The Taming Of Reid Donovan

by Pappano, Marilyn

  “Why? I heard you worked in a garage as a mechanic. Surely you’re a good driver.”

  “I’m a great driver.” He shifted into gear, then glanced at her over his shoulder. “But I don’t have a license.”

  Cassie sat at the top of the steps leading to the front door of Kathy’s House, her arms resting on her knees. It was after five-thirty, and the women’s center was closed for the day. She was considering summoning the energy for a heavy sigh when, beside her, Karen gave just such a sigh. Cassie couldn’t bring herself to echo it. It sounded entirely too sad already.

  “I don’t understand,” her boss said for the hundredth time since this morning. “What business does Reid have with that man?”

  “Reid’s done business with Jimmy Falcone off and on for years.”

  “But not now, not for months! He’s tried so hard, Cassie. He’s done so well. Why would he start dealing with him again?” After a moment, she answered her own question. “Maybe it’s been too hard. Maybe he just got tired of trying. Maybe he just wants to be accepted someplace exactly the way he is.”

  She had accepted him, Cassie thought numbly. She had accepted him right into her bed—not that he’d been eager to return. Maybe this was somehow her fault. He’d made love with her Monday night, had come home Tuesday acting odd and evasive and had gone off with Falcone’s people this morning. Maybe she was somehow responsible for whatever had happened, for whatever choice he had made.

  Wouldn’t that be quite an ego stroke? Other women drove their men crazy with love or, at the least, lust, while she drove hers to crime.

  She hadn’t been home yet, though she was heartsore and soul weary. After making it through the day on autopilot, she had come to Kathy’s House to find out if Karen or Jamey had heard anything, to commiserate and to delay going home to her empty apartment and brooding the night away. She couldn’t bear seeing Reid’s apartment and knowing he wasn’t there—worse, knowing he was with Falcone. She couldn’t bear her own apartment, filled with belongings he had helped her move, and especially her bed, where they’d made love, kissed and cuddled and finally slept.

  But she couldn’t delay forever. She either had to beg a spot on Karen’s couch, return to Smith’s condo or go home. Home was where she belonged. If Reid went looking for her, that was where he would look.

  Bolstering her confidence with a deep breath, she reached across to stroke Sean’s dark hair. “He has an explanation, Karen,” she said determinedly. “There’s a perfectly good reason for whatever he’s doing.”

  “And what could that be? We’re talking about a young man who’s been breaking the law since he was about five, who’s given up everything he had to go straight, who’s had to endure prejudice, fear and contempt, who’s had to fight for every bit of respect or acceptance he’s gotten, who’s now getting involved with the most notorious, most dangerous criminal in the entire state. What perfectly good reason could there be for that?”

  Cassie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. All she knew was that she had to believe in him. She had to have faith. Jamey’s was fading, and Karen’s was wavering, but she must believe that the man she loved wouldn’t do what he was doing without a reason. Maybe he didn’t love her. She could accept that. Maybe he didn’t care much about her at all. It would surely break her heart, but she could accept that, too. But she couldn’t accept that he had returned to his old life. She couldn’t accept that he would again get involved with his old boss. She could not accept that he would throw away all that he had worked for. He must have a reason, and she would wait until he could give it.

  “I’ve got to go home.” She picked up her books from the step and cradled them to her chest. “Don’t jump to any conclusions, Karen. Let’s see what Reid has to say.”

  “Sure. Of course.” Karen gazed down at Sean, who was contentedly chewing his fingers, then sighed softly. “There was a time when I first got involved with Jamey when I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of being Reid’s stepmother. I’d always wanted a child, for as long as I could remember, but not a grown stepson whose life had been so troubled. Of course, we don’t get to choose the families of the people we fall in love with, but now I can’t imagine anyone I would want as a part of our family more than Reid. I wish he were my own, but I couldn’t love him more if he were, and I worry about him. I’m really worried about him.”

  “Trust him,” Cassie said quietly. “You did it when no one else did. Don’t quit now.” With a faint smile for a goodbye, she followed the sidewalk through the gate, then crossed the street and went into O’Shea’s. Behind the bar, Jamey looked too angry for the reassuring kind of conversation she’d just shared with Karen, so Cassie merely offered him the same sad smile and went upstairs. She put her books down, then went down the hall to the bathroom, where she bent over the sink and splashed water over her face. The cool water washed away the grit and sweat of a day’s un-air-conditioned work, but it didn’t make her feel any better. It didn’t wake her from the bad dream her day had turned into.

  She was reaching for a towel when her gaze settled on the wicker wastebasket she’d moved in with her. On top of a pile of dirty makeup-remover pads and an empty shaving cream can was a small brown paper bag, the same bag Reid had been carrying when he’d come home yesterday. Hesitantly she bent and fished it out, then pulled open the stapled top.

  There was a box of condoms inside with a sales receipt dated and time-stamped yesterday afternoon only twenty minutes after Reid had gotten off work at the garage. At 1:20 he’d been planning ahead, making certain he was well prepared for whatever he might do, and who he would have done it with, she knew, she wanted to believe, was her. But less than five hours later, he had walked right past her as if she were a stranger, and he had lied to avoid spending time with her. He had withdrawn from her, just as a turtle drew into its shell when threatened. Who—or what—had threatened Reid?

  Maybe Jimmy Falcone.

  She dried her face, then took the bag with her when she left the bathroom. She hadn’t gone three feet when she heard footsteps on the stairs that brought her to an abrupt halt. Instinctively she stuffed the bag into one of the deep pockets of her dress, then waited for Reid to appear. When he finally stood at the opposite end of the hall in front of her, she felt a queasy little fear deep in her stomach.

  If she had passed him on the street anywhere besides Serenity, she might not have recognized him. His hair was shorter, and in place of his usual jeans and sneakers, he wore a suit—an expensive, elegantly cut, dove gray suit. He looked like any of a thousand young businessmen in the city, though far more handsome.

  He looked like a stranger.

  He was carrying a handful of garment bags, no doubt holding similar suits, and a large shopping bag, probably filled with shirts, ties, maybe more shoes. God help them, he had taken a job with Jimmy Falcone.

  He didn’t notice her until he’d set the shopping bag down and shifted the suit bags to his left hand so he could reach his keys. For a moment, he stiffened, and then he looked away as if he were ashamed to be seen by her.

  Slowly she began moving toward him, walking in a wide circle around him. “Nice clothes.” Her voice wasn’t calm, but it was steady. “Whoever knew mechanics and bartenders were paid so much?”

  He unlocked the door but didn’t open it. “Cassie—”

  She waited at her own door for him to continue. When he didn’t, she coaxed him. “Go on. I want to hear whatever you have to say. I want to know how you can justify going to work for that man.”

  There was momentary surprise on his face when he turned around. “How did you...?” Then his expression turned sullen. “It’s just a job.”

  “‘Just a job’? Doing what? Who do you have to rob? What do you have to steal? Who do you have to threaten, intimidate or maybe even kill?”

  Laying the garment bags over the shopping bag, he took a few steps toward her. “Damn it, Cassie, you know I wouldn’t—”

  She reached out, clasping his wrist,
feeling the fine fabric of his coat crinkle under her fingers. “Reid, Jimmy Falcone represents everything you’ve worked so hard to get away from. My God, he had your best friend killed!”

  He pulled free of her and backed away. “It’s just a job. I’m just a driver. There’s nothing illegal about it. I just chauffeur his latest...” He faltered, and his cheeks turned pink before, with his scowl deepening, he went on. “His latest woman around town on her shopping trips.”

  “And today she shopped for you. How sweet.” Her voice trembled. “Reid, you can’t work for that man. He’s dangerous. He kills people. He destroys people’s lives. Even if you aren’t doing anything illegal—”

  “Even if? You don’t believe me, do you? You think I’ve gone back to the old life, don’t you? You think I was dirty so long that I don’t have the willpower to resist. You think I’m so weak that all it’ll take to make me tumble is being around someone else who’s dirty.”

  Her throat was thick and tight with tears. “I think you’ve had it so tough for so long that you could get used to the good life really fast. I think you could come to accept doing whatever it takes to keep it.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” he demanded. “I’ve been poor all my life. What the hell is wrong with me making some money for once in my miserable life? You know what Jimmy pays for a week of driving around town in his fancy car? More than I make in a month at the garage and downstairs combined. I’d have to be a fool to turn that down.”

  “No, Reid. You’d have to be a fool not to.” She reached out hesitantly but didn’t touch him. “Why are you doing this? Why are you risking everything you have for that man?”

  He stared at her for a moment, his blue eyes wintry cold. “I’ve got two lousy jobs that no one else would take for such lousy pay, and a cheap, shabby apartment that I can be kicked out of any time O’Shea takes a notion. That’s all I’ve got, Cassie, and you think I should give a damn about losing it?”

  “What about the people? Jamey, Karen, your new stepbrother. Your boss at the garage who gave you a chance. The people at the center who admire what you’ve tried to do. What about J.T., Reid? What about me?”

  The set of his jaw grew stubborn. “What about you, Cassie? You wanted to be my friend and a hell of a lot more ... as long as I lived the way you wanted. As long as I was the loser and you were the bright, generous do-gooder. As long as I was properly grateful and you were able to feel charitable and superior. Now I’ve found a job that I like, where I don’t have to work twelve hours a day, where I can make enough money to live a decent life. I’m not the loser anymore. I’m not poor. I don’t have to live in this dump because I can’t afford anything better. I can go where I want and do what I want. Now suddenly you’re not so willing and eager, are you? You’re as damn quick to judge me as everyone else. What does that say about you?”

  “So I was treating you like a charity case, and you were...” Cassie’s voice quavered again, and she couldn’t get it under control. “You were just using me until something better came along.” She tried to smile but couldn’t. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. You’re not the fool here. I am.” With that, she closed and locked the door, walked straight into her bedroom, curled up on the bed and cried. She cried until she was all cried out, and then she did what she always did when she had trouble.

  She went to Jolie.

  After their marriage, Jolie and Smith had lived in her house for as long as it’d taken them to find a bigger place that they both appreciated. They’d settled on a sprawling Creole cottage in an older, established neighborhood and had had the whole place renovated just in time for the birth of their first child, who had since been joined by twin girls.

  Cassie parked behind Jolie’s red ’Vette, climbed the steps to the high porch and rang the doorbell. When Jolie answered with a daughter on one hip and another clinging to her right leg, she looked worn, frazzled and blank. “Was the invitation for tonight?”

  Now it was Cassie’s turn to look blank, until she remembered the dinner invitation her sister had extended through Karen. She shook her head. “It’s tomorrow, but I don’t think I can come. Is this a bad time to talk?”

  Jolie laughed. “Oh, darlin’, this is as good as it gets. Come on in. What do you mean, you don’t think you can come to dinner tomorrow?”

  “I just can’t.” After closing the door behind her, Cassie bent to pick up the child balancing on her mother’s foot. The twins were far from identical, although they both had their father’s dark hair and quiet personality. Claire had inherited Smith’s blue eyes and was chunky, while Mary Rose was slender as a reed with hazel eyes all her own. Three-year-old Patrick, engaged in a high-decibel battle against evil elsewhere in the house, was his mother’s clone, with blond hair, green eyes and more energy than Cassie’s thirteen students combined.

  Jolie led the way to the family room at the back of the house, where she deposited Mary Rose on the floor. Cassie set Claire down beside her, then wandered to the tall windows overlooking the backyard. It was a lush, private haven, elaborately designed with tall trees and sheltering shrubs, with plenty of beds for flowers and plenty of grass for the kids. It was a far cry from the yard Jolie had grown up with—a patch of bare dirt surrounding the ugly gray Serenity Street house—or even from the postage-stamp yard she’d had at her little yellow house. If anyone deserved such drastic changes, though, it was Jolie. She’d earned them.

  “You’re a hard woman to get hold of,” Jolie said from somewhere close behind. “Mama and I have left a dozen messages on your machine in the last couple of days. Don’t you ever check it?”

  For a moment, Cassie felt blank until remembering the answering machine she’d deliberately left in the condo. When she’d moved to Serenity, she had intended to use the machine to keep up her pretense, at least until she’d broken the news to the family, but in her few days there, she’d forgotten all about it. “I...I’ve been kind of busy.”

  “What’s his name?” Jolie appeared in Cassie’s peripheral vision, slender, beautiful and serene. It was funny how things had changed. All her life, Cassie had been the Wade stuck with the serene label, while Jolie had been the one with passion. Now, in spite of the three demanding toddlers, she looked as if her life couldn’t possibly be more tranquil, while Cassie had suddenly uncovered her own passion.

  She didn’t try to evade her sister’s question or brush off her curiosity. Serene or not, Jolie was still the best investigative reporter the city of New Orleans would ever see. No one kept secrets from her unless she chose to let them remain secret. Besides, confiding and seeking advice had been Cassie’s reason for coming over. “Reid,” she said, hearing the faint tremor in her voice. “Reid Donovan.”

  Jolie’s voice softened. “Tell me about Reid Donovan.”

  “He’s Jamey O’Shea and Meghan Donovan’s son. He’s handsome as sin, sweet and misunderstood. He’s a good mechanic and a great artist, and some of us on Serenity care a great deal about him.”

  “Including you.”

  “Especially me.” Drawing a deep breath, she turned to face her sister and smiled unsteadily. “Oh, and one other thing—he just started a new job. As of this morning, he works for Jimmy Falcone.”

  Reid sat on the bed, his back against the rusted bars of the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him. He had put away all the clothes Meghan had insisted on buying, taken a shower and knocked at Cassie’s door a half-dozen times before finally settling in here. He had handled her badly, which wasn’t surprising since all he’d wanted to do was wrap his arms around her tight and trust that she could make everything better. He should have been calmer, but right from the start she’d made it clear that she didn’t believe he could possibly be doing anything legal, and he had reacted the way he always did: defensively. Sullenly. He had said nasty things and had let her believe that she meant nothing to him. He had hurt her, and God would surely make him pay.

  Meghan had suggested that he take the paycheck she’d p
assed on for Jimmy—a generous welcome-to-the-family gesture—and find himself a new place to live, some decent little apartment a world away from Serenity. His initial response had been negative, but now, after seeing the look Jamey had given him when he’d walked through the bar and the run-in with Cassie, he thought that maybe Meghan had the right idea. He could save himself a world of hurt if he stayed away from Serenity until this was all over and done with, until Remy Sinclair could help him convince them that it had all been part of the FBI’s plan.

  But if he left for however long this damn thing took, there might not be a place for him to come back to. If he removed himself totally from their lives, they would find it easier to forget and move on. As long as he left here every morning and came back here every evening, they would have to acknowledge him. They couldn’t just wash their hands of him.

  Feeling weary and sore, he got up from the bed and pulled on a T-shirt and shoes. It was nearly six-thirty, time for him to take over downstairs. He doubted that Jamey expected him to show, doubted even more that his old man wanted him to, but he headed that way anyway. Tending bar would be an easier way to spend the evening than moping over Cassie.

  As he walked down the hall between the stairs and the bar, Jamey looked but didn’t say a thing until Reid moved past him and picked up a clean towel from the stack under the bar. “What are you doing?”

  Reid tried to check his frustration. “What I’ve done every weeknight since last September—working. You have a problem with that?”

  Jamey shrugged. “It’s a lousy job for someone who wears a suit and drives a fancy car for Mr. Jimmy Falcone.”

  Gritting his teeth on a curse, Reid stared off at a distant wall until he could respond with some measure of calm. “You want to fire me? Go ahead. You want to kick me out of your place upstairs? It won’t be the first time.” But it would definitely be the worst.

  His old man started to turn away, then swung back. “Why are you doing this? Wasn’t your life tough enough without you going out looking for something to make it tougher? Wasn’t it already hard enough without you giving everyone the best reason in the world to distrust you more than they ever did?”