Chapter 44: What Happens on the Staircase
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That was the second time she'd seen Frank Farmer in handcuffs.
Unfortunately, neither time had been in bed.
After an awkward exchange of stories from both Frank and the unknown intruder, whose name turned out to be Roger Ferguson, the cops finally released Frank as a non-threat from the cuffs. As soon as he was free, Frank forced everyone out of the bathroom, "Can you at least show some decency and let her get dressed?"
In the wake of all the drama, Rachel had completely forgotten that she was still naked in the bath. Once the bathroom had been evacuated, Frank yanked one of the towels from the shower door and held it out so that she could wrap herself in it. He attempted to help her out of the tub, catching her with an upward swing of his arms just before she could slip on the wet marble floor. She swore this man just looked for excuses to carry her every time he could.
"Don't break your back, Farmer. You're carrying two damsels in distress now," she teased him before he placed her gently down on the bed.
}0{
Talking to the cops was like talking to individual bricks on a wall. Frank was beside himself after a frustrating exchange with the NYPD in the hallway. He was well aware that Castle doctrine offered him no better immunity for self-defense in a hotel room. Luckily, Pettigrew and Fitzgerald were able to come to his defense, and he got off with another warning for carrying unregistered firearms on secured property. His perfectly crystal clear record and history as a Secret Service agent were no doubt the heroes in both cases.
If the incident at Central Park pond wasn't enough to distract the media for the rest of the week, this certainly was. Within hours there were news vans parked illegally all along the North side of The Plaza. He could just imagine what the headlines would be now.
When the police had finally vacated the hall, Frank pulled Fitzgerald aside and asked him what Laura had been up to all morning after leaving Rachel's suite.
"She went down to the spa to get a massage, and then I walked her up to her room. That was when we heard the gunshots."
"How long was she at the spa?"
Fitzgerald shrugged. "About a half hour."
Frank was silent as he thought over the timeline.
"You think she had something to do with this?"
"I'm just considering all the possibilities."
"Frank," Fitzgerald's voice was firm. "I know you and Rachel don't exactly get along with Laura, but you have to trust me, she didn't come all the way out here to sabotage you." He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening. "Besides, we heard the guy out. It was just a mix-up of room numbers, and your door happened to be unlocked…"
"I don't know," Frank muttered, staring obsessively back and forth between every door on either side of the hall. "It just seems like too much of a coincidence – first the Central Park thing last night, now this."
"It's New York City, Frank. Shit happens every hour here."
Frank just barely resisted kicking the wall before he went back into the suite. "That's why I fucking hate it."
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"I'm starting to worry that this baby's gonna come out with a gun aimed at the midwife."
Frank glared at Rachel from across the sitting room, then went back to burying his face in the newspaper.
"Farmer, you are way too trigger happy."
She saw a twitch in his left eye before he calmly set down the newspaper on the end table and stared at her. "I specifically told you to lock the door."
"I did lock it!" Rachel defended. "Right after Little Miss Laura left. Then I opened the door when the room service tray was delivered, and then when I put the tray back out in the hallway I got . . . distracted."
He inhaled deeply and looked skyward, his patience wearing thin.
"So sue me!" she said tartly. "Just because I don't go around locking every fucking door behind me every time I enter a room like you do–"
"Yeah, I get it, I'm a paranoid wreck."
"I never said that!"
"You're thinking it."
Rachel huffed, "Can you blame me? Every time something happens that could be considered the slightest compromise to my safety, you freak out on me like it was my fault!"
"You always make me out to be such a tyrant, Rachel!" he raised his voice as he stood up, looking strangely imposing even without his suit jacket on.
"You are acting like a tyrant," she lamented, hands in her hair. "If this is how you treat the woman you love, I'd hate to see what you put the president through."
His blue eyes darkened at her mention of the president. One slip of the tongue had her treading in dangerous waters. Her breath caught in her throat and she firmly closed her mouth in regret.
He turned away toward the window, refusing to look at her.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
To think just earlier that morning she'd had such a rosy outlook on their future. They could barely discuss anything serious without it turning into a minefield of triggers for at least one of them.
God, they were such a mess.
She was convinced he was going to give her the cold shoulder, but he surprised her by saying slowly, "I want so badly for things to not affect me this way anymore." He placed his fist against the glass of the window and stared blankly out at the view of Central Park. "It was never this hard before."
"Before what?" she asked hesitantly.
"Before I met you."
She felt an unpleasant twist in her stomach.
As if coming to the realization, he slowly turned to look at her. "I get worse the closer I get to you."
Suddenly it all made sense to her – the reason why he had tried to end their relationship the first night they'd slept together. This was what became of him when he got too involved with his principal. Had he always been aware of this weakness simmering just below the surface of his self-control? She'd never really considered Frank to be a sensitive person, or a fearful person – he was certainly not the type of man who used aggressive tactics so gratuitously. At least, she'd never thought he was. But their beautiful, passionate, tumultuous relationship had turned her Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde.
Attempting to remain steady for his sake, Rachel walked over to him by the window and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. "It's because you care, Frank."
He let out a shaky breath. "I knew this wasn't going to be easy, but I didn't expect–"
She held her breath.
"Rachel, I'm…" He paused mid-sentence to chew his lower lip, perhaps thinking of the best way to say it. "I'm so in love with you."
Her eyes widened. So that was what he didn't expect?
His voice was even softer, even rougher the next time, "I'm so fucking in love with you."
It was hard for Rachel to reconcile this version of Frank Farmer with the man who had gone running out of her life as soon as he'd saved it. Now she knew exactly what he was running from. Maybe he'd actually been wise to run – but he was brave as hell for coming back.
She tightened her grip on his wrist, suddenly feeling dizzy. "I know you are," she whispered assuringly, "and that doesn't make you weak."
He closed his eyes and released a clipped exhale.
She thought for a moment, staring down at his hand. "You were willing to die for me even before you loved me…"
When she raised her eyes to meet his, she was floored by the look on his face. "I … I'm not so sure I didn't love you then."
Her heart fluttered in disbelief. Helplessly, she took his face in her hands and kissed him hard. "I love you, too. So much."
His eyes were doing that thing again when he looked at her. She swore he could have listed every microscopic detail of her eyes by now.
"We should switch hotels today," he suggested.
She was in no position to refuse.
}0{
It was clear that Rachel wasn't happy about having to leave The Plaza. To make matters even worse, tonight was the night of her concert, and the shuffling of plans would no doubt have an effect on her ability to focus. She insisted that if Frank was going to make them switch hotels, she would have her pick of where they stayed for the remainder of the weekend. Although he would have liked to have done the research himself, Frank reluctantly allowed her to choose, feeling it was the least he could do to placate her after the turn of events.
Rachel had offered the brilliant idea of going to the Sheraton where she was certain Tina and Devon would be staying. Luckily, Laura had decided to stay behind in the luxury of The Plaza, but that meant Fitzgerald would not be at the Sheraton with them, which Frank had concerns about.
He pondered to himself as he emptied his clothing out of the armoire to pack his suitcase. While digging through the drawer, he discovered the mysterious box of chocolates that had been left at the door to the suite the other night. Out of curiosity, he inspected the box again, lifting the lid this time to see its contents. It looked normal enough. Eighteen individual truffles, ornately sculpted with white and dark chocolate designs. There was no note that he could see, nothing that would indicate whether it was a gift from a fan or a complimentary offering of the hotel. Puzzled, he tipped the box lid over.
His stomach dropped at the familiar flash of goldenrod yellow and navy blue. Printed on the underside of the lid was the flag of the United States Secret Service.
Frank was suddenly assaulted by his fight or flight response. He tossed the box back into the drawer as if it had sent an electric charge through his fingers. Standing back, he wondered for a moment if it were a hallucination. He waited until the beating of his heart had slowed, then approached the box again to confirm that the flag was indeed there on the inside of the lid.
He wanted nothing more than to tell Rachel, but he believed it would be placing an unnecessary burden on her. After all, if this "gift" had been intended for him . . . then he was the presumed target. Not Rachel. The idea that his presence could be putting her in more danger had his stomach in knots.
Frank swallowed hard and looked around the room, at a loss for what to do next. The only logical thing he could think of was to dispose of the item, but then he would have no evidence if something did turn out to be a threat.
"Honey?"
Rachel's voice from the doorway startled him. She gave him a look of pity, which offended him deeply.
He casually hid the chocolate box from view with a few shirts. "Yeah?"
"I'm all finished packing. Do you need help?"
"No," he answered a little too sternly. He softened his voice. "No, call the bellhop up here. I'll be done in five minutes."
She nodded and carefully closed the door to the bedroom behind her.
He threw the box of chocolates in the wastebasket and finished packing.
}0{
Frank hated Times Square. Absolutely hated it. Not that there was much about the city of New York that he actually liked. The overstimulation of the area made him dizzy and distressed. Before long, he might be enlisting Pettigrew to put blinders on him as if he were a racehorse at the Kentucky Derby.
Coming out of the limo at the entrance to the Sheraton, Pettigrew could only handle pushing off so many of the photographers on his own. Their questions were white noise to Frank at this point. But the camera flashes still blinded him. And now they knew where Rachel was staying tonight.
On their way through the lobby to check in, they ran into Tina and Devon. Rachel and Tina hugged as if they were falling out of a plane together.
"We can't wait for the show!" Tina exclaimed. "I know you have to run, but before I forget–" She proffered a wedding invitation.
With a nervous sort of smile, Rachel looked pleadingly at Frank. He quickly picked up on the fact that she had no pockets, and he reached out to accept the invitation, tucking it into his suit jacket. He clocked the dark eyes of Tina's fiancé, making a discreet observation of the insignificant motion.
The front desk was quick to expedite their check in, and they were even escorted by a staff member up to the suite to make sure that everything was to Rachel's liking. Once in their room, they had no time to fully unpack. Instead they had to rush to get Rachel ready for the concert, which Frank felt incredibly guilty about. In Rachel's mad dash to ready herself, Tina had come knocking on the door to offer her help, which they were all grateful for in the moment. After all, there was really nothing any straight male could assist with in such dire circumstances.
When they got back downstairs to the lobby, the sky was a piercing shade of red through the large windows. It amplified the already ominous feeling to the evening which Frank tried not to dwell on. At Scott's bidding, Frank rushed through the revolving door, and panicked slightly when he didn't see Rachel directly behind him. Through the glass he could see her exchanging hasty words with Tina as they walked toward the door. Finally, she came outside and Frank all but dragged her to the limo. Ricky tried to comfort Frank by boasting that he could drive through all of Manhattan in his sleep, promising he would never let Rachel be late for the show.
She ended up seated across from Frank and Scott, a trenchant expression on her lovely face as she stared back and forth between them. "Will you two cut it out? I feel like I'm in a tug-of-war with your eyes."
Both Frank and Scott looked conveniently out their windows.
After some time crawling through rush hour traffic, Rachel finally said, "I asked Tina if she wanted to be my personal assistant."
Her comment drew in Frank's attention. "And?"
"She turned it down."
He was mildly surprised.
"Are you upset?" he asked.
Rachel thought for a moment then shook her head. "You know, I thought I would be. But the fact that she doesn't want to ruin our relationship by working for me just made me realize how much of a true friend she really is."
Frank looked back out the window at the line of people that had already formed outside the theater. "We'll find someone to hire for you," he said softly.
Though they did miraculously arrive on time at the theater, Rachel was clearly still rattled from the day as she sat backstage for makeup and hair. Frank was still fascinated that this was her lifestyle. Every time he was forced to see the behind-the-scenes chaos that went into these productions, he had a newfound level of respect for her and her ability to adapt in unforeseen circumstances. Rachel's passion for entertaining and her devotion to her fanbase was evident in everything that she did. And in recent days, her attitude had become milder, and her reactions had softened. He wasn't going to take credit for those changes, because clearly his presence wasn't helping her achieve that inner peace. If anything, he was causing her to be more uptight than was necessary.
But everything he did was in the name of her safety. Couldn't she see that?
Everyone else did.
Nearly everyone backstage seemed to assume Frank was her current bodyguard, which was oddly empowering to him. They came to him with security updates and instructions on exit routes, and he hadn't even had to ask. With Scott busy downstairs scouting the lobby, Frank decided there could be no harm in taking advantage of his mistaken identity.
Although he was regretfully unarmed, he took it upon himself to play bodyguard for the remainder of the evening. He knew that Rachel would have been upset that he wasn't enjoying the concert like he had in Chicago. But after everything that had occurred that day, how could she expect him to just sit still? That feeling of nervousness had never fully settled since the shots he'd fired at the strange intruder in their suite at The Plaza. Frank started to wonder if he would ever live another day without being in fight or flight mode.
As he skulked about the halls of the theater, he adjusted his suit jacket instinctively over the empty spot on his right hip where he usually concealed his sidearm. The halls were mostly empty save for a few audience members who had left between performances to head to the restrooms. Every time a theater door opened, he paused to glance inside, snapping a mental photograph of each new angle.
When he reached the end of the hall, he saw Laura Pentecost leaning against the wall, a powder compact in her hand as she inspected her reflection in the tiny mirror. She was wearing a long red gown that plunged to reveal the deepest curve of her back. When she turned around to face him, he saw the front plunged even further. He tore his eyes away.
"Rachel's up next," she warned him, a tight smile on her scarlet lips.
"I know," he said to the wall.
"Aren't you going to watch her?" she questioned him, her voice uncomfortably close.
He turned, fully intending to stare down at her, but her heels had elevated her to nearly his height.
"I watch her every night," he said stiffly.
Laura cocked her head to the side and swished her blonde hair over her shoulder, allowing the dim lights of the hall to catch her diamond earring. "She's a lucky woman."
He felt a dangerous pull toward her in that moment – she was scratching the surface of his self-control with a sultry caress to his ego. He was an iced-over pond, and she was a single matchstick. She could only cause him to crack if he allowed her to have that power.
He said nothing. Just stared. At her face. Her annoyingly beautiful face. And not at her throat. Not at the excessive skin she was showing. Not at her breasts… No. Not there.
She whispered, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable before… when…"
"Don't." He turned his head to glance down the hall, paranoid that paparazzi could be behind any corner. "Laura–"
Her breath seemed to hitch when he said her name.
"I've decided that I'm going to give up acting," she said suddenly.
He furrowed his brow in confusion. "What inspired that?"
"Rachel did."
He gave her a blank look.
Her green eyes never wavered from his as she explained, "She told me that I should do what I want to do, and not what someone else expects of me."
Just a moment passed where Frank wondered if he was allowing Rachel to live by that same standard.
"I really hope that you two find happiness together," Laura murmured, edging slightly closer to him. "But if things don't work out…"
The tiniest flicker of temptation set millions of nerves firing off in his brain. He wanted a woman who wanted nothing to do with Hollywood. The woman standing before him was not that woman. He knew that. But damned if she didn't know exactly the right things to say to try to sway him.
The pond was melting.
"I'm not interested," he said, fully aware that the words might crush her.
She didn't exactly look crushed. But she did look curious. She scanned his face as if searching for weaknesses, but he held fast through her inspection.
"I need to get back to work," he said tersely before turning away to backtrack down the hall.
"You're not her bodyguard anymore," she called after him. His agitation grew with every one of her footsteps behind him.
"No, I'm worse. I'm her boyfriend."
Laura laughed lightly. Fuck, how on earth was he supposed to shake her?
"I can see why my mom likes you."
Frank smirked to himself out of her view. "I like her, too."
"But you don't like me."
He stopped at the top of the grand staircase. "I don't know you," he said forcefully, facing her.
She looked slightly hurt. "We've been living together for the past three months."
"In a thirteen bedroom mansion."
The silence of the empty hall was suddenly filled with the muffled sound of Rachel singing from the closed theater.
"Do you want to marry her?" Laura asked him, her voice small.
If she hadn't asked him the question in the midst of Rachel's siren calls, he might have answered differently just to stop her from pestering him. As it was, he couldn't help but answer truthfully.
"Yes."
An exaggerated look of sadness fell over Laura's face. "Oh… Oh, no, Frank…"
"What?"
"The other day, when I took Rachel to get her nails done… She told me…"
"What?"
"She told me that she wasn't sure… about marriage."
His heart fell momentarily. He didn't want to believe this woman, but her words did not betray what he already knew to be true about Rachel Marron.
Frank dutifully tamped down his emotions and said dryly, "Is anyone ever really sure about marriage?"
He started down the stairs, but still Laura followed.
"I am," she said resolutely.
He didn't have to turn around. He really shouldn't have turned around. But he did.
"My mother would have me reject the institution altogether," she said bitterly, her long legs descending each step until she met him halfway down, "which makes me want it more."
He knew it was going to happen. He felt it from the moment he'd seen her in the hallway. No, he knew it from the moment he met her.
Because they were on a staircase, he didn't feel it was worth the risk to push her. He let her kiss him. Frank almost always let a woman kiss him. Not because he wanted her too, but because he became utterly paralyzed when unwanted affection was forced upon him out of nowhere.
The PTSD hit him from every uncomfortable angle. In his head, in his chest, in his groin, in his hands. Before she backed away, he saw the face of Nicki Marron in the darkness of his father's cabin.
He didn't know what to say. He gripped the railing of the staircase to prevent himself from submitting to the shudders, hoping Laura wouldn't notice. She seemed preoccupied with his face, still standing disturbingly close to him. If he didn't move soon, someone was bound to see them. Without any acknowledgement to what had just happened, Frank turned and rushed the rest of the way downstairs.
And bumped right into Scott Pettigrew.