A Rare Chance

by Carla Neggers

  “Well, it did have to do with that too, but you know what I mean.” She gave him a calculated, fetching, utterly irresistible smile. “I’m being honorable.”

  He growled—there was no other word to describe the sound that came from deep inside him—and thrust her shirt at her. “Seeing how you’re being so honorable, would you mind taking your hand off my zipper?”

  She snatched it back as if she’d just realized she had hold of a hot poker.

  “Oh,” she said, and blushed.

  Which was when he dumped her off his lap.

  “You, Gabriella Starr, are a witch. A lying, conniving witch.”

  She tried to look innocent. “I am not.”

  “You don’t blush. You never blush. I don’t care if you had me in your hand, you wouldn’t blush.”

  “Are you implying I’m some kind of loose woman?”

  “No, I’m saying you don’t blush. Honor my ass. When you flicked those fingers of yours across my jeans, you realized there’d be no getting rid of me tonight if you went any further. You couldn’t trust yourself to throw me out. And something—some little warning bell in the back of your mind—went off and told you to get rid of me now while you had the presence of mind to do it.”

  She pulled on her shirt, her hair going static as she threw back her shoulders, facing him. “I’m perfectly capable of controlling my libido.”

  “Something you just demonstrated so ably by stopping when you did. That I’m not arguing. No, Gabby,” he said, stepping toward her, “you knew you couldn’t risk having me spend the night.”

  She snorted. “What a fantasy!”

  “Are you expecting someone? Hiding someone? Are you worried I’d find something? Some clue about what you were doing at Logan earlier today?”

  She was marching back through the living room to her entry. He followed at his own pace. Let her sweat. He knew damned well he was right. She unlatched locks with furious speed and tore open the door.

  “Good night, Cam.”

  He grinned at her. “Cutting your losses, eh?”

  “No, I’m throwing you out.”

  “Just admit I’ve got you.”

  “I’ll admit,” she said, “that I was a damned fool for trying to be honest with you.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help himself.

  She glared at him. “What if I accused you of attempting to seduce me so you could search my apartment?”

  “I’d understand your reasoning and try to earn your trust.”

  Now she laughed, openly incredulous.

  He had, he thought, sounded a bit lame. “Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t toss you out on your ear.”

  “Not until you’d succeeded in seducing me, anyway,” she muttered, then added some vague and arguably not inaccurate generalization about men being that way. She opened the door wider, definitely one to go toe to toe with crocodiles and such. “Now—again—good night.”

  Cam touched a stray hair along her cheek. “When we do make love, Gabriella, no warning bells will go off in the back of your mind. You won’t be scared of yourself or me, and you won’t be holding back.”

  “If we make love, you mean.”

  “No, I mean when.” He kissed her lightly. “Good night, Gabriella.”

  She gave him a faltering smile. “I have no regrets. I want you to know that.”

  “About going as far as we did or about not going further?”

  The smile blossomed. “Either way,” she said, and shoved him out the door.

  When he got out in the hall, he waited until he’d heard each of her locks click into place as fast as was humanly possible. It wasn’t stopping him from pushing his way back inside that had her hurrying. It was stopping herself from dragging him back in.

  And he’d have gone, he thought. Without hesitation, he’d have gone.

  “And not just because you want to know what she’s hiding,” he muttered to himself. “You’re not that big a bastard.”

  But it didn’t please him and his sense of honor that the thought was there. Now he’d have to find another way to find out what Gabriella didn’t want him to see, hear, find, or be around for—or a way to get her, finally, to trust him.

  Darrow avoided Joshua Reading until morning. They met in the huge living room of Joshua’s sprawling duplex on the Boston waterfront. A wall of windows looked out on the water. The place was professionally decorated with lots of modern art and sleek lines and whites. Joshua was dressed for work, in a custom-tailored, conservatively stylish gray suit that made him seem even more rich and handsome than he was. But there were dark circles under his eyes and a grayish cast to his skin that spoke of a sleepless night and deep worries.

  “There’s no sign of her,” Darrow said impassively.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Joshua turned from the white marble fireplace and balled his hands into fists, the tendons visibly tense. He inhaled through his nostrils as if to will himself to stay under control. But he looked ready to throw up. Darrow didn’t know whether it was fear or anger or some sick mixture of the two. He’d driven down to town that morning after his own harrowing night. Lizzie gone, Gabriella Starr not talking, Cam Yeager on the scent. Plenty to think about.

  “Don’t stand around here, goddamnit,” Joshua ground out. “Go find her!”

  Darrow didn’t move. “Tough to know where to look.”

  Joshua smirked. “Try Gabriella Starr. That bitch knows something. Count on it.”

  It was indeed, Darrow thought, a safe bet that Gabriella knew something. But he had no intention of sharing his suspicions or even the facts with Joshua Reading. Joshua would no doubt love to know about his visit last night with Gabriella Starr and Cam Yeager. Yeager was a loose cannon. Darrow had no idea how far his ex-partner would go this time to keep him on the straight and narrow.

  Keep him? Darrow grunted to himself. He’d already stepped into the abyss. There was no pulling himself back up.

  Best to concentrate on keeping things from spinning too far out of his control. If he needed to, he’d wring what she knew about Lizzie Fairfax and her whereabouts out of her pal, Ms. Gabriella Starr. Then he’d decide what to do with the information he got. Giving it to Joshua Reading was only one option.

  What interested Darrow at the moment was Joshua’s increasingly volatile and even irrational reaction to Gabriella. Just thinking about her and her influence over her best friend and his older brother could throw Joshua into a tailspin of anger, frustration, paranoia. His initial distrust and fear of her was rapidly turning into hatred. But he would never let her know—or even Titus. He was adept at presenting what he wanted other people to see of him. He had no center, no core.

  It made staying ahead of him a challenge.

  “I’ll handle Gabriella Starr,” Darrow said calmly. He eyed Joshua closely, trying to read him. Even when he was raging, Joshua Reading was difficult to read and therefore potentially dangerous. “You haven’t done anything to Lizzie, have you?”

  Joshua lunged forward, instantly wild and furious, his hands tightened into fists. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  Darrow shrugged. “You know.”

  “The hell I do! I’m worried about her, goddamnit. She’s my fiancée—I love her.”

  Right, Darrow thought. “You two have a rough sex life. It’s none of my business, but if something happened—”

  Joshua started to take a swing at Darrow, then apparently thought better of it and backed off, still fuming. “You’re over the line, Darrow. Way over the line.”

  “Just asking questions. All you have to do is answer them.”

  “I did nothing to Lizzie.” His voice was hoarse with tension and anger. “Nothing. Whatever sick idea you have of the physical side of our relationship is off base.”

  “I heard you,” Darrow said calmly.

  “You didn’t see us. You weren’t in the same room. You don’t know what went on. I would never—” He coughed, as if choking on emotion. “
My God, how dare you even think I could hurt Lizzie!”

  Because you’re one kinky bastard, Darrow thought. He made no claim to purity himself, but he sure as hell wasn’t kinky. Maybe Lizzie had come out of denial over what was going on between her and Reading and had hit the road. In which case Darrow didn’t know if he wanted to look too hard for her.

  But there was something about Joshua’s reaction to her absence without leave that Darrow found curious, even disturbing. He couldn’t put his finger on it, except to say that Joshua seemed, underneath his rage, actually terrified, more so than the situation warranted, in Darrow’s judgment. This wasn’t just about power and control and a fiancée who’d snuck off. Joshua Reading was scared.

  Darrow swore silently, suddenly getting it. Christ, he’d been thick-headed. He gave Reading a cold look. “She has something she could use against you?”

  His shoulders slumped. He averted his eyes, his fists unballing. “She could. She kept a journal. She—she made things up about us.”

  “Christ.”

  He could see Joshua swallow as he turned back toward the unlit fireplace. Outside, Boston Harbor was coming to life. The spring sunshine sparkled on the water. “I found out about it over the weekend,” he said.

  Darrow didn’t react. A journal. Well, Lizzie, you do have your surprises.

  “She’s been keeping a journal for years,” Joshua went on, his voice tortured but relatively calm. “She says it helps her stay creative. I’ll say. What she wrote about our relationship is highly creative. She made up personal details that could prove embarrassing for us both, not because we did anything wrong but because of how she depicts what we did. She makes it all sound incredibly lurid. She wrote her fantasies, really.”

  “What else?” Darrow asked.

  Joshua turned back to Darrow, his face pale, his eyes even more sunken looking. “What do you mean? There is nothing else.”

  It was a lie. It was all Darrow could do to not grab the stupid bastard by the throat and choke the truth out of him.

  Lizzie must have found Joshua’s weapons collection. She must have included details in her journal.

  That was why she’d run.

  And now she was in danger, Darrow thought, no doubt in his mind. Joshua would view her actions as treachery and feel justified in responding in kind. He wouldn’t tolerate such a personal betrayal. If Lizzie tried to use what she knew against him—even tried to use it as collateral to save her skin—Joshua Reading would have her head.

  Darrow knew he was right. Lizzie Fairfax would be able to tell him everything he needed to know about her fiancé’s private arsenal.

  “I asked her to give me the journal and to stop keeping a record of our private relationship,” Joshua said. “I gave her permission to write anything she wanted about herself but not me. She promised to cooperate. But then she took off.” He shook his head, self-pitying. “I only want to protect my privacy. I have that right.”

  “Think she’ll do anything with it?” Darrow tried to keep his own sense of urgency in check. “Sell it to the tabloids, pop off a copy to your big brother?”

  Joshua gave him a cold look. “If you do your job, she won’t have that chance, will she?”

  Darrow shrugged. “Guess not.”

  “I just want her back.” Joshua sighed, the anger that had pumped him up gone out of him. He sounded like an aggrieved ten-year-old. “I want to talk to her, explain. She promised to never show anyone, even that bitch Gabriella, what she wrote. But she knows I can’t take that chance.”

  “She’s your fiancée. Why not?”

  “I wouldn’t expect someone of your background to understand. If the garbage Lizzie wrote comes out and people don’t realize it’s total nonsense, untrue, fabricated…” His eyes fastened on Darrow, his expression hardening. “And they won’t, you know. People always believe the woman. I could be utterly humiliated.” He inhaled. “Just find Lizzie and her damned journal.”

  That, Darrow thought, he would. “Any ideas where to start?”

  “I suggest you begin by leaning on Gabriella Starr. She has to know something. She and Lizzie have been friends since they were kids. She’d like nothing better than to see me discredited and out of the picture. She wants Titus and TJR Associates all to herself, without me in the way. My brother doesn’t see through her the way I do.”

  If Darrow had felt about someone who worked for him the way Joshua Reading did about Gabriella Starr, he’d have popped the bitch into the ocean or made the brother fire her. Poisoned her tea. Something. He wouldn’t just rant and rave and hope his security chief, a guy he thought was a dirty cop, produced something he could use against her. But he and Joshua Reading had a different way of looking at the world.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Darrow said.

  He started across the deep-pile white carpet toward the gleaming foyer. It was so quiet he could hear his own footsteps.

  “There’s no advantage here for you,” Joshua said suddenly. “I hope you see that.”

  Darrow turned. “I don’t think there’s an advantage here for anyone.”

  Chapter

  Twelve

  Gabriella sat in the center of a long, buttery leather sofa in Titus Reading’s office. He and Joshua sat on matching chairs opposite her. A square walnut table was between them, a vase of beautiful miltonias—pansy orchids—on its gleaming polished surface. Their meeting had been called abruptly, and Gabriella suspected it had nothing to do with business and everything to do with Lizzie Fairfax.

  Titus shifted position, clearly uneasy in the role circumstances had forced him to play. “I’m sure you’re aware, Gabriella, that no one’s heard from Lizzie in the last day or so. We’re very worried about her.”

  Gabriella picked an imaginary bit of lint off her black skirt, which she’d paired with a plaid jacket in bright spring colors. She needed to choose her response carefully. This wasn’t in the same category as fibbing to Pete Darrow or Cam Yeager. “Then she hasn’t contacted anyone yet this morning?”

  “Not that we know of,” Titus said.

  Joshua leaned forward. He looked exhausted, worried, angry, like a fiancé terrified he’d been jilted—and a man afraid for the woman he intended to marry. Gabriella could understand his conflicting emotions. Lizzie’s complexities and insecurities often brought about a torment of emotional responses in the people who cared about her.

  “I haven’t seen her,” Joshua said. “She hasn’t called. I had Pete Darrow check out her parents’ place on Beacon Hill—” He broke off, sucked in a pained breath. “To no avail. She’s gone. We’ve checked with her neighbors in Miami. They haven’t seen her. I’m worried about her. If there’s anything you can tell us—anything at all—I hope you will.”

  Gabriella wanted to reassure him, but she could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t violate Lizzie’s trust or wouldn’t just make him suspicious.

  Before she could speak, Titus stepped in. “We’re especially concerned in light of the kidnap attempt on Joshua last month. Right now we have no reason to believe there’s a connection to Lizzie’s disappearance, but since it was never resolved—no suspect was arrested, virtually no explanation offered beyond the obvious speculation—I don’t think our concern is unreasonable.”

  Gabriella could feel her pulse quicken, the palms of her hands dampen. Lizzie, Lizzie. Had it even occurred to her when she’d bolted that Joshua and Titus would think she could have been kidnapped? But it wouldn’t. She’d been thinking only of how best to break her engagement with the least amount of confrontation. Gabriella understood, even if she would have handled the situation differently herself.

  “Have you thought about going to the police?” she asked.

  Joshua nodded. “We’ve thought about it, but right now we think it’s premature. We wanted to talk to you first.”

  “I wish I knew something,” she said, which was technically true, “but I don’t.”

  Joshua collapsed back in his chair, visibly u
pset, but his older brother showed no obvious emotion as he studied Gabriella. She averted her eyes, glancing out the windows of his third-floor office. Fair-weather clouds were shifting in an otherwise clear blue sky, promising a beautiful spring day. Across Boston Harbor, a plane was climbing up out of Logan Airport. Gabriella pictured its passengers, entrusting themselves to a flight crew they didn’t know—a flight crew that had accepted that responsibility and the dedication and work and commitment it entailed. She and Lizzie had been friends since the third grade. They had a long history together. We’re like sisters, they’d told each other at nine, only better. She wished Lizzie had confided in her about what was wrong between her and Joshua, what role, if any, Pete Darrow had played in her abrupt departure, where she was headed, what was in the package. But she hadn’t. And Gabriella couldn’t betray her confidence. She’d promised.

  Yet she wasn’t convinced Lizzie had been forthright even with what she had told her.

  Gabriella had replayed their conversation dozens of times through her near-sleepless night. She had no proof Lizzie had called from the airport. No proof she’d boarded a plane. No proof she’d put the package in the airport locker yesterday morning or even recently.

  No proof, even, that she hadn’t been coerced into making that call.

  What if she had been kidnapped?

  I’m not marrying Joshua…

  Titus emitted a small, impatient sigh. “Gabriella, we understand you’re in an awkward position. Lizzie Fairfax is a friend. But if there’s anything you can tell us that would ease our minds…”

  “Titus, I don’t know anything. I’m sorry.”

  He fixed his gaze on her. “You’re not worried about her?”

  “Of course I’m worried! But she’s done this sort of thing before. I don’t mean disappear.” Gabriella hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I mean she’s gotten involved with someone and then pulled back abruptly when she thought—when things got going too fast for her.”

  “That wasn’t the case here,” Joshua said stiffly.