"We need to talk, Barbara."
"There's nothing to say."
His eyes were somber, reflective. "There's a lifetime of misunderstanding to talk about."
"Are you taking me to my hotel?" she asked again, forcing the desperation from her voice. "Or do I walk?"
* * *
Chapter 13
«^»
Grudgingly she admitted to herself that his house was exquisite. Open beamed ceilings towered toward the mountains, a full two stories high, giving the house light and enough space to lose oneself in. It was a house she also suspected he didn't share with many people. There was a deep sense of privacy here. One that nearly matched the owner's.
Despite walls of windows and French doors that opened to numerous decks and patios, she sensed few people looked inside these glass barriers. Meticulously maintained, the house flourished with greenery, the planked wooden floors gleamed and the blend of traditional furniture scattered with antiques shone with a polish that tinged the air faintly with lemon.
Her bravado had deserted her when she recalled the miles of darkness between his house and the town of Cannel, knowing she had no innate sense of direction. She didn't want to stumble about all night in the unrelieved blackness. Instead, she had rigidly allowed him to escort her inside.
Soft lamps and a now-crackling fire had banished the gloom. It was a house designed to soothe and envelop. But Barbara, hugging her anger, wanted neither comfort.
"This seems like an awfully far drive from your office in San Francisco," she commented as Kenneth rustled around in the next room.
"I have an apartment in San Francisco for the weekly grind, but this is home," he replied as he entered the spacious den.
Not in the mood for any more chitchat, she stared out the vast windows into the darkness rather than answering.
"Wine?" Kenneth offered, approaching her with a glass.
Mutely she shook her head. She knew the constriction in her throat would choke her.
"I haven't drugged it," he said dryly. Then shrugging, turned and emptied the glass himself. Shoving a hand through his hair, he dislodged the immaculate styling.
It occurred to Barbara that he looked far different this way. Wilder, leaner. More reminiscent of her Billy.
Pain clutched at her, cracking her heart as an ache the size of Texas formed in her throat. Oh … Billy…
He turned then, narrowing his gaze. "Still comparing, I see."
It wasn't fair that he could still read her thoughts. She had done her best to close them down, shut him out.
"You've tricked me into coming here. But this little kidnap maneuver won't last long. I won't be falling into your plans, or whatever game it is you're playing now."
His eyes deepened in challenge. "Don't you want to know about that game, Barbara?" He stepped closer, diminishing the space between them, dominating the remaining interval. "Don't you want to know what became of Billy? How I came to be?"
Assaulted by confusing thoughts, she was torn by the tugging desire to know and the stubborn pride that dictated she should walk away. He'd obviously never loved her and that made a mockery of a time she regarded as special. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of special.
Still it was sadness rather than anger that coated her words. "I'm not sure it matters. Billy really is gone forever. I don't even have that hope anymore." Embarrassed that she'd revealed more than she intended, her voice turned brisk. "It's time I left those memories behind."
His hand reached out to touch her cheek. "Maybe not."
"You lied. You've been lying since the trial began … perhaps ever since we met."
"I don't blame you for feeling that way." His thumb eased down her cheek and she didn't pull away. "But things aren't always as they seem."
"And this?" She swept her hand toward the house, raging suddenly. "This wasn't another of your tricks? Bringing me here, trying to turn things around so they're to your advantage?"
His hands came down on her shoulders, abruptly stopping her ranting, the restless swinging of her body. "I couldn't say goodbye without you knowing the truth."
Goodbye. It echoed relentlessly in her mind, staggered her heart. She knew it was so, but the finality stabbed her again.
Shadows crept over the clean, white walls and inevitably over them both, as well. Now that she knew his true identity, she wondered how she hadn't recognized him immediately. Did he wonder, as well?
He reached out to tuck her hair behind one ear. "I'm glad you're still leaving it down."
Unconsciously, she reached to touch her own hair, then let her hand fall away. "It's nothing."
"It is to me," he murmured. "You were so terribly proper before."
Protests formed, then trailed away. He was right. She wasn't the same woman she'd been when he had reentered her life. She busied her hands with her scarf.
Kenneth lifted it off and away.
She wouldn't let him seduce her from her anger. Even though he stunned, overwhelmed and staggered her, she wouldn't let him play on that weakness. Deliberately she stepped back and away.
"If I must stay here tonight, you could show me to my room." Her voice could have iced an erupting volcano, sending the lava shivering back inside for cover.
Kenneth's own voice was clipped. "I'll show you. But don't think we're through, Barbara." His eyes met hers, daring her to disagree. "Not by a long shot."
She followed him down a wide corridor with high ceilings and walls filled with incredible photographs set in exotic locales. The wilds of Alaska competed for space with Barbados and Singapore. Seeing her stare at them curiously, he explained. "My sister's work."
"It looks like she's tried to capture the entire world on film."
"It was her way of coping."
Barbara itched to ask him the meaning of that cryptic statement. Was he alluding to something he, too, had been forced to cope with? She didn't ask, instead trailing him silently. Reaching the room, he pushed open the door and she withheld a gasp. Planning to be critical, she hadn't expected such a lovely wisp of a room.
Sheer, white cotton billowed from the drapes at the French doors and over the cherrywood columns of the four-poster bed. The highly polished wooden floor was softened with rugs of matching flawless white. The room was a dream. And something she hadn't expected to find in this masculine home. Was there a woman in his life? Someone permanent? Barbara whirled around, the question in her eyes, tripping on the tip of her tongue.
Once again he read her thoughts as clearly as though she'd spoken aloud. "It's for my sister on her rare visits. A home base, so to speak."
"And what identity has she assumed?" Barbara finally managed, unable to reconcile who he had become, the big chunks of his life that remained secret.
Hurt flickered over his face, then disappeared. "You'll find everything you need in here – towels, a bathrobe, toiletries, the essentials." Turning, he left her.
She told herself she was glad. She wanted to be on her own. Investigating the adjoining bathroom, she found more than mere essentials. Cosmetics and toiletries graced the white tile counters. Wandering back into the bedroom, she found a closet full of clothes. For someone who only rarely visited?
Abruptly Barbara slumped on the bed. What had happened to change Billy and apparently his entire family?
Restless, she decided to soak in the tub and hopefully banish all the nagging questions. She poured in a generous amount of gardenia bath salts and slid inside the oversize tub.
But even after a long, leisurely soak, she found herself back in the bedroom, not settling in as she'd told Kenneth she would, instead feeling restless, anxious. Pacing the confines of the room, she found she didn't want to be alone in the bedroom. She wanted to investigate, to leave this solitariness behind.
Rising, she walked to the French doors, seeing only darkness beyond the depths of the terrace. She felt caged, especially when the person with all the answers was in one of the adjoining rooms.
Belting the terry
-cloth robe securely, Barbara eased open the door and padded into the hall. Woodsmoke drifted through the air, combining with the aroma of fleshly ground coffee beans, and the honeyed scent of the wildflowers she'd spotted outside. Cautiously she approached the huge living area and saw that the doors were pushed open to the outside, accounting for the smell of fresh flowers. The fire snapped as it fed greedily on the air supply that blew softly through the doors.
The room was simple, elegant, yet unrevealing. No family pictures decorated the mantel or the ebony grand piano that brazenly dominated the room. Seeing the room was empty, she skimmed by the bookcases, searching. No scrapbooks or yearbooks littered the shelves. Nor were there any framed diplomas near his desk. It was as though he were a man with no past.
"Seen enough?"
Barbara whirled around, a guilty flush heating her cheeks. "You weren't here when I came in."
"One of the best times for snooping."
She pulled herself upward in a defensive posture. "You said you brought me here to explain."
Something flickered in his eyes, then died. "And you've already made up your mind. Because you're hoping I won't be able to pull off a good enough explanation, aren't you?" He crossed the room. "Because nothing can explain away the years of hurt, or the silence." His eyes hardened, even as remorse traced a visible path. "Well, you're right, Barbara. There is no explanation good enough. No excuse that will diminish your pain or your sense of betrayal."
With all words trapped hopelessly in the dry well of her throat, she simply stared.
He lifted one hand toward her, then let it fall to his side. "Laughter was always my crutch, and there's not a chance in hell that I'm going to laugh you through this one. No humorous antidote or ridiculous act that will make you forget the last fifteen years." Grim lines of regret etched themselves near his mouth even as his lips curved in a parody of a smile. "For what it's worth – I am sorry." Giving in to impulse, he cupped her chin. "But I thought it was worth the risk."
Questions tumbled through her head, each racing to outstrip the other. "What did happen?" she asked softly.
Irony tainted his laughter, along with a hollowness. "I was sure you'd never ask."
Impatience battled with concern as she stared at him. "I want to know … I need to know."
Dragging both hands through his hair, he turned to the bar, pouring two tumblers of whiskey, offering her one. She sensed his gesture meant the story was going to take more than a gentle glass of wine.
She took a gulp of the Irish whiskey. It tasted of fire. She wondered if the story would, as well.
Silence brewed between them as the tension flared.
"You know what happened that night," he began, not needing to identify which night. The memory was strong, piquant, one neither of them could forget. "But I didn't know what I was going home to."
Time faded away as he recalled the painful evening and began relating it to Barbara.
* * *
He'd been furious when Barbara had rejected his plan to elope. Even though he had planned everything perfectly, she had poked holes in every strategy with her unfailing logic. They needed little more than each other to live. At least he thought so. She, on the other hand, had pointed out every practical pitfall. Yet he ached with the love he had for her, knowing there would never be anyone he would love as much, regardless of her stubbornness.
Storming toward the dormitory, he'd been taken aback by his brother's sudden appearance. His older brother had offered no explanation, simply overpowering him and pushing him inside the car, then speeding away.
"What the hell's got into you, Josh?" Billy shoved his long, blond hair from his face. "You got something to say, spit it out."
Josh took his eyes from the road for a moment. "I wish it was that easy." And he remained steadfastly silent through the remainder of the ride, despite Billy's demands and eventually taunts. Finally Billy lapsed into sullen silence, vowing to even the score when they reached their destination.
Josh pulled up to the gates that led to the front of the family home, pushed the remote and drove up the circular driveway.
Billy stared at the quiet-looking house, then turned in anger, his hands thrown upward in an eloquent shrug, but Josh interrupted, his voice quiet, heavy. "I'm sorry, Billy. Let's go inside."
Something in his brother's voice sent a frisson of fear skittering up his spine and lodging somewhere near his heart. Whatever was wrong was serious. Anxious to find out, he ripped the door open and loped across the always-immaculate lawn. Before he could reach the front door it opened and a stranger stood just inside.
Halting, Billy glanced around for Josh and found him close behind. His father was a self-made man, who one had gone leaps and bounds beyond anyone's expectations, building a small business into a multi-million-dollar enterprise. Billy thought instantly of kidnapping, extortion…
Josh's hand dropped heavily on his shoulder. "Everyone's in the study."
Terror leapt momentarily into his throat; then he shook aside the notion. His father, Thomas Duncan, had taught him to fear no man. And Billy was confident his father had things under control.
Together Billy and Josh stepped into the room. It struck Billy at that moment how wrong everything seemed, out of kilter. It was as though he'd stepped into another world. Strain and tension filled the comfortable room instead of the ease and laughter that usually resided there.
His mother sat in one of the wingback chairs, his father standing next to her, flanking the sofa where his sister sat carefully curled up, everything in her stance defensive. From the corners of the room, he could see movement – all on the part of strangers.
"Billy, come sit down." His father's tone matched that of his brother's and Billy looked wildly at Josh for support and saw only the heavy lines of worry etched near his mouth.
"Dad, are these people—"
"They're here for our protection."
For the first time Billy noticed the bourbon glass in his father's hand, the fingers clenched tightly around it, whitened to the knuckles. The father he knew needed no one's protection. Reflexively he moved forward.
Thomas Duncan sighed, then stroked his free hand over his wife's shoulder. "I witnessed a murder, son, and it's something I can't walk away from."
Billy spoke impatiently, not understanding why his father's sense of duty should stir the family so, or concern these strangers. "Of course not, Dad—"
His father held up one hand, stemming the expected flow of words. "It's not that simple. The people involved are in organized crime. And they want to tie up loose ends."
A man stepped from the shadows, suddenly dominating the room. "And those loose ends are the Duncan family. Everyone else here has been briefed. In order to protect your lives, it will be necessary for all of you to disappear."
Disappear?
But the man was still speaking. "New names, new identities and, of course, relocation."
His head spinning, Billy stared for a moment before bursting out. "Duncans don't run! They stand and fight!" He turned to his father for affirmation, but saw the heavy veil of regret in his eyes. "We don't run," he repeated, hearing the words echo in the quiet room.
"If you stay, you'll simply all be eliminated," the man said quietly. There was no hint of apology in his voice, only a finality that was slowly beginning to seep in.
Billy turned from his father to his brother. But Josh wore a heavy look of acceptance, as well.
"Even if Dad refused to testify, chances are we'd be killed because we're a loose end," Josh told him dully. "We have no other choice."
Having been raised to believe he had a world of options at his fingertips, Billy couldn't comprehend that they'd all been snatched away in an instant.
His mother rose unsteadily, but she kept a firm grip on her voice. "It means we have to break up the family, Billy. To alter it enough that it won't be recognizable."
"I'll be working on the East Coast," Josh told him.
"And
your sister's going to finish school in Paris," his mother inserted.
Billy felt something inside him shatter as his family was being ripped apart.
"We'll move to Washington State," his father added. "Your uncle Albert has agreed to take over the business."
Billy had spoken to his parents the previous day. The events of the past mere twenty-four hours now staggered him. And the idea of his father abandoning a business he'd spent his life building was incomprehensible. "But how—"
"We have to move quickly," the agent inserted. "There won't be time to pack more than a suitcase. I suggest you concentrate on family mementos and pictures since clothing can be replaced. You must all leave by morning."
It occurred to him that no one mentioned where he would be going. He met his father's unblinking gaze.
"Admission to Harvard has already been arranged, Billy."
He thought of how far away the prestigious school was from Houston, from Rice University, from the woman he loved. He had a million other questions, but knew only one issue in addition to his family's safety was paramount. "I can be packed in an hour. Right now I've got to find Barbara."
"You can't do that," his father said quietly.
Outrage clouded his youthful face. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said, son. We can't tell anyone that we're being taken into the Witness Protection Program. The risk is too great."
"Barbara's not a casual girlfriend," he protested, thinking of his proposal, then his ultimatum.
"Are you willing to jeopardize your entire family's safety … as well as Barbara's?"
Injustice simmered along with a flood of hot words, but the sober, anguished look on his father's face stopped him. Slowly he gazed around the room, his eyes resting on each loved face. His mother's worry was clear as she gazed at him. His brother and sister, looked much as he felt. They were all being ripped away from what they loved.
His gaze returned to his brother. "Susan?" he asked, thinking of the woman who'd snared Josh's affection, one they all assumed he would marry.
Slowly Josh shook his head.
Stunned, Billy stared back. She, too, was to be left behind with everything familiar and dear.
WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN Page 17