She didn’t know what Stone thought of her, but she knew what she’d told him. That she was a five-foot-eight-inch, leggy blonde. He pictured someone who looked good in a bikini. She’d often talked about wearing short dresses or tight jeans. More of the fantasy, she told herself. It didn’t actually hurt anyone. Shewantedto look like that more than anything. She just couldn’t seem to make it happen.
She stared at her reflection, at the mousy brown hair that hung halfway down her back. The center part allowed her hair to spill onto her face, concealing her plain features. She wore baggy jeans and a shapeless T-shirt, hoping that the loose clothing would conceal her extra twenty pounds. She’d never worn a bikini in her life.
She lowered her gaze back to her coffee and turned away from her reflection. It didn’t matter. Stone wasn’t interested in a real person. He liked the pretend Cathy who was only a fun voice on the phone. He had his own world, and she doubted she occupied more than a footnote in the story of his life.
When she settled back in her seat and slid her headset into place, she glanced at the clock. Less than twenty-four hours until she talked to him again.
* * *
Stone stared at the printout in front of him, but he didn’t actually see the figures there. He, who normally had a nearly supernatural ability to focus on what he was doing, was distracted. It was the time of day. Make that time of night, he amended to himself. Nearly midnight. Nearly time to call Cathy.
Odd how a disembodied voice on the phone had come to be such a large part of his life. For the past two years, she had been his lifeline and his only companion. She often accused him of being a recluse, but she had no idea of the reality of his situation or the fact that he never left his self-made prison. She didn’t know that her laughter, the sound of her smoky voice, her impossible tales of a world filled with sunshine and joy were images he clung to. They were the only fantasies he allowed himself.
He wasn’t even sure how their relationship had started. He’d always called in late in the evening for messages. One day he’d realized the same young woman answered the phone. He didn’t know who had first started talking about something other than business or why. Without him noticing when it had happened, he had begun to anticipate their time together.
He wondered about Cathy. She was obviously bright and funny. She had a great life. So why did she work the graveyard shift at an answering service? Who was she really? Was she hiding out from something or someone? Had she been on the run and settled here? He sensed secrets in her voice. At times he suspected her stories were just that—entertainment. But he didn’t mind. He liked listening to her. She made him laugh; she fussed over him. With her, he could be himself and not worry.
Because he didn’t want her learning the truth about him, he never pressed her for personal information. It would be easy to have her investigated; after all, he had the staff and the technical resources, but that wouldn’t be playing fair. So instead, he took whatever she told him and let it be enough.
He put away the report and glanced at the clock. Only a few more minutes. It had been almost two weeks since her weekend trip to Mexico, and he wondered if she had any other travel planned. Cathy generally went away for the weekend once or twice a month. He dreaded her yearly vacations. Time seemed to drag when she was gone.
He stood up and crossed to the credenza by the window. A carafe of coffee sat on a tray with his untouched dinner. He stared out the glass at the large backyard illuminated by floodlights. Beyond that was empty darkness and in the distance, the lights of the small community of Redondo Beach. During the day, this room had an impressive view of the Pacific Ocean and the beaches just north of the peninsula. At night, water was dark and featureless, although when it was quiet outside, he could hear the pounding of the surf on the cliffs below.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, then returned to his desk. It was time. He dialed the familiar number.
“A to Z Answering Service,” she answered.
“Hi, Cathy.”
“Stone!” The obvious pleasure in her voice made him smile. “How are you?”
“Great.”
“Make a million today?” she asked.
“Just about.”
They didn’t often talk about his business. She knew that he dealt with investments and real estate, but that was all. He didn’t want her having details that might make her too curious about him. It would be far too easy for her to start checking into his past. Once she knew the truth about him, everything would be over.
“How about in your neck of the woods?” he asked.
“The usual. Mrs. Morrison went to the doctor today, so she has a list of new medicines. Do you remember who she is?”
He leaned back in his leather chair. “Yes, the eccentric older lady who likes to be called with a reminder to take her medication.”
“Exactly. One of the operators here spent a couple of hours on the phone with her and then her doctor. I’m still not sure we have everything sorted out, but we’re trying. Fortunately I only have the late-night call, which I made about a half hour ago.”
“Any interesting people calling to get bailed out of prison?”
She laughed. The sound was low and husky and made his gut clench. “Not so far, but that side of the business doesn’t usually pick up for a couple of hours.”
She talked about her day, about walking her dog, Muffin, in the park, about a movie she’d seen. They argued over the next book they were going to read together. He wanted to choose a spy thriller, while she was interested in a biography about a famous scientist.
“Boring,” he insisted.
“How can you know that if you haven’t read the book?”
“You think nerds with pocket protectors lead interesting lives?”
