He wouldn't know the answer to any of those questions until he got out of jail, and he couldn't get out of jail until the powers that be decided to allow him his one phone call. Not that he had made a decision on who he would call. There weren't a lot of choices. He hadn't been in Cannon Bay long enough to cultivate any close friendships, and because of the distance, calling Thomas would be his last resort.
Hell, it was probably his only resort.
There was Justine, but each time the idea slipped into his mind, heat crept into his face. His arrest was embarrassing enough without Justine finding out. If the newspapers got wind of it she would know anyway, but Zack would hold onto hope as long as he could.
His thoughts drifted to Fowler and his ugly insinuations about Justine. He found them hard to believe. The Justine he knew aboard the cruise ship had not been pretending to be in love with him. If it turned out that he was wrong, then he would definitely suggest she consider changing her career from entrepreneur to acting.
No, Fowler's actions had been that of a desperate, jealous ex-boyfriend, Zack decided, ignoring a lingering, niggling doubt that refused to be quiet. Justine did love him, and after last night he felt confident she would come around very soon. They were soul mates. They were meant for each other.
She had to see it, feel it, know it.
Officer Eller's disgustingly cheerful voice broke into his musings.
"Mr. Wayne?"
Zack unclasped his fingers from behind his neck and rose to a sitting position. He peered between the bars at Officer Eller, thinking it must be time to make that call. Not exactly good news, since he still hadn't decided who would be the first person to witness his humiliation.
Not Justine, though. He was pretty certain about that. She probably wouldn't believe his amazing story anyway.
"You're being released."
Zack wiggled his fingers in his ears, and stared at Officer Eller. Was this his idea of a sick joke? Nobody even knew he was here! “Pardon me?"
The lock clicked; the door swung open.
"You're being released,” Officer Eller cheerfully repeated. “Someone's waiting for you up front. She's already posted your bail.” He gave his head a quick, disbelieving shake. “Although where she found a bondsman this late..."
Frozen, Zack could only repeat the word over in his mind. She. She. She.
Justine?
It was the only she he knew that would post his bail. But how had she known?
"You plannin’ on sitting there all night?"
"No, no. I'm coming.” Zack hastily slid from the cot and followed the policeman from the cell. Justine had bailed him out. He was torn between embarrassment and triumph.
He hoped he was around when Fowler found out.
They stopped at a booth along the way and retrieved his belongings, and Zack quickly put on his socks and shoes as Officer Eller filled out his release form.
Ten minutes later they were standing before the heavy iron door. A buzzer sounded, and the door opened. Zack didn't realize just how tense he'd been until he stepped over the threshold to freedom.
His knees felt weak, and they got worse when he saw Justine. Her eyes were rid-rimmed and puffy, and her skin was blotchy.
She was the most heart-warming sight he'd ever seen.
"Thank you,” he said softly, cursing the heat that returned to his face. “I know you're probably wondering how this happened—"
"It doesn't matter."
Her voice sounded cold and determined, so unexpected that Zack gave a start of surprise. “Of course it matters.” He moved closer, frowning as he tipped her chin to study her face. “You've been crying,” he observed.
She knocked his hand away, anger flaring briefly in her eyes. “Would you like for me to tell you why so that you can brag to Barry?” She marched to the door, flinging over her shoulder, “If you're riding with me, you'd better come on."
She was angry. Zack didn't know why, but she was. And what had she meant by that crack about bragging to Barry?
He followed her to the van. When they were cocooned inside its cozy interior, he stated the obvious. “You're angry about something."
"No. What you see is indifference."
It was an obvious lie. She ground the starter and spun the wheels on the slick parking lot. Zack prudently buckled his seat belt. “What happened? Were you worried about me? Is that why you're angry?"
"Don't flatter yourself."
Her laugh was so scorn-filled Zack's lips tightened.
"Look, you asked me for help, I came. Let's leave it at that."
If Zack had been confused before, he was completely muddled now. “I didn't call you."
She slanted him an incredulous look.
"I didn't,” Zack insisted. “How did you find out I'd been arrested?"
She slammed on the brakes just as the stoplight turned red. Zack felt the rear wheels slip sideways a few inches before the tread caught a dry patch of road.
"Cut the bullcrap, Zack. You called my apartment, told me you were in jail, and said you needed my help.” Her furious expression didn't click with her casual, I-don't-care shrug. “I figured you didn't have anyone else to turn to."
"Wait a minute.” The hairs on the back of Zack's neck rose. The conversation they were having sounded very familiar. “Do you have caller ID?"
"I haven't had time to set it up.” She paused as the light turned green. The van shot across the intersection.
"So you can't prove that I called."
"I don't have to prove it. I know what I heard, and I heard your voice."
He gave her a few seconds to realize what she'd said. “Doesn't this sound at all familiar, Justine? You believe that I called you. I know that I didn't."
"You're lying."
"Turn the van around."
"What?"
"Go back to the police station. They'll tell you that I never got to make my phone call."
Justine tried to convince herself that he was bluffing, but it would be easy enough to check out, and he knew it. Useless to lie. She let out a weary sigh and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt—against her better judgment—for the time being. “So we've got another X-file on our hands?"
Zack sounded grimly determined as he said, “Not if I can help it. We're going to find out who's behind this."
She thought about Barry, and his ugly sneer. “Do you think it could be Barry?"
"Maybe."
His answer lacked conviction. She tightened her fingers around the wheel and forced herself to ask, “You still think it could be Jordan?"
"He's got a motive, but if it is Jordan, you'd think he'd be a lot happier leaving me in jail instead of pretending to be me and calling you."
A good point, Justine thought as she turned into the drive and parked behind his Explorer. Then, because she was curious, she said, “I've changed my mind. I would like to know how you happened to land in jail."
Zack gave a short, humorless laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “Come on in with me and I'll show you how it began.” He paused with his hand on the door handle. “But I have to warn you, it isn't a pretty sight."
Justine had a sudden, awful premonition. “The monkey?"
"Good guess."
When he opened the apartment door a few moments later and ushered her inside, Justine found no sign of the disaster Zack mentioned. Frowning, she turned to look at him. If this was an underhanded ploy to get her into his apartment, he would get an earful.
But Zack wasn't waiting to pounce; he wasn't even looking at her, she saw. He was staring at the meticulous apartment.
His jaw had dropped to his chest, and his eyes held an incredulous look too real to be faked. “You are never going to believe this,” he finally muttered.
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Chapter Seventeen
Stupefied, Zack's gaze roamed around the apartment, over the gleaming hardwood floors, the sparkling tile in the kitchen. He walked by Justine and into
the bathroom, fearing his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets and roll across the clean, dry floor.
Unbelievable. Not a drop of water in sight. No dampness, no sign of flour, not a powdering of it anywhere. He hurried into the bedroom, smug in his belief that he would find the monkey's footprints mapping his path across the floor. It would be his proof that he wasn't going—
None. Not a trace.
"Crazy,” Zack finished out loud. He returned to the living to find Justine standing with her arms folded, regarding him with a mixture of concern and suspicion. Striding to the kitchen, he opened a cabinet door and brought out a bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a generous dose, downed it, then poured another shot. He raised it to his mouth as Justine spoke behind him.
"Zack? Are you okay?"
"Yes.” But he didn't turn around. Her physical presence would remind him that he wasn't dreaming, and right now, he wasn't sure he could handle the reality. “Do you want a drink?"
"No, thanks. I'm driving."
If he looked at her, he suspected her lips would be pursed primly. The thought almost made him smile—until he remembered why he was drinking in the first place. With a muffled oath, he slammed the glass onto the counter and capped the whiskey bottle. There was a reasonable explanation for this, he told himself. All he had to do was think.
"Tell me about it,” Justine urged, sounding less angry and more concerned. “Tell me what happened tonight."
Zack wasn't at all certain he preferred her concern, especially if it meant she thought he was going crazy. He turned abruptly and leaned against the counter, folding his arms.
She stood in the middle of the living room, still bundled against the cold, her eyelids red, her nose even redder. But the stunning gold of her eyes remained the same. He'd never forget those eyes, he realized. Not in a million years. He hoped he wouldn't have to.
In a voice that still echoed with disbelief, he started at the beginning when he walked into the foyer and ran into Barry. He left out a good portion of the conversation between them, focusing on the point when he noticed the water dripping from the ceiling onto Barry's head.
She gasped and smothered a spontaneous giggle when he got to he part about Dennis chucking the bar of soap at Barry. Her eyes widened when he told her how he dragged Barry across the hall and into his bed.
Those lips—so cherry red—parted in shock when he spoke of how the police officer cuffed him and read him his rights.
In the telling of his incredible story, Zack never lost sight of her face, following every reaction as if all his senses were magically heightened. And they were, he realized, adjusting his stance to hopefully hide his telltale arousal. She did this to him. But it wasn't lust, as she claimed.
It was much, much more.
He wanted to grow old with her, but first he wanted to have babies with her, to listen to her soft snore, to awaken each morning to the sight of her sleepy, tousled head lying on the pillow next to his own.
When he finished telling his bizarre story, she strolled around the room as if searching for clues, looking beneath the cushions, peering at the fire escape outside the window where he'd stood—shivering and frustrated—earlier.
He shook his head, then realized she wasn't looking at him. “You won't find anything.” He was somehow certain she wouldn't.
She glanced at him, her lips curved in a faint, wry smile. “So, you think that someone is trying to make us think that we're going crazy?"
"This didn't happen to you,” he reminded her.
"Zack.” She stuck her hands in her coat pockets and walked toward him. “Everything you've told me tonight could have happened to anyone. I admit that it's the strangest story I've ever heard, and it isn't likely to happen to someone else,” she added with another one of her heart-stopping smiles. “But it's possible."
"Except for the cleanup."
She nodded. “Except for the cleanup, which could also be explained."
"How?” He couldn't wait to hear her explanation.
"Your landlord could have cleaned up the mess while you were in jail."
"Mr. Potter wasn't here, and I doubt he would have had time.” And there hadn't been an eviction notice on his door.
"He could have called a maid service,” she pointed out.
"Doubtful."
"But possible.” She had reached the small dining table. Absently, she drummed her fingers on the shiny veneer surface. “And then there's Barry."
To be fair, Zack tried to imagine the fastidious Barry pushing a mop. He suppressed a laugh. “You don't really believe that."
She shrugged. “No, not really, but I thought it was worth a shot."
"Tell me about Barry."
"There's not much to tell."
"Then it won't take long,” Zack reasoned smoothly.
"We dated a while.” She hesitated, staring at her fingers drumming the table. “We discussed getting married."
"And then?” He could tell by the frown between her brows that her thoughts were not pleasant ones, but he had to admire her flippant tone.
"Barry is a real estate agent, and he'd hired this young girl fresh out of high school to man the phones when he wasn't there. She was very pretty."
When she looked up, her eyes were bright, but her voice was steady. Zack wished he'd gone ahead and crashed his fist into Barry's nose. “I think I get the picture."
She jammed her hands in her pockets again and changed the subject. “Well, at least now you won't get thrown out of here."
Zack was surprised to find himself chuckling. “Too bad I don't know who to thank."
"I know who you should thank,” Barry said, stepping into sight.
Justine gasped.
Zack scowled. “Don't you know how to knock?” he growled, pushing away from the counter and putting himself between Fowler and Justine. He didn't want the creep to ever get close to her again.
Barry took a hasty step back from Zack's menacing presence. “Hey, the door was open. I heard voices so I came on in."
"What do you want?” When Fowler's gaze strayed to Justine, Zack clenched his fists. “On second thought, just get lost."
"Don't you want to know who cleaned up the mess?” Barry asked with a friendly smile that didn't fool Zack.
"And you're going to tell me out of the kindness of your heart?” He was pleased when Justine gave a tiny snort of disbelief.
Barry's smile turned sly. “Well, there is one tiny favor you could do for me in return."
Zack sighed. “What is it?"
"I get first dibs on the hot water."
"You already do,” Zack growled, wondering if Barry had ever talked to a shrink about his obsession with hot water.
"No, I mean every day,” Barry clarified.
"All right. It's a deal. Now, tell me what you know.” And then Zack would decide whether he was going to believe him.
Barry flicked another glance at Justine, hesitating. “She's not going to like it."
"She can speak for herself,” Justine said, but Zack noted the tense set of her mouth, and the shadows flickering in her eyes.
Like her, he sensed something ugly in the air. He thought about throwing Barry out before he said whatever it was he was dying to say, but curiosity and the need to know—for his sanity's sake—won the brief battle. “Spit it out, Fowler. Then get out of my apartment."
Barry was watching Justine again, his eyes gleaming spitefully as he said, “It was Jordan Diamond, Justine's nephew."
Shock streaked through Justine like lightning. “You're lying!” she burst out, marching up to Barry and poking him in the chest. A red haze formed in front of her eyes, blurring Barry's features. “You're lying through your cheating, heartless teeth!"
She whirled to face Zack. “You know he's lying, don't you? He's mad because I won't go out with him, so he thought he'd—he'd make up this preposterous lie.” She seethed, turning back to give Barry another blast.
He was gone.
"Of all the nerve,” she hissed out, staring at the closed door. She could feel Zack's gaze burning into her back. “Jordan didn't know—couldn't have known anything about the monkey, and the water, or you going to jail.” Slowly, she turned to look at Zack, afraid of what she'd find but needing to know all the same.
She could tell nothing by his expression, which didn't make her feel better. If he had to hide his feelings, they couldn't be pleasant ones, she thought.
"You don't believe him?” Please say you don't.
"I don't see how it would be possible...unless—” He hesitated too long.
"Unless what?” she demanded.
"Unless he's been watching me,” Zack finished quietly.
Did he think speaking softly would make his accusation hurt any less? she wondered bitterly. “You think Jordan's become so obsessed with getting even that he's stalking you?” She uttered a short, contemptuous laugh. “I guess you also think he trained the monkey to turn on faucets and lock windows. Or maybe you think Jordan was hiding in your apartment, and did those things himself?"
"I didn't say—"
"You didn't say, but I know you're thinking it. Those are serious accusations, Zack. What I want to know is, how do you explain the rest of it?” She grabbed the bridge of her nose and shook her head as she drawled sarcastically, “Oh, I got it. Jordan called me to get you out of jail—sounding amazingly like you—and while I was running around town digging up a bail bond agent, my nephew decided to clean your apartment so that you wouldn't come home to a mess. Just what kind of obsession are we talking about here? Hate, or hero worship?"
"That's enough,” he commanded sharply.
But it wasn't enough, not yet. She wasn't quite finished showing him what a fool he was, and what a very nasty liar Barry was. “Because he did worship you before you ruined his life by taking him from the team. If he—he is responsible for any of this it's your fault."
Suddenly, she found herself almost nose to nose with a very furious Zack, her arms gripped by strong, hurting fingers. She could feel his warm breath wash over her face in short bursts.
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