His face flushed with shy pleasure, Jeff stepped into the room. He carried a silver tray on which rode a wineglass, a china plate of herbed pasta and a single red rosebud.
"I hope you like the room." In his unhurried and efficient way, he set the tray on the bureau. "It took a long time for me to get it just right. I didn't want you to be just comfortable. I wanted you to be happy. I know there's no view." He turned toward her, eyes too bright though apology quavered in his voice. "But it's safer this way. No one will bother us when we're in here."
"Jeff." Calm, she ordered herself. She had to stay calm. "You can't keep me here."
"Yes I can. I've planned it all carefully. I've had years to work it out. Why don't you sit down, Dee? You're probably feeling a little groggy, and I want you to be comfortable while you eat."
He stepped forward, and though she braced, he didn't touch her.
"Later," he continued, "after you understand everything, you'll feel a lot better. You just need time." He lifted a hand as if to touch her cheek, but drew it away again as if he didn't want to frighten her. "Please try to relax. You never let yourself relax. I know you might be a little afraid right now, but it's going to be all right. If you fight me, I'll have to…" Because he couldn't bear to say the words, he slipped a hypo out of his pocket. "I don't want to." Her instant recoil had him pushing the needle out of sight again. "Really, I don't. And you wouldn't be able to get away."
Smiling again, he moved a table and chair closer to the bed. "You need to eat," he said pleasantly. "You always worried me when it came to taking care of yourself. All those hurried or skipped meals. But I'll take good care of you. Sit down, Deanna."
She could refuse, she thought. She could scream and rant and threaten. And for what? She'd known Jeff, or thought she'd known him, for years. He could be stubborn, she reminded herself. But she'd always been able to reason with him.
"I am hungry," she told him, and hoped her stomach wouldn't rebel. "You'll talk to me while I eat? Explain things to me?" She gave him her best interviewer's smile.
"Yes." The smile burned across his face like a fever. "I thought you might be angry at first."
"I'm not angry. I'm afraid."
"I'd never hurt you." He took one of her limp hands in his and squeezed lightly. "I won't let anyone hurt you. I know you might be thinking about getting past me, Deanna. Getting through the panel. But you can't. I'm really very strong, and you're still weak from the drug. No matter what you do, you'll still be locked in. Sit down."
As if in a dream, she did as he told her. She wanted to run, but even as the thought communicated from brain to body, her legs folded. How could she run when she could barely stand? The drug was still in charge of her system. It was precisely the kind of detail he would have thought of. Precisely the kind of detail that had made him such an invaluable part of her team.
"It's wrong to keep me here, Jeff."
"No, it's not." He set the tray on the table in front of her. "I've thought about it for a long, long time. And this is for the best. For you. I'm always thinking of you. Later on, we can travel together. I've been looking into villas in the south of France. I think you'd like it there." He touched her then, just a brushing caress on her shoulder. Beneath her blouse her skin crawled. "I love you so much."
"Why didn't you ever tell me? You could have talked to me about the way you felt."
"I couldn't. At first I thought it was just because I was shy, but then I realized that it was all like a plan. A life plan. Yours and mine."
Anxious to explain, he pulled up another chair. As he leaned forward, his glasses slid down his nose. While her vision blurred, then cleared, she watched him shove them up again — an old habit, once an endearing one, that now chilled her blood.
"There were things you needed to do, experiences — and men — you had to get out of your system before we could be together. I understood that, Dee. I never blamed you for Finn. It hurt me." Resting his hands on his knees, he let out a sigh. "But I didn't blame you. And I couldn't blame him." His face brightened again. "How could I when I knew how perfect you were? The first time I saw you on TV, I couldn't get my breath. It scared me a little. You were looking right at me, into me. I'll never forget it. You see, I was so lonely before. An only child. I grew up in this house. You're not eating, Deanna. I wish you would."
Obediently, she picked up her fork. He wanted to talk. Seemed eager to. The best way to escape, she calculated, was to understand. "You told me you grew up in Iowa."
"That's where my mother took me later. My mother was wild." The apology crept back into his voice. "She would never listen to anyone, never obey the rules. So naturally, Uncle
Matthew had to punish her. He was older, you see. He was head of the family. He'd keep her in this room, trying to make her see that there were proper ways to do things, and improper ways." His face changed as he spoke, tightening around the mouth and eyes, growing somehow older, sterner. "But my mother never learned, no matter how hard my uncle tried to teach her. She ran away and got pregnant. When I was six, they took her away. She had a breakdown, and I came to live with Uncle Matthew. There was no one else to take me in, you see. And it was his family duty."
Deanna choked down a bite of pasta. It stuck like paste in her throat, but she was afraid to try the wine. He could have drugged it, she thought, like the bottle of juice. "I'm sorry, Jeff, about your mother."
"It's okay." He shrugged it off like a snake shedding skin. His face smoothed out again like a sheet stroked with careful hands. "She didn't love me. No one's ever loved me but Uncle Matthew. And you. It's just wine, Dee. Your favorite kind." Grinning at the joke, he picked up the glass and sipped to show her. "I didn't put anything in it. I didn't have to, because you're here now. With me."
Drugged or not, she avoided the wine, unsure how it would mix with the drugs in her system. "What happened to your mother?"
"She had dementia. She died. Is your dinner all right? I know pasta's your favorite."
"It's fine." Deanna slipped another bite through her stiff lips. "How old were you when she died?"
"I don't know. Doesn't matter, I was happy here, with my uncle." It made him nervous to talk about his mother, so he didn't. "He was a great man. Strong and good. He hardly ever had to punish me, because I was good, too. I wasn't a trial to him, like my mother was. We took care of each other." He spoke quickly now, fresh excitement blooming. "He was proud of me. I studied hard and I didn't hang out with other kids. I didn't need them. I mean, all they wanted to do was ride in fast cars and listen to loud music and fight with their parents. I had respect. And I never forgot things like cleaning my room or brushing my teeth. Uncle Matthew always told me I didn't need anybody but family. And he was the only family I had. Then, when he died, there was you. So I knew it was right."
"Jeff." Deanna used all her skills to keep the conversation flowing, to steer it in the direction she wanted. "Do you think your uncle would approve of what you're doing now?"
"Oh, absolutely." He beamed, his face sunny and innocent and terrifying. "He talks to me all the time, up here." He tapped his head, winked. "He told me to be patient, to wait until the time was right. You know when I first started sending you letters?"
"Yes, I remember."
"I dreamed about Uncle Matthew for the first time then. Only it wasn't like a dream. It was so real. He told me I had to court you, the way a gentleman would. That I had to be patient. He always said that good things take time. He told me that I would have to wait, and that I had to look out for you. Men are supposed to cherish their women, to protect them. People have forgotten that. No one seems to cherish anyone anymore."