One Forgotten Night Page 13

  Nina buried her face in her hands for an instant, trying to frame an answer. “Julien, I don’t know what to say. I only know that I feel like you put me on the spot by telling everyone that we’re engaged. Don’t you see how unfair that was? Remember, as far as I’m concerned I met you for the first time yesterday!”

  He was silent for a moment; he walked to her window and stood looking out at the sunny day. When he spoke, his tone was contrite. “You’re right, of course. I do see that now. But I thought it would be pleasant for you to have something to celebrate with our friends here. And I thought it would be easier to have our relationship out in the open now. We’ll be spending a lot of time together. People might as well get used to it.”

  Nina sat back in her chair and looked at Julien. He still didn’t seem to realize that she wasn’t at all sure what their “relationship” amounted to. He was gentle, agreeable—and damned persistent. Every time she carved out a little distance between them, he came right back, pressing against the boundaries she had drawn. He was not an easy man to discourage. For the first time it really sank in: He’s in love with me.

  “Okay, Julien, there’s no point in arguing about it now. But just don’t do anything else that involves me without talking to me about it first, all right?”

  He smiled. “Does that include picking out your engagement ring?”

  He can’t be serious! Nina decided that the only way to deal with this query was to treat it as a joke. “Oh, I’ve got that all figured out,” she said flippantly. “You can get me a great big emerald.”

  Julien had been leaning negligently against the window. Now he whirled to face Nina and bent over her chair, placing his hands on the arms and thrusting his face close to hers.

  “What did you say?” he demanded.

  Nina shrank back a little in the chair. Julien’s sudden intensity was startling, as though his usual polite geniality were a mask that had slipped an inch or two.

  “You heard me,” she said. “I asked for an emerald.” She saw that Julien’s knuckles were white; he was gripping the arms of her chair almost hard enough to raise bruises. “It was just a joke,” she added. “Relax.”

  He looked at her for a long moment before stepping back and releasing his grip. “Sorry,” he said. The intent look was gone and he was smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to overreact.”

  “What got into you?”

  “You really don’t know?” She shook her head impatiently, and he said, “You caught me off guard when you mentioned an emerald for your engagement ring.”

  “Why?”

  He gave a sad little laugh. “When I asked you to marry me and you said yes, we talked about your ring. You said you’d pick out an emerald on our next buying trip. So when you mentioned an emerald just now, I—well, I thought maybe you remembered that. It would mean so much to me if you remembered something, anything, about us.”

  “No,” she said gently. “I don’t remember anything. I’m sorry it upset you. The bit about the emerald was just a joke, because I know that we’ve been bringing in so many of them lately.”

  His gaze searched her face. “Yes, I see. Do you know—” he paused, then went on slowly “—when you spoke about a big emerald, I almost thought that...”

  “That what?” Nina prompted.

  “I don’t wish to make you angry, but I wondered if perhaps you had not forgotten as much as you would have me think. If perhaps you were teasing me. Or testing me.”

  “I don’t understand. Do you mean that you think I’m faking my amnesia?”

  “Well...yes. The thought crossed my mind.”

  “But why?” Nina exploded. “Why would you think that?”

  Julien threw his hands into the air. “I don’t know. I’m sorry I mentioned it. But I wondered whether you were afraid of something. Trying to protect yourself, maybe, or keep a secret. It was just a silly idea, you see, but it occurred to me that no one could really know whether you had lost your memory or not.”

  “You, too, huh?” said Nina.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re not the first person to have that idea. Mike— Detective Novalis—thought I was faking it, too. He thought I might have something to hide.”

  “Really?” Julien’s tone was casual, but his expression grew thoughtful. “Now I wonder what made him think that?”

  “I don’t know,” Nina declared, “and I don’t care. I’m sick of the whole subject, and I’m tired of being under a microscope. Get this straight—I have amnesia. And I also,” she added, glancing at the pile of paperwork on her desk, “have work to do. I have to get into the strong room and verify these appraisals.”

  “Of course,” Julien said, rising and going to the door. “Don’t forget, I’m a partner. The last thing I want is to interfere with the work of our star gemologist.”

  But he lingered in the doorway until she looked up.

  “Let’s have dinner together after work,” he urged. “Please. We have so much to talk about.”

  Nina hesitated.

  “Nina, please,” he said imploringly, “don’t fight me. Just give me a chance to make things right between us again. Don’t you think you owe me that much?”

  “When you put it that way,” Nina said, touched by his earnestness, “I suppose I do.”

  It was only after he had left that Nina remembered something that had occurred the previous evening while she was writing in her diary, making the list of her visions. Leafing through the book to the first blank page, she’d caught sight of an earlier page and paused for a second, bemused. She had forgotten all about it in the excitement of discovering that she had become psychic—rated a few referenceseven if only fitfully so. Now, however, it came back to her: the diary page set aside for tomorrow, the day on which Julien had been scheduled to return from Europe. On that page she had written, “Talk to Julien D.?”

  What had she been going to discuss with Julien tomorrow? And why was that entry the only mention of her fiancé in the entire diary? Even Armand had rated a few references—

  Armand! He wanted to talk to her, and something told Nina that the subject wouldn’t be gemstones.

  When she entered his office, the big man was examining a small chess set, turning the pieces over in his large, surprisingly delicate fingers, squinting at them under his bright desk lamp. He greeted Nina with a quick smile. “Come and see, liebchen.“

  Nina gave a soft cry of admiration. The black-and-white chess board was made of alternating squares of onyx and mother-of-pearl, perfectly fitted together inside a border of turquoise and coral mosaic. The pieces were magnificently carved from chunks of light and dark soapstone. The two turbaned kings sat on tiny, regal thrones. The queens reclined on divans. And the knights were mounted on elephants whose ears and trunks seemed to have been captured in midwave.

  “It’s lovely, Armand,” she exclaimed.

  “From India. A sample from a workshop there. Not terribly valuable, of course, there are no precious stones. But—” he waved one bearlike paw “—it is beautiful nonetheless. Fine craftsmanship.” He heaved a sigh. “It’s growing rarer.”

  “We could sell this and a hundred more like it,” Nina said positively.

  “Well, maybe. It doesn’t fit in with our current inventory. But we’ll see. That’s not why I asked you to come see me. Please, sit.”

  Nina took a chair and waited. Armand looked kind but solemn.

  “This business with Julien, this betrothal,” he began, “came as quite a surprise to me.”

  “To me, too,” said Nina wryly, and Armand smiled.

  “I had no idea that you and Julien were...fond of each other,” he continued. “To be quite honest, Nina, I always fancied that perhaps you, well, disliked him a little bit. I did not think he was your type.”

  “I don’t even know what my type is,” she said, thinking, Oh, yes, I do. Mike Novalis is just my type. She focused again on what Armand was saying, trying to banish the thought of Mike.
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  “Perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you this,” said Armand, looking worried, “but I feel that you need a friend right now, Nina. And although I know you don’t remember me, I assure you that I have always been your friend.”

  Nina felt a rush of gratitude toward Armand Zakroff. He hadn’t questioned her, hadn’t doubted her or suspected her of anything fishy; he’d simply accepted the fact that she had lost her memory. And he had tried to help her. “I’m sure you have, Armand,” she said softly, and was touched by the pleasure in his warm brown eyes.

  “Then I will tell you this. It is not a secret, exactly—I’m sure it is something that you knew quite well before your accident. It is about Julien. I have known him since he was a boy. He has always been rather high-strung. Excitable. And lately he has been under some strain. The Duchesnes were a wealthy family, but Julien and his sister have lost a considerable sum on the stock market in the past few years.”

  Armand spread his hands, palms up. “I don’t know the details. I don’t want to know. But I do know that both Julien and Marta have begun to feel the pinch—I fear that neither of them knows very much about economizing.” He looked at Nina and gave a small shrug of his heavy shoulders. “I tell you this not to gossip but because I think you should know how things stand. Julien is experiencing some pressure. I did not want you to blame yourself if he seems moody or unhappy. I hope I have not done the wrong thing.”

  “Thank you, Armand. You haven’t done the wrong thing.” Impulsively, Nina crossed the room and gave him a hug. “I appreciate your concern. And to tell you the truth,” she continued, feeling that here was someone in whom she could safely confide, “the whole situation with Julien is pretty strange. I don’t know if I can explain it—I feel as though I don’t know him at all, and at the same time he has so many expectations about me....”

  “I think I understand, liebchen. I wish I could help you. But I know that you will figure out what is best for you. I will tell you just two things. First, if you ever need a friend, to talk to or for any other reason, come to me or Therese. And second, don’t let Julien rush you. He’s an impetuous fellow, but you take your time. Be sure of what you are doing. And don’t worry,” he added, “whatever happens between you and Julien, you need not worry about your position at Zakroff and Duchesne. You see—” he patted his ample stomach— “I am the majority partner.”

  Nina laughed. “That’s good to know, Armand. Thank you. And now I’d better get back to work.”

  She was almost out the door when he called out, “Oh, Nina, one more thing. What have the police found out about the nogoodnik who shot you?”

  “It was just a random shooting, Armand. It’s unlikely that they’ll ever know who did it—it was probably just some drugged-up kids in a car. The police have closed the file on my case.”

  He gave her a shrewd glance. “And that nice policeman—what was his name?”

  “Novalis,” said Nina through lips that felt stiff and wooden saying his name.

  “That’s right. What does the good Detective Novalis think about this?”

  “I really don’t know. The case is closed, so I haven’t talked to him.” Fatherly though Armand was, there were some things Nina wasn’t ready to discuss even with him.

  “I see.” Those shrewd eyes were watching her closely, and Nina wondered just how much he did see. Did some wistful look appear on her face every time Mike Novalis was mentioned? Could Armand sense how much she felt for Mike—and how hurt she was that he hadn’t called her?

  Stop being paranoid. Get over this. Nina hurried back to her office and grabbed her bundle of appraisal forms. With any luck they would keep her busy all day long. Too busy to think or feel or hurt. And if she were very, very lucky, she thought, she’d be swamped with work for the next couple of decades.

  * * *

  Mike found that, with a little creative reporting, he was able to juggle his schedule just enough to let him keep a highly unofficial eye on Nina Dennison during the week that followed. He figured that as long as she was in the Zakroff and Duchesne offices, surrounded by co-workers, she was probably pretty safe; in addition, he knew that somewhere, somehow, Irons and the feds had an eye on Z and D, maybe even an inside informant. The federal interest was an extra layer of protection for Nina, but it also meant that Mike had to steer clear of her while she was on the job. The last thing he needed was to get nailed for trespassing on Irons’s turf.

  So he did his best to stay on top of his regular caseload by day, and when he left the station house he concentrated on Nina’s life outside the office. He followed her at a discreet distance on her way to and from the office, and he staked out her apartment building every night, careful to park in a different, inconspicuous spot each evening. He saw no evidence that Nina was under any surveillance but his own. If there was a federal agent watching her, the agent was damned good. Mike could only hope that his own activities were equally invisible to any other watcher.

  Mike’s only companion on his lonely nighttime vigils was Sig. He took to bringing the dog with him, partly so he wouldn’t have to leave Sig alone in the loft all night as well as all day and partly because the dog was good company in the early-morning hours when Mike found himself alone with his soul. “C’mon, partner,” he’d say, and Sig would hop into the back seat of the car, carrying the remains of his chew toy. A couple of times Mike thought about bringing a bottle of vodka for company instead, but he knew that wasn’t the answer. He’d tried that once before, in the dark months after Jack Renzo bled to death in his arms, and he knew that after the easy sedation wore off he’d be left with more self-loathing than before. He decided to stick it out with only his dog and his thoughts.

  A lot of those thoughts were about Karen Kurtzmann. For the first time in a long while, Mike found himself remembering how it had been with Karen in the early days. He’d been working undercover vice when they met, sporting a long ponytail, designer clothes, a diamond earring—the whole small-time drug dealer look. He had managed to fool most people, but somehow Karen had seen right through his slick cover and recognized him for what he was: an honest cop trying to do his job. She had made him feel proud to be who he was. She had made him want to help her and take care of her—and she had promised to be true to him.

  He recalled the excitement of those first few meetings. Everything had to be top secret, of course, to protect Mike’s cover. Now he wondered whether maybe the secrecy and the intrigue had turned him on as much as Karen herself. Oh, she was desirable, no doubt about that, with her long ebony hair and her big soulful eyes. And the lush body that had posed so seductively in a string bikini the first time they met, while she eyed him over the tops of her designer sunglasses. She read you like a book in that first glance, Mike told himself now. And all she had to do was reel you in.

  He was wild for her after their first time together, ready to break any rule, take any risk to be with her. Jack Renzo had loyally covered for him. But he’d also given Mike hell, warning him not to get emotionally involved with Karen. “Don’t cross the line with this one, buddy,” he’d said. “Don’t let her get her hooks into you. She’ll tear you apart.” But Mike had been so sure that he could handle it. What he had with Karen was so good—how could it hurt him? Looking back, he realized that he’d been completely out of control, running on adrenaline and plain old-fashioned lust, throughout their short-lived relationship. And in the end Jack had been right.

  “Good old Jack was no fool,” Mike said aloud in his car. Sig looked up alertly. Mike patted the dog and then realized that for once he’d been able to think of Jack Renzo without rage and self-hatred. He felt loss, sadness, regret—but he could live with those feelings. He didn’t know what had caused the change, but he was grateful for it.

  The night work took its toll, of course. Mike snatched sleep in small doses, a few minutes at a time behind the wheel of his car, an hour or two in the morning or late afternoon while Nina was at work. His haggard appearance and irregular hours did
n’t go unnoticed. On Wednesday, Morris Hecht pulled him aside and gave him the once-over.

  “You look like hell, Novalis.”

  “You’re looking great, too, Chief.”

  “Never mind the wisecracks. What’s going on?”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “I mean you look like you haven’t slept in days, and you’ve got three case reports a week overdue.”

  Mike struggled to stifle a yawn. He didn’t completely succeed. Hecht’s eyes narrowed. “Look, Mike, you’re running yourself ragged. Maybe it’s none of my business, but it looks to me like whatever you’re doing at night, it isn’t sleeping.”

  Mike nodded. “You’re right.” Then, when Hecht looked at him expectantly, he explained, “It’s none of your business.”

  Hecht sighed and expelled a cloud of cigar smoke; Mike stepped back a pace.

  “Yeah, yeah,” growled Hecht, and made a token gesture toward waving the smoke away. “Listen, Novalis, stay on the job. Try to show up for a morning briefing session once in a while.” Mike nodded, and Hecht stumped off toward his office.

  “And,” the chief called as Mike walked away, “I don’t care who you’re doing the horizontal tango with, but it better not be that Dennison dame.”

  Mike kept walking, willing himself not to stiffen or break stride. Hecht was a wily one; Mike hoped that his remark was just a wild guess.

  Four days later, Mike was almost ready to give it up. He’d seen nothing to indicate that Nina was up to anything surreptitious, or that she was in any danger: no suspicious characters following her or lurking around her building, no mysterious midnight errands or furtive visitors. And he had seen all he ever wanted to see of Julien Duchesne and of the woman he had IDed as Duchesne’s sister, Marta.

  Day or night, it seemed that the Duchesne siblings couldn’t get enough of Nina Dennison’s company. Julien took her to dinner several times; Marta took her on a shopping trip; the three of them went to a movie together. On nights when Nina didn’t go out with them, one or both of them dropped by her apartment. He wondered how Nina could stand the constant attention.