by Lisa Jackson
“You didn’t ask.”
“I did,” she corrected, her lips curling. “You said it was personal.”
“It was.”
Throwing her hands up and grabbing the air in frustration, she shook her head. “How could I have been such a fool—such a damned fool?”
“You’re not.” His fingers folded over her arm. “I should have leveled with you, but it didn’t seem important.”
“Not important?” She yanked her arm away and strode to the fireplace, feeling a tide of misery swell in her heart. She loved him and he’d used her. Again. That was the sole basis of their relationship. It could never be anything more. “We’re talking about my life here. Because of what I’m doing I was nearly killed, and you don’t think it’s important!”
A shadow crossed his eyes. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“Then just stop. Okay? Get the hell out of my house and the hell out of my life! Leave me alone, Trent.” For God’s sake, leave me alone to lick my wounds and start over.
But he didn’t. Cursing under his breath, he walked straight to her, and his expression was a mixture of anger, disgust and fear. “I can’t, Nikki.”
“Oh, spare me the protector routine. It’s wearing a little thin.”
“I love you.”
The words echoed through her apartment and reverberated through her soul.
“I always have.”
He reached for her, and she slapped him with a smack. “Don’t say it, Trent. No more lies!” she cried as the red welt appeared on his cheek. Horrified that she’d struck him, she took a step backward but not before he caught her wrist and yanked her hard against him. His eyes slitted and she remembered once thinking that he was cruel.
“I’ve lied about a lot of things, Nikki, and I’m not proud of the fact, and I’m not going to tell you that all my reasons were noble, because they weren’t. I slept with you, made love to you because I couldn’t stop myself, damn it. I even rationalized that it was necessary, but I didn’t count on falling in love with you.” His fingers dug deep into her flesh. “If there was any way I could have prevented falling for you, you’d better believe I would have.”
Her throat worked painfully. “I don’t believe you,” she choked out. How could she trust a man who had lied to cover lies? The words were music to her ears, but like a false melody they would fade quickly, disappear when the time was convenient, never to be recalled again.
“I love you, Nikki.”
Again, those horrible, wonderful words. Her heart wanted to explode and tears filled the back of her eyes.
“I think I fell in love with you from the first time I saw you.” He sighed loudly, playing out his role. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a sentimental sap. This isn’t like me, but I fell in love with you, and I swear, as long as I live, I’ll never love another woman.”
Oh, God! She wanted to believe him. With all of her heart, she wanted to trust and love this man, but she couldn’t. As tears slid in tiny streams from her eyes, she tossed off his arm and shook her head. “And I swear to you, as long as I live, Trent McKenzie, I’ll never trust you.” Feeling as if she were shattering into a thousand pieces inside, she stepped away from him and brushed the tears from her eyes. “It’s too late.”
“Nikki—” He reached for her but she stood on wooden legs, refusing to go to him.
“Even if there was a chance for us once upon a time, it’s over. Leave, Trent,” she insisted, fighting the urge to run to him.
“But—”
“Just drop the key on the counter and walk out that damned door!”
He studied her long and hard, looking for cracks in her composure, then, grimacing, he turned on his heel, grabbed his jacket and walked out of her life. The door slammed with a thud, shaking the room.
Her knees started to give way. She grabbed the corner of a table and afraid she might fall into a puddle and cry for him to come back to her, she ran to the bathroom, locked the door, turned on the shower and stripped off her robe. Steam billowed, filling the room and her lungs as she stepped under the warm spray and prayed that the hot needles of water would wash away the pain in her heart. She loved Trent, was destined and doomed to love him all of her life, but she wouldn’t let him know how she felt. She had already experienced too much pain at his hands—she’d never be fool enough to give him the chance to hurt her again.
She cried in the shower, quietly sobbing and letting her tears mix with the water. These, she swore, were her last tears for a man who could lie and say he loved a woman without batting an eye.
When she finally turned off the spigots and shoved the wet hair from her face, she felt stronger. She would survive. Somehow she’d live each day without him and the pain would lessen, not quickly, but she would live with it and go on with her life. She’d learned long ago, during the pain of her parents’ divorce, that she was a survivor and that she could accomplish just about anything she wanted to. Right now, she wanted Trent out of her life.
Cinching the belt of her robe around her waist, she clamped her teeth together and unlocked the bathroom door. She paused, took in a long, bracing breath and, in a cloud of steam, walked through the door.
Trent was gone. She knew it before she even glanced through the shadowy apartment. From the atmosphere in the room, the lack of life in the air, she knew that he’d left. And she realized that she’d been wrong. Just when she’d been foolish enough to think that she was fresh out of tears for Trent McKenzie, she found a few thousand more.
* * *
“I just don’t see why I can’t meet that husband of yours.” Ted Carrothers touched the crook of his daughter’s arm and propelled her across the street. He’d called while Nikki was at work and they’d agreed to have dinner together.
“He’s busy,” Nikki hedged as they threaded through the crowd of pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalks. Umbrellas, boots, newspapers and purses tucked beneath arms, raincoats billowing, everyone walked briskly, as if each person was in his own personal race with the world.
Unlike Salvaje, where the pace was slow, the weather warm and lazy, Seattle’s gait was brisk, in tempo with the winds that blew chill off the Pacific. Fog was rolling through the streets and a slight drizzle threatened. Ted shoved open the door of his favorite Irish pub, and the sounds of hearty laughter, clink of glasses, and noise from a television where a boxing match was being shown, greeted Nikki. Smoke hovered over the bar and the smell of beer was heavy in the air.
“In the back. Rosie has a table for us,” her father said as they moved past the long mahogany bar that had been a part of Rosie’s Irish Pub since the great fire. “Here we go.” Ted weaved through the tightly packed tables and, true to his word, found a booth in a corner near the back wall.
Nikki slid onto the wooden seat while Rosie, without asking, brought two frosty mugs of ale. Not believing that she could trust anyone to manage the place, Rosie worked day and night as a waitress and hostess. “Bless ya, Rose,” Ted said with a wink.
“Come here often, do you?” Nikki teased, scanning her menu.
“As often as possible. And don’t bother ordering. It’s already done.”
“Don’t you think I might like a say in what I’m eating?”
His blue eyes twinkled. “Not when I’m paying the tab.”
“This is the nineties, Dad.”
“But I like the old ways better.”
She wasn’t in the mood for another fight. “Fair enough,” she said, watching the small flame of a glass-encased candle flicker as they talked.
“Now, about Trent. Who the devil is he?”
Good question. “I met him through a friend.” Not really a lie, just stretching the truth a bit. She took a long swallow of the dark ale. “You remember Connie Benson? I work with her, and she had her car stolen earlier in the year...
” She perpetuated the lie and didn’t have the heart to tell her father that her marriage was over. Or even that it had never existed. Over bowls of thick clam chowder and crusty bread, she rationalized that her love life wasn’t any of her father’s business and she would have to deal with Trent on her own. Rosie cleared the empty bottles and bowls and arrived with a platter of grilled salmon and planked potatoes. The conversation drifted back and forth, and each time Trent’s name was mentioned, Nikki hid the quick stab of pain in her heart.
By the time she’d eaten half her salmon, Nikki thought she might burst.
“So where is Trent tonight?” her father asked as he pronged a potato and studied it. “Why couldn’t he join us?”
“He’s working late. Lots to catch up on.”
“A private investigator.... Ah, well, I thought you’d marry someone...” He searched for the right word, and Nikki felt her temper start to simmer.
“Someone more conventional?” she asked. “Someone like Dave Neumann.”
Her father lifted a big shoulder. “He’s not a bad guy, but, hey, since you’re married, let’s leave him out of the conversation.”
“Good idea.” Nikki picked at the pieces of pink salmon flesh, but her appetite had disappeared. She felt like a fool and a fraud, defending a man who had not one ounce of compunction about lying to her.
Her father asked about her amnesia, tested her and, satisfied that her memory was intact, nodded to himself. “Glad you’re feeling better. I was worried about you, Nicole.”
“I know. But I’m okay. Really.” They smiled at each other and some of the old feelings of love between them resurfaced. She remembered trusting him implicitly, never questioning his ultimate wisdom.
Finally, her father shoved his plate aside. Rosie, as if she’d been hovering nearby waiting, swooped down and swept up the dirty dishes. She asked about another round of drinks, but neither Nikki or her father was interested. When she finally left, Ted set his elbows on the table and tented his hands. “Aside from the honeymoon and the accident, how was your trip?”
“Salvaje’s an interesting place. Semitropical. Warm. I’d like to go back someday.”
Her father’s lower lip protruded. “What about Jim Crowley?” Nikki’s insides jelled and she looked up sharply, but her father just seemed to be making conversation as he swirled the remainder of his ale in his mug. “I know he was down there at the same time as you. I thought you might be dogging him.”
“I was on my honeymoon, Dad,” she said. “I didn’t even talk to him.” Nikki’s tongue felt thick and twisted as she tried to evade the issue without lying to her father.
“He’s...well, he’s not really a friend of mine, but I know him. I’ve done business with his law firm for years. I deal with his son, James, Jr. Hell of an attorney. Smart as a whip.”
“What you’re saying, Dad, is that because Jim’s son is a great attorney, I should back off on any story dealing with the senator. Especially if it shows our favorite son in a bad light?”
“Just don’t hound the man, Nikki.” Ted tossed back the remaining drops of his dark beer. “You people with the press, always digging, always looking for dirt.”
“He’s a politician, Dad.”
“So he asked for it?”
“So he’s got to keep his constituents’ best interests at heart. He can’t be playing to special interest groups and he’s got to keep his nose clean. It comes with the territory.”
“I think he’s a good man, Nikki. I wouldn’t want his reputation destroyed on some drummed-up charge. It wouldn’t be fair and I wouldn’t want my daughter a part of it.”
“I’m a reporter, Dad.” Her chin inched upward a notch in pride. “I try my level best to write the truth without being biased or opinionated. Now, that’s tough given my gene pool, but the best I can promise you is that if Crowley’s nose is clean, I won’t harass him.”
Her father sighed. “I guess that’s the best I can expect.”
“Damn straight.”
Her father paid the bill and walked Nikki to her car. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and wondered how they, who had been so close, had drifted so far apart politically. Age, probably. Disillusionment.
She drove to her apartment and had the uncanny feeling that she was being followed. Again. Lord, she was getting paranoid. If she didn’t watch out she’d end up on some shrink’s couch, paying big bucks to find out that she was insecure because her parents had split up when she was young.
And because a man deceived you into believing that you were married to him.
Oh, Lord. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and told herself that she should never see Trent again. Let the memories fade on their own. Let sleeping dogs lie.
As far back as she could remember, she’d never let one sleeping dog slumber in peace. Her curiosity, her sense of justice, her desire to set wrong to right, overcame her good judgment. She’d never been one to take the easy way out, or pussyfoot around an issue, and she wasn’t going to start now. If she planned on being the best damned reporter that the Seattle Observer or, for that matter, the New York Times had ever seen, then she’d better quit thinking like a coward.
Sliding her jaw to the side in determination, she threw her convertible into Reverse, turned around and, tires screaming in protest, headed for Lake Washington. She was going to have it out with Trent McKenzie, right or wrong.
* * *
She drove with her foot heavy on the throttle, moving quickly in and out of traffic, suddenly anxious to see him. For weeks she’d been shackled by her injuries, by her amnesia, by Trent’s lies and by the love that she’d begun to feel for him, but now she was in control, her life in her own hands again, though those very hands shook a little as she clutched the wheel.
A part of her still loved him. That stupid, female, trusting section of her brain still conjured up his face and thrilled at the memory of his touch. “Idiot,” she growled, honking impatiently as a huge van pulled into the lane in front of her.
What would she say to Trent when she confronted him? She didn’t know. Scowling, she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror and decided, when she caught the worry in her eyes, that she’d have to wing it. She’d done it before.
She ran a yellow light and turned off the main street. Pushing the speed limit, she drove onto the curvy road that wandered over the cliffs surrounding the lake. Steeling herself for another painful session, she wheeled her sporty car into the drive of his house.
The sun, already hidden by high clouds and clumps of thin fog, was beginning to set and the tall fir trees surrounding the rambling old house seemed gloomy and still. She slid to a stop near the garage and bit her lip. Trent’s Jeep wasn’t parked where he’d left it the previous night.
“Wonderful,” she muttered, then walked to the front door and rapped loudly. No answer. She pushed hard on the doorbell, hearing the chimes ring. Still no footsteps or shouts from within.
She rubbed her arms and felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment. “Stop it,” she chided herself. He wasn’t going to weasel out of this showdown, not after she’d worked up her courage to face him. She walked to the back of the house and found a note on the back door, which she read out loud. “‘Wait for me.’”
Her throat squeezed. He’d expected her. Or someone. The hairs on the back of her neck raised as she opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Snapping on a few lights, she felt better, but the sight of the bedroom made her stomach wrench. The huge bed was made, the fire long-dead, the curtains drawn, but in her mind’s eye she saw the room as it had been. A warm fire threw red and gold shadows across the bed that was mussed and warm. Trent’s body, so hard and taut, was stretched over hers, his lips grazing her breast, his eyes gazing deeply into hers.
Love or lust?
She bit her lip in confusion
. What she’d felt had been love. She’d welcomed his kisses, embraced his lovemaking, given her heart to him, and she’d do it time and time over, if she ever got the chance again. Sick at the thought, she realized she’d become one of those women who are inexplicably drawn to the wrong men, men who will only hurt and use them, men who are careless with their love, men who can never truly let a woman touch their souls.
Welcome to the real world.
The sound of a car in the drive brought her out of her reverie. Trent! Annoyed at the quick spark of anticipation in her pulse, she strode to the front door, intent on greeting him in person and giving him a healthy piece of her mind.
“Where the devil have you been?” she demanded, jerking the door open.
Standing on the front porch, his eyes a brittle blue, his expression a mirror of her own surprise, was Senator James Thaddeus Crowley.
Her insides shredded. “Oh,” she whispered.
Crowley leaned heavily on his cane and his face was lined and weathered. A man stood next to him, one step back, and as Nikki’s gaze moved to his face, her stomach clenched. She faced her own death. This tall man with the short-clipped black hair, feral eyes and long nose was the man who had been chasing her, the man whose swift steps had followed her through the steamy undergrowth of the jungle on Salvaje. In a blast of memory, she recognized him as the man who had placed his meaty hand on her shoulder and given her a shove. Oh, God!
“Miss Carrothers,” the senator said smoothly, recovering as she began to sweat. “Well, well, what do you know? First on the island and now back here.”
“What do you want?” Danger sizzled in the air around them and she looked for a chance of escape, but the two men blocked her way to her convertible and the senator’s silver Mercedes was parked nearly on her car’s bumper. No way out.
“I’m looking for McKenzie.” Crowley’s frigid eyes narrowed a fraction. “Your husband? Or is that just an ugly rumor?”
“He’s not here right now,” she said, trying vainly to calm the racing beat of her heart. Her fingers were slick with sweat where she still touched the edge of the door.