by Nina Bruhns
A warm cocoon enveloped her and she slowly sank into beckoning layers of numbness.
She didn't sleep, not really. Didn't pass out. She understood what was happening when Remi called one of the remaining agents at the warehouse—Simmons?—to drive the Porsche back to the Bureau for him, and carried her to Beau's Mercedes. Driving to a small hotel in the nearby Quarter, he checked them in, asking the desk clerk to call a doctor. She managed to put up enough of a fuss that he and the clerk relented and didn't, deciding together to call one if she wasn't better by morning, just a few hours away.
All this she understood, but she felt nothing.
Or maybe she felt too much.
Either way, it was strange allowing Remi to undress her, tuck her into bed and join her, his big body wrapping around her protectively, all this without feeling a trace of fear. A trace of anything, really. It was also a little weird that he took the pillow from beneath her head and put it under her feet, and that she couldn't stop shaking.
Eventually she must have slept, in fits. Every so often she'd look up at Remi and he'd smile down at her, tightening his arms around her, asking if she needed anything, until one time his eyes were closed and he'd fallen asleep, too.
He looked so worried, skin pale, his broad forehead marred with creases, his long eyelashes resting upon dark smudges. Was that a hint of gray at his temple?
The diamond in his ear winked at her, and she felt a lone tear trickle down her cheek. How she loved this man! It would be hell to leave him. But she must.
She'd never change him or his controlling ways. And she couldn't live like that.
What irony! Searching all these years to replace a father who didn't want to claim any part of her life, only to fall in love with a man who wanted to dominate every last detail of it.
She had to get away from him. Had to think.
And there was something else she must do, as well. With a sigh, she slid from the bed, eased on her clothes, and at the last minute patted the pockets of his jacket. She smiled tenderly when she found the gris-gris bag deep in one of them. So that's where it had gone. Carefully, she slipped it back in and said a little prayer that it would protect him from harm for all the days to come. Then she found what she was searching for. With one last longing look at Remi's sleeping form, she slipped quietly from the room.
* * *
"Muse!"
Muse whirled guiltily from the Mercedes's door, expecting to see Remi's angry face. Instead she saw the last man on earth she ever wanted to see again.
"Gary! What are you doing here?"
"Where have you been?"
"I—" She took in her former boyfriend's furious expression, his agitated posture, the fire in his eyes, and suddenly she was frightened. "Gary, what do you want?"
"You know what I want, Muse. What I've always wanted. You."
She'd never thought of Gary as a violent person, but now she prayed she hadn't been deluding herself.
"I'm sorry, Gary. We didn't work. I've moved on. You should, too."
"We worked fine. Your problem, and mine—when we were together nobody ever knew. It was perfect." He grabbed her arm and indicated the Mercedes. "Whose car?"
She curled her fingers around the keys, which she'd taken from Remi's pocket. "A friend's."
He put his face close to hers and sneered. "That man you've been with? The one upstairs you were in bed with?"
Now she was really scared. "What do you know about him?"
"I've been following you for weeks. And I know all about your FBI lover boy. You lost me for a few days, but I have my sources."
Relief at finally knowing who her stalker was hardly put a dent in her growing anxiety. Had his stalking escalated?
He was talking crazy. His eyes were bloodshot and glazed. There was also a videotape tucked into the waistband of his pants. The one she'd stolen from him, which Morris said he'd taken back from Grace yesterday morning.
"Gary, have you been walking around since yesterday? Have you slept?"
"I knew she wasn't you. I could tell. She'd had sex with that cop. You never had sex. Not until—"
She yelped as he suddenly jerked her arm and grabbed the keys from her hand.
Opening the car door, he shoved her in. "Drive! Your place."
It was only a few blocks to her apartment, and she used every minute to try to talk him down, reason with him.
"Whatever it is you're planning, Gary, don't do it. It's not worth it. Davies is dead, and the rest of the gang arrested."
"I know. It doesn't matter."
"You can make a new start. You were always better than them, Gary."
He made her park illegally in front of her building, and dragged her up the stairs to her apartment. There was a new dead bolt lock installed, but the key had been left under the mat. Grace always was far too trusting.
Thank goodness Creole had already put her sister on a plane back home. Grace had been through enough and didn't need to witness whatever Gary had in mind for Muse.
He slammed the door behind them and stalked across the kitchen toward her.
"You had sex with him, didn't you?"
"Who?"
"That man in the hotel. You let him touch you."
"Calm down, Gary."
"You never let me touch you. All that time and I never touched you!"
"You didn't want to. Neither of us wanted to."
"I want to now!"
"Gary, you can't."
"If I can't, I'll find something that can." He looked around frantically, his gaze landing on an antique candlestick on her table. He grabbed it.
"No!"
He reached for her, brandishing the candlestick. He grasped her hair and backed her toward the bedroom. "I can be like him. I can satisfy you as well as he can! Come back to me, Muse!"
"Gary, please. This isn't—"
His voice rose hysterically. "I want you back!"
She tried to appear calm, though her whole body trembled. "It's not possible."
"Do you love him? You love him, don't you!" he screamed, eyes wild. "How can you love him after just a few days?"
He shoved her onto the bed.
It was happening again. Oh, God, it was happening again!
"Please don't do this," she pleaded. She wanted to kick and scratch and fight him with all her might, but tried reason one last time. "I'll never come back if you do this to me."
"You won't, anyway." He raised the heavy candlestick high above his head, his face contorted with rage. "But if I can't have you, no one will!"
"Gary, no!" She threw her arms over her face.
"No one!" he yelled. "No one!" But he didn't move.
She peeked out from behind the protection of her arms and saw the despair and indecision in his eyes as he gripped his makeshift weapon.
"I'm not her, Gary. Someday you'll find the right girl, I promise. But I'm not her."
The candlestick wavered. "I don't want anyone else. No other woman will ever treat me like you did."
The plaintive note in his voice made her ask, "How, Gary? How did I treat you?"
A muscle in his cheek quivered. "With respect."
"Oh, Gary."
All her fear evaporated when his eyes filled. She sat up and took him in her arms as he broke down and cried. She lifted the candlestick from his hand and let him hug her, rocking back and forth, back and forth.
"What am I going to do without you?" he murmured over and over.
"You'll find someone, I swear," she whispered. "And with her your problems will all disappear."
"How can you know that?" He pulled back and peered at her.
"It happened to me, didn't it?"
He didn't see the lie behind her words because just then the door flew open with a crash.
Remi burst in, swooping down on them. Her heart leaped at the sight of him, her avenging angel, gun drawn and eyes blazing.
* * *
Chapter 17
« ^ »
"Fr
eeze! FBI!"
Muse held her breath as Remi's eyes raked over her and Gary sitting on the bed. He halted in his tracks. "What the hell is going on here?"
Another man appeared in the bedroom doorway, whom she remembered from somewhere. Simmons? From last night?
Gary jumped to his feet. In about ten seconds he was on his face on the mattress, arms handcuffed behind his back, Remi's knee at his spine.
Muse didn't object but pressed her palms to her eyes and tried to gather her wits.
"The hotel clerk reported you were kidnapped. Wanna tell me what this is all about?" Remi's voice was even, but far from cool.
"Meet Gary Fox," she said, letting her breath out. "And yes, he forced me here. Then he tried to rape me. Or maybe kill me. I'm not sure, exactly. I talked him out of it."
For a second she thought Remi might murder Gary on the spot. But he just growled to Simmons, "Get him out of here."
Simmons quickly grabbed Gary off the bed and propelled him toward the front door, amid loud protests. Something nagged at her memory about Simmons, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
"Wait!" she said, and got up to follow them into the living room. "Where are you taking Gary?" He looked terrified.
"Jail. For attempted rape and murder," Simmons said, ducking down to check Gary's handcuffs.
"That's not necessary."
"What?" Remi gaped at her.
God knows why, but she felt sorry for Gary. "Don't arrest him. I don't want to press charges."
"Are you nuts? He just tried to kill you!"
"Well, not really."
She glanced at Simmons, wishing she could get a better look at his face. But he kept turning away from her, finding things to fiddle with.
"He won't bother me again." She turned to Gary. "Will you?"
He shook his head vigorously. "No. I swear."
"Give them the tape, Gary. Davies is dead, but it could help convict the others. If they name you, it'll help your case."
"The tape's here?" Remi asked, surprised.
She scanned Gary's waistband. Empty. He blanched, his eyes grew wide, as though trying to convey something to her. What? They jerked to Simmons. And suddenly she remembered where she'd seen him before.
The tape!
Omigod-omigod-omigod. Simmons had been one of three men watching Davies torture and kill that poor guy on the video!
He had a gun. She couldn't let on that she knew. With as much indifference as she could muster, she gave Gary a slight nod and said to Remi, "He must have dropped it when you handcuffed him. I'll check the bedroom."
She spotted it immediately, a corner peeking out from under the bed. With a toe she pushed it all the way under.
And walked to the TV stand opposite, where she kept her own video collection. She chose a similar case and prayed Simmons wouldn't notice the deception.
"Here it is." She went back and handed it to Simmons, putting on her most sincere face. "Make sure Morris gets it."
"Sure." He slid the tape into his jacket pocket and pushed Gary out the door. "Let's go."
As soon as the door was closed, she whirled to Remi. "It's him! Remi, it's Simmons!"
"What?"
"The informer. It's Simmons! It has to be! I recognized him."
"Of course you did. He was at the warehouse yesterday, and last night he helped with the Porsche."
"No." She shook her head impatiently. "The tape. I remember him from Davies's tape. He was there at the warehouse. On the video."
Remi swore. And ran for the phone.
She went back to the bedroom and fetched the real video from under the bed. "I still have it," she said, interrupting Remi's phone call to Morris. "I gave him Bringing Up Baby."
Remi swore again, then said, "She switched the tape. I've got it here. But you'd better pick him up quick or Fox is a goner," and hung up.
"He'll call NOPD?"
Remi nodded. "You're sure it's Simmons?"
"I'm sure." She shivered at the memory of his cold observation of the torture.
Remi slid the video from her fingers. "We better take this in before anything else happens."
She hung back. She shouldn't. There was something else she had to do. And she still needed to think. "Do you need me to go?"
Remi halted abruptly on his way to the door and stood with his back to her.
And just like that the atmosphere changed. From helpful and professional to thickly tense and very, very personal.
Fisting his hands on his hips he asked, "So this is it, then? Goodbye?"
Maybe thinking wouldn't be necessary, after all. She didn't think a heart could hurt this much. "Is that what you want?"
"Seems to me I'm not the one who left you. Twice. Glad you recovered from the shock you went into last night, by the way."
"Thank you for taking care of me."
His shoulders shifted. "All part of the service, ma'am."
His words cut like a knife. "Remi, look at me."
He shook his head. "I don' think so."
"Afraid you'll see how I really feel about you?"
"Exactly," he said.
And walked out the door.
* * *
It was a full five minutes before she could feel her body again. She just stood there, paralyzed, her heart shattered in a billion pieces on the floor.
She wanted to run after him. Scream and cry and hold him and beg him to stay. Tell him she'd changed. Beg him to change, too. Beg him to love her.
Beg him to love her enough to change, as she had. Because of him.
But she had no right.
He was who he was. Who was she to ask him to be someone different? She had to accept the reality that they could never be together.
And that's why she didn't run after him and beg him to stay.
Of course, she changed her mind almost immediately.
With the return of feeling in her body, came the feelings in her heart. She sprinted down the stairs and dashed out onto Burgundy Street
hoping to catch him. But it had been almost ten minutes, and he was long gone.
Should she take the Mercedes and go after him to the FBI building? No. A public scene was the last thing he'd want.
A group of tourists gawked as she leaned against the warm red brick of the courtyard wall and fought the emotions tearing her apart. She didn't care that she must look like a well-used voodoo doll. All she cared about was that she'd lost Remi.
Forever.
She shuddered out a sigh.
Maybe not forever.
Maybe he'd come back for her. On his own. Without her having to beg.
Maybe he'd deliver the tape to Morris and decide he couldn't live without her. And come back to her.
As she slowly returned to her apartment, she thought about it.
What would she do if he came back?
With another sigh she changed her mind again.
How could it possibly work? Just because you loved a person more than life itself didn't mean you could live with them. It didn't solve the differences and the problems between you. Insurmountable problems. Like his love for his rootless job. And his obsessive need to micromanage all things.
Well. Not all things.
Not sex. The sex was good.
Really good.
Again she changed her mind.
Maybe there was hope. Making love, he had no need to plan every little detail. Or direct her. And when he had taken control—after she started trusting him and lost her fear—he'd involved her in a way that touched her heart. She'd loved it then.
Maybe that was the key.
Trust.
She did trust him. But maybe not enough? Maybe she should simply trust, trust him enough not to be afraid of the rest. Afraid he couldn't always be the way he was when they made love.
Was that possible?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
How could she know?
If he delivered the tape to Morris and decided he couldn't liv
e without her. And came back.
That's how she'd know.
* * *
Of course, he didn't come back.
Noon came, then afternoon, and as night fell the certainty that he wasn't coming slowly enveloped Muse in a blanket of sorrow.
She called Kit to let her know she had the Mercedes and that she'd return it in a day or two.
Meanwhile she busied herself cleaning the apartment, then tackled the job of clearing out her closet. Out with the old and in with the new. No time like the present to start her new lifestyle. Later, she'd buy some less … revealing clothes. Longer hems, higher necklines, lower heels. What she needed now was a pair of jeans and a baggy T-shirt.
By the time she'd stuffed her old wardrobe into big plastic bags and loaded them onto the back seat of the car, the sun was just peeking over the horizon.
She made herself a cup of coffee and perched on the sofa, drinking it with unsteady fingers.
She hadn't wanted to leave her apartment, just in case… But by now the truth was painfully obvious.
He didn't love her.
He didn't want her.
He wasn't coming.
With one last sigh she gathered her purse and keys and walked to the car.
And wondered where she'd find the strength to go on.
* * *
Remi stared at the ceiling from his bed, watching the dingy paint brighten and the resulting shadows creep inch by slow-moving inch across the rectangle of cracked plaster.
The dark, cylindrical silhouette of the still-rolled-up shade had reached about a quarter of the way across the expanse when he managed to tear his attention from it and gaze blankly out the window instead.
Blue sky. White puffy clouds. The occasional bird winging past. All reminders of the world that continued to live and thrive beyond this room.
Beyond the aching. Beyond the heartbreak. Beyond the misery.
Face it, mon ami. You're miserable without her. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Damn, he hated it when Beau was right.
Which he usually was. The man had an infuriating way of seeing right through the turmoil, straight into the eye of the hurricane.
Never mind they were Remi's own words. That only made it worse.
With a curse he jumped out of bed and stalked to the shower, hoping a good dousing of cold water would drive the heat from his blood.