“How could you think I’d get bored with you?” He rested his hands on her thighs. “I almost killed myself making love to you that week. I couldn’t keep my hands off you.”
“Don’t you see? Everything we did was intense, supercharged. We were squeezing a lifetime into seven days. It could never be the same.”
He looked at her. “What was yesterday? What was last night?”
“As incredible as before. Better. But that’s not what I’m talking about. We made love in the same supercharged environment that we went flying in. The same way you took me in the catamaran. It was a time impossible to repeat. Real life isn’t like that.”
“And you thought because I took you flying, took you sailing, I’d find you boring?” Incredulity made his voice rise. “Blair, I was trying to be a gentleman. If we hadn’t been doing that, I’d have had you in bed the entire seven days.”
“We couldn’t have spent a lifetime making love either.”
“When you said no, I thought that’s all it was.”
“It was too much. It scared me because I knew it wouldn’t be easy.”
“Easy?”
“You know, like that old song about love being as comfortable as an easy chair.”
He looked into her eyes and knew easy would never describe the years that followed their meeting. Even though he’d missed her with every fiber of his being, he was thankful she hadn’t been with him.
“I didn’t think about pregnancy because I was so overwhelmed,” she said in a hushed voice.
“I thought about it for months. Hell, Blair, we didn’t use a thing, ever. I’m still surprised—”
“I cried when I found out I wasn’t.” Her quiet words washed over him, soothing away years of hurt. “It was like losing you again. Until then there was hope that I’d have the courage to say yes. That I’d see you again.”
Silence, thick and heavy, lay around them. Michael wanted to curse at the monumental misunderstandings, at the man he’d been. “I should have told you about David, about my assignment, Blair.”
“I should have been mature enough to understand you couldn’t.”
He took a deep breath. “It wasn’t the Bureau that kept me from telling you. It was me. I couldn’t say it out loud yet.”
She said nothing for long moments, then, “You did your job then. You’ll get whoever has done this now.”
Then she’d learn the truth.
That Drew was behind everything that had happened.
***
Blair woke with the midday sun shining brightly into the bedroom. She lay naked between sheets that smelled of Michael. She thought about the horrible mistakes they’d made before, remembered the person she had been then. She couldn’t face losing Michael again and again as he went off in pursuit of what he loved to do. He wouldn’t have been able to understand how important his mere presence was to her. How dependent she’d become in seven days.
Michael’s voice drifted in to her from the living room. Curious she jumped out of bed and grabbed his T-shirt, throwing it on quickly.
“Okay,” he was saying into the phone, “thanks, man.” He hung up.
“Who was that?”
“Someone who’s gotten us ID’s so we can catch flights out this afternoon.”
His words sliced into her. This was the blow she knew would come. But the hurt of it surprised her. “When will I see you again?”
“Blair, we can’t—”
She turned away, not wanting him to see her pain.
“I have to clear my name. Any way I can.” He sounded resigned, tired.
“I want to help.” She didn’t turn around. He would see her offer for what it was. Pleading.
“You can’t.”
With a deep breath, she mustered her strength and faced him. “I could talk to Drew, find out why—”
“No!” His emphatic response brooked no argument.
“Drew would listen—”
“Stay out of it, Blair. I’ll deal with Drew.”
“But he might—”
“We need to pack.” He turned away, his stance tense.
Blair stared at his back, at the sleek skin covering smooth muscle. His jeans rode low on his hips and his feet were bare. She suddenly knew she’d been a fool. He was holding something back. Again. Loving him was a terrible mistake.
She walked back to the bedroom.
***
Michael turned in time to watch her leave. His shirt covered her to mid-thigh, but imprinted on his memory, forever, was the look of her. Courage and spirit. Brimming with life, a little shy, a little wary, trusting in him.
He had the mindless urge to drive his fist into the wall. If he’d thought it would help, he would. But there was no help for it. Either he went down, or Drew Davenport did. Either way, Blair was impossibly out of reach.
***
The afternoon sun burned bright and hot as Blair drove out of the neighborhood on the way to the airport. Beside her, tense and quiet, sat Michael. He’d called Elena and spoken with her for a few minutes. In Spanish. He’d exchanged no more than a few words with Blair as they packed clean and dirty clothes into small suit cases. The cases would be checked so as not to draw attention from security.
All Blair had wanted to do was shut out reality, shut off tomorrow. The only thing that kept her sane was the fact that Michael was alive. That she had done something to help him.
“Make a right up here.” Michael’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“But that’s not—”
“Turn right. Now.”
Blair took only a second to do as she was told, her heart pounding. As soon as she straightened the wheel she glanced at Michael. He was staring into his side view mirror.
“Go two blocks and make another right. Don’t use your blinker, don’t touch the brake.”
Blair took a quick look in the rear view mirror. A dark car followed about three car-lengths back. “Are they following us?” She hated the quiver in her voice.
“Get ready…” They approached the corner. “Turn.” Michael’s order was calm, cool, but Blair felt the urgency behind the quietly spoken words.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror answered her question. “They’re following us.”
Michael opened the glove compartment and pulled out a city map.
“We’re crossing 14th,” Blair said.
Tracing his finger across the map, he said, “Got it.”
Blair looked back. The car loomed like a giant menace behind them.
“There’s a split in the road. Up ahead. Stay to the left. We’ll count three blocks and make a right.”
Blair felt a trickle of sweat run down her back. The split was upon them too fast.
“On the third right.” Michael counted, “One, two … here.”
The quick turn forced her against the car door.
“Good girl. Take the next left.”
“There’s a truck com—”
“Turn!”
She did. The oncoming driver honked and raised his finger at her. Then she heard more horns blaring.
“Step on it.”
Shaking, Blair pressed her foot on the accelerator, her hands frozen to the steering wheel. Then she felt Michael next to her, pressing her against the door. She relinquished the wheel to him, turning sideways to give him more room. He swung to the left and Blair clung to the door handle. When she instinctively moved her foot to the brake, Michael took over the accelerator.
They made another turn, this one spun the car around, and they took off again, amid blaring horns. Too afraid to watch what lay ahead, Blair kept her gaze on Michael.
His brisk movements jostled her, as did the speeding car. But his expression, a combination of intense concentration and studied control, reassured her. This was Michael. He could handle this. He scanned ahead then glanced at the rear view mirror. They bumped over a railroad track. He slowed the car.
Blair looked behind them. They’d lost the other car.
He scooted across the seat and got out, slamming the door. Blair watched him step up to a pay phone and dig in his pocket. Moments later he walked back to the car and leaned down to talk to her through the window.
“How did you rent this car?”
“Elena got it for us.”
“Hand me the papers.”
He stayed on the phone longer this time, talking earnestly to someone. Then he used the directory, jotting notes on the car rental folder.
Blair’s knees nearly buckled when she got out of the car. They were alive, not crushed in the mangled heap of a wrecked car. The midday heat choked her, but she inhaled, taking in the smell of gasoline and exhaust. Regaining control of her legs, she signaled Michael and made for the station’s bathroom.
When she came out, Michael was walking toward her.
He looked like nothing had happened. She couldn’t read his eyes, hidden behind sunglasses, but his walk was the same measured stride he always used, one that hid strength he could call on in a single second. The walk that made him who and what he was. Calm, controlled, but ready to take charge, as he had minutes ago.
“You okay?” he asked as he got closer.
“Fine,” she said, but realized her voice had quivered. Her fingers did the same when she pushed her hair behind her ears.
“Let’s get a soda. Sugar will help.” He pulled her along and she followed, wishing she could collapse and hug herself close. Hug him close, if only for a moment.
Inside the station, Michael bought drinks from the vending machine. Blair wrapped her hands around the cold, frosty can and drank the fizzy, sweet soda, her eyes watering. “Who were they?”
“You’re sure you weren’t followed yesterday, when you went out?”
“As sure as I can be. If they’d seen me, wouldn’t they have already tried to get to you?”
Michael nodded.
“What do we do now?”
“The car rental company has agreed to pick up this car from here.”
Blair felt like a leaf tossed on a storm, pulled and pushed by the winds of fate. A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Heat shimmered from the hot asphalt. A yellow cab pulled up in front of the station.
“That’s ours,” Michael said, opening the door. Heat and humidity pulled at them.
“What about the keys?”
“I told the agent where I’d leave them. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Miami.”
Chapter 11
A few hours later, Blair found herself inside a single engine Cessna, soaring over central Florida. Michael had claimed to be a world-class soccer player, desperate to get to West Palm Beach to join his team. Blair played the role of his American girlfriend. She spent the entire trip trying to look empty-headed and adoring. Michael simply was what he pretended, exchanging stories with the pilot.
They landed at the West Palm Beach International Airport at dusk, ahead of a storm that blew in from the Atlantic.
“Good luck, Miguel,” the amiable pilot said. “Taxis are out front.” He pointed toward the terminal.
“Gracias, George.” Michael took Blair’s hand and led her across the tarmac as fat raindrops began falling.
Once inside, Blair turned to Michael. She’d been disturbed by the shift in their roles. He no longer needed her; he was in charge. It brought home how little she knew about his work. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Pretend to be someone else.”
He looked out of the terminal, rain slashing at the windows. “We all pretend at some point in our lives.” His dark eyes caught and held hers. “We pretend to keep from offending, to please someone, to be able to live with ourselves, to get by. To get what we want. Countless reasons.”
She took in his words, knowing she’d pretended her love for him was something she could live without in order to survive. But survival had been empty. “You’re saying that our lives are acts, intended to deceive either ourselves or someone else.”
“Aren’t they?”
“Maybe in your line of work.”
“In life, too, niña. You should know that.”
“Oh, my God! Blair!”
The high-pitched voice came from Blair’s right. She turned to see a woman in an understated blue business suit walking quickly toward her. Michael, standing beside Blair, stiffened.
“Mary Lou!” Blair didn’t have to feign surprise. Of all the possible complications, running into an ex-college roommate took the cake.
Mary Lou, all a-bubble and overly fragrant with expensive perfume, touched her cheek to Blair’s. “It’s been years.”
Pulling away, Blair said, “A few.”
“Goodness, Blair. It’s been what? Four years or more. Since you broke up with Jim.” She stepped back. “What are you doing here?”
Blair clutched for some quick answer. “I just arrived.”
“Me too! My chauffeur should be here by now, but this rain’s slowed traffic, so the limo’s stuck.” Mary Lou turned speculative eyes on Michael. “Who’s your friend?”
Remembering the fiasco with Evan before the hurricane, Blair bit her lip.
“Miguel Romero,” Michael said with a smile.
“Miguel,” Mary Lou replied, extending her hand to Michael. “How long have you known Blair?”
Blair didn’t like the sly undertone in the question.
“Not very long,” he replied, the slight Spanish accent of the soccer player he’d pretended to be more pronounced.
“Well, let’s catch up. I’d love to get to know Miguel,” Mary Lou said, casting a sideways glance at Michael.
I just bet you would.
“What are you doing now, Blair?”
“I teach school.”
“How charming. I ran into your mother last year some time, but she was with her mother, so we didn’t have time to chat.”
Mary Lou wouldn’t have lowered herself to exchange pleasantries with a mere secretary, which was what Blair’s grandmother was. She hid a smile. Her mother didn’t like Mary Lou, though she’d never said so. Beth Davenport had too much class for that.
“What about you, Mary Lou?”
“I’ve taken over Daddy’s real estate interests down here. He’s much too tied up in Richmond and Roanoke. We have the house down here, you know, and so many friends from our circle. You must come and visit.” She turned her attention to Michael. “And bring your friend.”
“That’s kind of you, but we have to take care of some business,” Blair said.
“What kind of business are you in, Miguel?”
“Soccer, with the Argentinean Estudiantes.” His cool answer seemed so effortless.
“Oh?” Mary Lou’s brows rose and she turned toward Blair. “I didn’t know Blair was interested in sports.”
“Miguel’s a friend of the family.”
“Ah.” The single word was innocent enough, but Blair could see that the woman’s interest ran deep. “You’ll have to bring Miguel to the house, then. Any friend of the Davenports is a friend of ours.”
“Such a generous offer, Miss—” Michael looked from Mary Lou to Blair.
“Oh, this is Mary Lou Plath.”
“Of Plath, Myers and Goldman.”
“You’ve heard of Daddy, then, Miguel.”
“Most certainly. I am interested in American investments.”
“Then you must visit even if Blair can’t. Daddy would love to meet you. I could introduce you around.”
Trying to unclench her teeth, Blair managed, “I’m sure Miguel will get in touch with you when he has time.”
“Of course.” Mary Lou glanced toward the windows. “Oh, look! It’s stopped raining. Jason should be here in just a moment. Do you need a ride into town?”
“No, thank you, Miss Plath,” Michael replied. “We have a car.”
The front doors swung open and in walked a uniforme
d chauffeur. Tall, blond, handsome. Perfect.
“Jason!” Mary Lou signaled. “Over here.”
Blair watched the man approach, watched Mary Lou look him over, the way she would any of her father’s expensive race horses. A trophy.
Had Michael thought she’d seen him as some sort of trophy?
“Only my small bag, Jason.” Mary Lou indicated her tasteful leather bag.
How Jason stood being drooled over, Blair couldn’t understand.
“Well, I have to run. Keep in touch, Blair. And Miguel, do call. I would love to see you again.”
Mary Lou walked away with a wave, Jason on her heels. Just as the door began to close, Jason turned and gave Blair a look calculated to smoulder.
Astounded, Blair stared. “Did he—?”
“Yes. I think Jason is interested in a new keeper.” Michael smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile.
“That’s—”
“The person he pretends to be to get what he wants. Just like she pretended to be a friend of yours, when her real interest lay—”
“In you.”
***
For the umpteenth time in the last half hour, as they drove south on I-95 toward Miami, Michael wanted to kick himself. Only he deserved worse.
His pride and his anger had consigned Blair to the Mary Lou’s of the world. Her comment about Mary Lou wanting him was what he’d believed of her. It shamed him.
The lights of the other cars, rushing past at over eighty miles an hour on the freeway, lit up the inside of the rental car. He shouldn’t be thinking about the past. He used the need for concentration to push aside the knowledge that the past made no difference anyway. He’d never have Blair. It had nothing to do with a tragic misunderstanding. Drew’s involvement in what happened ruled out any future.
“How do you know about Plath, Myers and Goldman?” she asked.
Through Drew. Drew’s case, though it probably shouldn’t have been if the Davenports knew the Plaths.
“I’ve run across the name. Investment bankers.” Investment bankers who’d settled a five-million-dollar case out of court. Thanks to Drew’s investigation.
Silence greeted his reply.
All around them traffic rushed by, lights flashing on the wet freeway. In the distance, lightning lit up the night sky.
“Where are we going?”
Against the Wind Page 13