THE RENEGADE AND THE HEIRESS

by Judith Duncan

  Feeling dead inside, he turned from the window and crossed to the armoire. His jaw locked, he opened the doors and took his neatly folded duffel and began stuffing his belongings into it. If he cleared out now, he'd be hundreds of miles away by morning. And out of everybody's reach.

  There was a light knock on the door, but Finn ignored it. He didn't want to see anybody, and he sure in hell didn't want to have to talk to anyone, either.

  His nonresponse didn't get him the results he wanted. The door opened anyway, and Malcolm entered. Only it wasn't the chauffeur that stepped into the room—it was, without question, the highly trained bodyguard. He was dressed all in black—black pants, black shoes, a black turtleneck. And Finn spotted a telltale bulge under his black leather jacket. He cast the Brit an impassive look, then tossed his bag down on the end of the bed.

  Malcolm spoke. "Mr. O'Brien told me you have decided to leave."

  Finn cast him another look, then went into the bathroom to collect his shaving kit and the clothes he'd had on earlier. When Finn reentered the room, Malcolm was standing in front of the muted TV, watching something on the screen. It gave Finn a bit of a start when he realized the bodyguard had switched to closed-circuit TV.

  Malcolm turned, indicating the view of the front gate, where a snarl of media vans was clustered, along with technicians and reporters huddled under umbrellas. There was annoyance in the bodyguard's tone. "Quite a nasty bunch, actually. I assumed they would have given up by now." A twinkle appeared in his eyes, and he gave Finn a small smile. "I suspect you'd rather avoid that scene, so I will show you another way out—one that is quite private."

  Finn held his gaze for a second, then stuffed his shaving kit in the side pocket of his duffel. Without looking at him, Finn responded, his tone abrupt. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

  "I just returned from Ms. Mallory's."

  Experiencing a sudden bottomless ache in his chest, Finn rolled up the jeans and roughly stuffed them in the bag. "How's she doing?"

  Finn heard the click of the remote control; then the bodyguard shut both doors on the second armoire. There was an undercurrent of humor in Malcolm's voice. "Ms. Mallory, to use the local vernacular, is a bit ticked. The security people have shut down the telephone system and confiscated her cell phones—they don't want anyone having access to her. She was not at all pleased about that. She wanted very badly to talk to you."

  It was almost as if he taken a severe blow to the heart, and Finn couldn't have responded even if he'd wanted to. Feeling exposed and vulnerable and absolutely raw, he jammed the remainder of his clothing into the duffel, pain radiating through his chest. It hurt just thinking about her.

  Malcolm came over to the bed, then withdrew a small gift-wrapped package from his pocket and placed it with great care beside Finn's duffel. The bodyguard's voice was oddly muted when he spoke. "Ms. Mallory knew you would be leaving before she got a chance to see you," he said quietly. He pushed the small package in Finn's direction. "She wanted to give you something to remember her by.

  Finn stared at the package, the sense of loss so huge he was paralyzed by it. He had no idea how long he stood there, staring at that gift, feeling as if his heart and soul had just been pulverized. She had wrapped it in gold paper and tied it with a gauzy ribbon the exact same color as her eyes, and it nearly killed him, knowing she had been thinking of him. Finally able to ease the vicious cramp in his throat, he reached out and picked it up, his future stretching out like a black hole in front of him. He wasn't sure how he was going to survive without her.

  Not wanting any spectators around when he opened it, he placed the parcel on top of his clothes, then zipped the duffel. Making sure his face revealed nothing, he picked up his jacket and glanced at Malcolm. "You said there was another way out of here?"

  Finn caught Malcolm watching him, his arms folded, a thoughtful, assessing expression in his eyes. He immediately smiled and nodded his head. "That's correct." He went to the door and opened it for Finn. "I'll escort you out."

  It was a miserable night—cold and wet, with the kind of blackness that seemed to swallow any illumination. It was a helluva night to be going anywhere. Finn followed Malcolm's Range Rover down a barely discernible trail through what appeared to be some kind of orchard, then onto a narrow, winding road. About a hundred yards further on, the Range Rover's taillights flashed as the vehicle slowed and pulled over onto the grassy verge.

  A heavy chained metal gate barred the way, and Finn pulled up beside the other vehicle and stopped. Feeling totally spent, he got out and started toward the gate, the freezing rain like needles against his face. Both vehicles had been traveling with the headlights and fog lights on, and the illumination cast the bodyguard in an eerie, diffused aura as he unlocked the heavy padlock on the gate. He glanced up as Finn approached, his face and leather coat already slick with rain. The familiar twinkle appeared in his eyes. "I think we can safely assume that you can make a clean getaway, Mr. Donovan. There isn't a media van in sight." He indicated the highway on the other side of the gate. "That road will take you to the main interchange. It's well marked."

  He pulled the chain loose and had his hand on the gate to push it open when he stopped and took a cell phone out of his inside pocket. He flipped open the mouthpiece and turned away from Finn as he put the phone to his ear. He listened a moment, then looked at Finn. "Very good. I'll tell him."

  He closed up the phone and stuffed it back in his inside pocket. "That was Mr. O'Brien. He just got word that the other two men are in custody. So Ms. Mallory is absolutely safe, and he has dismissed her security."

  Finn looked away and nodded. That was all he cared about. That she was safe.

  He heard the gate rattle and turned back, knowing he had to get through the next few minutes.

  The gate open, Malcolm turned and looked at Finn, extending his hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Donovan. And thank you for taking such good care of Ms. Mallory. We're all very grateful."

  Experiencing an unexpected weight in his chest, Finn grasped the other man's hand and spoke, his voice very husky. "Then I'll leave her in your very capable hands."

  Malcolm held onto Finn's hand, looked at him with a solemn, steady gaze. "I think not, Mr. Donovan," he said, his tone kind. "Ms. Mallory has a mind of her own. And I have always had implicit faith in her excellent judgment. Ms. Mallory is seldom wrong."

  Faced with making the final separation, Finn stepped back and abruptly stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. His voice didn't even sound like his own when he spoke. "Tell her goodbye for me." Then he turned and went back to his vehicle, emptiness radiating through him.

  Now it was really time.

  He made it as far as the exchange—and that was as far as he could go. Driven by something he couldn't even define, he pulled onto the shoulder and stopped. The duffel was on the passenger seat beside him, and he stared at it, his heart suddenly jammed in his throat. He flexed his hands; then abruptly dragged the bag onto the console and located the gift. Touching that package was almost like touching her, and he held it for a moment, his chest getting tighter and tighter, emotion compressing his heart. Finally he undid the bow and slipped a black velvet box out of the wrapping paper. Braced for a whole lot of hurt, he opened the lid, his heart stopping altogether when he saw what was inside.

  It was the pendant—the one he'd found, the one her father had given her mother. He still had a mental image of her clutching it to her heart, as if it was the most precious thing she possessed. His vision blurring, he carefully lifted it out, the metal cold to his touch. He couldn't believe she had given him something that meant so much to her—something with so much meaning attached to it. The necklace clasped in his hand, he clenched his eyes shut and tipped his head back, his throat cramping even worse.

  He sat there for a long time, the lights from passing cars flashing behind his eyelids. He wasn't sure he could do this. He knew it was the right thing to do, but he wasn't sure he could walk away from
her.

  Finally he straightened, his face feeling leaden as he picked up the box. Certain he was incapable of feeling anything more than he was already feeling, he went to replace the necklace in the box, and it was then he noticed that the broken chain had been replaced—the new one longer and heavier. He fingered the new chain, a strange floating sensation overwhelming him. And he knew, as sure as he was sitting there, she meant for him to wear it. Wanted him to wear it.

  Finn got another light-headed rush, and he stared at the piece of jewelry, the heaviness in his chest breaking into a million little pieces. And he knew that there was no way he could leave without looking directly into her eyes, and telling her how he felt about her. He had to tell her that. If nothing else, he had to tell her.

  His hands not quite steady and his heart pounding, he pulled the chain over his head; then he undid his seat belt and turned on the interior light. Twisting around in the confines of the cab, he tore the back seat apart, looking for the map Mallory had tossed back there. He didn't have a damned clue where he was, and he didn't have a clue how to get back to her place, but he was going. He didn't care what time of night it was. He was going.

  The map located, he opened it up and quickly plotted his route, then tossed it on the passenger seat. Shutting off the interior light, he felt for her apartment key in his jacket pocket, then switched on the ignition. He couldn't get there fast enough.

  It was just going on midnight when Finn arrived at her place. He spotted a media van parked up the street, and he swore under his breath. Wanting to avoid that circus if at all possible, he pulled onto the ramp leading into the underground garage, hoping like hell he could remember the security code he'd seen her punch in.

  He got it on the second try. Certain his heart couldn't possibly beat any faster, Finn parked in the empty space beside her coupé. He didn't know he could feel so damned shaky—it was almost as if he'd scaled an entire mountain.

  Using the exact same route as before, he took the stairs two at a time, his heart still thundering in his chest. He hoped like hell the security people had already left. And he didn't even want to think about what he would do if she weren't there.

  Finn was breathing hard when he reached her landing.

  He wasn't quite sure why he did it, but he avoided the security camera the same way she had, so much adrenaline in his system he could have floated a boat in it.

  Expelling the air out of his lungs, Finn silently entered her apartment and closed the door, sticking her key back in his pocket. His heart gave a violent lurch when a loud crash came from the kitchen, and he heard Mallory swear.

  Fear shot through him, and he headed for the kitchen, keeping to the shadows and not making a sound. If someone had her, he would tear them apart limb from limb.

  He moved against the wall until he could see in. Another crash sounded, and he stopped dead in his tracks. There was no one with Mallory. She was making that racket all by herself.

  He wouldn't have believed it unless he'd seen it with his own eyes. Dressed in a pair of his navy sweats, Mallory O'Brien was flinging things out of her cupboard, swearing and crying at the same time. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" She threw a box on the floor, and spaghetti spilled out. "Damn it all to hell!"

  The tension abruptly let go in Finn's chest, and something else expanded to fill the space. He felt almost weightless—and lighter than he had in days. Folding his arms, he propped his shoulder against the door frame, watching her temper tantrum. She looked like hell. Her bright copper hair was slipping from a large clasp on top of her head, her nose was red, her eyes were swollen, and her face was so puffy, it looked as if she'd been crying for days. But she was in top form. She flung several more boxes on the floor, and a crazy kind of lightness blossomed in Finn's chest. She was so splendid in her rage he couldn't believe it. How in hell did he ever think he could survive without this kind of passion in his life? Grinning, he watched her decimate another cupboard; then he spoke. "Is this some kind of make-work project for your housekeeper?"

  Mallory whirled, her expression fixated by shock, then she snatched up a box of crackers and threw it at him, narrowly missing his head. Finn held his position, not even moving his head as he continued to grin at her.

  "You can wipe that damned smirk off your face," she yelled, picking up another box. "If you think you can just walk out of my life without so much as a word, you can go to hell."

  Holding his pose, Finn continued to watch her, emotion softening his expression. "I came to thank you for the present," he said, his voice very husky.

  She tried to stop crying, but she couldn't. That set her off again, and she furiously swept a stack of packaged soups off the island. "Well, I've changed my mind! I want it back!"

  Straightening, Finn started sauntering toward her. His gaze fixed on her, he smiled—a soft, for-her-only smile. "Too bad, Red. You can't have it back. I'm wearing it."

  Her freckles standing out on her blotchy face, she went very still, almost as if she'd been transformed. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she looked at his neck. The top three buttons were undone, and he knew she could see the pendant. He made damned sure she could see the pendant. He smiled again. "I think we need to talk, Red," his said softly, moving closer.

  Her gaze immediately riveted on his face, and she took two steps back, trying to dredge up some more temper. "Not a chance, Donovan. I have nothing to say to you."

  Finn kept on moving toward her until he had her back up against the built-in ovens; then he reached out and ran his fingers across her swollen mouth. "Well, I have something to say to you."

  She tried to move away, but he placed his hands on either side of her, trapping her. Looking directly into her eyes, he said what he'd come to say. "I tried to do what I thought was right for you," he said, a thousand feelings suddenly loose in his chest. "And yeah, I was going to walk away."

  She stared up at him, as if transfixed by doubt. He didn't want her to have a single doubt about him. Not one. Holding her gaze, he cupped the side of her puffy face, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "But I can't walk away, Red. Not until I tell you how damned much I love you."

  For an instant she didn't move, and Finn thought he'd lost the game. Then another sob was wrenched from her and she launched herself into his arms, holding on to him as if he'd just rescued her all over again. Clenching his jaw against the painful cramp in his throat, Finn closed his eyes and crushed her against him, a crazy kind of hope breaking loose inside him. Maybe there were second chances after all.

  * * *

  Dawn was beginning to blossom when Mallory stirred, pulling the bedding up over both of them. She snuggled deeper into his arms and repositioned her head on his shoulder; then Finn felt her trace the path of the chain around his neck. Finn smiled into the darkness and let his eyes drift shut as he tightened his hold. He spoke, his voice gruff with sleep. "If you keep this up, you're going to kill me, Red."

  He felt her smile against him. "Come on. Admit it. You like it."

  He rubbed his hand up her naked arm, grinning again. "Yes, I do."

  Lifting up on one elbow, she looked down at him, then brushed a soft kiss against his mouth. "I love you," she whispered, and Finn clenched his jaw and roughly clasped her head against him, emotion swamping him. The words still got to him, in spite of how many times they'd been uttered throughout the night. But somehow the words never seemed to be enough when he said them to her—what he felt for her was simply too big, too eternal, too significant for just words. Easing in a deep breath, he kissed her back. "Are you still going to marry me?"

  Folding her arms on his chest, she lifted her head and looked down at him, cocking one eyebrow. "Are you still asking me?"

  He laughed and pulled her on top of him. "Don't give me a hard time, Red. I'm too damned exhausted for a hard time."

  She grinned and kissed him again. "You're going to have to live with my money, Donovan."

  He smoothed both his hands up her naked back. "I can live wi
th your money. But I'm not taking any of the damned stuff."

  "Fine. And I've decided I want a slug of kids. I hated being an only child. I never want to have just one."

  He gave her an uneasy look. "How many is a slug? I thought we agreed on two or three."

  Mallory pinched his shoulder, mischief dancing in her eyes. "You said two or three. But we'll negotiate that." She placed her hand on his jaw and gave him another long, slow kiss, then sighed and dropped her head back on his shoulder. "I want to go home," she whispered, sounding forlorn. "I want to wear your shirts and make biscuits, and I want to walk up to the tree stump and watch the northern lights."

  Touched to the core by her wistful admission, Finn wrapped his arms around her and hugged her hard, his own voice gruff. "We can't go home, Red. Not until this business is finished."

  "Yes, we can," she whispered. "We can throw our stuff in your truck and we can just take off." She tightened her arms around him. "I don't want to be here—let's go home, Finn."

  Capturing her face, he lifted her head and looked at her, loving her so damned much he could hardly hold it all. "Is that what you really want?"

  She nodded, touching his mouth. "Yes."

  He stared up at her. "I won't leave without telling your father."

  Sensing a win, she gave him a beguiling smile. "We can phone on our illegal cell phone when we get on the road."

  Amused by her, he narrowed his eyes at her. "And there's a hell of a mess to clean up in the kitchen."

  Mallory turned on all the charm, tracing small, tormenting circles around his ear. "It's all dry stuff—it'll keep. I'll leave a note for the housekeeper." She shifted on top of him, trying to get loose. "Come on." When he didn't move, she tried another angle. "I've got my driver's license and my passport, and I'll even drive."

  Knowing he was eventually going to give in to her, Finn continued to watch her, trying not to smile. "You're ready to run that gauntlet of reporters camped out front?"

  She grinned at him. "If we go before it gets really light, they won't even see us."