Lovelace, Merline

by Dark Side of Dawn

  "The next, it seemed, her heart muscle gave out and she collapsed in my arms. She needed me then. She cried for me to hold her, begged me to keep the shadows at bay while we searched for a donor heart."

  A fist wrapped around Jo's throat. How sad, how unbelievably sad, that Alex could arrange for Sergeant McPeak's daughter to receive a kidney transplant, but all his millions couldn't buy his own wife a heart.

  She kept silent, hurting for the man next to her, but more convinced by the moment that she wasn't the one to erase his painful memories.

  Alex didn't agree. That much was evident from the way he turned to her and reached out, his knuckles white as he grasped her hands.

  "I won't make the same mistakes with you I did with Katherine."

  "Alex—"

  "You won't be bored, I promise! We'll travel. We'll ski St. Moritz, cruise the Aegean. I'll get back into politics when, and only when, you're ready." His fingers gripped hers. "Before his last stroke, my grandfather was pressuring me to run for governor. But I've told him what I do with my life depends on you."

  Appalled that she'd somehow let matters reach this state, Jo tried to find a graceful way to tell him that the idea of exchanging her flight suit for designer gowns seriously turned her off.

  "I'm not now nor will I ever be first-lady material. I'm a helicopter pilot. It's what I do. What I love."

  Graceful, she was discovering, didn't work with Alexander Taylor.

  "The two professions aren't incompatible," he replied, his eyes glittering. "The only difference is that you'll pilot your choice of aircraft from your own fleet."

  He thought that inducement would sway her, she realized incredulously. He really believed she was so materialistic as to marry a man just to acquire a fleet of aircraft.

  As shamed now as she was appalled, she tugged on her hands. He released them, only to slide an arm around her waist and haul her up against his chest. Jo planted her palms against the navy blazer, holding him off.

  "Alex, listen to me. I came down here today to return the title to the Sikorsky and the phone you sent me. Everything happened between us too fast. I'm not ready to give you what you want from me. I'm not sure I have it to give."

  "Oh, but you do." He leaned forward, forcing her to bend back against his arm. "You have exactly what I want."

  "No!"

  "Yes, my darling."

  "Dammit, I said no, Alex!" Anger flared again, hot and swift. "I'm not playing games with you."

  "Of course you are. And I play this one well, Joanna. Very well."

  She'd forgotten his strength. Forgotten the hard muscle under his hand-tailored clothes. Steel banded her waist, cutting off her air.

  "Don't make me hurt you," she warned, her voice dangerous.

  If he hadn't laughed then, or grabbed her wrist and tried to twist it behind her, she might not have brought him down with quite so much force. But the supreme arrogance behind his assumption that she'd take whatever he chose to give ignited Jo's fury.

  She laid him flat on his back with a simple wrestling maneuver, one she'd learned from her brothers. Spinning, she ducked under his arm, grabbed his wrist with both of hers, and flipped him neatly off his feet and onto his back. He hit the floor with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs.

  He was still sprawled on the floor, his face suffused with disbelief, when she dug into her purse for the title to the Sikorsky and the phone.

  "I'll walk down to the helipad. Doug Brakeman can fly me home or drive me into the city to catch a train."

  "Joanna...!"

  "Good-bye, Alex."

  John Tyree Taylor died while Jo was still in the air on her way back to Washington. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery the following Saturday morning.

  The phone calls began the day after the funeral.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Huddled before her television that rainy October morning, Jo watched the solemn processional and service for former President Taylor. The passing of the great man saddened her, as it did much of the world.

  The close-ups of Alex standing stiff-shouldered in the cold drizzle triggered emotions of a different sort.

  Her anger had cooled enough to appreciate his pain. Jo had only to glimpse his rigidly controlled expression to guess at the desolation behind it. He stood a step or two away from the other dignitaries, as if distancing himself from others in his grandfather's death as he had in his own life.

  Even now, after stumbling across a part of his personality she considered seriously flawed, Jo's breath caught at his sheer, physical perfection. Disdaining an umbrella, he stood bare-headed and impervious to the elements. Rain glistened on hair as sleek as coal and dampened the shoulders of his black wool topcoat. He kept his ice-blue gaze trained on the flag-draped casket, ignoring the cameras that tried to catch some flicker of his intensely private grief.

  Irrationally, guilt nipped at Jo as she watched the man who had so fascinated and infuriated her say his last farewells. Knowing how burdened Alex was with his grandfather's illness, she'd wanted to break things off gently, diplomatically. Instead, she'd tossed the man on his back and stormed out, leaving him to deal with her defection and his grandfather's death within the space of a few hours.

  Some diplomat she'd make!

  Wrapping her arms around her jean-clad legs, Jo propped her chin on her knees. She knew in her heart she'd made the right decision. She didn't have the makings of a politician's wife. She got in enough trouble around the squadron for shooting her mouth off. Alex would've had to hire a small army of spin doctors to work damage control every time she put her foot in it.

  Sighing, she stayed glued to the television all during that gloomy morning.

  As if the skies had wept on Saturday in final tribute to J. T. Taylor, Sunday dawned bright and cold and clear. Used to Wisconsin winters, the thirty-eight-degree chill invigorated Jo. Or maybe it was the sense of having stepped back from the brink of a troubled relationship that made her decide to put the MG's top down, drive by a friend's apartment, and convince Melissa Parks she wouldn't freeze her butt off during an expedition to the Eastern Shore for a last crab crawl before the season ended.

  A bubbly, auburn-haired maintenance officer, Melissa buried her nose in the cowl-necked sweatshirt she wore under a windbreaker and kept Jo laughing during the drive with her scatological description of the inner workings of a Huey. They chowed down at a crab shanty overlooking the shimmering gray-blue Chesapeake. The waitress dumped steamed crustaceans by the trayful onto the brown butcher paper covering their table. Their wooden mallets flew, whacking down in reckless abandon, cracking the bright red tangle of claws, legs, and backs. Fiery spices burned in the tiny cuts on Jo's fingers made by the ragged shell shards as she dug out the delicate meat. Washed down with a local beer that pleased even her discriminating palate, the crab and lively conversation banished her lingering regret over the way things had ended with Alex.

  It wasn't until she'd dropped Melissa off late that afternoon and snuggled down in front of the TV to watch the Washington Redskins take on the Dallas Cowboys that she discovered things hadn't ended quite as completely as she'd thought.

  The phone rang with less than two minutes to play in the final quarter. Sure it was her brother Dave calling to crow, as he did every time her adopted 'Skins went down to ignominious defeat, she snatched up the receiver.

  "Don't write them off yet. They've still got a minute plus to throw a Hail Mary, recover the ball, and take it in for a win."

  A small silence greeted that bit of wishful thinking.

  "I haven't written anything off, Joanna, including us."

  Jo shot up, clutching the University of Wisconsin throw she'd draped over her knees.

  "Alex?"

  "I've missed you." The strain of the past few days echoed in his husky voice. "More than I thought possible, given all that happened after you left."

  Pity tugged at her, overlaying the harsh memories of their last meeting.


  "I'm so sorry about your grandfather."

  "Thank you."

  His quiet grief moved her unbearably.

  "I'm sorry about what happened between us in the garden room, too," she said softly.

  He blew out a long breath. "Can you forgive me for that?"

  "Now I can." She eased back against the couch, only peripherally aware that the football game had ended. "I was pretty pissed at the time, though."

  "Yes, I formed that impression."

  She had to smile at that dry understatement.

  "We'll start again, Joanna. Take things easier, now that my grandfather... Now that I can devote all my time and attention to you."

  Jo gripped the phone, her smile slipping. "I don't think that's a good idea."

  "Devoting all my time to you? You're all I have now, my darling."

  Guilt dug into her like a sharp, roweled spur. Doggedly, she persisted. As much as she hated to add to his inner turmoil the day after his grandfather's funeral, she had to make him understand it was over.

  "No, I meant starting again. We're too different. We have different needs. I don't think we should see each other anymore."

  "Of course we should. I'll send a driver for you tomorrow evening. We'll take that cruise on the Potomac I promised you."

  "It's not working between us, Alex. Let it go."

  "We'll make it work."

  "You seem to have a problem with the word no," she replied on a small laugh, trying to make a joke of it.

  He failed to see the humor. His voice dropped to a low, caressing intensity.

  "I need you, my darling. I need to hear your voice, see your smile light up your face. I want to bare your beautiful breasts again and make slow, erotic love to you."

  The thought of exposing herself to him another time sent a shudder rippling down Jo's spine.

  "Yes, well, we all want things we can't have at times. I'm sorry, Alex. I don't want to see you anymore. Please, just accept that." Joanna—

  She'd had enough. "I've got an early flight tomorrow. I need to get some sleep. Good night, Alex."

  That hit a nerve. Sudden, whipping anger leaped across the phone.

  "Your dammed job! That's what's holding you back, isn't it? You carry this burden of misplaced loyalty to that uniform you wear."

  "Misplaced?"

  He ignored the warning note. "If you want to serve your country, think how much more you could accomplish as the wife of a governor, or even the President."

  Irritated now, Jo didn't hold back. "If I were interested in politics instead of flying, I'd run for office, not marry into it. I don't see myself serving as someone else's shadow."

  He gave a slow hiss. "That's what Katherine said. She didn't appreciate how much I needed her. I didn't show her how much I needed her."

  Katherine again. If Jo had been searching for additional reasons to end the relationship, his strange love-hate fixation on his dead wife would have done it.

  "I won't make that mistake with you, Joanna. We'll be a team. Together, we'll—"

  "No, Alex! No. No. No."

  That silenced him for several seconds.

  "I'll call you tomorrow," he said finally, his voice cold and tight. "When you can discuss this more rationally."

  "Don't call. Don't push. Don't—"

  "Good night, Joanna."

  The line went dead.

  Punching the off button, Jo threw the phone into the sofa cushion. Dammit! What was his problem? What was her problem, that she couldn't seem to get her message across? Fuming, she tossed aside the throw rug. Her stockinged feet hit the floor with a thump.

  A glance at the clock showed her it was still early, not quite nine, but she had a 6:00 a.m. flight tomorrow. She needed to get some quality sack time, as impossible as that seemed at the moment. She'd take a hot shower, she decided. Lay out her uniform for tomorrow. Try to calm down and put Alex out of her head.

  The shower helped. So did the routine tasks of buffing her boots and laying out clean black cotton underwear and the black crewneck T-shirt she wore over her sports bra. She was almost ready to climb into bed when she remembered that she wanted to take her service skirt to the cleaners tomorrow. And the red and black plaid blazer, Jo recalled, padding to the closet.

  Hoping the sherry she'd splashed on her sleeve in the Garden Room at Bella Vista hadn't left a permanent stain, she pulled out the blazer and checked the cuff. It showed a yellowish tint at the edge, which the cleaners should be able to get out. She was folding the jacket, getting ready to toss it over the skirt on the arm of a chair, when she caught a faint rustle of paper. Sliding a hand inside the pocket, she retrieved a folded note.

  Dr. Russ. In the aftermath of her eventful last meeting with Alex, she'd forgotten all about the phone number he'd slipped into her pocket.

  Jo saw it when she unfolded the paper. And five words.

  Call me. It's most urgent.

  Jo stared down at the writing, a frown pulling at her brow. For some reason, the loops and swirls looked familiar. Where had she...?

  Suddenly, her heart pounded. She remembered exactly where she'd seen that distinctive scrawl before. Spinning on her heel, she darted into the spare bedroom and dug through the pile of mail and papers on her desk.

  The black-and-white photo she'd found stuffed in the mailbox the night after her dinner at the White House lay at the bottom of the pile. Jo snatched it up and flipped it over. The message leaped out at her, as it had the night she'd received it.

  Be careful. Very careful.

  Jo swallowed a lump of surprise and confusion. The handwriting on the back of the photo matched that of the note exactly, right down to the elegant loops on the L's and the swirls on the tail of the Y.

  She'd assumed the photographer... what was his name? Stroder. That was it. Stroder. She'd thought he'd sent the photo as some kind of snide warning that she was out of her league with Alex. Obviously, she'd thought wrong.

  Dr. Russ had sent it, although Jo couldn't imagine why he'd felt compelled to warn her at that point. Or why he'd waylaid her in the hall as he had at Bella Vista.

  Laying the note beside the photo, Jo reached for the desk phone. A woman answered at the number Dr. Russ had scribbled.

  "I'm sorry," she said after Jo had identified herself and asked to speak to the historian. "My husband went... uh..." She gave a fluttery laugh. "I seem to have forgotten where. But he'll be back tomorrow. I remember that. Shall I have him call you?"

  "Yes, please."

  "You'd better give me your name again, dear. I'll write it down. My memory isn't quite what it used to be these days."

  Jo's answering machine was blinking when she arrived home early the next evening. Sure enough, there was a message from the professor asking her to contact him immediately.

  And three from Alex.

  Her mouth tight, she listened to his messages. The first was almost playful, with no reference to their argument last night. The second sounded a bit cooler. The third demanded a return call as soon she walked in the door.

  Irritated all over again, Jo strode to her office and retrieved Dr. Russ's note. With the cordless phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, she wandered into the kitchen. The historian answered just as she was reaching into the fridge for a Coke.

  "Hi, Dr. Russ. It's Jo West. I apologize for taking so long to call."

  "I understand. These past weeks have been a... difficult time for all of us."

  More difficult than he knew.

  "I hope you're going to explain the warning you gave me at Bella Vista... and the one you wrote on the back of that photograph you sent me."

  His breath hissed out. "Can you meet me? Tonight? I must speak with you."

  "You are speaking to me," she pointed out, rather unnecessarily, she thought.

  "Some matters are best not discussed over a phone. Or between you and Alex."

  "There is no me and Alex," she said sharply.

  "Does he know that?"

  She
popped the top on her Coke, scowling at the fizz that bubbled out. "I've told him. Several times."

  "We must meet," the professor pressed. "You live in Maryland, don't you? In Fort Washington? I could drive over there, or we could meet in Alexandria at..." He groped for a well-known area eatery. "At Gadsby's Tavern. Are you familiar with it?"

  Jo wasn't particularly thrilled at the thought of battling rush-hour traffic again tonight, but the historian's urgency and the three annoying phone calls from Alex prompted her to agree.

  "Yes, I know it."

  They settled on seven-thirty, which gave her time to change and fight her way across the Woodrow Wilson Bridge to Alexandria.

  It took her less than a half hour to exchange her green bag and boots for slimming wool slacks in a pale oatmeal, a jewel-necked black sweater, and a leather jacket that skimmed her hips and looked great when dressed up with a flowery scarf. A quick brush through her hair and she was ready to tackle the Beltway.

  The night air carried a distinct chill by the time she backed the MG down the drive. Propping an elbow against the closed window, Jo toyed absently with the loose tendrils as she drove the darkened streets to Indian Head Highway.

  This whole business with Alex had taken such a bizarre twist. She'd waltzed into what she'd thought was a storybook romance. Now, she was wiggling out of a decidedly uncomfortable situation.

  What was it with her and relationships? Less than six months ago, her short-lived engagement to another pilot had gone sour because they'd ended up competing with each other within the squadron. Now her tenuous relationship with Alex had hit the skids.

  Maybe she expected too much from a man. Maybe she didn't know what the heck to expect. Maybe... She grimaced. Maybe she shouldn't have cut Deke Elliott off at the knees when he'd tried to warn her about Alex.

  She hadn't seen Deke in days. He'd flown several overnight sorties, pulled alert, and been off for the past two days. He didn't know she'd returned the title to the Sikorsky or that she'd tossed Alex on his head—literally and figuratively.

  It galled her to admit Deke had been right all along. Contrary to her blithe assertion, she hadn't kept both hands on the controls during her tumultuous ride with Alex. Hell, she wasn't even sure she had a handle on the uneasy situation now.