Never Trust A Lady

by Kathleen Creighton

  Connie’s eyes flared briefly. She gave a short, hard laugh. “You know, dear Jane, I actually believe you. Your eyes, you know. They simply don’t know how to lie. So, perhaps court is in session, after all. Well, now…” She studied her little jeweled pen, thoughtfully clicking it, while Jane’s heart began a slow, heavy thumping. “This does change things, doesn’t it? It would be much more tidy, much less cumbersome, I think, if I killed you now. I’m so sorry, Jane…it’s not personal, you know. And I do promise, you won’t feel any pain at all…”

  Like a snake striking, Connie’s hand shot out and clamped with a grip of iron around Jane’s wrist. The jeweled pen flashed as it caught the light Jane gasped when she felt the needle prick her skin.

  Shock rocketed through her, turning her blood to ice water. But it didn’t stop her from whipping her Roy Rogers cap pistol from its hiding place and bringing it down with all her might across Connie’s forearm.

  It made a most satisfying sound

  There were other sounds, then, too. Connie’s shriek of rage. a clatter as the jeweled pen hit the floor and went skittering away under the desk. Some loud thumps and bangs, and Tom’s voice shouting, “Stay where you are-don’t move!”

  She tried to turn toward him, but the room tilted alarmingly. There was another, louder bang, followed by a crashing and tinkling, as if a crystal rain were falling. And then a strange male voice bellowing, “Get down on the floor! Get down on the floor!”

  And the next thing she knew, that’s where she was. Tom’s face was looking down at her, wearing a truly magnificent scowl. She wanted to reach up and touch his face, smooth away the frown, but her arms wouldn’t obey her. She heard a strange, garbled voice say, “How is she?” And then a second face joined Tom’s, the two hovering above her like pale twin moons.

  Her last thought was Aaron Campbell? But that makes no sense at all!

  “I can’t believe I hit a federal agent,” Jane said with a groan.

  It was the third or fourth time she’d said it, but she sounded a lot stronger and a lot less groggy now, and the nasty little fear-pulse that had been throbbing in Hawk’s belly was finally beginning to subside.

  She was lying on a gurney, much against her will, in the parking lot behind Connie’s Antiques. Hawk was sitting beside her on a yellow plastic chest that belonged to the fire department‘s paramedics, most of whom were busy at the moment tending to Aaron Campbell. The FBI man lay a short distance away on a stretcher with his arms encased in inflated pressure bandages meant to control the bleeding from several deep lacerations he’d sustained breaking through the shop’s front window. Connie had been whisked away to God knows where.

  There was a measure of privacy there, “privacy” being a relative term, considering there was a small army of men wearing navy blue windbreakers with “FBI” in block letters on the back swarming over every inch of the store and the blue van, and another handful armed with high-tech rifles standing around in baseball caps and flak jackets, not to mention the four guys wearing berets who were engaged in polite conversation with two others dressed in conservative gray suits. But at least the alley had been roped off with crime-scene tape, and Sheriff Taylor’s people were doing a good job of keeping both the news media and the merely curious confined to the town square.

  “I think he’ll probably forgive you,” Hawk said gruffly.

  He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. They felt too big, clumsy and useless for what he wanted to do, which was touch her face in awe and thanksgiving, stroke her hair, gather her oh so gently against his heart. He also wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled.

  He didn’t know what to do with his eyes, either. What he was doing was looking everywhere, anywhere but at Jane, because she was the only thing in this world he wanted to see. He couldn’t look at her, even though he feared she’d disappear in a puff of smoke if he didn’t, because he feared what she might see in his face even more.

  So he kept his hands clasped tightly between his knees and followed the comings and goings of the army of law enforcement personnel with burning eyes, while every nerve in his body hummed and vibrated to the same frequency as hers.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Jane asked.

  Aaron may forgive me, Tom, but will you?

  “Yeah,” Tom muttered, clearing his throat. “Just needs some stitches. They’d have taken him before now, but he won’t let ’em. Not until they’ve got things wrapped up here.”

  He looks so angry, she thought. As if he can’t stand the sight of me. I don’t blame him.

  She wanted to touch him so badly. She wanted to reach out and put her hand on his face, and smooth away the frown and make him smile again, that sweet, crooked smile that made her ache inside. But he looked so grim and isolated, so unreachable. And as if she were still feeling the effects of Connie’s poison, her arms wouldn’t obey her wishes.

  She wanted his arms around her, holding her close, keeping her safe, keeping her warm. Even if she didn’t deserve it. Her body trembled with wanting. How will I survive, she wondered, if he never holds me again?

  A white-haired man dressed in a suit and tie and wearing latex gloves came stumping up to them. He had a small plastic bag in each hand, one containing Connie’s little jeweled pen, the other a vial containing a small amount of murky-looking liquid. He gave Jane a nod, then spoke briskly to Tom, who’d gotten to his feet at his approach.

  “Tests’ll confirm it, but I’m sure it’s…oh, well, forget the scientific name-let‘s just say it’s a tranquilizer, enough to bring down a bull elephant. You were lucky, young lady.” His bristly white eyebrows twitched in Jane’s direction. “Looks like she barely nicked ya. Otherwise, you’da been dead for sure.”

  And with that he took himself off, continuing on his way across the parking lot and around the corner with the stoop-shouldered, slightly sideways gait of the still-vigorous elderly. Jane drew a shaken breath and said, “Who was that?”

  Hawk didn’t answer. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t, not without remembering the way he’d felt when she’d hit the floor right in front of him. He never wanted to feel like that again in his life. He didn’t think he’d be able to survive it.

  “Gotta…talk to Aaron,” he mumbled, and lurched off to where the FBI agent was about to be loaded into a waiting EMS wagon.

  “Hey, Hawkins,” Campbell greeted him, sounding weak but grinning anyway.

  “Hey, yourself,” Hawk said gruffly. “I’d shake your hand, but…”

  “Yeah, looks like I’m kinda tied up at the moment.”

  “Yeah, well…” Hawk stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and shifted uneasily; moments like this were never easy for him. He coughed and muttered, “Just wanted to say thanks, before they, uh, haul you in for repairs.”

  “Hey, you too.”

  “Oh-well.” Hawk made a dismissive gesture and looked off into the distance. Campbell followed his gaze.

  “That’s one helluva lady,” he said softly. “But I expect you know that, don’t you?”

  Hawk didn’t answer. Two paramedics hoisted the FBI agent’s gurney onto its wheels and began rolling it toward the waiting van. Campbell lifted his head. “Hey, Hawk?”

  “Yeah?” He took a few steps, keeping pace with the gumey.

  “Take good care of her, you hear?”

  He halted. “Hey, wait It’s not like that.”

  “The hell it’s not.” The gumey slid into the van, but Campbell’s eyes still followed him, glowing like coals in his pale face. “Look man, just because it’s never happened to me, doesn’t mean I don’t know it when I see it. You let that lady go, you’re crazy, you hear me? Crazy.”

  The van’s door began to close. The last thing Hawk heard Aaron Campbell say before they did was, “Hey-ask her if she’s got a daughter!”

  Jane watched the two men in immaculate gray suits walk away across the dusty parking lot and disappear around a corner.

&
nbsp; “What’d they want?” Tom growled, startling her. She was still a little bemused, and hadn’t heard him come back.

  “Oh,” she said, smiling up at him from the gurney’s hard pillow, “they were just being nice.” Under the edge of the rough EMS blanket, she was fingering a plain white business card.

  Tom was glowering-there was no other word for it. “They’re CIA.”

  “Yes,” Jane murmured, “I know.” And they asked me to give them a call-me! Jane Carlysle. She wouldn’t, of course; the very idea was, well, preposterous. But still…the CIA.

  Jane Carlysle…spy.

  Oh my.

  “They’re gonna want to take you over to the hospital…check everything out,” Tom said, still scowling at her, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “Just to be on the safe side.”

  “Yes, I guess.” She took a deep breath. Her heart began to hurt. She pressed her fist into her stomach and felt her pulse bang against her knuckles. “And what about you? What’s next for you. Tom?”

  He shifted restlessly and looked off into the distance. “I’ll be going back to Washington.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Of course.” Please, God. don’t let me fall apart.

  “I’ve got some things to do there. There’s…someone I need to see.”

  “I see,” she whispered, though she didn’t, not at all. I won’t ask if he’s coming back… I won’t. Please, God, don’t let me ask “There’s someone…I have to say goodbye to.” His voice sounded strange…thick and husky.

  Jane’s breath seemed to catch in her throat. She could only stare at him, suspended in a strange, shimmering state, like a newly emerging chrysalis. Do I dare? If he would only look at me…

  She never knew where she got the strength to say the words, calmly, quietly. “When are you leaving?”

  “I dunno…depends.” And now at last he was looking at her, rocking a little onto the balls of his feet, then back again, as if he felt ill at ease. His frown seemed less severe than usual. Almost wary. “I’ve got a few things to wrap up around here first Then, I guess it pretty much depends on when they let you go.”

  “I don’t understand.” But she did. Oh, she did. And she felt as if her heart would fly right out of her chest. Surely he would see it. Surely he must know.

  “I want…I’d like you to come with me.”

  Somehow she knew that was all he would say. All he could say. And it was enough.

  She reached for his hand. He took hold of hers like a drowning man thrown a rope, and after a moment, raised it, closed his eyes and pressed his lips against her palm. She felt a shudder pass through him. and then a sigh.

  Epilogue

  “This isn’t quite what I expected,” Jane said, laughing nervously.

  The woman walking beside her chuckled. It was a warm sound, to match her warm brown eyes, which glowed like fine old brandy when she smiled. “No, 1 suppose not.” She shook her head and sighed. “Tom always did lack a certain degree of…”

  “Tact?” suggested Jane.

  Emma Hostetler smiled. “Grace. When it comes to matters of the heart, Tom is, well, rather like a newborn foal trying out its legs for the first time. He had so little experience with love, you know, when he was growing up.”

  “No,” said Jane, “I didn’t know.” She knew so little about the man she loved. Learning about him was still a new and exciting voyage of discovery, and every detail a small source of awe.

  Emma sighed. “Oh, yes…his father was seldom there, of course, and his mother…” She paused and made a gesture, as if brushing away a fly. “Well. That’s for Tom to tell you. Let’s just say, I don’t know what might have happened to him if…”

  “He hadn’t met your daughter…Jenny.”

  Why doesn’t this hurt more? she wondered, lifting her face to the April sun, drawing in a deep breath filled with the smells of new grass, flowers…lilacs. This was his wife’s home, these were her parents. She’d felt so scared about coming here. But from the moment she’d met Emma Hostetler and her gaunt, twinkly-eyed, pipe-smoking, college-professor husband, Frank. she’d felt warm. Embraced. Accepted.

  “He told me he loved her very much. I wonder if he’ll ever-” She stopped, and sighed.

  Emma looked at her in surprise. “Of course he will. He loves you. Anyone can see that. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

  Jane laughed a little and said, “Oh…well, I don’t know about that. He says…”

  “If you’re waiting for Tom. to tell you,” Emma said dryly, stooping to clip a daffodil stern, “don’t hold your breath.” She dropped the flower into the basket on Jane’s arm and paused, turning to look up at the gracious Georgian house they’d left behind. Her face was gentle, and a little sad. “He never told Jenny, either, you know. I think maybe that’s why it’s been so hard for him to let her go.”

  Jen …

  Hawk stood in the upstairs corner bedroom that had been hers, looking down on the sweep of lawn and the gardens beyond. The casement windows were open to let in the soft April breezes, and the voices of the two women walking there drifted up to him like the lazy murmur of bees. As he watched, a low ripple of laughter seemed to stir across his auditory nerves like a playful sprite playing peekaboo with his memory.

  You love her, Tom?

  He took a deep breath, trying to ease the ache inside him.

  Then why don’t you say it?

  His jaw tightened and his eyes burned. He’d loved Jen…so much.

  The laughter skirled like a breeze around the corners of his mind. He thought it sounded a trifle smug. Of course you did.

  The air seemed full of pollen suddenly. He felt something building like a sneeze at the back of his throat, behind his eyelids. Because he’d never told her.

  But I knew. I always knew.

  “I’m always going to love you, Jen,” he whispered. “Always.”

  I know that, too. And now you have someone else to love, as well

  But can I? he wondered. He’d loved Jen, and then Jason. He didn’t know how to love someone else.

  Of course you do, you dummy. I taught you, didn’t I?

  To his surprise, Hawk found that he was smiling. He drew another long breath, and on its exhalation, heard the laughter go tumbling away like a butterfly dancing on a sunbeam, sending back a whisper.

  It wouldn’t hurt to tell her, you know.

  The breeze came through the window and touched his face like a blown kiss. And for a moment he thought he smelled lilacs…

  “Oh, I love lilacs,” Jane said with a sigh. “I think they’re my favorite.”

  Emma snipped a fat cluster and held it to her own nose for a moment before she handed it to her. “They were Jennifer’s favorite, too,” she said. And then, seeing the shadow that crossed Jane’s face, “What is it, dear?”

  Ashamed, she shook her head and tried to laugh it off. But there was something about Emma… She took a deep breath and blurted out, “I’m not anything like her, you know. Tom says I’m not, even though…”

  Emma laughed. “No, you and Jennifer are quite different. For one thing, she was an only child, and undoubtedly spoiled. But supremely self-confident. You…” She paused to give her a thoughtful look. “Life has treated you a bit more harshly, I think. You’re probably a little slower to trust.”

  Trust. There was an ache in Jane’s throat. She rubbed it absently and murmured, “But he says I remind him of her. What if…”

  “You’re wondering whether he only loves you because you remind him of Jenny.”

  “Yes,” said Jane miserably.

  Emma said nothing for a moment, while she added one more sprig of lilac to the overflowing flower basket. Then she stripped off her gloves and gently took Jane’s hand.

  “Let me tell you how you’re like Tom’s wife,” she said as they walked together, back toward the house. “Let’s see…you’re independent, giving, passionate, compassionate. Warm. Very loving. All those things.” She took a deep breath and lifted h
er face, for a moment, to the morning sun, as if she somehow found it a comfort. “But where you’re most like her, I think, is that you have an enormous capacity for joy. Jenny had such enthusiasm for life. She brightened your spirits just by walking into a room. And so do you, dear, in your own way.” She gave Jane’s hand a squeeze and then released it. “Tom needs that. He needs you.” She laughed, that low, throaty chuckle that made her seem so much younger than she was. “Even though he may never tell you.”

  “But…he does tell me,” Jane said, suddenly understanding. “In his own way…every single day. In little things he does. The way his face lights up when he sees me, as if he’s glad I’m there. Anyone can say it-I should know, my ex-husband used to say it all the time. But Tom makes me feel it. He makes me feel…loved.”

  Yes…

  Jane glanced at Emma. Had she spoken? It didn’t seem so. and yet the word seemed to hang in the air like the shimmer of sunshine, or the whisper of a breeze.

  Up ahead, she could see Tom coming out of the house, with Frank Hostetler behind him. Even from this distance she could see that he was smiling his familiar lopsided smile. Her heart gave a great surge of gladness.

  And Hawk’s heart answered, Yes! It was all he needed, all he’d been waiting for…searching for. That look. That sudden brightenting…the flash of light in her sea-gray eyes that always made him think of the joyous leap of dolphins toward the sun.

  KATHLEEN CREIGHTON

  has roots deep in the California soil, but has relocated to South Carolina. As a child, she enjoyed listening to old-timers’ tales, and her fascination with the past only deepened as she grew older. Today she says she is interested in everything-art, music, gardening, zoology, anthropology and history, but people are at the top of her list. She also has a lifelong passion for writing, and now combines her two loves in romance novels.

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