Jax stood staring at the black-and-white photograph in front of him, transfixed by the majesty of the woman's face that stared back at him, despite the desolation of her surroundings. It was one of a series of haunting photographs of the homeless, entitled "Displaced Souls," that Brenda had taken and that was currently on display at the Ashton Gallery in So Ho. Jax had come here after learning from Tom Peterman that the Ashton Gallery, an up-and-coming gallery on Houston Street, handled all of Brenda's pieces that she offered for sale.
Jax had still not read Peterman's report on Brenda, feeling that it was perhaps too much of an invasion of her privacy to delve into her past that way without her knowledge. But he had allowed Peterman to tell him any information on her that was easily available to the public. One such bit of information had been about the Ashton Gallery and their exclusivity contract with Brenda. Jax had come here, hoping to gather a bit of information on his own about the lovely Ms. Wilding, and perhaps make a purchase or two of her work in order to impress her at the same time. He had not expected, however, to be so impacted by the power of her work.
"Very powerful, isn't it?" Jax turned, momentarily startled by the sound of a male voice coming from behind him. "Hello, I'm Ned Ashton, and this is my gallery," the tall, dark-haired man said, as he extended his hand to Jax.
The man was handsome, well dressed, and probably in his early thirties, and Jax noted the deep dimples that appeared on both sides of his mouth as he smiled. A tingle of jealousy immediately went through Jax, as he wondered if Ashton and Brenda had been lovers and that was why she had offered his gallery the exclusive rights to all of her series? Could this be the man who had hurt her so badly that she was afraid to love again, he wondered? That's doubtful, his logic told him. Why would she continue to associate with the man professionally, if their personal life had gone so badly? His instincts told him that this man and Brenda had never been intimate, which allowed him to relax as he introduced himself.
"Jasper Jacks," Jax said, as he shook the man's hand. "But you can call me Jax," he smiled, flashing his own set of dimples.
Ned's eyes crinkled with recognition at Jax's name. "The Jasper Jacks? The pirate of the corporate world and global high finance?"
Jax laughed at Ned's description. "I guess that is how the media describes me, isn't it? But I'm not nearly as fearsome as that. I'm just a businessman who's interested in making smart investments and making a little profit along the way."
This time it was Ned who laughed. "A
"I live comfortably," Jax conceded, laughing once again. He turned his attention back to the woman's face he had been studying.
"I hadn't meant to interrupt you, but I couldn't help but notice how riveted you seemed to be by this particular series by Brenda Wilding…" Ned continued.
"Yes, it's a very powerful series," Jax answered, as he continued to gaze thoughtfully at the anonymous face in the first photograph of the series of six portraits. "Ms. Wilding is certainly a very talented artist. It's like she's managed to capture this woman's essence. I feel I can see inside this woman's soul - see her pain, feel her losses, know her heart."
"Yes, Brenda's very talented indeed. She has a real empathy for her subjects, especially the lonely and the displaced," Ned nodded, as he stood beside Jax, his eyes also fixed on the photographs before them.
Jax decided that this was as good a time as any for a fishing expedition. "This Ms. Wilding… Brenda… have you known her long?"
Ned gave him a sharp look, wondering what exactly he meant by that?
Jax realized he needed to temper his question somewhat, if he were to get this man to talk freely about Brenda to him. "I mean, her work is so mature and you've given her pieces an obvious place of prominence here. I was just wondering how long she's been around and how long you've been featuring her work? I'm afraid I'd never heard of her until this trip to New York."
Ned nodded, realizing that this man wasn't asking anything untoward about Brenda; his curiosity was nothing more than that of someone genuinely interested in her work. "I've known Brenda a little over three years, and I've had exclusive rights to her non-commissioned works for the past two-and-a-half years. She's young - barely twenty-five - though you'd never know it from looking at her photographs. She has the eye of a seasoned photographer. I always tease her that she was born with a camera in her hands… She came here to New York about four years ago, soon after she'd graduated college. She's an American who grew up in Europe - London, I believe - although I think she spent her last couple of months in Monaco before arriving here."
"Was her family from this area?" Jax asked, gratified that Ned Ashton seemed more than willing to talk about Brenda now without any hesitancy. "Is that why she moved here from Europe?"
"No," Ned shook his head, "she had thought she'd find a friend here that she'd met in Europe. I guess they had made some kind of plans to hook up here in the Village, but then something happened and they never did make connections. But Brenda stayed anyway, and I'm glad she did. I would never have met her otherwise, and I wouldn't be happily married now - she introduced me to my wife, Lois."
"She did, did she?" Jax smiled, trying to imagine Brenda as matchmaker. "How did that come about?"
"I think she did it out of desperation, actually," Ned laughed, and Jax noticed the smile of genuine affection that Ned wore when he spoke of her. "Brenda was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, and I was determined to date her from the first time I saw her. She finally got tired of having to come up with excuses as to why she couldn't go out with me, so she decided that her best defense was to find someone to deflect my attentions from her. She and Lois had met in an exercise class they both took, and they had become instant friends. She figured that Lois and I would mesh as well, and the rest is history."
Jax nodded and smiled. "So Ms. Wilding helped you to find your love… Has she found hers, by any chance?" He looked at Ned obliquely, out of the corner of his eyes, hoping that the question sounded casual enough.
Ned didn't appear bothered at all by the question and answered it without hesitation. "No, Brenda doesn't seem to have time for a love life. She's never come right out and told me this, but I always suspected that the friend whom she hoped to meet up with again in the Village was the man she loved. And when he never showed, she swallowed that part of herself that needed the love and comfort of a man and threw herself entirely into her work instead. She rarely dates, and when she does, there is never a second date."
So I'm the first, since this man who hurt her so deeply, who's gotten past the good-night kiss, Jax thought, realizing Brenda had to feel something for him if she had allowed him as close to her as she had. "She seems like a very interesting woman," Jax said, as he shifted slightly so that he could get a closer look at the second picture of the photographic series, a heart-wrenching picture of a wide-eyed, little girl, playing among the trash-strewn riverbank that she and her family called home. "Does Ms. Wilding specialize in this kind of photography? I mean, is all of her work so poignant and profound?" Jax asked finally.
"No, Brenda has her lighter subjects, as well," Ned laughed. "When I first met her, she was working on a series about children at play. She seemed obsessed with it, in fact, working on it for months, but then she never did anything with the pictures. I saw them, and they were wonderful - as full of joy and life as these are full of pain and pathos. I really thought she could make a name for herself in the industry with them, had she offered them to the public, but she said they were hers and hers alone - something she needed to do. I never pushed after that. I guess it was a form of therapy for her, or something."
Jax nodded, wondering what, if any, significance there was to Brenda's choice of subject matter back then? He knew that the report he'd received from Peterman would most likely clear up any mysteries like this, but he still was hesitant to open it and read it, hoping instead to one day get Brenda to tell him herself. But first, she has to agree to see you again, he reminded himself.
"She also has done some magnificent landscapes," Ned continued, breaking into Jax's thoughts about Brenda. "Mostly black-and-whites though. I always tease her about being an Ansel Adams wannabe, but she says she prefers black-and-white to color most of the time, no matter what the subject is. She says that when a picture is in color, you sometimes get so lost in the dazzling shades and hues that you lose sight of the subject. She says it's harder to hide the truth of the picture in black-and-white."
"Interesting," Jax murmured, wondering why this woman, who seemed intent to hide the truth of herself, could still be so insistent about truth in the world she saw through the lens of her camera?
"So, are you, by any chance, thinking of investing in a few pieces from the gallery?" Ned asked, trying not to sound too eager. Jasper Jacks was a very rich and powerful man, and if word got out that he had purchased anything from the gallery, then the gallery's reputation would be made for years.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I'm interested in purchasing this series and in seeing anything else by Ms. Wilding that you might also have," Jax answered, reaching inside his suit coat to retrieve his checkbook.
"I'm afraid this is the only thing of hers we have right now, and this series has already been sold," Ned said. "In fact, I was just coming out to get someone to remove the series and box them up for shipping when I saw you admiring it."
"I really do like this series, and I'd be willing to up the ante, if you'd allow me to buy the series, instead of your previous buyer. I'm sure both you and Ms. Wilding could use a little extra cash, couldn't you?" Jax asked, as he pulled out his checkbook, prepared to write whatever sum Ashton indicated.
Ned laughed and flashed Jax a big smile. "Of course, we could always use extra cash, but neither Brenda nor I will be making a dime off this sale."
Jax gave him a puzzled look. "But I thought you said it had sold?"
"It did, and for the hefty sum of $100,000, but all the money is being donated to the New York Coalition for the Homeless. Brenda felt that any money made from this series should go to help the people who inspired the series," Ned explained, "and I agreed."
"That's quite generous of both you and Ms. Wilding," Jax said, his admiration for Brenda increased immeasurably as he realized what a truly generous thing this was. But he really did want this series. "I could write a check for twice that much - to the Homeless Coalition, of course - if you'd allow me to take it."
"Well, you're more than welcome to write any check for any sum to the Homeless Coalition, but I'm afraid that you won't be getting this series of photographs in exchange for your check. But I'm sure you would get the undying gratitude of a lot of needy people, and Brenda's as well. In fact, I could almost guarantee a dinner with Ms. Wilding if you were that generous to one of her favorite charities," Ned added, smiling as he saw the twinkle in Jax's eyes at the mention of dinner with Brenda.
"I could live with that," Jax smiled, as he began writing several zeroes behind the '1' he had already written on his check. "Make sure that this is donated in Ms. Wilding's name, would you please?" Ned nodded his understanding. "And just for my own curiosity, who is the buyer who'll be getting these wonderful photographs?"
"I can't say," Ned answered truthfully, as he watched Jax sign his name to the very generous check.
"You mean you won't say," Jax laughed as he handed Ned the check.
"No, I really can't say because I have no idea who he is," Ned replied, as he folded the check and put it into his pocket. "I've never met the man, but he has quite an extensive and exclusive collection of her photographs now. Over the past couple years
that I've been handling her non-commissioned works, he's bought everything she's ever displayed here. He handles everything by phone and always pays cash, and the pictures are always picked up by a generic messenger service. And he seems to know about any new work she has here almost as soon as we have it displayed."
"Don't you find that a bit odd?" Jax asked, wondering who this mysterious collector could be, why he guarded his anonymity so fiercely, why he chose only to collect Brenda's work, and how he knew when she had something new for sale? The whole thing made him very uneasy.
"Not really. In my experience, the richer someone is, the odder they seem to be," Ned answered without thinking, then realized to whom he was speaking. "Present company excluded," he added hastily, which made Jax burst out laughing.
"I have to agree that we rich can be a rather eccentric lot at times," he laughed, suddenly liking Ned Ashton very much and understanding why Ashton and Brenda had been drawn together and had become friends so easily. But then his face sobered, as he once again wondered about this mysterious collector, who seemed to Brenda's unseen, but ever-present, benefactor. Could he merely want a complete collection of her work because he admires her art, or could he want more? Jax's instincts told him this man wanted more.
"You don't have a phone number or anything for this man?" Jax asked, hoping for some way to track him down, besides the obvious - following the messenger who picks up the series later. That was his choice of last resort, but if he couldn't find out who this anonymous collector was any other way, he wouldn't hesitate to call Tom Peterman and get his agency on the job immediately. He noticed Ned's questioning look and decided not to arouse his suspicions - or fears - unnecessarily. "I'd really like to talk to this man about allowing me to have this set of photographs. I can be very persuasive at times, and I might be able to change his mind if we were to talk one-on-one."
Ned nodded his understanding. "I wish I could help you there…I have a number to call to let him know when his purchases are ready for transport, but it's the number of an answering service and nothing more. I really am sorry. I'm sure Brenda would have been very pleased to have someone like you own this series - someone who truly appreciates the emotions she was trying to evoke with it." He extended his hand to Jax's. "It's been a great pleasure meeting you, Jax. I'm sorry that Ms. Wilding's series was not available for your purchase, but is there anything else here that caught your eye?"
Jax shook Ned's hand and laughed at his not-so-subtle urging to purchase something else in the gallery. This was a man after his own capitalistic heart. "I need to be leaving now, and I was so involved with Ms. Wilding's moving photographs that I'm afraid that I didn't get the chance to look around further in your wonderful establishment. But I do promise to return at a later date and give all the pieces in your gallery the consideration they deserve."
He started toward the door but then turned back to Ned. "By the way, I'm holding you to that dinner with Ms. Wilding. I'm staying at the Plaza for now. I've extended my stay in New York a little longer than I had planned due to some unforeseen merger complications, and I'm free most evenings at this point. I would like to meet Ms. Wilding for that dinner as soon as possible - perhaps tomorrow night - if she's amenable. But I do have one request - I prefer to remain anonymous until the dinner. I'd like to introduce myself to Ms. Wilding. I'd hate to have her have any preconceived notions about me based on any adverse - and erroneous - publicity about me that she may have heard. Give me a call as soon as the arrangements have been made. And I do expect to be hearing from you, Mr. Ashton, " he added with a confident smile, as he turned and exited the gallery.
Ned watched as Jax left the gallery and thought back over the last few minutes with him. Ned, who was normally very tight-lipped about everything - especially his friends, had just talked endlessly about nearly everything he knew about his best friend, Brenda, and with just the gentlest prodding from Jax. He was amazed that he had never once felt manipulated by the man, and yet he knew that he had been. Jasper Jacks is one smooth operator, he thought. No wonder he managed to talk so many CEOs out of their companies!
"Now there's a man who knows what he wants and probably always gets it in the end. And I have the feeling he wants to meet Brenda for something more than her artistic talents," Ned laughed, shaking his head in admiration. "I wonder how he and Brenda will hit it off?" he mused, as he looked for an assistant to help him remove Brenda's series from the wall in preparation for shipping. "His irresistible force meeting her immovable object… Brenda, I think I'm going to have to bet against you on this one," he muttered, suddenly looking forward to tomorrow night's dinner with Brenda and Jax.
Brenda threw her magnifying glass down on the table in her studio in frustration. She had been studying these contact sheets for the past forty-five minutes, and she still hadn't made any progress at all in picking out which pictures to use for the series she had shot for a fitness magazine. It was a simple decision the editors had left up to her, but she couldn't do it. She hadn't been able to concentrate on her work all afternoon because her mind kept wandering to Jax.
She supposed it was inevitable that she'd be thinking about him, since reminders of him were everywhere. In the two days since she had sent him back to the Plaza and ended their affair, he had turned her apartment into a garden oasis, sending dozens of roses in every conceivable color, every hour on the hour for eight hours straight for the first day. There had been no cards with the flowers, but she had known whom they were from. Who else would be so extravagant and so persistent? By the end of the first day, she had called the florist and asked that they send any further deliveries to her from Mr. Jacks to local hospitals and nursing homes instead. Evidently the florist called Jax immediately to inform him of her instructions because he had messengered a note to her that said that he would be sending floral arrangements to all of the hospitals and nursing homes in the metropolitan area in her name.
She shook her head at that. By refusing any more flowers from him, she had hoped to send a very clear message that she wanted nothing further to do with him and that he should just cease and desist. But instead, he had used it as an opening to do charity work in her name. The man was truly a piece of work! A fine piece of work, her libidinous side whispered - that body, that face, that voice that could melt the coldest heart…
Her mind wandered to the last time they had made love, two nights ago… It was the evening that she had ended things with him. They had gone for an early dinner at Luigi's, just a few blocks away, and then they had taken a leisurely stroll through the neighborhood, enjoying the warm, early summer evening, before returning here to the loft. She had had a little too much Chianti with her pasta, and she had felt far too relaxed and far too comfortable with him, and she had nearly molested him in the service elevator on the way up to the loft. He had not complained in the least, and by the time they made it into the loft, she already had his shirt off and was lavishing his bare chest with kisses as she worked to unfasten his pants.
"You really are a live one, tonight, aren't you?" Jax asked, as she nipped playfully at his left nipple. "I think you're a little bit drunk," he laughed, as he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, dropping her onto the middle of the bed, and then straddling her. "Maybe you should get a little sleep before we go any further."
"I'm not drunk," she giggled, "I'm just…" 'In love,' her traitorous heart had been saying, but as loose as her tongue was from the wine, she still couldn't bring herself to say it out loud, and especially not to him. Her heart had misled her before, and now her mind wouldn't allow her to even consider love with Jax. She had decided that she couldn't let herself fall in love with this man, but she could enjoy the physical pleasures he constantly evoked in her. "I'm just having a good time," she finally said.
Jax smiled at that. "So am I, sweetie, and I don't think I've ever had such a good time in my life before I met you." He kissed her gently on the mouth, but she immediately deepened the kiss, wanting more.
"Well, I know how we can have an even better time," she purred, as she pulled her mouth away from his and then reached up and tugged at the waistband of his pants.
"Hey, slow down just a bit," he had laughed. "We have the whole night ahead of us. I don't want to miss a thing by rushing." He had gently moved her hands up to his shoulders and then had lain them both down on the bed, and he kissed her as she had never been kissed before - not intensely and hungrily, but gently and soulfully - and she felt as if he were breathing life and love into her. She had immediately slowed to his pace, and the time that followed was perhaps the best lovemaking she had ever experienced in her life - including her time with JD.
They just kissed for the longest time, and then he slowly began undressing her, trailing his mouth over her body as he removed her clothes. Their eventual lovemaking had been slow and sensual, and he had made her feel as if she were the most treasured woman on earth. Then he had drawn the bath for them, and everything had felt so perfect. But then he had told her he was falling in love with her, and her fear at the prospect of allowing another man such power and dominion over her heart, as she had allowed JD, had been so great that she'd ended things with him then and there, rather than prolong the agony by allowing herself to trust and love him in return, only to have him leave her in the end. She knew her body would miss the feel of his body entwined with hers in the most intimate of embraces, but she would survive. She had survived before without sex; she would survive now.
But since that night she had discovered that not only did her body miss Jax, but so did her heart. No matter how she tried to deny it, he had just as strong a hold on her heart as JD ever had. That last night had been about making love and not merely about having sex - and she knew it, whether she wanted to admit it or not. No other man, other than JD, had ever made her feel the way that Jax made her feel. But she knew that love was ephemeral and couldn't be trusted. She had made the right decision to end things with him then and there, she decided. No matter how wrong it felt now, in the long run she'd be happier that she had ended it when she did. At least that's what her head told her. Now, if she could only get her heart to understand…
She shook her head, trying to force all these feelings for Jax out of her heart. She needed to get out and get some fresh air and get away from here for a little while. She'd go for a run, and when she returned she'd take all of these obscenely expensive flowers and distribute them among her faceless, nameless neighbors. In four years she'd never really met any of them, so it was high time she did. "At least Jax will help me make one helluva first impression with the other tenants in this building," she laughed as she went to her bedroom to change into her running clothes.
He sat in the shadows, watching as she exited the building and began her brisk run down the sidewalk away from him. She was dressed in black Lycra shorts and a short, cropped, black Lycra tank top that gave a tantalizing view of her tanned and toned midriff. He glanced at his watch, puzzled as to why she was running at this hour. It was 3:20 p.m., and she always ran in the early morning hours. And she always preferred to travel to Central Park to run along the path there, where she enjoyed the scenery and watched the people. Something must be bothering her, he thought, realizing that the only times over the past four years that she had drastically changed her routine was when something major was on her mind. When he had known her in Monaco, she had been unpredictable and spontaneous, but since coming to this city she had become a creature of habit.
He had this uncontrollable urge to run after her, tackling her and covering her with kisses and then carrying her to a bed to make love, as he invariably had done when they'd run together on the beach. But he knew that he no longer had the right to take liberties with her body, even though he still felt she belonged to him. He also knew that if he chased after her, he'd be spotted for certain, either by her or by someone keeping tabs on her. No matter how much he longed to watch her as she ran, he decided it was far too risky. But he did feel that he could easily slip into her place for a few minutes, undetected.
He'd been lounging here at this little sidewalk cafe, sipping coffee and reading the paper for nearly an hour, and his trained eye had not seen anyone either watching her building or tailing her. That fit in with what he had wanted from Andrew - loose surveillance only - and most likely the Agency had loosened their reins on her as well, since he had kept his part of their "bargain." At least as far as they knew, he had.
He waited several more minutes, casting an occasional glance surreptitiously here and there, threw some money on the table, and walked casually across the street and into the building - his building - where she lived. Nonchalantly, he entered the main entrance of the building and looked around. The place appeared deserted for now. All of his tenants must either be at work or otherwise occupied, he thought, grateful that he wouldn't have to make small talk with anyone. Despite the fact that no one here knew him, let alone that he was their landlord, he couldn't chance being seen here today. Witnesses of any kind were always unfortunate.
He bypassed the service elevator, which was the only elevator that led to the top floor, opting instead to noiselessly take the stairs up to the fourth floor loft. He quietly closed the fire door behind him as he stepped into the small area of hallway just outside her apartment. The building had been built so that the elevator and the stairs were on one wall of the building, rather than in the center. When he had ordered the renovations for the loft, he had asked that the area leading to the elevator and the stairs be walled off from the apartment. In other apartments he had been in that occupied entire floors, as this one did, the elevator and/or stairs invariably opened directly into the loft, but he had not wanted that, both because of the privacy aspect of it, but also for the security aspect.
There were two entrances to the loft. One, almost directly in front of him that led into studio area of the loft, and another, to his far right, that led into her studio area. He chose the one leading to the main area of the loft and listened carefully for any signs of activity inside the apartment before he pulled out his tools to pick the lock. Although he technically owned the building and this apartment, he didn't keep a key to this apartment, intending never to come here. Andrew kept one for emergencies, but luckily, other than that one time, years ago, he had never needed to use it.
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as he remembered with horror what they had done to her then - as a warning to him. And he had heeded that warning well - they would most likely have killed her had Andrew not stepped in, and he would always be grateful to him for that. He owed Andrew so much - and he'd owe him so much more if he could help him escape once and for all from this hell to which he'd so willingly consigned himself nearly a decade ago.
But he hadn't approached Andrew yet about that. He still needed to work the details out in his head, before he compromised Andrew's stead in the Agency again by bringing him in on his plans. He also needed to find out how she felt about him. Would she be willing to forgive him for deserting her for the past four years and want to pick up where they'd left off and run away with him? Did she still love him as much as he loved her? He had to believe that a part of her still loved him. What they had together was far too perfect to have been completely wiped out of her heart, despite the callous way it appeared he had left her.
Within seconds of inserting the pick into the deadbolt lock, his practiced hand opened it effortlessly. His years of service to the Agency had honed his senses, and he had developed the instincts and the stealth of a cat burglar, which, for all intents and purposes, he was. He just worked for a top secret government agency, rather than for himself or some burglary ring. He slowly slid open the heavy, metal door and stepped silently inside, closing it inaudibly behind him.
He turned to look around the room and was immediately caught off-guard by the sea of roses that engulfed the massive space. There were literally dozens of vases of spectacular roses of all different hues everywhere. The scent was heady and nearly overwhelming, but what was truly overwhelming to him was the surge of intense jealousy that coursed through his veins at the sight. His instincts told him that all of these roses had come from a man - an ardent man - who wanted Brenda romantically. If he could, this was something he would have done to entice her to him - or to thank her for their time together. That latter thought angered him - the thought of another man touching her, kissing her, loving her - when she was his and his alone!
But then his conscience stepped in, and he realized the harsh reality of things once again: she was no longer his. He had given up all rights to her body and her heart nearly four years ago, when he had made the heart-wrenching decision to remain within the Agency. It didn't matter that they had forced his hand and that he had given her up unwillingly - he had still given her up. And in her eyes he had coldly left her without so much as a good-bye, so she had every right to move on with someone else.
She didn't know that he still loved her with every fiber of his being. She didn't know that she was his first thought every morning and his last thought every night. She didn't know that he had become a cold and ruthless person in his job over the years because he had left his heart with her. She didn't know that he ached for her constantly and that at times he thought he'd go mad from missing her. She didn't know any of this - but she soon would. Standing there in her apartment - the apartment that should have been theirs - and staring at the sea of roses that surrounded him, he knew that he needed to make contact with her soon - actual physical contact with her - or lose her and himself forever. But first he needed to know who'd sent the flowers…
He looked over the arrangements but didn't see any cards indicating who had sent them. He looked across both the dining table and the coffee table, but there was still no enclosure card. Perhaps the man didn't send a card because he knew she'd know they were from him, he thought, and that was not a comforting thought to him, in the least.
He walked over to the massive wall of bookshelves, hoping to find a card or a note there, but then he stopped as he saw all the books on the various countries that lined the shelves. A smile lit his face, and the need to find the source of the roses was temporarily forgotten. He had been to each and every one of those locales, and he had gotten each and every one of these books for her. These were his gifts to her, although she had no idea they were from him. He always sent them to her by way of Andrew, and she was under the impression that they were from "Avery Buehler," her "landlord" and world traveler. His eyes danced across the subjects of the various books - Italy, Thailand, Zimbabwe, Brazil, Spain, Russia - and then his eyes stopped on the title of a book on the top shelf - Great Castles of Europe.
His heart caught in his throat as he pulled it from its resting-place. This was the book he had given her while they were together in Monaco. She had loved castles, and he had promised that one day he would take her to every castle there was in Europe - and maybe even buy one for her - her own castle. But until that day, he wanted her to look at this book and be reminded that she would always be his princess and he her prince, no matter where they lived. His heart swelled; she had kept this. He had thought that she had thrown out boxes and boxes of things they had had together in Monaco - including all the pictures she had taken of the area and of them while she was there, which Andrew had salvaged and brought to him - but she had kept this. He opened the book and found something hidden among the pages near the center of the book. He pulled it out and turned it over to see that it was a picture she had taken of him. She had kept this, too.
He smiled as he remembered how this picture had come about… They had only been together a couple of weeks when she mentioned that she had always loved the magnificence of the human form and wanted to someday do a series of nudes in various, non-sexual poses. He told her that she could photograph all the female nudes she wanted, but the only male nude she could look at was him. She had laughed at that, but then he told her that he was serious and that he would gladly model for her if the price were right - and the price had definitely been right.
After the photo session, which was done in the small flat in Monaco and lasted for nearly two hours, they had made love for hours, and that was the closest he had ever remembered coming to actual physical exhaustion, outside of his intense training for his work. They had both been insatiable that night, and he knew that part of his desire for her had come from the care she had taken in posing him in all the various positions. She had treated him in a non-sexual, very professional way during the entire session, but seeing that side of her had sent his hormones racing, and they had barely wrapped the session before he had taken her right there on the floor for what would turn out to be the first of many times that night. Even now, remembering that night sent his hormones racing, and he could feel a tingling sensation surging throughout his body.
The phone rang, breaking his reverie, and he froze momentarily as he realized that he had done the one thing that could prove fatal to any agent - allow his thoughts to wander. He was instantly back in agent mode, putting the picture back inside the book and returning the book to the exact spot from which he had taken it. The answering machine picked up after the second ring, and he could hear Brenda's soft voice instructing the caller that she wasn't there, but to please leave their name, number, and a brief message, and she'd return the call as soon as possible. There was a beep, and then a rich, resonant, male voice filled the air.
"Hi, Bren - this is Ned. I'm calling to let you know that your series on the homeless has been sold and is now on its way to its new owner, and a couple of very hefty donations have been made in your name to New York's Homeless Coalition."
There was a slight pause, "Anyway, I thought maybe you and I could get together tomorrow night to celebrate this - and just talk. It's been a while since we've had a chance to do that… Lois is out of town now, visiting her aunt near Buffalo, so I could really use the company. You know I don't eat right when she's gone…"
There was a chuckle, followed by another brief pause, "Anyway, give me a call when you get this, and we can discuss when and where to go to dinner then. Oh, and Bren… Don't try to back out of this. You need to get out and have some fun with a member of the opposite sex, even if it's just me!"
There was another chuckle, and then the man continued, "I'm serious here, Bren. You can't keep leading the kind of life you have been. You need to get out and circulate. Your lifestyle makes a nun look like a party girl, and that's not right. Okay…end of sermon. Just make plans to have a good time tomorrow night. Love ya!"
He listened as the caller hung up. He knew this man. It was Ned Ashton, Brenda's friend and the owner of the gallery that handled Brenda's photographs. He said that her newest series was on its way to its new owner, which made him smile. He was the new owner, and he was glad to know that a part of her would be waiting for him at his apartment when he returned. These photographs would join the hundreds of others of hers that he had amassed over the years.
He thought about the rest of Ashton's message - the part about Brenda staying in and not socializing. Perhaps Brenda hadn't been seeing anyone, and these flowers were merely from someone who wanted to date her. But his instincts told him differently. She knew this man who had sent these to her - most likely intimately. But this is what was confusing him: he knew from the surveillance that she rarely dated, and Ashton had confirmed that in his message. And she had never allowed a man to spend the night - the reports had assured him of that also.
But then he realized that he had not gotten any recent reports on her activities. Over the past week, Andrew had not updated him on anything she was doing, telling him that there was nothing out of the ordinary to report. But what if Andrew was hiding something from him? And what if that which Andrew was hiding was her involvement with this man, who sent the roses? If she were involved with him, it would have to be something that had just recently happened, otherwise Ashton would know about it and wouldn't be urging her to circulate. Now his interest and his jealousy were both piqued, and he was determined to find out who this mystery man was, before it was too late.
The grandfather clock in the far corner bonged four times, and he realized that he had already been there far too long. Despite the fact that he hadn't made it through the rest of the loft, he needed to leave now. The longer he stayed, the more likely he'd be found - either by Brenda upon her return, or by one of her neighbors as he was trying to exit the building. He also didn't want to chance that someone from the Agency could spot him here. He couldn't put Brenda in harm's way that way - not again.
He was about to exit the loft when he heard the service elevator come to a clanging halt outside and then the elevator doors slide open. Next he heard Brenda's rich laughter echoing in the hallway, and his heart caught in his throat. This was his opportunity to talk to her - to tell her he loved her - that he'd always loved her. She was just outside the door. All he had to do was stand here and wait for her to come in, and then they'd both know the truth - she, that he still loved her more than life itself; and he, how she felt about him after all this time.
But then he heard a second voice - a man's - and it was deep, with a thick, New York accent. "I'm glad you decided to stop for a drink, Brenda, otherwise I would have missed you," he heard the man say.
"I think we are fated to always meet over drinks, Mr. Buehler," he heard Brenda answer, and then his heart froze, as he realized who it was - Andrew Buxton, in the guise of Avery Buehler. Buxton had not had physical contact with Brenda for nearly four years now, and "Buehler" was supposed to still be traveling around the world. Why had he decided to show himself to Brenda again- now, of all times? He knew he should be scrambling to leave by way of the studio door as soon as Andrew and Brenda were both inside the loft, but instead, he quietly went into an area just beyond the bookshelves to listen, undetected. He couldn't leave until he knew why Andrew was there to see Brenda. Something about all of this didn't seem right to him - and his instincts were rarely wrong.