“I’ll look at the passages. Is there anything you want to talk about?”
All of it, Gabriella thought. The whole damned sick mess. She inhaled, keeping a fresh wave of tears at bay. “I suppose you’ve seen a lot during your years in the police department.”
“It comes with the job,” he said. She could feel his eyes on her, could feel his empathy for her despair over her friend. “Look, let me get you a beer. Relax a bit. Then—”
“No. It’s okay. I…” She paused, pulling the scattered bits and pieces of her thoughts together. “If what Lizzie has written here is true—if it’s not something she made up to titillate or shock—then she and Joshua have a bizarre, sick relationship based on cruelty and obsession.”
“Do you believe it to be true?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Yes, I do. Lizzie has a history of getting involved in obsessive relationships. She finds it thrilling to be the center of a man’s attention—to make him the center of her attention. She knows it’s not healthy, and we used to talk about it.”
When her voice trailed off, Cam said, “Before you abandoned Scag—where was it?”
“Peru.”
“Right. Lizzie sprung you both from jail. She continued to hang in there with him even after you left.”
“From Miami,” Gabriella said. “Always from Miami. She never dipped a toe into the action, so to speak. She looks to Scag as a sort of father figure—her own father was remote, disengaged. Scag has his points, but he’s no Ward Cleaver himself.”
The muscles of her neck and shoulders had stiffened, resisting all attempts to loosen them with neck and shoulder rolls. Finally she gave up. She’d just be stiff.
“Lizzie so desperately wants to love and be loved,” she went on. “For a long time she didn’t even realize her behavior was self-destructive. She thought that’s what a relationship was supposed to be like. Sometimes she couldn’t even eat. Well, I’m not going to analyze her. I’m her friend, not a psychiatrist, and it wouldn’t be fair. She’s a wonderful person, Cam. Fun and compassionate and creative—”
“You don’t have to convince me, Gabriella.”
“She deserves happiness. She’s had so many really lousy relationships.”
“Was she happy with Joshua?” Cam asked quietly, none of his cop-intensity coming through. But Gabriella knew he had to be impatient. He would want to get to guns, blackmail, the depths to which his own friend had sunk.
She considered his question, then nodded. “Initially, I think she really was happy. She saw Joshua as she wanted to see him. Lizzie has an amazing ability to see the world through rose-colored glasses. It can be a real asset at times. She’s never cynical. Anyway, she wanted Joshua to be her knight in shining armor. And so he was.”
“For a while,” Cam added.
“I get the feeling from what she writes in her journal that her impression of him wasn’t just her doing—the result of her romantic fantasies clouding her judgment. Joshua played a role too. He played her knight.”
The blues CD came to the end. Another CD started. Dave Brubeck. Gabriella listened for a moment, trying to dispel some of the more lurid images of Joshua and Lizzie swirling through her mind.
“Lizzie describes some of their sexual encounters in her journal,” Gabriella went on, avoiding Cam’s eyes, feeling as if she were betraying her friend. Snitching. Talking out of turn. And yet she trusted Cam, needed his unique perspective, his professionalism. “She doesn’t call what she and Joshua did together ‘lovemaking,’ and neither would I. He was into hurting her, and she let him. She trusted him at first, rationalized their encounters as the mere acting out of sexual fantasies. She thought it was all sort of thrilling, arousing, naughty—a way of breaking the rules. She convinced herself Joshua would never cause her real pain.”
“But things escalated,” Cam said.
Gabriella sighed, fatigue descending over her like a damp, irrepressible fog. “It got to the point where he did hurt her and she wanted to be hurt. She hated herself for what she was doing, letting him do, wanting him to do. And she was terrified—sickened—at the thought of anyone else finding out.”
“You?”
She sank against the couch, willing herself not to cry. Her eyes burned. She thought of Lizzie and hoped she really was in Paris. But she doubted she was. “She was afraid of hurting and disappointing me. Joshua’s one of my bosses. After what had happened between her and Scag, she wanted things to work out with him.”
“So when things started falling apart, she couldn’t bring herself to tell you. She didn’t want her souring relationship with Joshua to backfire onto you.”
“I wish she’d told me,” Gabriella said, looking away from Cam, listening to the jazz, trying to overcome her own sense of despair. Feeling sorry for herself—or Lizzie—wouldn’t do anyone any good. “I wish she could have believed I wouldn’t have judged her. But I can’t say I wouldn’t have. She needed a friend.”
“And she had one.” Cam leaned forward on his chair, some of his natural intensity returning to his eyes. “When she decided to take off, she called you. Maybe she didn’t tell you anything not just because she was embarrassed but because she wanted to protect you. She knows you need your job, especially with Scag back, and that her disastrous relationship with Joshua would only hurt you. Maybe she was trying to be your friend.”
She shrugged. “You could be right. I’m just so worried about her. She has this notorious dramatic streak, but I don’t think that’s what this is about. I think Lizzie’s way, way over her head.”
“Any guesses on why she left the diary with you?”
“It’s her ticket out of her relationship with Joshua,” Gabriella speculated. “He doesn’t want to let her go. He likes the idea of a Lizzie Fairfax on his arm. Maybe he even thinks he loves her. And she’s afraid of him—afraid of herself with him. She knows she’s under his spell. So she leaves the diary with me as a kind of collateral: If he doesn’t let her go, she’ll take it public, or take it to Titus. She’d be humiliated too, but she doesn’t have as much to lose as Joshua does.”
“But it’s a last resort. She’s hoping she won’t need to go public.” Cam thought a moment, settling back into his battered leather chair. “Think she threatened Joshua with it?”
Gabriella shook her head. “Not Lizzie. That’s not her style. If he knows about Lizzie’s journal, she didn’t tell him. Not voluntarily, anyway. He would have had to find it and confront her with it. He wouldn’t sit tight and let her call the shots. I just can’t see it. Not after what I read. If Joshua knows about Lizzie’s journal, he’d do anything to get hold of the thing and burn it.”
“Now Darrow’s got it,” Cam said.
“Do you think he’ll turn it over to Joshua?”
“You’ve read it. What do you think?”
“If Darrow’s blackmailing Joshua, there’s plenty in Lizzie’s diary he can use. But I don’t know that they won’t both work together to find her. Lizzie suspects enough, she could hurt Darrow too, if in fact he’s guilty of anything.”
“Or wants to be,” Cam said, getting to his feet. “I suggest we find Lizzie before either Joshua or Pete does.”
Gabriella rose too, feeling unsteady, shaky. It was dark outside, the wind howling, a sudden, heavy spring rain beating against the windows. Down in Cam’s basement apartment, she could hear raindrops splattering on the road and sidewalk. She felt comfortable there, unwilling to leave.
“Tell me about Pete Darrow,” Gabriella said, going behind the breakfast bar into the small, tidy kitchen.
Cam slid onto one of the bar stools. He seemed to understand what she was asking. “Pete Darrow. Hell, we were partners. He’s intuitive and naturally skeptical, two qualities that give him a knack for ferreting out people’s dirty little secrets. It was often a help on a case. You may not have experienced this yourself, but people want to trust Pete. Here’s this good-looking cop who’d risk his life to save someone in danger, ha
s in fact done just that on a number of occasions. He’s courageous and fair-minded. He’s never liked seeing innocent people hurt.”
“Blackmail hurts.”
“Is Joshua Reading an innocent person?”
Gabriella could feel Cam watching her as she dragged a can of iced tea out of the refrigerator, found a glass on an open shelf, filled it with ice, and added the tea. “You’re not justifying blackmail, are you?”
“Of course not. Say Darrow has reason to believe Joshua was going to stay out of reach of the legal system and get away with buying illegal weapons. I can see Darrow rationalizing blackmail as a way of helping society, a sort of vigilante justice.”
Gabriella sipped her iced tea, welcoming its sweetness, its refreshing coldness. “And it also just happens to be a way of lining his own pockets.”
Cam’s eyes stayed on her. “Wanting money and vigilante justice—neither’s an excuse for blackmail.”
“I’ve always had a pragmatic attitude toward money,” Gabriella said, “but a lot of people don’t. It’s a way of measuring their self-worth. I guess it’s easier to say money isn’t everything when you’re sitting on a mountain of it, but even when Scag and I were broke, barely knew where our next meal was coming from, we didn’t feel like failures. Money was simply a means.”
“But you left that life,” Cam pointed out.
“For stability, not just to make money and have stuff. Anyway, we’re talking about you and Pete Darrow. He resent you for being rich?”
“You’re sure I’m rich?”
“I’d say it’s a safe bet.”
He shrugged. “I have this place and a moderate trust fund that supplements my income, but I’ve never been as wealthy as Pete wants to believe.”
“Are you worth more or less than Joshua Reading?”
“Probably less.”
Gabriella raised her eyebrows. “Probably?”
Cam laughed. “You’re the MBA, Gabby. I’m just a cop who did night law school. My financial statements come in, I toss them in a drawer.”
“Horrors.” She came around and sat up on the bar stool beside him, turning sideways so that her knees grazed his thighs. “If Darrow thought you were so rich and was going to frame someone so he could blackmail him and make some money, why not you?”
Cam looked around at her. “Maybe because I’m his friend.”
“He pulled a gun on you, Cam.”
“But he didn’t shoot me,” he said, sliding off the stool and settling himself between her knees. He touched a knuckle to her cheek, drew it along her temple into her hair. “I’m sorry about Lizzie. I hope she comes out of this thing okay.”
Gabriella nodded. “I do too.”
“How about you? Are you okay?”
“Right now I am.”
“You’re not one to fall apart in a crisis,” he said gently. “We’ll find Lizzie, Gabriella. I’ll pull in a few favors if I have to and get us some help.”
“I’ve marked the places in her journal that mention guns. If it’s enough to take to the police…”
She shut her eyes a moment, debating pulling away from him. She could have done it. He wouldn’t have stopped her. But she didn’t pull away. She didn’t want to. She wanted to feel his body close to hers. She wanted to envelope herself with his presence, trust herself with him. She wasn’t Lizzie. She could maintain her identity, her independence, her dignity, with a man.
“I promised Lizzie I wouldn’t open her package, but that’s not your promise. I don’t want to compromise you. If there’s something in Lizzie’s journal you need to take to the authorities, I’ll understand.”
“I’ll look at the passages in the morning. We don’t need to do anything tonight.”
“If I only knew where to look for her.”
“Gabriella.”
She loved the way he said her name. His voice alone could make her want him.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “You can’t help your friend and I can’t help mine unless they want our help. We can only do the best we can.”
“I know. But if my best isn’t enough—”
“Then you have to live with it.”
She nodded, then smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re here, you know. If Darrow hadn’t knocked Scag in the head, the two of us would probably be—well, who knows?”
“You’d probably be in jail. I can see the two of you marching up to Joshua Reading and ripping his head off—figuratively speaking, of course—for what he did to Lizzie and him having you both arrested. Act first, think later. The Scagliotti modus operandi.”
“Scag’s far worse than I am.” Gabriella slipped her arms over Cam’s shoulders, sliding off the stool. “Can you say my name again?”
He smiled and said it just as his mouth found hers.
She sank against him, instantly aroused by the feel of his lips, his tongue. She responded to his tenderness, his earthiness, his need. After reading Lizzie’s tortured descriptions of her relationship with Joshua, she found Cam’s presence reassuring.
“I’d never deliberately hurt you,” he whispered. “I can’t imagine it.”
She drew herself to him, feeling the extent of his own arousal. He brought his arms around her, settled his palms just above her bottom. She believed him. He would get no sexual thrill from causing her pain. He wanted her in a way that was right, that made the physical desire she felt for him something she needn’t fear.
And she did want him.
Raising one hand, she touched the stubble of beard along his jaw. “You’re about the sexiest man I’ve ever met, Cam Yeager. Cop, prosecutor, governor’s son—it doesn’t matter what you are.”
He grinned at her. “What do you mean, about the sexiest?”
She laughed, and it felt good. “All right. You’re by far the sexiest man I’ve ever met.”
He eased his palms up to the small of her back. “Better.”
“Should I be surprised you want me?”
“Uh-uh.”
“It’s not just because I’m female and here?”
“The any-warm-body-will-do school of thought? No, ma’am.” His arms tightened around her. “I quit thinking like that at about age nineteen. And you know better. You know damned well you’re sexy as hell yourself.”
“When I want to be,” she said, teasing.
He shook his head, amused. “Sorry, Gabby, even when it’s the last thing you want. That day at Fanueil Hall, for instance.”
She scoffed. “I wasn’t the least bit sexy then.”
“You were.”
“Only because you have a vivid imagination.”
“Only,” he said, his mouth drawing closer, “because I’m a trained, skilled observer, and because there’s something about you and me together that just works.”
He kissed her lightly, lifting her off her feet at the same time. She just draped her arms over his shoulders and went with him, let him half carry her into the living room. There, not at all to her surprise, he sat on the thick rug amidst his battered leather furniture, pulling her down with him, so that she was on top of him, straddling him. She started to laugh, but her shirt had ridden up and he seized the moment, slipping his hands up under it. He coursed his palms up her back.
She inhaled. Yes, something about them together did work.
She helped him get her shirt off, her bra, and when she scooted out of her jeans, he scooted out of his, until, at last, they came together, in the same position as before: she on top, straddling him; he underneath, smoothing his hands up her back. Only this time there was no clothing to impede progress, or to hide the extent of his arousal, or hers.
He covered her breasts with his palms but didn’t linger, skimming them back down her stomach, leaving every inch of skin tingling in their wake. But he never hesitated. He must have sensed there was no need. His palms settled on her hips. His fingers dug in slightly as he lifted her, probing, thrusting, until he found the soft, moist place. He inhaled deeply as he pushed her do
wn onto him, melding their bodies.
Nothing—not even their previous lovemaking—could have prepared Gabriella for the explosion of feelings and sensations that spiraled through her, one after the other, robbing her of breath, of thought, as she set the pace for their lovemaking. There was no keeping her distance from them. No holding back. No analyzing. So she gave herself up to them. Trusted them. Trusted herself.
At the last, climactic explosion, she heard herself cry out.
Cam held her lightly, encouraging her to respond to him, to her own body, without inhibition. But in another moment he was responding himself, his own pounding need and desire taking over.
Later, when they were still clinging to each other, fighting for breath, Gabriella said, “I’ve never—that’s the first time I’ve cried out like that.”
He gave her a wry look. “Not used to making love on the floor, are you?”
“Not really.”
“Well,” he said, sliding one hand up along the curve of her hip, “would you like to do it again?”
She smiled. “I do believe I would.”
Chapter
Fifteen
When Gabriella arrived back at her apartment the next morning, she found Titus Reading waiting for her on her front stoop. Mercifully, Cam had gone off on his own, to call in favors and hit up sources and maybe take another look for Joshua Reading’s rumored weapons arsenal, he’d said without elaborating. Just as well. She didn’t know how she’d have explained him to her boss. She didn’t know how to explain him to herself, much less anyone else.
Her order of business for the morning included making a second copy of Lizzie’s journal to put in a safety-deposit box, watering her orchids, buying new locks for her door, and calling Lizzie’s parents in Palm Beach and any other friends and family she could think of who might have an idea of her whereabouts. She was convinced Lizzie wasn’t anywhere near Paris. She’d already called Scag to check on his health. He’d given her precise instructions on what to do with the orchids. Never mind Lizzie, never mind Pete Darrow, never mind her. Just make sure the orchids didn’t suffer from his inattention. He’d sounded good. Energetic, cranky, alive.
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