded.

"Follow me," Nadia told her. "It's pretty small, but he's comfortable there and he has everything he needs." She started to walk, then stopped and looked sharply at Catherine. "No phone calls.

Catherine's lip trembled, but she nodded that she understood.

As the three of them went up the stairs to the second floor, Clay heard Nadia tell Billy, "Most of the others are asleep, Billy, so stay out of the dorm area. You can sit on your floor and Catherine can sit on your bed while she reads to you. The light is better there, anyway..."

Clay turned to Mrs. Ducain, to find her gaze riveted on him.

"You're not," she said, "going to do anything that results in hurt or harm to either of them?"

Clay held her gaze. "That wasn't a question. It was more like a command."

She shrugged. "Take it any way you choose." She stared at him. "I know who you are, in case you're wondering. My question is why would you involve yourself in something like this?"

Clay's gaze didn't waver. "You're well aware that I have no idea what this is all about, so why are you even asking?"

Mrs. Ducain's expression didn't change. "I think that you know at least a little, even if it's just that your wife may well have put irreversible disaster into motion." She leaned forward and her voice lowered. She totally ignored Junior and Eric, as though she and Clay were the only two in the kitchen. "If this results in isn't he the greatest human being publicity for you and catastrophe for Nadia and Billy, you will personally answer to me."

Clay had no chance to respond because Nadia clamored back down the steps.

"They're settled in with Huck," she told Mrs. Ducain, then turned to Clay and took a seat directly across from him.

Clay waited, then realized Nadia wasn't just staring at him in silence. She was searching for the right way to begin.

The room was still for what seemed several moments, then Nadia's eyes filled with tears as her first words filled the air.

"My father hates Billy. And if he finds him..."

 

Chapter One Hundred Seventy

Nadia stopped and Clay frowned, but his gaze never left hers. He thought he'd seen it all during college and his days within the system. Diane Bubel was exemplary as a parent, as were the majority of others he'd met. During the time Clay had worked on a daily basis with the disabled community and their caregivers he'd seen disabilities that ranged from barely noticeable to severe, dealt with people whose attitudes ran the gamut from constantly encouraging of their child or the one in their care to an exasperated, overwrought, I can't handle this anymore. Fear and irrational dislike of the disabled? Too many times to count. But hatred of your own disabled child? That was something Clay had neither encountered nor seen.

His frown deepened. "Is it possible..."

Mrs. Ducain cut him off. "That she's exaggerating?"

Clay shot Mrs. Ducain a look. "No," he stated, then turned a softer look to Nadia. "Is it possible that you've misread a very deep frustration? Billy is your brother and I'm assuming you've grown up with him in your home, so you have first hand awareness that life can be fairly difficult with and for the disabled."

Nadia leaned back in her chair and draped one arm behind it. Her look to Clay cut granite. "You're as bad as your wife. I'm surprised you can see anything at all through that rose-colored cloak around your world." She shoved her chair back, but didn't rise. "I think it's pretty obvious your idea of help won't be helpful to us. At all. You'd better leave before you multiply the damage that she's already done."

Clay didn't rise to the bait and kept his voice even. "I have a few personal scars that shredded that rose-colored cloak and shattered the matching glasses a long time ago. Tell me why your think your father hates Billy."

Nadia snorted, and after a contest of stares when neither she nor Clay looked away, she gave him a curt nod.

"Billy is three-and-a-half years older than me. His official classification is mentally retarded, but his problems exceed well beyond being slow. Poor memory. Attention lapses. Unable to retain some of the simplest information."

She sighed, and Clay knew she was unaware of the soft, loving glance she sent toward the stairway. "His mind will always be that of a child."

Nadia hesitated, then said, "From the time Billy was first classified, when he was very, very young, my father was unable to reconcile that his son is retarded."

"That's not uncommon," Clay reminded her.

"I'm sure it isn't," she answered. "But is it common for the mother to be so intimidated at displeasing the father that she stays silent to whatever the father does to the handicapped child? Silent to punishing a retarded child for being exactly that? For not being a continuation of the father, of what the father dreamed and hoped his only son would be like, or would just be?"

When Clay didn't answer, she continued. "Don't get me wrong. My mother loves Billy and she always has, but there were times, too many times, when she was too afraid to step between my father and his anger at what he perceived the biggest failing of his life."

Clay's heart ached at the visuals Nadia evoked. "Why didn't she go to the authorities? Surely the school would have stepped in to protect Billy."

Nadia's smile was cynical. "There were never any marks on Billy, you can be absolutely sure of that. No visible reason that anyone would ever question the care that Billy received in the home of his loving family. But even Billy could tell that his own father hated him."

Clay's heart shattered into a million pieces. "And you were just a little girl."

Nadia lifted her chin. "Don't feel sorry for me," she ordered sharply. "If you're thinking that I was too afraid of what would happen to me, you're wrong. Let me tell you, I got my share of knocks for getting in between them long enough so Billy could hide. I was afraid for Billy."

Clay understood exactly where she was headed and his stomach knotted.

Nadia studied his gaze and smiled. "I guess you do understand."

"He threatened to put Billy away."

"If I or my mother told anyone what my father was doing he'd have Billy institutionalized. We came here from the east coast, and where I come from, there's a ten year waiting list to get into a group home. If my father's cruelty had come to light Billy would be placed in an institution. And I know you're aware not only of how underfunded these places are, but of how they sometimes have to turn a blind eye to who they hire just to maintain necessary staff to stay open."

Clay nodded, his mind swirling with myriad how can we help scenarios?

Nadia continued. "Billy turned twenty one and graduated from his special ed school last year." She smiled. "It really was a beautiful ceremony." Her lower lip trembled. "Billy was so proud when he walked forward for his diploma. My mother and I attended the ceremony, my father went to work."

She straightened, and her shoulders stiffened. "My mother signed Billy up for a local Supported Employment program, and let me tell you, we both were..." she trailed off, then added softly, "...so hopeful." She cleared her throat. "We were determined that Billy would make it in a work world, no matter how small the job, no matter how few the hours." Her gaze burned into Clay's. "And I prayed that this would be enough to please my father. To make him accept that Billy is...Billy. A wonderful young man who gives nothing but love in return, no matter what you give him, no matter how you treat him."

Tears stung Clay's eyes, but he waited for Nadia.

Her shoulders sagged slightly. "Supported Employment didn't work out for Billy, for...well, for a lot of reasons. They tried four times, with a fantastic job coach each time. Billy's inability to remember even the smallest things, no matter how often the repetition, was a big part of the employment failure."

Clay nodded. "And your father reacted badly, I take it?"

Nadia snorted with derision. "Badly? BADLY?" She slapped her hand on the table. "As far as my father was concerned, it was the final humiliation. Until then, he'd been contented, after Billy graduated, to just verbally abuse Billy and to take Billy's SSI check for himself. Said if Billy couldn't earn his own keep he'd have to donate his check as room and board."

Clay interrupted with, "How did you both come to be here?" He looked around, ignoring Mrs. Ducain's intense scrutiny. "In a shelter for homeless teenagers."

Nadia swallowed hard and Clay realized she'd reached the toughest part of her story.

"My father...I planned to attend college after I graduated high school, last spring. My...my father told me that the day I left, Billy left." Her smile was small and sad. "How true those words became, though not in the sense he meant them." She paused, then said, "I won't be eighteen for another three weeks and I can't legally do anything to get custody of Billy. I'm not sure I can win against my father, Billy's legal guardian, anyway. But I will try," she added fervently.

"I'm a little confused," Clay said slowly. "If he doesn't care that you left with Billy, why are you hiding?"

"Oh, he cares, all right," Nadia told him. "He's been collecting and banking Billy's check for the six months we've been gone, something he can get in a whole lot of trouble for doing. But greed doesn't drive him. Control does. And he's not about to let me or my mother dictate what will happen to Billy. My father wants Billy somewhere where he never has to see him or acknowledge him. He considers Billy his ultimate failure as a man."

Clay snapped, "That thinking is a crock..."

"Yes," Nadia agreed quietly. "It is." She bit her lower lip, then went on. "I waited until my father had gone to work, then I told my mother what I intended to do to protect Billy from my father until I could fight for him as an adult. I intend to take care of him."

Nadia didn't add, "Like she should have," but it was crystal clear in her painfilled words.

"So I packed up Billy and we took off. We hid in Chicago for a short while, then, and I know I should have seen it coming, Billy missed my mother so much that, one night while I was at work and I thought he was asleep, he managed to call home. My father sent a private investigator after us and we ran again. To here." She reached out a hand to Mrs. Ducain and tightly squeezed. "To Angels Of The Night." Her voice was soft and nearly cracked with tears. "To an angel that is the only thing between me, Billy and being homeless. Between Billy and an institution."

Nadia sighed and used her hand to wipe tears she couldn't blink back. "There's more, but that's enough to give you the picture."

Clay's heart thumped and lead was balling in his stomach. "My wife...Catherine," he got out. "How did she make this worse?"

Nadia's blue gaze was a glacier of deep anger. "Today is my mother's birthday. Your helpful wife soothed Billy's pain of missing her by helping him call home."