The Man Behind the Mask. Barbara Wallace

to wear her heart on her sleeve, of course. “If you cover your notebook with stupid doodles, you’ll be forced to look at them all year long. I had to stare at those foolish hearts for six more months.”

      He chuckled in to his drink. “At least you didn’t get a tattoo. You could still be staring at them.”

      “Thank goodness for small favors. Can you imagine? I always wondered what people did when they were stuck with a tattoo they no longer wanted.”

      “They get it removed.”

      Delilah shuddered. “Talk about a painful way of forgetting your mistakes.”

      He turned to look out at the water, leaving her to study his profile. Shadows, cast by the table lantern, flickered on his cheek and highlighted the day’s-end stubble that was beginning to show. “Is there any way that isn’t painful?”

      His eyes glazed over then, and for a second, he disappeared, his thoughts going who knew where. Instinct told her it was some place he shouldn’t be. And that he needed a far better distraction than liquor. “Hey.” She almost reached out to touch him, only to catch herself at the last second. “How about we go for a walk? My legs could use stretching after sitting all day.

      “Or not,” she continued when he didn’t respond. Her spirits sagged to think she wasn’t enough to pull him from his thoughts. “I can go by myself and catch up with you in the morning.”

      “No,” he said just as she got to her feet. “A walk sounds good.” Draining the last of his whiskey, he slammed the glass down, then tossed some bills on the table. “Let’s go.”

      * * *

      The pathway behind their hotel was part of a longer walkway that extended along the entire inner harbor and connected the various docks and piers along the way. On the northeastern end, you had the trade center with its large white cruise ships, while to the northwest you had the naval shipyard, the tops of the USS Constitution’s masts visible at just the right angle. In between, ships of all sizes, from beat-up whale-watch vessels to sleek dinner cruisers and private sailboats, moved about all day long.

      Delilah hadn’t spoken since they’d left the bar, making him wonder if she regretted her invitation. Then again, he wasn’t winning prizes for his conversational skills at the moment, either. The whiskey, while warming his insides, hadn’t relaxed him the way he’d hoped. There was still an elastic band attached from the back of his skull to the base of his spine.

      He couldn’t believe Josh Bartlett went to Bates North. Forget what he told Delilah about the prep school community being small; it was still a lousy coincidence. And naturally Jim had to go and mention the hazing scandal....

      Thankfully, Delilah didn’t make the connection between Jim’s comment and his poor reaction. He wasn’t sure he could handle her looking at him with more sympathy than she already was.

      The hotel pier was quiet at the moment, although a sign posted on a lamppost said the first commuter boat would arrive at 7:30 a.m. There were sailboats floating in slips, their lowered sails tucked in canvas covers, the waves slapping against their fiberglass hulls. The soft sound calling to him, he led her to the end of the main pier where he could stare at the waves lapping the pilings.

      Behind him, he could feel Delilah hovering a short distance from his shoulder. Funny, he usually hated people standing close, but Delilah’s proximity didn’t bother him. In fact, he found knowing she was in his space reassuring, comforting even.

      “The water’s so black,” he heard her say. “Looks bottomless.”

      So it did. Black and never-ending. He let the gentle noise of the waves wash over him. “There’s something very soothing about that idea.”

      “What? You mean being bottomless?”

      “Sure. Knowing you could float underwater forever surrounded by silence.”

      “You’re not planning to jump in, are you?”

      He smiled, picturing her concerned expression. “Afraid you’ll have to jump in and swim after me?”

      “A little.”

      Her bluntness made him chuckle. Refreshing after so many hours putting up a false front. “Don’t worry, I prefer my water a little more chlorinated. I simply meant in general. There’s a peacefulness to being surrounded by water.”

      Good God, listen to him, waxing poetic about swimming. The whiskey must have relaxed him more than he thought. Staring deeper into the depths, he felt the pier sway with the waves, proving his point. He sat down, letting his legs dangle over the edge.

      Delilah continued to hover; from the corner of his eye, he could see her leaning against a piling. He patted the concrete next to him. “Come sit down with me.”

      Leaning back on his elbows, he looked out over the water, listening to the waves’ steady cadence as they splashed the objects around them. Once upon a time, he’d latched on to that rhythm to erase the past. Tonight he latched on again, letting it wash the memories back into place.

      Over at her seat, Delilah had leaned back on her hands, as well. Not so far back as him, but enough that he could see the length of her thighs and the flash of her pants as she kicked her legs up and down. Her ponytail looked like a long brown tail. As she turned her face skyward, it hung down the center of her back. Made him want to give the thing a tug.

      “Do you know, I’ve been in New York for four years now, and I still haven’t gotten tired of seeing the water?” she said to him. “I don’t think people on the coasts realize how lucky they are.”

      “You make it sound like Kansas is a desert.”

      “No, but watching the Missouri doesn’t have the same romantic quality.” She turned with a puzzled look. “How did you know I was from Kansas?”

      “Your personnel file. I read it when I hired you.”

      “Oh, I should have realized.” She ducked the hair behind her ear, a sure sign she was blushing. Simon was sorry the pier didn’t have better lighting so he could see what shade of pink her skin turned.

      “Is this the point where I make a joke about leaving home for the Emerald City?”

      “Please don’t. I heard enough jokes when I first moved here. And before you ask, no, I don’t own a little dog or have an Auntie Em.”

      “Does that also mean I don’t have to worry about you clicking your heels three times during a meeting?”

      “To go home?” She shook her head, tail swishing across her back. “Definitely not.”

      “Pretty emphatic-sounding there, Dorothy. Got a problem with Kansas?”

      She definitely blushed this time. Even the dim lighting couldn’t hide the color. “I’m just really glad to have made it to Manhattan.”

      “There was doubt?”

      “Let’s say there was a time when I wasn’t sure and leave it at that.”

      “Okay.”

      Clearly there was more to the story. Her lowered gaze and pink cheeks said as much, but who was he to judge? Everyone had secrets. Some worse than others.

      Smiling, he reached over to pat her hand, silent reassurance that he didn’t plan to pry any further. To his surprise, it was he who felt comforted. The warmth of her skin beneath his palm eased his muscles in a way the liquor didn’t.

      He wondered if Delilah noticed, for she suddenly raised her eyes to meet his. The dim gleam of the dock light reflected in their depths, turning them a richer shade of blue. The color water should be, he thought to himself.

      “How come I never noticed how blue your eyes were before?” he asked her.

      “I...”

      Damn. His comment made her blush again, sending her lashes