by Morgan Hayes
Allister closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the headache that throbbed there. It all made sensenow. He should have seen it before, instead of doubting Gary’s motives. Gary had always been there for him. And now, for the first time, Allister realized that Gary had been there for him right to the end.
“Mr. Quaid, I was hoping I’d find you in.”
Allister spun around. Devane. He hadn’t heard the detective come in.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked, and Allister wondered if he looked as startled as he felt.
“Actually, Detective, yes. I was just leaving. We’re closing up.”
“So I noticed. Well, I won’t keep you long.” He shifted a large box from under one arm and handed it to Allister. “I only came to return Mr. Palmer’s personal things. From his office. We’re through with them.”
“Thank you.” He took the box.
“And while I’m here, I did want to speak to you about another matter, Mr. Quaid,” Devane added, brushing aside the edge of his police parka to slide his hand into his pants pocket. The movement revealed the detective’s holster and revolver. Allister couldn’t decide if the gesture was deliberate. “It concerns Ms. Falcioni.”
Allister turned. With the box pinned under his arm, he opened Gary’s office. Devane was right behind him.
“Just a word of warning, Mr. Quaid. Nothing more.”
“Look, Detective, what I do in my personal life is of no—”
“But you see, Mr. Quaid, it is. Especially when that personal life concerns Ms. Falcioni. In case you don’t know, Ms. Falcioni is my only potential eyewitness in a homicide investigation—a homicide, may I remind you, for which you have not been entirely cleared as a suspect. So your involvement with Ms. Falcioni does concern me, Mr. Quaid.”
“What exactly are you implying, Detective?”
“I’m not implying anything.” Devane zipped up his parka, and Allister hoped he was leaving. “Oh, by the way, how much time’s still left on your sentence? Another two years, isn’t it—if you break parole, that is?”
“Are you threatening me, Detective?”
“Not at all, Mr. Quaid. I’m merely warning you. You’d better watch your step, because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Devane turned out of the office. Allister listened to his footfalls on the steel grating and finally on the stairs. He couldn’t let Devane get to him. That was exactly what the detective wanted.
And he certainly had no intention of staying away from Stevie. They’d been apart for less than two hours, and already Allister missed everything about her. No, he was heading back to the studio right now. Back to Stevie.
It was when he was about to leave as well that Allister glanced into the box Devane had given him. There, amongst the papers and desk paraphernalia, Allister saw Gary’s microcassette recorder. He picked it up and turned it over in his palm. The device would come in handy for what he had in mind regarding Edward Bainbridge.
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND, Allister.” Stevie heard the shock in her voice as her fingers twisted around the stem of her wineglass. “So you don’t believe Gary was trying to blackmail Bainbridge, after all?”
“Not for money. I think he agreed to handle Bainbridge’s shipment because he saw it as a chance to clear my name.”
“But the risks—”
“He didn’t know the risks, Stevie.”
“But you warned him.”
“I didn’t warn him that his life was at stake. Even I didn’t know Bainbridge was capable of going that far.”
She sat cross-legged at one end of the couch, turned toward Allister, close enough to touch him. She did so, placing a hand on his shoulder.
When she’d heard Allister’s voice in the front hall two hours ago, Stevie had been surprised at the combination of relief and excitement that had charged through her. But Allister’s mood hadn’t changed. He’d been quiet throughout the dinner she and Paige had made for the three of them, and afterward, when Paige joined them for a glass of wine before she headed off for the night, Allister seemed withdrawn, troubled.
Now Stevie knew why.
Even if it could never be proved that Gary had died while attempting to clear Allister’s name, the fact that Allister believed it was enough. Stevie couldn’t begin to fathom what was going through his mind, or his heart. To know that his best friend had lost his life trying to help him—Stevie didn’t know if that kind of loss filled you with a sense of injustice or anger, indebtedness or guilt, or more likely a dark combination of all those.
“I’m sorry, Allister.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze.
“So am I,” he whispered, and reached up to take her hand in his, caressing it thoughtfully.
“So what are we going to do?”
“We? No, Stevie. Not we.” He released her hand suddenly and got up from the couch. She heard him pacing the living room, from the windows overlooking the street to the plants below the skylight, each time passing the couch. “Look, Stevie, I really don’t want to argue, but I can’t involve you any further in this. It’s too dangerous. I won’t do it. Last night was a mistake. I should never have taken you along. You could have been hurt.”
“So could you, Allister.”
There was a slight pause in his pacing, and when he finally passed the couch again, she could almost feel his tension.
“Stevie, can’t you understand that this is something I have to handle? There’s nothing you can do now.”
“Because I’m blind.”
When he stopped this time, he stood directly in front of her. She felt his eyes on her, wanted to say something to break the silence, but refused. The ball was in his court.
“All right, fine. If that’s what it’s going to take to get through that stubborn streak of yours, then yes, because you’re blind. Because when I finally have to deal with Bainbridge, I won’t be able to watch out for you, too. Because I can’t have you along with me, knowing you can’t defend yourself. And because I will not endanger your life.”
“Allister—”
“No, Stevie, listen to me—” he put a hand on her shoulder “—even if you weren’t blind, I would not involve you in some deal I try to drum up with Bainbridge. There’s nothing you can do. And I’d never, never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you, too.”
He was right, she knew. There was nothing she could do. She felt powerless. And as desperate as she was to see an end to this nightmare, she knew it was between Allister and Bainbridge now. He had to take care of it himself and in his own way, no matter how much she hated the thought of that.
Sure, they needed evidence to link Bainbridge with the theft of the coins and Gary’s murder so that Allister would be cleared of suspicion and exonerated of his previous conviction. But just as much as those things, Allister needed to do this for himself—for the years he’d lost—and for Gary.
And suddenly Stevie wondered about the Allister she hadn’t known—the man untouched by injustice and prison, the man before Edward Bainbridge. She wondered if the old Allister would have had this much hate in him, this much rage and bitterness. She doubted it.
“So what are you going to do?” she asked eventually.
He hesitated, as though unwilling to involve her even in his plans. When he finally spoke, he was standing across the room.
“I’m going to call Bainbridge and set up a meeting.”
“Allister, you can’t! Gary tried to do that and—”
“Stevie, I need to meet with the man. I need to get him on tape.”
“But, Allister…” Dread crept up from the pit of her stomach.
“It’ll work, Stevie. I’ve got more to bargain with than Gary did. I’ve got Fenton.”
“What do you mean?” But Stevie wasn’t certain she wanted to hear an answer to that.
“At this point, Fenton knows someone was in his apartment last night. He’s probably already told Bainbridge. All I have to do is indicate to Bainbridge that
I have evidence linking Gary’s murder to Fenton, and Fenton to Bainbridge.”
“And where do the coins come in?”
“Bainbridge already suspects we’ve got the coins. What I intend to do is propose a payoff. He’ll think I’m in it only for the money. And my insurance is the evidence I’ll claim to have against Fenton. All I have to do is inform Bainbridge that, should anything happen to me, the evidence will go directly to the police.”
The way Allister talked about it now, his manner so calm and detached, the plan sounded almost plausible. But this was his life he was risking! As much as Stevie tried, she couldn’t put the image of Gary’s body out of her mind. And as short a time as she’d known Allister, she couldn’t imagine her life without him now. If anything happened to him.
He must have recognized her fear, because he crossed to the couch, sat down beside her and took both her hands in his.
“It’ll be all right, Stevie.” He pressed his palm to her cheek. “This will work.”
“I just…I just keep thinking about Gary, you know?” She was sure he felt her tremble. “I keep seeing him there, Allister, lying on the floor with the blood—”
“Stevie, don’t.”
His arms wrapped around her, and she welcomed his embrace. She needed to be close to Allister, to hold him and believe that nothing or no one was going to take him away from her.
“Allister,” she whispered as he stroked her hair, “I…I don’t think I could stand losing you.”
“Stevie—”
“I love you, Allister.”
His hand stopped. She felt his body tense just slightly, and in that second, Stevie wondered if she shouldn’t have spoken. But then, why shouldn’t she? She wanted Allister to know—so he wouldn’t leave her, so he wouldn’t do anything that might jeopardize his life. But most of all, she wanted him to know, because it was the truth.
He started to pull back. “Stevie, I’m—”
The shrill ring of the phone stopped him, and Stevie could only wonder what it was Allister had wanted to say. As she grappled for the receiver on the side table, he left the couch and started pacing again.
“Stevie? Brian Armatrading here.” The voice across the line was extravagantly mellifluous, as she’d come to expect from the fashion designer.
“Brian, hello.” Stevie straightened, pulling herself to the edge of the couch.
“Listen, darling, I know it’s late. Just wanted to tell you that I love the preliminary proofs.”
“Proofs? But I—”
“Paige brought them by this morning. I realize you’re having to reshoot, but if these are any indication of what I’ll be seeing, well, I want you to know that I’m happy to wait, darling. I’m always patient when it comes to getting the best.”
“Well…thank you, Brian. I’m glad you liked them.”
Allister stopped pacing and watched Stevie now. Her knuckles were white around the receiver, and her expression had tightened.
“I’m fine, Brian. Really. I’m doing all right…Yes. Yes, I did get the flowers. Thank you…Yeah, they did. They smelled great.” A smile flitted across her face, but just as quickly was gone. “Uh, no, the doctor doesn’t know anything yet. Still waiting…Of course I’ll let you know, Brian. You’ll be one of the first. Mm-hmm.”
She stood up, her back rigid, her shoulders straight, and when she hung up the phone, Allister saw a muscle twitch along that strong jaw of hers.
“What is it, Stevie?” He felt the need to be near her, but when he touched her arm, she started slightly. “Stevie?”
“It’s nothing, Allister.” But he knew she was lying. He saw her fingers tremble when she combed them through her hair.
She groped her way around to the back of the couch, as though wanting to put space between the two of them, but this time Allister wouldn’t let her.
“Stevie, that was the guy about the shoot, wasn’t it? The shoot you have to redo at the warehouse?”
She flashed him an unconvincing smile. “Yeah, but it’s nothing. He was just calling to say he liked the prelim proofs and is willing to wait till…” Her voice trailed off.
Allister took her hand in his then and was surprised when she didn’t pull away. “That’s great, isn’t it? That he liked—”
“Allister, I don’t want to talk about it.” She twisted away from him, but he held fast to her wrist.
“Stevie, talk to me. I’m here.” When he turned her around and grasped her shoulders, Allister was certain she was about to open up at last. Like Paige had said, Stevie’s shell would crumble, she would need him, and he’d be there for her. Even now, he could see the tears welling up in her dark eyes and small lines creasing her forehead as she struggled to keep her emotions locked deep inside.
“Look, Allister, I…” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “Maybe I should be alone for a while, you know? I’m really tired and—”
“No, Stevie. You’re not going to block me out, you hear?”
The dam was weakening. She bit her lower lip, and when she took a breath, it was as tremulous as her faltering facade.
“You’re scared, aren’t you, Stevie? Why can’t you just admit that?” He held her shoulders tightly when she tried to turn away a second time. “You’re afraid you won’t be able to do this guy’s shoot or anyone else’s, for that matter. You’re terrified at the thought of never looking through the lens of a camera again. But most of all you’re afraid of being dependent, aren’t you? Of needing people, relying on them, and—”
“Yes!” Her explosiveness took him by surprise, and she almost managed to tear herself free of him this time. “Yes, all right? Yes! Dammit, Allister, of course I’m terrified. What do you think? You think this is easy? Stumbling around in the dark like this? I can’t see a damned thing!”
She was crying now, or at least the tears were flowing. But still she clung to her seemingly invincible front. Her jaw was set and her chin tilted up in that proud manner, as though defying him to find the chink in her armor.
“I may never see again, Allister. I’ve got people calling me about photography contracts and reshoots, while I’m groping my way around in some perpetual game of blind man’s bluff. And yes! Yes, Allister, I am terrified. I’m blind, for God’s sake!”
Her eyes, wide and unfocused, shimmered with tears. They seemed to search for him now, search through her darkness. And in that moment, understanding the extent of Stevie’s fear, Allister wished that Paige was still there so he could make up some excuse to leave.
For how could he be there for Stevie, as Paige had suggested? How could he be Stevie’s comfort, her solace, when he was the person who had caused the very darkness that drove her into his arms?
And yet, while all this went through his head, he knew that he loved her. And he couldn’t leave her.
“It’ll be better, Stevie,” he whispered to her, trying to find faith in his words. “You’ll get better. And until then, I’m here for you. I’m right here.”
He drew her into his embrace, feeling her tension ease and her body shudder gently as she wept.
When eventually her quiet sobs faded, she murmured against his neck, “I’m scared Allister. Really scared. I…I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
He couldn’t answer that. All he could do now was hold her.
And he did. For a long time he rocked Stevie in his arms, clasping her body close. Finally he pulled back far enough to see her face in the soft glow of the floor lamp behind him, and he saw she was calm. He wiped at one remaining tear and traced the gentle curve of her lips with his thumb.
Neither of them spoke, because nothing needed to be said. As he lifted her chin, tilting her face to meet his kiss, Stevie’s lips trembled beneath his. But there was no hesitancy in her response. Allister could taste her hunger as her lips parted; he could feel her almost desperate yearning, as though she needed his passion to drown her fears.
And-when Allister heard the quiet moan that rose from her throat, his h
eart raced and he felt a pull deep inside of him.
“Allister—” she drew back, but he still felt her lips against his, shaping the words “—I want to be with you, Allister.”
As he lifted her easily into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, he couldn’t tell if he’d actually murmured her name or if it had been pounding so loudly through his mind that he only thought he had.
The orange-yellow glow of the street lamp just outside the bedroom window slipped through partially opened blinds and touched Stevie’s face as he lowered her to the bed. Her hands never lost contact with him, even as he moved onto the bed with her. Her fingers twined into his hair, and she pulled him to her, deeper into their kiss. It was with a certain reluctance that he left her sweet mouth, but he wanted more of her than this. He wanted to know every part of her. He wanted to bridle the rampant longing that raged through him now so that he could taste and experience every last curve and hollow.
He trailed kisses along her arched neck, feeling her pulse quicken against his lips as he moved past her throat and toward the V of her shirt. He felt her hand slide under his sweater and tug his T-shirt free from his jeans. And when her fingers fluttered over his stomach and up his chest, Allister’s breath caught in his throat.
Torn between answering his primal urges and savoring each intoxicating second, Allister concentrated on the buttons of her shirt. One at a time, he released them, and all the while Stevie’s fingers traced the lines and curves of his chest, as though committing each one to a mental image she was creating of him.
With the last button of her shirt undone, Allister brushed aside the crisp cotton to reveal the luminous warmth of her skin. God, how he wanted her! Every fiber of his being screamed for him to take her right there, to give in to the overwhelming drive that coursed through him like a raging fire.
Instead, he let out a ragged breath and traced the edge of the dainty lace bra with one finger, following the gentle swell of her breasts. And when he undid the front clasp, freeing her breasts, he marveled at the perfect dark nipples. Cupping one breast in his hand, he lowered his mouth to it, enveloping the taut nipple, tasting it, circling it with his tongue several times before moving to the other.