Chapter 1
Perhaps it was the gloominess of the day, or perhaps it was the close call Shana had when coming in through Customs. In any case, the slender, petite woman with the black wig felt depressed. She belted her blue raincoat all the more tightly around her waist as she carried her own suitcase from the airport. Twice she refused help from one of the porters, her hazel eyes looking this way and that, making certain no one was watching her more than usual. She was always watched to some extent. It was the price she had to pay for being a beautiful woman.
At the age of twenty-eight, Shana Maher was still a stunning eyeful. Normally she had Irish-red hair, cut short and fluffed around her head almost in a halo. Her nose was short but upturned, between two brilliant brown eyes and above a heart-shaped pair of lips, all set in an oval face that was as white as the driven snow. Her figure was classic, and as a result, men were always looking at her, no matter what she was wearing. She knew what was in their minds. If anyone knew what the men were thinking, it was Shana Maher.
She had just come from Ireland where she had delivered three trunks filled with all kinds of explosives to the IRA. Not that Shana was one of those fanatics who cared whether or not Ireland was free from the British. All she cared about was the money she received for the goods she peddled. Somehow she was more worried on the return trip, with a trunk full of money than she was when going, bringing along all that plastic explosive. The plastic explosive was molded into the shapes of various animals, to theoretically be sold in gift shops. But the money, now that was a different story. Neither she nor her partner trusted banks, so she had to bring the money back through Customs.
The trunk was waiting for her on the sidewalk, and she hailed a cab and gave him her address in Brooklyn. The cabbie shot away from Kennedy Airport and three quarters of an hour later, he was helping Shana carry the trunk, along with her suitcase, up to her small apartment on Fourteenth Avenue. She tipped him and he left, and then she went to the phone, dialed a number, and when she heard the receiver on the other end picked up, all she said was, "I'm back!" Then she hung up.
Hurriedly changing from her travel clothes to a bright pink dress, she removed the black wig and revealed her golden-red hair. Quickly combing it out and styling it, she left the apartment and headed for the nearby church. There, she knelt and prayed, giving thanks for her safe return. She lit a candle, and then went back to her apartment and waited.
Less than an hour after her return, the door buzzer sounded. She walked down the long hall to the front door, opened it, and let the man in. He was tall, a good six feet in height. His skin was olive, and he had the kind of face most women swooned over. Shana would have been no exception, had it not been for her somewhat religious upbringing.
Morality was the one thing her parents had stressed. Never sell yourself to a man. Never give yourself to a man who isn't your husband. Have nothing sexually to do with men other than your husband. As a result, Shana had come to despise all men. She had never married, and she was a twenty-eight-year-old virgin.
"Well," the tall, vibrant man with the aquiline nose said, following her into the apartment. "Tell me about your trip."
He wore an immaculate blue suit, expensively tailored. Though his association with Shana had been profitable, she was well aware of what went on in his mind. More than once he had broached the subject of an affair. He wasn't the type to marry. Shana had flatly rejected the idea, and once he had even walked out, swearing he would never return. Knowing him as she did, Shana hurried after him and pleaded with him to return, telling him that someday, when she got over what she falsely referred to as her fear of committing so heinous a sin, she would grant him the opportunity he had been seeking.
The living room was small, with an old, but very well-kept sofa against the right wall. It was gold-clothed, with walnut for the frame.
Shana sat on the sofa, while Conally Morse sat in the blue chair near the window, able to look out at the gloomy day. Con, as he was known, had been amazingly patient with Shana considering her consistently putting him off. Even Shana had to admit he had been patient, and at the moment showed no signs of losing that patience. He was her partner in this operation, the one with all the contacts. Each time a delivery was made, it had to be made in a different place, to different people, and using different passwords. Con had all the contacts, and Shana needed him if she was to continue living satisfactorily. That is, she had needed him. This last delivery and pay-off would assure her of a financially secure future. She listed herself as a registered nurse when tax time came around, and she always filed an honest return. The IRS had never had cause to question her or call her down, and once she had banked her share of the money, she would have enough so that the interest on her savings would be more than enough to see her through' the rest of her life.
"It was uneventful, as usual," she replied. "To begin with, I had David, the man in the apartment downstairs, drive me to the airport. Poor David! He's as bad as you when it comes to wanting me. He keeps trying to convince me I need a man."
"You do," Con shrugged.
"I need no one," Shana said with narrowed eyes. "Since leaving my parents, I've gotten on well enough alone. No man has ever touched me, and no man ever will. I don't need men."
"Go on," the black-haired man insisted.
"At the airport," she told him, "I had no trouble boarding the plane. There was a woman across the aisle from me wearing a mink coat. Someday, when the interest in my savings account is high enough, I'll have the minks instead of these women who don't deserve them."
"You amaze me," Con told her, shaking his head. "Here you are, bragging one minute about being able to live alone, and in the next minute you envy some woman wearing a mink. Don't you know by now there's only one way for a woman to have a mink."
"Ohh?" Shana asked. "How is that?"
"The same way a mink has a mink," he replied, letting it sink in, making Shana blush.
"Don't be disgusting," Shana insisted. "By the way, even though you've been the one with the contacts, I've been the one taking all the risks, doing all the dirty work. I think I should get a bigger share of the money."
"Make like a mink and I'll be only too happy to give you a slightly bigger share," he assured her.
"I hate it when you talk that way," she gasped. "At times like that, I hate you, personally."
"Hate is merely the other side of the coin," he reminded her, smiling. "If there's so much hate, there has to be love."
"Don't flatter yourself," she snapped.
"Go on with your story," he insisted, standing and walking about the room.
He walked to the small round table between the two windows and fingered the ticking alarm clock there. Shana had this fetish for ticking clocks. There were at least two in every room. They were seven-day clocks, and when the cleaning woman came on Saturdays, she was the one who wound them up and made certain all of them kept perfect time.
"After I made the delivery, I had to wait around for five days, to make it look as if I were finishing up some business," she shrugged.
"What did you do during those five days?" he asked.
"What I do best-nothing," she replied. "If there's anything I truly enjoy doing, it's absolutely nothing. Now I can sit around for the rest of my life and either watch TV, read, go to an occasional movie, and listen to the radio. I'll be able to stay in bed until noon every day, and then take my time getting up and dressing."
"How was the trip back?" he asked.
"Uneventful," she replied.
"Would you like to go out to eat?" he wanted to know.
"Of course," she smiled. "You're always so good to me, Con. I think I'm going to miss you now that all this is coming to an end."
"We can still be friends," he assured her as she rose to her feet.
"Friendship with you is a dangerous thing," she insisted. "You always have only one thing in mind."
"I won't deny it," he nodded, helping her on with her raincoat. "I believe in being open and honest concerning my feelings."
"So do I, darling," she smiled, and led the way out of the apartment.
The two of them walked three blocks to the main thoroughfare, and there, turned left and walked two more blocks to the large restaurant. As they were about to enter, a family with three children came out, and Shana automatically smiled.
"I love children," she said to Con. "If there was some way to have them without having to go through the degrading physical conception, I think I would have a dozen kids by now."
"I'm sure," he nodded.
The restaurant was small, almost intimate, with tables in the rear. The two of them were ushered to an empty table, and seated. They scanned menus, and Shana said, "Since you're paying, I'm going to have a small feast. In Ireland good food isn't that easy to find."
"By all means," Con nodded.
He, himself, had a steak with mashed potatoes and green peas. He neither said anything nor looked askance at the way she had two turkey dinners, three side dishes of Swedish meatballs, and four different desserts. It was obvious she had an overactive metabolism, because anyone else eating as she did would have weighed a good hundred pounds more.
Afterward, they returned to her apartment, and Shana sighed with contentment.
"All I want to do now is get into bed and do absolutely nothing."