An Inconvenient Husband. Karen Van Der Zee
he’d told her the story in a few brief sentences. He’d never been a man of many words. He rubbed his neck. “We’d better call your father. He told me he’d be in Singapore tonight. Do you know which hotel he’s staying at?”
“The Mandarin,” she said, feeling numb. It was too much to grasp, this outrageous story. Not so outrageous. You read similar tales in the papers, heard them on TV It just seemed crazy because it was happening to her. There was no reason to think Blake was lying. She finished the whiskey and put down the glass.
Blake had asked information for her father’s hotel number and was dialing. He held out the receiver to her.
“You want to talk to him first?”
She shook her head. “You know what happened. You tell him.” She listened as he told her father what had happened, assuring her father she was safely with him at the hotel. There was silence for a while.
“Yes, of course. No problem,” Blake said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you know” He handed the receiver to Nicky. “He wants to talk to you.”
She took in a deep breath to steady herself.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Thank God you’re all right” His voice sounded rough with emotion. “I’ll get the police on this immediately. I had no idea they’d go to these lengths, but they’ll pay hell for this. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Who are these people doing this? What kind of people are they? Dad, I want you to tell me!”
“It’s complicated, princess. I misjudged the seriousness of it, and if something would have happened to you I would never have forgiven myself.”
Getting a clear answer was too much to hope for.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you, either, Dad!” Again that shrill tone in her voice. “Please be careful!”
“Oh, I’ll be careful. Don’t you worry about me. But do me a favor. You’ve got to get out of town. Do what Blake tells you to do.”
Do what Blake tells you to do. She would have laughed if she hadn’t felt so shaky. Her father would trust Blake, of course. They’d worked together for five years and they’d always liked and respected each other. The divorce had not had her father’s blessing.
“Nicky, promise me!”
“I can take care of myself, Dad!” It was an automatic response, and not a very smart one under the circumstances. She glanced over at Blake who’d poured himself another Scotch and was gazing out over the city, his back turned to her. Strong, straight shoulders, lean torso, long legs firmly planted on the floor. A man to reckon with. She closed her eyes briefly, hearing her father’s voice over the phone.
“Nicky, I don’t want to have to worry about you, do you understand?” His voice held command, but the underlying tension was audible. “I want to know you’re safe!”
She swallowed a nervous little laugh. Safe. How safe was she in the presence of her ex-husband? How safe was she from her own tormented emotions?
“Nicky?” There was a desperate sound in her father’s voice and her heart cringed. She closed her eyes.
“All right, Dad, if that’s what you want.” Her father had enough problems without having to worry about her.
He let out an audible sigh. “Good girl. Now I’d better call the police.”
Good girl. She winced. Well, no matter.
Blake turned as she put the receiver down. “Got answers to your questions?” he asked.
“It wasn’t what you’d call a very satisfactory conversation,” she said irritably.
“This isn’t a very satisfactory situation,” he returned dryly.
He was probably as delighted to be here with her as she was to be here with him. “I’ll have another drink,” she said, and caught a sudden spark of humor in his eyes, gone in an instant. He poured her another measure of whiskey and handed it to her without comment.
“Thank you.” She took a big gulp, wincing.
“Take it easy, Nicky,” he said mildly.
In answer, she glared at him and took another swallow.
He picked up the menu. “This little adventure has left me ravenous,” he commented. “I’ll order us some dinner from room service. What would you like?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I’ve eaten all day. I’ve been sampling street food for an article I’m writing.” And even if she hadn’t eaten all day, she couldn’t imagine wanting anything now. She felt as if she were thrown into a nightmare and couldn’t get out. She raked her hand through her hair. She felt dirty and sticky and she didn’t even have a comb to fix her hair. She didn’t even have her purse. It was sitting on the living room sofa on top of her notebook.
She felt naked without her purse—no identification, no money, no credit cards. The magnitude of her helplessness flooded through her like the heat of the whiskey. Oh, God, what was she going to do?
“What should I be doing now?” she asked, feeling like a helpless child, sitting there on the side of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap like a timid schoolgirl, and he, standing, towering over her. She wasn’t used to asking anybody what to do. She was an independent, mature person and she usually knew what to do.
“Nothing, for the time being,” he said, studying the room service menu. “Relax.”
“Relax? Oh, sure, I’ll relax,” she said, trying to inject mockery into her tone, but it came out shakily, her voice trembling.
He glanced down at her face, and in the silence she glimpsed a softening in his eyes, a brief hesitation. He reached out and touched her cheek in a fleeting caress. “Everything will be all right, Nicky. You’re safe. And your father knows how to take care of himself.”
She dropped her gaze to her hands clenched in her lap. Her throat closed at the sudden gentleness in his voice, the touch of his warm hand on her cheek. She didn’t want to feel this way, this yearning to be held by him, to find comfort from the fear that clutched at her heart.
She swallowed hard. “I have nothing with me,” she said miserably. “No money, no clothes.” She glanced up at him. “Would you mind getting me a room in this place so at least I can shower and sleep? Tomorrow I’ll figure out what to do and pay you back.”
“You’re staying right here tonight,” he said calmly. “We might have been followed here and I’m taking no risks with you in a room by yourself.”
I don’t want to be alone with you, came the automatic reply. But it stayed silent in her head. She fought to be calm and rational and not let her emotions create havoc.
“I’m not your responsibility,” she said huskily. Her hands shook and she put the glass down.
His eyes held hers. “I’m making you my responsibility,” he said with calm authority.
Her father had asked him to take care of her, no doubt. Do what Blake tells you to do, he’d told her. “I suppose my father asked you over the phone. You could have told him to figure out something else, you know.”
He gave her an odd look. “There’s not much I would not do for your father.”
She stared at him. “What do you mean?”
His expression was a mingling of surprise and impatience. “Come on, Nicky, you know why I admire and respect him.” He hesitated for a moment. “He’s been more of a father to me than my own ever was.”
She felt a sudden constriction in her throat. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” she said.
Blake frowned. “How could you not know?” he