Sidney Sheldon - The Naked Face

A few weeks after the theater incident, she had picked up a telephone and had overheard Anthony’s voice on an exten sion phone. “We’re taking over a shipment from Toronto tonight. You’ll have to have someone handle the guard. He’s not with us.”

She had hung up, shaken. “Take over a shipment”…“handle the guard”…They sounded ominous, but they could have been innocent business phrases. Carefully, casually, she tried to question Anthony about his business activities. It was as though a steel wall went up. She was confronted by an angry stranger who told her to take care of his home and keep out of his business. They had quarreled bitterly, and the next evening he had given her an outrageously expensive necklace and tenderly apologized.

A month later, the third incident had occurred. Anne had been awakened at four o’clock in the morning by the slam ming of a door. She had slipped into a negligee and gone downstairs to investigate. She heard voices coming from the library, raised in argument. She went toward the door, but stopped as she saw Anthony in the room talking to half a dozen strangers. Afraid that he would be angry if she inter rupted, she quietly went back upstairs and returned to bed. At breakfast the next morning, she asked him how he had slept.

“Great. I fell off at ten o’clock and never opened my eyes once.”

And Anne knew that she was in trouble. She had no idea what kind of trouble or how serious it was. All she knew was that her husband had lied to her for reasons that she could not fathom. What kind of business could he be involved in that had to be conducted secretly in the middle of the night with men who looked like hoodlums? She was afraid to broach the subject again with Anthony. A panic began to build in her. There was no one with whom she could talk.

A few nights later, at a dinner party at the country club to which they belonged, someone had mentioned a psychoana lyst named Judd Stevens, and talked about how brilliant he was.

“He’s a kind of analyst’s analyst, if you know what I mean. He’s terribly attractive, but it’s wasted—he’s one of those dedicated types.”

Anne had carefully noted the name and the following week had gone to see him.

The first meeting with Judd had turned her life topsy turvy. She had felt herself drawn into an emotional vortex that had left her shaken. In her confusion, she had been scarcely able to talk to him, and she had left feeling like a school girl, promising herself that she would not go back. But she had gone back to prove to herself that what had happened was a fluke, an accident. Her reaction the second time was even stronger. She had always prided herself on being sensible and realistic, and now she was acting like a seven teen-year-old girl in love for the first time. She found herself unable to discuss her husband with Judd, and so they had talked about other things, and after each session Anne found herself more in love with this warm, sensitive stranger.

She knew it was hopeless because she would never divorce Anthony. She felt there must be some terrible flaw in her that would allow her to marry a man and six months later fall in love with another man. She decided that it would be better if she never saw Judd again.

And then a series of strange things had begun to happen. Carol Roberts was killed, and Judd was knocked down by a hit-and-run driver. She read in the newspapers that Judd was there when Moody’s body was found in the Five Star Ware house. She had seen the name of the warehouse before.

On the letterhead of an invoice on Anthony’s desk.

And a terrible suspicion began to form in her mind.

It seemed incredible that Anthony could be involved in any of the awful things that had been happening, and yet…She felt as though she was trapped in a terrifying night mare, and there was no way out. She could not discuss her fears with Judd, and she was afraid to discuss them with An thony. She told herself that her suspicions were groundless: Anthony did not even know of Judd’s existence.

And then, forty-eight hours ago, Anthony had come into her bedroom and started questioning her about her visits to Judd. Her first reaction had been anger that he had been spying on her, but that had quickly given way to all the fears that had been preying upon her. As she looked into his twisted, enraged face, she knew that her husband was capable of anything.

Even murder.

During the questioning, she had made one terrible mis take. She had let him know how she felt about Judd. Antho ny’s eyes had turned deep black, and he had shaken his head as though warding off a physical blow.

It was not until she was alone again that she realized how much danger Judd was in, and that she could not leave him. She told Anthony that she would not go to Europe with him.

And now Judd was here, in this house. His life in peril, be cause of her.

The bedroom door opened and Anthony walked in. He stood watching her a moment.

“You have a visitor,” he said.

She walked into the library wearing a yellow skirt and blouse, her hair back loosely over her shoulders. Her face was drawn and pale, but there was an air of quiet composure about her. Judd was in the room, alone.

“Hello, Dr. Stevens. Anthony told me that you were here.”

Judd had the sensation that they were acting out a charade for the benefit of an unseen, deadly audience. He intuitively knew that Anne was aware of the situation and was placing herself in his hands, waiting to follow whatever lead he offered.

And there was nothing he could do except try to keep her alive a little longer. If Anne refused to go to Europe, De-Marco would certainly have her killed here.

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. Each word could be as dangerous as the bomb planted in his car. “Mrs. DeMarco, your husband is upset because you changed your mind about going to Europe with him.”

Anne waited, listening, weighing.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“So am I. I think you should go,” Judd said, raising his voice.

Anne was studying his face, reading his eyes. “What if I refuse? What if I just walk out?”

Judd was filled with sudden alarm. “You mustn’t do that.” She would never leave this house alive. “Mrs. DeMarco,” he said deliberately, “your husband is under the mistaken im pression that you’re in love with me.”

She opened her lips to speak and he quickly went on. “I explained to him that that’s a normal part of analysis—an emotional transference that all patients go through.”

She picked up his lead. “I know. I’m afraid it was foolish of me to go to you in the first place. I should have tried to solve my problem myself.” Her eyes told him how much she meant it, how much she regretted the danger she had placed him in. “I’ve been thinking it over. Perhaps a holiday in Eu rope would be good for me.”

He breathed a quick sigh of relief. She had understood.

But there was no way he could warn her of her real dan ger. Or did she know? And even if she knew, was there any thing she could do about it? He looked past Anne toward the library window framing the tall trees that bordered the woods. She had told him that she took long walks in them. It was possible she might be familiar with a way out. If they could get to the woods…He lowered his voice, urgently. “Anne—”

“Finished your little chat?”

Judd spun around. DeMarco had quietly walked into the room. Behind him came Angeli and the Vaccaro brothers.

Anne turned to her husband. “Yes,” she said. “Dr. Stevens thinks I should go to Europe with you. I’m going to take his advice.”

DeMarco smiled and looked at Judd. “I knew I could count on you, Doctor.” He was radiating charm, beaming with the expansive satisfaction of a man who has achieved total victory. It was as though the incredible energy that flowed through DeMarco could be converted at will, switched from a dark evil to an overpowering, attractive warmth. No wonder Anne had been taken in by him. Even Judd found it hard to believe at this instant that this gra cious, friendly Adonis was a cold-blooded, psychopathic murderer.