“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Trust me on this. The safest place for you and James is the house.”
“Okay.”
“I want you there waiting for him, got it?”
It was just like Teri to start issuing orders. Except that in this case, Christie didn’t object.
“When James gets there, you’ll have cooked a nice, romantic dinner, complete with soft music and lit candles.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked. They were in the middle of an emergency, and her sister was planning a honeymoon retreat.
“I don’t know what that reporter’s about to expose, but don’t hit James with it first thing. Let him relax and have a nice dinner and then tell him…gently.”
“That’s what you do with Bobby, isn’t it?”
Her sister laughed. “I try, but it doesn’t always work.”
“So you have this all figured out, do you?”
“Yes, and I was pretty clever about it, if I do say so myself.” Teri did seem excited. Weeks earlier she’d given Christie a key so she could house-sit. She and Bobby had spent a getaway weekend at the ocean, and Christie still had the key. She also had the code to the security alarm.
“There’s a salmon fillet in the refrigerator and a really nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in the wine cooler. You’re welcome to them both.”
Christie was overwhelmed. “I doubt I’ll be able to eat a single bite.”
“You can and you will.” Once more her sister sounded like a general barking orders to the troops. “Bobby’s promised to tell me everything. Now, get going. You haven’t got that long.”
“Does James know anything?”
“No…I didn’t tell him you’re going to be at the house.”
“You need to warn him!”
“No,” Teri countered. “For the moment, the less he knows, the better.”
Her sister was probably right.
Nervous though she was, Christie showered, washed her hair and borrowed Teri’s makeup, which was of a much higher quality than the bargain brands she bought for herself. Then she followed her instructions to the letter. The salmon was just about finished baking and the wine was on ice when the security alarm beeped, indicating that someone had entered the house.
Christie panicked.
Teri hadn’t given her one word of advice on what to say to James. Her impulse was to rush forward and blurt out what she’d learned—to protect him. But as Teri said, she needed to lead up to this carefully.
James must have sensed someone else was in the house, but when he stepped into the kitchen, he stopped cold. “Bobby didn’t say you were here,” he murmured. He didn’t seem pleased to see her.
Christie remained standing in the middle of the kitchen. She fiddled nervously with the top button of her blouse, then hurriedly removed the apron.
“Hello.”
James looked more than a little uncomfortable.
“Teri told me to prepare the salmon,” she explained. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
He didn’t answer.
“I’m actually a fairly good cook.”
Still silent, he glanced at the bottle of wine, nestled in a pewter wine cooler.
When he didn’t answer right away, she decided to take action. Focusing her attention on the salad she was making, she said, “You could open that for us.”
Instead James walked out of the room and Christie was convinced he wasn’t coming back. To her relief, he returned a moment later—without his heavy winter coat.
“I know it must be a shock finding me here at the house but let me assure you there’s a perfectly logical reason.” The oven timer buzzed; using two pot holders, she opened the door and took out the salmon. The kitchen was instantly filled with the scent of fresh dill and lemon.
The wild rice mixture on the stove started to boil over, and they both moved toward it, bumping shoulders. James looked at her; she looked at him. Grinning, he calmly reached over and removed the pan from the burner.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.
His words almost made her cry. “I’m glad I’m here, too,” she said, and to her acute embarrassment she blushed. It was harder than ever not to tell him everything.
He raised his hand to her face and slowly ran his finger from her temple down the side of her jaw to her chin. It was the most sensual thing any man had ever done to her. The only part of his body that touched her was his fingertip, yet Christie was ready to melt in his arms. She closed her eyes and struggled against her natural inclination to sway toward him. This wasn’t the time. She swallowed and eased away.
When her eyes opened again, she found him studying her. She moistened her lips. “Are you planning to…kiss me?”
James nodded.
“Would you mind…could you do it later?”
He grinned again. “I think I do mind.” With excruciating slowness, he lowered his mouth to hers. The kisses started out soft and easy, then gained intensity.
James was the one who took control. After several minutes, he broke the contact and simply held her. His breath was ragged.
Christie leaned against him. She couldn’t believe she’d had the most sensual encounter of her life standing in her sister’s kitchen—with all her clothes on.
“James, I…I have something very important to tell you,” she said once she found her voice. Keeping this news inside suddenly became impossible.
His hands were in her hair and it seemed as if he hadn’t heard her.
“Please,” she murmured. “Let’s sit down.” Taking James by the hand, she led him to the family room and they sat on the sofa.
Christie angled her body so that their knees touched. She reached for his hands and held them in her own. For a long moment she contemplated how to begin. Finally she told him in the simplest, most direct manner she could. “I came by here earlier and there was a man at the gate looking for you.”
“Me?” he asked with a frown.
“He seemed to think I was the housekeeper and I didn’t set him straight. It turned out to be a good thing.”
“Why?” His frown deepened.
“He asked me questions about you.”
“What kind of questions?”
“About your past…How long you’d worked for Bobby, whether you ever played chess, whether you mentioned where you were from. Stuff like that.”
James avoided eye contact.
“I know, James. I know everything now, and it doesn’t matter. None of it.”
His eyes widened and he tried to jerk his hands free of hers but she wouldn’t let him. Scrambling up on the sofa, she knelt beside him. “I can’t figure out how you and Bobby kept it a secret all these years.”
Again James tried to get away, and this time she stopped him by sitting on his lap. “James,” she whispered, pressing her hands against the sides of his face. She couldn’t resist, so she kissed him.
Her kisses seemed to calm him. She could see the pulse in his neck pounding frantically. “Twenty years ago, you were the chess prodigy, not Bobby.”
He looked away, refusing to meet her gaze. “I had a nervous breakdown.”
“I know.”
“I haven’t played chess since I was thirteen.”
She nodded. By dint of questioning and appearing to know more than she did, she’d persuaded the reporter to fill in what happened next. James and Bobby were rivals. James’s parents drove him, expecting perfection, demanding that he beat Bobby each and every time. Then he’d lost the biggest chess match of his career and ended up in a mental hospital.
After James was released, he never played again. At least not publicly, according to the reporter, but Christie suspected that was the case in his private life, too. As far as the chess world was concerned, James Gardner had dropped off the face of the earth. He disappeared, and despite numerous and varied efforts to locate him over the next few years, he was never seen or heard from again.
Apparently he’d been forgotten. From the questions the reporter asked, she knew James’s appearance had changed. He’d shown her a photograph of James at thirteen. The soft features of early adolescence had hardened, become defined. His hair had darkened. He’d shot up ten inches or more. He didn’t look the same and yet she’d recognized him. She hadn’t tried to hide that recognition from the reporter; there was no point. As the man, a stringer for one of the newspaper syndicates, had said, the information was out there, hidden in articles, public records, even photographs, if anyone cared to search for it.
“Bobby Polgar was my only friend back then,” James murmured.
“Yes.”
“He still is.”
“You’re wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
Christie straightened. “I’m your friend, too.”
“How did this reporter find me?”
“I don’t think it was that difficult. He started with the kidnapping. He decided there was more to that story, so he dug up information about you and Bobby. He did the research, asked the questions and one thing led to another.”
“When will it be published? His article.”
“Soon.”
His arms circled her waist and he held her as if he intended never to let her go.
His disappearance from the chess world, the reporter had said, seemed particularly puzzling because he hadn’t entirely disappeared. He remained on the fringes, since he took Bobby to all his matches. That had begun when both men were in their early twenties. It must have felt risky at first, even staying in the background, but people hadn’t really noticed him.
“Bobby was the only one who cared,” James told her. “He came to see me in the hospital.”
Christie had always been aware of Bobby’s kindness and loyalty. When she met him, she’d been envious of Teri, unable to understand why her sister should have all the luck.
She’d even thought she could steal him away from Teri. Bobby, however, had quickly disabused her of that notion. He was a one-woman man, and he’d made sure Christie knew that.
“You never played chess again?” she asked, her head still on his shoulder. “At home? By yourself or with Bobby?”
“Never. I have the mind for it, but not the heart.” His hand was warm on her back. “Bobby has both. He has the heart of a champion, far more than I ever did.”
Christie sighed. Like her sister, she barely understood the rudiments of the game and didn’t have the patience or the interest to learn.
“What do you do with your time?” she asked. He always seemed to be busy and she wondered if he’d tell her. She sensed that he didn’t want anyone intruding on his life.
“This and that,” he told her. “I read, especially history. But mostly I work on creating computer games. That’s my creative outlet. I…I don’t like being in front of the public.”
Christie realized that James didn’t need or want much interaction with others. He seemed happy with his own company, his own thoughts and routines.
