Hands shaking, she hung up the phone. She would run home; perhaps he was napping. Or in the yard. His car hadn't been there when she'd retrieved hers, but they could have passed each other on the way.
Kate darted into the hallway and ran smack-dab into one of the secretaries, her arms piled high with copies. The papers flew.
Kate made a sound of dismay, squatted down and began helping the young woman collect the papers. "I'm so sorry," she said, embarrassed. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
"That's okay, Mrs. Ryan. It happens."
"Do I know you?"
The woman flushed. "We met last year. At the firm's Christmas party. Sandy Derricks. Mr. Bedico's assistant."
Kate smiled. "Of course, Sandy. It's good to see you again." She scooped up the last of the papers and handed them to Sandy, her expression apologetic. "It's not bad enough having to work on a Saturday, but now I've gone and made your job more difficult."
"Don't think anything of it, really. I work every Saturday." She drew her eyebrows together. "Can I help you in some way?"
Kate laughed. "Actually, maybe you can. I'm looking for my husband. Have you seen him today? It's rather urgent that I speak with him."
For a moment, Sandy gazed blankly at her, then a small, sly smile curved her lips. "Not today," she said softly. "Of course, he's been out of the office a lot recently." She paused as if for effect, her smile broadening, becoming almost triumphant. Kate's stomach sank, fearing what was coming next. "Perhaps if you find his assistant Julianna, you'll find your husband."
Kate's hands began to shake. She understood what Sandy was telling her. And that doing so was giving her great pleasure.
Kate took a step backward, working to get a grip on her emotions. Her hurt. Her fury and embarrassment. The urge to hotly defend her husband, to tell this young woman that it wasn't true. Her husband would not be unfaithful to her.
Instead, quietly and with as much dignity as she could muster, she asked Sandy to get her Julianna's address.
She did and within twelve minutes, Kate pulled to a stop in front of Julianna's apartment. Richard's Mercedes was parked in the drive, wedged in behind a bright blue Miata.
Kate sat for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to calm herself. She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel, acknowledging fear. And cowardice. She could just drive away, she thought. She could stick her head in the sand and pretend this wasn't happening, pretend that her husband hadn't taken her love and trust and thrown them back in her face.
As if he hadn't broken her heart.
Oh, Richard…how could you? She bent and rested her forehead against the steering wheel, numb with the truth, with the impending betrayal. We had everything. We had each other.
Firming her resolve, Kate drew in a deep breath, threw open the car door and climbed out. She strode up the walk; climbed the two steps to Julianna's porch and crossed to the door.
She knocked. When there was no answer after a moment, she pounded.
A moment later the door cracked open. Through the sliver of space, Kate saw that Julianna wore a slinky, silky robe. Her hair was tousled; her face flushed.
There went her last hope-that they really were working.
Fool. Naive, trusting idiot.
"I want to see my husband," she said, voice shaking. "Now."
"I don't know what you're-"
"Cut the crap. His car's out front." Kate shoved at the door and pushed past the other woman.
Julianna cried out. "How dare you! How-"
Richard appeared at the bedroom door, hurriedly zipping his pants. "Julianna, are you all ri-" He stopped when he saw Kate, his face falling. It would have been comical if it weren't so tragic. "K-Kate," he managed to stammer, his voice thick, "what are you doing here?"
Her eyes flooded with tears. "More to the point, husband, what are you doing here?"
"This isn't what it looks like."
"No? Then what is it?"
"It-" He glanced at Julianna, who was wringing her hands and whimpering. The vulnerable, innocent act made Kate want to puke. "We…I spilled coffee on my shirt and…and I took it off to…"
His words trailed pathetically off. As he stood there half-dressed, scrambling around for some lame excuse for being half-naked in his assistant's bedroom on a Saturday afternoon, Kate saw him in a way she never had before.
As weak. And shallow. And completely self-absorbed. Did the man she'd thought she loved for so long even exist?
"Kate," he murmured, holding out a hand in supplication, "I can explain."
She thought of their fight of a few weeks ago. Of the things he had said, of the way he had made her feel-as if there was something wrong with her. As if she was the problem, the one who was letting them down. She folded her arms across her chest, battling the hurt that threatened to tear her apart. "You can explain, Richard? How? By telling me I'm a jealous, possessive shrew? Or by telling me I don't believe in you? Or that I'm not fun anymore?"
He simply stared at her. A first, she thought, the slick lawyer at a loss for words. She looked away, then back, shaking with sudden rage. "You son of a bitch. I trusted you. I-" Tears choked her, and she fought to clear them. "Don't come home, Richard. You're not welcome there any longer."
56
That night, Kate stood beside Emma's crib and watched her daughter. She slept the deep, untroubled sleep of only the very young; she had no sins to regret, no fears to stalk her, no betrayals to steal her peace of mind.
Kate's eyes welled with tears. She fought the urge to reach out and touch the infant, though she longed to. It wouldn't be fair to wake her only because her mother needed someone to hang on to.
She was so beautiful, Kate thought. So perfect and sweet. She had brought such joy into their lives. No, not their lives; not Richard's. Only hers. Obviously. Richard's betrayal had proved that. If he had cared one whit about being a parent, about being Emma's parent, he wouldn't have thrown her away.
Kate brought a hand to her mouth, working to hold back a cry of despair. How could Richard have done this? How could he have betrayed her this way? How could he have betrayed them?
She spun away from the crib and hurried from the nursery. In the hours since she had discovered Richard's betrayal, she had alternately paced and raged and sobbed. She hadn't answered the phone, though it had rung a dozen times. After the first couple, she had unplugged the recorder. She had been afraid Richard was calling, and she neither wanted to talk to him nor take his message. Not ever again.
Kate brought the heels of her hands to her eyes, furious at her tears. He didn't deserve them, the lying, cheating SOB.
Her husband. How could he have betrayed her this way?
She sank to the couch. How long? she wondered. Had he started the affair after he hired Julianna? Or had he hired his lover? She brought a hand to her mouth. Dear God, was Julianna the first?
A month ago that thought would never have occurred to her. But then, only a matter of hours ago, she'd had a good marriage. Perfect, she'd thought-even with the few rough patches. A loving husband, a happy life.
Now she- Her tears spilled over once more. Standing, she went in search of a tissue. Finding it, she blew her nose, tossed the used tissue in the trash, then grabbed another. Had Richard ever loved her? Or had he married her out of competition with Luke? Or because she, stupid, doting fool, had always given him everything he wanted?
Because she had always given him what he wanted. Before Emma, she had been happy to cater to him, to his needs, desires and plans. She had been so grateful to be Mrs. Richard Ryan.
Selfish asshole, she thought, suddenly furious. He hadn't wanted to share with Emma. Richard had always needed to be number one. Always had to be the center of attention. She knew that about him, had always known it. But she had thought he would be man enough, adult enough, to share with a child.
Apparently, she had been wrong.
But then, she had been wrong about a lot of things lately.
The do
orbell pealed. Startled, she swung toward the door. Through the beveled glass panel she saw the figure of a man. He turned slightly in her direction, as if spotting her, then lifted a hand in greeting.
Nick Winters, she realized, both surprised and dismayed. What was he doing here?
Pulling herself together, she crossed to the door. She cracked it open. "Hello, Kate," he said, smiling. "I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I was hoping to buy another piece of your stained glass."
She shook her head, gripping the doorknob more tightly. "I'm sorry, Nick, but tonight's not good. Maybe tomorrow?"
"Kate, please." He placed his hand on the door. "It's for my mother. Her birthday's the day after tomorrow and…" He met her eyes. "Please, Kate. She'd love your work."
She glanced at her watch, then back at him. The last thing she wanted was a visitor. Especially Nick Winters. "This really isn't a good time. Couldn't it wait?"
"It can't." He lowered his voice to a soft plea. "Please, Kate. It would mean the world to her."
She hesitated, then relented and opened the door the rest of the way. "It'll have to be quick. I'm not feeling too well tonight."
He stepped inside, his expression sympathetic. "I see that. I'm so sorry, Kate."
She swallowed against the feeling that he knew exactly why she didn't feel well, and led him downstairs to her glass studio. Many of her pieces were hung, but she had others stored in a flat file. He flipped through them without speaking.
His silence began to make her nervous. Something about it felt wrong-too quiet, too intense. Too…full.
She glanced at her watch again, suddenly realizing what she had done-let a man she knew virtually nothing about into her home when she was alone. A man who had shown no remorse at another's death, one who had upset her just that afternoon.
The hair on her arms and at the back of her neck stood up, and she cleared her throat. "Do you see one you like?"
He didn't answer, and she took the tiniest step backward, hoping he wouldn't notice, wondering if she made a run for it how far she would get.
"I'm really not feeling well tonight. Could we please cut this short?"
He looked at her. In his pale gaze she saw something akin to pity. "I know what it's like to be betrayed, Kate. To have your love and trust thrown back in your face." He lowered his voice to a silky caress. "I know how much that hurts."
She swallowed hard, unsettled. By the intimacy in his tone, the way he was looking at her. "It's late, Nick. I think you'd better go."
She took a step back from him-he followed. "Richard's sleeping and…and I told him I'd be right there. He'll be down here any minute to check on me."
Nick shook his head, pity in his eyes once more. "I saw them together. I know." He cupped Kate's face in his palms, forcing her to look at him. "I like you, Kate. I do. I wish things could be different."
She tried to pull away; he tightened his grip. It felt as if her face were caught in a vice. "Do you think about revenge?" he asked. "About making him pay?"
A sound slipped past her lips, a small squeak of terror. The sound amused him, she saw. Pleased him. The smile that touched his lips sent a chill clear to her bones.
"Loyalty is all, Kate Ryan. You and I know that. When trust is broken, all that remains is vengeance. ‘For vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord."'
He relaxed his fingers slightly and drew his thumb across her mouth, the gesture almost absentminded. Kate stood frozen in his hands, barely able to contain her shudders of fear. Who was this man? What was he?
A monster, she thought in horror. She had let a monster into her home.
Emma. Asleep in her crib, alone, defenseless.
Oh, God. Don't let him hurt my daughter, she silently begged. Please, not my baby.
"I like you," he said again, softly, his tone laced with regret. He bent toward her. His breath stirred against her ear. "It'll be all over soon. Sooner than you can even imagine."
He dropped his hands, then turned and walked away. Kate watched him go, frozen to the spot, shaking so badly her teeth chattered. He climbed her stairs; she heard him cross the floor above her head, heard her front door snap shut.
That final sound penetrated her fear, galvanizing her to action. With a cry of pure terror, she raced up the stairs. To the nursery. Emma was there in her crib, asleep, her chest rising and falling with her breathing.
Kate said a prayer of thanks; it played over and over in her head, even as she left Emma and ran to the front door. She locked it, then looked out the glass panel.
Nick stood beside his car, gazing up at the house. Up at her. Kate brought a trembling hand to her mouth. Her fear amused him. Her attempts to protect herself and her child. She sensed that if he wanted to hurt her, he would. If he wanted to hurt Emma. A door and dead bolt wouldn't keep him out.
Nothing would.
Quickly, she snapped off the foyer light, leaving her in darkness and him in light. He lifted a hand, as if in acknowledgment of her terror, then climbed into his car. A moment later he backed out of the drive, his headlights cutting through the darkness, the twin beams bouncing crazily through the branches of the oaks, the effect like carnival lights.
She turned and hurried from window to window, checking them, locking the ones that weren't, dead-bolting the doors, her panic growing.
Sobbing now, she retrieved Richard's hunting rifle from their bedroom closet. She loaded it, her hands shaking so badly it took her three tries to slip the shells into the chamber. Taking it and the cordless phone, she went to Emma's room. Clutching both to her chest, she sank to the floor beside the crib.
57
Richard took one last glance at Julianna's front door, then started across the porch. He hated to leave Julianna while she slept, but he couldn't stay. It wouldn't look right for him to be here overnight; he had his reputation to think of, the firm's, his campaign.
He hadn't been able to sleep anyway. Every time he'd closed his eyes, he had seen Kate's face, her wounded expression as she had told him he was no longer welcome in his own home.
God forgive him, he hadn't gone after her. He had stayed with Julianna. She had held and comforted him; she had understood his confusion and pain. Comforting had become passion, then urgency. She had taken him into her hands, then mouth, and when, finally, she had taken him inside her, Kate and his ruined marriage had been far from his thoughts.
They weren't now. How was he going to face her? he wondered, looking up at the starless sky, feeling small and gutless. Hardly half a man, let alone a whole one. He'd had the perfect life, the ideal marriage. He had blown it all to hell.
No. He hadn't blown it. If he wanted her back, their marriage back, by God, he would have it. She was his wife; she would forgive him. He deserved that much from her. After all the things he had given her and the way she had shut him out these past months, she owed him this one little mistake. She owed him forgiveness.
He took his cellular phone from his pocket and punched in their home number as he angled across the small patch of lawn to his car. She answered on the first ring, her voice gravelly with sleep or tears, he wasn't sure which.
"Kate, it's me. Don't hang up, I-"
"I've got nothing to say to you."
The phone went dead as she hung up on him. He made a sound of surprise. And anger. She was his wife, by damn, and she would talk to him. He pressed redial, but before he hit Send, a figure separated from the shadows beside the house.
"You've taken something that belongs to me," the man said softly. "And I want it back."
Richard strained to see the man's face, still cloaked in shadow. What he could make out didn't strike a chord of recognition in him. "You're confused, buddy," he said, annoyed. "Get lost."
The man took a step closer, emerging from the darkness. "You took my sweet flower and soiled her. Now you have to pay."
Richard expelled a sharp breath. "I don't know you. I didn't take this ‘flower' you're talking about. I'd suggest you go sleep it off. Now, get
the hell away from me."
Instead, the man came closer, his movements nearly soundless. Richard saw that he had light hair and eyes as flat and cold as death.
A prickle of unease moved over him. "Didn't you hear me? I said to get the fuck away from me before I-"
"What?" The man laughed. "Call the cops? It'll be all over with before they get here." He eased closer. "Let me tell you a story. About a beautiful young girl. And the man who loved her. She was the world," he murmured, glancing toward Julianna's door. "His everything. He protected and cherished her. He taught her about loyalty and trust. In return, he gave her all that she desired.
"But she was susceptible to evil, to outside forces, ones intent on extinguishing her sweet, bright light. Ones who would turn her into a common whore."
Julianna, Richard realized. He was talking about Julianna. This must be the man she had told him about, the one she feared from her past.
Richard narrowed his eyes. "If you're talking about Julianna, I'm telling you now, it's over between you two. She doesn't want to see you. Not ever."
This time it was Richard who took a step closer, hoping to intimidate. "Leave her alone. If you don't, I'll have you slapped with a restraining order so fast it'll make your head spin. You got that, you freak?"
John smiled. "Self-righteous son of a bitch, aren't you? I look at you and I see the slime of the earth, a man without honor. Without loyalty." He swept his icy gaze over Richard, his contempt all but palpable. "What of your beautiful wife and baby daughter, alone in that big old house? Who's protecting them while you're off fucking my Julianna? Who's taking care of them?"
Richard's blood ran cold at the implied threat to his family. This man knew about his family, where they lived, that they were alone and vulnerable.
Fear choked him, and he took a step backward. "I'm calling the police," he said, punching 911 on his cell phone. "If I were you, I'd-"
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