“Easy, Danny, easy. Help is almost here. You know the cops, you know how fast they come for one of their own.”
“Spen…cer,” Danny croaked.
“Yes, yes, I’ll get Spencer. Danny, listen to me, you’ve got to help us. Come on, buddy! Danny, who did this? Who—”
“Spencer!” Danny managed again. Blood oozed past his lips. He tried to form words again. “Spencer!” Danny mouthed. His eyes were glazing.
“Hold on, Danny, hold on. Don’t you die on me. I love you, you skinny little rich kid! Danny!”
He could hear the sirens. He could even hear the chopper blades. He’d said he needed the trauma unit, and they’d believed him. Help would be there in a matter of seconds.
The med techs arrived, already ripping open packages of bandages, starting an IV. There were hands on David’s shoulders.
“David!”
He turned.
Lieutenant Oppenheim, Danny’s superior, once his own, stood behind him. “David, let them do their work. If anyone can save Danny, it’s these guys. What happened? Who did this?”
Oppenheim was an old-timer on the force, white-haired, tall, solid as a barrel.
“I don’t know—he was supposed to meet me on the street. He was late. I came back to call and turned around—”
He looked at Danny. His friend was on a stretcher. Someone was radioing to the helicopter, and they were choosing a place for it to land.
“David, what the hell happened. Do you know? Did Danny say?”
David shook his head, staring at Danny as if he could keep him alive by watching him. “He was supposed to meet me. He was late. I came in to call his house and he was at my door. Just like that.”
“Did he say anything?”
David shook his head. “Just Spencer. His wife’s name.”
Ten minutes to go! Spencer switched off the water and stepped from the shower, toweling herself strenuously, a slight smile curving her lips. She dropped the towel and picked up her brush and hair dryer, fluffing up the heavy blond mass on her head as best she could in the time she had left. It was going to be perfect, she determined. Just perfect. And she knew just what she was going to do.
Seconds later she was slipping into a black garter belt with sheer black stockings and a pair of black heels. She found Danny’s black silk tie in the closet and tied in loosely around her neck. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Basic black. Danny had told her once that he liked her in black, and that he would like her best in a black tie and nothing more. Well, that was what he was getting today, because this was going to be special.
She turned quickly from the mirror and hurried down the stairs, pausing only to make certain that the drapes were drawn.
They were.
She rushed into the kitchen, dragged out and filled the ice bucket and grabbed a special bottle of Dom Perignon, then ran to the living room. She threw a lace cover over the Victorian coffee table, plopped the ice bucket on it with the champagne, and raced to the kitchen to fix two crystal bowls of grapes, one bunch green, the other purple. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes. He should be back within five minutes.
She arranged herself on the coffee table, sitting between the two bowls of grapes, the champagne behind her and just to the left. She jumped up, glanced at her watch again and hurried to the front door. It had to be open. She would ruin the whole effect if she had to open the door for Danny, which she would, since he didn’t carry a key in his jogging shorts.
She raced to the coffee table and sat down again, legs crossed Indian fashion. She waited, her heart ticking furiously. Did she look sexy? Or foolish? She smiled and decided that it didn’t matter; they would laugh one way or the other. And if they managed the desired result, then anything was worth it! Danny wanted kids so damned badly. He’d been a lonely little boy, which so few people understood. And she felt uncomfortably as if she had failed him in so many ways, and yet she wanted what he wanted more than anything in the world.
She stared at the door a bit uneasily. What if the mailman opened the door? No, the mailman never came until past noon. Never. UPS? No, they rang the doorbell, they didn’t just walk in.
A bum? A psychopathic murderer?
Spencer! she chastised herself. It would be just minutes until Danny came back. Maybe he was having coffee with David. Maybe, being Danny, he’d felt guilty about canceling an appointment. Maybe—despite what he’d said to her—he was even telling David the truth. They were best friends. Always best friends. Nothing had come between them. Not even her.
She’d never wanted to ruin anyone’s friendship; it was just that she had been so certain that David Delgado was out of her life. That the hurt was gone, that the tempest was over. She’d been so young when she’d fallen for David. She’d never imagined that anything could be as wild as it had been with David, as passionate, as hateful, as…
“Stop!” she charged herself out loud, closing her eyes tightly. She was sitting all but stark naked on a coffee table waiting for her husband to come home so that they could make a baby together. A baby they both wanted. A husband who was one of the best men in the entire world.
She was waiting for Danny, but if she didn’t get a grip on herself, she would be remembering the first time she’d ever made love. With his best friend.
David Delgado.
“If it’s a girl, I think I like the name Kyra,” she said out loud. “I wonder what Danny thinks of it? He’ll never tell me, I know. He’ll be so happy we’re going to have a baby that he won’t give a damn about a name at all.”
It had been at Sly’s house. She’d been sixteen years old at the time, and he hadn’t been much older. And, like everything that had happened between them, she’d forced the issue. He never wanted to touch her; she was Sly’s granddaughter, and he’d loved Sly ever since he’d met him. But Terry-Sue was after him big time, and Spencer just hadn’t been able to bear it. She had known what she wanted all the time she was forcing the fight and pushing him into a corner. She had known what she wanted….
She just hadn’t been prepared for what she had gotten. Or what would follow…
“If it’s a boy, it will be Daniel, of course,” she said loudly.
Then she heard the tapping at the door. She smiled. Danny was home, and she really did love him. Together they always dispelled all the demons of the past. Almost made them go away for good.
“It’s open, come right in!” she called.
The door swung inward, and she saw a tall silhouette framed there against the rising sun. He took a step into the house, and even before she saw his features, she knew he was all wrong, too tall, too broad shouldered to be Danny, wire muscled, tense—and dark where Danny was blond. This man had ebony dark hair and bronzed, taut features.
“David!” she gasped. Her breathing seemed to cease, her heart to stop beating. She felt like an idiot, cross-legged, naked on the table—her black tie perfectly in place.
She leaped up and all but hurled herself across the room, tearing an afghan from the back of a sofa and wrapping herself in it, then staring at the man who was staring at her in return. She wished that she could crawl beneath the coffee table.
Then she started babbling. “I’m—ah, I was just waiting for Danny to get back. He was going to talk to you. Did you miss him? There’s coffee in the kitchen. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go get dressed—”
“Spencer,” he said. Just that, and nothing more. His tone was level, but it held a wealth of agony. He didn’t tease her, didn’t even make an offhand comment. He just stared at her, and suddenly she felt a gripping chill. And she knew. She knew from the raspy sound