Her Tycoon Lover. Lee Wilkinson

To wake in her arms and make love again. To spend the day reading in her sunlit kitchen, waiting for her to come home from work; and then to go to bed with her once more. If his world had shifted in the last couple of hours, what would happen in two days? Two weeks?

      Very carefully Luke shifted Katrin’s sleeping body back onto the mattress. She stirred, her lashes fluttering; then she slipped back into sleep, her cheek buried in the pillow. His heart clenched. Defenseless, passionate, generous, fiery-tempered: what other facets of her personality had he not yet plumbed?

      Would never plumb.

      Because he was leaving. Now. He wasn’t going to risk another of those cataclysmic matings.

      He got out of bed with infinite care not to disturb her; and it was then that he saw the second foil packet on the table. He’d forgotten all about it; he’d never done that before.

      She could be pregnant.

      He wasn’t going to follow that thought; the mere possibility was too overwhelming. All his movements clumsy, Luke got dressed in the semidarkness. Without a backward look he left the room, went down the hall and out to the kitchen. The side door creaked as he pulled it open. He froze, waiting for Katrin to call his name, wondering what he’d say if she did. But the house was encased in silence. He stepped outside, snipped the latch, got in his car and backed out of the driveway.

      Because he lived in a city, he’d forgotten how completely dark the countryside could be. The vast panoply of stars was starkly lonely; it was a relief to see the lights of the resort through the trees. At the desk, not caring what the clerk thought, he checked out. Then he went upstairs, packed in a matter of minutes and left the room. Five minutes later, on the road that would eventually take him to the airport, Luke drove past Katrin’s house in the village. But he saw no lights. No signs of life.

      No indication that his own life had turned upside down in that little house on the shore of a vast lake.

      He was running away. No question of it.

      Two weeks later Luke and Ramon were seated in an oyster bar on Fisherman’s Wharf. Through the open window they could see the crowded boardwalk, filled with tourists in bright clothes, with jugglers and musicians; and beyond them, the colorful prows of fishing boats. Everyone was having a good time, Luke thought sourly. Except for him.

      Ramon raised his glass of beer. “Cheers, amigo. I’m glad you were free at such short notice.” As they clinked glasses, he added, “Although you look like a man on death row.”

      “Thanks a lot,” Luke said. When they’d played their regular tennis game last week, he’d been ignominiously defeated. He was sleeping lousily, Katrin haunted his thoughts night and day, and he bitterly regretted his impulsive trip to the resort. Other than that, he was fine.

      Ramon said, “I have news for you. About the Staines murder case.”

      Luke plunked his glass down so hard that beer sloshed onto the table. “News?” he rapped.

      “So you are still interested…I thought you might be.”

      “Give, Ramon.”

      “We’ve had a confession. And the DNA matches up. The case is solved, Luke. I know Katrin Staines was legally cleared at the trial…but a lot of people still thought she had something to do with it. Now we can prove she was completely innocent.”

      Luke sat back in his chair. The mellow strains of a jazz trumpet floated into the restaurant; a breeze ruffled the striped awnings. He pushed his dark glasses further up his forehead. “You’re sure? About the confession, I mean?”

      “It’ll be in all the papers tomorrow morning. I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

      Luke said awkwardly, “You’re a good friend.”

      “But not so good that you’ll tell me what hold this Katrin has over you.”

      “If I ever figure it out, you’ll be the first to know,” Luke said with suppressed violence.

      “I won’t hold my breath,” Ramon remarked. “The man who confessed, Edmond Langille, was a business associate of Donald’s, who’d had a meeting with Donald earlier on the evening of the murder. Not one of the servants, of course, had seen him enter the house…where are witnesses when you need them? Nor did they see him leave, because he didn’t. He overheard the row between Katrin and Donald and took full advantage of it instead.”

      “So why’s he confessing now?”

      “He’s dying,” Ramon said bluntly. “Cancer. Wants his conscience clear before he meets his Maker.” Appreciatively Ramon chewed on his garlic bread, then forked a broiled oyster. “Katrin knew Edmond, although not well. So she’ll have to come here for questioning.”

      “Not another trial?” Luke said, horrified.

      “No, no. A formality, merely. I’ll be phoning her this afternoon to make the arrangements.”

      Ramon then engrossed himself in his oysters, letting the silence hang. Luke said rapidly, “I went to Manitoba after you told me about her. We made love on the understanding we’d never see each other again.”

      Ramon said with an indifference that grated on Luke’s nerves, “San Francisco’s a big city. You don’t have to see her…I can’t imagine she’ll stay long.”

      “I like my life the way it is!” Luke said violently.

      “Then you are a fortunate man,” Ramon said with a faint smile. “Eat your oysters before they get cold.”

      Paying very little attention to an excellent lunch, Luke cleared his plate, talking nonstop about the Democratic convention, the latest African coup and the price of gold. But as he and Ramon parted company on the boardwalk, Ramon said calmly, “Rosita would kill me for interfering—but Katrin’s an exceptional woman, Luke. She could be the making of you. If you let her.” He grinned. “See you at the courts next Tuesday. Try and have your mind on the game, sí?”

      He walked away before Luke could reply, a big man easy in his own skin. Luke watched him go.

      Katrin would be here in San Francisco. Soon. He’d have to phone her this evening.

      He had to. He had no choice.

      Luke phoned Katrin at ten-thirty her time. The phone rang six times; he was about to disconnect when she picked up the receiver. “Hello?” she said warily.

      “Katrin, it’s Luke.” Now what was he supposed to say? How are you? “I hear you’ll be coming to San Francisco.”

      “How did you know that?” she demanded.

      “The police chief who’s in command of the case is a good friend of mine. Ramon Torres.”

      “Just my luck that he’d be your friend.”

      “Ramon’s a good man!”

      “I couldn’t agree more—even though he’s a policeman, he was the one bright spot in the whole investigation,” she said without a trace of emotion in her voice.

      Silence hummed along the line. Wishing he could see her face, Luke said, “Are you there? Katrin?”

      “I can’t bear the thought of it all opening up again,” she said raggedly. “I just can’t bear it.”

      “But this will totally clear your name.”

      “I don’t care anymore!”

      He gripped the receiver tighter. “Are you crying?”

      “No! I never cry…well, hardly ever.”

      “I want you to stay with me,” he said.

      “I’ve booked a hotel room.”

      “The media are going to be out in full force,” Luke said, ruthlessly using the only weapon he could think of. “At my place