CRY UNCLE

by Judith Arnold

  A tear seeped through her lashes when she realized how much she missed the chaos of life with Lizard, of spilled cereal, smeared finger-paint and girlish giggles. And the chaos of life with Joe, whose soul she could never read and whose heart she could never trust—except that he’d saved her life.

  She’d left the island the day after the attack. The police in Key West had alerted the D.A. in Seattle, and he had told to Pamela to come west as soon as she could. He felt the Seattle police could protect her better than the Key West police had. Sure they could, she’d thought—now that they no longer considered her paranoid and hysterical.

  She’d spent her last Key-West night in bed with Joe, not making love but simply being held. He was so steady, so comforting as she trembled beside him, fighting anguish and nausea and waves of dread. When she thought about how close she’d come to dying, she’d burst into tears. When she thought about how Joe had saved her life, she’d burst into tears. It had been a very wet night, not the least bit romantic, yet when by the time she’d finally drifted off to sleep she’d been absolutely convinced she loved Jonas Brenner.

  Which made it all the more imperative that she leave as soon as possible. She had hoped that once she was back in Seattle, the physical distance between her and Joe would help her to regain her perspective. Just because he’d saved her life didn’t mean she had to love him. If a policeman had saved her life, or a doctor, would she feel obliged to love them, too?

  It helped to remember that before the hit man had shown up on Joe’s front porch, Joe hadn’t asked her to stay and make a real marriage with him. What he’d done hadn’t been done out of love. He’d saved her life only because he was a decent guy with a few heroic impulses, the same heroic impulses that had compelled him to take in his niece and fight for her.

  Heroism wasn’t the same thing as love.

  But meanwhile...

  She felt like hell.

  Don’t think about it, she ordered herself. Get through the trial, and then you can plan the rest of your life.

  Through the lilting strings of the allegro first movement, she heard the doorbell ring. In the week she’d been back, a few neighbors had dropped by to see how she was doing. Her colleagues at Murtaugh Associates had sent her flowers, and Richard Duffy had phoned to tell her the strip-mall project was coming along nicely. She’d spent several evenings at her parents’ house and a day reviewing her testimony with her attorney and the D.A. By now, she figured, anyone who had wanted to welcome her home would have done so.

  She stood, smoothed the sash of her silk robe around her waist and crossed barefoot to the door. Peeking through the peep hole, she saw more flowers. She wondered why the doorman hadn’t accepted the delivery for her, or signaled her through the intercom that she had a visitor.

  Having been stalked by a killer in her recent past, Pamela exercised caution and slid the chain lock into place before she cracked the door open and peered out.

  The flowers were roses. The delivery man was Jonas Brenner.

  “Hi, Pam,” he said.

  He looked remarkably tan compared to the sun-deprived citizens of Seattle. His hair was the wondrous tawny shade she’d remembered, thick and much too long. His eyes were the marvelous blue she’d fallen in love with. His earring was the same dangling ornament he’d worn at their wedding: a tiny gold heart.

  And then there were the roses, three of them. Red.

  Pamela released the chain and opened the door wider. “Come in,” she said, feeling unexpectedly awkward. She had to remind herself that Joe was her husband. But her life in Key West seemed so far away, so alien to her life in Seattle. He didn’t belong here.

  He stepped inside. He had obviously groomed himself carefully for this visit. His cheeks were freshly shaven, and he wore his khaki trousers and a crisp white shirt. As he handed her the flowers, he gave her an intense scrutiny. “You look awful,” he said.

  She ought to have been insulted, but she only smiled weakly. Leave it to Joe to opt for blunt honesty. She did look awful, and she knew it. “I’ve had a long day,” she explained, crossing to the credenza to find a bud vase.

  “Today was your first day of testimony, wasn’t it?”

  She had phoned him a few days ago to let him know, in the vaguest terms, what was going on. She’d talked for a few minutes about the trial and asked how Lizard was doing. Joe hadn’t told her he missed her, and she’d tried to convince herself afterward that it was just as well.

  Answering his question with a nod, she crossed to the wet bar to add water to the vase. Then she set the flowers on the coffee table. Three was an unusual number—roses usually came singly or in dozens. Staring at the graceful trio of buds made her think of the Brenner family: Jonas, Lizard and Pamela.

  Except that the Brenner family was no longer a trio.

  “Would you like a drink?” she asked, the perfect hostess.

  Joe continued to stare at her, his smile contradicted by the frown pinching his brow. “You really look terrible, Pam.”

  “Thanks,” she said, forcing a laugh. “I’m so glad you traveled all this way to tell me. Where are you staying, by the way?” She’d be damned if she would put him up for the night, not when he was standing in her living room criticizing her appearance.

  “Are you sick?” he persisted.

  “Seriously, Jonas—why are you here?”

  “To see you,” he answered simply. “This is some swanky place you’ve got.”

  “Thank you.” That was exactly what it was: a swanky place. Elegant, sterile, swanky.

  “It wouldn’t survive ten seconds with Lizard in it,” he remarked, appraising the glass-topped tables and the modern sculptures.

  “Did you bring her with you?”

  “No. She’s staying with Birdie.” He eyed a chair, and Pamela indicated with a wave that he ought to sit. She lowered herself back onto the couch and brushed her hair out of her face. “I’m worried about you,” he admitted.

  “I’m safe,” she assured him. “No more hit-men are after me. I know I look like hell, but as you said yourself, I’ve been testifying all day, sharing a courtroom with Mick Morrow. I—”

  “No,” Joe cut her off. “I’m worried about you. The one time you called, you talked about everything but us. When I got off the phone, I just had this—I don’t know, this premonition that you weren’t coming back.”

  Pamela studied him in the clear light from her halogen floor lamp. He appeared apprehensive. “A premonition?”

  “Damn it, Pam—I don’t want to force you into anything, but we’ve got to talk. You’ve been gone a week, and Lizard’s been moping, and I...” A helpless laugh escaped him. “I’ve been moping, too. I don’t know—I didn’t think this was the sort of thing we ought to talk about on the phone. So I came to Seattle to ask you, are you coming back?”

  Beg me to and I will, she almost said. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe the Seattle climate isn’t good for you. You look so pale.”

  “I’m not pale.”

  “Have you been having nightmares about that ass who attacked you at my house?”

  “No.” She’d been having nightmares about how she was going to straighten out her life.

  “Then what is it? What’s going on?”

  “I told you: the trial, the testimony—”

  “Trials and testimony don’t make you pale.”

  “I’m pregnant,” she said.

  The first movement of the symphony chose that moment to end, leaving the living room in stunned silence. Joe’s eyes grew bright with astonishment. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “You mean, from that time on the screened porch?”

  “That was the only time there was,” she pointed out.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was going to,” she hedged. “After the trial was behind me, and...” Damn it, Joe was being so honest. He deserved equal honesty from her. “Maybe I wasn’t going to tell you. O
ur marriage wasn’t a love match, Joe. We both got what we wanted from it. We had agreed from the start that we would get a divorce as soon as you had Lizard free and clear and I was no longer running for my life. Well, you’ve got Lizard, and Mick’s going to be convicted this time, and I’m not going to force you to remain in a marriage that was never meant to be.”

  He practically flew out of his chair and dove onto the couch next to her. That she’d kept the news from him—she’d only just gotten medical confirmation two days ago—didn’t seem to matter to him. That she’d chosen not to pressure him to accept a responsibility he might not want carried no significance. He hauled her into his arms, onto his lap, and kissed her with such vehemence she couldn’t breathe.

  He was grinning when he pulled back. “We’re having a baby? I can’t believe it! Man, how many parties can we hold at the Shipwreck? My pals are gonna start getting sick of them.”

  “What party?” His kiss had shaken her deeply. It was full of passion, full of exuberance—full, perhaps, of male pride. But where was the love? “Jonas, this baby—”

  “Our baby,” he whispered reverently.

  Evidently he wasn’t thinking of all the implications, all the obligations. “We didn’t plan it, Joe. It was an accident. I’m not going to hold you—”

  “You’re damned well going to hold me,” he retorted—and in fact she was holding him at the moment. If she let go, she might tumble off his lap and onto the glass-topped table, breaking it. “When are you due?”

  “March.”

  “Wow.” He kissed her again, more tenderly. His lips caressed her mouth, her cheeks, her brow. He skimmed one hand down her body, tracing the curve of her breast before he came to rest against her still-flat abdomen. “Oh, Pam...are you still allowed to have sex?”

  “Allowed? You mean, because I’m pregnant?” She hadn’t even thought to question the doctor about that. Sex hadn’t seemed a very real possibility until Joe had walked through her door.

  “Later,” he murmured, kissing her lips again, so sweetly, so softly she felt herself go sweet and soft inside. Why later? she wanted to ask. Why not right now, this instant?

  No. Just because he could turn her on with a few kisses didn’t make everything right between them. They wouldn’t have sex this instant, and they wouldn’t have it later. Not unless they’d worked a few things out.

  Joe was apparently already working things out. “You’re gonna have to give up that bedroom at the end of the hall, you know. We’ll need it for a nursery.”

  “Slow down, Jonas.” She eased out of his arms and shoved herself to her feet. Joe still hadn’t even hinted that he loved her. How dare he rearrange her living space? “What makes you so sure I want to go back to Key West after I’m done here? This is my home, Joe. This swanky place, as you call it, is my home.”

  He surveyed the spacious, impeccably decorated room and snorted. “You really want to live here? Lizard would hate it.”

  Pamela couldn’t argue with that. “Maybe.”

  “It’s so...so cold,” he concluded. Then, reading her dissatisfaction, he switched gears. “But we can work it out. I’m sure there are bars here. I could get good money if I sold the Shipwreck, and maybe I could find an establishment to invest in here. Or I’d tend bar for someone else. I mean, it’s awfully rainy here, and I bet the beaches can’t compare to what we’ve got—to say nothing of the fact that you can probably only go swimming about two months out of the year. But at least you wouldn’t have to worry about Lizard running around bare-ass. She’d be too cold.”

  It wasn’t just Seattle’s climate Joe was talking about, Pamela realized. It was her condominium, chilly in the absence of a child, in the absence of noise and havoc and love.

  “You’d rather live in Key West than Seattle, wouldn’t you,” she guessed.

  Joe grew solemn. “I’d rather live with you,” he said. “Where doesn’t matter.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  He gathered her hand in both of his and pulled her back onto the sofa next to him. This time he didn’t kiss her, but simply held her hand sandwiched between his. His thumb traced the thick gold band he’d placed on her finger less than three months ago. “Until you left, I wasn’t sure,” he admitted. “But once you were gone, Lizard and I could hardly function. The house felt different. It felt empty.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to do a number on you, so I tried to pretend I didn’t mind your being gone. I figured you were glad to be rid of me. I’m no bargain.”

  “Who would want a bargain for a husband?” she teased gently.

  “But...” He let out a long, pensive sigh. “Truth is, I’m a selfish guy. And Lizard is a very selfish kid. And we need you. Both of us.” He sent her a meek grin. “Me more than her.”

  “It’s nice to be needed,” she conceded. When he didn’t speak, she averted her eyes, willing him not to see her disappointment. “Being needed isn’t enough, Jonas.”

  He slid his hand under her chin and guided her gaze back to his. He was smiling, but it was the most earnest, soulful smile she’d ever seen. “You want to hear me say I love you? Of course I love you. I thought that was obvious that night on the screened porch.”

  “What happened on the screened porch wasn’t love,” she argued. “It was sex.”

  “It was a hell of a lot more than sex,” he shot back, his eyes straying to her still-flat abdomen. “As it turns out, it was more than even I realized. But Pam...” He lifted his gaze to her face once more. The amusement in his gaze was gone, replaced by ardent sincerity. “I fell in love with you when you lit into me about Lizard. You cared as much about her as I did, and I realized that nothing else mattered. You were the woman for me. Making love was only my body telling you what was in my heart.”

  This time it was Pamela’s idea to snuggle into his lap, to cover his mouth with hers and kiss him, deeply, passionately, her lips telling him what was in her heart. He responded with pleasure, with arousal, with love.

  “You want our baby?” he murmured once they’d come up for air. He cradled her cheeks in his hands and peered intently into her eyes.

  “Yes,” she swore. “Do you?”

  “More than just about anything.” He kissed her again, a light, sweet kiss. “How much longer do you have to stay in Seattle? I want you home.”

  “I want to come home,” she sighed. “Just a few more days of testimony, and then they’ll let me leave.”

  “I could stay a few days,” he told her. “I could even meet those wonderful in-laws you tell me I’ve got.”

  “We could exchange vows in my parents’ church.”

  “If you want to.”

  “I want to,” Pamela said, resting her head on Joe’s strong, firm shoulder. It wouldn’t have to be the formal white wedding she’d always dreamed of. She’d already had a wedding—a strange, funky, wonderful wedding. And when all was said and done, a wedding wasn’t as important as the marriage it created.

  She closed her eyes, feeling contented for the first time since the doctor had told her she was pregnant, since the D.A. had told her Mick Morrow’s trial was going forward, since she’d fled Seattle for Key West so many weeks ago—since she’d been old enough to imagine falling in love. She couldn’t really say her life was under control—but having her life under control no longer seemed terribly important.

  “You think the church organist can play Stand By Me?” Joe asked.

  “If she can’t, we’ll sing it ourselves.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, then kissed her lips and tightened his arms around her. “We’ll sing it, and then we’ll go home together.”

  Pamela felt as if her marriage was truly starting right now, in Joe’s embrace, with his baby in her belly and his love in her soul. “Yes,” she vowed. “We’ll go home together.”

  ###

  About the Author

  Judith Arnold is the award-winning, bestselling author of more than eighty-five published novels. A New York native, she currently lives in New
England, where she indulges in her passions for jogging, dark chocolate, good music, good wine and good books. She is married and the mother of two sons.

  Judith is thrilled that her out-of-print books are now available to new generations of readers.

  For more information about Judith, or to contact her, please visit her website: www.juditharnold.com.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen