Veil Of Fear

Mary quickly opened the door and stepped aside. “Camille! Come in, please. Did we have plans that I’ve forgotten?”

Camille entered the foyer and smiled. Even before nine in the morning, not a glimmering blond hair was out of place. Her black Donna Karan suit was perfectly suited to Camille’s tall, slender form. A simple gold brooch was her only adornment. Even though Mary thought the pale sable coat draped over her shoulders was a bit of an overstatement for a warm spring day, Camille was, as always, perfectly attired.

Mary sorely wished she’d chosen a different outfit. Even when she looked her very best, she felt frumpy beside Camille.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so early,” Camille said with her perfectly modulated voice. “And, no, we didn’t have an appointment. Actually, I had a yen to go over to Alexandria for some shopping. There’s a marvelous new boutique that Julie Stennard says is just too divine. Anyway, after I dropped the senator off, I decided on the spur of the moment to see if you wanted to go.”

Camille was the only person Mary had ever met who habitually referred to her husband by his title rather than his given name. “I’m afraid I have other plans today, Camille, but thanks for asking.” Leading the way into the living room, Mary asked, “Can I get you a cup of coffee? I was just about to make myself some toast.”

Camille took a few steps inside, then hesitated. “I’d love to, but maybe I’d better pass. As I said, I just stopped by on the spur of the moment. My car’s in the loading zone out front. Are we all still on for dinner tonight?”

“As far as I know,” Mary said.

“Then I’ll see you tonight. Have you and Jonathan decided yet on a date for the big event?”

“No. I imagine we’ll pick one pretty soon.”

“Well, my dear, you’d better get moving. You cannot imagine the million details we’ll have to attend to right away. Besides, you can’t even book the reception hall or the church until you’ve decided on a date.”

“I know. And I promise, we’ll make a decision soon.” Mary opened the door and Camille walked out into the corridor.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Camille reached into her oversize handbag and extracted a package. “This is for you.”

“Why, thank you!” Mary said, totally surprised. She’d recognized the extravagant packaging immediately. It was her favorite brand of chocolates. The forty-dollar a pound variety. She had always thought that Camille merely tolerated her because of Jonathan. And here Camille was, giving her a gift. What a lovely gesture. Mary made an immediate mental vow to try her best to warm up to Camille Castnor. “Please, let me fix you some coffee and let’s dive into this box.”

“No, thanks.” Camille laughed. “I’ve been a chocoholic ever since Jonathan bought me my first box of Splendoras. If I eat even one, I’ll snatch the entire package out of your hands.”

“I know what you mean. But I certainly appreciate this.”

Camille pulled her sable around her shoulders, and slipped her purse under her arm. “No trouble. I’ll see you this evening then.”

“Bye.”

Mary locked the door and carried the beautiful gold-foiled box into the dining room. Her lips curved in an eager smile.

Feeling like a naughty child, Mary untied the midnight blue ribbon. She hadn’t even known such things as Splendora Chocolates existed before Jonathan presented her with a two-pound box on their second date. It had been love at first bite.

Mary could hear her mother’s voice in her head, chiding her for even thinking about eating candy for breakfast. Laughing out loud, she decided that was one of the best things about being an adult—she could darn well eat chocolate for breakfast if she wanted. And she wanted.

Mary lifted the sparkling gold lid and selected one from the center—hazelnut liqueur, her favorite.

Carrying her gilded box into the living room, she curled up in her customary spot in the corner of the sofa and bit into the delicious confection. Heaven. Pure unadulterated heaven. Although a little sweeter than she remembered. But then, she’d never eaten Splendora Chocolates this early in the morning before.

Feeling totally decadent, Mary decided to delay her phone calls for a while. She topped off her coffee from the carafe on the end table, picked up a half-finished novel and draped a woolly afghan over her lap. One hour. She’d be a sloth for just one hour.

Mary licked a smear of dark chocolate from her fingertip. She could do serious damage to this box of delight in an hour.

* * *

FOR SOME inexplicable reason, Trace found himself whistling as he ambled down the hallway to Mary’s apartment. In complete contrast to his initial reaction to this assignment, Trace found himself looking forward to the next few weeks.

Since he’d gone into the private security business, he’d found himself guarding a half-dozen beautiful women. But their beauty had all been artifice. Faces surgically sculpted, individually applied false eyelashes, and fake nails an inch long. Mary Wilder, on the other hand, was a refreshingly natural beauty.

Twice now, he’d seen her looking...scruffy was the kindest word he could think of. But she hadn’t apologized or made excuses. She was who she was. That was a rare quality in a Washington socialite.

It was just too damn bad she had that five-pound diamond on her ring finger.

Burdened with packages of security devices, Trace paused outside her apartment. Lifting his foot, he lightly kicked the bottom of the door. “Mary! Open up. It’s Trace.”

There was no answering grumble from the other side of the door.

Deciding that she must not have heard him, he leaned over and punched the doorbell with his elbow.

Still, a full minute passed and Mary didn’t respond.

Annoyance rapidly mutating into concern, Trace dropped his bags and fumbled in his pocket for the key she’d given him. For once, he hoped she’d forgotten his standing order to keep the security bolt engaged.

While he was feeling for the loose key, Trace used his other hand to pound on the door. “Mary? Are you all right? Answer me!”

Not a sound emerged from the too-quiet suite.

Finally finding the key, Trace inserted it into the lock and pushed against the door. Thankfully, Mary had neglected to lock the security bolt and the door swung open.

Trace stepped inside and paused. “Mary? Are you in here?”

Only silence greeted his call.

Easing the door closed behind him, Trace drew his service revolver from the concealed holster beneath his windbreaker.

His senses were on full alert now and he moved into the dim apartment one careful step at a time. Slowly, stealthily, he made his way into the living room. Empty. As were the dining room and kitchen.

His back almost skimming the wall, Trace started down the hall to Mary’s room. Stopping outside the guest bedroom, he eased open the door. Dropping low, he jumped into the room, his gun held at arm’s length. After a quick but thorough check of the vacant room, he headed back toward Mary’s bedroom.

Her door was half-open and he could see that her rumpled bed was unoccupied. Using his shoulder, he pushed the door fully open, until the knob made contact with the wall. Then he stepped inside.

This room, too, appeared deserted.

At that moment, Trace detected the sound of running water in the adjoining bathroom. A shudder of relief rippled through him and he realized he’d been holding his breath.

Dropping his gun hand to his side, he crossed the room and rapped on the bathroom door with his knuckle. “Mary? Are you all right in there?”

Almost instantly, the door opened and she stepped out.

Trace sucked in a deep breath of alarm. Instead of the perky, somewhat contentious woman he’d been expecting, a wan and frightened Mary Wilder slumped against him.

Shoving his revolver into its holster, Trace lifted her weak body into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her head on the soft pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin.

He knelt beside her and took her trembling hand in his. “What is it, honey? What’s happened?”