Fox expelled a breath, as if he’d been under some tension that had just been released.
“The last time I was in a library was ten years ago,” he said, glancing at her. “I was looking up some deeds for my uncle.” He smiled and tugged on a strand of her hair. “What were you doing ten years ago?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Studying geometry, probably. Or algebra. Math was never my strong point. What were you doing besides looking up deeds?”
He thought about it for a second. “Raising hell, I guess. Making a fool of myself. That was my usual occupation in those days.” He pushed open the outer door and they stepped into a flood of sunshine. “Have you got Paula’s car?”
Cindy nodded. “It’s in the row next to the concrete abutment,” she said, pointing.
“I have to go back to my place and check the mail. I’m expecting some legal papers that can’t wait.” He eyed her speculatively. “Do you want to come along?”
“To your house?”
“Yes.”
Cindy hesitated.
“You’ll be safe with me,” he said quietly.
“I know that,” she replied, making her decision. “Should I leave Paula’s car here?”
Fox shook his head. “Better follow me. The car will be okay in the lot at my building.”
Cindy did as he said, trailing him out of the university lot and following his sports car along the boulevard lined with palm trees that ran parallel to the school. He drove for about two miles and then pulled into a condo complex with its buildings scattered along the edge of the water. He parked behind a sparkling white highrise, and Cindy pulled into the space next to his. When he got out of his car to meet her he said, “I’m on the fourth floor.”
Cindy walked at his side, observing the scenery, which was gorgeous. Rich plantings abounded, with many palms and flowering shrubs contributing a riot of color.
“Did you think I would call you while I was gone?” Fox asked suddenly, and Cindy looked at him. He was watching her with that alert expression she had already come to know. It meant that the casual question carried more import than the listener could guess from his offhand tone. Was this a test?
“I know you were busy,” she said carefully. He looked away and dropped the subject. Cindy couldn’t tell anything from his demeanor. She was getting mixed signals from him; on the one hand, he seemed to want her attention very much, but on the other, he acted as if any sign of possessiveness would cause him to bolt. He was a complex man and she knew that he would always defy easy categorizations.
Fox pushed open the outer door for her, and they entered the lobby. It was lush, with pearl gray carpeting interspersed with walkways of rich terrazzo tile. Vivid contemporary paintings were mounted on a background of beige grass cloth walls, and hanging baskets of ferns were everywhere.
“Drew, this place is something else,” Cindy said, staring unabashedly.
He flashed her a delighted grin. “Yeah, I know. Everybody who lives here is blue chip, except for me. You should have seen the looks on the faces of the other happy home owners when I moved in with my three duffel bags of T-shirts and jeans.”
Cindy got a sample of what he meant as a middle aged couple passed by on their way out. They were extremely well dressed, and the woman wore so much gold jewelry that it was amazing she was able to move at all. They both nodded stiffly at Fox, their expressions glacial.
“My next door neighbors,” Fox said out of the corner of his mouth to Cindy. He waited until they were out of earshot and added, chuckling, “They haven’t decided whether I’m a hit man or a white slaver.”
Smiling, unable to resist his relishing their confusion, Cindy said, “Why don’t you just tell them what you do?”
“And ruin all the fun? No way,” Fox replied, pressing the button for the elevator. “Besides, they would hardly regard my real line of work as any better than their imaginings. The fact that they
“The last time I was in a library was ten years ago,” he said, glancing at her. “I was looking up some deeds for my uncle.” He smiled and tugged on a strand of her hair. “What were you doing ten years ago?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Studying geometry, probably. Or algebra. Math was never my strong point. What were you doing besides looking up deeds?”
He thought about it for a second. “Raising hell, I guess. Making a fool of myself. That was my usual occupation in those days.” He pushed open the outer door and they stepped into a flood of sunshine. “Have you got Paula’s car?”
Cindy nodded. “It’s in the row next to the concrete abutment,” she said, pointing.
“I have to go back to my place and check the mail. I’m expecting some legal papers that can’t wait.” He eyed her speculatively. “Do you want to come along?”
“To your house?”
“Yes.”
Cindy hesitated.
“You’ll be safe with me,” he said quietly.
“I know that,” she replied, making her decision. “Should I leave Paula’s car here?”
Fox shook his head. “Better follow me. The car will be okay in the lot at my building.”
Cindy did as he said, trailing him out of the university lot and following his sports car along the boulevard lined with palm trees that ran parallel to the school. He drove for about two miles and then pulled into a condo complex with its buildings scattered along the edge of the water. He parked behind a sparkling white highrise, and Cindy pulled into the space next to his. When he got out of his car to meet her he said, “I’m on the fourth floor.”
Cindy walked at his side, observing the scenery, which was gorgeous. Rich plantings abounded, with many palms and flowering shrubs contributing a riot of color.
“Did you think I would call you while I was gone?” Fox asked suddenly, and Cindy looked at him. He was watching her with that alert expression she had already come to know. It meant that the casual question carried more import than the listener could guess from his offhand tone. Was this a test?
“I know you were busy,” she said carefully. He looked away and dropped the subject. Cindy couldn’t tell anything from his demeanor. She was getting mixed signals from him; on the one hand, he seemed to want her attention very much, but on the other, he acted as if any sign of possessiveness would cause him to bolt. He was a complex man and she knew that he would always defy easy categorizations.
Fox pushed open the outer door for her, and they entered the lobby. It was lush, with pearl gray carpeting interspersed with walkways of rich terrazzo tile. Vivid contemporary paintings were mounted on a background of beige grass cloth walls, and hanging baskets of ferns were everywhere.
“Drew, this place is something else,” Cindy said, staring unabashedly.
He flashed her a delighted grin. “Yeah, I know. Everybody who lives here is blue chip, except for me. You should have seen the looks on the faces of the other happy home owners when I moved in with my three duffel bags of T-shirts and jeans.”
Cindy got a sample of what he meant as a middle aged couple passed by on their way out. They were extremely well dressed, and the woman wore so much gold jewelry that it was amazing she was able to move at all. They both nodded stiffly at Fox, their expressions glacial.
“My next door neighbors,” Fox said out of the corner of his mouth to Cindy. He waited until they were out of earshot and added, chuckling, “They haven’t decided whether I’m a hit man or a white slaver.”
Smiling, unable to resist his relishing their confusion, Cindy said, “Why don’t you just tell them what you do?”
“And ruin all the fun? No way,” Fox replied, pressing the button for the elevator. “Besides, they would hardly regard my real line of work as any better than their imaginings. The fact that they
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