“It wasn’t just the need to control my life,” Kate continued. “I got better grades, made the Law Review. It was a situation which would have ended a lot of relationships, but with Tag becoming more and more violent . . .”
“God, Kate, I’m sorry.” He also wanted his hands around the bastard’s throat, his fists pounding, pounding . . . indulging in a few moments of primitive uncontrolled rage, just like Kate’s monster with the stupid name.
“You can guess the rest,” Kate said. “The day the Bar results came out and Tag didn’t pass, it was the end of the world. I woke up in the hospital with a social worker staking out the place. I’ll never forget her. She was one of the truly dedicated. She had me in a home for battered women and was counseling me about a new life before I knew which end was up.” Kate chuckled. “Meg Dougherty. That woman changed my life. “But I shouldn’t have run so far, so fast. At the time it seemed the only thing to do. I had to get away from Tag. And I was ready to die before telling my parents how I’d messed up my life.”
“Had you married him?” His voice was steady, but Michael’s fists were clenched so tight, his nails dug into his palms.
“No, thank God. We were waiting until we were settled in jobs.”
“Amen!” Michael breathed. “But what was wrong with running away? Sounds like a good move.”
“I really wanted to be an attorney. Family Law. But I never tried for the Florida Bar. Being a lawyer was part of a past life. I couldn’t face it any more than I could face the ugly memories with Tag. So I settled for being Barbara Falk’s paralegal. I was hurt and scared. I simply turned off my life, refused to make the slightest effort toward a relationship with anyone else.”
“You can’t blame yourself, Kate. The guy was a Class A jerk.”
“I was a coward,” Kate countered flatly. “To protect myself, I built up walls of iron and was too scared to take them down. Even now . . .” Her voice caught in her throat. “Even now I’m terrified. I see my mistake, but can’t find the courage to fix it.”
“A lot of women have had to face this, Kate. Cops see it almost every day.”
“I know!” Kate wailed. “That makes it worse. I’m a wimp, a genuine wimp. Others deal with this. Why can’t I?”
He wanted to hold her, comfort her, but he was afraid to blow this moment all to hell. “Look, Kate—” Michael murmured.
A roar burst over the campground. A twenty-first century engine thundering full out, followed by every last amp of a boombox blasting “The Ride of the Valkyries.” Michael bounced off the tent flap, fumbled with the zipper, then charged outside. He paused, amazed, as a motorcycle tried to emulate the famous helicopter attack scene in Apocalypse Now. The bike charged over the Lyst Field, thundered through the campground, zigzagging in and out around the live oaks and scattered tents, finally turning onto the back road behind the kitchen and escaping toward the entrance, the music fading as the cycle hit the main road.
“Brocc,” Kate declared from just behind Michael’s shoulder. “He’s got a bike, and this is his kind of trick. It’s kind of funny, actually.”
Michael took a look at all the shadowed figures staggering out of the random clusters of tents. A child started to wail. “I guess,” he said, “but in this case his timing was really lousy.”
“I’d said it all,” Kate murmured hastily. “I ran away from everything, including my life. Period. End of story.”
Michael stood still, ostensibly looking down the now quiet road where the motorcycle had disappeared. If he took her in his arms, and she fought him . . . ?
Better to try than always wish he had.
Michael turned, enfolded Kate in his arms. Knowing he was grabbing a ticking bomb, he was poised for an explosion. She didn’t claw, box, or knee him in the groin. To his surprise, Kate’s stiffness didn’t last twenty seconds. She melted against him, burying her head in his shoulder.
The explosion was within himself. The searing warmth of man to woman, the ache of desire, unfulfilled. Michael never fought a tougher battle. He could feel her wariness. She was ready to run at the slightest wrong move. If he wanted any sort of future with this woman, now was the time to keep the lid on, go easy. Even if it killed him.
“I know I’m repeating myself,” Michael said, his lips brushing against her hair, “but I’m never going to force you, I’m never going to hit you. We may end up hurting each other, but it won’t be by abuse—physical or verbal—I promise you.” Darkness hid his grimace as he realized his anatomy was ignoring his words of reason. “And now,” he announced briskly, “you’d better go to bed before I forget I’m one of the nice guys. I’m heading for the shower house to cool off.”
Kate’s knees almost gave way. Relief, overwhelming relief. He wasn’t going to push her any farther. As Michael pulled away, cool night air rushed in, filling the space between them. She remained immobile, gazing out at the campsite which was once again settling into quiet after Brocc’s invasion. She could hear Michael stumbling around in the dark until he found a towel and the black T that passed for a nightshirt. As he passed her on the way to the wash house down by the lake, he touched her on the shoulder, murmured goodnight.
“Goodnight,” she whispered. And almost added, Thank you.
And then it hit her. Thanks for what? Kate staggered, grabbed a handful of tent to steady herself. Head whirling, stomach rebelling, she hung on. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Dredging it all up just to satisfy Michael’s curiosity. She’d known she shouldn’t go there. It was all back. The bone-crunching pain, the dark rainbow of bruises, the operations to wire her jaw, straighten her nose, implant new teeth, a pin in her arm.
The terrible humiliation of wondering why she had put up with it for five long years.
Of course, Tag hadn’t been so bad at first. Just rough. Insensitive to any feelings but his own. And she tolerated it because he swore he loved her. He cared. He wanted to be with her. So she put up with his moments of violence, let him tell her it was all her fault. That he had a right to be angry when she didn’t do things exactly the way he wanted them done. Exactly when he wanted them done.
Which made her an enabler. Over the years Tag’s violent episodes escalated from verbal abuse to physical, and she let him get away with it. Who else was going to love such a big ugly gawk of a girl?
Kate willed herself to let go of the tent. Stumbling, bumping into guy lines, she made her way to the back, out of sight of the other tents. Just short of a dense thicket of bushes, she fell to her knees, throwing up the beer, every last course of Feast. She heaved until there was nothing left but a nasty sourness in her mouth, a debilitating weakness in her body. On a shuddering breath, she collapsed back on her heels. She needed to find that bottle of water she’d never finished but she didn’t think she could get up.
“Kate? Kate, where are you?”
She hadn’t even heard Michael come back. He couldn’t see her like this!
As if she had a choice. What was one more humiliation? “Around here. In back,” she called, her voice so feeble she wondered if he would hear her.
“Water,” Kate gasped as Michael knelt beside her. “I just need some water to rinse my mouth.”
He was back in seconds, handing her the bottle, wiping wisps of hair away from her face, rubbing her back while she bent over, rinsed her mouth . “God, Kate, I’m sorry. I thought talking about it would help. I know it helped me to understand. I thought it would help you. I’m truly sorry. I said I’d never hurt you . . . and look what I’ve done.”
Kate straightened her back, laid the empty water bottle on the ground. “It’s not your fault, Michael. I have a feeling you were right the first time. I needed to look back, bring it all out in the open, face up to what happened instead of burying it under layers of fantasy and fear.”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t know, Kate. This is a pretty violent reaction.”
“To very violent actions. He nearly killed me, Michael. That’s what it took before I woke up to t
he fact I was living with a monster. The only thing that was my fault was continuing to allow him to abuse me.”
“But you left after that last time?”
“At long last, yes. I ran as far and as fast as I could and never looked back. The only way I could deal with it was never to think about it at all. My old life simply ceased to exist.”
“Kind of like the Witness Protection Program.”
Kate managed a wry smile. “I guess. I even changed my name. Legally. But sometimes . . . sometimes I’m still scared he’ll find me.”
“What about your parents?”
“I didn’t want them to know. They aren’t bad people, just busy. They would have blamed themselves and, truly, there was no one to blame but myself. I didn’t have to live like that. I should have written him off after that first rough date.”
“Do they know where you are?”
“I told them I was being stalked; that’s why I had to disappear. As a celebrity, mom could understand that. I call every few months, let them know I’m okay.”
“You’ve never gone home?” The shock in Michael’s tone cut through the cool night air.
“No. I haven’t seen them in over seven years. And don’t scold! They could have found me if they wanted to.” Why else had she lived in near poverty when her grandfather had set up a Trust Fund for her that had done nothing but grow for the past thirty years? She had to face it, she’d treasured the thought of her parents coming south to find her living in an aluminum shack of a mobile home.
Michael decided to keep his tongue between his teeth. Plenty of time to think all this through when the Florida sunshine was warming their bodies and brightening their outlook on life. “I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing,” he declared. “How about I grab a couple of cloaks and walk you down to the wash house? What’d you do with your nightshirt?”
Kate glanced at Michael’s black T-shirt, recalled the skimpy bikini beneath. No wonder he was freezing. Even through her misery she felt a flash of heat. Of blatant, frightening desire. Lust. Thank God the darkness concealed her shame. She was much too weak to do anything about it anyway. Fortunately, Michael would think she, too, was shivering from the cold.
“Good thought,” Kate mumbled as Michael heaved her to her feet. And then, suddenly, they were leaning into each other, clinging together, hugging close the warmth of friendship as if they’d never let go.
“It’s over, Kate,” Michael whispered with an underlying fierce anger even Kate’s numbed mind couldn’t miss. “It’s never going to happen again. You can trust me. I promise you that on my life, my honor . . . my mother’s honor. And, believe me, that’s considerable!”
Trust Michael to talk of honor when her body was burning . . .
Kate got a grip. Raising her head from the safety of his shoulder, she peered into the rough shadows of his face. “I believe you. It’s just . . . hard. I need time to get used to the idea.” Unfortunately, her body was running way ahead of her brain.
He allowed her to feel, as well as hear, his long-suffering sigh. “Don’t worry, Kate. I have no intention of doing anything tonight but help you get to bed. Alone.” He grasped her shoulders, held her away from him. “However, I make no promises for the future. I think it’s time you learned not every man rapes the woman he loves.”
Kate swayed. Michael tucked her into his side. “Okay, woman, time for bed. I promise you the world will be a better place when we get up in the morning.”
The woman he loves. Kate wondered if Michael had any idea of what he’d just said.
Chapter 18
“So how are things going?” Barbara Falk demanded at 9:01 on Monday morning.
That’s all she needed, Kate thought. With her eyes not yet fully open, her brain in idle, she had to find something to tell her boss without revealing the nuances, let alone the sometimes stirring drama, of her developing relationship with Michael Turco.
The spiders. That ought to do it. Barbara would be so horrified by the latest incident, she’d forget all about questioning Kate about Michael.
Except Barbara Falk was too good an attorney to be distracted from her goal, even by the horrendous tale of eight-legged jumping monsters the size of saucers. She made suitably shocked noises during Kate’s story, paid close attention to a summary of what little progress Michael’s investigation had made. Then, piercing her paralegal with a knowing eye, Barbara demanded, “How are you and Michael getting along?”
Kate turned eyes of perfect innocence on her boss. “Fine. We try not to get in each other’s way.”
“Is he reconciled to your fighting?”
Kate shrugged. “He’s not thrilled. It doesn’t matter.”
Attorney Falk fisted her hands on her well-padded hips and glared at her sole employee. “Katherine Knight, the man’s about as eligible as it gets! And lonely. His mother told me so. You’ve been alone with him in a tent, for heaven’s sake. More than once. Isn’t there anything there at all?”
What could she say? She didn’t want to lie. Barbara was too good a friend, Kate’s personal salvation since starting her new life in Florida.
“I’m sorry,” Barbara apologized, “I shouldn’t pry. “I–it’s just that I’m genuinely interested. I care about you, Kate. I’ve known Michael’s family for years. He’s good man. I’d hoped . . . I guess I hoped you’d fill a need in each other.”
“I’m the one who needs to apologize,” Kate said. “You’re right, Michael’s a good man. And, yes, there’s something there. But I have a lot of personal history that’s getting in the way. I’m not sure where we’re going with this. Right now . . . it’s about as much of a dead end as the investigation.” Stalling for time, Kate flipped the switch on the surge protector, beginning the start-up process on her computer.
Barbara, refusing to take the hint, sneaked in one more question. “Have you seen Michael outside of business?” she asked.
“Once.” Kate picked up a pencil, stuck it in the electric sharpener, inspected the fine point with care. “And we’re having dinner at his parent’s house on Sunday. A late Easter since we were at an Event last weekend.”
Well, glory be! Barbara Falk turned her head to hide a grin. Obviously, Kate was concealing a good deal behind that poker face. Barbara couldn’t help but wonder just how much. The girl deserved far more in her life than she’d had these last few years. But was a meddling boss going to help? Or provide more heartache? Unfortunately, it seemed the jury was still out on Matchmaking by B. Falk..
“You’ll like Buck and Carrie,” Barbara said. “He built at least half the early developments around town. Doesn’t have to lift a finger these days—”
“Twin Lakes Village?” Kate interjected.
“Yes . . . and several of the high-rise condos along the gulf. Golden Acres, the single-family homes with all the lakes; Bay Village, the condos with all the trees and the mini golf course. If it was built in the seventies and eighties, Buck Turco was both developer and construction boss.”
“But his sons didn’t follow in his footsteps.”
“Michael took after another ancestor. His grandfather, Tate Turco, was chief of police for at least a quarter century. And his great-grandfather Pete Turco kept order when Golden Beach was a wild west boom town back in the twenties. Lots of law enforcement in the family. But Gayle, Michael’s sister, married a construction man, who works for Buck’s business. His name’s Dean, and Mark is destined to take over one of these days, if he ever settles down.” Reacting to the flash of anxiety in Kate’s eyes, Barbara added, “Yes, I know Mark’s got a long recovery, but he’ll make it, Kate. He’s got too many good genes not to be a fighter. He’ll be up and following in his father’s footstep before you know it.”
“Michael seems to think there’s some doubt about it.”
“Michael,” Barbara declared, “sees too much stark reality on a daily basis. It’s harder for him to be optimistic, to have faith. You could use a little more optimism yourself, Kate. Maybe yo
u two should work on it together.”
The only response Attorney Falk got from her paralegal was a reproachful glare.
“Have a good time on Sunday,” Barbara intoned. Give my regards to Buck and Carrie.” With an airy insouciance belied by her plump frame, Attorney Falk walked on toward her office.
When Sunday came, Kate’s inclination was to lock the door, draw the drapes and play “Nobody Home.” She heard the slam of the SUV’s door, footsteps, Michael’s knock on her door. But she was still seething with rage from Michael’s phone call the day before. Imagine the nerve! Asking if she had a dress. Of course she had a dress. Somewhere.
She had a great many clingy medieval gowns, he knew that, the miserable man. Why did he think she might not have a dress?
Because she hadn’t worn a dress since she couldn’t remember when. And any dress she might find in the wardrobe of extra clothes in her storage shed would be limp and probably mildewed, not to mention hopelessly out of fashion. If he’d mentioned dress a day earlier, she’d have had time to make one. She could have run through the pattern books at the fabric store . . . discovered the latest twenty-first century styles.
It was possible to buy a dress. People actually did that. Kate grimaced as she looked at the balance in her checkbook.
It wasn’t, she told herself sternly, as if she didn’t have enough money for a dress. There was always emergency money, the cushion from her grandfather that made her alternative independent life style possible. And, surely, Easter dinner with the Turco family constituted an emergency. Her face reflecting the conflict in her soul, Kate fished into a special file and hauled out the checkbook for her money market account. The last time she’d used it was when she’d bought the van.
And now it was Sunday. The dress, which made her look like the darling daughter her mother had always wanted, burned against her skin, was turning her legs to water. The elegant stranger in the mirror on the back of her narrow bedroom door was a person she’d spent all too many of her early years wanting to be. The same person she had rejected as a hopeless aspiration when she left for college, putting everything that was Manhattan behind her.
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