that he found himself in the milieu he’d once heard described, he was remembering Jack, and the war, once again.
He shook his head and sat up abruptly. It wasn’t a good idea to dwell on ‘Nam before retiring. It led to nightmares. And reminiscing about Maryann wasn’t much better.
She had left him after two years of marriage, tired of sharing him with a schedule that included full-time police work and part-time college on the GI bill. But more than that, she was tired of living a life of constant tension, wondering whether she would ever see him again when he left for each shift.
So now he was a big success, he thought ironically, stubbing out his second smoke. No wife, no kids, but rising steadily through the ranks like an inexorable force. And why not? He spent every waking minute either at work or preparing for it, not subject to the sort of family and personal considerations that “distracted” other men.
He stood abruptly, yanking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. What the hell. Nobody had a perfect life. You made your choices, your mistakes, and then you lived with them.
He looked around for a pillow, realized that it was probably in a closet somewhere, and settled for folding his shirt under his head as he lay back down on the couch.
But it was still a long time before he fell asleep.
Ashley undressed by the light of her bedside lamp and put her jewelry in the wall safe behind the bed. Then she slipped into a robe and lay down on the bed, not bothering to remove the coverlet.
The policeman was on her mind. She prided herself on her ability to read people, but he was sending out mixed signals. In the space of one day, Martin had succeeded in confusing her completely. At times she felt waves of hostility coming off him, and yet she had caught him watching her on several occasions that night with a look of such intensity that she had felt it, wrenchingly, in her gut.
Why such dislike for someone he barely even knew? And was it dislike, or something more potent, some combination of feelings that she hesitated to identify even to herself?
There was a real person beneath that iron facade; she felt it. But she also knew that trying to reach him would be like trying to break through a brick wall. And did she even want to get through? He was her bodyguard, after all, and he didn’t have to be fond of her in order to protect her.
Ashley punched the pillow under her head and closed her eyes.
* * * *
Ransom drove through the night and arrived in Philadelphia the next morning. It didn’t take him long to locate the address he’d been given. It turned out to be a modern building designed so that all the units had a balcony overlooking a central pool and tennis complex, complete with sauna and gym. His apartment was on the third floor, furnished in neutrals with blond woods and glass, and the double closet in the bedroom contained a complete wardrobe in sizes selected to fit him.
He went through the closet quickly: suits in dark blue and charcoal gray, a stack of dress shirts in white and cream and pale blue, cotton polos in a rainbow of soft, preppie shades, casual slacks and jeans. Fine. He would be striving for a successful but conservative image, and the threads had to fit the picture.
He dropped to one knee. Shoes were lined up on the floor, with the tissue paper still intact: weejuns, dingo boots, topsiders, cordovan wingtips, dressy black loafers. The drawers contained socks and underwear, jogging clothes, and a windbreaker. There was even a tuxedo in a plastic bag, complete with boiled shirt and cummerbund. Everything he had requested. The only problem was that it all looked too new, but he could take care of that, run the clothes through the washer a couple of times, clean the suits, scuff the shoes. He would be leaving it all behind when the job was finished, but he wanted to be prepared at a moment’s notice for anything.
He pursed his lips, turning around to look at the precisely
He shook his head and sat up abruptly. It wasn’t a good idea to dwell on ‘Nam before retiring. It led to nightmares. And reminiscing about Maryann wasn’t much better.
She had left him after two years of marriage, tired of sharing him with a schedule that included full-time police work and part-time college on the GI bill. But more than that, she was tired of living a life of constant tension, wondering whether she would ever see him again when he left for each shift.
So now he was a big success, he thought ironically, stubbing out his second smoke. No wife, no kids, but rising steadily through the ranks like an inexorable force. And why not? He spent every waking minute either at work or preparing for it, not subject to the sort of family and personal considerations that “distracted” other men.
He stood abruptly, yanking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. What the hell. Nobody had a perfect life. You made your choices, your mistakes, and then you lived with them.
He looked around for a pillow, realized that it was probably in a closet somewhere, and settled for folding his shirt under his head as he lay back down on the couch.
But it was still a long time before he fell asleep.
Ashley undressed by the light of her bedside lamp and put her jewelry in the wall safe behind the bed. Then she slipped into a robe and lay down on the bed, not bothering to remove the coverlet.
The policeman was on her mind. She prided herself on her ability to read people, but he was sending out mixed signals. In the space of one day, Martin had succeeded in confusing her completely. At times she felt waves of hostility coming off him, and yet she had caught him watching her on several occasions that night with a look of such intensity that she had felt it, wrenchingly, in her gut.
Why such dislike for someone he barely even knew? And was it dislike, or something more potent, some combination of feelings that she hesitated to identify even to herself?
There was a real person beneath that iron facade; she felt it. But she also knew that trying to reach him would be like trying to break through a brick wall. And did she even want to get through? He was her bodyguard, after all, and he didn’t have to be fond of her in order to protect her.
Ashley punched the pillow under her head and closed her eyes.
* * * *
Ransom drove through the night and arrived in Philadelphia the next morning. It didn’t take him long to locate the address he’d been given. It turned out to be a modern building designed so that all the units had a balcony overlooking a central pool and tennis complex, complete with sauna and gym. His apartment was on the third floor, furnished in neutrals with blond woods and glass, and the double closet in the bedroom contained a complete wardrobe in sizes selected to fit him.
He went through the closet quickly: suits in dark blue and charcoal gray, a stack of dress shirts in white and cream and pale blue, cotton polos in a rainbow of soft, preppie shades, casual slacks and jeans. Fine. He would be striving for a successful but conservative image, and the threads had to fit the picture.
He dropped to one knee. Shoes were lined up on the floor, with the tissue paper still intact: weejuns, dingo boots, topsiders, cordovan wingtips, dressy black loafers. The drawers contained socks and underwear, jogging clothes, and a windbreaker. There was even a tuxedo in a plastic bag, complete with boiled shirt and cummerbund. Everything he had requested. The only problem was that it all looked too new, but he could take care of that, run the clothes through the washer a couple of times, clean the suits, scuff the shoes. He would be leaving it all behind when the job was finished, but he wanted to be prepared at a moment’s notice for anything.
He pursed his lips, turning around to look at the precisely
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