Rage of Angels by Sidney Sheldon

Adam put his hand on her arm. “Please, don’t go. I can’t let you go. Not yet.”

Reluctantly, Jennifer sat down.

Adam’s eyes were fastened on her face. “Do you ever think of me?”

Jennifer looked up at him and did not know whether to laugh or cry. Did she ever think of him! He lived in her house. She kissed him good morning every day, made his breakfast, went sailing with him, loved him. “Yes,” Jennifer said finally, “I think of you.”

“I’m glad. Are you happy?”

“Of course.” She knew she had said it too quickly. She made her voice more casual. “I have a successful practice, I’m well off financially, I travel a great deal, I see a lot of attractive men. How is your wife?”

“She’s fine.” His voice was low.

“And your daughter?”

He nodded, and there was pride in his face. “Samantha’s wonderful. She’s just growing up too fast.”

She would be Joshua’s age.

“You’ve never married?”

“No.”

There was a long moment, and then Jennifer tried to continue, but she had hesitated too long. It was too late. Adam had looked into her eyes and he had known instantly.

He clasped her hand in his. “Oh, Jennifer. Oh, my darling!”

Jennifer could feel the blood rushing to her face. She had known all along that this would be a terrible mistake.

“I have to go, Adam. I have an appointment.”

“Break it,” he urged.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” All she wanted to do was get out of there, to get her son away from there, to flee back home.

Adam was saying, “I’m supposed to fly back to Washington on an afternoon plane. I can arrange to stay over if you’ll see me tonight.”

“No. No!”

“Jennifer, I can’t let you go again. Not like this. We have to talk. Just have dinner with me.”

He was pressing her hand tighter. She looked at him and fought with all her strength and found herself weakening.

“Please, Adam,” she begged. “We shouldn’t be seen together. If you’re after Michael Moretti—”

“This has nothing to do with Moretti. A friend of mine has offered me the use of his boat. It’s called the Paloma Blanca. It’s docked at the Yacht Club. Eight o’clock.”

“I won’t be there.”

“I will. I’ll be waiting for you.”

 

 

Across the room, at the crowded bar, Nick Vito was sitting with two Mexican puttanas a friend had delivered to him. Both were pretty and coarse and underage, the way Nick Vito liked them. His friend had promised they would be special, and he had been right. They were rubbing up against him, whispering exciting promises in his ear, but Nick Vito was not listening. He was staring across the room at the booth where Jennifer Parker and Adam Warner were seated.

“Why don’t we go up to your room now, querido?” one of the girls suggested to Nick.

Nick Vito was tempted to walk over to Jennifer and the stranger she was with and say hello, but both girls had their hands between his legs and were stroking him. He was going to make one hell of a sandwich.

“Yeah, let’s go upstairs,” Nick Vito said.

 

 

45

 

The Paloma Blanca was a motor sailer and it shone proud and white and gleaming in the moonlight. Jennifer approached it slowly, looking around to make sure that no one had observed her. Adam had told her he would elude the secret service men and apparently he had succeeded. After Jennifer had seated Joshua and Mrs. Mackey at Maria Elena, she had taken a taxi and had had the driver drop her off two blocks before the pier.

Jennifer had picked up the phone half a dozen times to call Adam to say she would not meet him. She had started to write a note, then had torn it up. From the moment she had left Adam at the bar, Jennifer had been in an agony of indecision. She thought of all the reasons why she should not see Adam. Nothing good could possibly come of it, and it could lead to a tremendous amount of harm. Adam’s career could be at stake. He was riding on a crest of public popularity, an idealist in a time of cynicism, the country’s hope for the future. He was the darling of the media, but the same press that had helped to create him would be out there waiting to push him into the abyss if he betrayed their image of him.