Leigh Riker - Double Take

“Nothing sinister. I got careless with a knife.”

Cameron’s heartbeat slammed. His nearness surrounded her, seemed to smother her like that attacker from behind. Or a lover? By the time Ransom released her, she no longer felt chilled. She was sweating.

“Be more careful,” he said, his eyes dark and hot.

Hoping to comfort herself, she turned and went up the steps. The lighted lobby, with its Christmas tree, beckoned her. She saw Emerald’s doorman step out from behind his podium. “I can take care of myself,” she said like a litany.

“With my help,” Ransom added. Then he faded again into the night.

She had no doubt he would be waiting for her when she left Emerald’s apartment later. Waiting, in the dark.

EMERALD GREER DIDN’T SEEM to have any friends.

No one came to see her that evening. At midnight she summoned Cameron into the den just as Cameron prepared to leave for the day, and a sense of utter loneliness seemed to hang in the air. More than that, so did some undefined tension.

Cameron stepped across the threshold into the discreetly lighted room all done in white: ceiling, walls, carpet, deep-cushioned chairs and sofas. It was so totally different from her own nearly barren apartment that immediately she felt out of place.

Emerald looked edgy. Perhaps Cameron was about to be fired.

In that case, never mind her employer’s lack of friends or her own hope for more clients like Emerald. How would Cameron pay her rent?

Emerald flicked a glance at the phone then went to the bar. “Drink?”

“No, thank you.” It didn’t seem wise to try being cozy with her boss.

“Your back must be aching by now. Your hands look raw.”

She did hurt—her cut fingers, too—but Cameron managed a smile. “The pots are clean. And breakfast for tomorrow is in the fridge.”

Lifting her glass of wine, Emerald made a gesture with her free hand.

“Sit down. You work too hard.”

“I don’t mind. I have to.”

Emerald studied her. “I suspect you always will push yourself. Even when there’s no need. You and I are alike in that.”

So true. And they shared other similarities. Their builds, for instance, if not their opposite coloring. Although Emerald’s slightly heavier frame supported more muscle, they were the same height and nearly the same weight, Cameron guessed. Yet this very apartment pointed up their differences. It was a far cry from the program, when Cameron had lived simply, and even at first her father’s modest monthly government stipend didn’t buy luxuries. At times even food and clothing had been hard to come by. Sadly, her mother had borne the brunt of responsibility to support the family. And finally it had killed her. Cameron wouldn’t forget that soon. She needed to take care of herself.

“I’ve worked in restaurants since I was sixteen,” she said. “After I finished culinary school in Arizona, I became sous chef in a local spot, later moved to several other places—” she had never mentioned specifics before, and only now because her father was gone “—then became head chef at a golf club before I moved to New York, where I hope to stay.”

“You lived in Scottsdale? Phoenix?”

The two resort communities were loaded with golf courses, but Cameron raised an eyebrow, not answering directly.

“I left home to play tennis at nine,” Emerald said. “Thank fortune—and my lethal serve—I’ve never been back. That little upstate town was a nowhere place.”

Surprised by the confidence, which only confirmed her suspicion that Emerald was essentially a solitary person despite her celebrity, Cameron relaxed into her chair. Where was this late-night girlie session leading? She watched Emerald pour more wine, rattling the glass with a none-too-steady hand as she detailed her own unhappy childhood before tennis. Finally, she sighed.

“But enough of that. I’m pleased with your work, by the way.”

Hope flared inside her. Maybe this wasn’t bad news then. If it was, why would Emerald open up to her? Cameron felt obligated to offer something, too. She wouldn’t hide the truth. She straightened—then told Emerald about her life in Witness Protection. It was the first time in three years that she’d told anyone.

To her surprise, Emerald didn’t judge her. “That was your father, not you. Whatever his problem, you and I are self-made women. I like that.”

Neither of them had led normal lives, Cameron realized. Could she form a personal bond with Emerald? Having admitted to her own past, Cameron seized the opportunity she’d been given. “Ms. Greer, I’d welcome the chance to continue working for you. If you have colleagues who need someone like me…”

She smiled. “I’m also a selfish woman. I like the notion of exclusivity.”

Cameron frowned. “I couldn’t afford just one client, if that’s what you mean.”

“We’ll see.” She fidgeted with her glass and Cameron again thought she seemed nervous, not about letting Cameron go, but as if she was filling the silent air with conversation while she waited for something, someone.

She had a nut harassing her…

A clock ticked on the mantel. Twelve-fifteen. Emerald’s second sharp glance at the phone beside Cameron made Ransom’s words seem more immediate. Or perhaps Emerald simply expected her fiancé to call. But no, Grace had said tomorrow.

Cameron’s frown deepened. She really should go. It was late, and after last night she needed sleep. Obviously, she wasn’t about to be fired…but what was going on here?

If Cameron hadn’t wanted to avoid Ransom as long as possible, she would have left much sooner. And found him waiting downstairs, no doubt, to walk her home in the dark. When the telephone shrilled next to her, Cameron jumped as if he’d suddenly appeared from nowhere.

At the next ring, her gaze darted to the phone. Emerald startled, too, then froze. Her carefully made-up face paled.

“Please. Answer.”

On the third ring Cameron caught up the receiver, feeling even more uneasy when the caller spoke. His vicious tone made her pulse lurch, her stomach tighten.

“Listen, bitch. I’ve had enough. You tell me what I want to hear, or else… I’m coming after you. Understand?”

He hung up before Cameron could hand the phone to Emerald.

Stunned by the violence in the man’s gravelly voice, which sounded mechanically altered, she slowly replaced the receiver then turned to Emerald. For an instant, Cameron had feared the call might be for her. But who would call her here? Unless Ransom wanted to frighten her into accepting his unnecessary protection.

Emerald asked, “What did he say this time?”

By the shocked look on her face and her words, she had heard from this man before. Edgar Mills?

Cameron repeated the message then watched Emerald’s face turn even whiter.

“He’s phoned every night for the past week. I can’t imagine why, except that my engagement to Ted was made public right before the calls began.”

“Did you tell the police?”

Emerald moved stiffly toward the bar again. She filled her glass and drank half the wine down in a single swallow then topped off the glass. And confirmed what Ransom had said earlier.

“I’ve told them. It never helped.”

“But surely if you—”

“I am not phoning the police. They’ll say the same thing they did before—that unless the man physically confronts me, which they consider ‘unlikely,’ there’s little they can do. And they’re probably right. I already have a restraining order.”

Cameron’s pulse was still racing, hard. Now she understood why Emerald would stay home alone at night, why she didn’t appear to have friends. Maybe she never knew who to trust, a familiar feeling for Cameron, too. Emerald tried again to defuse the call’s importance.