Free Mysterious by Fayrene Preston Page B

there were a tight cord around it. I couldn’t make a sound. Then for the first time I heard the noise coming from the bedroom. At this point I think the packages must have slipped from my hands, but I didn’t hear them because the racket from the next room was so loud.
    "I took a few steps toward the bedroom door and saw a man rifling through our bureau drawers. I had seen him once before. His name is Brewster and he had come to the apartment a few nights earlier. He and Richard had had a heated argument. I realized that if Brewster saw me, he would kill me too. . . and I knew that there was nothing I could do to help Richard. I had to get out of there. I ran with only my purse and my raincoat, and two nights later I saw you in that bar."
    Emotions, too many and too confusing to put a name to, thundered and crashed through Jerome’s head. He remained quite still for a moment, then asked, "Are you telling me that someone murdered Richard and now they’re after you?"
    She nodded, her face wet and pale. Jerome drew a clean, folded handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. He was hardly able to credit any of this.
    Then it hit him. She was no longer married.
    Immediately he was thrown into a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He felt relief that she wasn’t anyone’s wife and, at the same time, anger with himself that the knowledge pleased him. Here she’d been through hell and a man’s life had been taken, and all he could think about was the physical agony he had suffered over the restraint he had used with her.
    Plus there was one more thing. She hadn’t left her husband because she was no longer in love with him. She had left because he had been killed.
    So what in the hell was he going to do with all this new information?
    Jennifer watched the clash of emotions on his face and felt a deep misery because she knew she was the cause of his conflicts. "Jerome, please understand why I felt it necessary to lie to you. Richard was dead, at least two men were after me, I had just met you. I thought it would be safer not to tell you I was hiding from a killer."
    "Damn!" The expletive contained all of the frustration he was feeling. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "Jennifer, I’m sorry if I’ve given you a hard time. But if you expect me to give you understanding, then you’re going to have to give me some too. I’m having a little trouble taking all this in."
    "I know."
    He looked hard at her. "Do you? I wonder. At any rate, one thing is obvious. We have to go to the police."
    She held up a hand. "Wait, I’m not through. I’m afraid there’s more."
    "More?"
    "Yes. For one thing, my last name is Prescott, not Blake."
    "Your last name is Prescott?" Jerome repeated slowly, unbelieving.
    "Blake was the name given to us to use as a cover. You see . . . Richard . . . Richard was my brother. He was an agent for the National Defense Organization. We were here in St. Paul on an assignment and—"
    "Richard wasn’t your husband?" Jerome interrupted incredulously. "Do you even know how to tell the truth?"
    "I know I’m doing a bad job of this, but I’m really trying to tell you what happened."
    "What a minute. You weren’t really married?"
    "I was at one time. I’m a widow and have been for several years. My husband was also an agent. He died in the line of duty. Since his death I’ve been working as a secretary for the NDO and living with Richard in Washington."
    She looked at him. "That was the other reason I didn’t tell you the truth right away. I’ve lived on the fringes of the intelligence community for years now, and I’ve learned that you never, under any circumstances, tell anything to anyone except your immediate superior in the organization."
    Jerome shook his head dazedly. "This is an utterly fantastic story. Are you even telling the truth now?"
    "It’s no story, Jerome. It’s been my life for too long."
    He threw up his hands and walked to the window. Staring out, he saw nothing. He