Wait for Me by Mary Kay McComas Page A

frightened and hungry people.
    He could almost feel her trying to bridge the gap that had formed between them, that enormous hollow of money. The smell of the rain and her clean, fresh hair filled his head, and he knew in that instant that he’d give it all away to make her happy in his arms.
    A staggering thought, that. To give up everything for her. For Holly. Was that love? Or some outrageous form of lust? She felt so good, so close, so right, but...
    “I agree with you. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be here in the morning when you get back.”
    “I wouldn’t mind that,” she said, feeling a bit lost when he held her away from him.
    “You’ll be tired in the morning, an easy target.”
    She grinned.
    “I’m an easy target now, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she said, stepping into his embrace.
    He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. Just like that, they were together again, on a sturdy bridge so far above the money that it couldn’t be seen anymore.
    “I noticed. But there’s not enough time for me to do anything about it.”
    “There’s still time. How much do you need?”
    “Lots.” He kissed her long and leisurely, a promise of things to come. “Possibly all night.” He kissed her again. “Three or four days perhaps.”
    A lifetime, he thought. Maybe more.
    “Clavin, have there been any calls for me?” It was nine o’clock and he’d been up since seven-thirty waiting to hear from Holly.
    He’d listened sharply during the ten minutes it had taken him to shower. But he still could have missed it. Come to think of it, there was more than one line in the house. She’d said she’d called the house before, but maybe he should have given her his private number,
    “No, sir, no calls,” Clavin said.
    Tall, thin, and half-bald, and more like family to Oliver than several of his blood relatives, Clavin poured coffee from a shiny silver pot into a thin china cup and set it in front of his young employer. With every crease of his livery unwrinkled, he then stepped aside.
    “If a woman named Holly Loftin calls, I’ll take it immediately.”
    “Very well.”
    He opened the newspaper and picked at his customary breakfast of fresh fruit and dry toast and missed Clavin’s hesitation.
    “Sir. I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.”
    “About what?” he asked absently, his mind on Holly. What if she’d been mugged last night? What if someone had broken into the apartment... Hell, they could have blown the damned door in... What if...?
    “About Ms. Loftin.”
    “What about her?”
    “When she started calling—”
    “When she started calling? How many times has she called?”
    “She called several times a while back, after Mister Adrian passed on. And then again this morning.”
    “Why wasn’t I told?” He recalled her saying that she’d called but hadn’t been able to get through to him. “I asked you five seconds ago if I’d had any calls, and you said no.”
    “I beg your pardon, but I was under the impression that you weren’t taking Ms. Loftin’s calls.”
    “When the hell did I tell you that?” he shouted, his anger rising so fast and so uncontrollably that it brought him to his feet.
    “You didn’t, sir,” he said, falling back on his “sirs” when faced with Oliver’s rage. “Miss Renbrook—”
    “Miss Renbrook. Babs? Barbara,” he added, recalling her preferred title. “What the bloody hell does she have to do with this?”
    “Sir, after Mister Adrian... passed away... sir, I left Ms. Loftin’s messages on the table with the others. Ms. Renbrook was going to return a few of them for you, I believe, when she came across those from Ms. Loftin. She told me not to take any more, as you wouldn’t appreciate getting them.” Clavin looked at him nervously. Oliver could feel himself turning cold with outrage. “Sir, your aunt was there also, and she agreed.”
    He was about to ask the man when he had last received a paycheck from either Ms. Renbrook or