“I thought pseudonyms were just for writers.”
Her chin jutted out. “Lots of people besides authors use pseudonyms. Actors do. Musicians do. Why not artists? Besides, I was only twelve, and I hated my name. I chose a pseudonym in case my drawings ever made me famous.”
“So you’ve been drawing since you were twelve?”
“I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember.”
“What does LL stand for?”
Her hesitation was barely noticeable, but it was there all the same. “Lois Lane.”
He bit back surprised laughter. “Lois Lane? As in Superman? That Lois Lane?”
Antonio had expected his skepticism to make her grow even more defensive. But she totally disarmed him by grinning saucily.
“I was twelve, Michael. What do you expect?”
“It’s a wonderful drawing, Ruby.”
Her grin disappeared, and she eyed him closely, as if judging his sincerity. Then she disarmed him even further by biting her lip and shifting awkwardly from one bare foot to the other.
“You really like it?”
He had never heard her sound so tentative. Apparently, while she was self-assured in every other area of her life, Ruby had doubts about her abilities as an artist. Although how that was possible he didn’t understand.
“I really do. You have a rare talent, you know that?”
“Thank you,” she replied quietly.
“I’m curious. Do you show your work?”
She seemed to have regained her composure. After stooping to pick up the piece of charcoal, she sat back down on the park bench. “Why would I do that?”
“You did say you used to dream of becoming famous, didn’t you? The only way I know of for an artist to become famous is if she shows her work.”
“I was a child, Michael. Children dream impossible dreams.”
“Tell me I’m wrong, but when I arrived, you were so absorbed in your drawing you had no idea where you were, what time it was or even who I was.”
She didn’t bother denying it. “Your point is?”
What was his point? Why was he pressing so hard? Because he hated seeing talent, any talent, go to waste. Ruby was already wasting her life on Joseph. It would be a crime to waste her talent, too. The crime fighter in him wanted to prevent that, if at all possible.
“You could have sat here all day, drawing, couldn’t you?” he said. “You love it.”
“Yes.” The admission was reluctant.
“More than anything else in your life.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m not the only person who has told you that you have talent.”
She clutched the sketch pad tighter. “No.”
“Then why haven’t you tried making a living off your art? Do you know how many people go to work, day after day, in despair because they hate what they’re doing? You’ve actually found something you love, yet you’re ignoring it.”
“I’m not ignoring it, Michael. Whenever I have spare time, like this morning, I draw.”
“And how much spare time do you average in a week?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. An hour. Two. Maybe three.”
“If you worked at it full-time, you could have forty hours. Fifty. Even sixty, depending on how much of a workaholic you wanted to be.”
“It’s a nice thought, Michael. There’s only one problem.”
“What’s that?”
She tossed her head and flicked her hair back off her face, then smiled that empty smile of hers that every man but him seemed to find fascinating. “I wouldn’t be able to maintain my wardrobe on a starving artist’s pay. That’s why I valuate art for a living, instead of creating it. Maybe, though, after Joseph and I are married, I’ll give it some more thought.”
He didn’t know what infuriated him more: the coy look in her eyes, or her words. Here, he’d thought they were sharing a rare moment of honesty, and she went and ruined it by reminding him how shallow she truly was. Apparently, his hopes for her were higher than the ones she held for herself.
He had to stop building her up in his mind as something other than what she really was: a young woman obsessed by wealth, beauty and fashion to the exclusion of all else. A woman of no substance.
For a moment, he could even take pity on her. One day her looks would fade, and all the fancy clothing and jewelry in the world wouldn’t be able to disguise that fact. Nor would cosmetic surgery. What would she do then?
Antonio studied the woman who was such a puzzle to him. To his amazement, as he replayed each of their encounters in his mind, one of the pieces slid into place. The words were out of his mouth before he could even consider the wisdom of uttering them.
“It’s all an act, isn’t it?”
Trying not to hyperventilate, Laura stared at Michael in stunned disbelief. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would burst from her chest. Alarm bells, the magnitude of a submarine’s warning system, clanged in her head. It was over. All her hard work, not to mention the work done by the Pittsburgh police, had been for nothing. Her cover was blown. Worse, far, far worse, was the knowledge that she was the one who had blown it.
Think, Laura, think. What do you do now?
The problem was, Michael had thrown her off balance with his unexpected arrival in the park. Okay, so he had thrown her off balance from that first moment when his gaze had met hers across the auction floor.
Still, wearing blue jeans and getting charcoal under her fingernails was not an activity in which Ruby would willingly participate. It was only natural he would question her appearance. She’d compounded her error by apologizing for making them late, something Ruby would never do, and by initialing her drawing. Thank goodness she hadn’t signed her real name. But Lois Lane? Sheesh. How lame could you get? Small wonder his suspicions had grown.
She had brought the sketch pad with her, and the jeans, because she considered them her good-luck charms and took them with her on every job. She hadn’t intended to use them—not out in the open, anyway.
But when she had parted her curtains that morning and seen the way the rising sun had played over the landscape, she hadn’t been able to resist. Sketching relaxed her, and with the tension she had been feeling since Michael Corsi’s advent in her life, she had desperately needed to relax. She had fully intended to be back in her room before he had even known she was gone. Instead, she had succumbed to the joy she always felt when she held a piece of charcoal in her hand, and had lost all track of time. An unforgivable error, one of many she had made that week.
Face it, she was losing her touch.
Michael had further confused her by complimenting her drawing and by sounding sincere while doing so. Then, when she had tried to respond in a manner she felt Ruby would, his questions about trying to make a living from her art had hit too close to home. His obvious disappointment in her—in Ruby—had stung more than she cared to admit. Because, as far as her drawing was concerned, Ruby’s truth was Laura’s truth. She had always been too fearful of criticism and failure to even show her work.
None of it mattered now, however. She could make a thousand excuses, and it wouldn’t change a thing. Because the job, her very life perhaps, was in jeopardy, and she was the one who had placed it there.
“Well?” Michael insisted, when she continued to stare at him stupidly, and the silence threatened to stretch into next week. “I’m right, aren’t I? It is all an act.”
For one insane second, Laura wished she could tell him the truth. She was so tired of the lies. So tired of pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Still, if there was any chance to rectify this mess, she had to take it. She was the one who had thrown it all in the dumpster. She had to be the one to dig her way out.
She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “What is?”
Ordinarily, she would have gone on the attack, in an effort to throw Michael equally off balance and to make him question his assumptions. Before she could do that, however, she had to know ex
actly what he was thinking, exactly what conclusions he had drawn. Then, and only then, would she be able to form a response that would, hopefully, allay his suspicions.
“The dumb, helpless female bit. Face it, Ruby, you’re as helpless as a life preserver. And you’re as dumb as a fox. For some reason, though, you don’t want people to know just how capable and smart you truly are. Why?”
Relief coursed through her, and she had to fight not to let it show on her face. She hadn’t blown her cover. Not totally, anyway. She could fix this, so long as she didn’t let her emotions make her do or say anything more stupid than she already had that morning. What would Ruby say in answer to this?
“Men don’t like women who are smarter than they are,” she said.
Michael’s brow furrowed. “Who told you that?”
“My mother.”
“And you believed her?”
“Didn’t you believe the things your mother told you?”
“Yes. But in your case, your mother was married to a man who, according to you, was cold and unfeeling. A man who, also according to you, has sent you on a life-long quest for male attention. I would think you would find any advice she gave you, about men anyway, suspect at best.”
Laura allowed herself to relax, just a little. She was back on familiar territory. At last.
“She had my interests at heart.”
“As does your brother, yet you haven’t listened to him about changing your lifestyle.”
“It made sense to me, Michael. Still does.”
His gaze raked her from head to toe. “So the tight clothes, the makeup, the Marilyn Monroe act, they’re all for a man?”
“It works, doesn’t it? I’ve never been without a man in my life.”
“And, as we’ve already established, you need that.”
Her chin went up. “Yes, Michael, I do.”
“Even if you have to play dumb to get him?”
“Trust me, I’m not acting that much. I’m not exactly Einstein.”
“You’re not Betty Boop, either.”
She widened her eyes at him. “Who’s Betty Boop?”
“Very funny.”
She grinned unrepentantly, which only seemed to make him grind his teeth. Good. So long as he stayed irritated with her, he wouldn’t waste his time trying to figure her out. And before she patted herself on the back too hard, she had to get herself out of this conversation and back to the motel. Once in her Ruby gear, uncomfortable or not, impractical or not, she would feel much better. She would feel more in control and less…vulnerable.
“What does your father do for a living?” Michael surprised her by asking.
“He’s an accountant.” Laura mentally apologized to all the accountants in the world. Still, their stereotypical image of being staid, humorless and uptight lent credibility to the story of her father being emotionally remote.
“And your mother?”
“She’s a homemaker.”
“The kind who does housework wearing a dress and cultured pearls, and who always greets her husband at the door with a smile on her face when he comes home from a long day at the office?”
“Not even close.”
“She doesn’t meet your father at the door?”
“Oh, she meets him.”
“She’s not a good housekeeper, then.”
Laura shook her head. “My mother keeps an immaculate home. I don’t recall her ever sitting down. She’s always busy doing something.”
The question formed in his eyes before he spoke the words. “What are you so carefully not saying, Ruby?”
“My mother waits on my father hand and foot. Not because she wants to, but because she’s afraid not to.”
“How does she behave when he’s around?”
“Like a frightened little mouse, scurrying from place to place to keep out of the way of the cat.”
“But not you,” Michael commented.
This was exactly where she had wanted the discussion to go. “I learned early on to stand up for myself.”
“Did you get any bruises for your efforts?” he asked softly.
She looked down at her lap and traced one bare foot across the top of the cool grass, the way she suspected Ruby might, if actually confronted with the question. “A few. They faded quickly.”
“Did they really, Ruby? Did they really?”
He sounded like he really cared, but that had to be her imagination. Ruby struck as many sparks off Michael as he did off her. If he cared anything, it was that they would have to work overtime to make up for the time they had already lost this morning.
He was waiting for an answer, but what answer did he expect? Of course the scars wouldn’t have faded. That was why she had given Ruby the history she had. But would Ruby herself, intelligent or not, be enlightened enough to realize that? Would she even care? Laura didn’t think so.
She looked up. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me, Michael?”
For half a second he seemed taken aback, then he grinned. “Would it bother you if I were?”
She tilted her head and waited a beat. “Didn’t think I’d be so deep, huh?”
His laughter was filled with both surprise and appreciation. It flowed over her like an unexpected ocean wave, leaving her trembling and sputtering in its wake. He’d thrown his head back, exposing the column of his throat. For one brief, crazy second, she had to fight the urge to lean forward and press her lips to it.
How could a man who was morally bankrupt have such a wonderful laugh? she wondered, dismayed. And how could she let herself respond to it?
“Do you see them much?” he asked.
She stared at him, not comprehending. “Who?”
“Your parents. Do you seem them much?”
His words reminded her of how much she missed her mother and father. And Jacob and Jason. “As little as possible.”
“How old were you when you left home?”
“Eighteen.”
“Couldn’t wait to get away, could you?”
“No, Michael, I couldn’t.”
He nodded as if she had answered a question he hadn’t asked. “This is only a wild guess here, and probably more personal than you’d care for, but you linked up with your first man then, didn’t you?”
“Psychoanalyzing me again?” she said lightly.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“And if you are?”
“Who was he?”
There was a bite in his tone she didn’t understand. “Just a man. A man who taught me many things. A man who was far more gentle and loving than my father had ever been.”
She drew a deep breath and flashed him a brilliant smile. “Anything else you care to know? Because it’s getting late, and we really should be heading back to the motel.”
“Just about your brother,” he said.
She was surprised, and grateful, that he wasn’t prying further into Ruby’s love life. “What about him?”
“Has he cut your parents out of his life?”
“Of course not. He’s a priest. He’s into forgiveness.”
“But you’re not.”
“Are you?”
Instead of answering, he said, “I assume, since you mentioned him on the drive down, that you’re still in touch with him.”
Laura felt her lips curl in a fond smile. How wonderful it felt to finally be able to speak the truth, to not have to worry about being tripped up on an inconsistency.
“We see each other whenever we can. The parish he’s assigned to is in New Mexico, so it isn’t as often as we would like.”
“When you do get together,” Michael said, “he prays for your mortal soul?”
Laura chuckled. Whenever they got together, Alex nearly turned blue in the face trying to talk her out of being a cop. “Fervently.”
“That doesn’t bug you?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. But I know he loves me. He only wants what he thinks is best for me.”
“And you love him?�
��
“Unconditionally.”
“Changing your lifestyle would give him peace of mind, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it would.”
“Yet you’re not about to change it, are you?”
“No, I’m not. Tell me, Michael. Would you change your lifestyle for anyone, no matter how much they loved you?”
“No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”
She had no business feeling disappointed, Laura told herself. After all, it wasn’t as if she was going to ask him to change his lifestyle for her.
“Look, Ruby. Why don’t we make a pact? For the time that we are here, away from the auction gallery, you drop the dumb brunette act. You’ll get a chance to let your hair down—metaphorically speaking, of course—and I won’t grind my teeth down to the gums.”
“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” He stood and stuck out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
She thought for a long minute. They would be spending many hours in each other’s company. It sure would be nice to talk about something besides fashion or the weather.
Standing, she slid her hand into his. Ignoring the way the contact shot a tingle of awareness up her arm, she gave it a vigorous shake. “Deal.”
Quickly withdrawing her hand, she ran it down her thigh. Ostensibly the motion was made to look like she was brushing something off her jeans. What she was really trying to do was wipe the feel of him off her. It didn’t work.
“We really do need to be getting back, Michael,” she said, making her voice no-nonsense. “Did you walk here or drive?”
“I drove.”
Thank God. It was only a mile, but if she had to hobble all the way back to the motel in her high heels, she just might find herself begging for mercy.
“Can I tell you something?” Michael asked.
Laura reached for her shoes and thrust her aching feet into them, trying not to wince as she did so. “Can I stop you?”
He leaned close, as if confiding a secret. “You look far more comfortable in those jeans than you ever did in that tight skirt you had on yesterday.”
Reaction set in when she stepped into the shower. Replaying the moment when she thought Michael had figured it all out on the viewing screen of her mind, Laura sank to the shower floor, wrapped her arms around her knees and gasped in deep, gulping breaths while the hot water pounded down on her bent head.
Laura and the Lawman Page 11