“Oh, Max,” she said on a whisper, and her fingers tightened. “I’m sorry I asked. How terrible for you.”
“It was worse for Ashley. But that’s over now. There’s no use talking about it.”
“It’s not over. I can hear it in your voice. I told you, you give yourself away. You’re the kind of man who takes on all the burdens of the world, aren’t you? You probably blame yourself for not seeing that your wife was drinking during her pregnancy. Just as you take the blame for the car bomb. How much can you take on before you buckle under the weight?”
He felt that weight now, pushing him down. “Why aren’t you innocent?” he asked, changing the subject.
“What?”
“At the station, you said you weren’t fragile. Or innocent. What did you mean by that?”
She removed her hand from his arm. “All my life people have put me into roles, and if I didn’t live up to those roles…” She shrugged, playing it down. “For years I lived the role of the little doll.”
“For the beauty pageants.”
She grimaced. “So you know about my sordid past.”
“I read the newspaper articles about your abduction, trying to get a better understanding about this case.” And her, an inner voice challenged. “I wouldn’t exactly call being a multi-pageant winner sordid.”
Her laugh rang with cynicism. “You would if you’d lived it. And didn’t want to.” She cleared her throat. “After the kidnapping, Mother put me into the victim role, which is where I spent the rest of our relationship. Men are the same way, seeing me as an innocent, fragile blind woman, ‘Aw, let’s take care of her.’ They assume this care-taking position, like they want to save me from the world. Or my blindness. When they discover I’m not the poor little blind girl who’s never had sex in her life, they don’t like it. They expect me to be virginal.” She grew silent for a moment, turning away from him. In a stronger voice, she said, “I’m not virginal, haven’t been since I was sixteen. Does that surprise you?”
“A little,” he admitted. Then he remembered Terry bragging that he’d been her first. “A lot. It’s your looks that cause some of that problem. You’re beautiful, for one thing.”
She wrinkled her nose at that. “Being beautiful stopped mattering a long time ago. Even before I went blind, I used to wish I were ugly. Being blind teaches you a lot about ‘seeing’ other virtues in people. I can tell a lot about a man by his voice, the way he smells, and how much and in what way he touches me.”
He wanted to know what she thought of him based on those virtues, but it was better if he didn’t. “And you look…fragile. Innocent.”
She rolled her eyes and stood. “You bought it, too, didn’t you? I even fooled a cop with my act. Brother, another gullible one.” She anchored her hands at her waist. “I’ve had a hundred and fifty men, I’ve had sex in elevators, bathrooms, parking lots, and in the back of buses. I’ve tied them up, and sometimes there’s leather involved. It’s always hot, sweaty, and it goes on for hours, all day sometimes, and—”
She couldn’t talk anymore, not when he’d pulled her hard against him and stilled those words with his mouth. He’d given her no warning and had knocked her off-balance for a second. She wasn’t going anywhere with his arms around her, but she wasn’t trying to move away. He devoured her, and she opened to him and devoured him back. His fingers threaded into her soft hair, and he tilted her head and deepened the kiss. Her body was pressed against his.
“You haven’t had a hundred and fifty men, have you?” he said between kisses.
“Uh uh,” she managed and then nearly sent him to his knees when she sucked his tongue into her mouth and stroked it.
He didn’t want to think about her with anyone else, making him as guilty as any of the men she’d just talked about. She wasn’t an innocent, not by the way she kissed. Oh, man, could she kiss.
“You haven’t tied anyone up.” He tilted her head back and licked her neck. His hands slid down to her ribs, his thumbs grazing the curve of her breasts through the denim. No bra. He kissed lower, over her ribs, lost in the feel of her soft skin against his mouth.
“No,” she whispered as his tongue dipped into the space between her breasts.
He unbuttoned her shirt from the bottom, kneeling in front of her, stopping just beneath her breasts. Her stomach was warm and pale, and he alternated kissing and sucking at her skin. He skimmed her waist beneath her shirt and then went higher. His thumbs brushed her nipples, which were already hard and tight. Her breath hitched, and her body tensed. One of them made a growling sound, but he wasn’t sure who.
She slid down to the floor in front of him and captured his mouth again. She held his face and tilted her head for a better angle. She was in control, this wanton witch who was not an innocent, wasn’t a fragile, poor anything. She pushed him back until he was on the floor and then straddled him. Her tongue traced the bottom edge of his teeth, but she pulled it back when he tried to capture it. She flicked it across his mouth before sucking on his lower lip. Her breathing was coming hard and fast, making him aware that his breathing mirrored hers.
“Livvy…” So many things crowded into his mind, tangling and making no sense at all. He wanted her, wanted to take care of her, wanted to hide inside of her and never come out.
“Don’t call me that,” she said in a breathless voice. “I’m not Livvy.”
But she was Livvy, who needed him, who craved him, who was wrapped around his body as though she would never let go. She made him feel all those things he’d felt as a kid, the protector, the hero. She made him feel new things, too, things that had nothing to do with being a kid. His body was straining to be free of clothing constraints, to feel her skin against his, to release all the tension that had been building for days.
He was sinking fast.
“Max, I don’t need a hero.” She was still kissing him, but the frantic pace of her kisses was slowing. “What are we doing here? We’re crazy, this is crazy.” She pushed herself up, though she was still straddling him. “We can’t do this. It’s all wrong.”
“It doesn’t feel wrong,” was all he could think to say with his head racing and his blood hot.
“Not to our bodies.” She climbed off him and smoothed her hair back with rapid, nervous strokes. “Max, we’re the last two people who should be doing…this. We’re getting all mixed up with our past, our roles as hero and victim. And finding Phaedra, that’s part of it, too.”
He couldn’t move, other than to lay the back of his hand over his eyes. She was right, as much as his body didn’t want to admit it. He’d be relegated to one of her past lovers who couldn’t see her as anything but a fragile but not-so-innocent woman whom he had to protect from the world. From creepy ex-boyfriends. From the past, and her blindness.
He pushed to his feet. “Terry thinks he was your first lover. That you’re fragile. Wait a minute. Is that how you lied to him?”
“Do you remember everything I tell you?”
“Yes.”
She walked to her canvas and ran her fingers along the edge. “When we first started dating, he did assume all of that. And…for some reason, I let him. Well, I know the reason. Not only was he the most charming man I’d ever met, he was this big football star. I was so flattered that he’d chosen me to bestow all of this attention on, I let him think I was what he wanted me to be.” She turned away, her cheeks pink. “I never lied, per se; I just went along with him. When I realized he wanted to own my life, I tried to tell him the truth. I thought he’d be so mad, he’d break up with me. Instead, he refused to hear it. That’s when I knew I had to get out of the relationship, for both our sakes. I swear I’ll never sell myself out again.”
“No, I don’t suppose you will.” He ran his hand through his mussed hair. “I’d better get some sleep. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
“Don’t think we can’t control this”—she waved, indicating the space between them—“this whatever it is between us. We’re c
aught up in a tense, emotional situation, that’s all. And then there’s our past. It’s natural, but not overwhelming, uncontrollable…overpowering.”
She stood there facing him, a slice of skin showing where he’d unbuttoned her shirt. Her nipples pressed against the material. She was waiting for confirmation, her mouth still pink from the heat they’d created. He couldn’t agree with her, not with the way she was leaning ever so slightly toward him, and the way he was doing the same.
He wanted to protect her and he wanted to sleep with her at the same time. She made him feel everything he never wanted to feel again. She made him feel.
“I’ve got to meet Sam first thing in the morning. If I’m not here when you wake up, wait for me. If Stasia has to go out, call me first.”
She nodded and turned back to her canvas. “Goodnight, Detective Callahan.”
His mouth quirked in a smile. “Goodnight, Olivia.”
Olivia kept working on her painting, all the while running her and Max’s conversation—among other things—through her mind. When the phone rang, she grabbed for it so it wouldn’t wake him.
After a moment of static, she heard a man’s voice. “Olivia?”
Her father. Tears sprang to her eyes as fear clutched her heart. “Daddy?”
A steady static filled the background. “Olivia,” her father said again.
She came to her feet, knocking her easel to the floor. “Daddy, where are you?”
“I’m supposed to tell you…I have to ask you…did you like the painting I did for you?”
After another moment of that strange static, the line went dead. The painting he’d done for her? “Oh, my God! Max!”
“I’m here,” he said from a few feet away. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s got my father,” she said on an agonized whisper.
“Who?”
“Bobby Callahan. My father called and asked how I liked the painting he’d done for me.” She wanted to cling to him and scream for him to find her father, but she held on to her control and dialed The Livingston. “It’s Olivia Howe. Check on my father, James Howe, right away!”
“Ms. Howe, I’m sure your father’s—”
“Now!”
“Yes, ma’am. Please hold the line.”
Max was on his cell phone behind her. “Patch me through to the officer assigned to cover The Livingston.” After a few seconds, “Hey, it’s Detective Callahan. Any activity over there? Go in and see if they’ve found Mr. Howe. I’ll check back with you.”
“Anything?” she asked.
“He hasn’t seen anything suspicious.”
Someone came on the line. “Ms. Howe, this is Mrs. Johnson. It appears that your father is not in his room. I don’t want you to be alarmed. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. We’ll find him and give you a call back.”
“I’ll stay on the line.” Olivia turned to Max. “He’s not in his room. Oh, God, he has him.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Could you hear anything that might indicate where they were?”
“Static. I assumed he was on a cell phone. Wait, it wasn’t static. That was what was strange about it. It was steady, more like something in the background, something I heard recently. It was a rushing sound. Like water. Or a waterfall.” She reached for his arm. “Wait, I think I know where they are! The water treatment facility, where that boy drowned not long ago. Every time I walk to my father’s, I hear the sound of rushing water.”
“Let’s go.”
“Stasia, we’ll be right back,” she said as Max led her to the door.
The short drive to the water treatment facility was the longest drive she could remember. She murmured the Lord’s Prayer and tried not to picture her father stumbling into the water. Or worse, being pushed, held under.
“I need you to stay in the car while I look for your father. If Bobby’s still with James, it could get dangerous. You’ll be safe in the locked car.”
She nodded, knowing she’d only be a liability to both Max and her father if she went with him. Damn blindness.
“The chain around the front gate has been cut.” He pulled to a stop and touched her arm. “I’ll find him.”
She pressed down her lock and flinched when his door slammed shut. Never had she felt so helpless, not even when she’d been pushed into traffic. Her fingers curled around the door handle, and she started reciting the prayer again.
When Max rapped on the window next to her several minutes later, she nearly shattered with anxiety. She fumbled with the lock and pushed the door open.
“He’s here,” he said before she could even ask.
“What’s going on?” James Howe asked. “Who are you people?”
Olivia went into his arms. “Daddy, it’s me, your daughter. Livvy. It’s all right.”
“Livvy, what are you doing out at this time of night?”
It was probably too dark to see that she wasn’t the little girl Livvy. “Max, you found him.” She closed her eyes and relished that her father was still alive.
“He was just wandering around in there. Bobby must have heard my car tear into the parking lot and taken off. I’m sure he wasn’t expecting us to find him this fast. He’s probably long gone by now; the side entrance gate was open, too. Come on, let’s get your father back to The Livingston.” Once he’d helped James and Olivia into the backseat, he said, “We need to stick to the Terry Carlton theory. No one’s going to take me seriously if I tell them my dead father tried to lure your father out. What they would take seriously is that I need to be taken off this case and put into therapy.”
No, he couldn’t be taken off the case! “I’ll tell them whatever you need me to.” She hated to admit it, but she needed Max. Needed his help, she clarified. If she’d learned anything tonight, it was how damned helpless she was during a crisis.
Max pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward The Livingston. Then he totally negated her fear by saying, “Olivia, you probably saved your father’s life tonight. I’ll have a cop stationed outside your father’s room until we find Bobby.”
“Thank you.” She held on tighter to her father. He would be safe. But would they find Phaedra in time?
CHAPTER 21
Monday, December 25
Max woke at six in the morning, wishing he could take back all those lost hours and do something useful with them. Like what? What else could he do that he wasn’t doing now? He pounded the pillow and pushed out of bed.
Once he was dressed, he headed toward the kitchen. Olivia’s bedroom door was open enough for Stasia to come and go. He couldn’t help glancing into the darkened room. All he could see was her form beneath the blankets. Stasia, lying next to her on the bed, lifted her head. He moved past the door and started the coffee. Stasia wandered into the kitchen a moment later.
“Don’t tell her I was peeking in her bedroom, okay?” he whispered as he scratched her head.
“You were peeking in my bedroom?” a prim voice asked from the other side of the counter.
He knew his irritation at being caught showed in his voice when he said, “What are you doing up so early?”
“Well, ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas to you, too,” she said, strolling into the kitchen and taking a can of dog food from the cabinet. She was wearing a fluffy white robe, and her hair was mussed.
“Sorry. Merry Christmas.”
The electric can opener buzzed and her irritation showed. “It’s not merry. We have one day to find Phaedra and not a clue where she is. What I didn’t need was to be thinking about you all night. And now I understand you were peeking in my bedroom.” She raised her eyebrows at him.
“You were thinking about me all night?”
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
“Okay, okay, I peeked. I was just making sure you were in there. It’s part of being a cop, making sure everyone in the house is safe.” No need to mention his jealousy of Stasia’s position in the bed.
“It’s not part
of being a cop, it’s why you are a cop.” She scooped the can’s contents into a porcelain bowl and set it on the kitchen floor. “I suppose the peeking’s acceptable when you put it that way.”
“And the door was open, after all. Made it easy.” Had she left it open for him? An invitation, should he wake in the middle of the night? Maybe it was better not to know.
She sailed back toward her bedroom. “I’m going to get a shower, walk Stasia, and then do some painting, see if I can capture that place any better.”
“I’ll go with you. The walking part, I mean.”
“I thought you’d say that,” she said from the depths of her bedroom.
In twenty minutes, she was dressed in a bright red, fuzzy sweater and white jeans. She harnessed Stasia with practiced movements. Stasia remained perfectly still until the harness was in place, then she pranced and headed toward the door.
Max opened the door for her. “You wear bright colors for a person who can’t see them.”
“I have personal shoppers at a couple of the boutiques who look for clothes with real color. I know it’s strange, but bright colors make me feel better somehow.”
“How do you match them up? You never clash.”
She reached into the back of her collar and pulled out a small metal tag embossed in Braille. “This tells me what color and style it is.”
“You’ve got it all covered, don’t you?”
“Mostly.”
“I want to know more about what it’s like to be blind. Later, when we’ve found Phaedra. I want to know what your life is like, how you meet people, how you balance your checkbook.”
She paused just inside her door and turned back to him. “Why?”
He ran his finger down the bridge of her nose. “For the same reason you wanted to see what I looked like.”
She turned away and opened the door. They stepped out of the building and into the early morning. It was still dark, and the streetlights cast their glow on the bricks. The water caught the shimmer of the lights. He inhaled the cool air and momentary sense of peace.
Blindsight [Now You See Me] (Romantic Suspense) Page 26