by Kat Martin
Logic was the final prodding he needed. Val grabbed his camel-hair sport coat off the back of a chair, snatched up his car keys, and headed out the door. One way or another he was going to end this ridiculous behavior.
At least once he knew the truth, he wouldn’t be jealous anymore.
* * *
She meant to wait for word from Owen, she really did. She had successfully avoided Patrick for three days, but Owen still hadn’t called. When Patrick appeared at her front door just minutes before midnight, his jaw set and refusing to leave, she had no choice but to let him in.
“I want to know what the hell is going on,” he demanded. “I want to know why you’ve been avoiding me. Is it Mallory? If it is, at least have the decency to say so.”
Julie eyed him a moment, saw the turbulence in those stormy blue eyes and something more. She had hurt him, she saw with a bit of amazement, wishing she had been honest with him from the start. He might be involved in shady business dealings but so far he had played fair in his dealings with her.
“It isn’t Owen. Owen and I are just friends. I told you that before.”
“Then what is it?”
Her head came up. She looked him square in the face. “In two ugly words—Sandini and McPherson. I know you’re involved with them in some sort of crooked real estate deal.”
For a moment he just stood there. Then the tension drained from his shoulders and a faint smile curved his lips. “That’s it? That’s what you’re mad about?”
She felt like slapping his face. “This might be funny to you, but it’s deadly serious to me. Innocent people are involved in this. How could you do it, Patrick? How could you sell yourself, sell everything you’ve worked for down the drain for a few lousy bucks?”
“I take it you were listening when my ‘associates’ came in the other day.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose, but yes. I heard most of what they had to say.”
“Then you realize the reason they came to see me is that I wasn’t cooperating with them.”
“I gathered that, yes. I also heard you tell them you’d be happy to cooperate in the future—more than happy, since you’re in for a share of the profits.”
“I told them that, yes. Put simply—I lied.”
“What!”
He made a sound. She could swear it was a chuckle. “I never intended for that deal to go down the way it did. I borrowed money from Sandini and McPherson with every intention of paying it back. When Brookhaven failed and I wasn’t able to pay back the loan, they took over the project and formed the Westwind Corporation. Once I understood the fraud they were planning, I’ve done everything in my power to be certain that they fail.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. I told you—I lied. I’m not going to convince the Teachers’ Pension Fund to buy those worthless notes. I’m going to convince them not to.”
Julie said nothing. She wanted to believe him. She wanted it more than anything in the world. She searched for the truth in those beautiful blue eyes and there was nothing furtive, nothing insincere in the steady look he gave her.
“If you don’t do what they say, what will happen?”
“I’ll lose a lot of money, but I’ve already done that. The business is running in the black again. I’ll survive.”
“And?”
Patrick glanced away, for the first time looking uneasy. “They won’t be happy about it, but they’ll still own Brookhaven. Sooner or later the market will change and the units will sell. They’ll be able to recoup their money.”
“Not all of it.”
“No, not all of it.”
She wondered what he wasn’t telling her. She would find out, she vowed. Perhaps what Owen discovered would fill in the blanks. “Is that the truth, Patrick? You’re really not involved in this? You’re not going to help them?”
“You can go with me when I talk to Sarah Bonham. I’m going to advise her against buying those notes.”
Relief rushed through her, so strong tears pricked her eyes. Her heart ached in an odd, throbbing cadence that went far deeper than relief. “Oh, Patrick.” She reached for him and he hauled her into his arms. She could feel the bands of muscle across his chest and the solid, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat.
He nuzzled the side of her neck. “God, I’ve missed you. Next time you get mad at me, promise you’ll tell me the reason. I can’t stand this thing you call jealousy. I don’t know how anyone can.”
Julie laughed. There were times since his illness Patrick had the oddest way of phrasing things. Julie found it strangely endearing.
“I should have come to you,” she said. “Next time I promise I will.” She leaned toward him and he kissed her, a fierce, possessive kiss that made her blood heat and her body tingle all over. Then he was lifting her up, carrying her off to the bedroom, pressing her down in the middle of the bed and coming up over her. He didn’t stop kissing her; he couldn’t seem to get enough.
They made love wildly, till both of them were physically and emotionally drained. Julie slept soundly till just before dawn, then woke up in Patrick’s arms, one of his long legs thrown possessively over hers, pinning her to the mattress. Her body felt sweetly sated, pleasantly battered.
She smiled as she lay beside him.
As the minutes crept past, only the persistent nagging worry about Patrick’s intention to oppose Sandini and McPherson kept her from returning to sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Val leaned back in his chair, surveying the computer screen in front of him. He was working on a listing for Fred Thompkins, trying to establish the value of a Hollywood Hills estate that had once belonged to Errol Flynn, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate. His mind kept straying to Julie, to the scene he had made at her house.
He had barged into her home in the middle of the night, been demanding and overbearing—all in all, behaved like a complete and utter madman. What was happening to him? Where was Valenden Zarkazian, scientist, leader—rational, logical, always in control? Even Patrick had never behaved so insanely.
But then, Patrick had never been in love.
Val winced as the word popped into his head. Between Patrick’s perceptions, the television shows he had watched, and the books he had read, he knew the symptoms.
It was like a disease, he believed. An Earth disease, and Val was certain he had somehow unwittingly contracted it. It occurred to him he might administer some form of medical relief in the hope of curing himself, but he was fairly certain it wouldn’t work.
He wondered if the disease would go away when he returned for good to Toril, but in the back of his mind, he was afraid that it would not.
It was an odd disease, wondrous in some ways, making a man feel like he could leap buildings, or perhaps even fly.
Like Superman, he thought with a smile, dragging a boyhood memory from the back of his mind. The smile slowly faded. Pain went with love. He had sampled a bit of that pain when he had thought he’d lost Julie to Mallory. It hurt, damn it. A physical ache down deep inside.
How many months would he carry that ache when the time finally came for him to leave her? How many years?
Would the ache stay with him forever?
And there was Julie to consider. She cared for him, he knew. He didn’t know exactly how much. Would she suffer as he would, after he was gone?
He had promised not to hurt her.
Now it seemed very clear that he would.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. The door swung open and Nathan Jefferson Jones stuck his big bald head through the opening.
“Say man, what’s happenin’? You real busy?”
Val smiled. “Not that busy. What’s up?”
The door opened wider and Nathan wheeled Alex Donovan
into the room. “It’s his first trip out of the house since his stroke. Man’s lookin’ real good, ain’t he?”
Val smiled as he rose from behind his desk and started toward the frail man seated in the wheelchair. His thick snowy hair was freshly trimmed, his face clean-shaven, his slacks and yellow short-sleeved shirt perfectly pressed.
“You look terrific, Father.” He had almost said Dad. Patrick hadn’t called him that in years. Not since before his mother died. “I’ve been meaning to get out to the house. I’m glad you stopped by.” Amazingly he was. Even if it could be dangerous. No one else had questioned Patrick’s subtle ongoing personality changes, but Alex always seemed to look deeper than anyone else.
“Julie’s been by fairly often,” the old man said as Nathan discreetly backed out of the office and closed the door. “I was hoping you would come with her.”
“We thought we might come out this weekend. I didn’t realize you’d be up and about, able to leave the house.”
Alex smiled, gouging grooves in his thin cheeks that had once been dimples. “Amazing, isn’t it? The doctor says it’s some sort of medical phenomenon. He wants to write it up in one of his journals.”
Val just nodded. “You know what they say, the Lord works in mysterious ways.” It was all he could think of to say. He certainly couldn’t admit his part in the old man’s recovery. He was happy to give the credit to God, who rarely got as much as He deserved.
“Shirl says Julie isn’t in.”
“She’s out with a client. She’ll be sorry she missed you.”
Alex studied him in that shrewd way of his. “Maybe it’s for the best. I really came to see you.” He leaned back in his wheelchair, an imposing figure even in his weakened condition. “What are your intentions toward her, Patrick?”
Val blinked several times. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. I asked you about your intentions. Do you plan to marry the girl?”
Marriage. The thought had never crossed his mind. Of course he couldn’t marry her. He couldn’t marry anyone. He was leaving, returning to Toril.
“I realize you’re concerned about her, but I think that’s a matter best left to Julie and me.”
The old man grunted. “That’s what I thought. You haven’t the least intention of marriage. You wanted her in your bed. You have for years. As soon as you tire of her—”
“You’re wrong, Father. We haven’t talked about it, but if I could marry Julie, I would.”
A thick white eyebrow shot up. “You’re saying you’re in love with her?”
He didn’t want to say it out loud. He had only just faced the fact himself, but he owed Patrick’s father the truth. “Yes. Unfortunately, at present, marriage isn’t an option.”
“Why the devil not?”
Val sighed. “Business reasons. Brookhaven is still up in the air. Money is tight. Besides, I’m not even sure Julie would marry me if I asked her.”
Alex didn’t respond to that. He seemed to be studying Patrick’s face. “Thank you for your honesty,” he finally said. “I was worried about her, is all. From now on, I’ll leave things up to the two of you.”
Val simply nodded.
“You’ve changed since your heart attack,” Alex said. “Mostly for the better.”
“Mostly?”
He chuckled. “There are times these days you’re a bit too serious, but other than that…” He reached out and clasped his son’s hand. “I’m proud of you, son. I wanted you to know that. It takes a damned big man to turn his life around the way you have.”
An odd lump rose in Val’s throat. Patrick would have loved to have heard those words. “Thank you, Father. You’ll never know how much that means.” It would have meant the world to Patrick. Oddly, it seemed important to Val, as well.
“Well, I suppose I had better be going. I still get tired fairly easily.”
“As I said, I’m glad you came.” Patrick opened the door and Nathan stepped back in.
“Ready to go?” Alex nodded to his nurse, who grasped the handles of the wheelchair, whirled him around as if he were weightless, and shoved him effortlessly out the door.
He grinned at Patrick over one gargantuan shoulder. “Take care, my man.”
“Will do,” Val said and watched them till they disappeared. Still Alex’s frail image lingered, their conversation returning again to mind. Marriage. Bonding with Julie. It wasn’t possible. Yet the thought tormented him. He would be leaving soon, returning to Toril. It was past time he took a mate, yet how could he bond with a female on Toril when his true life mate was a woman he had known here on Earth?
He wished Alex Donovan had never brought up the subject. Perhaps he could have left without the notion ever occurring. Perhaps it wouldn’t have tortured him as he knew it would now.
For the next two hundred and fifty years.
* * *
Standing in the entry of her Malibu beach house, Julie opened the door and was surprised to see Owen on the porch. She motioned for him to come in. It was six o’clock in the evening. She had come home from work early to change and meet Patrick for dinner, “someplace special,” he had said. Her expensive tapestry and leather overnight bag sat packed and ready on the sofa for the night she would be spending at Patrick’s apartment.
“Good evening, Julie.” Owen walked farther into the room. He was dressed casually, in beige slacks and a pale blue rib-knit sweater, his light brown hair still damp near the collar, as if he had hurried over as soon as he got out of the shower.
“I was just going to call you. I found your message on the machine. I was hoping you had uncovered something on Sandini and McPherson.”
His gaze darted to the overnight bag. She couldn’t miss his frown of disapproval. “Going somewhere?”
Her lips tightened. “I’m sure you can guess where I’m going.” She sighed. “I realize you disapprove of my involvement with Patrick, Owen, but that’s my business, not yours.”
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Everything involves a certain amount of risk. I’m willing to take the chance.”
“Perhaps you won’t be, once you hear what I’ve learned.”
Julie eyed him warily. She was hoping he wouldn’t uncover Patrick’s connection to Sandini and McPherson. Obviously he had. She should have known better than to involve him. Owen was nothing if not thorough.
“So what did you come up with?”
He tossed a manila file folder down on the light pine table next to the sofa. “They’re heavy-duty players, just like you said. They’re headquartered in Chicago.”
“Chicago?”
“That’s right. They’ve got underworld connections, Julie. Big-time underworld connections. Patrick is in very deep with these boys and they don’t take that lightly. These fellows play for keeps.”
“Y-you’re not saying Patrick might be in some sort of danger.”
“I’m saying he’s in trouble. He was from the moment he got involved with those two men. Patrick owes them money—big money—and they mean to see it paid back.”
Julie wanted to reach for the file but her hands had started shaking and she didn’t want Owen to see. “What…what will happen if he can’t?”
“I can only tell you this—you don’t get involved with men like that—not if you want to stay healthy. And you don’t play games. If you do, you’re going to lose.”
Julie said nothing. She had known there was more to the story than Patrick had told her. Now she knew what it was. He didn’t have the money to repay his debt and he wasn’t going to help them defraud the Teachers’ Pension Fund. He was pitting himself against them, and in doing so, he was putting himself in danger.
Dear God, he could get himself killed!
She let her unsteady hand fall to h
er side, nervously smoothed down her skirt. “Thank you for telling me, Owen. At least now I understand what’s going on.”
He came forward, reached out and gripped her shoulders. “Patrick’s no good for you. He never has been. Can’t you see that?”
“Patrick’s not involved the way you think. He simply owes them money. He’s different now, Owen. He’s a changed man, a good man. And the truth is, I’m in—”
He shook her, breaking off the sentence before she could finish. “Don’t say it, damn you. You want to love someone, love me. I’ll take care of you, see you have everything you’ve ever wanted—clothes, jewels, furs. We’ll travel together, visit countries all over the world. Can Patrick give you that? No! All you’ll get from Patrick Donovan are headaches and a broken heart.” He pulled her toward him, brought his mouth crushing down over hers.
He was a big man, tall and thickly built, a handsome man in an older, more mature fashion, yet she felt not the slightest spark. She tried to turn away but Owen caught her chin and held her immobile, forcing his tongue into her mouth, determined to make her respond.
She finally went still, passive and cold in his arms, and Owen ended the kiss. He was breathing hard, staring at her with hot, dark eyes. They were filled with anger and accusation.
“Why him and not me?” he ground out, his voice thick and hoarse.
“I’m sorry, Owen. I value your friendship, but I’m not interested in anything more.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “You’ll be sorry for this. You need me, Julie. Someday you’ll figure that out. When you do, I might not still be waiting.” He grabbed the file off the table, turned and stormed out of the house, his shoes clomping over the flagstones in the entry.
Julie watched him leave, a tight knot twisting in her stomach. Patrick had tried to warn her but she wouldn’t listen. Now she had lost a friend and she doubted she would ever get him back. Not unless she was willing to change his role from friend to lover and invite him into her bed.
Her thoughts careened to Patrick, the man who filled that place in her life now. Was he really in danger? Was there some way she could help him?