Eye of the Beholder

by Ingrid Weaver

  Oh, damn. Why didn’t he just slap her? She moved to one of the chairs that flanked the table under the room’s window and grasped the chair back so that he wouldn’t see her hands shake. “You have nothing to apologize for, Rafe. I understand now that you were honest with me. I simply didn’t listen.”

  “I should have tried harder.”

  “There really isn’t any need to discuss this. As you said, it’s over.”

  “Not completely.”

  The eagerness that burst through her took her off guard. Oh, God. She was pathetic. He had never spoken about a future for them. It was absurd to hope that he would now. “You made yourself very clear on several occasions, Rafe. I don’t know what more there is to say.”

  “I take responsibility for what happened between us.”

  “We both know that I was the one who…initiated the…things we did.” Her eyes heated with tears. She lifted her chin. “Please, don’t embarrass me more than you need to, Rafe.”

  “Hell, Glenna. That’s not why I came here.” He took a step toward her, then clenched his jaw and resumed his stiff posture. “I wanted you to know that if there are any consequences as a result of my actions, I intend to take full responsibility. Legal and financial.”

  “Consequences?”

  “I mean if you’re pregnant.”

  Her knees gave out. She yanked the chair around and sat down before she could fall. “Pregnant?”

  He swore under his breath and moved to her side. “We had unprotected sex, Glenna. I realize the odds are slim that you would have conceived, but—”

  “Oh, my God. I hadn’t even thought about that.”

  He dropped to one knee to catch her gaze. “I’m sorry, Glenna. I hadn’t wanted to upset you, but we had to get this straight before you left.”

  She looked at him, her head reeling. Pregnant? With Rafe’s baby? A child with his blond hair and his beautiful blue eyes? Oh, yes. She could imagine it so easily. If she was pregnant, then her relationship with Rafe wouldn’t have to end. They could get married. They could raise a whole family of blond-haired, blue-eyed angels and they could lay the ghosts of their pasts to rest. She could show him that he was a good man inside, that he didn’t have to be afraid of loving someone…

  “I don’t like the idea of abortion,” he said, “but it’s your body so you have the right to decide. Whatever your choice, I’ll support you, Glenna.”

  Oh, God, she was doing it again. He didn’t want a relationship. There was no relationship. He was merely trying to be honorable.

  Yes, that was Rafe, all right. Willing to go beyond the call of duty. Riding to her rescue like some fairy-tale knight.

  But this was reality. And she was a fool. An utter fool. When it came to her emotions, it appeared that her judgment was no better than her father’s. She’d had good reasons for living the kind of life she did before the hijacking. She’d been wrong to believe she should change.

  Dr. Colbert had explained all of that, too. Decisions made under extreme stress were never reliable. Glenna had believed she’d been about to die—stress didn’t get much more extreme than that. She’d thought Rafe had been her last chance for living and loving.

  But life went on. And that was the hard part.

  Damn him. Rafe had been right about that, too.

  “Glenna?”

  She gestured toward the suitcase that sat on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Would you bring that over here, please?”

  He did as she asked, setting the suitcase down on the table in front of her.

  She turned it around so that she could unzip a pocket on the , then took out her gold-embossed leather-covered day planner. She held it so tightly her freshly polished nails scored the cover.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  It was her anchor, she thought. The structure of her life before he came into it. Her road map home. She handed the book to Rafe. “There’s a section for addresses in the back,” she said. “Write down your number. I’ll be in touch.”

  Rain drizzled through the boughs overhead in a shimmering gray mist. The smell of pines mingled with the scent of mud and wet leaves. The light was fading fast, turning the forest into a maze of dark trunks and eyeball-poking brush. It was an old National Guard post in West Virginia instead of a tropical rain forest, a selection exercise for the latest class of applicants to Delta Force, not a rescue mission, yet somehow Rafe’s mind kept straying to those five days in Rocama.

  It had been more than three weeks ago. It had been only one mission in hundreds. Why couldn’t he get that one out of his mind?

  Simple. It wasn’t the mission, it was Glenna.

  He leaned against an oak tree and rested his head against the trunk. Water fell from his hood and trickled down his neck into his collar. He was tired, and despite his poncho, he was wet. He should be able to ignore the discomfort. He usually could. That’s what he’d been trained to do. But lately he’d had a hard time focusing. Everything he did seemed to remind him of her.

  Take the rain. It reminded him of how wet they’d both been when the stream had carried them into that pool. And his boots. He couldn’t lace them up without remembering how bravely she’d tried to walk in her borrowed boots, and how her bare foot had felt so good when she’d rubbed the sole on the back of his leg. Even the damn orange juice he’d had before heading out this morning had reminded him of her perfume. All he had to do was think of her lips on his skin and his body got hard.

  He didn’t have as active a sex life as Flynn had, but he was no monk. He knew he didn’t have a face a woman would want to see across a breakfast table, but no one had complained about his body. He understood what women wanted from him and he enjoyed providing it. He’d provided it for Glenna.

  Granted, his behavior had been inappropriate. Worse, it had been irresponsible. He’d never had sex without using a condom before.

  Was that why she haunted him? Because there had been no barrier between his body and hers to dull the pleasure? Was it as simple as that?

  Maybe. Or maybe it was a matter of male pride. He wanted the chance to do it right. On a bed. While he was fully awake. He would make sure she knew it was him she was holding and not simply a warm body in the dark.

  Then again, the sex wasn’t the only thing that haunted him. He missed her touch and her smile and the way she used to look at him. He missed the brave little tilt of her chin when she had told him she loved him. Had it really been just an illusion, a side effect of their circumstances? At times he almost hoped there would be a baby, just to make it real. Then he’d have an excuse to keep her.

  Keep her? No, that’s not what he wanted. His life was fine the way it was. Permanence was forother people, not him. And as for love, well, that wasn’t for him, either. He’d had no right to listen to Glenna say those words. He had no right to hear them from anyone.

  He scowled and wiped his face. It had been twenty-six days since she’d gone home. Was it too early for her to know for sure whether she was pregnant? And would she call him if she did know?

  She’d said she’d be in touch. But she’d sounded as sincere as if she’d been promising to do lunch. She’d been eager to leave. She hadn’t stayed at the base one more minute than necessary. Everything he’d predicted had come true.

  He’d done the right thing. A quick, clean break and they could get on with their separate lives.

  Except he kept thinking about her. He kept wanting her. No, that wasn’t entirely true. He didn’t want the woman who had looked at him so coolly and handed him that swanky address book. He wanted his Glenna.

  He’d give her another week. If she didn’t call him by then—

  A slight change in the texture of the grayness in front of him was the only sign that Rafe was no longer alone. He dragged his mind back to his duty. The flat surface of another poncho slowly materialized out of the gloom.

  The recruit was good at moving undetected, Rafe thought. The rain would have masked his footsteps to some deg
ree, and the leaves on the ground were too wet to crackle, yet he’d also had the good sense to move a few hundred meters out of his way rather than crashing through the brush. It had taken him longer, but he would reach the objective within the allowed time.

  Of course, none of the applicants were told how much time they had. It was up to them to decide whether they would go for speed or concentrate on stealth. Apart from the particular destination that had been marked on each individual map, everything about this exercise was up to the recruits, from getting themselves up in the morning to deciding how much of their rations they should consume in one day. This exercise wasn’t about being a team player, it was about showing that they could be relied on to make the right decisions on their own.

  Rafe stepped away from the relative concealment of the oak tree. “Orange Five?”

  The man spun around, his hands and body moving reflexively into a classic defensive stance. There was an instant of tension when he caught sight of Rafe’s face—given the rain and the eerie gloom of the forest, Rafe knew his appearance could spook even a seasoned solider. To his credit, the man recovered quickly and snapped a salute. “Yes, sir.”

  Sergeant Beliveau was an Army Ranger, one of the best of an elite unit. He’d been invited to apply to Delta because of his outstanding marksmanship and his skill with explosives. Yet his qualifications didn’t carry any weight here. Today he was simply Orange Five. Tomorrow he would be Blue Three. Whether he’d ever be part of Delta wasn’t yet certain.

  Rafe extended his hand. “Give me your rucksack.”

  Beliveau did as he was asked. Rafe took a small spring-operated hand scale from under his poncho and attached the strap of the soldier’s rucksack to the scale’s hook. All the men had been told to maintain thirty pounds in their packs. That meant whatever water or foonsumed during the day had to be compensated for by adding extra weight.

  Beliveau’s rucksack was three pounds light.

  Rafe made a note of the error on his clipboard. He didn’t admonish the applicant, nor did he praise him for his orienteering skill. There would be no feedback whatsoever during the selection process, just as there seldom was feedback during a real mission. Delta needed people who could work independently, who relied on their own judgment and their conscience to do what was required of them. Few applicants succeeded. Sometimes the entire class washed out. Rafe wasn’t sure about Sergeant Beliveau’s chances, but he privately hoped the man would make it.

  One slip shouldn’t condemn a man. One moment of weakness didn’t negate an otherwise spotless record. Sure, Delta wanted only the best of the best, but the men weren’t machines. As long as the objective was achieved, why couldn’t a soldier be human and think about the texture of a woman’s hair in his fingers and the taste of her lips on his tongue…

  Aw, hell. He was doing it again.

  A message was waiting for Rafe when they returned to the base camp he and the rest of the selection team had set up for the exercise. He was to report back to Fort Bragg as soon as his replacement arrived.

  Rafe felt a low buzz of interest stir in his veins. This could only mean one thing. Eagle Squadron was preparing for another mission.

  Good. That was what he needed. Maybe then he’d be able to get Glenna off his mind.

  Glenna ran her finger down a leaf of the potted fern that sat on her desk. “Yes, Mother,” she said into the phone. “I realize how awful these past few weeks must have been for you. I’m sorry.”

  Her mother continued. “I had thought it was over, but a foreign-sounding man called this morning wanting information about you. Harrigan and the rest of the staff have done a wonderful job of putting these reporters off, of course, but it’s disturbing.”

  Harrigan was the Vanderhayden butler, and was an even bigger stickler for proprieties than Glenna’s mother. Still, the publicity hadn’t been as bad as Glenna had feared—as usually happened in situations when Delta Force was involved, only the bare facts had been released to the media. When the press had learned that no one was willing to provide any details, they had soon lost interest. “I’ve been referring reporters to the army’s public relations officer,” Glenna said. “I’ll give you the number again if you like.”

  “Oh, we have the number.” A delicate sigh came through the line. “This whole situation is just so difficult. The strain has been very hard on me.”

  And what about me, Mother? Glenna thought. Don’t you think it might have been difficult for me, too?

  Naturally she didn’t voice the thought aloud. She never did. She was the strong one, wasn’t she? “Have you seen Dr. Gadsen?”

  “Yes. Theodore is such a gem and always so understanding.”

  “What did he say?

  “He’s concerned about my blood pressure, as usual. He told me to avoid stress.”

  “That’s good advice. How are you feeling today?”

  “A little tired, but I’ll manage. Oh, the Spencer-Smythes are coming to dinner tonight. You’ll be here, too, won’t you?”

  Glenna stroked the leaf again. The segments parted under the pressure of her fingertip, then once more resumed their pattern.

  That could be said about everything, couldn’t it? Whatever external force was introduced, things just naturally wanted to fall back to the way they had always been. Like this fern. Like the pattern of her life.

  And that was good. That was exactly what she wanted.

  She withdrew her hand from the fern and leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry, Mother. I was sure I’d mentioned this already. There’s a fund-raiser this evening that I should oversee, so I won’t be able to join you for dinner. The proceeds are going to the orphans of September Eleventh, and I want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  “Of course, that’s such an important cause. What about afterward? There are some interesting people I’d love to introduce to you.”

  “Please, don’t expect me. I don’t know how long it will go on.”

  There was another delicate sigh and the clink of china. Glenna pictured her mother reclining on the antique chaise longue in the master bedroom, tapestry pillows behind her back and a gold-rimmed teacup in her tiny hands. Victoria Vanderhayden was a fragile woman. Glenna felt a familiar stab of guilt that she’d been the one to bring this latest scandal into her home. “But my calendar is clear for next Friday,” Glenna said. “I promise I’ll drive out to see you then, would that be all right?”

  “That would be marvelous, darling. Shall we say sevenish?”

  “More like seven-thirty.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll have cook prepare something special. Wear the beaded Dior. It’s so slimming.”

  Glenna hung up the phone, then closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the tight throb of an impending headache. Yes, everything was falling back into its familiar pattern.

  There was a soft knock on her office door before it clicked open. “Miss Hastings?”

  At her assistant’s voice, Glenna schooled her features into a pleasant expression and looked up. “Yes, Janet?”

  “The board meeting scheduled for next Wednesday has been postponed until Monday the week after.” Janet Baker moved into the office, a large manilla envelope in her hand. She had started working for Glenna as an intern two years ago and still hadn’t completely lost her puppy-dog eagerness. Glenna liked her because she usually spoke her mind. Janet paused in front of the desk, her hair flopping over her ears as she tilted her head to study the fern. “Is that another new plant?”

  Glenna nodded. “Yes, I picked it up this morning after my meeting with the flori

  “It looks nice.”

  “Yes, I thought so.”

  “It’s amazing what a change a bit of greenery makes, Miss Hastings. This office looks so much better now that you’ve added all these plants. That’s not to say it looked bad before,” she added hurriedly. “I only meant—”

  “It’s all right, Janet. And I agree. I think it needed a splash of color.” Glenna loo
ked around. Rain drizzled down the windows, casting a restful gray sheen over the taupe walls and beige carpet. She’d always felt at ease in this office. The neutral colors were businesslike and unobtrusive. The teak furniture was uncluttered and functional. Yet the desk did look better with a vibrant green fern to interrupt the large expanse of wood. The potted palm beside the filing cabinet lent warmth to the room despite the rain. The narcissus on the credenza was just beginning to unfold its dainty white flowers, adding a touch of whimsy to the atmosphere.

  A psychiatrist like Dr. Colbert would have a field day with this sudden interest in tropical flora. What did it mean? Was it symptomatic of a deeper problem? Was it an attempt to bring pieces of the rain forest back to Manhattan?

  Perhaps. If so, it wasn’t doing any harm. She had resumed her normal routine, just as she had been counseled to do. She was doing her best to look ahead, not back. She could go for hours at a time without thinking of Rafe.

  And when she did, it didn’t hurt quite as intensely anymore. She had everything in perspective now, so she rarely cried. And it had been days since she’d dialed his number. She never let the calls go through, of course—she was in control of her feelings.

  Yes, she was much better now. She gestured toward the envelope that Janet held. “Is that the information I was waiting for?”

  “Oh, right. It just came.” Janet handed the envelope to Glenna. “But I’m confused. I thought we were working on a reception in Montego Bay.”

  “We are. This is for another project.”

  “In Rocama? But that’s where your plane… I mean, why would anyone want to go there?”

  “The entire country can’t be blamed for the actions of a few individuals. I believe the Rocaman people would benefit from having a more varied economy.” Glenna waited until Janet had closed the office door behind her, then took a deep breath and withdrew a sheaf of papers from the envelope.

  There was more here than she’d anticipated. The regulations covering foreign investment in Rocama were an orgy of red tape. Without the cooperation of the island nation’s government it could take years to work through it.