IN THE DARK

by Pamela Burford

  "I'll save it all up for when you're not."

  In the next instant his smile faded. She made herself say what they both were thinking. "I'll be long gone by then."

  His expression was heartbreakingly bleak. "You don't have to be. You know that. You know how I feel about you."

  "Brody…"

  "Cat, I love you." His voice was hoarse with emotion. "I've never said that to anyone else. I've never felt this way about anyone else. I knew I loved you even before—" He stopped abruptly, and she saw his throat working. Quietly he said, "I've known it for a long time."

  Cat reached up and pushed her fingers through his hair, spiky with sweat. She struggled to contain the tears that threatened. "There's the baby," she whispered.

  She sensed he was waiting for her to say more. When she didn't, he said, "I'll love the baby, too. I already do." He seized her hand in a grip that was almost painful. "Trust me, Cat."

  His expression was so raw, so unguarded, she had to look away. Trust me. Would he still love her if he knew how she'd deceived him? She settled for the simple truth, the safe one.

  "I don't know what to think anymore, Brody. I'm confused."

  He kissed her fingers. "Stay with me tonight."

  She looked at him. That was the one thing she'd always refused him, though he'd asked repeatedly. Tomorrow would be their last day together.

  He pressed another, lingering kiss to her lingers, never taking his eyes from hers. "Don't think about it," he said. "Just say yes."

  "Yes."

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  Cat heard the screen door open and close behind her as she watched Spot hector a squirrel from the base of a hickory tree. The grass under her bare feet was cool and damp with dew. The chilly early autumn breeze raised gooseflesh on her lower legs, the only part of her not swaddled by Brody's thick white terry robe.

  She didn't hear him come up behind her, but she sensed his presence. His long arm snaked around her middle, pulling her against the heat of his bare chest. He drew her hair aside and pressed a lingering kiss to the tender spot where her throat met her shoulder. Cat smiled. Her eyes drifted shut and she caressed the arm banding her waist.

  Brody's voice was a sleep-raspy mumble. "When did you get up?"

  "About an hour ago."

  "Couldn't sleep?"

  "I just … didn't want to waste any of this day."

  His other arm came around her. "You should've woken me."

  "You looked so sweet sound asleep. I've never seen you sleep before."

  "'Sweet'?" He groaned. "Don't let anyone hear you say that. I've got a reputation to uphold."

  "Sorry to break the news, but you're not that bad, Brody Mikhailov."

  He nuzzled her hair. "Well, maybe a little bad."

  "A little bad," she agreed, grinning. "Just enough."

  He sighed. "I've got that meeting this morning."

  "Charlie Chaplin's cousin?"

  "Yep. He's staying with friends in East Hampton. They're expecting me around ten."

  She looked at him over her shoulder. "You can't postpone it?"

  "He's returning to London tonight. I'll try to make it quick. Should be back by one—two at the latest. I thought I'd make reservations at that new restaurant in Island Park."

  She hugged his arms. "Do you mind if we stay home? I'd rather … I don't know, I'd rather throw something together here than go out."

  After a moment he said, "So would I. We need to talk."

  Cat didn't have to ask about what. They both knew. Their future.

  She had to tell him about the baby. She'd come to that decision at daybreak after a long, sleepless night. She only hoped her courage wouldn't fail her. The thought of how Brody would react when he learned of her deception made her weak in the knees. Cat wouldn't blame him if he ended up despising her. She prayed his innate compassion would help him understand her actions and forgive her.

  Because the truth was she needed Brody. She needed him by her side, loving her, sharing their child, making a home and a life with her. Nothing had ever felt so right.

  "Yes," she said. "We need to talk. There are things … there are things we have to clear up. Before we go any further."

  Brody's arms tightened around her, and only then did she realize she was trembling. He turned her face and kissed her lips, a cherishing kiss full of promise. The fan of crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened with his gentle smile. His eyes were shiny. A trick of the early morning light, no doubt.

  "Tonight," she said. "We'll talk tonight. Go on." She made a halfhearted effort to push him away. "You've got to get moving or you'll be late for that meeting."

  His hand strayed higher. He squeezed her breast through the thick terry cloth. "Join me in the shower. It'll go quicker if you wash my back."

  "Ha ha ha."

  His long, callused fingers slipped inside the robe. Her breath snagged. Brody's voice was a sultry murmur. "I'll return the favor, of course."

  "You'll wash my back?"

  "Let's just say I'll get around to it eventually."

  * * *

  "Hey, kiddo, how's it shakin'?"

  Cat stepped aside and let the man into Brody's house, though she'd never laid eyes on him before. That steel-wool voice kind of narrowed it down. "It's shakin' just fine, Leon."

  "Glad to hear it." He handed her a paper sack containing what appeared to be a gift-wrapped liquor bottle, and bent to roughhouse with Spot, sending the old mutt into a delirium of drooling, tail-wagging rapture. Leon didn't look anything like she'd imagined, with his neatly trimmed, snow-white hair and mustache, and impeccable dark suit and tie. He looked at Cat. "That boy been treating you okay?"

  She allowed herself a private smile and pushed her hair behind her ears. "Can't complain."

  "Not getting fresh, is he? All you gotta do is squeal to that Littlestone broad. She'll have his, uh, she'll have him for breakfast. That lady doesn't fool around."

  "Actually, I've been chasing him around the desk. Can't seem to keep my hands off him."

  Leon roared with laughter. "Yeah, right. Sounds like you can take care of yourself."

  "Brody's a lot like Spot here. His bark is worse than his bite."

  "I guess so, since you decided to re-up for a second month."

  Cat wouldn't call it re-upping. It was more like being drafted. But she didn't correct Leon. The fact was she thanked God Brody hadn't allowed her to desert after that first month of boot camp.

  Leon laid his hand on her shoulder. "I want you to know I think you've been just what that boy needed, Cat. I can hear it in his voice. He sounds relaxed. No, not relaxed. Content, that's it. Like something was missing and all of a sudden it just clicked into place."

  A sense of purpose, she thought, and wondered if Brody's agent knew about his new book project.

  She said, "Come on in, Leon. Can I get you something cold to drink?"

  "I can't stay. I guess he's out. Didn't see that fancy-ass convertible of his."

  "He's at a meeting—interviewing a source."

  Leon's crooked smile spoke volumes. "Tough job, letting lonely baseball groupies cry on your shoulder."

  So, Brody hadn't told Leon about the new direction he was taking his career. Perhaps he was waiting until he had a first draft, something solid to deflect the inevitable resistance his agent was sure to throw at him.

  Spot was whining for attention. Cat reached down and started rubbing him. "Well, I'll tell him you stopped by."

  "I had a reason for stopping by. Wish I could've told him in person." Leon's face split in a huge grin. "You know that TV job? Banner Headline?"

  Cat's heart stuttered. "What about it?"

  "It's his!" Leon crowed. "Mildred Maxwell got herself canned. Brody was right. The silly old broad's a has-been—her last big scoop was about Jackie's inaugural gown. She hasn't got the connections, stomach or stamina to dish serious, network-caliber dirt week after week."

 
Cat was numb. Spot prodded her limp hand with his nose. "Brody … Brody got the TV job."

  "He sure as hell did!" Leon nodded toward the sack she held. "Figured he'd want to celebrate. Just don't let him get ossified. He's gotta fly out to the Coast pronto, and I want him in fighting trim when he gets there."

  Leon shook his head in wonder. "I'm telling ya, kiddo, this must be what they call divine intervention. I've known that boy going on twenty years, and I've never seen him want anything the way he wanted this Banner Headline gig. Had his heart set on it from day one." Leon peered closely at Cat. "Hey, you okay?"

  "Yes. Thanks for coming by, Leon." She held the door open.

  "You'll give him the news?"

  "I think … I think he should hear it from you."

  "Then tell him to page me—he's got my beeper number. Sure wish he'd been home, though. What I wouldn't give to see his face!"

  * * *

  Brody stopped pounding on the door to Apartment 4F

  when a female voice behind it warned him to knock it the hell off or she'd Mace him. He addressed the peephole she was no doubt glaring through.

  "I'm looking for Cat Seabright. My name is Brody Mikhailov."

  Locks turned and the door creaked open, revealing a frowsy brunette wearing black crushed-velvet pants and a gauzy, eggplant-colored tunic adorned with a quartz crystal necklace. A cloud of jasmine incense hovered around her.

  She scrutinized him unapologetically. "You're Brody?"

  "You must be Brigit." He extended his hand, and she shook it. He asked, "Is she here?"

  "Nope."

  Brody had arrived home after his meeting to find a note from Cat tucked under a gift-wrapped bottle of vodka, instructing him to call Leon right away. "I wish I could stay and tell you goodbye in person," the note continued, "but I'm not strong enough. It's better this way."

  After he'd spoken to Leon, he'd tried calling Cat at her place, but there was no answer. He'd driven to Tarrytown anyway, thinking she might not be answering the phone. Her landlady told him she'd come home briefly and left with an overnight bag. He'd figured it was a good bet she was hiding out with her best friend, so he'd headed to Brigit's apartment in Greenwich Village.

  "You don't mind if I have a peek," Brody said, shoving past Brigit into her funky living room.

  One wall was bare brick; the other three were covered with an ultrarealistic landscape mural, a meadow scene complete with trees, a brook and swaying grasses stretching to the blue horizon. A half-dozen multicolored kites dangled from the high ceiling, which had been painted to resemble a sky full of scudding clouds.

  It took Brody a few moments to notice Brigit's cousin Greg Bannister lounging on a futon, chowing down on a plateful of sushi.

  Greg drawled, "Hey, Brody. Pull up some chopsticks. You like yellowfin?"

  Brigit gaped at them. "You two know each other?"

  Brody ignored them both and stalked down the hall to the solitary bedroom. Deserted. Ditto for the bathroom and tiny kitchen. "Where is she?"

  Brigit said, "I told you, she's not here."

  "But you know where she is."

  "I can't tell you." She looked like she wanted to, though. "She made me promise."

  "Listen, I don't know what Cat told you, but I have to talk to her."

  Brigit's pout was accompanied by a whine of frustration. "She made me promise, Brody. I can't."

  "Yes you can! Goddammit, that woman is carrying my baby!"

  Brigit gasped. "She told you?"

  "No." Greg tapped his chest with his shiny black chopsticks. "That would be me."

  Brody crossed his arms and stared her down. "The bottom line is I'm not leaving here until you tell me where she is."

  "I really want to." Brigit wrung her hands. "But she made me promise."

  "She didn't make me promise," Greg said, around a mouthful of raw tuna and sticky rice.

  Brody whirled on him. "Where is she?"

  Greg shrugged. "Beats me."

  Brody shoved his fingers through his hair, snarling an oath that made Brigit flinch.

  "Are you guys slow learners or what? Brigit didn't promise not to tell me where she is," Greg said, indicated himself with an exaggerated gesture, "and I didn't promise not to tell you."

  "Oh! Yeah, yeah!" Brigit cried, flapping her hands in excitement. "So if I tell you, you can tell—"

  "Just do it!" Brody hollered.

  He watched as Cat's friend went through the asinine ritual of whispering in her cousin's ear. Greg finished chewing and looked up at Brody. "Her agency's apartment. Ye olde love nest."

  "Ohh, she's gonna kill me," Brigit whimpered.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^

  Brody stood watching Cat sleep, curled on her side on the bed where it had all started two months ago—the bed where they'd conceived their child. He switched on the bedside lamp, banishing the gloom of early evening, and saw that her lashes were damp and spiky; the dried track of a tear marred her cheek.

  He remembered making his way into this bedroom back in July, during the blackout, after having been lent the apartment by Nana. His steps had slowed as he'd detected a subtle woodsy-floral fragrance. The meager moonlight had teased him with the merest suggestion of a pale, delicate face, the luminous swell of nearly bare breasts rising and falling in the unhurried cadence of sleep.

  It was then that Brody had recalled Amory saying there'd be a "special surprise" waiting for him in the bedroom. Naturally he'd concluded that this luscious lady-in-waiting was a hired pro. He'd sat on the bed and awakened her gently, fully intending to decline her services and bunk on the living room sofa.

  Brody smiled, recalling how determinedly—and cleverly—Cat had seduced him. She must have wanted this baby very badly.

  He sat next to her now. A strand of wavy red hair had fallen over her lips. He lifted it and stroked it back into place. She stirred slightly.

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear. "I love you, Goldilocks."

  Her eyelids fluttered—and snapped open when she realized she wasn't alone. As she stared up at him, he watched her initial, drowsy pleasure at seeing him succumb to sorrow.

  "I love you," he said. "Don't run from me, Cat. Don't run from us."

  "Brody. You shouldn't have come here. It makes it so much harder…" Her chin wobbled.

  "Did you think I could give you up so easily?"

  Cat sat up. She hugged her knees. "I knew Brigit would crack. How did you get in here?"

  "Got Amory to give me the keys. They're still looking for the other set." Quietly he asked, "Why did you leave?"

  She drew a deep, shaky breath. "I wanted so badly to believe we could make it work. For a while there, I convinced myself it was possible. Then Leon showed up with the news about that TV job, and I realized … I realized I'd lost sight of what you need to make you happy."

  "I know what I need to make me happy. I'm looking at her."

  "I'm talking about your goals, Brody. You know what you want out of life, out of your career. This TV job will put you on the map. You may not believe this, but I'm happy for you. I know how much it means to you."

  "Cat—"

  She held up her hand. "You'll be moving to L.A." Her grimace left little doubt how she felt about the City of Angels. "Writing this show will be like trying to distill one of your biographies into an hour of concentrated mudslinging. Week after week. You'll be under a lot of pressure. If I went with you, I'd be miserable, and you'd resent me more and more."

  "And then we'd split up and the baby would suffer."

  Her hand went to her abdomen, a reflexive gesture of protection. He'd never loved her more—or felt more exasperated.

  He said, "You've got this all worked out, haven't you? The forced move to La-La Land, the sleazy TV job, the fights, the divorce lawyers, the custody battle."

  "I'm a realist."

  "What if I turned down the job?"

  "I wouldn't let you do that. I refuse to stand
in the way of your goals."

  "You're already standing in the way of my goals if you'd deny me the one thing I need most, which is you."

  "You may feel that way now, Brody, but you won't when you're working on your tenth coffee-table book and wondering how your life would have been different if only you hadn't succumbed to temporary insanity."

  He spread his arms wide. "Well, call out the fellas in the white coats, then, 'cause I turned down the job."

  "What!"

  "I told Leon to tell Schneider and that crowd thanks but no thanks."

  "You did not!"

  "Leon didn't take the news too well, but he'll get over it."

  "What possessed you to do such a thing?" Cat jumped up off the bed. She snatched the phone off the nightstand and shoved it in his face. "Call him back! Now!"

  He leaned against the headboard. "I don't think so."

  "Brody!" She shook the phone at him. "Do it! Before he calls those people!"

  "You haven't been listening." In a lightning-quick move he grabbed her and flung her into his lap. He wrested the phone from her and tossed it onto the bed. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, without success. "I don't want the damn job," he said, patiently enunciating each syllable. "I did want it at one time, yes, before I got my priorities straight. Will you just sit still and listen for a second?"

  Cat stopped squirming. She sighed in defeat.

  "Are you listening?"

  "Yes, I'm listening."

  "Let's say I take that job on Banner Headline," he said, "the one that's too good to turn down. Sooner or later the show gets canceled or they bring in someone hungrier or more ruthless or better connected. And I move on to the next fantastic opportunity that's too good to turn down, and the next and the next. And then one day I look around me and I wonder how my life would be different if only I hadn't succumbed to temporary insanity." He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "If only I hadn't given up the only woman I ever loved. And my child."

  He was holding her so tight, he felt more than heard her gasp. She looked at him, and in her brimming eyes he read shock. Trepidation. Hope.

  "You know," she whispered.