Night Whispers
Page 71
"In a few minutes," Sloan promised. "I want to talk to Paul first. I was wondering," Sloan added gently, "if you'd mind staying in my room tonight? It's a huge bed, and—"
Paris was already nodding with relief, and Sloan wrapped her in a tight hug, trying to infuse her with some of her own strength. When Sloan turned away, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, but she did not acknowledge that she looked almost as drawn as Paris or that she was shaking inside with sorrow and exhaustion.
Noah noticed the signs, however, and with Carter out of the room, he dropped the pretense of being a family friend. Ignoring Paul, he pulled Sloan into his arms and cupped her face to his chest. "Come home with me," he said in an aching whisper. "We'll look after you. Don't stay here tonight, sweetheart."
It was the first time he'd used an endearment, and the poignant tenderness of it was almost Sloan's undoing. She was so accustomed to looking after other people, of being their strength, that she almost wept at the realization that Noah was there to offer her his strength. "I can't," she said, but a tear slipped down her cheek. His thumb softly brushed it away, and another tear followed it. Tenderness was accomplishing what adversity couldn't—Sloan was on the brink of losing control.
"I'll be all right," she said, pulling out of his arms and impatiently brushing at her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Paul watching them, and for a moment he looked so infuriated that she froze; then she concentrated on Noah. "I'll be fine, really," she said with a fixed smile, and when he still looked dubious, she tucked her arm through his and walked him to the back door.
36
As Sloan expected, Paul had already gone up to his room, where they could talk in privacy. He'd left the door slightly open for her, and she walked inside, closing it behind her.
He was standing at the window, a drink in his hand, watching Noah walk across the lawn on his way home. "It's been quite a fucking night," he said wrathfully as he closed the window and turned around. Except for the anger she'd glimpsed when Noah was leaving, Paul had played the part of a shocked, well-bred insurance salesman all night, but now he looked as furious as he sounded.
He motioned to a pair of comfortable chairs with footstools near the bed. "What the hell is going on between you and Maitland?" he demanded.
It was none of his business, but Sloan was too startled to be offended. On the other hand, she didn't think she owed him any details, either. "What do you think is going on?" she asked mildly as she sat down across from him.
"Based on what I've observed during the last week," he said sarcastically, "I assumed the two of you were probably having a little fling. But it's more than that, isn't it? I saw that little scene before he left, and I saw the way you were looking at him tonight."
"So what?" Sloan said defensively.
His jaw tightened. "How can you be so smart about everything else, and so damned stupid about him? By your own words, he's got an arsenal on one boat and a sizable stash of firearms on the sailboat."
"People with boats keep firearms aboard! He's not selling them or trafficking in them. There are ports all over the globe that aren't completely safe. Noah is protecting his life, his crew, and his property!"
"With a machine gun?" Paul mocked angrily. "With a room full of automatic weapons? It sounds to me like he might have some sort of cargo he needs to protect."
"That cargo remark is ridiculous, and I told you, he confiscated the machine gun. Furthermore, I never said those weapons were automatic."
"You couldn't tell because you weren't close enough to examine them!"
"I had no idea you were worried about all that," Sloan said, trying to keep her temper under tight control. "If it will put your mind at rest, I'll ask Noah to show them to me again."
"No. Don't do that. Just let it alone! Look, I just don't want you to get too emotionally involved with the man. I don't give a damn if you've been to bed with him; you're both adults. However, I made the stupid assumption that that wouldn't happen, based on your past history. You sure as hell didn't sleep around in Bell Harbor!"
"How would you know?" Sloan demanded irately.
"How would I know?" he repeated with biting sarcasm. "I know when you got your first permanent tooth! How the hell do you think I know?" Leaning forward, he braced his forearms on his knees and glared at his drink as he rolled the glass between his hands. When he spoke again, he sounded more weary and worried than angry. "How involved are you with Maitland, emotionally, I mean?"
He asked the question with an almost paternal concern, and Sloan responded firmly but without any rancor. "That's none of your business."
He reached the correct conclusion on his own, and his lips quirked in a sardonic half smile as he stared at his glass and stated his conclusion: "That sounds pretty damned involved…"
"Paul?"
He looked up at her.
"Why are we talking about Noah when someone in this house has been murdered? Didn't anything about that session in the living room just now strike you as a little odd?"
To her relief, he didn't persist in discussing Noah. "I don't know. I suppose I was distracted. What specifically are you referring to?"
"They said a window was broken in the study and the murderer supposedly came in that way. That makes no sense. The drapes were open and she was in plain view, watching television. Even if she didn't see him at first, she would have heard the glass break."
"Maybe not, if he was quiet enough and the television set was loud enough to distract her."
"But why would a thief take a chance like that when he could have broken in through one of the other rooms? And why didn't she notice him as he was breaking in, and then try to escape?"
"Her vision wasn't good and the windows were on her left. If she was concentrating on television, she might not have seen him until it was too late."
"Her vision wasn't good, but she was a long way from being blind! She was found on the sofa, which means the murderer had to break the window, open it, crawl in, then stroll over to her and shoot her before she noticed him. Either that," Sloan finished meaningfully, "or she didn't think she needed to be afraid of whoever shot her."
"The medical examiner will be able to tell who was where when it happened."
Sloan had the feeling he was still preoccupied with Noah for some reason, and it frustrated her to the point of anger or tears. "Can't you see where I'm going with all this?"
Paris was already nodding with relief, and Sloan wrapped her in a tight hug, trying to infuse her with some of her own strength. When Sloan turned away, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, but she did not acknowledge that she looked almost as drawn as Paris or that she was shaking inside with sorrow and exhaustion.
Noah noticed the signs, however, and with Carter out of the room, he dropped the pretense of being a family friend. Ignoring Paul, he pulled Sloan into his arms and cupped her face to his chest. "Come home with me," he said in an aching whisper. "We'll look after you. Don't stay here tonight, sweetheart."
It was the first time he'd used an endearment, and the poignant tenderness of it was almost Sloan's undoing. She was so accustomed to looking after other people, of being their strength, that she almost wept at the realization that Noah was there to offer her his strength. "I can't," she said, but a tear slipped down her cheek. His thumb softly brushed it away, and another tear followed it. Tenderness was accomplishing what adversity couldn't—Sloan was on the brink of losing control.
"I'll be all right," she said, pulling out of his arms and impatiently brushing at her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Paul watching them, and for a moment he looked so infuriated that she froze; then she concentrated on Noah. "I'll be fine, really," she said with a fixed smile, and when he still looked dubious, she tucked her arm through his and walked him to the back door.
36
As Sloan expected, Paul had already gone up to his room, where they could talk in privacy. He'd left the door slightly open for her, and she walked inside, closing it behind her.
He was standing at the window, a drink in his hand, watching Noah walk across the lawn on his way home. "It's been quite a fucking night," he said wrathfully as he closed the window and turned around. Except for the anger she'd glimpsed when Noah was leaving, Paul had played the part of a shocked, well-bred insurance salesman all night, but now he looked as furious as he sounded.
He motioned to a pair of comfortable chairs with footstools near the bed. "What the hell is going on between you and Maitland?" he demanded.
It was none of his business, but Sloan was too startled to be offended. On the other hand, she didn't think she owed him any details, either. "What do you think is going on?" she asked mildly as she sat down across from him.
"Based on what I've observed during the last week," he said sarcastically, "I assumed the two of you were probably having a little fling. But it's more than that, isn't it? I saw that little scene before he left, and I saw the way you were looking at him tonight."
"So what?" Sloan said defensively.
His jaw tightened. "How can you be so smart about everything else, and so damned stupid about him? By your own words, he's got an arsenal on one boat and a sizable stash of firearms on the sailboat."
"People with boats keep firearms aboard! He's not selling them or trafficking in them. There are ports all over the globe that aren't completely safe. Noah is protecting his life, his crew, and his property!"
"With a machine gun?" Paul mocked angrily. "With a room full of automatic weapons? It sounds to me like he might have some sort of cargo he needs to protect."
"That cargo remark is ridiculous, and I told you, he confiscated the machine gun. Furthermore, I never said those weapons were automatic."
"You couldn't tell because you weren't close enough to examine them!"
"I had no idea you were worried about all that," Sloan said, trying to keep her temper under tight control. "If it will put your mind at rest, I'll ask Noah to show them to me again."
"No. Don't do that. Just let it alone! Look, I just don't want you to get too emotionally involved with the man. I don't give a damn if you've been to bed with him; you're both adults. However, I made the stupid assumption that that wouldn't happen, based on your past history. You sure as hell didn't sleep around in Bell Harbor!"
"How would you know?" Sloan demanded irately.
"How would I know?" he repeated with biting sarcasm. "I know when you got your first permanent tooth! How the hell do you think I know?" Leaning forward, he braced his forearms on his knees and glared at his drink as he rolled the glass between his hands. When he spoke again, he sounded more weary and worried than angry. "How involved are you with Maitland, emotionally, I mean?"
He asked the question with an almost paternal concern, and Sloan responded firmly but without any rancor. "That's none of your business."
He reached the correct conclusion on his own, and his lips quirked in a sardonic half smile as he stared at his glass and stated his conclusion: "That sounds pretty damned involved…"
"Paul?"
He looked up at her.
"Why are we talking about Noah when someone in this house has been murdered? Didn't anything about that session in the living room just now strike you as a little odd?"
To her relief, he didn't persist in discussing Noah. "I don't know. I suppose I was distracted. What specifically are you referring to?"
"They said a window was broken in the study and the murderer supposedly came in that way. That makes no sense. The drapes were open and she was in plain view, watching television. Even if she didn't see him at first, she would have heard the glass break."
"Maybe not, if he was quiet enough and the television set was loud enough to distract her."
"But why would a thief take a chance like that when he could have broken in through one of the other rooms? And why didn't she notice him as he was breaking in, and then try to escape?"
"Her vision wasn't good and the windows were on her left. If she was concentrating on television, she might not have seen him until it was too late."
"Her vision wasn't good, but she was a long way from being blind! She was found on the sofa, which means the murderer had to break the window, open it, crawl in, then stroll over to her and shoot her before she noticed him. Either that," Sloan finished meaningfully, "or she didn't think she needed to be afraid of whoever shot her."
"The medical examiner will be able to tell who was where when it happened."
Sloan had the feeling he was still preoccupied with Noah for some reason, and it frustrated her to the point of anger or tears. "Can't you see where I'm going with all this?"
