The Lady Vanishes Page 7

  “You can read mine,” an older woman with a healthy bosom and bright green eyes volunteered and laughed bawdily.

  Milton wagged a finger at her. “None of that, this is a clean show. I want you to think of a shape, any shape, and concentrate on it. Hold that image in your mind.”

  She nodded and Milton pretended to concentrate, then he bent and seemed to scribble something on the back of the receipt from Uncle Pete’s. He held up the receipt so the women couldn’t see the side he’d pretended to write on.

  “What shape did you imagine?”

  She smirked at him. “An octagon.”

  He smiled and opened his opposite hand to distract them and quickly drew an octagon on the paper with a small piece of graphite taped to his thumb. As soon as he finished, he flipped the paper around. They gasped and laughed, delighted, and he took a small bow again.

  The key was opening the palm of his right hand while he wrote. Their eyes had followed the motion and their brains had missed the hasty scribbling of his thumb—an octagon, most people chose triangle. There was always a key to misdirection, and Roland had taught him all of them. Milton was simply glad he’d timed everything correctly. He’d been thinking about the perfect curve of Regina Burke’s lips. Why wouldn’t she go out with him? What could he do to convince her?

  Startled by his own distraction, he shuffled the cards quickly, and moved smoothly into his next trick, a complicated card trick matching red and black suits of cards without seeming to do anything.

  He laid the cards out quickly; it would have to be something she cared about, something more important to her than whatever was keeping her from going out with him. He refused to believe she wasn’t attracted to him. No woman let you hold her down and kiss the shit out of her if she wasn’t attracted. At least, he didn’t think they did.

  Other than his best friends, Roland and Nick, and his mother, not many people knew about the stubborn streak that ran through Milton Shaw. Once he’d made up his mind, it was made up, and very little could be done to change it. That kind of focus made him a brilliant programmer, and an excellent magician, but his brains didn’t seem to help when it came to women. He was too intense, they said. Of course, not many women had said that since he’d become insanely wealthy. Now it didn’t matter how intense he was—if he crooked a finger, beautiful women came, and they were willing to do anything.

  Not her, he thought and smiled, looking down at the board. The cards were grouped together by color and his audience was clapping in admiration. I want her. To Milton it was that simple, and that dangerous.

  “AND THEN HE JUST KIND OF GRABBED ME and it was like I’d been drugged. I wanted him and couldn’t think about anything else,” Regina finished with a somewhat deflated sigh. It was Sunday morning, and Regina hadn’t slept well. Milton Shaw had indeed called her, and, just as she’d promised, she’d turned him down. He didn’t seem to be giving up, though. He’d sent her more flowers this morning.

  “Wow.” Her therapist, Rose-Lindsey Cooper, fanned herself. “That was great. I wish I had some popcorn and a margarita.”

  “Rose-Lindsey,” Regina chided. “My therapy sessions are not supposed to be entertainment.”

  Shrugging, Rose-Lindsey adjusted herself in the flowery armchair that she preferred. She was a large woman with an affection for turtleneck sweaters and knitted hats. She was prone to knitting during their session, though Regina supposed they could hardly be called sessions when Rose-Lindsey didn’t actually work as a counselor any longer and Regina didn’t pay her. The rest of Regina’s friends had abandoned her when her father had stolen all that money and disappeared. Some people had stayed loyal, but none more so than Rose-Lindsey, who’d been her counselor at sixteen and had remained a good friend, even after Regina no longer had any money and was struggling through medical school, even after she’d quit counseling and opened up a shop that sold knitwear and beautiful sweaters.

  They met at Rose-Lindsey’s home in Back Bay, a tidy one-story in an older neighborhood, where she lived with her longtime partner, an artistic woman named Leena.

  She frowned a little, thinking about how long they’d known each other. “Rose-Lindsey, why have you kept seeing me all these years?”

  Rose-Lindsey blinked at the abrupt change of topic. After a moment, she gathered her knitting from the basket at her side. “I don’t know that I ever actually thought about it,” she mused. “Before your father disappeared with all that money, you were a fairly normal teenager. A little intense at times, as your father could be, but so charming that I don’t think most people even noticed.”

  Regina’s frown deepened. “I was charming?”

  Pursing her lips, Rose-Lindsey nodded. “But then the Feds were at the door, your mom abdicated all responsibility for you or your sister, and you just changed. I’ve never seen anyone adapt so quickly or so abruptly to complete and utter devastation, but you did. Suddenly, you were serious, almost grim.”

  Regina grimaced. That had not exactly been her favorite moment in life. She barely remembered it, actually. She’d just done what had to be done to take care of her mother and her sister.

  “Everyone dumped us,” Regina muttered. “Our attorneys, the accountants, everyone. I’ve never felt so ashamed or so low in my life. And then that man who attacked me. I’d never been hit before, not like that.”

  “I know.” Rose-Lindsey nodded.

  “He just kept yelling at me, ‘Where is your father?’ ”

  “Do you still have the dreams?”

  Regina shook her head. “No, not in at least a year.”

  “Good. You’re a lot tougher than you were then. At the time, I thought you’d quit and find a man to take care of you. You were as beautiful then as you are now.”

  Scowling, Regina stood up to pace. “You thought that about me?”

  The needles clacked rhythmically in time to Rose-Lindsey’s answer. “At the time I did—you were sixteen and spoiled—but when you didn’t give in, I found myself wanting to make sure you made it.”

  She had helped, Regina realized. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to handle the stress of it all if it hadn’t been for Rose-Lindsey’s support.

  “I’m grateful,” she said finally.

  “Oh, it’s been my pleasure,” Rose-Lindsey protested, her voice gruff, “especially now that I get to hear juicy stories about handsome billionaires.”

  “God,” Regina said, sitting abruptly on the floral couch. “Here’s the thing . . . I look at him, even when he’s acting like a magician—and I can just see the kink, you know? He looks at me and I just know he’s thinking about tying me up, or making me stand on stage while he sticks swords through me.”

  “Hee-hee,” Rose-Lindsey chuckled. “I bet that’s not all he wants to stick in you.”

  Regina scowled at her. “He’s so weird, though. A billionaire, and he’s running around the children’s hospital. He’s abrupt and doesn’t seem to know how to take no for an answer.”

  “Are you afraid of him?” Rose-Lindsey paused in her knitting, a frown line between her eyes.

  Regina thought about Milton Shaw, about the look in his eyes when he spoke to her, admiration mixed with lust, and knew that she wasn’t afraid of him, but she kind of liked that he didn’t want to take no for an answer. It was flattering in a way . . . and the man could kiss. That was the truth.

  “No, not afraid.” Regina fiddled with the ends of her scarf. “The thing is, ever since you started making me write in that journal, even before I knew he was Milton Shaw, I was fantasizing about him, about what it would be like to be on stage, you know, while he performed tricks on me.”

  “Ooh, Regina. I never knew you were so kinky.”

  Groaning, Regina laid her head back on the couch. “I know. It’s stupid, but there’s something about him when he moves, and he’s different on stage, smooth and at ease, an
d it’s almost like he doesn’t care that I know he’s stripping me naked with his eyes.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Rose-Lindsey’s knitting needles were moving faster. “Why not see where it goes?”

  “Because I hate feeling so out of control, and because . . .” Regina struggled, not knowing how to put into words the chill it put in her bones to find out that Shaw the Magician was Milton Shaw. “Because he’s Milton Shaw. He’s wealthy, beyond wealthy, and he and his friends helped make software that assists criminals. Encryption and security, mostly.”

  “So let me get this straight: A gorgeous billionaire wants you, and you’re telling him no because his software has been used for evil?”

  “It’s not just that. It’s the publicity. I don’t want anyone following me with cameras again. I sound like a bitch with a stick up my ass, don’t I?” Regina said with a sigh. “I think mostly I don’t like how attracted I am to him.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Rose-Lindsey laughed. “The men you date would bore anyone to tears. After all those years of repression, a little wild was bound to come out.”

  Regina picked up the teacup on the table in front of her and took a sip of the strongly brewed Earl Grey. “A little wild is not coming anywhere. Wild is staying just where it is.”

  “Well, then you probably won’t be coming anytime soon,” Rose-Lindsey muttered, deadpan, and Regina choked on her tea. Little did she know that Regina had come just dreaming about the damn magician.

  “Why don’t you just have a little fun with him, you know, play with him a while and then cut him loose. There’s no reason to date him, just . . .” Rose-Lindsey seemed to be searching for the word. “. . . enjoy yourself.”

  Regina blinked and set down her teacup. Now Rose-Lindsey sounded like Celeste. It seemed like forever since she had just enjoyed herself. Beyond forever. She couldn’t remember when she wasn’t working her ass off to become a doctor, or working her ass off as a doctor. She didn’t even have any real girlfriends, just Rose-Lindsey, but it wasn’t like they saw each other socially. There hadn’t been time for social.

  “Maybe,” Regina said slowly, “it’s not a bad idea to try and enjoy myself more, experiment a little, but Milton Shaw is trouble. He’s associated with the hospital and has too many ties to my working life. If I’m going to experiment, it’s should be with someone no one knows but me.”

  “Well,” Rose-Lindsey said, setting aside her knitting needles, “good luck, I suppose, although I think you should give him a chance. The man doesn’t sound all bad.”

  “He’s not all bad,” Regina agreed, thinking of how he’d performed for the kids. “But he’s bad enough, and definitely bad for me.”

  Rose-Lindsey sighed wistfully. “Those are always the best kind.”

  LIGHT FROM THE SUN SINKING through the lead glass of the windows in his home office woke Milton on Sunday morning. He’d fallen asleep with his cheek pressed against a drawing of Regina’s lips. His computer screen was dark, but it hadn’t been, up until around 5:00 a.m. He wiggled his mouse and the screens came to life, revealing one of the results of his night’s endeavors: an email to the board of directors at Boston Children’s Hospital.

  In it, he explained that he wanted to put on a benefit—a magic show—and that he’d very much like Dr. Burke to assist him. He’d gone so far as to imply that all funding would be taken away if Dr. Burke didn’t assist him, which wasn’t true, but he thought that it sounded motivating.

  He’d made the decision to force her to spend time with him. Not his finest moment, but he didn’t see any other way to convince her.

  He stood and jogged back down the hall and up the stairs. He was barefoot and bare-chested, wearing a pair of flannel sleep pants his mother had bought him. The sound of the front door opening had him pausing at the top of the steps.

  A bucket appeared first, followed by graying black hair pulled back into a tight bun. His housekeeper, Mrs. Beechum. He’d forgotten she’d be arriving now.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Beechum,” he called down, and the old woman glanced up, her enormous glasses magnifying her brown eyes.

  “Mr. Shaw,” she said, sounding startled, blinking at his bare chest. “Good morning.”

  “I’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes.”

  She waved a hand. “Take your time. I’ll start in the kitchen.”

  Since he didn’t cook often and rarely ate at home, his kitchen didn’t take that long to clean. Same went for the rest of the rooms in the house, except his workshop on the third floor, which he forbade her to clean, anyway.

  “Great,” he said, turning away, but paused when she called after him.

  “Your mother says to call her.”

  Milton sighed and nodded. He hadn’t gone to visit his mom in weeks, and the anniversary of his brother’s death was coming up. He hired Mrs. Beechum to clean his mom’s house as well, and the two women had struck up a friendship that generally seemed to revolve around his lack of a wife, poor church attendance, and terrible eating habits. He’d have to remember to put away the drawings of Regina Shaw in his office, or he’d have to explain why he was drawing pictures of a woman tied up and nearly naked as well.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed and on his way downstairs. Today was Shane’s day off, so he was driving himself to the office. He’d texted Nick to meet him, wanting to work on the designs he’d come up with for the benefit he had in mind.

  His car, a deep green Bentley that he kept in the garage behind the brownstone, came to life with a roar. He grinned, enjoying the sound enormously. He didn’t usually drive, but he loved it, loved the feel of the powerful engine as he pressed on the gas, loved the speed.

  In less than half the time it would take a normal person, Milton pulled into the garage at the offices of Accendo. He only saw one other car, a silver Audi—Roland’s—and knew that Nick either hadn’t gotten his text or he’d ignored it. Nick drove a Subaru Outback and tended to scorn Roland and Milton’s taste for expensive cars.

  Milton wondered if he should get an Outback or some other nondescript vehicle. Maybe then Regina Burke would take a ride with him. A ride. He’d like to take her for a ride on his cock. He wanted that mouth around it, those perfect lips clamping around him while she watched him with those dark eyes. He was still thinking about her mouth as he stepped onto the elevator. He wanted the chance to have her in his arms again, to touch her as much as he liked.

  If she’s around me for this benefit, will she kiss me again? Can I remove her bra without her noticing? Maybe . . . Her breasts were not big, but they were nicely rounded. He lusted to touch them, weigh them in the palm of his hands.

  “Milton?” Roland stepped into the entryway and snapped on the light, making Milton blink.

  “Hey, Roland, have you ever removed a woman’s bra without her noticing?”

  Roland’s eyebrows shot to his forehead, and he choked out, “You know, Milton, most people start with ‘good morning.’ ”

  Milton scowled. “Good morning. Have you?”

  Roland ran a hand through his hair and gave Milton a devilish half smile. “I have, but I don’t recommend it unless the woman is yours. Women don’t have much of a sense of humor when it comes to disappearing undergarments.”

  Milton saw how that could be a problem. “Yes,” he said, frowning, “but can you show me how it’s done?”

  Roland stared at him. “You want me to show you how I’d take a bra off a woman without her noticing?”

  Milton nodded.

  “How do you propose we do that?” Roland was half smiling again. “Not many woman would be willing to try the experiment.”

  That’s true. They needed a willing woman. Or a dummy. “What about a dummy?”

  “Bring a mannequin here into work, dress her in a bra, and practice removing it?” Roland laughed out loud.

  Milton
ignored the reference to Weird Science. “We don’t have to bring it to the office. We could—”

  Roland help up a hand to cut him off. “Wait. Just wait a second. If you really want to do this, I’ll get a woman to volunteer—”

  “Great,” Milton jumped in, not the least bit surprised at Roland’s confidence. Roland always had women who seemed to be willing to do just about anything.

  “But,” Roland continued before Milton could cut him off again, “you have to finish working on the algorithm for development. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Milton agreed. “I’ll have it done in twenty minutes. Can you have a woman here by then?”

  Roland shook his head—at what, Milton wasn’t sure. “Yeah, Milton, I can have a woman here by then.”

  “Good,” Milton said. “And I’m going to host a benefit for the hospital, a magic show for the kids. You have to help. And Nick, too.”

  “Can we talk about this?” Roland folded his arms over his chest.

  “Of course we can talk about it. We’re going to have to plan it out. Go call the woman you know.”

  Roland sighed as Milton hurried past him into his office.

  Twenty minutes later, Milton finished the code he’d been fiddling with for several weeks. He’d lost interest as soon as he’d seen Regina, but now, with plenty of motivation, he resolved the issue that had been thwarting him.

  “Done,” he shouted out of his office. He’d heard the chimes above the elevator ring a few minutes earlier and Roland’s deep voice talking to a higher, lighter one.

  It was still morning, but only just barely. He’d thought Roland would call one of his many women, but when he left his office and stepped into the lobby, he was surprised to see Blake Webster, her long blond hair pulled up in a bun, her pale cheeks pink from the cold.

  “Blake,” he said, stopping. “Roland called you?”

  She chuckled. “Please, Milton, what other woman would agree to help you fools take her bra off on a Sunday?” She had a deep, throaty voice like Kathleen Turner, but it hadn’t always been that way. She’d be strangled once, by her boyfriend, a bastard named Keenan Shy—a bastard who also happened to be one of Roland’s cousins.