Within Temptation

by Tanya Holmes

  He didn’t say a word after he left the shower. Just got dressed and threw on his coat. A minute later, he was gone.

  Was he right? Was I a prisoner of my own making?

  Looking back, I had a long list of accomplishments. High school homecoming queen, captain of the varsity cheerleading squad, National Honor Society member, Sarah Lawrence magna cum laude graduate, successful realtor, and fiancé of a celebrated attorney.

  I’d achieved all this in spite of child abuse, my father’s sudden death, as well as my mother’s murder and sleazy legacy. Yet lurking beneath all the dazzling achievements and ‘atta girl’s’ was a fear so stark and terrifying, I’d buried it as deep as I could—until Trace dug it out.

  He’d spoken a hard truth. I had become my own jailer, and it was up to me to free myself. Nobody else could. All my accolades and certificates couldn’t hide the fact that I was just as flawed as everyone else…even my own mother, which meant I had a right—no, a responsibility—to make my own mistakes and not be ashamed of them.

  Because I was only human.

  When I rolled into the plaza, ten minutes later, I immediately saw Darien’s Mercedes. Spotting me, he climbed out, stood in front of the office, and waited.

  One part of me wanted to berate him for the months he’d been lying, while the other refused to point fingers. I’d given Trace my virginity last night; had a few close calls with him even before that.

  Saying Darien cheated first sounded juvenile, even to my own ears.

  I cut the engine, filled my lungs, and threw the door open.

  May as well get this over with now.

  Darien lurked on the sidewalk, his hands shoved in the pockets of a blue trench coat. Even with a tan, he somehow seemed pale. His face looked weighted down, and his perfectly clipped chestnut hair was as windblown as the rest of him.

  “Shannon….”

  I sailed by, head bent, fingers sifting through my keys. “Make it quick. I’m just here for my day planner and Rolodex.”

  “You weren’t home. I’ve been calling your cell all night.”

  “It’s broken,” I said, my breath fogging from the cold.

  “Can you at least tell me where you’ve been?”

  I rammed the key into the lock. “You honestly don’t expect me to answer that, do you?”

  He dragged a hand down his face. “I was worried sick.”

  “As you can see, I’m fine.”

  He followed when I nudged the door open. I flipped the light switch and headed straight for my office. Once there, I eased into a chair—mindful of the tenderness between my legs—and gathered my things with ruthless precision. I kept my eyes down, anywhere but on him.

  Darien snagged a seat on the opposite side of my desk. “Honey, please. I need to talk to you.”

  I stilled, heaved a sigh. “What is it?”

  “You can’t know how sorry I am.”

  Oh, I did, and strangely enough, I pitied him. The man looked miserable. Lines in his forehead, the ones I’d once thought gave him character, sliced dramatic paths across his tanned face. Shadows underscored his weary eyes.

  I was hesitant, but spoke my mind anyway. “I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach yesterday. Before I left the hospital, I had to touch a tree and feel its bark…to be sure it was real…that I was real. How long have you and—”

  “She’s irrelevant,” he supplied with a hint of desperation.

  “Irrelevant,” I repeated, my eyes never leaving his. The male capacity for sex without love both puzzled and exasperated me. “I doubt Kate shares your lack of enthusiasm.”

  His face looked tight with strain. “She was the tabloid source. I confronted her as soon as I knew.”

  Swinging. Sadomasochism. The inherent malice behind the lies made sense now.

  “She’s in love with you.”

  “Yes,” he admitted with a solemn nod. “I didn’t want a lawsuit, so I paid her off. She’s left the firm.”

  If anything, I felt sorry for Kate Sims. But one question nagged at me. “It’s obvious your…secret relationship has been going on for a while. Even before us, probably. So why did you ask me to marry you?”

  “Love.” He said the word as if I should have known better. “Yes, I was seeing her before you, but it was just sex. Nothing else.”

  “Well, I accepted your proposal because…you reminded me of my father.”

  His head jutted back. “What?”

  “I know it makes no sense, but there you have it. You’re not in love with me. You’re in love with an idea. Truth is, we used each other, Darien. I wanted something you couldn’t give—your undivided attention. I knew this, but I did it anyway, hoping this time things would be different.”

  “Different how?”

  I sniffed, looked away. “Hoping this time the busy, distracted, and successful older guy would pay attention me. And you….” I sighed. “You wanted a trophy wife—someone from a good family, someone naïve and malleable. But Kate wasn’t that someone.” I served him a frank look. “And neither am I.”

  Darien threw up his hands. “I don’t know what you’re going on about, but here’s my truth. I was wrong to put my career first. Just let me make it up to you. I swear I’ll do better.”

  I propped my forearms on the desk. “It’s not just that. I’m tired of watching my back. I can’t guarantee that I won’t screw up in the future. And when they hear about us, trust me, it’ll be my fault, regardless. I’m Lilith Bradford’s daughter.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be that way. Look, I wouldn’t care if you were the devil’s daughter! I am in love with you. All I want is another chance to prove it.”

  Oh, my God, he’s serious. I drew back and with a heavy heart, slowly lifted my left hand for his inspection.

  He blinked at the tan line. “Where the hell is your ring?”

  “It’s over. I’m telling you now because I’d rather you hear it from me than gossips.” I paused. “I slept with Trace.”

  Color drained from his cheeks.

  “I’m in love with him, Darien. I-I suspect I always have been.” Then I added, “He didn’t kill Mother, and I plan on finding out who did.”

  Comprehension finally dawned in his steel-gray eyes. “You were with him last night?” I nodded. “How long has this been going on?”

  For me? A lifetime. Trace was my first love—my one and only true love—but I’d been too blind to see it. “Does that really matter now?”

  Visibly stunned, Darien struggled to his feet. He ambled around the desk, sank to the edge, and grasped my hand, his grip unsteady. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I love you. I always have.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t do this.”

  Tears pooled in his eyes as I dug the solitaire from my pocket, uncurled his hand, and tucked it into his palm. He drew a sharp breath, closing his fingers around the gem. It made a scraping sound when it came in contact with his fraternity ring.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “We just weren’t meant to be.”

  He rubbed his damp eyes with a fist and dropped the ring in a breast pocket. “Guess that answers my follow-up question.”

  For the next hour, we spoke in solicitous tones, both of us coming to terms with what would never be, and what never was. We cried together, held each other in grief, in sadness. And for the first time in our relationship, Darien bared his soul, allowing me to see his emotional nakedness and vulnerability. That heartened me most of all.

  However, when the conversation finally shifted, I had a sense that he would get past this—we both would—and perhaps come out the better for it.

  “Are you going back to the hospital?” I asked, mopping my nose with a hanky.

  Darien slowly stood and ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, yeah. Sears asked me to pick him up.” He sighed. “They’re discharging him this afternoon. But something’s going on with him and Hesta. They were acting….”

  “Weird?” After he nodded, I added, “Want to know why?”
<
br />   “You told them about Kate.” He shot me a rueful smile. “I expect Sears’ll want to dissolve our partnership.”

  “For your sake, I hope so.”

  “Now you’ve lost me.”

  I raised both brows at his puzzled expression. “Your secret’s safe. I didn’t tell him anything. This is something entirely different.” I hesitated. “You may have been a terrible fiancé, but you’re one of the best lawyers I know. Trace and I will need the best.”

  Darien looked at me like I was crazy. “What makes you think I’d ever lift a finger to help him?”

  “Because despite your personal failings, you respect justice. That’s what I’m counting on.” I powered up my computer and found Mrs. Campbell’s and Sheriff Gray’s mp3 files. “There’s something you need to hear. So grab a seat. I’m about to give you a chance to right a huge wrong.”

  TRACE

  ____________________________

  There was nothing I could say or do to change Shannon. Her issues had been ingrained from birth. So where did that leave me? Forever a slave to her annoying obsession with appearances? I loved her more than anything, but could she say the same? I doubted it. If she did, our relationship would be at the top of her list. So what was? Tongue waggers!

  I scowled and stalked across the parking lot. This wasn’t my problem. It was hers. She had to work it out. I’d be damned before I’d spend another moment worrying about it. So I shoved Shannon from my mind, and instead focused on the task ahead. And that was picking Tori Mills’ brain.

  Knowing the girl like I did, I figured I’d have to come up with a creative lie to get what I wanted. I may even have to do some sweet-talking. Women like Tori had the same buttons, and I’d poked hers too many times to mention in high school. If I was lucky, the store would be empty.

  Bullshit was a dish best served without an audience.

  I swung the glass door open and sauntered in. The sweet floral warmth of the tiny shop was a welcome change from the chill outside. Tori stood behind the counter counting a wad of cash. I glanced around. Not a customer in sight.

  Hot damn.

  “My, my,” I said. “Don’t you look delectable this A.M.”

  Chewing gum like a cow chews cud, Tori shoved the money into the till. “Don’t start.” She snatched a pen from behind her ear, slipped a receipt book from her work smock, then slapped the narrow pad on the counter. “I already told you my customer records are confidential,” she said, scribbling on the paper.

  I plucked the pen from her grasp, set it aside, stroked the back of her hand. “Aw, come on now.”

  “You want something bad.” She walked her red talons up my arm. “I heard it in your voice on the phone.”

  I resisted the urge to recoil. The harsh fluorescent light accentuated Tori’s flaws. Her skin looked burlap soft, and her paint-by-numbers makeup job didn’t help matters. Her bleached beehive must have taken a can of hairspray to assemble. She looked worn down. Used. Life hadn’t been good to her.

  But I grinned anyway. “Be nice.”

  “Nice will cost you dinner and a movie.”

  I shook my head. “Not gonna happen. How ‘bout you just help me out of the kindness of your heart?”

  She lifted a brow and cracked her gum. “I don’t have one.”

  “Come on, Tori.” I grinned. “What do you know about calla lilies?”

  “Plenty.”

  I gave her a full-on smile. “Do you sell purple ones?”

  Tori smirked, then nodded, but her hair didn’t move. She sized me up with a thorough once-over. “Hmmm. `Less you’re studying horticulture, I figure you must have courting on your mind. And considering where I saw you the other week, and who called my shop asking these same questions, I can only come to one conclusion. The rumors about you and Shannon are true.”

  The girl was getting on my damn nerves. “Yeah, so?”

  She tilted her head; her gum snapped and popped. “Don’t be dense. I never once believed you were guilty, and you know it. I even wrote you a couple letters in prison. Now you been out almost two months, and you’re just calling on me?”

  “I didn’t see the point.”

  Her expression soured. “If you’re trying to butter me up, it’s not working.”

  “You owe me.” I leaned closer. “I took the fall for that motel room your drunk ass wrecked. As I recall, it was two bottles of Jack Daniels, me, you, Vickie Carson, a tub full of cherry Jell-O, edible body paint, a can of Silly String—”

  “Fine! Their season is March to June. Normally we get them from California, South America, and Holland. If you want them anytime soon, forget it. They’re a special order item.”

  “And expensive, right?”

  Between gum cracking, she said, “You’re talking, lezzsee.” Her gaze hit the ceiling. “Six-seventy-five a stem. But during the off season, the price doubles.” She frowned and did the math. “It’ll run you about one-sixty a dozen. That’s not including tax.”

  I gave a low whistle. “You get many orders?”

  “Weddings. Especially in June.” She smiled. “But you want to know about January. ‘Least that’s what Shannon asked about.”

  “Bingo.”

  She tossed her gum. “He comes in November ‘cause he knows it’s a special order item. Gets a dozen for January.”

  “Who’s ‘he’?”

  She pursed her red lips. “Mayor Bradford. He claims they’re for his wife Francine. I asked him about it once and he mumbled something about them being for her birthday. That’s why I didn’t tell Shannon. It’s a delicate situation.”

  Tori didn’t give a piss-pot about Shannon’s feelings, but in the interest of not getting sidetracked, I didn’t challenge her.

  “How do you know the flowers weren’t for Mead’s wife?” I asked.

  “Because I knew Francine before she started on Botox—”

  “What the hell is Botox?”

  Eying me with what looked like pity, Tori sighed. “Hon, you been in prison too long. Look, it’s not important. Anyway, Francine got her eyes done last year. She had the surgery at Temptation Memorial instead of Saint Peter’s in New Dyer. Probably ‘cause she didn’t want her friends to know. See, she just started doing Botox, hence the eye job last year. Spent a pretty penny on her lips too. My best friend works in billing, and—”

  “Tori? Will you be getting to the point anytime this week?”

  She gestured. “Dee Dee works in hospital billing at Temptation Memorial. Oh, and you do know she had a little boy the other day. I’m a godmother again—”

  “Tori!”

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “Francine’s been telling the same lie since forever. That she’s twenty-seven when everyone knows the bitch is five years off. So when Dee Dee got her birth date from the billing paperwork, that made me remember the mayor’s calla lilies. She’d have to be a Capricorn or an Aquarius, but she’s a Gemini. You with me so far?”

  “Um, barely, but go on.”

  “Mead Bradford buys his flowers in January. That’s a Capricorn/Aquarius month. But Francine’s a Gemini. That’s May/June. Not to mention the fact that there are flower shops all over New Dyer. So why’d the mayor come here? Can you say mistress?” She wiggled a black brow. “Tracemore, if those flowers are for Francine Bradford, then I’m a natural blonde.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  A Smoking Gun

  SHANNON

  ____________________________

  I’d planned to go to my room and pack, but the light spilling from beneath Uncle’s study beckoned me. Granny Mae had dragged Digger to Atlantic City with her church group. They weren’t due back until tomorrow. Uncle was still in the hospital, and unless my dates were wrong—I glanced at my watch—Auntie was playing tennis at the country club.

  I breezed past the towering Christmas tree in the foyer and made my way down the hall to the study. Peering inside the two-inch door crack, I saw Auntie seated at Uncle’s desk fiddling with something in a side drawer.


  A crystal decanter of brandy and an empty goblet topped the desk. Half past noon and she was drinking? Upon closer inspection, I noticed she hadn’t changed. She wore the same hunter green cashmere slit dress she’d had on yesterday at the hospital.

  Auntie shoved a flyaway curl off her face, upended the decanter, and splashed a generous amount into the huge goblet. After taking a belt, she went back to messing with the desk.

  I nudged the door open. It gave a low wail. “Auntie?”

  Slamming the drawer, she speared a look of surprise in my direction. The woman appeared frazzled, her eyes wild. Everything about her was amiss. Her hair, usually kept neat and impeccable, lay in a messy heap atop her crown, with droopy and otherwise frizzy curls that floated around her head like Medusa’s snakes. Her face was pale and papery, her makeup a blur, her eyes and nose were bright pink.

  I came in wholesale. “What’s going on?”

  Auntie pushed her hair out of her face. She sagged in the chair and her chest heaved with relief. “I wondered when you would be home,” she said in a raw whisper. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Out.” I stood in the center of the room, arms folded. “Tell me you weren’t up all night.”

  “Okay, then I won’t.” Auntie raised the goblet to her chapped lips in one swift move. After she set the glass down, she made a face and tacked a hand over her heart, as if to force a sense of calm. “Jackson called. He told me everything.”

  I kept my face expressionless. “So you were in on it.”

  She threw a hand up. “Oh, what does it matter? The end justified the means. We were trying to protect you.”

  “No. You were protecting yourselves. Obstruction is a federal offense. So is witness tampering.”

  Auntie glowered, seeming to weigh the merits of responding, then made a dismissive gesture. “I can’t deal with this right now.” She grabbed her goblet. “Your uncle is divorcing me.”