by Diana Palmer
“That Uncle Michael carries a spare pistol,” he replied. “But I couldn’t testify to that in court. And why should I arouse suspicion?”
Her face brightened, and she laughed softly. “Dear old Uncle Michael, and he didn’t even take credit for it.”
“He didn’t dare, honey. Not with his record.”
“But the man with the rifle, he would have seen him, wouldn’t he?”
He grimaced. “The policeman with the rifle was in the john, remember. Those necessary trips do happen, you know, despite police dramas that show the dedicated cop never leaving his post. But thank God Uncle Michael was around. When I think how it could have come out, despite all our plans...”
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered, “it was a near thing.”
“All too near,” he replied. His dark eyes searched hers, but she turned away abruptly.
So now it was over at last. And his conscience was clear. She had a horrible feeling that all of it, his protectiveness and his tender loving and the words he’d whispered to her, all of it, was just out of misplaced guilt. She couldn’t believe that he’d actually meant it.
“I’m glad we got at the truth,” she said. She folded her arms across her breasts defensively. “I don’t think Joe would have rested easy otherwise.”
He took a cigarette from his case and lit it quietly, watching her, as if he could see the doubts and fears and uncertainty written all over her.
“It’s too bad I didn’t listen to you in the beginning, Gaby,” he said. “It would have saved a lot of grief.”
“You didn’t know,” she said simply. She turned. “Marc, I’d like to get my things from the hotel and go back to my house. Dad’s been away a long time. He may have called, and I’d hate for him to worry.”
He studied the tip of his cigarette. “You’re sure you want to go?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she lied. She forced a smile. “Thanks for your hospitality. And for the loan of the clothes.”
“Gaby,” he began, as if he weren’t quite sure of what to say or how to say it.
“Could we go?” she persisted, her eyes wide and very green and threatening tears. “Please!”
“I wish you’d stay a little longer,” he said tightly. “You look bad.”
“Of course I look bad. Someone just tried to kill me!”
“That’s not what I meant!”
She threw up her hands. “If you won’t drive me, I’ll walk,” she said, fuming. Her mind was made up, and he wasn’t changing it. Her soft heart and even softer head had landed her in this mess in the first place. She wasn’t going to compound it by becoming his mistress. She didn’t even believe the marriage proposal anymore. She didn’t believe anything. Shock and stress and misery were warping her whole outlook.
With a muttered curse he followed her out the door.
They went to her hotel and got her purse and the few clothes she’d left there, and then they went to her house. He walked into the dark, cool hall with her, watching as she went to the phone and rewound the message tape. She listened for a long time, smiling faintly as she heard her father’s voice, calling to tell her that he was on his way home at last and would be there in another day.
“Dad’s coming home,” she said quietly. “I’m glad he wasn’t here while it was all going on. I try to protect him, you know. He’s not made of very sturdy stuff. Mother used to lead him around by the nose.”
“And now you do, huh?” he said, gently teasing.
She shrugged. “Now I do.” She forced herself to look up at him. “Thank you for all you did. And...and thank Uncle Michael again too. I owe him my life.”
“He won’t want it,” he said with a grin. “He doesn’t like being responsible for saving people. It embarrasses him.”
She smiled back. “Yes.”
“Anyway, you’re safe now. God works in mysterious ways.” He bent to crush out the cigarette in an ashtray. Then he moved just in front of Gaby, his face somber as he caught her arms and pulled her gently to him. “So now, suppose we get married and live happily ever after. Okay?”
She searched his dark eyes. “You don’t have to marry me...”
“Of course I have to,” he grumbled, and glared down at her. “Don’t you know how I feel?”
She shook her head, feeling shivery pleasure in her spine, because the look in his black eyes made her knees go weak. “No, I really don’t,” she confessed. “I thought... I thought maybe it was guilt.”
“Guilt?” He laughed bitterly. “Well, yeah, maybe it was a little. But there’s more than that. Much, much more.” He touched her hair lightly. “Okay, I’m going to tell you the truth this time,” he said, his voice deep with emotion. He took one of her hands in his and smoothed over its slender back. “That money your parents gave me was to pay back some very expensive vandalism that Joe and one of his buddies had done to an apartment on the East Side during a robbery attempt. The people said they wouldn’t prosecute if Joe would pay back the money. Your parents found out about it. They said if I’d drop you and let you think they’d bought me off, they’d give me the money to clear Joe and keep him out of jail.”
She burst into tears. She should have known, she thought miserably. She should have known it had to be something like that. Marc wouldn’t have taken money, not the way he’d felt about her, unless it had been a desperate situation. All this time she’d fed her hatred, misunderstood his overtures, turned away from him. And for nothing!
“Yeah, I figured you’d take it like that.” He sighed and wrapped her up in his big arms and rocked her while she cried. “Now, now, they thought they were protecting you. They didn’t want you to ruin your life by getting married to a grease monkey with no future. They wanted something better for you.”
“How could they?” she cried. “How could they? And I thought... Forgive me!”
“There’s nothing to forgive except my own stupidity,” he said at her ear, cuddling her closer. “I should have told you the truth long ago. I gave my word, Gaby, that I’d never tell you. But under the circumstances, the way things are now, I felt justified. Before we can have any future, we have to sort out the past.”
“But you paid the money back,” she said, searching his black eyes. “You gave it all back. How did you do all you’ve done? The parts and transmission business...?”
He smiled ruefully. “I guess I had a better brain than I realized, Gaby,” he replied. He kissed her nose. “And a lot of incentive. In the back of my mind I kept thinking that if I got rich, I could fit into your world. And maybe if I could teach you to forgive me, I could make you want me back.”
She bit her lower lip. Although he was smiling, it was no joke. He meant it.
“Didn’t you know that I never cared what you had?” she asked in a whisper. “Or what you were? I’d have married you and lived over the garage and learned how to help you fix cars. I loved you,” she breathed fervently. “I loved everything about you. Money never would have mattered to me if I’d had you.”
His eyes glazed over, and he bent to bury his face in her throat, his arms faintly tremulous as they crushed her against his big body. “Forgive me,” he whispered unsteadily. “I loved my brother. I had to put him first. As it was, I put him first one time too many. I smothered him. It’s been hell, knowing that. I guess that’s why I was so cruel to you. I was taking out my guilt on you.”
“I forgave you long ago,” she said, snuggling closer. Her arms caressed his back under his jacket, against the thin shirt. “Marc, do you still care a little?” she whispered, and stood very still while she waited for the answer.
“A little.” He laughed softly. “Oh, Gaby, you’re so blind. Everybody who saw us together knew how much I cared. Lana knew. She walked out on me because of it. Joe knew. We had fights over you like you wouldn’t believe. Even Smith kn
ew. And yet you can look at me and not see it or feel it or sense it.”
She drew away and looked up. Then she felt as if she were drowning in the warmth of his black eyes.
“Amore mia,” he whispered, “means ‘my love.’ You are. You always were. You always will be, until I die. Forever.” He bent and kissed her with slow, sweet reverence, tasting the tears that fell from her eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she whispered brokenly. “I never stopped, I never will...oh, Marc! Marc, dreams come true, they really happen!”
“I know. Now I know.” He bent and kissed her warmly for a long, long time, feeling the throb of her body and the heavy beat of his own pulse at his ribs. He smiled against her eager lips as he pulled her even closer. “Didn’t you even realize at the country club that night what I was trying to tell you? I was trying to work up enough nerve to tell you I loved you, that I wanted to marry you. Cutting Joe out never entered my mind. I was burning up after what we’d shared on the beach. I have all these sweet dreams of starting over. I was so sure...and then you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I couldn’t. I was afraid to trust my heart again,” she confessed miserably. She looked up at him with love all over her face. “I’m so sorry about Joe,” she began.
“Me too. I’m sorry we didn’t find out in time to save him. He was a pretty good boy.” He drew in a steadying breath. “Gaby,” he whispered, “what if we name our first son Joseph? How does that strike you?”
“Like lightning,” she murmured on a tremulous smile. She touched his face with a tender hand, loving the freedom she had now to touch him, to be possessive. “Can we really live together?”
“Sure. But we’ll get married first,” he told her. “And soon. Just in case,” he added with a wicked grin, and touched her stomach. “When does your father come back?”
“Dad!” She drew away, gasping. “I forgot all about him!”
“That’s no way to treat our son’s future grandfather,” he said, chiding.
“He’ll have so much to hear about,” she said with a smile. “And so much to be thankful for. I think he hated what Mother cooked up. He never would say a bad word about you in recent weeks.”
“I’m glad. I’ll try to set his mind at rest. I promise you that. Now. Suppose you make us some coffee?” he murmured, brushing a kiss across her mouth. “And we’ll talk about the ceremony.”
“What a delicious idea.” She laughed. She locked her fingers into his and led him into the big kitchen, her face bright and smiling, her hand curling lovingly into his. It was the most beautiful morning of her life. It was the beginning. A belated beginning, and all the nightmares were laid to rest at last. Joe would be pleased, she thought as Marc smiled down at her. Joe would be pleased.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A YEAR HAD passed since the gunman had come after Gaby in Marc’s apartment. They’d been married in a quiet ceremony barely a month later with Gaby’s father and Uncle Michael as witnesses. Her father had accepted the news of the engagement with obvious relief, and his halting explanation to his future son-in-law had been cut short by a beaming Marc, who was too happy to hold grudges.
Uncle Michael had consistently denied his part in saving Gaby from the gunman, but she knew, of course, because of what Marc had told her, that the old man was just denying it to stay out of prison. Nevertheless, she’d promised that he could be their children’s godfather, and he’d accepted that role with evident relish. Gaby only hoped that he wouldn’t take his duties too seriously. She didn’t really want her children schooled in subjects like the protection business.
She was almost through cleaning the white sidewalls on Marc’s 1956 Chevy, which they’d repainted the same bright red it had been in the old days. Marc didn’t know what she was doing; he’d told her to stay out of the sun. It was hot, and she was tiring easily these days. But it was a labor of love. They’d gone on their honeymoon to the Hamptons in the Chevy, and she had a special affection for the antique car.
“Where are you, babe?” Marc called from the house.
She glanced up, gnawing her bottom lip. “Uh-oh,” she said under her breath. She pushed a sweaty strand of long hair out of her eyes and stood up, touching a hand to her aching back. He was going to be difficult when he realized what she’d been doing, she just knew it.
She smoothed her gaily colored smock top down over the soft bulge of their first child and smiled guiltily as he bounded down the steps. This house was just minutes from the city, a lovely old stone house that had a history as charming as its setting on Long Island Sound. Gaby had loved it at first sight, and Marc had immediately given the real estate agent a down payment. It was perfect for a young family, and it had an enormous garage to house their cars.
“What do you think you’re doing, may I ask?” he burst out when he saw her. Sweaty hair, greasy hands, spotted maternity blouse, wet spots on her slacks. He threw up his hands. “What am I going to do with you?”
She wiped her nose, leaving another spot, and walked toward him with the water pail in her hand. “Well, the white sidewalls were dirty,” she mumbled.
“And you’re nuts!” he shot back. He looked formidable that way, hands on his lean hips, sexy as all get-out in his khaki slacks and white T-shirt. He looked bigger than life sometimes, very dark and muscular. She liked running her hands over his big body and watching him tremble softly. The passion they shared hadn’t diminished one bit, and the camaraderie had grown and grown. Gaby thought she’d never been so happy in her life. And now, with the promise of a child to complete it, she felt as if she had the world.
“Now, darling,” she said, sliding her body up against his to kiss his firm chin, “no fussing. You’ll upset the baby.”
“I’ll upset the baby,” he mimicked, still scowling at her with narrow black eyes. “What about the baby’s daddy, huh? What about—”
“Shh,” she whispered against his firm mouth, smiling as the anger drained suddenly out of him, and he wrapped her up in warm, protective arms. His kiss grew deeper, more intimate.
“Drop that pail,” he breathed huskily, talking against her mouth, “and let’s lie down and discuss this.”
“If we lie down together, we won’t discuss anything,” she whispered back. “And Uncle Michael is due here any minute for lunch, remember?”
He muttered something about Uncle Michael, and she laughed again.
“Later,” she whispered. “I promise.”
He let her go with a sigh. “Why do we have to have company?” he asked miserably.
“Because Uncle Michael has just come back from Italy, and we haven’t seen him for two months,” she said. “And because I owe him my life.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said hesitantly. “I guess so.”
“He did shoot the gunman. You said so.”
“Actually, what I said was that he had a pistol,” he said, hedging. He looked uncomfortable. “Never mind, let’s eat...”
“Wait just one minute,” she said, touching his muscular arm. “Would you mind explaining that?”
“Gaby...”
“Suppose you tell her the truth, boy?” came a deep, amused voice from just above them.
Uncle Michael was standing on the deck, leaning over it with his forearms crossed and a big black cigar in one finger.
“Hi!” Gaby called. “Welcome home!”
“Thanks! I had a great time seeing the family, but it’s nice to be back. Marcus, your grandma and your uncle send their love. They want you and Gaby to come and see them after the baby’s born.”
“We’ll do that,” Marc promised. He looked down at Gaby with mingled adoration and concern. “After the baby’s born,” he added.
Gaby went up the steps and sank into one of the chaise lounges, closing her eyes briefly as the c
ool, salty sea breeze tangled her hair. Beyond the deck seabirds called to each other above the crashing of the surf. “I love it here! Sit down, tell us all about Italy,” she told Uncle Michael.
“In a minute,” he promised. He straightened, staring at Marcus. “Tell her. It’s time she knew the truth.”
Marc drew in a deep, short breath. “I don’t know...”
“He fired the shot that dropped the hit man,” Uncle Michael said bluntly.
“He what?” Gaby burst out. She sat up, staring at Marc. “You shot him?”
Marc stuck his hands in his pockets and glared at his uncle. “Well, I was afraid the police wouldn’t be watching the right place,” he muttered. “I was waiting outside the building with Uncle Michael. We spotted the hit man, but Uncle Michael couldn’t get up the steps quick enough. I could. And I used to be pretty good with a gun.” He shrugged. “I got up the steps just in the nick of time.”
“But why did you let me think it was Uncle Michael?” she demanded.
“The gun wasn’t registered,” Marc said quietly. “If the police had found out it was his, he’d have been in trouble. I dropped the killer, dashed back down the steps, and then got back upstairs just after the police did. Uncle Michael came in the window and told the gospel truth. He hadn’t fired the gun he was carrying.”
“I couldn’t admit it in front of the police,” Michael shrugged. “Later I thought Marcus had told you the truth. Not that I wouldn’t have pulled the trigger on that guy,” he added, “but I hate taking credit I don’t deserve. He saved your life. I was just along for the ride.” He grinned suddenly. “Bonaro suspected, though. He came to see me a couple weeks later. We had a hypothetical discussion. He’s not a bad guy, for a cop. We played a game of chess after. That was when I retired for sure.”
“Retirement suits you,” Marc told him. “You look more relaxed.”
“I’m bored to death. But I’m too old to do time, so I guess it’s all for the best. Maybe there’s something to being law-abiding. And, besides, I can tell your kids all the things they shouldn’t do.”