Memories: A Husband to RememberNew Year's Daddy (Hqn)

by Lisa Jackson

  “How would he guess?”

  “He’s a powerful man with more than his share of connections. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of your co-workers is in the senator’s back pocket.”

  “Who?”

  “That much I don’t know,” he admitted, scowling slightly. “So I kept dogging you and I knew you’d planned to see the mission because I’d overheard you talking to the concierge at the hotel, asking directions. I made sure I got there ahead of you and then...” Guilt shadowed his eyes and he rubbed a hand over his mouth. “...I wasn’t paying attention and suddenly I heard you scream. I ran as fast as I could and found you on the lower ledge. The rest you can figure out.”

  “What about the man who pushed me?”

  Trent shook his head. “Didn’t see him.” When he realized she was about to protest, he held up a hand. “I’m not saying he didn’t exist, I’m just telling you I didn’t see him. He could’ve hidden, I suppose. All I was concerned about was getting you to safety.”

  “And deciding to pretend to be my husband.”

  “As I said, originally I did it so that I could stick close to you and keep you safe. That hospital didn’t have the best security in the world and I thought Crowley might send one of his goons to make sure you didn’t talk. That part worked.”

  “But only because I didn’t regain my memory. What would have happened if I’d suddenly remembered everything?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “That was one bridge I thought I’d cross when I came to it.”

  “And that’s why you didn’t...rush things in the bedroom.”

  He slid his jaw to the side. “I told myself that I’d keep my hands off you. Your injuries were enough reason.”

  “But—”

  “Oh, hell, Nikki,” he exploded, “I couldn’t help myself! I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t exactly rape you now, did I?”

  She blushed darkly. “You took advantage of me.”

  “So sue me! Call the damned police! Do whatever you have to, but, for God’s sake, believe me! I couldn’t keep away. I wanted to. Hell, I knew making love to you would be a mistake, but it was a risk I had to take.”

  “You didn’t have to do anything.”

  He sighed loudly. “It happened, Nikki.”

  Her heart started to crack again, but she refused to play the part of the wounded victim. Unfortunately part of what he said made sense and the truth be told, she didn’t want to leave him. Not yet. Not until she was stronger. Climbing to her feet, she said, “Okay, we’ll go along with the charade, for just a few more days, until I can figure out how the hell to divorce you quietly. Then, a clean break.”

  “Fine.” He seemed relieved. The lines of tension around his eyes became less prominent.

  “But I am going to work.”

  He started to argue, thought better of it and nodded curtly. “I’ll drive you and pick you up, then we’ll go to the airport and try to locate your car.”

  There was no sense belaboring the point. At least the ground rules were set down, not that they might not shift at any minute. She found a set of towels in a cupboard and, after announcing she was going to take a shower, locked the bathroom door behind her and turned on the old spigots. Steam rose to the ceiling as she stripped off her clothes. So she wasn’t married. Good. Soon Trent would be out of her life forever.

  She pushed aside the shower curtain and stepped beneath the hot spray. As she reached for the shampoo bottle, she noticed her ringless left hand and bit down hard to keep from sobbing. What was wrong with her? He was a phony! A sham! A liar! No better than Judas Iscariot or Benedict Arnold!

  So why did she still love him?

  Chapter Ten

  “CONGRATULATIONS!” CONNIE, PERCHED on the corner of Nikki’s desk, dropped a white package with a big silver ribbon next to Nikki’s computer monitor. Rawboned and strawberry blond, she’d grown up in West Texas and had never gotten rid of her drawl. Her long legs swung freely from beneath a short black skirt and when she smiled her eyes sparkled like liquid gold.

  “What’s this?” Nikki asked, but with a sinking sensation, she knew. The silver wedding bells on the wrapping paper gave the gift away.

  “Open and find out.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can.” Connie pretended to look wounded. “Unless you want to wait until Trent’s around—”

  “No!” Nikki grabbed the package, read the card and pulled off the ribbon and wrapping paper. Inside was a cut-crystal vase with fluted sides. “Oh, Connie, it’s beautiful,” she said, feeling like a thief. “I...I don’t know what to say.”

  Connie grinned. “You don’t have to say anything. Now, check your schedule. Some of us want to throw you a belated wedding shower, probably early next month.” She leaned over the desk and flipped through the blank pages of Nikki’s calendar. “How about the tenth?”

  “I...I don’t think so,” Nikki said, touched, but trying to come up with some reason to avoid the celebration. She felt like a phony and a fraud, a person who would lie to get whatever she wanted.

  “It’ll be fun. Jennifer knows a male stripper and—”

  “Oh, Connie, really, don’t,” Nikki pleaded. Everything was snowballing too quickly and she felt as if her life was beginning to career off course. She touched Connie on the back of the hand and decided she had to confide in her friend. “Look, I’ve got to tell you something,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

  Max Van Cleve was striding toward her desk. His wavy blond hair was combed perfectly, his white shirt starched.

  “Later,” Nikki said to Connie. “I’ll tell you everything at lunch.”

  “What is it? Trouble?” Connie guessed from the lines of worry that seemed intent on permanently etching Nikki’s brow.

  “Just wait, okay?” She didn’t want Max overhearing any of their conversation, and thankfully, Connie seemed to finally get the message.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” Max said, showing off perfect white teeth. “How about a kiss for the blushing bride?” He was teasing, she knew. He’d been married to his wife, Dawn, for three years and the two of them still acted as if they were on their honeymoon. At that particular thought, Nikki’s stomach did a little flip. Honeymoon. Salvaje. Trent.

  “First of all, I don’t blush, and secondly, I wouldn’t want to make Dawn jealous,” she quipped back. She felt like such a traitor. For years she’d prided herself on her honesty; she knew that much from the bad taste in her mouth every time she tried to lie.

  “Me?” He pointed a finger at his chest. “Do anything to upset my wife? Never. Just the same, you owe me one.” He rapped his knuckles on the edge of her desk and walked toward the reception area.

  Nikki blew out a sigh of relief, ruffling her bangs in the process. It was good to finally be alone, though her peace lasted less then forty-five minutes, when Connie returned bearing a steaming cup of coffee and a toasted bagel.

  “Fresh off the cart,” she said, sliding the bagel, napkin, coffee and small container of cream onto a stack of Nikki’s mail.

  “You’re a lifesaver.” Nikki poured in the cream and sipped from the hot coffee.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re back. Things have been dull with a capital D around here since you’ve been gone.” A set of slim gold bracelets jangled as she motioned toward Frank Pianzani’s glassed-in office. “Worse than ever. Frank seems to think the only stories I can handle all have to do with triplets being born or teachers being fired. Heavy stuff.” She winked lashes thick with mascara. “You’d think someone would tell that man we’re closing in on the twenty-first century.”

  “I know just the woman to do it,” Nikki said pointedly.

  “Moi?” Connie pointed a red-tipped nail at her sternum and shook her head. “And chance losing my job? Uh-uh. I’ll leave al
l that brave and noble business to someone else. I’m just a working girl.”

  “Sure,” Nikki said as Connie strolled back to her desk.

  She finished her bagel, dusted her fingers and sipped coffee while continuing to scan her notes, read her mail, skim the last few issues of the Observer and generally catch up with the rest of the staff. Time still seemed out of sync for her, and whether from jet lag, her amnesia or her stormy relationship with Trent, she couldn’t concentrate fully on her work. Relationship. Ha! What she shared with Trent was no more than cold lies and hot sex.

  That thought turned her stomach sour, and she tossed back the rest of her coffee, crumpling the cup and casting it into the wastebasket as she tore open an envelope. But work didn’t come easily. She wasn’t used to the noise and activity of the office. Secretaries clicked by in high heels, mail carriers pushed carts along the aisles between the cubicles housing individual desks, phones jangled, conversation wafted past soundproof barriers, and the fluorescent lights overhead hummed while offering a surreal light to the inner workings of the Observer.

  She couldn’t seem to dislodge Trent from her mind. His face swam behind her eyelids and his vague accusations against Senator Crowley kept playing back in Nikki’s head like a record that was stuck. She twirled a pencil between her fingers and wondered about the connection between Crowley and Trent. Why was Trent so hell-bent to see Crowley destroyed?

  Scratching the back of her head with the eraser end of the pencil, Nikki pulled up the files of stories she was working on before she left for Salvaje. Most of her work was finished and printed: old news. Only a few articles and interviews hadn’t been completed, but not one of the articles had anything to do with politics or Diamond Jim Crowley. As she read over her work, trying to feel some connection to this job, she experienced an undercurrent of dissatisfaction, solidifying her earlier guess that she’d been unhappy here at the Observer.

  Max had written an article on Senator Crowley a few weeks back, but the piece read more like a campaign advertisement than a piece of cutting-edge journalism. It was little more than a reminder that James Thaddeus Crowley was working hard in Washington, D.C., for the people in Washington state. For jobs. For the economy. For the environment. For everyone. Nikki’s stomach roiled. Something stunk to the very gates of heaven. She was sure of it, and in a flash of memory she recalled that she had planned an exposé of Crowley, there was something...some scandal he had covered up. What was it? She worried her lip between her teeth and tried to concentrate, but other than her image of the cold man with the cane in the photography shop in Salvaje, she remembered nothing. Trent had said something about bribery. Think, Nikki, think!

  Nothing came. Not one measly thought.

  “Terrific,” she growled in disgust and let out a perturbed sigh. Disgusted with her lack of memory, she rifled through the new stories she’d been given: an update on new bike paths near Lake Washington, an in-depth article on the new director of the symphony, a story on the import/export business in Seattle, with a note that she could use her own father as one of her sources as he owned one of the largest import/export houses on the Sound.

  Nothing of any substance. No investigative journalism. No dirt. Not one thing that really mattered.

  No wonder she’d been after Crowley. Tapping her pencil on her desk, she squinted at her computer monitor. But what was Trent’s connection to the senator? He’d been in Salvaje, dogging Diamond Jim, just as she had. He’d been worried enough to pretend to be married to her. But worried about her safety? Or worried about what she might print about the senator? What was his ax to grind? She didn’t know, she thought, leaning back in her chair and frowning at the screen, but she damned well planned to find out!

  * * *

  “Not really married!” Connie’s jaw nearly dropped into her spinach salad. “But—you called. Said so.” Her face crumpled into a mask of confusion and a wounded shadow crossed her eyes as she stared at Nikki.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know myself.” While picking at her crab Louie, Nikki confided in Connie, leaving out nothing save the very painful fact that she was falling in love with the very man who had started this phony charade in the first place. She even told her friend about her amnesia and the fact that she could remember little.

  “You’re kidding!” Connie whispered in the crowded restaurant. She glanced over her shoulder as if she expected to find, in the company of reporters, stockbrokers, secretaries and junior executives, a gun-toting mob hit man sitting in a caned-back chair, huddled over a plate of fettuccine, his gun and silencer visible when his jacket slid open as he reached for the garlic bread.

  “Look, it’s not that bad.”

  “Not that bad, are you out of your ever lovin’ mind?” Connie hissed.

  Nikki pronged a slice of egg with her fork.

  “You fall or are shoved off a cliff, barely escape with your life, can’t remember a damned thing, and your rescuer, nearly a total stranger who just happens to be on an island few people have ever heard of, claims you’re married to him. Later, after you tell your family and friends that you’re married, he admits it was all a lie. And why? To keep you safe? I think I’d take my chances with a barracuda.”

  “But you know him,” Nikki said, feeling the unlikely urge to defend Trent. Rolling an olive over a bed of lettuce, she tried to explain. “Look, I know it sounds bad—”

  “Bad isn’t strong enough. Fantastic is more like it. Unbelievable is damned close, or downright deceitful is even better yet. God, the nerve of the guy. And, for the record, I don’t know him. Yes, I met him when I had that auto claim. Someone stole my BMW, remember? The one my folks gave me when I graduated from college.” She munched on some lettuce. “Did I tell you it was stolen by a guy who was involved with a ring of car thieves? Trent, working for my insurance company, exposed the entire operation.”

  “So he’s not all bad.”

  “Few people are. And he’s definitely not hard on the eyes. But I don’t trust a liar, Nikki, and neither should you. This guy lied to you. In a major way. If you ask me he should be strung up by his...well, his hamstrings or worse!” She tore off a piece of bread and leaned across the table. “So tell me, when you thought you were married to him—”

  Here it comes! Nikki picked up her water glass and swallowed against a dry throat.

  “What did you do... Well, you were supposed to be on your honeymoon. How’d you handle all that?”

  Nikki nearly choked, but this time the lie—the half truth, really—rolled easily off her tongue. “I was hurt. My face, my ankle, my whole body. Trent acted as if my injuries were reason enough not to get too involved. Besides, you should have seen me. I wish I had pictures. My face was so ugly, no man would be interested.”

  Connie lifted a skeptical brow, but didn’t argue, and Nikki felt like a heel. Why couldn’t she explain everything? Because the truth of the matter was she’d fallen for the louse.

  “That’s why I can’t accept the wedding gift,” she added as she pushed her half-eaten salad aside. “It’s beautiful, but I’m not married.”

  Connie managed a smile. “Keep it,” she said. “It was worth hearing all about this.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Consider it an early birthday present.”

  “My birthday’s in May.”

  “A late one, then.”

  They argued, and finally Nikki gave in, agreeing to buy lunch in partial trade, just to keep Connie happy.

  “Now, about that missing memory of yours. Maybe I can fill in a few blanks,” Connie said. “You were really unhappy before you left and you were on this...vendetta, I guess you’d call it, against Senator Crowley. You wanted to do an exposé on the man, and Frank refused to let you. Even when Peggy went to bat for you, he insisted that Max or John be given the story, and we all know that Max thinks Diamond Jim can walk
on water. When Peggy insisted that you be given a fair chance, Frank put his foot down. The quote went something like, ‘Men just have a clearer insight into matters political.’ You know, something pompous and asinine and way off base. It goes without saying that it caused your blood to boil.” Connie cast Nikki a sly smile. “I think you were working on the story, anyway. You must’ve been if you found Crowley in Salvaje. What the devil was he doing down there?”

  “I wish I knew,” Nikki said as the waiter slipped their bill onto the table. She picked up the receipt, determined to find out everything she could about Senator James Crowley, as well as Trent McKenzie.

  * * *

  By late afternoon, the drizzle had disappeared. Sun began to dry the wet pavement, leaving puddles only in the deepest cracks and holes of the sidewalks and streets.

  Nikki walked through the revolving door and took in great lungfuls of fresh air from the bay. The sky was still overcast, but a few rays of sunshine pierced through the clouds to sparkle on the concrete.

  Tucking her umbrella under her arm, Nikki spied Trent, hips resting on the fender of his Jeep, arms folded over his chest. He was double-parked in an alley, but didn’t seem the least concerned about a ticket. He lifted a hand when he saw her and she couldn’t help the stupid little skip of her heartbeat at the sight of him. As if they truly were newlyweds. What a joke! When was this hoax going to end? Wrapping her arms close around her, as if she could guard her wayward heart, she sidestepped the deepest puddles.

  He grinned at the sight of her, that sexy slash of white she found so unnerving. “Found your car.”

  “You did? At the airport?”

  “Right where you left it.”

  She climbed into his rig, as if she truly belonged there, and the scents of leather and oil seemed suddenly familiar. This was getting dangerous. Though she was always a little unsettled by him, there was something intimate and secure in being with him.