Shadow Dance
Page 34
Amanda looked around with interest. She had wondered what his place would look like. It was so stark at this juncture in his packing that it was difficult to tell what it must have looked like with a few decorations. It was stripped of all personal effects, except for a picture of her on an empty nightstand in his bedroom. The photo was a framed snapshot she remembered Rhonda having taken about a year ago. She picked it up and smiled at him. “Where did you get this?”
“Rhonda gave it to me when I left to come back here. That picture has kept me going, lass.” He took it from her hands and replaced it on the stand. Seeing in his eyes what was coming, she started to turn away, but he reached out and turned her back to face him.
“Are you the one who taught Ace the trick with the quarter?” she asked with some desperation. Anything to postpone the moment of truth.
“What?” He shook his head, clearly thrown off balance.
“The trick with the quarter.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, Ace has this great new trick. I discovered it by accident when I spilled my wallet one day, and I thought perhaps you had taught it to him. See, out of all the coins that had spilled, he snatched up this one quarter like it was his long-lost mother or something, and he refused to give it back. He would back away from me about five or six feet and then drop the coin on the floor, only it was merely a tease, you see, because whenever I tried to pick it up, he’d snatch it up and back away a few more feet and drop it again. It really was quite cunning. I figure if we ever have a cash flow problem, we can always hire him out to one of the casinos. It would make a great come-on for the customers. I think he’d be a terrific barker. Get it? Bark…” Her voice trailed away at the resigned patience in Tristan’s eyes. One look was enough to let her know that he’d let her stall her last. Her time had come; he was through waiting.
“Tell me how I was only—what did you call it?—peripherally included in the hate you felt when I shot Eggars,” he said, glad that she had finally wound down. It set his teeth on edge to watch so much false gaiety when she was clearly running on nerves alone. “Amanda, you looked at me as if you loathed me, and if I could take back killing him, I swear I would, because it wrecked everything between us.”
Amanda placed her hand over his mouth. “I hated me!” She’d give anything not to have to confess this, but she couldn’t bear to see him blame himself. “Not you, Tristan, me! God, when you shot him…” Her hand dropped to her side and she shook her head. “I’ve always had a problem admitting I have faults. I’ve told you about my upbringing—how I was groomed to be my parents’ little social asset.” Taking a deep breath, she confessed, “Over the years, I’ve taken the easy way out by blaming my parents for my inability to confront my imperfections. After all,” she said in a brittle voice, “didn’t I constantly have it drummed into my head that a Charles must always be beyond reproach?” She was silent for a moment. Then in a low voice, avoiding eye contact, she continued, “But I’m the worst kind of hypocrite, Tristan. Because, after a certain point in your life, you have to accept responsibility for your own actions. You can’t just keep shoving the blame off onto someone else. I’ve made choices in my life. And while I’ve been busy resenting my parents for making me feel that mistakes are unforgivable, I’ve continued to try my damnedest to live up to their image of what I should be.”
“That’s bullshit, Amanda. You’re making yourself out to be neurotic, and you’re not. That’s more your parents’ province.”
“It’s not bullshit. You’ve said it yourself: I set impossible standards and then flay myself alive when I fail to attain them. It’s okay for someone else to mess up, but Amanda Rose Charles has a lofty position to maintain above the rest of mankind.”
She paused for a moment, then her mouth twisted bitterly. “Besides, you wanted to know why I looked at you the way I did. It wasn’t a result of anything you did, Tristan. I swear to God. None of it was your fault. I was the one to go to pieces…”
Amanda’s voice trailed away and she sat down on the edge of the mattress, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. She stared at a tiny water spot on the wall until Tristan reached out and touched her arm. Clutching herself a little bit harder in an attempt to control the fine tremors that rippled just beneath her skin, she glanced over at him.
“Where was I? Oh, yeah, upon my august perch. Well, when I finally fell from my self-assigned little pedestal, I really fell long and hard, didn’t I? I was such a righteous little prig until the day Eggars walked into my home and killed Kalowski and tried to do the same to me. He turned my view of myself upside down. I have never in my life experienced emotions even remotely similar to what I experienced that day. I simply burned to be the one to kill him, and it sickened me afterward. I couldn’t live with that image of myself. Where were my much-vaunted manners then? When you wanted to teach me to handle a gun, I was so damn smug, so certain that no matter what the provocation, I could never shoot another human being. But that was before I learned how it felt to hate.”
She hugged herself and looked up at him. “Dean Eggars taught me to hate, MacLaughlin, and my God, it was a lesson I learned well. It absorbed all my emotions. I hated him like I’ve never hated anything or anyone in my life. I wanted him dead. I didn’t care if it was right or wrong. I just wanted him dead. I tried so hard to kill him, Tristan”—her voice began to rise—“but he just kept coming at me and coming at me, no matter how many times I shot him. Then, when you were the one to kill him, when he finally went down and stayed down because of you, I was consumed with rage. I felt like something had been taken away from me. I can’t forget the way I felt—like some mindless animal scenting blood, then being denied its prey. And God, it sickened me to realize how quickly I could be reduced to such savagery.”
The memory still retained the power to make her entire body quake with rage and shame, and Tristan reached out and pulled her into his arms, surrounding her with his strength and wrapping her in his warmth until she calmed.
“Ah, lass. My beautiful, brave lass. You have to learn to cut yourself some slack. And you can start by not blaming yourself for feelings you had no way of controlling.” He held her tight, smoothing her hair with one large hand. “It’s not exactly an everyday event to have a crazed killer doing his damnedest to inflict pain on you.”
“I know,” she mumbled into his chest. “He was an animal. And he turned me into an animal right along with him. I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with all that these past few weeks. And in here”—she tapped her temple—“I realize I probably reacted just like anyone else in my situation would have. But, emotions don’t have a lot to do with logic. And the feelings from that day still tend to resurrect themselves at odd moments.” The calm she had attained began to splinter. “They come out of the blue, and it’s as if no time at all has passed. I fill with hatred and rage again: for him, for me. It just swells and swells, until I feel like I’m going to burst with it. And I’m so damn scared, Tristan.”
He tightened his grip on her, nuzzling his face into her hair, her cheek, the contour of her neck. “Shh, now,” he murmured. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, darlin’. You’re safe now. Nothing like that will ever happen to you again.”
He held her and whispered reassurances. Then the soothing words and comforting kisses changed, suddenly became demanding and hungry and hot. Breathing grew harsh, clothing dissolved, and the next time Amanda had a moment for coherent thought, the chenille bedspread was twisted beneath her back, imprinting its pattern into her bare skin, Tristan’s heavy body bore her down into the mattress, and hers hummed with satiated pleasure.
Shivering beneath the post-coital kisses he pressed along her throat and shoulders, flushed with the words of love he murmured, she held him tightly and blessed the love she had never expected to find. She was a realist, and she knew that, given their personalities and respective professions, their marriage would not always be a smooth or easy one. He had
shed light into a world she hadn’t even realized was cast in shadow, but she knew her MacLaughlin. She knew for a certainty that there would be times in the future when Tristan himself would thunder all over her bright new world. Both of them had spent the majority of their adult lives alone, and there were bound to be moments when they’d find it difficult to adjust to each other’s needs. Each was stubborn, and they would struggle with their allotment of adversity. Their marriage was never going to be fairytale perfect. But it didn’t matter.
Tristan began to laugh deep in his chest. “Barker!” he said and hugged her hard. “So, you’re gonna put Ace to work, eh?”
“Oh, sure, now you laugh,” she muttered. “Where were you when I was trying to avoid the issue?”
“I wanted to get everything out in the open,” he replied into her neck. “I made a lot of mistakes of my own, darlin’. I mismanaged that case practically from the word go.”
“No, you didn’t!”
“Oh, yeah. I did. I let my involvement with you color too many of my professional decisions, and—”
“And everything turned out fine! If you had remained an uninvolved cop, then I never would have gotten to know the real Tristan MacLaughlin. I never would have fallen in love with you.”
“Ah, God, I’m so happy you’re here,” he murmured, pushing up on his elbows to look at her with eyes filled with masculine satisfaction. “I missed you something dreadful.” He smiled at her, obviously content. His hands were never still—stroking her hair, touching her face, reassuring himself of her presence and conveying his love.
Amanda practically vibrated with pleasure. “Oh, Tristan, I missed you, too.” She dug her fingernails into his muscular butt and shifted her legs, feeling him begin to harden inside her once again. A smile lit her face.
Let the future bring its worst, for somehow, when they were together, she felt they were both better people. He was more open and humorous; she was less concerned with presenting a faultless image of herself to the world. As long as Tristan was with her, she wouldn’t allow him to hide his emotions behind a mask. And, spending any length of time with him, the value of speaking plainly and directly, instead of hiding behind a shield of good manners, was bound to rub off on her.
Whatever else happened in their lives, they would always have this: a consuming love, respect, and passion for each other.
And she knew deep down in her heart of hearts, as Rhonda was so fond of saying, that as long as they had that, the rest would work itself out.
About the Author
The things that are important to me are fairly simple, though sometimes rare: a husband of thirty-plus years with whom I’ve yet to run out of things to talk about a grown son who, deep in my heart, will forever remain my sweet baby boy, a warm and supportive extended family, a few good friends, skate-skiing, in-line skating, and a cat who requires only that I remove the lid from the Pounce can so he can fish his treats out for himself.
I love to hear from my readers, so please feel free to write me at P.O. Box 47375, Seattle, WA 98146, or email me at susan@susanandersen.com. To be kept apprised of upcoming novels by email, address one to sunsanadersen-subscribe@yahoogroups.com Those desiring a reply to their letters via the good ol’ United States Postal Service, please include a self-addressed, stamped envelope and I’ll respond as quickly as I possibly can. To see what’s new, drop by my website at www.susanadersen.com.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SHADOW DANCE. Copyright © 1989, 2002 by Susan Andersen. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition November 2006 ISBN 9780061751608
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