“Sorry. Robert. Anyway, I know Jonathan is used to this kind of publicity, but have you seen the cover of—”
“Of practically every magazine and newspaper in the country, Ms. Wilder? Yes, I have.”
Mary frowned, her enthusiasm deflating with every second she spent talking to Bob—Robert—Newland. Jonathan called him a perfect assistant, but Robert Newland was so...so stuffy he made her want to say something outrageous just to shock him out of his pomposity.
Giving in to that devilish urge, she continued, “Gee, Robert, since Jonathan’s tied up, I’ll chat with you. How many magazines do you suppose—”
“Oh, Ms. Wilder, I see Mr. Regent’s off the phone now. One moment and I’ll connect you.”
A moment later, the deep stentorian tones of Mary’s fiancé boomed over the line. “Mary, darling! You haven’t forgotten about our luncheon date, have you?”
“No, of course not. But I just had to call you. Our picture was on the cover of Newsweek this morning!”
“As a matter of fact, I just cut off the cover for your scrapbook. It’s right here on my desk.” Jonathan chuckled. “Mary, my sweet, sweet innocent. You’d better get used to seeing your lovely face in the media. As Mrs. Jonathan Regent, you’re going to become something of a celebrity.”
“This is going to take some adjustment, Jonathan. I mean, everything is happening so fast, I feel like I can’t catch my breath.”
“Speaking of fast,” Jonathan cut in, “I have to leave here in five minutes if we’re going to make our lunch reservation. Is Camille with you?”
“No,” Mary said. “She and the senator are going to meet us at the restaurant. I’m on my way out the door right now.”
“Good. I’ll see you there. Oh, and Mary?”
“Yes?”
“I know you still have some misgivings about Camille, but, darling, she’s doing us a tremendous favor. There’s no woman in Washington who knows more, who gives better parties, who always has the correct assortment of guests and who—”
“I know, I know. And who is always dressed with impeccable style. I told you that I’d listen to her advice, Jonathan, and I will, but...”
“But what?”
Mary chewed on the edge of her fingernail and blinked away a sudden tear of frustration. Jonathan had been so generous, so wonderful, that she always felt an ingrate when she refused his largess. But his apparent wish to transform her into a duplicate of Camille Castnor made Mary feel...deflated, somehow.
Oh, she knew Jonathan wouldn’t understand. They’d been over this ground a dozen times already. And he was right, really he was. Not many women would complain because their fiancés wanted them to wear designer clothing and have their hair done by a celebrity stylist. So why did Mary feel as though she were losing herself?
“Mary? Are you all right?”
She knuckled away the single tear and took a deep breath. She was being silly. Silly and immature. “I’m sorry, Jonathan. I’m fine. Truly.”
“Good.” Relief was evident in his voice. Jonathan prided himself on running a smooth ship, as he called his corporation. “See you at the Pepper Tree in half an hour. And, Mary?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t worry so much, darling. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
After they broke the connection, Mary went into her bedroom for a last-minute peek in the mirror. The sleek image that stared back at her seemed alien, bearing little resemblance to the Mary of a few short months ago. Her hair was several shades lighter than its natural honey-blond color, and this Mary wore her hair in a trendy, asymmetrical pageboy that skimmed her shoulders. This Mary’s makeup was applied with a light but polished hand. And her simply cut suit cost more than the old Mary earned in a month.
She dabbed on a bit more lip gloss. Finally satisfied that Jonathan would approve, she picked up her handbag and left her hotel suite. Just two weeks ago, the same night that he’d proposed, Jonathan had urged her to move into a two-bedroom apartment suite in one of his hotels. He couldn’t sleep nights, he’d said, worrying about her safety in that dingy studio she’d rented in Arlington.
Part of his reasoning, Mary acknowledged as she waited for the elevator, was Jonathan’s eagerness to separate her from Mark Lester, the man she’d been seeing casually pre-Jonathan. Not that she could blame her fiancé. Mark hadn’t handled the breakup very well, even though they hadn’t had a serious relationship to start with.
Jonathan had been right, Mary admitted as she exited the elevator and strolled across the sumptuous lobby. Her moving into the hotel, and making a clean break from Mark, was best for everyone.
And she loved living in the Georgetown Regent Hotel. There was an old-world style and dignity about the red brick building that spoke of an earlier, more genteel era. The lobby and hallways were spacious and papered in pale gold brocade. Even the elevator cabs were made of fine cherry wood, the fixtures polished brass. Although Jonathan often bemoaned the fact that the Georgetown Regent was so small, and held so few guests, Mary loved the feeling of intimacy the hotel fostered. Only eight floors high, it was a far cry from the chrome and glass monstrosities that were popping up all over the metropolitan D.C. area.
She smiled at Rick Carey, the day desk manager, as she passed. Just walking through the lobby with its huge bowls of fresh cut flowers made her feel cheery and warm.
When she stepped outside into the balmy April afternoon, Mary still had nearly twenty minutes before she was due at the Pepper Tree. No need to take a taxi. She had plenty of time to walk and enjoy the warm spring weather.
Spring was absolutely her favorite time of year. Especially here in D.C. The shrill, icy winter had faded into memory, while the sultry heat of summer was still a distant promise. And because tourist season hadn’t yet commenced in full force, one could still amble comfortably through the pleasant Georgetown neighborhood and admire the glorious old brick houses that lined the cobbled streets.
Mary had walked only a few blocks down Wisconsin Avenue, when a prickly sensation began inching up her spine. Keep walking. Don’t turn around, she told herself. There was no one behind her, no one following. There never was, even though she’d checked often enough in the past few days. Yet...yet she couldn’t escape the feeling of unseen eyes following her every move. Boring into her with a white-hot intensity.
The day was suddenly, ominously, quiet. Only the click of Mary’s heels on the pavement broke the menacing stillness. Then, she heard it. The soft thud of a footfall.
Someone was behind her. Close. Very, very close.
Mary eased her fingers into her handbag and pulled out her key ring. Gripping her door key tightly between her fingers, its sharp end pointing outward like a small but lethal weapon, she took a deep breath and whirled.
The quiet street was completely empty.
Mary waited for a long moment, willing her battering heart to stop hammering. What was wrong with her? When
