Not Without You

by Taylor, Janelle

“Oh, God,” Jarred groaned

  “She said it was just us!”

  “She lied.”

  Kelsey glanced down at her black top and slacks. “I’m underdressed.”

  “That makes two of us,” he muttered in a longsuffering tone. “I hope my father can handle this. Is she trying to kill him?”

  Kelsey swallowed. “She wants them to know about the baby,” she realized.

  “No!” Jarred was adamant. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Be careful.”

  Jarred muttered something beneath his breath that sounded suspiciously like a string of pungent swear words. Kelsey silently seconded the feeling.

  At the door they looked at each other. She knew her lack of makeup, her loose hair, and her choice of outfit were going to make her look unsophisticated and underdressed. In contrast Jarred, in his black, open-throated shirt and tan slacks, looked wonderfully sexy and casually elegant. He could get away with it.

  But appearances were the least of their worries.

  Jarred tucked Kelsey’s hand firmly within the curve of his arm. “We are going to leave as soon as possible.”

  “Amen,” she said, and he leaned over and kissed her temple.

  Jarred grabbed Nola as soon as he could. She was smiling and entertaining and looking a far cry from the distraught woman standing vigilant beside her husband’s bed she’d been just a few days earlier. “You’re not telling anyone about the baby,” he hissed in her ear.

  “Jarred!” She looked affronted.

  “I told you I wanted that kept secret.”

  She sighed and gazed around the room, her eyes alighting on Kelsey, who had been snatched from Jarred’s grasp as soon as they entered the house. Kelsey was currently talking with a group of people whom Jarred knew from other social events around the city. Kelsey flicked Jarred a look and he grimaced in shared misery. She laughed, and he could hear the lilt of, her voice across the room.

  “Your father’s the one who couldn’t keep the secret,” Nola revealed, waving at an older man who was making his way to the bar. He winked at her and Nola tugged Jarred toward him. Her machinations were transparent enough: She wanted to squire Jarred around herself, as if he were on some sort of parade.

  From around the corner Will shot him a commiserating grimace; he knew it was impossible to fight Nola. Jarred saw Danielle’s dark head close to Will’s and felt a moment of pure jealousy. He wanted to be with his wife, too. But when he tried to pry Nola’s fingers off his arm and go in search of his wife, she clung even more tightly. “Please, Jarred. I need this, and your father needs this.”

  “Like a hole in the head.” He snagged the bartender’s attention as Nola pulled him past the row of bottles. “Scotch.”

  Nodding regally to one of Seattle’s wealthiest magnates, Nola expertly steered Jarred to a sheltered nook, away from listening ears. Her silver dress shimmered beneath the lights, sending off sparks that seemed almost angry.

  “What?” he demanded, losing patience.

  “Gwen called.”

  “What?”

  “She was ranting like a wild woman. Wanted to talk to your father but I just hung up on her. Gave me a turn, I must say. I nearly canceled the party, but Jonathan said no. You know, it may not seem like it, but he understands about keeping up appearances, too. He’s doing well.” She glanced to the slightly open door to the den, where various party goers were hovering around Jonathan’s favorite chair, apparently sharing bon mots with him.

  “He damn near died this week, Nola,” Jarred reminded her. “And it’s because he thought he was responsible for my accident.”

  “What are you talking about?” But when he opened his mouth to continue, she shushed him. “Never mind. It’s all nonsense. Everything’s fine now. Just fine.”

  “With Gwen ranting and raving?”

  “I swear the woman sounded out of her mind.”

  Drugs…

  “Forget about her,” Nola said. “I have.”

  Nola was nothing if not consistent. She never varied from the role of society matron, perfectly turned-out hostess, and all-around woman of importance.

  “I just would have liked to keep Kelsey’s pregnancy a secret for a few more months,” he informed her, this time pulling away from her before she could launch into a new line of attack.

  With ground-devouring strides he marched through the room in search of his wife. Kelsey, her eyes sparkling with good humor, her hair floating along her shoulders, her lips curved in an enticing smile, was listening with apparent great interest to the story being told by a gray-haired gentleman. That this particular gentleman was one known for barely contained lechery could be evidenced by the way he kept touching Kelsey’s arm and waist, as if he wanted to gather her close and was still working out the best way to do it.

  It set Jarred’s teeth on edge.

  “Excuse me,” he interrupted, taking Kelsey’s hand and peeling her away from the rather loathsome gent, who watched their leaving with regretful eyes. “You’re damn lucky he didn’t cop a feel.”

  “He did actually. Or at least tried to. Unfortunately I spilled my sparkling cider down his sleeve.”

  “Unfortunately,” Jarred said, smiling.

  “These things happen.”

  “How many more minutes?” Jarred asked, just as a bejeweled older woman crashed down on him, declaring in ringing tones that he was a “gorgeous birthday boy” and “such a wonderful representation of Nola and Jonathan,” and then added, “How happy you must be, my dear, that your father’s doing so well. Isn’t life grand?”

  Jarred murmured that it was, grabbed Kelsey by the hand again, and threaded his way outside. They both gulped damp, thick air. “Who was that?” Kelsey asked.

  “Beats the hell out of me. Come on.”

  Like children playing hooky from school, they ran across the back lawn and to the cars. Luckily, they’d arrived late enough that the Porsche was not blocked in. Firing the engine, Jarred took a last look at the house; then he said simply and much too happily, “There’ll be hell to pay later,” and backed out of the drive.

  December’s Wish rocked a little wildly on water ruffled by an ever increasing wind. The fog that had lain so thick and stagnant throughout the day dissipated rapidly, as if angrily routed by an unwanted guest. Kelsey held Jarred’s arm as they made their way down to the boat, both a little drunk on their own happiness.

  “Who needs alcohol?” Kelsey said, giggling a little as she slipped a bit on the brick steps.

  “Careful,” Jarred warned.

  She sobered almost instantly. “A fall would not be a good thing.”

  “Not a good thing at all,” he agreed. “But we’re here now.”

  Indeed they were on the last step. The crescent moon, which had been a dim silver glow behind the curtain of fog, now appeared as cold and bright as a diamond. A strip of water glistened and shivered beneath its frozen light, startlingly bright against the shifting blackness.

  And on deck appeared a dark figure.

  Jarred saw it first. His grip on Kelsey’s arm tightened like a tourniquet. She gazed up at his face, puzzled, saw its grim planes and angles, then followed the direction of his gaze.

  The caterers, she thought. The people she’d called to help set up the tiny table with its silver service and draping white cloth. The ones who would uncork the champagne and sparkling cider, lay out the meal, then drift away like the fog.

  But even as the thoughts paraded across her mind she knew she was wrong. This figure waited tensely. Not tall. A woman.

  “Gwen,” Jarred said, relaxing his grip a bit in order to step forward. The boat heaved upward suddenly on a stronger wave and she staggered a bit.

  “Happy birthday, Jarred,” she said in a voice that was clearly hers, and yet just as clearly not. Harsh, flinty, yet somehow distant and displaced.

  She’s drunk, Kelsey thought, then realized it was a darker addiction. The same one as Chance’s. Crystal meth users were paranoid, th
e detective had said. “Don’t go any closer,” Kelsey pleaded, clutching Jarred.

  “What are you doing on board?” he called to Gwen. “Where’s Sarah?”

  “Sarah is unhappy… so unhappy

  Jarred took another step forward and Kelsey moved with him. “Is she with you,” Jarred asked, “on December’s Wish?”

  “You’re having a little party. And there’re party favors here. Pink and blue ones.”

  “Oh, God,” Kelsey whispered.

  “Stay here,” Jarred ordered tersely beneath his breath. “No. Go back to the house. Call Newcastle. The number’s in my den.”

  Kelsey turned but Gwen’s voice floated after her. “It wasn’t her fault. She fell in love with you, then Will, but neither of you wants her. You’re as bad as your father, aren’t you? She should have been a Bryant!”

  “Gwen, come off the boat. I can tell you’re not thinking straight,” Jarred said gently, seeking to placate her.

  “Where’s she going?” Gwen demanded. “Where’s she going? I know about the baby!”

  Kelsey stopped in her tracks at Gwen’s sudden shrieking. Gooseflesh rose on her arms.

  “Gwen, I don’t want to stand here and explain the terms of my grandfather’s will,” Jarred answered. “I told Sarah last night. Will inherits. It doesn’t matter about the baby.”

  “You all lie all the time!”

  They always shout, Kelsey realized dimly, as if that makes their thoughts more credible. Because she knew it was what Jarred wanted, she began walking up the slippery steps again. Carefully. No accidents now. Not while she was so preciously, newly pregnant.

  “Come off the boat,” Jarred urged.

  “You’ll try to prosecute. It’s not my fault about the plane crash.”

  “We know that was Connor.”

  “And the garage and Porsche. I couldn’t stop them! Connor told ’em you knew. They had to get you!”

  “Gwen, come on.”

  “They can’t be stopped, Jarred. They can’t be stopped. They know about you. You and your baby. Do you hear me? They know!”

  You and your baby.

  Gwen couldn’t have offered a clearer confession if she’d seen a priest. The mysterious “they” didn’t know about the baby, nor would “they” care. She cared. She and Sarah, and a twisted belief that they deserved the Bryant fortune above Jarred’s own flesh and blood. She was the one who would harm them.

  The wind whipped Kelsey’s hair, stinging her eyes. She stopped, pulled the dancing strands away, and recognized Sarah at the top of the steps. She’d been waiting there. Lurking. Listening and watching.

  “Sarah,” Kelsey said.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Sarah said, walking toward Kelsey in her strong, mannish way. “But I want to get some things straight about my mother. So go back down there.”

  Kelsey hesitated. She shouldn’t listen to Sarah. She should get to the phone and do as Jarred said.

  “My mother’s got a gun,” Sarah whispered in Kelsey’s ear. “She’ll shoot Jarred if he doesn’t give in. She will.”

  “Give in?” Kelsey asked faintly.

  “Turn around… now…”

  It was a helluva thing to lose to them, she thought, hating them all. Well, not Sarah. Not her own flesh and blood. But sometimes she looked at her daughter’s face and saw Samuel, and she wanted to vomit.

  And look at all this silver. Glistening. Brilliant. Like the many little mirrors on one of those disco balls.

  She’d never given Kelsey enough credit, she realized dimly, looking around at the intimate, beautiful setting for two. She’d actually gotten herself pregnant, the conniving little bitch. And so Sarah was out again.

  And now he was on board talking, cajoling, but it was all blah, blah, blah, to her. She hated him the most. More than his father. Jonathan she could control, when she had been younger anyway. He just followed his dick, and the rest was easy. Except for that blasted will.

  Her head spun. Sarah was mad at her. She hated it when she was high, but too damn bad. At least Sarah was young still. And the baby was Will’s, so who knew?

  What was he saying?

  ”…nothing’s going to happen. Newcastle’s following the trail of the explosives. He wants to convict the men that set the bomb. They’re the ones who were ultimately afraid of my turning in Chance and Connor and leading the authorities straight to them. Gwen, you’re not involved with that.”

  “That’s right,” Sarah chimed in, her voice high and tinny. “My mother had nothing to do with it. She doesn’t want to use. She’s just been so abused by your father. It’s not her fault.”

  “Gwen.” That was Kelsey’s voice. Her pale face swam in front of Gwen’s vision. “No one wants to hurt you.”

  Glancing down, Gwen saw the gun lying loosely in her own hand. Oh, that was right. That was why they were listening to her. No other reason. It was all lies anyway. They knew she was guilty. They knew she’d talked to the men they wanted. And she’d be damned if she pointed any fingers in that direction. She knew what her friends were like. Kill you while they lit a cigarette, they would.

  But she’d talked to them. Just recently. They were going to take care of Jarred. They were….

  She frowned, thinking hard. A sudden thought stabbed through the dullness of her mind. “Get off the boat.”

  “What?” Sarah turned to stare at her.

  “Get off the boat.”

  “Jesus,” Jarred breathed. He reached for Kelsey, grabbed her arm, and yanked her toward him.

  Gwen stumbled to her feet. “Off the boat… off the boat… off the boat!”

  Pandemonium. Sarah’s mouth open in an O of astonishment. Gwen slapped her across the face and pushed her.

  Then they were above, on deck. Jarred was first, stepping over the rail onto the dock, reaching a hand for Kelsey. Her hand slipped into his. Then Sarah put a foot over. She balanced on the edge, teetering.

  Damn it! Hurry, hurry.

  Gwen bulldozed toward her, shoved her over. To safety. To the dock. To Jarred.

  Distantly Gwen saw Sarah fall into Kelsey. Kelsey into Jarred. Flailing arms, grasping for a nonexistent rail. Pinwheeling outward. To the water. Falling, falling, falling. A short, truncated scream.

  And then a tremendous roar from the bowels of the boat that left Gwen frozen and staring into oblivion. Another scream. Blackness. Then nothing.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dark water…

  Her worst fear. Her worst nightmare. But she couldn’t succumb. There was a baby inside her. A baby.

  Ear-shattering noise. Reverberations that crushed the chest. A sweep of wave like a lifting hand, tossing her about. Away from the wreckage. Into the deeper, fuller waters of the lake. The smell of oil and burning wood. Pieces of shattered boards tossed around.

  But fear of dark water was the worst. It was ingrained. Deadly. She floated. She choked. She would have given up, but there was a life inside her and she couldn’t die.

  Pieces of wood within her hands. Both hands.

  How long she floated she couldn’t be certain. She would learn later that it was less than twenty minutes. It felt like an eternity. She turned her nose up to the sky and saw the unforgiving moon lighting the water. Wind sang around her ears.

  Strangely, the boat was still there. Blasted apart like the Porsche. Sinking, too. Not like the Titanic with one end slowly going down while the other rose. No, this was just a pathetic list to one side and a sense of loss.

  “Kelsey,” she heard faintly above the wind.

  “Jarred,” she whispered back, but there was no sound.

  And then splashing. He was in the water, his dark head not twenty yards away. “Over here.”

  He grabbed her by the hair, she realized later, in true swimmer’s rescue fashion. She didn’t care though. Her face was turned up to the unforgiving moon. Her mind buzzing with a litany: my baby, my baby, my baby.

  On the dock. Artificial respiration. His voice telli
ng her to hang on, hang on, hang on. He loved her. Loved her. Pressing on her heart.

  But I’m okay, she thought. Stop pushing.

  And then suddenly she heaved forward and threw up what felt like a bathload of black lake water out of her lungs.

  The flowers around the room were bright splashes of red and white and green, fighting off the dreariness of another overcast Seattle morning. Kelsey heard them talking but she kept her eyes closed, eavesdropping on her own doctor.

  ” She’s in good health, “ he said for about the umpteenth time. “She’s fine. The baby’s fine. You’re all incredibly lucky.”

  Lucky. Now there was a word she wasn’t sure fitted.

  But they were alive. No doubt about that. Except for Gwen. In the dim haze of her rescue Kelsey had seen Sarah sink to the dock, soaking wet, raise her hands to her face, and sob in pure grief.

  Moments passed. The ticking of the clock. I still have my baby, she thought happily, lazily.

  She woke again a heartbeat later. Or was it even the same day? This time she saw Jarred in the chair next to her bed, his cheek lying on the covers beside her hand. Reaching out a hand, she swept gentle fingers along his temple.

  Instantly he lifted his head, staring at her with worried, intense blue eyes. “Hi,” he said, packing a ton of worry into that one syllable.

  She tried her voice. “Hi,” she answered a bit scratchily.

  His face cleared. Emotion moved swiftly across his eyes. He bent down and kissed her hand with trembling lips.

  “I’ve still got the baby?” she said, making it a question, knowing what she heard but needing affirmation all the same.

  “Yes.” His voice was choked. “Oh, yes.”

  “Is everyone okay?”

  “Yes, well, not…”

  “Gwen, I know. I remember enough.”

  He looked up again and she could see the effort it cost him to maintain that famous Jarred Bryant control. She loved him for it. “Another hospital bed,” she said.

  “The last one for a while.”

  “For eight or nine months anyway.”

  He gripped her hand hard. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize about the boat. I should have known as soon as I saw her standing there. And then the dark water. I knew how scared you had to be and I—’’