“Colleen!”
He caught her shoulders and spun her back around to face him. His features were tautly drawn in a grim mask, but she didn’t care; resentment was seething in her so fully. She stared at the hands on her shoulders, but he didn’t take the hint and release her so she met his smoke-and-silver gaze with her chin raised high.
“Carly didn’t want you seeing Rutger’s body.”
She blinked, but then demanded, “Why?”
“Because you cared about him.”
“I’m a big girl, Bret. I’ve been at this kind of thing for a long time now.”
“Listen to me, Colleen. You were involved. You cared. And he—he wasn’t taken gently from this life. Someone tried real hard to convince him to give away any secrets before he died.”
She lowered her eyes at last. “All right,” she whispered. “Maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to…see him.” Then she raised her head again, and her eyes blazed into his. “But Carly might have had the decency to warn me that you could be running around picking my locks!”
“My locks,” Bret flared back, eyes narrowing.
“You can take your damned locks and—”
“Watch it, Colleen. I’m too tired for your kind of sparring match.”
“I don’t care what you have to say, Bret McAllistair; you were wrong and you know it. You had no right breaking in here when you had been gone all that time. When our divorce will be final in less than a month. Common decency should have kept you out of the bedroom. Among other things, you might have given me a heart attack—”
“Colleen,” Bret interrupted dryly, “I have a great deal of faith in your powers of survival. And I didn’t mean to scare you half to death. I was just…stuck. And I asked Carly not to tell you I was around. Remember the last time? You asked to see me. So sweetly. You were all smiles and pleasantry just so you could tell me about the divorce. Don’t you remember that? Well, I sure as hell do. It didn’t seem to make a lot of sense to go through the whole thing again!”
“You left,” she reminded him icily.
“I went to work,” he retorted briefly.
“Could you get your hands off my shoulders, please?” she asked him pleasantly, without blinking.
He closed his eyes, and his fingers seemed to twitch for a second. Then he emitted an impatient grunt and released her, though he continued to survey her with his eyes.
He took a deep breath as if straining for the ultimate patience needed to deal with a child. “All right, Colleen, I know that this isn’t making you particularly happy. But we’ve got to try to proceed with a mature approach. You’re involved, I’m involved. I’m going to be your ghost, your shadow, your second skin, until this thing is solved. For two reasons. First, you may be a bitch, but I grant that you’re a damned good-looking one, and when I dredge my memory long enough, I can come up with some soft and good qualities. I’m not anxious to be called in to take a look at your body if they pull it out of the river.”
“Thanks. It’s nice to know you’re concerned,” Colleen snapped back with acid gratitude.
“And secondly,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “I don’t trust you any farther than a foot away.”
“Ah…you wouldn’t want to lose the story, right, Bret?”
“Colleen, I’m trying to be reasonable.”
“Reasonable? And complimentary, right?”
“We can try to get along. Help each other. I can stay out of your way as much as possible. And I’ll even promise that if you’ll try to be decent, as soon as this is over, I’ll do everything in my capacity to stay out of your sight forever. I won’t contest a thing in court, and you’ll be free as the breeze.”
She smiled slowly and reached up to smooth a lock of his hair back over his forehead. “Really, Bret?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he answered her pleasantly. “Really.”
Her hand fell to his chest, and her fingernails played lightly over the soft material of his pullover. She took a step toward him, and he stepped backward to accommodate her.
“All I have to do is accept the situation, right?”
Her eyes were so bright staring up into his, and fringed by thick lashes as inky dark as her silken hair. Her lips were twisted into a smile that appeared almost elfin and very wistful.
“Right,” he whispered. God, why did she always have this effect on him? She could make his temper go off like a rocket blast, but she could also make his insides ignite with the same terrible heat. She could make him shake and shiver so badly inside that he sometimes felt as if he were a teenager out on his first date.
“Right,” he managed to respond again. She was leaning against him. She was light, but the pressure of her splayed fingers, the hint of her soft breasts, sent him stepping backward again.
“It could almost be like old times, right, Bret?” she queried with a husky breath. “Talking it all out…ordering pizzas and Chinese food in the middle of the night… sipping brandy before the fire, even in the middle of summer…”
“Uh…yeah,” he responded a little shakily. And then he grinned with a hint of mischief. “And when you wind up a little too out on that wine, I can tuck you into bed. Just like before.”
She halted, paling a little. But her smile was still in place. “Bret, where did you sleep last night?”
The shudder that tore through his body as he remembered putting her to bed left his muscles weak. But he could never show her his vulnerability, especially when she seemed to be calling the shots. Was it real? Was she softening? He knew her. He should be doubting it. But she was touching him, and talking to him with that wistful tone in her voice.
He arched one brow and allowed his grin to twist devilishly. “I’ll never tell. Don’t you know?”
She wasn’t pale any longer; her cheeks were the color of a summer rose. “No, I don’t know,” she murmured, and now there was an edge to her words.
He smiled broadly. “You really don’t remember begging me to get rid of your sweater? You were so…very…hot.”
She kept smiling but her fingers went still against his chest. Her eyes sizzled like the noon sun into his. “Are you feeling the heat at all, Bret?” she asked silkily.
“I never denied the heat,” he responded, ready to crush her soft and sinuous form into his arms and prove that words and anger had little effect on the simple beauty of chemistry and nature.
But that was when she made her move. Her fingers tightened, and she shoved against his chest with all her strength. Suddenly he was off balance and falling…until he crashed backward into the shattering coolness of the pool.
Dimly he could hear her shout furiously, “Well, then, cool off!”
Anger sent him jackknifing quickly and cleanly back to the surface. Anger at her and at himself for having been such an idiot again. The little witch! If she had any sense at all, she wouldn’t wait to see him right now. She would be racing into the house to lock herself in the bathroom until he could really cool off.
But she hadn’t run. She was standing near the edge of the pool, her hands on her hips, fury still flaming brightly in the sun-gold depths of her eyes.
“You want a deal, Bret? You’ve got it! But you’d better try to stay out of my way! I’m not a toy; I never was and I refuse to be treated like one again! I’ve told you…”
She hesitated, backing away a bit as one firm stroke brought him to the edge of the pool. His eyes didn’t look at all like silver. They were as black as the smoldering soot rising above a volcano, as threatening as an explosion about to occur.
“Bret…”
Then they both froze, he with his arms pushing against the tiled border of the pool to propel himself out, she in the process of backing farther away.
The phone had begun to ring again.
The answering machine would get it, Colleen knew. She should be worried about self-preservation, not about who was calling. She’d known he would be furious, though not quite as angry as he looked. But she d
idn’t want the machine getting the phone. She was sure it was the woman who had called earlier, and she had a slight suspicion of who it might be. She wanted to take the call, and she didn’t want Bret hearing it.
Another second and another ring passed as she stared at him, a little bit stricken. Then she raced from the patio into her bedroom, diving across the bed to catch the phone.
“Hello!” she gasped out, just in time. One more ring and the machine would have clicked on, recording all their words and amplifying them for anyone within hearing distance to catch.
“Mrs. McAllistair?” It was a woman’s voice. Soft and melodic, young, and hesitant.
“Yes, yes, this is Colleen McAllistair.”
“This is Sandy Tyrell. I—I believe that Rutger Miller mentioned me to you.”
“Yes, yes,” Colleen murmured. “Sandy, I want to see you. I want to help in any way that I—” She stopped abruptly. Bret, totally indifferent to the water that was dripping all over the carpet, was standing there, watching her.
“Sandy!” she said cheerfully, as if she were talking to a friend. “How about lunch?”
“Lunch?” Sandy Tyrell murmured.
Then, as Colleen watched helplessly, Bret bent down to flick the switch that would turn the answering machine into a speaker. When Sandy Tyrell spoke again, Bret could hear every word she was saying.
“I—I guess that would be all right, but I—I was thinking it should be more private. Haven’t you heard, Mrs. McAllistair? Rutger was killed. According to the paper it must have been horrible. I’m so frightened….”
Colleen grated her teeth and shot Bret a glance that could kill. He seemed not to notice; he was staring at her as if his hands itched to turn her black and blue. He didn’t need to speak to tell her that he thought she was the worst liar in history.
“Sandy, please. Calm down. I’m sure no one knows you have any connection—”
“Anyone could find out about my connection!” Sandy’s voice rose. “I’ve never denied it. My mother spent half her life trying to clear my grandfather! I saw Rutger countless times. We had become good friends and, Mrs. McAllistair…” She paused as if she was looking around to make sure no one was there to hear her. “I have one of the puzzle pieces. Just like you have.”
Colleen felt her breath catch in her throat. Bret’s eyes were on her like silver fire. He took a step toward her, and she had to fight to keep from rolling away in panic; there seemed to be so much menace in that single step.
“Sandy. I think we should talk about this in private. Perhaps you do need police protection.”
“Can I come there?”
“I—”
Bret’s eyes narrowed warningly. Colleen tried to think quickly; with him staring at her, water still soaking his hair and clothing and delineating every tight muscle in his body, she could hardly think at all.
He nodded. Colleen felt her throat go so dry she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to talk at all. She swallowed and wet her lips. “Yes, Sandy, come here.”
“We’ll be alone?”
“Yes, Sandy, we’ll be alone.”
“Are you sure?” Sandy asked anxiously. “I won’t come if anyone else is there. I tried to call you earlier, and a man answered.”
“He’s gone,” Colleen lied swiftly, then reiterated. “We’ll be alone, Sandy. I promise.” Despite the fact that she was quaking inside, she tried to outstare Bret.
“All right. An hour?”
“An hour. I’ll be waiting.”
“Thank you!” Sandy Tyrell whispered a little desperately, and then the dull buzz of the line going dead filled the room.
Colleen continued to stare at Bret warily, her fingers in a death grip around the receiver. Slowly, purposefully, he snapped the button to silence the recorder. Then, with the same slow determination, he wrenched the receiver out of her hand and replaced it.
Colleen thought of him then just as she would a deadly snake. She would have to deal with him the same way: move slowly; make no sudden gestures. Her own gaze locked with his; she tried to smile and slowly slid off the bed.
It was no good. Like a streak of lightning he was on her, ignoring her dismayed gasp, pinning her wrists and pressing her body flat with the entire soaked length of his own.
“Bret, you’re hurting me!” she cried out. “You’re ruining the bed, you’re—”
“The one thing I am,” he interrupted raggedly, “is not moving until you decide to do some real talking.”
She closed her eyes. But she couldn’t shut out the image of his implacable features or the feel of his body against hers. Hard and vital. Warm…despite the cool water that had soaked through her clothing now, too, destroying all the civilized barriers between them. Oh, could she feel him! The crush of his hips, the muscled tension of his thighs, the security that his arms gave her, no matter how false.
A finger brushed her cheek. She opened her eyes and met his relentless gaze.
“Colleen,” he said hoarsely, “you’ve got to tell me everything that’s going on.”
“All right!” she said with a gasp. Then she added brokenly, “Please, Bret. You’re heavy. You’re wet, and it’s hot, and you’re steaming everything in the room.”
“Can’t take the heat, huh?” he asked, but he moved, and she was suddenly both grateful and disconcerted. She planned to answer anything that he had to say at the moment very politely.
“What? The heat? Yes, it’s very hot—oh!”
He had taken his weight off her, but she found herself leaving the bed along with him. Nor did he carry her nicely; it was no Gone With the Wind, up-the-staircase scene. She was hanging over his shoulder, feeling terribly unbalanced, and she was cursing him for being insane while her nose crashed into his back.
“Bret McAllistair, what—”
His footsteps were sure and swift. The next thing she knew she was flying, then slicing cleanly through the water of the pool.
Sputtering and gasping for breath, she came to the surface, fully ready to revile him with every word she knew, along with whatever she could make up. But he was waiting, one foot on the diving board, an elbow casually resting on his knee.
“Well, now we should both be nice and cool, right? Come on out, Mrs. McAllistair. The way I see it, we’ve got a lot of talking to do in a very short span of time.”
Colleen clamped her lips tightly together and swam for the stairs in the shallow end. He was there before her, stretching out a hand to help her. She ignored it, but he caught her hand anyway.
“We’re in this together, Colleen. I’ve told you that. and I want to hear about these puzzle pieces—now.”
CHAPTER 4
Sputtering as she stared up at him, Colleen felt her anger suddenly fizzle, then fall flat. They both looked ridiculous—two adults dripping wet and behaving like a pair of thwarted kids.
She started to laugh.
Bret stared at her warily, not trusting her amusement when he had expected her to come out swinging.
“We are going to talk,” he warned her.
“Oh, I suppose we are,” she said casually, lowering her lashes and thinking quickly. This one was her story; she intended to keep it. But it appeared that she wasn’t going to gain anything by fighting him nor was she going to be able to get rid of him, at least not by asking him nicely to go. She was going to have to be agreeable and lull his suspicions until she figured out what she was going to do.
For a moment an ache filled her heart as she allowed herself to dream the same old dreams. Working together… At one time the idea had been so appealing. They had worked together in a sense. They had talked everything out. Bret had given her his opinions; she had given him hers. And when things had gotten too frustrating or confusing, he’d always been able to make her forget about them. “The hell with it, for now!” he’d tell her. “I’ve got this great idea. Let’s have hot dogs and wine in the whirlpool!” Or else he’d suddenly started building a fire in the middle of the summer, and they�
�d sit before it, naked and giggling, sipping hot chocolate and feeding one another grapes….
For a moment her heart seemed to constrict and burn; she caught her breath at the pain of it. What had happened to them? How had something so good become so bitter?
Humbly she reminded herself that he had walked out on her, taking one of her assignments in the process. The story had been more important than their marriage, than her.
Harden, O heart! she commanded herself with a touch of pain, and even a touch of whimsy. It would be so easy to allow the fantasy to happen. So very easy…
And so devastating on the day when it was over and they walked into a courtroom for that last, legal goodbye.
He was back because of another story.
Well, knowing him, she knew that he would stick to her like glue. Her only recourse was to play along. And what would it really matter, anyway? He’d already heard what Sandy had to say; she might as well tell him the rest.
“Colleen…”
His voice seemed to carry a low, warning purr. She smiled, noticed that his gaze was growing warier. “Help me out,” she invited with a slightly weary sigh. “I’ll tell you the rest of what I know if you promise to get out of here so that Sandy can come over.”
“I’ll be back, you know,” he told her softly, not accepting her hand until the deal was made.
“I assumed you would,” she returned blandly.
He bent down and the spirit of mischief seized her again. She longed to pull him back in.
But he was ready this time; he felt the pressure of her hand and looked warningly at her. “Not this time, sweet thing,” he said in a wonderful Bogart parody.
Colleen found a toehold against the side of the pool; a second later his other hand was about her waist and she was out of the water, her body sliding slowly down along the length of his. For a second their eyes caught, and all she could seem to feel was that the water that drenched them both was becoming a hazy steam. He was so warmly solid, so vibrant; his touch seemed to promise so many things, things that were exciting and secure and beautiful. And his eyes at that moment were warm as a mist of tenderness that both embraced and sizzled, as if he had also been seized by an unbearable nostalgia, leaving her naked and aching.
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