Cut And Run

“Darling,” he said gently, “let me take you home.”

She was so grateful for her husband, for his goodness, but now she struggled against him, telling herself this time she had to fight, she had to go to her daughter and protect her from this. “Juliana—”

“She’ll understand, Catharina. You don’t have to congratulate her after every performance. She knows she has your undying support. Look, I’ll call her in the morning. Besides, Shuji’s here tonight.” Adrian gave her a small smile, maintaining a sense of false cheer, but there was no answering twinkle in his wife’s eyes. He was terrified. “They’ll have to have their postperformance fight. You wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

“You don’t understand…”

“I think I do. You’re not yourself tonight. Catharina, you can’t do everything. You can’t be all things to all people. You’re overtired. We’ll go up to Connecticut for a few days if you want.” They had an old farmhouse they were restoring themselves in Litchfield County. “The air will do you good.”

Catharina found herself unable to argue, and she nodded meekly, feeling foolish, a child again, the silly, innocent girl whom everyone had tried to protect. She went with Adrian into the lobby but still looked around madly for Rachel. What was happening? Rachel, my God, where are you? Was their meeting off? If not, what would she tell Adrian? If so, what would she do next? Go home and pretend none of this had ever happened?

But Rachel was gone, and Adrian, his arm tight around his wife, led Catharina toward the exit. When they were outside in the cold December night, she looked back toward the bright lights of the performing arts center and felt herself strangling with indecision.

Adrian opened a cab door, and she climbed inside.

Sam Ryder had gotten waylaid by an elderly gentleman and his fur-coated wife, and Stark was able to beat him backstage, where he knew Sam would be headed just as soon as he got rid of the old couple. Matthew had seen the senator’s reaction to Juliana Fall. He had to admit she’d nearly knocked him out of his seat when she’d walked on stage, but he could keep his perspective. An ex–chopper pilot, ex-author, ex-famous reporter and an internationally known concert pianist just weren’t going to make it. Fantasyland. Besides, she was probably just your basic airhead artistic type who would say, “Matthew Stark?” Which, he realized, more and more people were doing these days.

Sam Ryder, however, didn’t think like that. He’d never met a woman who didn’t want anything to do with him, and he assumed none existed. Maybe Matthew was wrong, and Juliana Fall would drop dead for him. But he didn’t think so.

He flashed his press credentials and approached her dressing room, ducking aside, within earshot but out of sight. He grinned to himself: hot-shot reporter that you are, snooping on a piano player. A good-looking Asian guy stalked past him and went in to see Ms. Pianist herself.

“Shuji—Jesus Christ, scare the shit out of me, why don’t you!”

Matthew felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Shit? Well, he thought, maybe Ryder hadn’t met any Dutchman and Weaze had sent him on a wild goose chase, but it seemed poor old Sammy Ryder just might need Stark’s help after all—to rescue him from one Juliana Fall.

Juliana guiltily shoved the black crepe dress behind her and manufactured a welcoming smile for Shuji. “Sorry,” she said, “but you startled me. How are you?”

Banalities, she thought. Shuji hated them, and he frowned at her because, of course, she should have known better. She had not asked the obvious questions. What did you think of my performance tonight, Shuji? Did I sound like I’m in a funk? She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answers, even if she had time, which she decidedly did not.

“Interesting performance,” Shuji said.

From long experience, Juliana realized that could mean anything. She dropped her dress, ever so casually, on a chair. Crumpled up, it looked like a normal black dress. A few months old instead of fifty years. Something Juliana Fall might wear to a postconcert dinner.

“You were on tonight,” Shuji continued, folding his arms across his chest. He was dressed entirely in black, as was his custom, and looked as fit and energetic as ever. His only vice was an occasional cigarette. “But still I heard something. I’m not sure I liked it, but I’m not sure, either, that what I heard is without possibilities. I’ve been thinking, Juliana, and—”

“Look, Shuji,” Juliana interrupted, a perilous act in and of itself, trying not to show she was in a tearing hurry, “whatever it is, I’ll listen for it, all right? But right now I’m tired.”

If possible, his frown deepened. “You don’t want to discuss this?”

“No.”

“All right.” He spoke tightly, gazing at her through narrowed eyes, and she knew it decidedly was not all right. “Are you still planning to go to Vermont?”

“For a few days, yes. I need some time out.”

“I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t go.”

Oh, shit, she thought, will you just leave?

Shuji walked around, pacing angrily, and picked up her sequined turban, which she’d forgotten completely. “What the hell’s this?”

“A turban.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. It’s not mine. Someone must have left it here.” She huffed in frustration. “Damn it, Shuji, a few days in Vermont isn’t a vacation. The way I’ve been going, it’s hardly even a break. Don’t ruin it for me, okay? Look, I don’t want to argue with you, and anyway now’s not a good time to talk. I’m in a hurry. I forgot you were coming, and I made plans.”

There, she’d said it. Shuji spun around toward her, his narrowed eyes flashing angrily. “You forgot I was coming?”

She almost smiled—she’d known that would get him off the track. “I’ve been rattled lately—which is one reason I could use a break.”

“I take time from my own busy schedule to attend this concert, and you forgot I was coming? You ungrateful little witch!” He slammed the palms of his hands together with a restrained fury she found reassuring. Eric Shuji Shizumi was always easier to deal with when he was roaringly pissed. “How the hell have I put up with you all these years!”

“Just be glad you never married me,” Juliana said lightly, attempting to diffuse his anger.

Shuji just glared at her.

A gentle rap on the door interrupted them, and Shuji hissed impatiently but quickly recovered his poise as a tall, boyishly handsome man poked his head in and said, “Excuse me—”

Juliana held back a groan. “Yes, what is it?”

“Be nice,” Shuji warned under his breath. “Wouldn’t want your public to think you’re a snot.”

She resisted making a face at him. He gave her a wry, nasty grin and, without another word, stormed out. Damn him, Juliana thought, damn him, damn him, why couldn’t he just leave her alone?

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Fall,” the man in the doorway said. He gave her a dashing smile that was unexpectedly sincere. “I’m Samuel Ryder.”

He paused, obviously expecting that she would recognize his name. She didn’t. She did, however, notice his eyes, a dreamy baby blue, a child’s eyes in a man’s face. They were oddly appealing—and somehow disturbing, perhaps because the rest of him seemed so polished and sophisticated. She said automatically, “Pleased to meet you.”

“I wanted to congratulate you on your performance this evening.” He came into the dressing room, at once bold and tentative. “This was my first opportunity to hear you, and I assure you, it won’t be my last. You were mesmerizing.”

She hadn’t heard that line in a while but silently chastised herself for being so cynical. Maybe he meant it. “Thank you,” she said politely. “It’s very nice of you to take the time to tell me so personally.” Now will you leave so I can become someone else?

He didn’t seem to know what to say next. On purpose, she’d left him no natural opening. He caught himself twisting his fingers together and suddenly shoved them into the pockets of his elegant evening overcoat. It was unbuttoned and underneath was a stylish black tuxedo over an obviously trim body. Juliana could almost hear her friends telling her not to be so damn critical—a rich, handsome, interested man was a rich, handsome, interested man.

She felt a touch of sympathy for him. He looked so lost, so lonely. Had she had that effect on him, her music? The Beethoven was a powerful piece. Yet she knew if Samuel Ryder was attracted to her, even just for tonight, it had little to do with her performance or who she really was. Experience had taught her that. Like others before him, Samuel Ryder was taken with his own fantasies about who she was and what she could mean to him. He was captivated by his own image of her. He knew nothing substantive about her temperament, her family, her intense, volatile, nonromantic relationship with Shuji. He knew nothing about J.J. Pepper.

She suspected Samuel Ryder wouldn’t approve of J.J.

But there was something so sweet and melancholy about the way he looked at her that she couldn’t be angry with him for his assumptions, nor could she denigrate how he felt. He was good-looking enough that she wondered if she was being too nasty in wanting to get rid of him. Even Shuji, who rarely noticed such things, had once commented that she was entirely too picky about men. Maybe he had a point. But Len’s baby grand at the Club Aquarian was waiting. Should she invite Ryder along? No, don’t be an ass! J.J. was her secret.

She smiled and watched his eyes melt. “It was nice meeting you, Mister Ryder, but if you’ll—”

Another man appeared in the doorway. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a hard, scarred face that Juliana found both compelling and a little frightening. His clothes were expensive but casual—and sexy. The face, the attire, the tough, compact body all seemed to go with the deep sardonic voice. “Hey, Sam, thought that was you.” He walked in, uninvited, and nodded at Juliana. “Ms. Fall.”

I will never get out of here, she thought.

But Ryder’s reaction interested her. He had stiffened visibly and paled. “Stark—Matthew,” he said, managing a smile as he put out his hand. There was no friendship in the gesture. Whoever Matthew Stark was, Sam Ryder didn’t want any part of him. “It’s been a long time.”