by J. Kenner
That reality wrenches at my heart, especially since I know what I need to do now. I should thank him for checking the door, then ask him to leave. But I don’t. Instead, I say, “There’s no intruder here. Nobody but you.”
He chuckles, obviously hearing the flirtatious tone in my voice. Then he takes another step closer. “I should have left,” he says, “but I heard the shower. So I stayed.”
“Oh.” I lick my lips, feeling young and innocent. I’m twenty-five, and haven’t felt young since my mother walked out. I was five then. And I’m damn sure not innocent. “Why?”
His head tilts to the side, his eyes never leaving mine, and I feel the heat of his gaze all the way down to my bare toes. “You know,” he says, and my nipples harden and my sex throbs with longing.
My breath catches in my throat as he takes one more step forward.
“This isn’t normal.” My voice sounds far away.
“No,” he says, “it’s not. Nothing’s been normal since the first moment I saw you.” He meets my eyes, and I see a future there, the kind of future I never thought I could have. That I never will. It’s like looking into pain, because I know how this will end.
And yet I can’t look away.
“Do you want me to go?”
“No.” I meet his eyes, then drop the towel. “I want you to stay.”
Chapter Seven
“Winston?” I say now, as the memory of our shared past cuts through me, cold and bittersweet. “Is it really you?”
I take a step toward him, wanting desperately to touch him. But another more rational part wishes that he weren’t here at all. “What are you doing here?”
“Just stop right there,” he orders as I start to take a second step.
I freeze. There was a time when I’d known without a shadow of a doubt that he would never hurt me. That he’d die to protect me. But that time is definitely not now.
His hand on the gun is firm, and the barrel doesn’t shake at all. If I’ve rattled him, he’s not showing it. And there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll pull that trigger if I don’t do exactly what he says.
It’s no less than I deserve, but that simple truth saddens me. I never thought this day would come, and now that it has, all I want to do is run away. But not from the gun. No, what I want is to escape that hard, lost look in his eyes.
“We should talk.” I cock my head toward the bed. “Can I sit?”
His eyes narrow as he looks me up and down. It’s a cold, assessing look. Nothing remotely sensual about it, and yet my traitorous body responds. My skin heats. My nipples tighten. My skin flushes.
I remember with sudden clarity the last time we’d been together. The living room had been lit with firelight, and we’d drunk wine and made love on a blanket spread across our living room floor. I cherish the memory, and a knife-edge of anger cuts through me because I know that the same memory only hurts him now.
“Please,” I say, edging sideways.
“Don’t fucking move.”
I freeze. “Why are you here?” I ask again. “And why do you have a gun? I thought you left police work.”
“You thought?” he repeats. “You thought?” He takes a step toward me, but not too close. “Funny. I didn’t think the dead could think.”
“Winston—”
“No.” The word is sharp and cold as steel, and I see the pain reflected all over his face. Pain that I caused. “Tell me.”
I lick my lips. “I know that you left Hades. You moved to California. You quit law enforcement and retired and volunteered at an animal shelter.”
I’d been glad of that. That the life insurance I’d put in place had allowed him to leave police work behind. And he’d finally been able to get a dog. I’d told him I was allergic back in the day, but it wasn’t true. In reality, my handlers didn’t want any creature in my life that might, literally, be able to sniff out my secrets.
His eyes narrow slightly as he studies my face. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you kept an eye on me? Tell me what you saw, Linda. Because if it wasn’t a man broken completely in two, then you had the wrong damn picture.”
“I know,” I say. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—”
“What?”
“I wasn’t spying on you. I only wanted to know that you’d be okay.”
He laughs at that. A hard, raucous sound. “Okay? Okay? Are you insane? My wife was dead—at least I thought she was. I’d been ripped to pieces. And you’ve been keeping tabs on me for all these years?”
“No. I—”
“What?” he snaps, and I have to work not to recoil from the vitriol in his tone.
“I stopped watching. Once you were settled in Orange County with your house and your work at the shelter, I never paid attention again.” I lift my chin. “It hurt too much to watch what you were doing and not say anything.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
“It’s the truth. Every day since that horrible day in Hades, I’ve tried to get you out of my head.” I lick my lips, knowing I’m revealing too much, but dammit, he deserves to know. Or maybe I just want to soothe a little bit of my own guilt. “Every day, I’ve failed.”
“If you’re looking for sympathy, you’re looking in the wrong place.”
“I know.” I run my sweaty palms over my bare hips then look down at the carpeting.
The truth is, I betrayed him. I hurt him. And if I could heal those wounds, I would. It was necessary, but that doesn’t make the pain any less. And though my heart ached for what we couldn’t have, I know that the pain he suffered cut so much deeper.
I can’t tell him that, though. Not the truth of it. But even if I could, what would it matter? We can never get back what we lost. Hell, we were never supposed to have it in the first place. We were always living on borrowed time. I’m just the only one of the two of us who knew it.
That cold reality has haunted me for years. I used to believe the pain couldn’t get worse, but now I know that I’d been a fool. I’m alive, after all. Before tonight, he’d loved a memory.
But now…
Well, now I’ve left him with nothing at all. Nothing except a deep void to be filled with hate and regret and sorrow.
I let the pain and the memories wash over me, then lift my head and focus again on that gun. “Why are you here?” I force my voice to break, wanting to sound scared. Desperate. Honestly, it’s not that hard. “Did you track me down? Is that why you have a gun? Did you go back to police work? Did you come here to—to hurt me?”
For a moment, his eyes are hard. The he scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m not a cop, but I still carry. You’ve seen what I’ve seen—all the crime, your wife murdered—well, carrying a gun doesn’t seem like overkill.”
“No pun intended?” I tease, trying for a light tone.
I must succeed at least a little, because I see his mouth twitch.
“Did you come here looking for me?”
He looks me right in the eyes. “I’ve thought you were dead for years. I saw you, and I was shocked. It couldn’t be you. How could my dead wife be alive? But there you were, just sitting there in the hotel bar.”
“A coincidence.” The word brushes softly over my lips, so sweet I can almost taste it. He didn’t know. He didn’t come here to find me. “You just happened to be in town?”
He shrugs. “On business.”
“Which is?”
“Would you believe I consult on movies?”
“Really?”
He shrugs again, looking a little embarrassed. “Small town sheriff. Lots of TV shows and movies want to make it seem real.”
I nod, relieved he’s only living the Hollywood version of law enforcement. “Must be fun.”
“I think we just hit the limit on small talk.”
“Right.” I manage a smile. “So you saw me in the bar, then followed us up to the room. The Winston I knew before would have waltzed over to our table and had it out with me.”
&n
bsp; “I’m not the man you knew before.” There’s something hollow in his voice when he says that. Something that makes me very, very sad.
I swallow. “No, I suppose you’re not.”
He shoves his free hand into his pocket, his eyes looking everywhere before finally settling on me. “When I first saw you, just sitting there with the asshole who bolted, I was sure it couldn’t be you. You’re dead, right? My wife’s been dead for years. But I followed, anyway. My gut knew what my mind didn’t want to admit. And when I knocked on the door and the asshole told me your name was —well. That was a dead giveaway, wasn’t it?”
“No pun intended?” I say, hoping for another hint of laughter from this overused joke. But there’s no reaction this time. None at all. Instead, he just stares me down.
“Michelle Moon,” he says. “That asshole you came here to fuck said your name was Michelle Moon.”
He says the name like it’s a betrayal. Which, of course, he thinks it is. You’re the moon to my Starr,” he used to tease me. And as for Michelle…
“I’m truly sorry about that.” The words come out in a whisper. “When you heard it, you must have thought—”
“I didn’t think,” he snaps. “I didn’t have to. The situation was clear enough. You were alive. You’d betrayed me.”
I lick my lips. “So you just knocked on the door and my date volunteered my name?”
He nods. “I said I was an old friend of Linda Starr’s. He told me I had the wrong room. That your name was Michelle Moon.”
I press my lips together.
“I asked to talk to you,” Winston continues, “and he said you were in the bathroom.” He shrugs. “I don’t know what came over me, but I pushed my way in. And once I was past the door I told him we used to be married. That shocked him but I said that I only wanted to talk to you.”
“What did he say?”
“Offered me a chair.”
I cock my head to one side. “Really? And then after this polite interchange, he slammed you in the head with an iron?”
“He blindsided me,” Winston says. “Considering I pulled my gun when I heard the bathroom door open, I can’t blame the guy too much. At least he was chivalrous enough to try to save you.” He looks at me hard. “Then again, he’s the one who bolted and left you with the crazy man waving a gun. To my way of thinking, that makes your boyfriend a real dick.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Under the circumstances, it hardly matters, but I want him to know that. Not that it can make up for anything.
“So it was just a pick up? A quick fuck? Well, that makes me feel better.”
“It should,” I say. I wave a hand to indicate my still-naked body. “You’ve stripped me of all pretense, Winston. You want the truth? The truth is that I haven’t been with anyone since you. Not seriously. But sometimes, especially when I’m on the road…”
“You don’t live here, either?”
“I came in for a conference. I’m an office manager in a plumbing supply company in Tulsa.”
“Sounds thrilling.”
“It’s not.”
“So the chivalrous guy who bolted and left you with the potentially crazed ex-husband, he was just a hook-up?”
“I’ll be leaving a few choice comments on his profile later.” I’m trying for levity, but when he doesn’t react, I try another tact. “I’ve been so lonely.” I watch his face, hoping that he can hear the truth in my voice.
“Then I guess you made a mistake pretending to die.”
I feel the tears well, and I don’t try to hold them. “No,” I whisper. “That was horrible and it hurt both of us, but it wasn’t a mistake.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I never wanted to leave you.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
I glance away, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I don’t think I have the right to expect anything from you anymore.”
My palms are sweaty again, and I take a sideways step towards the bed, intending to grab the spread, but he gives his head one quick sideways shake, the gun still trained on me. “Stay put.”
I freeze. I don’t think he’d really shoot me, but all things considered I wouldn’t be surprised.
“Go on. You were telling me you didn’t want to leave.” There’s a harsh tone to his voice, as if he doesn’t believe me. Well, why would he?
“It’s the truth.” It really is. I would have done anything to stay with him, but anything wasn’t possible. So instead I did everything I could to protect him. “I knew you were working on a case, remember? Something big. Something scary. But that’s all you told me. Corruption in the local government, you said. And I knew there’d been a murder. But you never gave me the details.”
Winston nods. “I remember.”
“Well, that’s it, really. I knew something was going on, and I knew it was bad. And then one night when you were out, someone came to the house.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” I glance toward the bed. “Please. Can I at least sit?”
He hesitates, then nods. I move to the bed, then sit on the edge, my legs tight together. I reach for a pillow to pull into my lap, but he shakes his head.
I draw in a breath, and cross my hand over my breasts. I’m not modest—in my business, it’s really not an asset—but right now I feel genuinely exposed.
For a moment, I think he’s going to tell me to put my hands at my sides. When he doesn’t, I relax a little, then have to remind myself to be vigilant. I still don’t know what the situation is. He says it’s a coincidence, but is it really? He could be telling the truth, but he could just as easily be lying.
That’s another reality of the world I live in now—everybody lies, and there’s not one goddamn person I truly trust. Winston was the last, and now I can’t even trust him.
“What?”
I force myself not to cringe, realizing my uncertainty must have shown on my face. I’m getting sloppy. Or, rather, Winston is making me sloppy.
“I was just remembering that night,” I lie.
“When someone came to the house.” His tone is harsh, as if he doesn’t believe me. Smart man. But in this case it’s true. Just not the entire truth.
“He said he worked with the local police,” I continue. “That there were things going down, and that you were in the middle of them, and that if you kept poking around you would end up dead.”
“Go on.”
“He told me that the only way that you would survive this was if you pulled your nose out of the entire mess, but that you were like a dog with a bone. And you wouldn’t give up unless something huge distracted you.” I meet his eyes, and feel real tears prick at my own. “He said the only thing big enough to distract you was me. He said I had to die.”
“And you were such a little martyr that you died for me.”
“I don’t blame you for not believing me, but it’s true.” I watch him, trying to read his expression. It’s blank at first, and then I see the shift on his face. The shadow in his eyes. The hint of a frown at the corners of his mouth. I think that he understands. That, maybe just a little, he’s beginning to trust me. Most of all, that he believes me.
I know it’s a risk, but I stand, then take a step toward him. I see his body stiffen, but he doesn’t step back, and so I move forward another few inches, then another. He’s still holding the gun, but I reach for his other hand, and take it in my own.
If this were a movie, the room would be filled with starbursts. His touch is so familiar, so wonderful. I’ve missed it. And oh, dear God, I want more. It’s not just the feel of his hand in mine that affects me. It’s the connection, and it ricochets through me, making my body react in ways that I wish it wouldn’t, because it reveals too damn much. Especially since I’m standing there naked in front of him.
But this isn’t about sex or attraction. I need him to believe me. And while I don’t like being vulnerable, not even in front of Winston, at
least he can see the truth of it on my body. “I’ve missed you so much,” I whisper. “So, so much.”
He pulls his hand free, then steps back. “And yet you stayed away.”
“I had to. They said if you ever learned the truth, they’d kill you.” There’s a harshness in my voice that I wish wasn’t there. But it’s the truth, damn it, at least mostly. And it’s probably the only truly selfless thing I’ve ever done. I want him to know it. I want him to know that even though I did betray him, I only did it to save his life.
“Are you remarried?” I blurt the question out without thinking. “Seeing anybody?”
“No.” The word is hard. Firm. The answer makes me sad that he’s alone, but mostly it makes me happy. I know it shouldn’t. This is ending tonight. I’m going to extricate myself from this mess come hell or high water. I’ll curse the bad luck of running into my husband and I’ll move on.
I haven’t lied about the danger to him. Odds are Billy Hawthorne’s people are watching me. And if they think that I actually arranged to contact Hades’ former sheriff, well I could very well be a dead woman.
Right now, I’m probably safe, but the longer I’m with him, the more the danger increases.
The truth is, I won’t see him after tonight and it’s a miracle that we crossed paths at all. I’ve never been one for signs, but I’m a wiz with justifications. And at this particular moment there’s nothing else for me to do except extricate myself from this mess, then wait and regroup. I’ll find Bartlett again easily enough. And the laptop’s still in this room.
I take another step toward Winston, who holds his ground. We’re only inches apart now. I haven’t done anything this impulsive or foolish in years. Not since I was with this man, back when there was joy in my life. Back when he was the joy in my life.
“Don’t,” he says as I lift my hand and put it on his hip. The muscles in his face are tight, his voice harsher than I’ve ever heard it.
“Please,” I say. I step back, then press my palm between my breasts and slowly slide my own hand down over my belly, then let my fingers curl between my legs as I bite my lip to fight off a moan of pleasure.