“In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did. But only at first. And only before I really knew you.”
“I see.”
She lapsed again into silence and stared, once more, out the side window. All his explanations were reasonable, and yet, deep in her heart, she felt hurt. She’d trusted him, come to count on him. After she’d gotten past Paul’s hard shell, she’d come to think of him as, well, sturdy. Reliable. A good listener. Compassionate, too.
And, of course, he’d been a bone-meltingly, beyond-anyone’s-wildest-dreams lover.
Had she begun to worship him? Put him on a pedestal? Had she not taken the time to see that he was, like her, all too human?
She felt his worried gaze on her, but she didn’t return it, still locked somewhere deep inside, figuring things out, getting past the emotions to the core.
After more time passed, Paul said, “I’m so sorry.”
She said nothing.
More time passed before he said, “You’re taking this very well.”
“How did you expect me to take it?”
He shrugged. “Most women, I mean, most people—”
“You mean most women.”
“Okay, yeah, most women would get all bent out of shape, make a scene about betrayal and not being able to trust. You know, scream at me for keeping something like that a secret.”
“I don’t know about most women,” she said evenly, turning her head to gaze at him. “Only myself. And I have to admit that one part of me does feel like scratching your eyes out.”
“Oh.”
“And another part of me completely understands.”
He whooshed out a breath, as though he’d been holding it in, waiting. “Yeah. I figured, well, I hoped you would.”
“Although I’m not real happy about it.”
“I figured you wouldn’t be.”
Again, she stared out the side window. An old, dented flatbed truck passed them, loud salsa music blaring from it, sounding incongruous up here, among the green hills that formed part of the Catskills mountain range.
“Why are you telling me now?” she asked him.
He reached across the seat and took one of her hands in his much larger one. She almost yanked it away from him, but then decided not to. Instead, she faced him, giving Paul her complete attention.
“Because it’s been bothering me, more and more. And well, because I may have had one reason for wanting to be near you, in the beginning. But, now there are more.”
“And they are?”
He emitted an aggrieved sigh. “Do I have to say it?”
“Say what?” She was needling him now, wanting him to squirm. He deserved it.
He mumbled a particularly descriptive curse word under his breath, following it up with “Sorry.”
“I’ve heard it before. You were saying?”
“That I…have feelings for you. That I…care about you, okay? A lot. That you’re important to me. That I still want to find Jay, but more than anything, I want you safe.”
“Hmm. Pretty impressive.”
He frowned at her. He most definitely did not know how to interpret her current attitude toward him. Which made two of them.
He “cared” about her.
Good.
And whatever self-doubt she still walked around with from a childhood totally bereft of any words of praise, anyone to boost her self-esteem, she believed she was “important” to him.
Also good.
But she wanted more. What she wanted to hear was Kayla, I love you.
Closing her eyes, she groaned, but silently.
Was that what was going on here? Had she fallen in love with this man? But how was that possible? She’d known him, what? A week? And he’d been lying to her for that entire time.
Was she that needy?
“You okay?” Paul’s question snapped her out of her musings. “Please believe me, Kayla. Everything I’ve told you is the truth.”
“Yes. I think it is.”
“So then, are we okay now?”
She studied his face, the expression on it a variation of one she’d seen only briefly before. Vulnerability. To her. Need. For her.
It was genuine, and it was enough for now.
She sighed. “I’m glad you told me, Paul. And I’m pretty sure, in time, I’ll be fine with it. But you need to know that I don’t give my trust easily.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“I trusted you. So, if you ever pull something like this, if you keep something important from me again, it will be the end of this…whatever we have.”
He took that in, thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Got it.”
She wasn’t finished. “And as far as I’m concerned, if Jay lied about you to get you into jail, he deserves to be punished for it.”
“Even if he’s your brother?”
“Even if. The only thing is…” She let the thought trail off.
“What?”
“I want you to let the law deal with him. I don’t want you to hurt him when you find him.”
He worked the muscles of his jaw, that telltale sign of barely banked rage. “What I do to your brother is my business.”
She refused to back down. “I’m afraid it’s mine, too. He may be a bust as a brother and as a human being, but I would hate to see him—or anyone—physically hurt, unless it’s in self-defense. I’m asking you, Paul.”
“And I hear you.”
And thank you for sharing was what he didn’t add.
She could push it, perhaps. Paul was in apology mode; she could try to exact a promise from him that he wouldn’t use his fists. But she also knew that, in the heat of the moment, he might not remember his promise, or might not even care that he’d made it.
It was who he was.
She closed her eyes, let the sounds of traffic whizzing by on the highway blot out the bad feeling left by the end of their conversation.
Vengeance. The very sound of the word had a thick red color to it.
The color of blood.
Chapter 12
She must have dozed because when she opened her eyes again, they were on the New York State Thruway, Interstate 87, on the outskirts of Albany. The land around them was all flat plains, so different from the lush mountains of the early part of the trip.
Paul glanced over at her. “Good, you’re up. Where to now? We’re almost there.”
“I guess to the house, Walter’s and my house, I mean. It’s farther up, near Troy.”
“Is it safe?”
“What do you mean?”
“If someone wants to come after you, is it safe there?”
She scratched her head. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Well, think about it. Please.”
He seemed tense, keyed up. “Paul?”
“It’s just that we didn’t make any plans. To keep you safe. I should have made plans.”
“How could you? This was a last-minute trip, there was barely time to catch our breath.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. So let’s take care of it now, okay? Tell me about the house.”
He was all business. No more Paul the apologist or Paul the lover; in its place was Paul the cop. And his concern was getting her concern going.
For some reason, as they’d come down from the mountain and gotten farther away from the house, the tight knot of tension inside her had eased up; she’d nearly forgotten the fact that she might be in danger. A foolish thing to forget—wishful thinking at its most active.
She bit her bottom lip. “There’s a couple who live in, but I gave them vacation time, so there’s no one there.”
“Is there an alarm system? A nearby police station?”
“No.”
He shook his head. “Then you can’t stay there.”
It wasn’t up for discussion—he was issuing orders. Ordinarily she would chafe at that, but she knew he was looking out for her and she was grateful. “All right, what do you suggest?”
&
nbsp; “A hotel. A good one, the kind where they won’t give out your room number without checking with you first.”
She thought it over. “As it happens, it might be better if I did that, anyway. The house is pretty far out into the suburbs and most of my business is downtown, so it’s a good idea to stay closer in. All right. I’ll go to the Empire State Hotel.”
“That’s right near my old precinct.”
“Then that works out great, doesn’t it?” She got her cell phone out of her purse and called information for the number of the hotel.
Paul had thought, hoped, that after he’d made his little confession to Kayla, after he’d let her know he had feelings for her, that he would feel relieved of a great burden. And for a few brief moments, it had worked. But then she’d had to bring up the matter of what he planned to do to Jay, which had upset her and made him feel surly.
Add to that the fact that she was heading into a city, where the possibilities of attack on her person were too numerous to think about, and anything upbeat about the day was history.
They hadn’t been followed; he’d checked periodically in the rearview mirror and he’d always been good at detecting tails. But that didn’t mean the danger wouldn’t be there, ahead of them, and he was worried. That same odd feeling he’d experienced earlier, that of his and Kayla’s movements having been choreographed, was with him again.
They were supposed to leave the mountain, supposed to come to Albany.
Were they leaving danger or heading for it?
He was tense and worried, and he knew she was, too, which meant the ease of conversation he’d come to enjoy with Kayla was nowhere to be found. There was a wall between them, thicker than glass bricks. She hadn’t completely forgiven him, not yet. He’d have to work hard to make sure she did.
He exited the highway, making his way across the bridge that spanned the Hudson River, heading toward the old part of town. “Kayla?” he said, after she’d put her phone back in her purse.
“Yes?”
“I want to, I mean I need to stay with you, at the hotel. Make sure nothing happens to you.”
She shot him a long, level gaze, then offered up a small smile. “Is that the only reason you want to stay with me at the hotel? I had thought there might be another.”
And like that, the ice was broken. Whew. “Room service?”
She laughed. “Oh. So that’s what they call it now.”
“You are bad,” he said, chuckling. “Anybody ever tell you that?”
“And you, Paul Fitzgerald, actually laughed! I saw teeth! Run up the flag, sing songs of joy.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t rub it in.” He reached over, took her hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “So, straight to the hotel, right? I’m glad we’ll be sleeping together.”
“Ditto. Especially in a bed where I don’t have to worry about scary noises and rats being dropped off at night.”
He let go of her hand and placed it on his thigh, patting it. “I wondered if you’d forgive me.”
“I’ve decided to be extremely generous about all past sins,” she said grandly. “I shall let you make it up to me.”
She moved her hand along his thigh, using her fingernails to scratch the taut denim of his jeans. The various hard muscles beneath the material contracted briefly. Not to mention the flesh between his thighs, which leaped to sudden attention.
Paul hissed in a quick breath. “Is this how you intend to let me make it up to you? By letting you touch me wherever you want to?”
“Don’t you like it?” she whispered.
“Hmm.”
“Shall I move a little higher?”
“Not if you want to get there in one piece.” He clamped his hand over hers, stopping her upward trajectory. “I’m not good at what they call multitasking.”
“Well, darn.”
“But once we get to the hotel, I’ll let you put your hands anywhere you want to.”
She glanced at her watch. “Oh, shoot. My appointment with my lawyer is in an hour.”
Damn. So much for foreplay. “I’m going with you. I’ll wait for you.”
“But you wanted to see your dad.”
“I’ll call from the hotel. Have him meet me. We can get a drink while you’re at your appointment.”
“If you insist. But, Paul, aren’t you being just a bit over-protective?”
“Maybe. Better safe than sorry, as my granddad used to say.”
“You actually had a grandfather who said real corny stuff like that?”
“Sure did.”
“You are so lucky.”
Bringing her hand to his mouth, he kissed her knuckles. “Yes I am. More and more every day.”
The room was large, the bed spacious. High curtained windows blocked the street below from view. Paul gazed around him. It was the first luxurious surroundings he’d experienced since getting out. It felt good, even with that twinge of irritation he felt in his gut that Kayla was paying for everything. It was temporary, he told himself, and he had to be satisfied with that.
He watched as she bustled around the room, unpacking her small suitcase. In the fifteen minutes between the time they’d decided to go to Albany and their actual departure, she’d managed to stuff an amazing amount in there.
While she was arranging cosmetics in the bathroom, he sprawled on the bed and made his calls. The first was to his dad, whom he arranged to meet at the bar on the first floor of the Old Penn Central Station, now converted to offices, including the one belonging to Kayla’s lawyer.
Then he called Brian Kaye at his old precinct, who told him, “We got your trace. Jay Goodall is back in Albany.”
Paul felt a surge of excitement. If Kayla’s brother was around, he would find him—he knew all the druggie haunts, could access snitches from the past. “Hey, good work. I’ve got a bunch of other stuff I’d like to talk to you about. I plan on coming in tomorrow. Will you and Charley be in?”
“We’ll be here, but I wouldn’t count too much on a warm welcome reception.”
“Who cares?” Paul responded. “I’m coming in.”
“What’s up, Paul?” his dad asked him. “You keep looking at the entrance. Are you expecting company?”
They were seated at a small table in a dark bar. It was late afternoon and cocktail hour, so the place was pretty crowded. Two large TVs were wall-mounted, one tuned to CNN, the other to a Yankees game.
Paul took a sip of his Scotch before he replied. “Yeah. Someone I want you to meet.”
His father’s eyes twinkled at him for the first time in nearly five years. “Which was why you asked for the clothes,” he said, pointing to the garment bag lying across the back of the third chair at their table. Inside was one of Paul’s old sports jackets, a pair of pants, a shirt, tie, dress shoes and socks.
“Yeah.” Paul could only hope, after all these years, the clothes would still fit.
Lucas Fitzgerald was not a tall man—Paul had gotten his height from his mother’s side of the family—but he had natural stature. In his early sixties, with thick silver hair and the naturally ruddy complexion of his Irish forebears, he had a stocky frame that was mostly muscle and large, capable hands. And a broad, toothy smile that exuded confidence and cheer; all his life, Paul, not naturally upbeat by nature, had gone to his father for inspiration and hope.
Lucas was smiling now, his pale blue eyes, even in the darkened room, crinkling with happiness. “Is she special, then?”
He’d given his father no details about Kayla, hadn’t even mentioned her name. “Very.”
“Then my prayers have been answered. My son is out of jail, and he’s in love.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Dad.”
“Then he’s in ‘like.’ A fine start.”
It never failed; when Lucas grinned, you couldn’t help grinning back.
Which was how Kayla found them, chuckling over some joke, the bond of affection between them palpable. The minute they saw her, both men stood.
“This is Kayla,” Paul said. “Kayla, this is my dad, Lucas.”
“Hello,” she said to Paul’s father, who shook her hand, then winked at his son.
“Here, Kayla, take a seat.” The garment bag was on one of the chairs, so Lucas pulled up another, helped her into her chair.
“I see where Paul gets his manners from.”
“I raised my boys to be polite.”
“Well, you did a great job.”
After Kayla was settled, both men sat down, Paul signaling the waiter as he did. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“White wine, dry.”
While Paul ordered hers and another round for him—his dad declined—Lucas grinned at her. “Mind if I say that you’re lovely?”
“Mind? I love it.” She grinned back. “I can see where Paul gets his looks from, too.”
“Nah. He’s his late mother all over again, male version. Now, she was a beauty. Dark and mysterious. She walked in the room and every man’s jaw dropped. Paul takes after her in the charisma department.”
Kayla glanced at the subject of their conversation. He was scowling. “Yes. How could any woman resist that fierce frown?”
“Cut it out,” Paul said. “Change the subject.”
Chuckling, Lucas rose, grabbed a jacket from the back of his chair. “I wish I could stay. I wanted to meet you, Kayla. Rachel—that’s my wife—is waiting at the Crossgates Mall right now, for me to pick her up. I shudder to think what she’s bought. Both of you, come over to the house for dinner, and soon.” He shook Paul’s hand, kissed Kayla’s cheek and took off.
Kayla watched as he walked out of the bar, jaunty, youthful, filled with energy. Then she looked at Paul. “He’s wonderful.”
“Yeah.” The drinks arrived and he raised his glass, so she lifted hers. “I want to make a toast, but there are so many things to toast, I don’t know which one to choose. Getting out of jail? Meeting you? Sitting in a bar with a beautiful woman? Getting to share a king-size bed with that woman?”
“Too many choices,” she said. “To us.”
They clinked glasses and drank.
“And to your upcoming birthday,” Paul said. “When is it?”
“Thursday. I’ll be thirty.”
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