by Lauren Bach
“Grey has a father and sisters,” Barry continued. “They know he does undercover work, which doesn’t make it easy when he disappears as he did.”
A father and sisters. She recalled the things Grey had told her in Montana, realizing he had never mentioned specific details, like family, hadn’t really shared anything personal, which made her regret having told him the smallest detail about her life. The fact that she knew nothing about him sharpened the sense of deception.
He’d talked about living in Pennsylvania, being in the Army. Both were probably fabrications, part of his cover. She’d known Dallas Haynes. A fictional, undercover, caricature. When would she get it through her head that Dallas didn’t exist. He was fantasy. Vapor. Smoke.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” she said finally.
Barry sighed. “You understand why he hasn’t contacted you, don’t you? It’s not appropriate under the best of circumstances for two witnesses on the same case to spend time together.”
The inference was clear. Best of circumstances didn’t include witnesses who’d shared an intimate relationship.
Or witnesses who might be pregnant.
She thanked Barry for calling and hung up, her thoughts straying to the test kit she had stashed in the drawer.
She already knew the answer the kit would reveal. What she didn’t know was how, or when -- or if -- she’d tell the father.
CHAPTER TEN
The next six weeks passed in a blur of legal maneuverings.
Tess told no one she was pregnant, deciding to wait until some of the hubbub died down before even seeing a doctor -- which was probably just as well, considering.
She had made three trips to Washington, D.C., meeting with the federal prosecutor and testifying before a federal grand jury. As a result, Bogen and Snake were indicted on first-degree murder for Matt Michaels’ death -- the worst of a long line of charges being levied. Subsequently, Bogen’s and Snake’s attorneys deposed her several times.
Both sides agreed to a change of venue, to the Washington, D.C. area, after the defense claimed they would have difficulty seating an impartial jury in Montana. While much of it went over her head, Tess gathered that if all parties to the trial agreed to the shift in venue, there was no basis for a later appeal on those grounds.
She had expected the case to languish in the judicial system for months but to everyone’s surprise, Bogen and Snake exercised their right to a speedy trial on the murder charges, demanding that the prosecution try them immediately. Their case was placed on what the prosecutor called “the rocket docket.”
Apparently Snake and Bogen felt there was a possibility that, like Sanchez, they could get off on a technicality. If so, they could then get out on bail pending the other charges. Not that anyone expected them to stick around if they posted bond.
In an unusual move, they also chose to be tried together. Were they worried that if they were tried separately, one might strike a deal to testify against the other?
Tess had returned to Montana briefly, helping investigators re-create the scene of Matt Michaels’ death. The trip had been grueling and brought back a host of unsettling memories.
It also made her miss Dallas...Grey.
She knew her memories of him were romanticized. The fact that he’d been such a gentle, caring, guardian didn’t make him any easier to forget. He’d protected her, nurtured her, cherished her. Had it really just been in the line of duty? How could someone be like that, play a part so convincingly yet remain untouched?
Nights were the worst. Some nights her dreams were erotic, fevered, sensual, and she’d wake up to an empty bed, with a heavy heart. If she could have just one more night, one last chance to talk, to be held in his arms, to make love...
Other nights she’d wake up to find her hand resting protectively against her abdomen, the sense of loneliness not quite so oppressive when she thought of the baby.
Slowly, surely, she grew accustomed to the idea of being pregnant. Taking it one day at a time helped. She also broke down and called her doctor’s office a few days ago, talked with his nurse. She’d told the nurse she was out of the country -- a little white lie -- and that she believed she was pregnant. A whopper. She knew she was pregnant.
“Congratulations,” the nurse said. Then she asked several questions, assuring Tess it should be fine if she waited a few more weeks to see an obstetrician. “A lot of women wait until their third or fourth month before making their first appointment. Unless something goes wrong, naturally.”
The nurse gave Tess a list of things to watch for. “And contact us as soon as you’re back in the States.”
Talking with the nurse eased Tess’ conscience about not going to a doctor right away. It did nothing for her sense of guilt over hiding her pregnancy from the prosecuting attorney.
And Grey.
She grew resigned to the fact she wouldn’t see Grey again until the actual trial. She mulled over ways to tell him about the baby. Whether to tell him. Wondered how he’d react.
She thought back to her last conversation with him. He’d brought up the subject of pregnancy. He’d promised to be there for her. Had he meant it? Or were they just words? Maybe he’d meant something different. That he’d be there to hold her hand when she got rid of it.
While she resisted the thought, she had no reason to believe Grey wanted a child.
As the heat of late summer surrendered to shorter, cooler days, Tess grew weary of being confined to the Hamptons. She’d set up a makeshift studio, sketching and tinkering with new jewelry designs, but it wasn’t the same. She missed Boston, her friends, her shop. Her freedom. The press had moved on to other stories, giving her a small measure of privacy though she knew interest would heighten again when the trial opened.
She woke up one morning having reached a critical decision. No more being passive, no more hiding. No more dreaming about what might have been and what could never be.
It was time to reclaim her life.
Or at least take the first step.
Tonight she would attend the private art auction sponsored by her father’s charitable foundation. An exclusive event, the tickets sold out months ago. Tess knew most of the attendees and the press wasn’t invited, so it was a perfect opportunity to get out. A safe first outing.
She eyed the dress on her bed, then threw another change of clothes in her suitcase, in case she wanted to spend an extra day in the city. The Marsh Manhattan had a private suite she could use for the night. And if she decided to stay even longer, she could go to her mother’s apartment. Madeline was still overseas, so Tess would have privacy.
A change of scenery sounded ideal. So did a day of shopping, a museum, a play. A bagel and a latte. All the little luxuries she’d taken for granted.
Heartened, she picked up the stack of new mail on her desk and shuffled through it, discarding magazines and junk advertisements. She read a letter from her mother, then opened a small white envelope.
She frowned at the lack of return address and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
TESTIFY AND YOU DIE. WE WILL FIND YOU - WHETHER YOU’RE IN BOSTON, THE HAMPTONS, ASPEN OR MONTSERRAT.
Her hand moved protectively to her abdomen as she reread the typewritten note. Testify and you die.
It was unsigned, but she knew who sent it.
Bogen and Snake were connected with an international crime lord. A crime lord who didn’t want to be implicated.
In cryptic fashion they were letting her know they knew about the Marsh family homes in the Hamptons, Vail, Montserrat and her own town house in Boston.
Tess looked around the room that had become her virtual prison, realizing there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. She’d never felt more alone in her life. Her frenzied thoughts turned to Grey, wishing he were there.
But he wasn’t.
She had to face this on her own. Again.
Testify and you die. The threat was simple and brutal. But effective.
Though they
had no way of knowing it, they threatened her child when they threatened her. Which infuriated Tess. Her protective instincts kicked in, surprising her with their ferociousness, overriding all concern for herself. She wouldn’t jeopardize her baby’s well-being for anything.
She paced her room, weighing options, testing alternatives, tired of being pushed around. But one thought overwhelmed all else: defy the note and die. In the end only one choice made sense for her child’s safety.
She wouldn’t testify.
Picking up the phone, she dialed Barry Neilson’s number.
* * *
Grey stuck a finger under the collar of his shirt. He hadn’t worn a tux since he’d been best man in a wedding six years ago.
He was alone in the private elevator of the posh Marsh Manhattan, ascending to the ballroom on the top floor. He straightened his cuffs, then tugged at the collar once more, impatient.
It had been two months since his return to civilization. Two months since seeing Tess. He ached with the need he’d denied every day they’d been apart.
He’d kept tabs on her through Barry, but that didn’t satisfy Grey’s desire to talk with her, be with her. Hear her voice. He regretted not seeing her before she left Montana. There had been much left unresolved between them.
She haunted his sleep. In dreams he tasted her lips, felt her nails score his skin as her heat scorched his flesh. He’d awaken, throbbing hard, on the edge of agony. He’d hear his own words: Little fool. You mean nothing to me. He felt the crack of her fist again and again.
He sighed. It had been tough. He’d known from the beginning that he was expected to turn and walk away. But it was the staying away, not even making casual contact with her, that had been excruciating. Their involvement had become a tricky issue, one which if not handled properly, could jeopardize the case. And this case was tricky enough without the personal nuances.
He thought back over the past few months, the questions he’d faced. Had his involvement with Tess been appropriate? Was his behavior befitting an officer of the law? Were his loyalties compromised? A case could, and would, be made for and against. Both sides of the fence would be played.
He knew the questions hadn’t been any easier for Tess. He also knew that despite the censure he’d received, the prejudices in a situation like this were still tipped in his favor. Too often men weren’t expected to rise above their animal instincts, while women were held to a stricter, more unforgiving standard. There were different levels of disapproval based on sex. Unfair as hell, but reality all the same.
Out of respect for her, Grey played by the rules and kept away, even though it damn near killed him.
Until today.
In a surprising phone call, Barry reversed his position and asked Grey to contact her immediately.
Tess, Barry explained, had suddenly decided she didn’t want to testify. Barry’s first concern was she’d been threatened. That wasn’t uncommon in a case of this scope. A second possibility was her family pressuring her. The Marshs were scions of society. The notoriety surrounding the case would be anathema.
Of course Tess could be forced to testify, but an unwilling witness usually did more damage then good. Barry wanted Grey to talk with her, see if he could get her to open up. Find out what prompted the switch, then get her to change her mind without official action.
Grey had jumped at the opportunity to see her. Yeah, he was worried about why she’d changed her mind. He didn’t like the idea she might have been threatened. But he also didn’t like the thought of her being forced to testify if she honestly didn’t want to -- a direct conflict with his desire to see justice meted out. His jaw tightened recalling Matt Michaels’ fate.
He didn’t want to think about where his loyalties were right now. His family, those closest to his heart, had always come first. And Tess was definitely close to his heart. Maybe too close.
The elevator doors slid open with a subtle bing. Grey stepped out, looked around. Crashing the party had been easy. The hotel’s chief of security had taken one look at Grey’s tux and official ID, allowing him to pass without question.
A waiter glided up, offering wine. Accepting a glass but not drinking, Grey backed into the closest corner, feigning interest in a watercolor while he oriented himself within the room.
The Marsh Manhattan was New York’s newest high-rise. The ballroom was done in an elaborate, gold-leaf baroque and featured an intricate glass spire that soared nearly three stories at its peak. A balcony provided an unparalleled view of the city that never slept.
“She’s going home with me.”
Grey turned to the older woman who had insinuated herself between him and the watercolor.
Diamonds flashed on her wrists and fingers as she gestured dismissively, trying to hide the piece with her scrawny arms. “The painting. You don’t fool me. I can tell you’re interested. But don’t even think about bidding against me. I want her and I’ll have her.”
He chuckled at the woman’s veracity. The term dowager came to mind. She looked harmless, but he bet she had a nasty-tempered, ruthless, Pomeranian at home that bit on command. He inclined his head, signifying acquiescence.
“She’s a beauty.” But not the one he had in mind.
Pleased with her imagined triumph, the woman launched into a monologue of the artist’s biography. Grey’s gaze drifted imperceptibly as he systematically checked out the crowd.
He noticed more than one person watching him -- he was the newcomer; the unknown face. He avoided more than brief eye contact. There was only one person he was interested in.
And there she was. On the dance floor.
Tess.
He lurched, unprepared for the punch of reaction the sight of her wrought. Seeing her again was painful. Like having nails hammered into his solar plexus.
Christ, she was beautiful. She was wearing a sparkly gown the same shade of blue as her eyes, her hair neatly piled atop her head in a chic “do” he could wreck in seconds. She looked spectacular.
His eyes dropped, then drifted upward, taking in her sexy heels, the long, shapely legs. Legs he remembered wrapping around his waist.
Her partner laughed at something she’d said. Grey narrowed his eyes, watching the man squeeze Tess’ waist.
“That frown is back,” his matronly friend observed. “You’re not having second thoughts about bidding, are you?”
“No, ma’am. But I see another work I might be interested in. Will you excuse me?”
* * *
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
Embarrassed, Tess stared at her partner. She and Jack had gone to school together. Their families had been close. A successful stockbroker, he had recently joined a prestigious Wall Street firm.
“Bear market. Bull market.” She’d caught a word here and there. “The semantics go over my head. I tend to look at the bottom line. You’ve done well with the portfolio you’re handling. I trust your judgment.”
Jack preened. “You still need to understand the logic,” he said, diving right back into a dissertation on market trends.
Tess’ attention drifted immediately. Perhaps after this dance she’d leave.
She was definitely preoccupied and with good reason, she thought, recalling the threatening note.
Her conversation with Barry Neilson had not been good. She knew he wasn’t buying her I-just-don’t-want-to excuse. He’d asked point-blank whether she’d been warned against testifying.
Lying had made her feel awful. While much of what she told Barry was true -- that she was tired of the questions, tired of the complete disruption of her life -- the lie had wedged in her throat like a thin bone. Uncomfortable. Choking. In the end they’d agreed to discuss it later.
“Think about it over the weekend,” Barry said finally. “Promise me you won’t make any definite decision until we talk again Monday morning.”
In the end those were the very words that goaded Tess toward action. She hadn’t made a definite decisi
on since her return from Montana. She’d reacted, not acted. She accepted the mantle of victim too willingly.
No more.
She’d gone ahead with her plans to attend the art auction, not wanting to stay in the Hamptons a day longer, but already she plotted a return to Boston. A return to the life she’d left behind.
“If you’re in town for the weekend, perhaps we could have dinner tomorrow night.” Jack’s voice brought her back to the moment. “Catch up on old times. And no business. I promise.”
Tess tilted her head, tempted. Jack was a trusted friend. Dinner meant dinner. Catching up meant being entertained with zany tales about mutual acquaintances.
He wouldn’t pressure her for details on the trial or ask what her ordeal had been like. If she wanted to discuss it, of course, he’d listen. And offer sound advice. Jack was the type who’d offer to marry her if she told him she were pregnant. And he’d treat her and her child with loving respect.
She looked at him, tried to envision herself wedded to him. She couldn’t. It would be like marrying her brother.
Grey had left a discomforting legacy. On one hand, she knew she’d never again settle for a passionless relationship. On the other, she knew no lover would ever compare. So was she doomed to a life of celibacy? Or a vibrator?
Someone had walked up behind Jack, tapped his shoulder. Startled, Jack broke off mid-sentence and turned, releasing her.
Grey stepped forward and took her hand. “Good evening, Tess.”
Time snapped backward. “Dallas!”
“Grey.”
She shook her head in denial. Dismay. Disbelief.
He looked wonderful. Impossibly taller. Broader across the shoulders.
And totally different. She barely recognized him.
Gone were the long ponytail and mustache. In its place was a sleek, short haircut that accentuated his handsome, clean-shaven face, the strong jaw that she knew would have a five o’clock shadow by four.
That intimate memory gave her a chill, made her clench her fingers to keep from reaching out and stroking the smooth hollow beneath his cheek, the sexy cleft in his chin that had been hidden by the goatee he’d worn in Montana.