Shadow of Love Read online

  Finally, Rod Castle sighed and ran his fingers through his hair with an impatient gesture. "I'll take care of it, somehow," he said in a normal tone of voice. "I'll pay the money if I have to in order to protect my hotel's reputation, but it goes against the grain. Give me a description of the photographer and the woman and I'll see what I can come up with in the meantime."

  Deep relief flooded through Leslie, and though her employer still scowled at her, she felt an insane urge to kiss him out of sheer gratitude. "Th-thank you, sir," she said weakly.

  He fixed a stern gaze on her. "Now get back to your desk and retype these letters, and this time I want them done right!"

  "Then… you're not firing me?" she asked in amazement.

  He sighed again, loudly. "I've got enough problems on my hands without having to look for a new secretary, too. Will you please just get back to work, Miss Foster?"

  It was late when Leslie got home and found Patsy busily cooking stew for dinner. After a quick hello to her roommate she headed straight for the bathroom, hoping to soak her troubles away in a hot tub. She was having no luck at all when Patsy's banging on the bathroom door interrupted her gloomy thoughts. "Les, you're wanted on the phone."

  "Miss Foster?" The disembodied voice was icy. "This is Rod Castle."

  Leslie caught her breath as every nerve in her body became strained and alert. He had never before called her at home. "Yes?"

  "I've been in touch with a private detective about our problem. I don't know that he will be of any real help, but he wants to ask us both some questions tomorrow. Can you make it?"

  "Of course. Any way that I can help, I'll…"

  Curtly, he interrupted her. "All right. I'll pick you up around two."

  After she hung up the phone, she found Patsy hovering nearby, her lovely heart-shaped face avid with curiosity. "Mr. Castle? Was that sexy-sounding man your boss?"

  Leslie nodded.

  "Is he as good-looking as he sounds? I always thought he was an older man, but he didn't sound old. Have you been holding out on me, Les? What does he look like?"

  Leslie gave a short, unamused laugh. "He's not old—probably in his middle thirties. And I suppose you could say he's sexy-looking, if you like his type. He certainly has enough girl friends on the string," she admitted grudgingly.

  "What did he want with you at home?" Patsy asked.

  Leslie shrugged, suddenly aware that she was clothed only in a towel. "It's all part of my horrible day. Let me run and get dressed and then I'll explain everything. Oh, Pat," she wailed, "I've gotten into an awful mess!"

  Patsy stared at her. "I don't believe it," she said flatly. "Not you, good old Levelheaded Leslie."

  "Just wait until you hear," Leslie told her as she headed toward her bedroom.

  Thirty minutes later they had both scarcely touched a bite of the delicious stew as Patsy listened in awed silence while Leslie recounted her story.

  "I still don't believe it!" Patsy exclaimed when Leslie had finished. "For such a thing to happen to you of all people! A minister's daughter! Les, your folks will just die if they get wind of any of this!"

  Leslie shuddered. "Don't I know it! Oh, Patsy, I can't bear it if those pictures get sent home. They look so… so damning, and it would break Dad's heart."

  Patsy snorted. "I don't think your mother will be exactly thrilled about it, either."

  "Don't remind me," Leslie said glumly. She abandoned all pretense about eating, propped her elbows on the table, and cupped her face in her hands.

  They were both lost in silence for a time, digesting the impact those photographs would make on Leslie's family if they ever saw them. Leslie's father was the minister of a small church in Alabama—a staunch, upright pillar of his community—and her mother carried an equal load as his wife. No breath of scandal had ever touched either of them, Leslie thought despondently.

  Both her parents, and Patsy's as well, had been against their move to San Francisco shortly after they finished high school four years before. As a graduation gift, the two girls had been given a trip to Los Angeles, where they spent a week with Patsy's aunt. But the second week they had struck out on their own, and when they saw San Francisco, they had known it was where they wanted to live. By the time they returned to Alabama a few days later, they both had jobs—Patsy's at the boutique where she still worked and Leslie as a secretary for a small manufacturing firm. Their parents raised a mountain of objections about the great distance it was from home and the dangers of living in large cities, but finally the girls convinced them that they were still Levelheaded Leslie and Practical Patsy and as such were quite unlikely to lose their heads or get into any jams.

  Leslie glanced across the table at Patsy. They had been best friends ever since Leslie could remember. Whenever one of them had a problem, both of them had a problem, and right now Patsy's calm was seriously disturbed, marring the usually serene beauty of her face, and it was borne in upon Leslie once more how grave this matter was.

  "Do you really think this boss of yours will pay the money if necessary?" Patsy asked. "I mean, if he does maybe those crooks will keep their word and not send the pictures to your folks."

  Leslie grimaced. "I don't know. He says he will if he has to, but we're meeting with a private detective tomorrow. He's trying to see if they can't catch them or something."

  "Well, I certainly wish him every success," Patsy said drily. She thrust her long, russet-colored hair away from her neck and stood up. "There's just nothing you can do for the moment, Les, except wait, so try not to worry too much. Maybe your Mr. Castle will be able to pull a rabbit out of a hat and solve this thing without either of you getting hurt."

  "I hope so," Leslie said unhappily. "I hate to think of him having to pay fifty thousand dollars because of my stupidity."

  "It was stupid," Patsy agreed bluntly. "Why did you go to his room? That doesn't sound like you." She gave a little laugh. "Me, maybe, but not you!"

  "He said he loved me," Leslie admitted with shame. "I actually thought he wanted to be alone with me so he could ask me to marry him."

  Patsy came around the table and placed her hand on Leslie's shoulder. "Poor baby," she murmured. "I'm sorry, Les. You love him, then?"

  Leslie shook her head. "I thought I did. Not now. How can you love someone who deliberately tricks you like that? What makes me so ashamed is that I believed him when he said he loved me! What an idiot I am! Even Mr. Castle said so."

  "Pooh on Mr. Castle," Patsy said dismissively. "Girls fall for that line all the time. You're not the first and you won't be the last. Sometimes a guy even really means it."

  Leslie's dark eyes widened. "How can you, of all people, say that?" she asked in astonishment. Patsy was forever fighting off men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. She had a record of more one-date romances than anybody Leslie had ever known.

  Patsy shrugged. "You couldn't know he wasn't on the level, and if a girl never takes a chance on a man, where would that get her except lonely in her old age? It's hard, Les, but even I believe someday I'll meet a man who will love me—the real me—as well as my body and that he'll want to marry me. Now, cheer up. Tomorrow things will look better. That's an order."

  The next afternoon, when Leslie entered the living room, her employer was sitting in the easy chair near the front door while Patsy perched on the arm of the sofa. The two of them were so engrossed in a conversation that neither of them even noticed Leslie's presence.

  Slightly piqued, she hesitated a moment before crossing the room to join them. "Good afternoon, Mr. Castle," she said abruptly. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting. I didn't know you were here." She cast a reproachful glance at her friend.

  Rod Castle stood up and smiled. "No hurry," he told her. "I came a bit early and Patsy and I have been getting acquainted."

  Patsy rose also and said easily, "It's been nice meeting you, Rod. I hope this detective can help you out of this jam."

  Patsy and Rod, was it? Leslie thought sou
rly. In only a few minutes they were already on a first-name basis! Not that there was any real reason why they shouldn't be, she told herself, but all the same, somehow it grated on her. As they moved toward the door, she caught Patsy's secret sign, brushing her hair away from her face with only one finger, and it irritated her even more. The sign meant "He's great, good-looking, sexy, super, etc." Leslie did not appreciate Patsy's approval of her boss at all, although she would have been hard put if she had been asked to explain why, even to herself.

  Outside, Rod Castle opened the passenger door of his silver Buick. Leslie got in, still feeling too disgruntled to even admire the luxuriousness of the car, Which was such a far cry from Patsy's old Volks.

  It was a gloriously beautiful day—sunny and bright, with no hint of fog. As the car began to move, Leslie fidgeted her hands in her lap, uncomfortably aware of the large man who sat behind the wheel, and she sought frantically in her mind for something to say. Away from the office and dressed as he was today in slacks and a casual dark blue sports shirt, he suddenly seemed a stranger instead of her employer, and she did not quite know what to say to him.

  "I liked your roommate," he said after a moment, breaking the silence between them. "She's very lovely. Is she a model?"

  "No, she works at a boutique, though, and she enjoys selling clothes."

  He smiled. "I could tell by looking at her that she has a flair for clothes." He shot a meaningful glance at her. "I see you've got your hair pinned up again. You could take a lesson from Patsy, you know."

  Leslie gritted her teeth. "Oh, I did! I bought that darned dress I wore at the hotel the other night on Patsy's advice… and look where it landed me!"

  Rod Castle laughed. "I have to admit that dress was a bit extreme. You were very lovely in it, but I think it would suit Patsy better. You're not quite the type to carry it off."

  "Thanks," Leslie said with a bitterness she could not understand. Patsy's beauty had always overshadowed her own merely passable looks, but until today it had never bothered her. "I've learned my lesson," she told him now, "and I know very well that I can't hold a candle to Patsy."

  "Hey!" He went suddenly serious as he threw her another penetrating glance. "You've got it all wrong. I wasn't referring to what happened with Maddox. He had to have had the whole scheme mapped out ahead of time, regardless of what you wore that night. And I, for one, believe you can hold a candle to your friend any day… at least, when you let your hair down." His blue eyes twinkled. "All I meant was that Patsy's the tall, willowy type with dramatic good looks and can carry off extremes of dress. Your looks are far more delicate and refined, and I think you look better in more conservative clothes, that's all, Miss Bristly Porcupine."

  Leslie glared at him. She resented all these personal references to her appearance, and she definitely resented being called a bristly porcupine! She could not imagine what had come over her boss after all these years, but ever since he had seen her that night with Joel he had completely altered from the distant, remote employer she had known. Even her admission to him that they were both being blackmailed, while bringing on initial anger, had not made him revert to his normal, aloof self.

  After a minute, she asked tentatively, "What sort of questions do you think the detective will ask us, Mr. Castle?"

  He shrugged. "He just wants to go over all the details, I'd imagine. It probably won't take long. I thought afterward we might go down to Fisherman's Wharf for a while and watch the boats, and later on we can either eat something there or go somewhere else if you like."

  Leslie stared at him in blank astonishment. Why would he want to bother spending the rest of the afternoon with her once their business was concluded? It didn't make any sense.

  "Er, you don't have to do that, Mr. Castle," she said, feeling awkward and embarrassed. "Take me out to eat, I mean."

  He turned to smile at her. "I know," he agreed, "but I thought it might take the bad taste of all this out of our mouths. By the way," he went on conversationally, "I think under the circumstances we might drop the formality, don't you? Mr. Castle and Miss Foster sound a bit silly between two people who are caught together in a blackmail net."

  Leslie turned sharply and gazed out the window. "I can't forget you wouldn't be involved if it wasn't for me, Mr. Castle," she said in a choked voice. "It's all my fault."

  "I agree," he said readily, "but that doesn't alter the fact that I am involved and that our relationship is bound to change because of it, Leslie. You will," he ended firmly, "call me Rod from now on, and surely that can't be too difficult. Why, Patsy started doing that right away."

  "Yes," Leslie said in a muffled voice, "but she doesn't work for you, either."

  "That's true," he conceded. "All right, we'll keep the formality in the office, but outside it's to be first names. Understand?"

  "Perfectly, Mr. Castle," she answered automatically. He looked over at her and they both burst into laughter. A moment later the car slid to a halt in front of an office building.

  The questioning did not take long. Leslie answered all the detective's questions as honestly and completely as she could and was soon dismissed, while Rod stayed behind for a private discussion.

  Leslie went outside and stood on the sidewalk next to the locked Buick, and a great depression settled over her. Her shoulders drooped and she lowered her head as she fought tears. Because of her, Rod was going to have to pay fifty thousand dollars by next Friday.

  A hand suddenly closed over her shoulder. "Hey, you aren't crying, are you?"

  Angrily, she brushed the tears away and looked up at Rod Castle, who was standing beside her. "Of… of course I'm not," she denied.

  His lake-clear eyes seemed to read her thoughts, and after an instant she lowered her gaze and fixed it on his strong, squarish chin.

  "You're thinking about what this will do to your parents if they get those pictures, aren't you?" he asked in a voice that was unexpectedly gentle. "Patsy told me your father's a minister."

  "Patsy talks too much!" Leslie exclaimed sharply.

  Rod frowned. "You'd prefer it if I didn't know anything personal about them?"

  "Definitely."

  "Why?"

  Leslie spread out her hands in an uncertain gesture. "I don't want you to feel sorry for me or my family— not after your being dragged into this mess, too."

  His jaw suddenly hardened. "Don't worry," he said icily. "I don't feel sorry for you in the least. If I feel sorry for anyone, it's myself, because of the money I'll probably have to shell out due to your stupidity." He jerked open the car door. "Get in," he ordered. "I'll take you home."

  He was blazingly angry with her, but she did not understand the reason. She had merely pointed out that she did not want him feeling sorry for her, but he changed without warning from sympathetic concern to dark fury. She had seen him aggravated and irritable before, but never had she seen such violent anger in him. The fact that she had provoked it left her breathless and even slightly frightened.

  The drive back to her apartment was accomplished in tense silence. Leslie licked her lips, and once she tried to bring herself to apologize for whatever it was she had said to offend him, but the rock-hewn rigidity of his profile stopped her.

  When the car drew to a halt beside the curb in front of her apartment, Rod scarcely glanced at her. "I'll see you Monday morning, Miss Foster. Goodbye."

  The fence of formality was back up between them, she thought miserably. "Goodbye, Mr. Castle." Leslie pushed the door handle and got out of the car.

  During the following week he was exactly the same—cold and remote. He had always been remote in their association, but without the coldness. Leslie did her work conscientiously and tried not to let his manner affect her, but it did all the same. She was miserable, and not only because she was being blackmailed.

  Around five Wednesday afternoon a local call came for Rod. Leslie put it through and began straightening up her desk before leaving for the day. She was just finishing when
Rod Castle opened his door and came into her office.

  "That was our detective," he told her. "He said he may be on the trail of those crooks. He's discovered another scheme similar to this one."

  Leslie's mouth went dry. "I… I do hope he finds them and that the police can stop them before Friday. I… Mr. Castle, I'm very grateful for what you're doing and I'd like to thank…"

  "Forget it." Rod's voice was curt. "I'm not doing anything for you! Any girl who is stupid enough to put herself, not to mention others, into such a vulnerable position deserves whatever happens to her. I'm doing this only for my hotel, so there's no need for any gratitude on your part."

  She lowered her head. "I… yes, sir. I understand." She felt as though he had just slapped her face. She turned quickly and opened the bottom drawer of the file cabinet and pulled out her purse. "If you don't need me anymore today," she managed to get out, still not able to face him, "I think I'll be going."

  He said a frigid good night to her and Leslie hurried from the room and down the hall toward the main lobby. Her entire body throbbed from the onslaught of his cold rudeness.

  No wonder, she told herself with satisfactory maliciousness as she went through the revolving doors and out to the sidewalk, that his fiancée had jilted him for another man! Served him right! Who would ever want to be married to an iceberg like him? The lady in question had had a lucky escape!

  For the first time she wondered what Rod Castle had been like when he had been engaged. It had been before her time, so she had never met his fiancée, but some of the gang on the office staff swore he had been a different person then—warm, outgoing, good-natured, and full of humor.

  She shook her head and turned a corner. She did not believe it. The Rod Castle she knew who had been politely remote to his secretary, not to mention humorless, had been almost that distant with his many lady friends—at least the ones she had been able to observe first-hand whenever one happed to visit the office. No, his true personality was the one she had been subjected to in recent days.