by Janet Dailey
Bolting into the house, she stumbled up the stairs to sink into the nearest chair, drowning in waves of despair and self-pity. Outside a car engine roared angrily into the driveway, brakes squealing it to a halt short of the garage door. The reverberation of a car door being slammed echoed into the house.
A sixth sense warned Lacey it was Cole. She quickly wiped the tears from her face and was blowing her nose as he slammed more doors on his way into the house, climbing the stairs two at a time.
His anger was no longer suppressed, but raging freely in his every line. But Lacey was beyond being intimidated by his anger; he had already hurt her too deeply for that. She met the blue storm clouds of his gaze without flinching.
"It's a little early for you to be here, isn't it?" she suggested stiffly.
"You know damned well why I'm here!" His voice rolled like thunder across the room and Cole quickly followed it. His hands were clenched in fists at his side, muscles leaping along his jaw. "I want to know what you were doing at that hotel with Hamilton."
Lacey tilted her chin defiantly, pain hammering at her throat. "It's no concern of yours what I was doing at the hotel or with whom!"
If she had had any doubts about that statement, they had faded into nothing when she had seen him with Monica. She started to pivot away from him, but his fingers closed in an iron grip around her forearm to spin her back.
"When I ask a question, I want an answer," he growled savagely. "What were you doing at the hotel?"
"You're hurting my arm," she pointed out curtly. His punishing grip began to cut off the circulation, making her hand and wrist throb.
"A lot more is going to hurt if you don't give me a straight answer," he warned, not relaxing his hold a fraction.
"I certainly didn't go because I thought you would be there." Lacey choked out the answer, fighting the tears that were once again stinging her eyes.
"But you arranged to meet Vic Hamilton there, didn't you?" Cole accused.
"Yes, I met him there. Is that what you wanted to hear?" she cried in challenge.
He released her arm abruptly as if she had suddenly become contaminated. With fires still raging in his eyes, he looked away in angry exasperation. He let his gaze slice back to her, dissecting her into little pieces.
"I knew it was only a matter of time before Vic made a play for you, but I thought you were smart enough to know what a philanderer he is," he said with contempt. "But the combination of money and looks was too much for you, wasn't it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "How many other times have you met him before today?"
Lacey was gently massaging her arm where he had gripped her so roughly. There would be bruises in the morning where his fingers had dug into her flesh.
"It isn't any concern of yours," she declared tightly, countering with, "I've never asked you how many times you've seen Monica."
"Monica has no part in this, so just leave her out of it!" he snapped.
"Gladly!"
Lacey stalked out of the living room onto the balcony. Her fingers curled into the railing, her nails digging into the smooth painted surface. Waves of pain racked her system, leaving her shaken and trembling.
She was angry with herself because she was letting Cole tear up her emotions further when the damage he had already done was beyond repair. She used that anger as a protective shield against him when he followed her onto the balcony.
"Lacey, I want you to stay away from Vic Hamilton," he ordered. His anger was held in check by a very tight rein, capable of snapping at the slightest provocation.
"I'll do as I please where Vic Hamilton or anyone else is concerned," Lacey retorted in a low, trembling voice that was fierce in her attempt to establish an independence. "Not you, nor any man, has the right to tell me whom I may see!"
The fragile reins of his temper snapped. Her shoulders were seized and roughly shaken as if she were a rag doll. The pain ripping through her body made her as weak and limp as one.
"Do I have to shake some sense into you?" he demanded gruffly.
"I think you've already tried." Her laugh was brittle, her already rattled senses in worse shape than before.
"Then listen to me and stay away from him," he declared, gritting his teeth in determination.
With a supreme effort, Lacey pushed and twisted out of his hold. "I don't have to listen to you!" she cried angrily, her voice ringing with the pulsing hurt inside, her nerves raw. "You don't have any right to tell me what to do or not to do! I don't tell you who you can have for friends, and you're not going to tell me!"
His smoldering gaze flashed past her for an instant. "You don't have to shout, Lacey," he reproved in a low, sharp tone.
Automatically she glanced over her shoulder, an unconscious reaction to discover what had distracted his attention. A woman wearing a sunbonnet was on the beach near the tideline. Lacey recognized her instantly. It was the Mrs. Carlyle, who regularly searched the beach for seashells, and she was staring toward the house, the ocean air undoubtedly carrying their angry voices to her.
"I will shout if I want to." But Lacey did lower her volume. "And if you don't like it, you can leave!"
"We've been through that before," Cole retorted.
"Yes, we have." Her chin quivered traitorously. "And you'll be glad to learn that you've finally won that argument. I'm leaving!"
Cole frowned, his gaze narrowing in surprise at her announcement. Lacey didn't wait to hear his response, but darted past him into the house, not slowing up until she had reached her bedroom. The decision had been made on impulse, but she knew it was the only recourse left open to her.
Gulping back sobs, she dragged her suitcases from the closet and tossed them onto the bed. She began gathering her clothes and stuffing them carelessly into the open bags, jamming them together with no thought to orderliness. She hesitated for a split second when Cole appeared in the doorway before continuing her hurried packing.
A muscle was working convulsively along his jaw. His mouth was a grim line, but there was regret flickering in the hard blue steel of his gaze.
"Lacey, I —" he began tautly.
"There's nothing left to say," she interrupted briskly, aware of his tall muscular figure filling the door frame. "I have three full days of my vacation left and I'm not going to let you ruin those for me."
Impatiently he burst out, "Dammit, Lacey, I'm not trying to ruin anything for you. I —"
"You've certainly done a first-rate job for someone who wasn't trying!" She slammed a handful of clothes into one of the cases, her voice growing thick with suppressed emotion.
"You don't understand," Cole muttered.
"Isn't it time you were going back to your office?" challenged Lacey, scooping a handful of cosmetics from the dresser and dumping them into their small case.
"Yes, it is, but first —"
She turned on him roundly, trembling from the mental anguish his presence induced. "I'm leaving! The house is yours! Isn't that what you want?"
His expression hardened, his mouth compressed into a thin line. "Yes," he snapped after a second's hesitation. "That is exactly what I want!"
In the next instant the doorway was empty. Heavy, angry strides were carrying him down the hallway. Lacey resumed her packing in a frenzied need for activity, faltering briefly when she heard the door slam below.
An hour and a half later, she was carrying the last of her belongings into her own apartment. Setting the bag on the floor, she collapsed into one of the chairs, burying her face in her hands.
She didn't cry; there didn't seem to be any tears inside her. She was just a big empty ache. Vital parts had been removed and she knew she would never function quite the same again.
The telephone rang. It seemed an eternity since she had heard the sound. She stared at it blankly for several rings before pushing herself out of the chair to answer it.
"Hello," she said in a tired and dispirited voice.
"Lacey?"
It was Cole. The sound of his
voice seemed to slash at her heart like a knife. Lacey hung up the phone to stop the piercing hurt.
Within minutes it was ringing again. She had made up her mind not to answer it when her hand picked up the receiver of its own volition and carried it to her ear.
"Don't hang up, Lacey." The remnants of his temper were evident in his irritated tone. "I'm at my office, so I don't have time to argue. We're going to get together tonight so we can talk this thing out. I'll be free around eight-thirty …"
After he had dined with Monica, Lacey realized. "Leave me alone!" she begged angrily. "Get out of my life and stay out of it! I don't want to see or hear from you again — ever!"
She slammed the receiver down, breaking the connection, but Cole was as stubborn as she was. He would call back. Trembling, Lacey picked up the telephone again, hesitated, then dialed a number.
When it was answered, she said, "Jane? This is Lacey. May I speak to Maryann?"
"Sure," was the reply. "How is your vacation?"
"Fine," Lacey lied, and her call was switched through. "Hello, Maryann?"
"Hi, Lacey," was the cheerful response. "Mike told me you stopped this noon for lunch. I only wish I'd known you were coming — it would have given me a perfect excuse to cancel my dental appointment."
"I should have called you in the morning, but I didn't think of it," Lacey replied absently.
"How are you enjoying the sun and the sand and the surf?"
"That's what I'm calling about," she began hesitantly. "I'm not at the beach house. I've moved out."
"Good heavens, what happened?" Maryann asked with instant concern.
"It's a long story." Her friend already knew part of it from the visit Lacey had made the previous Friday night. "I was wondering if I could sleep on your couch for a few nights."
"Of course," was the puzzled reply, "but I thought you were going to Richmond to visit your parents this weekend after Margo came back."
"I was, but I've changed my mind."
The thought of explaining to her parents all that had happened was too daunting, and Lacey knew she would never be able to keep it from them. They were too close. And she couldn't stay in her apartment. Cole would keep phoning and possibly even come over.
"What happened, Lacey? Did —"
"I'll tell you all about it tonight," she promised. "What time will you be getting off work?"
"I shouldn't have any trouble leaving by five, but I have to stop at the bank and the store." Maryann paused. "Why don't you stop by the office and I'll give you the key to my apartment? That way you won't have to wait for me," she suggested.
"Thanks." Lacey swallowed, her throat suddenly constricting.
"Oh, I have a motive," her friend laughed. "If I have to wait until tonight to find out what happened, I'll be insane with curiosity. When you stop by, you can give me an outline at least."
Ten
* * *
Returning to work on Monday morning, Lacey hoped her job would take her mind off the dead ache of her heart. So far that hope hadn't shown much promise. She had difficulty concentrating. Typing a letter was proving to be an impossible task as her fingers constantly hit the wrong keys.
"You look as if you could use some coffee. Shall I pour you a cup?" Mike offered, pausing beside her desk to reach for her coffee mug.
"Please," Lacey sighed, then bent over her typewriter to erase her latest error.
Mike filled her cup as well as his own and set it back on her desk. "It's only ten o'clock in the morning and you look bushed. I think that's a symptom of what's known as the first-day-back-from-vacation malady," he teased as his hazel gaze made an assessing sweep of her.
"Probably," she agreed, and removed the corrected letter from the typewriter carriage to add it to the stack on her desk. "Here are the letters you wanted out this morning."
"Mmm, good," said Mike between sips of his coffee. He gathered up the pile of letters and walked to the connecting door to his private office. He paused in the doorway. "It's good to have you back, Lacey."
"Thanks." It was a weary smile that accompanied her reply, etched with strain.
As he closed the door behind him, she rested her elbows on the desk top. Her shoulders slumped as if the weight of keeping up the appearance that she was her normal self had become too heavy to maintain when no one was around to see.
With the tips of her fingers she rubbed the throbbing pressure point between her eyebrows. She blinked at the tears that unexpectedly sprang into her eyes.
The door to the main office area opened and she straightened to an erect posture. The forced smile of polite greeting she had affixed to her lips drooped as Cole walked into the office.
He looked haggard and worn, but there was a relentlessly unyielding set to his jaw. It seemed to match the determined glitter in his indigo blue eyes.
Recovering from her initial shock, Lacey reached for the phone, ringing the interoffice line to Mike. "Cole Whitfield is here to see you, Mike," she said the minute that he answered her buzz.
"What?" His stunned reaction indicated that he had not expected Cole.
Lacey's pulse skyrocketed in alarm, "I'll …"
Cole reached over her desk and pushed the button to break the connection. "I'm not here to see Bowman," he stated. "It's you I want to talk to, Lacey."
Hastily she replaced the receiver and gathered the miscellaneous folders and papers from the filing basket. She rose quickly from her chair to walk to the filing cabinet, wanting distance between herself and Cole.
"Did Margo and Bob get back safely?" She tried to make the question sound nonchalant, pretending an indifference to his presence as she pulled open a file drawer.
Cole was right behind her to push the drawer shut. Her heart began leaping like a jumping bean. Raw, aching nerves were crying out for relief.
"As a matter of fact, they did," he said tersely. "But that's not why I'm here and you know it."
The connecting office door opened and Mike stepped out, frowning bewilderedly at Cole. "I'm sorry about the confusion, Cole, but Lacey's replacement must have forgotten to leave a message that you were coming this morning. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
Cole flashed an impatient look at him, annoyed by the interruption. "It isn't you I'm here to see," he repeated. "I want a few words with Lacey, if you don't mind."
The latter phrase was merely a polite gesture. Lacey had the impression Cole would stay whether Mike gave his permission or not.
"We have nothing to discuss," she told him stiffly, and brushed past him to return to her desk.
"That's where you're wrong," Cole stated flatly. "We have a great deal to discuss."
"This sounds private," Mike muttered, and retreated behind his office door.
Lacey turned to call him back and came face to face with Cole. All her senses were heightened by his closeness; she was quivering in reaction to his forceful presence.
"Why don't you go away and leave me alone?" she demanded hoarsely. "Can't you see I'm working?"
"You chose the time and place. I didn't," Cole informed her. "You knew I wanted to speak to you. I've been trying all weekend to get hold of you, but you've been hiding somewhere."
"I was not hiding!" she lied, and angrily shoved the papers back into the filing basket.
"Oh?" A dark brow was raised in mocking skepticism. "What do you call it?"
"Enjoying what remained of my vacation," Lacey retorted, and started to walk away from him again.
His hand caught at the soft flesh of her upper arm to stop her. "Will you stand still?" he demanded in an exasperated breath.
His touch burned through her like a branding iron and Lacey reacted as violently as if it were, trying to wrench her arm out of his grip. Cole merely tightened his hold.
"Let me go!" she hissed, pathetically vulnerable to his touch.
Desperate, she grabbed for the first item on her desk top that could be used as a weapon. It turned out to be the stapler. She raised it
to strike him, but Cole captured her wrist before she could even begin the swing.
"This is where I came in, isn't it?" The grim line of his mouth twisted wryly as she was pulled close by her struggles. "Only the other time you were trying to bash my head in with a poker."
"I hate you, Cole Whitfield!" Her voice was breaking. "You are the rudest, most arrogant —"
"You said something similar to that before, too." He pried the stapler free from the death-grip of her fingers and replaced it on the desk top. "Now, do you think we can sit down and talk this out like two civilized human beings?"
Averting her head from the tantalizing nearness of his well-formed mouth, she nodded reluctantly. "Yes."
"Sit down." Cole more or less pushed her into her chair and drew a second for himself opposite hers.
"I still don't see that we have anything to talk about," she insisted stubbornly, her pulse behaving not quite as erratically as it had seconds ago in his arms.
"For starters —" the direct blue eyes studied her closely "— why didn't you tell me that you didn't go to the hotel to meet Vic Hamilton?"
"You weren't in any mood to listen to me and I didn't see why I should explain." After the defensive answer, she hesitated and asked, "How did you find out?"
"From Vic, after a little prompting," Cole answered with a half smile. "Luckily for him, he was too concerned about having his handsome face messed up, so it took only a few threats. As angry as I was, I would have beaten the truth out of him."
"It wasn't any of your business," Lacey muttered, looking away. She refused to read any implication into his personal involvement in her affairs.
"Wasn't it?" he asked quietly, his low voice rolling over her skin.
The interoffice line buzzed and she reached for the phone, grateful for the interruption. But Cole took the receiver out of her hand.
"Hold all the calls. Don't put any more through," he ordered and hung up.
"You can't do that," Lacey protested in astonishment.