Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(119)

"And do what?" he repeated softly. "Ah, we'll discover that as we go. Some things can't be planned. They must be lived, in the ever-changing flow of the moment. But we have so much in common, Erin. I, too, have been wounded by falseness. I am repelled by what is venal and rotten. I am intrigued by your refusal to compromise. I am moved by authenticity. I sense it in you. I know how rare it is. I crave it. Like a drug."

She forced her mouth to close, forced herself to swallow. "You don't know me," she said stiffly. "You don't know anything about me."

He reached out his hand, and traced the sensual outline of the dragon torque. His forefinger was very cold against her skin. "I know all I need to know," he said.

She forced herself not to recoil, not to be abrupt and rude, but Connor's face blazed in her mind as she stared down at Mueller's hand against her body. The love in Connor's eyes the night before, when he had kissed her hands and offered her his heart.

Her perception shifted, and she saw herself, a tiny, lonely figure standing on a wind-whipped arctic ice floe that bobbed in dark, icy cold sea water. She was dressed only in the fragile golden gown. The icy white sky above was reflected in Claude Mueller's hungry eyes.

She thought of Novak.

No. Enough of that. Novak was dead, far away in Europe. Nick had said so. It was confirmed. Besides, this man did not look anything like the pictures she'd seen of Kurt Novak. This man was dark-haired, blue-eyed, with two normal hands, a different face. She would not be sucked into a paranoid fantasy. She refused to be controlled by irrational fear.

Follow your heart, her mother had said. In this frozen, arctic landscape, her heart was all she had to follow. Everything else was hidden by cold, blinding light. She thought of her heart. Her warm, red, beating heart, which could not be commanded or fooled. Her heart, which had made its immutable choice years ago: Connor.

She put her glass down and gave in to the impulse to raise her hands to her bosom, shielding her vulnerable heart from his gaze. "I'm, ah, very flattered by your interest, but I'm not free."

His face hardened. "You refer to the gentleman who accompanied you to Silver Fork? Tamara and Nigel described the scene to me. I was sorry to have missed it. McCloud is his name, no?"

She nodded.

"My timing is wretched." He turned and set his glass down sharply on the table behind him. "You were not yet involved with him when you came to Santa Fe, correct? Or San Diego?"

"No," she admitted.

"No. Of course not." He dug his hands into his trouser pockets, his back still turned to her. "From what Nigel and Tamara said, it does not sound as if you were made for each other. Mr. McCloud mistrusts the quality in you that I would treasure the most. You are tragically wasted on a man like him."

She drifted slowly, imperceptibly away from him on her bobbing ice floe. "You are entitled to your opinion," she said.

He gave her a small, self-deprecating smile. "Forgive me. I take it back. I had no right."

"It's all right," she murmured.

He stepped forward impulsively and seized her hand. "Forget it. And forget my offer, if it makes you uneasy. Dine with me, Erin. We will talk of beauty and authenticity in a squalid world. A meeting of minds on a higher plane. It will be our secret, my dear. Your nervous, jealous gentleman friend need never know."

His words pulled it all into focus. Mueller was driving a wedge between the two of them, widening the gap that was already there. She could feel Connor's fear and longing, reaching out across space, tugging at her. The tug unraveled her unnatural calm. Black dots danced in her eyes. Her heart raced wildly.

She had to find Connor. Right now. This minute. She jerked her hand out of Mueller's grip. She didn't give a damn if she seemed abrupt, or rude or childish. She had to get the hell out of here and find Connor.

"I'm sorry." She backed away. "I can't I have to go. Right now."

His eyes narrowed to cold blue slits. "So soon?"

"I have to go," she repeated. "Sorry. Really. I don't mean to be rude. I'll come back tomorrow to look at your new pieces if you like—"

"How kind." His voice was heavy with irony. "It would seem to be the least that you can do."

She rushed out of the room and down the corridor, running on the balls of her feet so that the heels would not trip her. Tamara looked up from the foot of the stairs, alarmed. "Erin? Are you all right?"

"I need my purse. I need my clothes. I need a cab. Please, Tamara. Help me. I have to get out of here," she said desperately. "This minute."

Tamara lifted a device strapped to her wrist, and pressed a button. "Silvio? A car for Ms. Riggs out front immediately, please."

She looked back up at Erin, frowning in concern. "Silvio will take you anywhere you wish to go. I'll get your things. Wait just a moment."

They were, in fact, only moments, but they felt like hours. Erin seized her clothes, shoes, and purse from Tamara and backed toward the entrance. "I'm sorry, but I can't take the time to change," she babbled. "I'll bring the dress back tomorrow when I come to assess the other—"

"The dress is yours, Erin."

"Heavens, no. I can't possibly accept it. I have to—oh, dear God. I almost forgot. Please, take this thing away." She pried the torque off her neck and handed the thing to Tamara. Immediately she could breathe more easily. "I'm sorry, Tamara. I don't know what's come over me. I feel like—like I'm out of my mind."