An Unforgettable Lady(107)

If he could trust Grace with anyone, it would be Tiny.

As soon as the man's voice came through, Smith said, "What are you doing right now?”

Tiny laughed. "I'm up to my balls in spiders, to tell you the truth. God, I hate these tropical details. There's always something crawling into your clothes, only it's rarely of the feminine persuasion."

"I need you to take over a project."

"When?"

"Now," Smith said gruffly.

"Sorry, what?"

"Now."

Tiny let out a little hiss. "Jesus, you're bailing on the countess. What the hell'd that woman do to you?"

Smith let that one fall by the wayside. "When can you be here?"

"Ah—I'll see what I can do. Does this mean you'll be free to cover Senator Pryne on his trip to the Middle East? Flat Top was going to do it, but he'd be better down here."

"If you can get to New York, I'll go."

"Good deal. I'll call you tomorrow with my ETA."

Smith clipped the phone shut.

He stared ahead without really seeing anything. It was a while before he realized he was staring at the piano.

He walked over to it. Anytime he'd run across one, he'd made a point of playing if he could. They'd been few and far between while he was in the Army, but once he was out, he'd played in hotel lounges, in private homes, the occasional bar.

He raised his hands and looked at them. They had been trained to do many things, few of which were uplifting.

The playing had come naturally, though.



* * *



Grace came awake the moment she heard the music. It was soft and low, powerful yet quiet.

She picked her nightgown off the floor, slipped it over her head, and went out to the hall. She paused before going into the living room, entranced by the sounds but afraid if John knew she was listening he might stop playing. Leaning against the wall, turning her head to the sound, she closed her eyes. He was good. Better than good.

As he played, she allowed herself a few tantalizing fantasies. Of him staying in her life. Living with her. Giving her children.

When the music died away, she stepped out into the room. He was sitting on the bench, head down, long fingers still on the keys. He was wearing only boxers and the contrast between his bare skin and the glossy piano was appealing.

"How long have you been listening?" he asked without looking up.

"Sometime."

He turned his head. In the dim light, his eyes glowed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I'm glad you did. You play beautifully." As he got to his feet and closed the guard, she asked, "Did you train somewhere?"

"I just make it up as I go along." He faced her, putting his hands on his hips. His expression was grave.

When she'd gone to him earlier, ostensibly to say good night, she'd been surprised and relieved when he'd kissed her, because he'd been so distant during the day. As he'd made love to her, it had been tempting to believe all was forgiven, but afterward she'd had her doubts.

The poignancy with which he'd held her while she fell asleep had been curiously troubling. It had been almost as if he were saying good-bye.

"We've got to talk," he said.

Grace's stomach rolled. "About what?"

"I called one of my boys tonight. I want to put him on this job."

Grace took a deep breath, relaxing some. "I don't care how many members of Black Watch back you up. Especially if it means I can go ahead with the Gala."

"That's not what I have in mind."

Instinctively, she put her arms around herself. "Then what are you saying?"

"I'm leaving."

Grace heard the words but instantly rejected them. "What do you mean? You can't leave. I—we—they haven't found whoever killed—" \

"Tiny's a good man. I'd trust him with my life. And yours."

"I don't want Tiny. I want you."

"I've taken another assignment."

Her mouth fell open and then she laughed bitterly. "Quitting on me?"

"Changing jobs."

"It's the same line of work, though. Right?"

"Different," he paused, "client."

He'd told her only after it was done, she thought. Only after he'd taken care of everything and there was no way to argue.