Barbara Michaels - Shattered Silk

She felt the muscles of his cheek contract as if he were smiling, but there was no amusement in his voice. "Thanks, but no thanks. That's another conventional fictional device, but I've got my doubts about its effectiveness. Besides, I don't want to get wounded. It hurts."

"Oh, Tony, what are we going to do?" She pressed closer to him. "She must be out of her mind. You're so nice-I like you so much…"

His arm tightened. "Me too. That's not such a bad beginning, is it?"

"No…"

"We could work at it. Give it our best shot."

"You already have. Not that I didn't enjoy every minute of it."

Again his laughter stirred the hair on her temple. "I appreciate the testimonial, and return the compliment. Friends?"

"Friends," Karen agreed, and settled more comfortably into an embrace that promised and demanded nothing more than either of them was willing to give.

"Just one thing, Karen."

"Mmm?"

"You're not doing this just because you feel it would be disloyal to Cheryl… My God. What a conceited thing to say. I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant. Lucky for you," Karen added, smiling to herself. "No, my friend-that wasn't the reason. I made one big mistake. Not that you aren't about a million percent better than Jack; but I learned that there's no substitute for the genuine article. It's better to do without than settle for less."

They did go for a walk eventually, strolling slowly along the silent streets, arms entwined. They talked in spurts, with long periods of comfortable silence in between: about the weather, about politics-and about the house in Leesburg. When Karen finally admitted her feet were beginning to hurt, Tony said he'd walk her to the house; they were as close to it as to the car.

There was no one on the street. If she had been alone, Karen would have hurried, casting uneasy glances into the shadows. She felt more at ease than she had for days. It wasn't only Tony's size or the feel of hard muscle against her arm, or the even harder bulge of the gun under his coat; it was his air of competence and of confidence. She would feel safe with this man anywhere.

As they approached the house, whose front lights still burned, she began, "I hope you aren't-"

"Ssss." Tony pulled her to a standstill.

"What-"

"Quiet. Listen."

Karen could hear nothing except the normal night noises. After a moment Tony said in a low voice, "Walk on. Past the house."

His hand moved her forward. The sound of their footsteps echoed with abnormal loudness. Karen was afraid to speak. Not until they had gone some distance at the same leisurely pace did she venture to whisper, "What is it?"

"Probably nothing." Tony's voice was equally inaudible. "I thought I heard something-a muffled thump- from the back of the house. Probably a shutter or a door banging. Turn the corner… Okay. There's no alley behind the house, is there? How do you get into the back yard?"

"A side gate." Karen explained its location.

"Right. You stay here. I'll double back and have a look."

"I'm not staying here alone!"

"Quiet. Okay, come on, but don't make a sound."

He moved with a speed that left Karen hard-pressed to obey his orders. When they reached the wooden gate opening onto the passage toward the back, his hands were quick to find the bolt that held it closed, even in the dark. Karen crouched behind him, dry-mouthed and tense.

Tony started to ease the gate open. Despite his care the rusted hinges gave a squawk of protest that shattered the silence as loudly as a scream. Tony swore. "That's done it. Stay here."

He plunged into the darkness of the passage. Karen only hesitated for a moment; there were cobwebs lacing the narrow place from side to side, they felt like ghostly fingers on her face. The gate at the far end burst open under Tony's charge; for a moment she saw him, silhouetted against the lighter shape of the opening. Then he shouted and ran forward.

Karen ran too, but by the time she reached the garden it was all over. She caught only a glimpse of something moving among the tangled limbs of the maple overhanging the wall. Inside the house Alexander was barking madly. Lights flashed on in the kitchen.

All other impressions faded into insignificance under the impact of the white form thrashing and writhing on the ground not far from the garden shed. The muffled, breathless voice that came from it was Tony's.

THERE was a nightmarish feeling of deja vu as they ministered to another injured man. Tony's language was hot enough to blister their ears, but most of his concern was for his suit. The jacket was certainly a total loss, not only bloodstained but slashed in parallel cuts.

"You've got to go to the emergency room," Cheryl said. "I think I've got the bleeding stopped, but-"

"I should hope to God you've stopped it, you've used enough bandages to wrap a mummy," Tony snarled, contemplating his arm with disgust. "Goddamn that son of a bitch! This suit cost me-"

"Oh, who cares about your suit?" There was blood on Cheryl's nightgown too. Most of it had come from a single deep cut in the arm Tony had thrown up to protect his face; the others were superficial.

Cheryl had rushed downstairs when she heard the racket in the back yard, without stopping to put on a robe. The thin fabric of her gown clung to her body in a way that would have distracted a man much closer to death than Tony. When Cheryl repeated, "You've got to go to the hospital," he let out a roar.

"I've got to call in, that's what I've got to do, and I can tell you I'm not looking forward to hearing what the lieutenant is going to say. Falling for a stunt like that! 'Sorry, Lieutenant, I got tangled in a bed sheet!' Oh, Christ!"

"He threw it over you," Karen said. "You couldn't help it."

"He did throw it over me and I could have helped it. Mark was right, damn his eyes; not only was the sheet a perfect disguise but it was so damned weird it got me off base for a second or two, just long enough… Cheryl, I told you to cut that out. Where's the goddamned phone?"

"If it makes you feel better to swear every other word," Cheryl began.

"It does make me feel better. Not much better, but some." Tony pushed her hand away and stood up. Then he sat down, more suddenly than he had intended, almost missing the chair. Cheryl swooped on him and steadied him. "There, you see, you shouldn't go jumping around like that. Just sit still and let me-"

Tony took a deep breath. His lips moved; Karen imagined he was counting under his breath. At "ten," some of the color came back to his face. "I am going to use the telephone," he said quietly. "I am going to use the extension in the hall, not this one, because I do not want you to hear what I am going to say. Stay here. Both of you."

This time he stayed on his feet. Swaying slightly, he walked to the door. Then he turned.

"See?" he said to Karen. "I told you it wouldn't work."

"What is he talking about?" Cheryl demanded, as the door closed behind him.

Karen looked at her. Her hair was aureoled by the light, and the rounded curves of her body pushed distractingly at her thin garment. She was pale with concern-the same concern she had demonstrated a few days earlier when it was her brother who required her care. All at once Karen wanted to stamp her foot and yell at the top of her lungs-anything to penetrate the shell of sacrificial celibacy in which Cheryl had swathed herself. It wasn't Cheryl's fault. A woman is not obliged to love a man just because he wants her to. But Tony was so worthy of love. A half-step more and Karen would have been over the brink herself.

And the reason that she couldn't take that half-step was as hopelessly sentimental and absurd as Cheryl's reasons. Pots and kettles, she thought wryly. Not to mention people who live in glass houses.