Night Words

By Justine Wittich

Nevada Shay has done her best to distance herself from the theater, but now she has an actor/dancer living one floor up. And Mackenzie Reid insists on discovering her secrets — such as the reason she avoids the theater, her all-night talk radio show, “Night Words,” and the fact that a stalker wants to destroy her. Contemporary Romantic Suspense by Justine Wittich; originally published by Thomas Bouregy & Co.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belgrave House
• Release date: Feb 24, 1997
• ISBN: 9781610843218

Book preview

Wittich

CHAPTER ONE

The eyes were out there, watching. As she moved to center stage, Nevada could feel them, but she couldn’t see them. With a burst of bravado she broke into the last chorus of Tomorrow.

As she held the last note, Nevada looked across the footlights at the sea of nameless faces, seeking desperately to identify them, the nameless ghouls who threatened her. Moonlight blanched the scene, smudging the faces in the audience into a flat, anonymous mass.

Rain landed on her cheeks. Nevada couldn’t understand why the audience remained, unaffected by the shower, while she was bombarded by water.

Lukewarm drops splashed on her forehead and rolled down her nose. Dampness gathered around her knees. Nevada opened her eyes, only to see tiny streams of water flowing from the lead points of the antique Tiffany chandelier over her bed. The soggy comforter clung to her legs. She rolled to the side of the bed and lay there, panting.

She hadn’t had the nightmare for years. Now the threatening letters had brought it back. She willed the horror to disappear. Her technique for burying fear, perfected over the years, was only partially successful, but at last now she was fully awake. Why on earth was water falling into her bedroom? A glance out the French doors across the room assured her that the snow which had begun on her way home from work was still falling.

She stared up at the light fixture, concentrating on the problem. The solution was simple. Her illustrious upstairs neighbor was a type Nevada Shay knew firsthand. Closing her eyes resignedly, she murmured, Theater people. He’s left the bathtub faucets running. Probably picked up a mirror to admire himself and forgot the world existed. She shivered.

The immediate need to go upstairs and inform the newest resident of the converted mansion that he had initiated a flood in her apartment relegated the dream to the farthest corner of her mind.

Rivulets of water had run off the chintz comforter and soaked the hooked rug beside her bed. As Nevada’s feet hit the soggy surface, she shuddered. Locating her slippers, she slid her feet into them, pushed the bed to one side, and searched for a bucket to put under the chandelier.

Minutes later, she trudged up the broad, curving staircase to the second floor, mentally rehearsing tactful approaches that would bring the great Mackenzie Reid back to earth.

* * * *

Mac Reid wasn’t expecting anyone and wasn’t in a particularly welcoming mood. He preferred to deal with one crisis at a time, and his bedroom was a mess. The sight which greeted him when he opened his apartment door reminded him that groupies existed all over the world. Why should a small university campus in Ohio be exempt?

Fans are what keep a star a star, his agent had reminded him not long ago. Unfortunately, they were usually women, and the apparition on his doorstep wasn’t a particularly appealing specimen. Wildly curling red hair created a living halo around a white face notable only for round blue eyes which reminded him of an urchin supplied by central casting.

Mac lowered his questioning gaze to the Spider-Man likeness splashed across the front of the sweatshirt which covered her to mid-thigh. Lower still, his eyes encountered the waving ears of the most realistic rabbit slippers he’d ever seen.

Looking directly into her eyes, he blurted, Where’s Sandy?

Without missing a beat, she answered, Tied to the fire hydrant out front. Mr. Reid, would you be so kind as to turn off your bathtub faucets?

Pleased by the way she caught his reference to the comic strip, he was caught off guard. My what?

Your bathtub’s overflowing. The water’s coming out the light fixture in my bedroom.

Her articulation was flawless; the low, smoky voice had a haunting timbre. Mac felt an instinctive visceral response which added to his confusion. It’s not my tub, Miss ah . . .

Shay, Mr. Reid. Nevada Shay. You’d better check, because Until five minutes ago, I was asleep under a waterfall.

* * * *

Nevada hadn’t made allowance for the magnetic energy that emanated from his spare, broad-shouldered frame at close range. Charisma reached out and tugged at her senses. She steeled herself against it while inspecting him closely — in hopes of finding something negative.

Rumpled brown hair fell over his forehead, nearly covering dark, arched brows. His face was bony and lean, with very human-looking laughter lines creasing his forehead and fanning from the corners of his mouth. She’d have recognized those famous eyes if he’d turned green and grown a third arm. They were deep set, heavily lashed, dark gray, and so alive she felt as if she were being drawn into them.

Nevada reminded herself that physical magnetism was his stock in trade. Besides, he wasn’t even looking at her. He had turned, calling to someone in the room behind him.

Rug rat! Front and center. His gaze swung back to her as he apologized, It’s not my bathtub. It’s my waterbed. He narrowed his eyes and asked, What have you done recently?

The question wasn’t what she expected. Nevada’s attention had been focused on the room behind him. No one sat on either of the black leather couches, and the circle of light from the ornate lamp residing on the polished surface of an antique secretary was unbroken.

Her response to the show business vernacular was automatic, but she retained enough native caution to evade the question. Nothing.

 A thin, tow-headed youngster came to stand beside Mac Reid. He extended one long hand, wrapping it affectionately around the child’s slender neck. This is my nephew, Rob. He’s visiting this weekend, and I made the mistake of telling him I’d give him fencing lessons. He was trying out my antique saber and cut a slice through the bed . . . just as he jumped on it.

The actor’s affectionate smile was transforming. Nevada wondered if she’d imagined the exhaustion on his features seconds before. How could a simple thing like the contraction of muscles produce such a startling effect? She felt an irrational twinge of disappointment that the lavish charm was directed at the boy by his side.

The ex-school teacher in her surfaced. You left a dangerous weapon like that in the hands of a ten-year old?

Excellent guess, Ms. Shay. But a thirty-five-year-old in disguise. This is his dragon slayer phase, and he was practicing. In spite of the deprecating words, his flexible actor’s voice held deep affection.

The boy pushed black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his skinny nose and hunched his shoulders self-consciously. I didn’t mean to do it, ma’am. I was pretending to chop the head off the dragon, and I sort of lost my balance.

Mac gave the boy a gentle push forward. Go down and help Ms. Shay mop up the mess in her bedroom. He swung his attention to Nevada. I’ll call an electrician to check that light fixture.

I can’t spend all day waiting for him. I have to get back to sleep, Nevada protested.

* * * *

The texture of her voice tugged at his memory, and Mac took a more comprehensive look at Nevada Shay. Although she still could pass as a groupie out of his worst nightmares, he decided her legs weren’t at all skinny — in fact he considered them well above average. Realizing his thoughts had digressed, Mac looked at his watch. It’s well after noon, Ms. Shay. Late night?

I work nights on the weekends.

Mac was amused by her uncommunicative answer. His curiosity aroused, he sympathized, Anything to get through school. I worked in a diner. I still can’t eat hash browns.

Anything for a buck. All Rob can do is help me carry out a rug. If I don’t get back to sleep, I’ll catch a catnap before I go in this evening. It’s been nice to meet you, Mr. Reid. She beckoned to the boy and headed for the stairwell.

Mac watched his nephew talking animatedly with the red-haired Ms. Shay as they descended the stairs. Was she the slightest bit stingy with personal information? Most students

would have launched into a description of their night job, or at least grabbed the opportunity to establish some sort of rapport with him. It didn’t matter; he probably wouldn’t see that much of her anyway.

As Mac turned he inhaled deeply. The scent of a Givenchy fragrance tantalized his nostrils. Since when did ragamuffins wear Givenchy?

He returned to the disaster in his bedroom, conjuring his last view of his neighbor, intrigued in spite of himself.

* * * *

The damage in Nevada’s room was less than her sleep-clogged eyes had estimated. Only an intermittent drip fell into the strategically placed bucket. Help me with that comforter first, Rob. I’ll put it in the dryer. Then we can spread the rug over some chairs in the laundry room to dry. When the boy didn’t respond immediately, she repeated her request.

I like the way you have your bed in the middle of the room. You must feel awfully free, sleeping this way.

Definitely a thirty-five-year-old in disguise. You’re the first person who’s figured that out, Rob. Not that anyone ever saw her bedroom. She wondered if she were transparent to his steady, dark gray gaze. A change of subject was in order. As she tugged on the comforter, she asked, How long are you going to be visiting your uncle?

Just till tomorrow night. My mom’s in Pittsburgh visiting her boyfriend. That’s really why Mac took the job at the college here . . . so he could keep an eye on me. He doesn’t know I figured that out, though.

Nevada resisted the urge to hug Rob’s narrow shoulders. He would probably be embarrassed. Great, then you’ll be here often. She heaved the comforter over her shoulder. I’ll can get this. While I’m gone, get the mop. It’s in the closet in the kitchen. Thank heaven the rug absorbed most of the water. If too much had landed on that parquet floor, we’d be in trouble with the landlord.

During her trip to the basement of the old mansion and back, Rob’s words ran through her head. What kind of a mother did he have? Many of the students she had taught in California came from unsettled backgrounds, but she realized the separation disease existed everywhere. What a ghastly living situation for a bright, sensitive child! Nevada wondered if having this particular uncle on the scene would offer much more in the way of stability. Where was the child’s father?

Mac Reid. When she had first heard he was to live above her, she had given little thought to the possible impact of his presence. Surely, at thirty, she was beyond fluttering over a celebrity. Besides, she’d known performers at all levels of success all her life.

Rob met her at the apartment door, struggling manfully with the soggy hooked rug. The two carried it downstairs and draped the sagging folds over several old chairs which had been relegated to the basement. I don’t know what I’d have done without you, partner. That wet rug is heavy.

Eying her speculatively, Rob said, You could have handled it. You’re a lot stronger than you look . . . and older. At first I thought you were just a regular student, but you’re not, are you?

Rob, you’re going to have me looking over my shoulder. Come on up and have some chocolate chip cookies. I just made them yesterday. If you tell me you don’t want any, I’ll know for sure you’re a forty-year-old clairvoyant who’s been through a shrink machine. She consciously avoided confirming his guess.

Chocolate chip is my favorite.

Mine too. You and I’ll get along fine.

As they re-entered her apartment, she watched his furtive inspection of the big living room. If he criticized her decor, Nevada planned to ban him from the premises for life. Make yourself at home while I get the cookies. Milk or soda?

He made no answer; her guest had already fallen under the spell of the poster-laden walls and the extensive computer setup. Nevada left him to his explorations. If she was any judge of ten-year-olds, soda was the drink of choice for proper decadence.

She returned to find him flipping excitedly through a box of computer disks. What do you think of those?

Wow! You’ve got all kinds of neat stuff in here. Even a lot I’ve never heard of! Can I boot up and play some games?

Another time. Let me know when you’ll be visiting your uncle, so I can make sure to be here. Eat your cookies. You’ve still got a mess upstairs, remember?

The postponement didn’t seem to distress him unduly. Nevada wondered if he were accustomed to being put off. As he joined her, she reinforced her offer. I really mean it, Rob. If I know when you’ll be here on a weekend, I’ll shift my sleep schedule. Those games are experimental. You’d be doing me a real favor if you try them out and give me a critique.

Awesome. Like you designed them yourself? I thought your setup was too sophisticated for an amateur. Two cookies disappeared down his throat, inhaled rather than chewed.

"Like I did them myself. I have all kinds, but most are for average kids. There are three or four where I really let myself go. You might like those."

His glass held to his lips, Rob surveyed the walls again. He swallowed, then asked, Why is everything all mixed up? You’ve got Luxembourg, The Who, New York City Ballet, that guy from the late movies, Johnny Cash and all that stuff sort of `together,’ you know what I mean?

I probably mix them up for the same reason I put my bed in the middle of the room. Why did she feel defensive answering a kid?

I like it. I’ve just never seen anybody’s living room decorated with nothing but posters. His attention focused on the corner. That’s Hobbes over there.

Nevada’s eyes surveyed the four foot tall stuffed tiger with affection. I’m his Calvin. We talk.

I’d better get back upstairs. Can I have your telephone number? Two more cookies disappeared.

Sure. There’s paper on that desk over there. Write on the back of anything you find. I’ll put some cookies in a bag for you. Nevada called the numbers over her shoulder as she went to the kitchen. Just as she finished reciting the digits, there was a knock at the door.

"The electrician will be here any time. I