by Sandra Brown
“I had a similar conversation with him,” Dean said. “He asked me if you and I had crossed swords during the standoff. Had the crisis brought out the cop in me and the reporter in you, and never the twain shall meet. I told him he was way off base, that we liked and respected each other a lot. So he put it to the test with that surprise dinner.”
Yes, that fateful dinner, she thought. Jack had arranged for them to meet at one of their favorite restaurants. She and Dean had arrived independently, not expecting to see the other there.
Being face-to-face for the first time since that night was as awkward for them as she had feared it would be. Making eye contact was difficult, but she couldn’t keep herself from looking at him, and each time she did, she caught him stealing a glance at her. Yet their conversation had been stilted and formal.
“That dinner was an endurance test for me,” Dean said. “You had rebuffed all my attempts to talk to you.”
“It had to be a clean break, Dean. I didn’t trust myself even to talk to you on the phone.”
“Jesus, Paris, I was dying on the inside. I needed to know what you were thinking. If you were all right. If you were pregnant.”
“Pregnant?”
“We hadn’t used anything.”
“I was on the pill.”
“But I didn’t know that.” He smiled with chagrin. “Selfishly, I hoped you had conceived.”
She couldn’t admit to him even now that she’d clung to the same vain hope and was disappointed when she’d gotten her next period. A baby would have forced her to tell Jack the truth. It would have been her and Dean’s justification for having to hurt him. But it hadn’t happened.
“I went through hell agonizing over the state you were in when I left you that night,” he was saying. “And suddenly there you were, sitting three feet across the dinner table from me, and I still couldn’t ask or say anything I wanted to.
“And that wasn’t all. Deceiving Jack was killing me,” he continued. “Every time he told another joke, or threw his arm around me and called me his good buddy, I felt like Judas.”
“He was trying his best to make it a fun evening. Ever the social chairman.”
Jack had seemed determined to ignore the awkwardness between them. He had drunk too much, talked too loud, laughed too hard. But during dessert, he finally gave up and demanded to know what was going on.
“Look, I’ve had it with you two, okay?” he’d said. “I want to know, and I want to know now. What happened to make you so uncomfortable around each other? I’m guessing that either (a) you had a tiff during that standoff, or (b) you’ve been seeing each other behind my back. So tell me what the squabble was about, or fess up.”
Thinking he’d made a clever joke, he folded his arms on the table and grinned at them in turn.
But Dean didn’t respond to Jack’s grin, and she’d felt as if her face would crack if she attempted a smile. Their silence spoke volumes. Even so, it was several moments before realization struck Jack, and when it did, it was a painful thing to watch. His grin collapsed. He looked first at her, almost quizzically. Then he looked at Dean as though willing him to laugh and say something like “Don’t be ridiculous.”
But when neither of them said anything, he realized that out of his jest had emerged the truth. “Son of a bitch,” he said. He surged to his feet and sneered at Dean, “Dinner’s on you, friend.”
Apparently Dean had been following her thoughts because he said, “I’ll never forget the look on his face when he put it together.”
“Nor will I.”
“In my haste to follow him out and try to stop him from getting behind the wheel of his car, I knocked over my chair. By the time I got it upright, the two of you had disappeared.”
“I don’t remember running through the restaurant after him,” she said. “But I vividly remember catching up with him in the parking lot. He yelled at me, told me to leave him alone.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I begged him to let me explain. He only glared at me and said, ‘Did you fuck him?’ ”
Dean dragged his hand down his face, but the gesture did little to rub the regret from his features. “From all the way across the parking lot, I heard him say that. I heard you telling him that he shouldn’t drive, that he was too drunk and too angry.”
Heedless of her pleas, Jack had gotten into his car. She’d run around to the passenger side and luckily had found it unlocked. “I got in. Jack ordered me out. But I refused and instead buckled my seat belt. He cranked the motor and floored the accelerator.”
They were silent for a time, lost in the recollections of that horrible night. Dean was the first to speak.
“He had every right to be furious with us for sleeping together. If our roles had been reversed, I . . . God, I don’t know what I would have done. Torn him limb from limb probably. He was hurt and angry, and if he’d wanted to kill himself over it, there’s really nothing we could have done to stop him, that night or on any future night. We wronged him, Paris. We’ll live with that for the rest of our lives. But he wronged you when he drove off with you in that car.”
He placed his hands on either side of her neck and caressed it with his fingertips. “That’s what I blame him for. He could have killed you.”
“I don’t think it was his intention to kill anybody.”
“Are you sure?” he asked gently. “What did you say to each other during those two minutes between the restaurant parking lot and that freeway overpass?”
“I told him I was sorry that we had hurt him. I told him that we both loved him, that it had been an isolated incident, a physical release after a traumatic experience, that if he could forgive us, it would never, ever happen again.”
“Did he believe you?”
A tear slid unchecked down her cheek and she said huskily, “No.”
“Did you believe you?”
She closed her eyes, squeezing out fresh tears. Slowly she moved her head from side to side.
Inhaling deeply, Dean drew her to his chest and stroked her hair.
“Maybe I should have said more,” she said.
“Lied to him?”
“It might have saved him. He was enraged. Beyond reason. I tried to get him to pull over and let me drive, but he speeded up instead. He lost control of the car. He didn’t drive into that abutment on purpose.”
“Yes he did, Paris.”
“No,” she said miserably, not wanting to believe it.
“If a driver loses control, he reflexively stomps on the brake. I was right behind you. His brake lights never came on.” He tilted her head back, forcing her to look at him. “Jack loved you, I don’t doubt that. He loved you enough to want you as his wife. He loved you enough to fly into a jealous rage when he found out that you’d been with me.
“But,” he said with emphasis, “if he had loved you the way he should have, unselfishly and unconditionally, he never could have considered taking you out along with him. As pitiful as his last years were, I never forgave him for trying to kill you.”
His saying that made her love him all the more. And she did love him. From the moment they met, she had realized that her loving Dean Malloy was inevitable. But yielding to it had been impossible then, and it was impossible now. Other people had always stood between them. Jack, certainly. Now Liz.
She worked herself free of his embrace and said, “You should go now.”
“I’m staying here tonight.”
“Dean—”
“I’ll sleep on the living room sofa.” He held up his hands in surrender. “If you don’t trust me to keep my hands off you, you can lock your bedroom door. But I’m not leaving you alone as long as there’s a lunatic out there harboring a grudge against you.”
“I can’t imagine how he knew that Jack’s death is on my conscience.”
“And mine.”
“What happened between you and me is certainly not public knowledge, and I’ve never discussed it with anyone.”
>
“He probably did some research on you and surmised the cause of Jack’s accident, just as Curtis did.”
“Jack’s accident could have been caused by any number of things,” she argued.
“But only one would have busted up our friendship. It’s not that much of a mind teaser, Paris. Valentino has got an ax to grind with unfaithful women. If he’s concluded that you cheated on Jack with me, then you personify his nemesis. Even if it were a wrong assumption, Valentino has made it his reality and that’s what he’ll act on.” He shook his head stubbornly. “I’m staying.”
• • •
He napped on the sofa until dawn, when he silently let himself out of the house. He waved to the two officers sitting in the patrol car still parked at the curb, making certain they were aware of his departure.
He had hardly slept. He looked and felt as if he had been up most of the night. But this was an errand that couldn’t wait. He didn’t want to postpone it even for the time it would take to go home for a shower and a shave.
He rang the bell twice before he heard the dead bolt click on the other side of the door. Liz peered sleepily through the narrow crack allowed by the brass chain lock, then closed the door only long enough to unlatch it.
“It’s unforgivable of me to show up at this time of morning,” he said as he stepped inside.
“I forgive you.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled against him. “In fact, this is a lovely surprise.”
He hugged her. Beneath the silk robe, which was all she had on, her body felt warm, soft, and womanly. But he wasn’t in the least aroused.
She eased back far enough to look up into his face, while keeping her lower body pressed intimately against his. “You look a little the worse for wear. Long night?”
“You could say so.”
“Something new with Gavin?” she asked, her concern showing.
“No. He’s not totally out of the woods yet, and until he is, I’ll be apprehensive. But he’s not the reason I’m here.”
Her ability to read people had taken her far in her career and it didn’t fail her now. After studying him for a moment longer, she said, “I was going to offer you some TLC in bed. But I think I should offer to make coffee instead.”
“Don’t bother. I can’t stay long.”
As though to shore up her pride, she dropped her arms to her sides, straightened her posture, and shook back her tousled hair. “Long enough to sit down at least?”
“Of course.”
She led him to her living room sofa, where she claimed a corner, tucking her bare feet beneath her hips. Dean sat on the edge of the cushion and propped his elbows on his knees. On the drive over, he had rehearsed several ways to broach the subject, but had ultimately decided that there was no graceful way. He respected her too much to lie. He had decided to be forthright.
“For a long time now—months anyway—I’ve allowed you to believe that we would eventually get married. It’s not going to happen, Liz. I’m sorry.”
“I see.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Do I at least get to know the reason?”
“At first I thought I had a classic case of cold feet. After being a bachelor for fifteen years, I thought the idea of marrying again was causing me to panic. So I didn’t say anything, hoping that the misgivings would go away. I didn’t want to quarrel about it or upset you unnecessarily.”
“Well, I certainly appreciate your sensitivity to my feelings.”
“Do I detect some sarcasm?”
“Definitely.”
“I suppose I deserve it,” he said. “I’ve just broken what amounted to an engagement. You don’t have to be nice.”
“I’m glad you think so, because I’m working my way up to a hissy fit.”
“You’re entitled to one.”
She glared at him angrily, but then the hauteur returned. “On second thought, I’m not going to get into a fight with you. Histrionics would make it easier for you to storm out of here and never look back. Instead I’m going to put you on the spot. Because I believe I deserve a full explanation.”
Actually he had hoped for a fight, during which they would swap invective and destroy any affection they’d ever felt for each other. A fight would have been swifter, cleaner, less painful for her, and easier for him. But Liz had slammed shut that cowardly escape hatch.
“I’m not sure I can explain.” He spread his hands wide, indicating how futile it was to try. “It’s not you. You’re as smart and beautiful and desirable as the day I met you. More so.”
“Please spare me the I’m-not-worthy-of-you speech.”
“That’s not what this is,” he said testily. “I mean all of that sincerely. It’s not about you. It’s about us. It just isn’t where I am, Liz.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. Lately you haven’t been that involved whenever we’ve made love.”
“Funny, I didn’t hear you complaining.”
“You’re trying to pick a fight again,” she said sternly. “Don’t. And don’t be stung by the criticism. It’s not your performance that’s at issue. It’s your emotional detachment.”
“Which I acknowledge.”
“Is it because of Gavin and his coming to live with you? The additional demands on your time?”
“Gavin provided me with a good excuse to pull back,” he admitted. “I’m not proud of the fact that I used him.”
“Nor should you be. But this isn’t about him either, is it?”
“No.”
“Someone else, then?”
He turned his head and looked at her directly. “Yes.”
“You’ve been seeing someone else?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then what, Dean? What is it like?”
“I love someone else.”
She was silenced by the simplicity of his statement. She stared at him for several moments, assimilating it. “Oh. You love someone else. Did you ever love me?”
“Yes. On many levels I still do. You’ve been an important and vital part of my life.”
“Just not the grand passion of it.”
“When we started seeing each other, I honestly thought . . . I hoped that . . . I tried . . .”
“You tried,” she said around a bitter laugh. “Just what every woman wants to hear.”
The sarcasm was back, but it was forced. She had picked up a throw pillow and was hugging it to her chest, literally and figuratively giving herself something to hold on to. He felt he should leave now before his brutal honesty wounded her pride more than it was already wounded.
But as he stood up to leave, she said softly, “The woman in the sunglasses. The one you were talking to at the police station. Paris?” Raising her head, she looked up at him. “Come now, Dean, don’t look so shocked. If I were blind, I still would have known that you and she had been lovers.”
“Years ago. Only once, but . . .”
“But you never quite recovered.”
He matched her sad smile. “No. I never did.”
“Just out of curiosity, when did you start seeing her again?”
“The day before yesterday.”
Her lips parted in wordless surprise.
“That’s right. This alienation of feelings, for lack of a better term, started long before she entered the picture. Seeing her just confirmed what I already knew.”
“That you weren’t going to marry me.”
He nodded.
“Well, thank God you didn’t.” Tossing the throw pillow aside, she came to her feet. “I don’t want to be anybody’s second choice.”
“And you shouldn’t be.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I apologize for taking up two years of your biological clock.”
“Oh, it’s probably for the best,” she said flippantly. “What would I do with a baby when I went on a business trip? Take it along in my briefcase?”
She was making light of it, but he knew she was deeply disappointed. Maybe even h
eartbroken. She was too proud to make a spectacle of herself by crying. And perhaps, just perhaps, she cared too much for him to lay a guilt trip on him.
“You’ve got a lot of grace, class, and style, Liz.”
“Oh, yeah. Out the wazoo.”
“What’ll you do?”
“Today? I think I’ll treat myself to a massage.”
He smiled. “What about tomorrow?”
“I didn’t sell my house in Houston when I relocated here.”
“You didn’t?”
“You assumed that I had, and I never set you straight. Maybe I felt intuitively that I would need a safety net. Anyway, as soon as I can arrange it, I’ll move back.”
“You’re special, Liz.”
“So are you,” she replied gruffly.
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, then headed for the door. When he reached it, he turned back. “Be well.” And, saying that, he left.
chapter 26
“Hello?”
“Is this Gavin?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Sergeant Curtis. Did I wake you up?”
“Sorta.”
“Sorry to disturb you. I couldn’t reach your dad on his cell. That’s why I’m calling the house phone. May I speak with him, please?”
“He’s not here. He stayed over at Paris’s house last night.” Gavin regretted it the instant the words were out. Being the suspicious person he was, Curtis would jump to the wrong conclusion.
“We had dinner at her place,” he explained. “After her program, you know, because of Valentino’s latest call, Dad thought she shouldn’t be alone.”
“Cops are guarding her house.”
“I guess my dad didn’t think that was enough.”
“Obviously.”
Gavin decided to quit while he was ahead, afraid he might say too much. Anyway, why was it Curtis’s business where his dad spent the night?
“Okay then, I’ll try and reach him there,” the detective said. “I have her unlisted number.”
“I could give him a message,” Gavin offered.
“Thanks, but I need to speak to him personally.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. Did Curtis have to speak personally to his dad about something relating to him? “Any news on Janey?”