Excuse me, she said succinctly. Neither passenger even looked her way.
Okay, screw this, Honey thought. She had plans to see to, a life to turn over. With or without Joe-Max-the-Rat-Bastard.
The ache was gone. It had ebbed sometime during her day in Lisbon. Now what she felt was blazing, impotent furyand it was looking for a way out. Excuse me. Honey tried again.
The fat man looked up at her. Put it back down, doll. Aint no way to get up that aisle before most everybodys gone.
Honey lofted her brows. You dont think so?
Know so. I travel a lot.
Well, goody for you. Honey squeezed back against the window and ducked her shoulders and head until she could find room to stand up on her seat. Then she stepped over both of them using the armrests.
Hey! the girl yelled.
Nice legs, at least, the fat guy said.
Thank you so much, Honey tossed back, then she landed in the aisle.
Well, hed had one point, she thought. The people in the aisle definitely werent going anywhere. The guy behind her knocked her in the head when he went to the overhead bin for his carry-ons. She managed to poke someone in the ribs with her elbow when she finally got her own bag down. Then she stood in line clutching it, feeling like a refugee waiting to be marched off to camp. This was a good thing?
Itll get better, she whispered aloud. This is just practice. Im just getting my feet wet with this changing-my-life business. She was embarking on a brand-new Honey, one who was going to get to do something important by sounding out Samuel Hatch. One who was going to ditch that silly job and do something invigorating. One who was damned well going to get laid in her own backyard if it killed her. Because she was going to move out of the townhouse, too. And she was going to make very sure that her new backyard did not include any rose gardens.
She was going to do all of that if she ever got off this plane.
The line finally started to move. She trundled off and when she got inside the terminal she breathed in the stale air there as if it was the purest mountain breeze. She collected the rest of her luggage at the baggage claim and tipped a porter generously to take it to the garage and to her car. There was only so much in her life she was willing to change and schlepping her own luggage tonight didnt fall into those parameters.
When she finally sank down behind the wheel of her Mercedes, she closed her eyes and gave a little shudder. God, that was awful. She turned the key in the ignition, gunned the engine a little and left the garage to tear into Georgetown.
She thought about stopping by Murphys, but maybe that guy would be there, the one shed fainted on. Besides, she was too tired and bar-hopping a bit on the way back to the townhouse was too much like the old Honey. So she went home instead.
Naeve was gone for the night, sticking astringently to Honeys new hours, the ones shed set before shed jetted off to Portugal to ruin her life. Hey, I had sex, didnt I? It was only her own fault that shed taken it further than that, that shed bought into everything that jerk had pretended to be, that shed let down her guard and had ended up getting speared right through the heart for it.
She left her bags in the foyer, too weary to carry them upstairs. Naeve would take care of them in the morning. She was on the second tread of the stairs when she stopped and looked back at them. That, she thought, was the action of a shallow, hell-bent-on-trouble rich girl. Hurting in places she hadnt known she had, Honey went back for the suitcases.
She took a long, hot shower and washed the cabin class off her skin. Then she found her favorite Elvis T-shirt, crawled into it and collapsed into bed. She hoped she didnt dream. She didnt want to dream about him. Joe or Max. Whoever he was. Bastard. She had no time for dreams. She was a jilted woman starting over.
Even with all the whiskey in him, Max wasnt able to sleep. He tossed and turned in the Sea Change s V-berth for an hour before jerking suddenly to his feet. He whaled his head against the teak molding and swore, putting a hand to the spot. He expected to see blood when he brought it away. He did and that just incensed him further. So he kicked the door frame as he passed it and hurt his toe, too.
Who the hell did she think she was? Better question, he thoughtwho did she think he was? A broke, down-on-his-luck drifter who wasnt worth anything more than to be toyed with.
But that didnt make sense. If hed been a plan, what kind of plan would a woman like her have for a guy like hed been pretending to be?
You were that man, an inner voice said to him. You wanted to be that man. She rejected you, the real you.
Plans only made sense if shed known who he really was, Max decided, so she must have known all along. Shed duped him on that score, too. Now he was really pissed off, enough to stumble into the main cabin and rummage through everything hed thrown on the table until he found the cell phone hed bought yesterday in honor of his reluctant return to the world. Except how did you call a woman and give her hell when all you knew for sure was that her middle name was Elise and she lived somewhere in Washington?
Kurt, he said aloud. Kurt Wagner.
This necessitated a trip back down to the fore cabin to paw through a drawer under one of the bunks where hed been shoving personal papers for the last few months. There it was. Wagners cell number. Was she still on the island? Shed never actually said when she was going back to the States.
She never actually said anything, he reminded himself.
Neither did you. The thought snaked through his head and made him drop Kurt Wagners business card, the one hed taken from him in Cairo. Max bent and retrieved it, then he returned to the main cabin and turned on a light. He sat on the sofa where theyd made love, then vaulted off it again when he realized what he was doing. She was making him hate his own sofa now. She should pay for that alone.
He placed the call. The line buzzed a few times and he started trying to work out in his head what kind of time difference he was dealing with. Then he realized it didnt matter. It would still be the middle of the night on Brunhia. He probably wouldnt get an answer. Except something major was going on with Kurt and the big house lately. Maybe the guy slept with his cell nearby and on.
He did. Kurt answered, his voice sleep-rough and unhappy. Who is this? he demanded without a hello.
Max Strong.
Max The man needed a moment to assimilate. Then he obviously decided to be cautious, excellent P.I. that he was. Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?
Sorry. I have a question about one of the people whos been at your island house.
Where are you?
Crete.
Youre calling me in the middle of the night from Crete to find out about my houseguests? Ah.
Ah? What does ah mean?
It means I make my living deducing the story behind the story. Is she a little blond hellion who can jitterbug around you with words until you realize youve told her damned near everything and shes told you nothing?
Max almost smiled. Thats the one.
Smart woman. Very clever.
Who is she?
You dont know? You woke me up in the middle of the night because of her and you dont even know who she is?
She jitterbugged around me with words and I never realized until it was too late that she told me nothing.
Kurt laughed, a rich, appreciative sound. Maybe she doesnt want you to find her.
Oh, Id put money on that.
Well, youve got it to spend. So if you dont get the dirt from me, youll probably hire guys on twelve continents until you get the answers.
He was assuaging his conscience, Max thought. He waited.
Honey Evans, Kurt said finally. The shipbuilding Evanses. Breeder of Just Another Heartache. You follow thoroughbred racing?
Max almost choked. A few horses in her backyard? Where can I find her? Is she still there on Brunhia?
Nope. Left two days ago. Shes probably back in the States by now.
In Washington, Max clarified. Where in Washington?
I dont know. Her familys got the estate down on the eastern shore of Maryland but Im not sure where she stays in the city. She works at the White House.
The what?
Nothing over the top. Shes with the phone staff or something. But my guess is you could probably find her there. Assuming you wanted to go back to the States.
Why would a woman like that seduce a penniless drifter? Damn it, he couldnt get a handle on this. On her. But he was going to. Oh, yeah, he was going to. He thought of those flashbulbs going off in his face and told himself his gig was up anyway. In the meantime, he wanted answers. This time she wasnt going to volley his questions around like Ping-Pong balls. This time he was going to get a word in edgewise. Then hed be able to forget her. Max disconnected, glad to have a plan.
Honey took up her place in her own kiosk in the phone office of the Great White Hallowed Halls just before nine oclock. She felt drugged.
This was asinine, she thought. Why had she come back to work the morning after a trans-Atlantic flight? Because the old Honey would loll in bed, she thought. And because she had to tender her resignation. And because it was Thursday. Samuel Hatch always called on Thursdays.
She settled in to work, groggy, moving by rote. Even a quick run down the hall to tag someone in the guys gym for an important call didnt revive her. Jet lag, she told herself, trudging back to her post. It had nothing to do with being dumped. And what if it did? she thought, sitting again and replacing her headset. What if she was just emotionally worn out? What if the Brunhia water effect had just knocked her entirely off her stride? All that blurting and loving and crying, then a night of fitful sleep and getting up at dawn to write her resignation. An incoming line rang. She snagged it and went through her welcoming routine to the White House, inspecting a chip in her fingernail as she spoke. She wondered if starting over involved giving up manicures, too.
You abandoned me, Number Twelve. Where have you been?
Samuel Hatch. Honey came instantly alert. And she fell right back into her game. This time it had a purpose. Missing you, cowboy.
You run off and get married or something?
A shaft of something hard and hot hit her chest with enough force to take her breath. Which was purely ridiculous. She had never wanted to get married. Shed just wanted to escape on a sailboat. Nope. Im saving myself for you.
He chuckled, pleased with the response.
Who do you want to speak to today? she asked. How should I direct your call?
Later. Talk to me first.
Actually She drew it out and paused. Theres something I wanted to ask you. Someone I wanted to ask you about. With all your connections, you must know everyone in Washington. You must have met a million people in your line of work before you retired.
Maybe half that. Which one do you want to know about?
Honey sighed into the line for effect and sat back in her chair, encouraged. I cant go into it here. Too many ears. When I tell you who it is, youll understand.
Ill buy you dinner, then.
Hmm. Id probably settle for a cocktail. This would work easiest, she thought, if she could get him at least mildly inebriated. Did ex-CIA guys let themselves get inebriated?
I thought you had higher standards than that. But he sounded delighted, she thought, to finally meet her.
Not for old friends. Ill meet you for drinks. Well talk about the weather andthis man I want to know about.
Another man? You break my heart. He chuckled.
Its not for me. Its for a friend.
Well talk. Where do you want to meet?
Shed given this some thought. How about the lobby bar at the Marriott Wardman Park?
Old man like me, I havent had an offer like this in a long time. Tonight?
Tomorrow. If she knew one thing about men, it was that the longer they looked forward to something, the more agreeable they were when they finally got it. Six oclock. See you then. Ill be the lady in red. She was going to get some use out of the dress shed bought for her brothers wedding if it killed her.
Honey disconnected quickly. Then she smiled slowly at the air. Shed done it. Carey had talked Marcus into trusting her, and she had done the first part of it.
Her new life was off to a rollicking start.
Thirteen
I n spite of the photographers in Creteor maybe because of themMax kept his three-day old beard for the flight back to the States. He didnt cut his hair and he traveled coach. No one had bombarded him since the bar but it was just a matter of time now.
He knew all the signs. That photo had appeared somewhere, he thought. Now his second-in-command had called from Madrid this morning for a question he would have handled on his own a week ago. Register a cell phone anywhere in the world and sooner or later it will start to ring nonstop. As proof of that, Camille had called fifteen minutes after that to plead for a second chance.
Hed say one thing for Honey Evans. She never whined and she didnt plead. She had seduction down to a crazily defined art.
He wanted to confront her before his associates and his family, his ex-wife and the paparazzi really opened fire on him. Shed given Pittsburgh back to him with her zany wit and her utter acceptance of Joe, and then shed yanked it all away again because shed been just another woman with a goal line in mind after all. He had to know had to knowwhat that had been between them back in Portugal. What game had she been playing? Had she known who he was all along and angled in for the kill by pretending otherwise? Or was she a lunatic rich girl who had just wanted a disposable boy-toy? Had she even gone to the beach that night to meet him? Or had she whispered sweet promises that shed never meant to keep? He had to know. If she didnt know who shed thrown away, his ego was still healthy enough to make sure she figured it out.
He told himself that the mystery of it was the only reason he couldnt get her off his mind. Then the tone of the jets engines changed and they were coming in for landing. Amen, Max thought. After several hours over the Atlantic, his legs were cramping because they had nowhere to go. The baby in the lap of the woman next to him managed to throw up
on his pants. He owned a Lear, for Gods sake. And he was flying coach. But if he had called for his plane, it wouldnt have gotten off the runway before a crowd gathered around it.
The woman shoved the baby at him to rush off and find either a bathroom or a stewardess, something with which to clean up. Max held the little guy with two hands tucked under his armpits and held him up to eye-level. He had enough nieces and nephews to know the kid was at least nine months old because his head didnt react like a bobble-toy.
Now that you got that up, you feel fine, dont you? Max murmured.
The kid gurgled. And it hit Max again, the lancing bitterness of everything he had missed by picking the wrong woman. Now he had done it twice.
I didnt pick Elise, damn it. She picked me.
Are you swearing at my baby? the mother asked sharply from the aisle.
Max cut his glance her way. He puked on me. Its the basis of male bonding.
Hes a she. And its just a little spit-up. The woman reached and took the baby back as if Max might be some kind of molester.
Before she could sit again and block him in, Max got up to squeeze into the aisle and go see about cleaning up. He took a step before the seatbelt light came on and a voice came over the intercom telling him to sit again. It had been that kind of several days.
At exactly 4:25, Honey plucked the headset from her ears and started winding up the cord to store it away for the night. Hail, fellow, a job well done, she said under her breath, then she yawned.
Shed probably directed three hundred calls today. There was a real contribution to society. Then again, she had hooked up with Hatch.
Family Secrets: Books 5-8 Page 65