Secrets of a Playboy

by Janice Maynard

  Maybe he did dabble. Maybe he did live his life on the surface. But the temptation to do more than that with Frannie scared him. That fear was what had made him shut her out. Fear of failure. Fear of disappointing her and himself.

  Even his denial of her findings was based on fear. If Edward was the problem, then Zach had failed his family in a big way. If he were really so smart, shouldn’t he have suspected something before now?

  As he approached the on-ramp to the interstate, a huge shadow of foreboding washed over him. Something was wrong. The sensation was so compelling, he pulled off to the side of the road and put his head in his hands.

  Was he going on this trip because he still wanted to hang out with his friend, or to prove a point?

  The sensation of danger lingered. He hadn’t slept. That was all. He was tired and out of sorts. Of course things seemed bleak.

  And then he remembered the only other time he had experienced this same sickening premonition. He and Frannie had been in tenth grade. One night, while walking back to her dorm, two senior boys—drunk—tried to sexually assault her. Zachary had shown up at the last possible second, after looking everywhere for her.

  He’d taken in the grim scene in an instant. Incoherent with rage, he had beaten both boys with his fists until they crumpled to the ground. Frannie had finally managed to pull him away, fearing for his safety and hers. Fighting on campus was strictly prohibited.

  Frannie had been understandably distraught. They had locked themselves in an empty classroom and stayed together, talking, until dawn.

  He hadn’t thought of that night in years. Until now.

  Again, the dark cloud pressed in on him. With a curse and a jerk of the wheel, he made a U-turn and headed back to headquarters, driving twenty miles over the speed limit.

  The sun hung low in the sky. He skidded into his reserved parking space and made a dash for the front door. His key card gave him a red light the first time. He had it upside down. A second try was successful.

  Frannie could be anywhere in the building. But his gut and the detailed work she had done before told him where to go—Edward Cordell’s office. When he rounded the corner and jerked on the knob, the door was locked. That was odd. He fumbled for his master key and used it.

  His heart stopped. Frannie lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. The desktop computer was missing. Crouching beside her, he said her name a dozen times.

  She was unresponsive.

  He ran his hands over her body carefully. Her skin was warm. She wasn’t dead. But she was unconscious. And her pale, creamy cheeks were abnormally colorless.

  It didn’t take more than a few seconds to identify the cause. A huge knot on the back of her head was bleeding. In fact, her hair was matted with blood.

  His stomach revolted. Frannie. Dear God, Frannie.

  There was no time for second-guessing. He dialed 911 and told them he was bringing her in. He sketched out her symptoms in a few terse words. The medical center was close. Zach could get her there faster than waiting on an ambulance.

  At the hospital, Zachary gave them her name, and they took Frannie away from him. He was consigned to the emergency room waiting area.

  He called Farrell and then Quin. Both of them, with their wives, arrived in less than twenty minutes. Ivy had Dolly in her arms. All four adults were white-faced.

  “What happened?” Farrell asked.

  Zachary swallowed hard, feeling shaky. He sank into an uncomfortable vinyl-covered chair. “I don’t know. I’ve called the guard. He didn’t see anything. When I found her, she was in a heap on the floor of Edward Cordell’s office.”

  Quin cursed. “So she did uncover something.”

  Zachary felt the coals of guilt piling up on his head. “Apparently so.”

  Farrell touched his shoulder. “How is she?”

  “They won’t let me back yet. The wound on her head was bleeding. A lot.”

  Katie had tears in her eyes. “If she’s badly hurt, it’s our fault. We hired her, and we didn’t give her enough protection.” She frowned. “How did you know to look for her, Zachary?”

  His sister-in-law was only saying what they were all thinking. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I nearly got on a plane,” he said. “But I got this bad gut feeling. I turned the car around and went to headquarters to find her, but it was too late.”

  A young female doctor in scrubs came through the set of double doors. “Are any of you related to Ms. Wickersham?”

  Zachary stood, wishing the room would stop spinning. “No. But she was hurt on the job. We’re employing her at Stone River Outdoors. This is my family.”

  The woman nodded, her expression sober. “She’s stable. But there may be a skull fracture. I’ve stitched up the wound. We’ll have to run some tests.”

  “When can I see her?” Zachary asked urgently.

  “Shortly. Can you tell me how she was injured?”

  “Not exactly.” Zachary shared what he knew.

  The doctor’s gaze narrowed. “So it sounds like the police need to be involved.”

  Zachary had been so rattled he’d never even thought about that.

  Farrell must have recognized his panic. “Not to worry, bro. Quin and I are on it. And Katie or Ivy will bring you something to eat.”

  Soon, only the doctor and Zachary remained. The woman gazed at him kindly, but with a warning. “She’ll have to give a statement to the police eventually, but not until I’m sure she’s stable. I’ll let you sit with her. But you absolutely cannot question her. Frances needs to be calm and relaxed when she wakes up.”

  “How long will that be?”

  “No way to tell. This isn’t unusual in the case of a head wound like she sustained. It may be an hour or three or five.”

  “What do I say to her if she asks questions?”

  “She probably won’t. With an injury this bad, she’ll likely be in pain, even though we’ve given her acetaminophen. We can’t risk narcotics at this stage, and anything in the naproxen family will be a bleeding risk.”

  “I understand.” With the doctor’s directions, Zachary made his way through the halls to a cubicle that at least had walls, thank God. The room was tiny, barely enough space for a doctor to do an exam or roll a computer station into place.

  The nurse who was checking Frannie’s vitals finished her tasks and spoke with him briefly. Then he was alone with the woman in the bed. Frannie’s face was turned toward the door. The people caring for her had probably positioned her that way to keep pressure off the back of her head.

  There was a strand of wavy black hair falling across her forehead. Zach tucked it behind her ear with a light touch.

  The only other piece of furniture in the room was a narrow metal chair. Quietly, he set it beside the bed so he could hold Frannie’s hand. The one without all the tubes and tape. Her fingers were cold. He pulled the cotton blanket higher.

  “Frannie,” he whispered. “It’s me, Zach.”

  Not even by the flicker of her lashes did she give any indication she had heard him. Tears stung his eyes. She could so easily be dead. Was that what the mystery attacker had intended?

  In cartoons, Zach had seen characters get bopped on the noggin and have some kind of epiphany. Today, Frannie had received a blow to the head, and painfully, Zach had been the one with the sudden blinding burst of clarity.

  He bitterly regretted his fight with Frannie and his reaction about her finding his manuscript. Even worse was his inability to risk giving his all to her and being thought of as less than. In his cowardice, he had failed Frannie, the woman who had always believed in him.

  In that moment, he knew he was in love with her.

  The subconscious knowledge had apparently terrified him to the point he had been ready to get on a plane and fly away far and fast.

  What i
f he had left town? What if no one had found her in time? What if she had died? He was ill at the thought...and scared, and he found himself praying incoherently, although he and the deity hadn’t been particularly chummy in recent years.

  “Don’t let her die,” he whispered. He rested his forehead on the edge of the bed, clinging to that small hand as if it was his lifeline.

  “Wake up, Bug. Please wake up.”

  Thirteen

  Frannie was drifting in and out. She wrinkled her nose at the unfamiliar smells. When she moved restlessly, she groaned. If this was a migraine, it was the mother of all migraines.

  It was easier to keep her eyes closed.

  She didn’t know where she was. Or why she was in so much pain.

  Vague wisps of memories slid into her mental view, but then floated away before she could focus. Her mouth was cottony dry.

  “May I...?” The words barely formed. Could anyone hear her?

  Perhaps she should try again to open her eyes. This time was a bit more successful. She could see a clock on the wall, though she had no idea of the day’s date. Or even if it was day or night. Gingerly, she turned her head, inhaling sharply when a knife stabbed the back of her skull. Sweet Jesus.

  One of her arms was tethered to something. Was she in the hospital?

  When she turned her head the rest of the way, she saw Zach. He appeared to be asleep. His dark lashes lay like shadows on his tanned cheeks. His chin was covered with several days of stubble. She had never seen him so unkempt.

  His cheek rested on the edge of the mattress. One of his hands held hers. He was bent in what must be a terribly uncomfortable position.

  She wanted to lift her hand and stroke his hair, but her brain couldn’t make her hand move. Not only that, but she didn’t want to let go of his fingers.

  Slowly, without moving her head again, she ran her gaze around the room. Yep. Definitely a hospital. When she tried to account for her presence here, the burst of brainpower convinced her to let it go. Thinking was too hard.

  The need for water became intense. “Zach,” she croaked. His name barely sounded like a word at all, but he heard her. He lifted his head and sat straight up in his chair. “Frannie? Are you awake?”

  She nodded slowly. “Thirsty.”

  “Of course.” He moved quickly, picking up a pink pitcher and pouring water into a glass. Then he added a bendy straw. When he held the straw to her lips, she could hear the ice chinking against the plastic sides of the small cup. She drank thirstily, almost groaning aloud. “Good,” she whispered.

  Finally, even that was too much. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

  The next time she woke up, Katie sat in the chair. The fact that Zach was gone made Frannie sad, but she didn’t let on. “What day is it?” she asked, the words hoarse.

  Katie stroked her hand. “Tuesday,” she said simply. “Your throat is sore because you had a tube for a while. But you’re going to be fine.”

  “Okay.”

  The other woman offered her water without asking. Frannie managed more of it this time. She wasn’t going to ask about Zach. She wasn’t.

  Katie’s smile was kind. “Zach has been here day and night. Farrell finally made him go outside and walk around the block. He’ll be back soon. They both will. Can I get you anything else? Some food?”

  The thought of eating made Frannie grimace. “No, thank you.” She moved restlessly. Her body hurt all over, but her head was the worst. “Can I go home now?”

  “Not yet, sweetie. Relax, and let us take care of you.”

  Frannie drifted off again. It wasn’t a conscious choice. Exhaustion pulled her under.

  Eventually, she surfaced again. Zachary was back, but he wasn’t sleeping. His gaze was locked on her face. “You shaved,” she said.

  His laugh sounded rusty. “I was scruffy. And I needed a shower.”

  “Will you take me back to the hotel?”

  He froze. “You remember the hotel?”

  She frowned. Did she? Trying to piece together the memory made her weepy. “I don’t know.” She felt a tear trickle down her cheek.

  Zachary looked aghast. “Never mind,” he said quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He kissed her cheek and smoothed her hair. “You scared me, Bug.”

  “What’s wrong with my head?”

  He frowned. “You hit it. On the back. You needed a few stitches, and they think you may have a hairline fracture, but everything is healing well. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. She was too vulnerable and too wiped out to be anything but honest.

  Zachary’s expression was hard to read. “Where else would I be?” he said lightly.

  She curled her fingers around his. “I think I remember your condo. You could take me there, right?”

  His throat worked as he swallowed. “I would if I could, Bug, but the doctor says at least one more day. You have to eat solid food, and all your tests need to come back clear. It’s not so bad. I won’t leave you.”

  An attractive woman entered the room wearing a white lab coat and black pants. “I’m Dr. Maroney,” she said. “You and I are well acquainted, Ms. Wickersham, but you’ve been out cold for most of it. I’m glad to see you looking perky.”

  “I don’t feel perky.” Frannie made a face.

  The doctor laughed. “I’m sure you don’t, but you’re doing well. I’m a professional. You can trust me.” The doctor looked at Zachary. “It’s time.”

  Zach shook his head vehemently. “This is the first day she’s sounded like herself. I think we need to wait.”

  Frannie looked from one to the other. “Am I missing something?”

  The doctor pulled up a chair, putting herself eye to eye with her patient. “Something bad happened to you, Frances. That’s why you’re here. The police need to question you.”

  Frannie’s heart pounded. “The police?” She felt her pulse race. One of the monitors started beeping.

  “See,” Zachary shouted. “It’s too soon.”

  “Don’t yell at my doctor,” Frannie said, embarrassed.

  The doctor smiled. “He’s worried about you. But you’re strong, Frances. You took a hard lick to the head. Yet you’re still with us. That’s cause for celebration.”

  “And the police?”

  The doctor hesitated. “Do you remember what you do for a living, Ms. Wickersham?”

  “You can call me Frances. I’m a...” Frannie searched her brain. “I use computers. I’m a...” Her head ached. “I’m a hacker.”

  “Yes.” The doc nodded approval. “And where were you working most recently?”

  Frannie shot a glance at Zach. “For him, right?”

  The doctor spoke softly. “I want you to try to remember last Saturday. It was less than a week ago. You went to the offices of Stone River Outdoors, the company Mr. Stone and his brothers own jointly.”

  Anxiety rose in Frannie’s chest. “Last Saturday was a bad day,” Frannie whispered.

  “Why?”

  “Well, I...” Frannie closed her eyes and let herself remember. “Zach left,” she said dully. “On a plane.”

  “But what about the office where you were. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes. I went to work. I was making progress on the case.”

  “And what happened?”

  Frannie felt cold all over. “I heard a noise behind me. I thought Zach might have changed his mind. Before I could turn around, something or someone hit me on the back of the head.” She started shaking. “Is that enough? I don’t want to talk anymore.”

  * * *

  Zachary burst into the hall, furious. He stared at the detective who had been listening at the door. “I hope like hell you got what you needed. She knows nothing. And you just put her through hell.�
��

  The truth was, Zachary himself had put her through hell. He had walked away from her, intending to get on that damn plane. He would never forgive himself.

  The doctor joined them. “Ms. Wickersham won’t have to do that again. But the police needed her statement.”

  “Screw that,” Zachary muttered. He slammed his fist into the wall, seeing Frannie’s face when she said, Zach left. I thought Zach might have changed his mind.

  He had abandoned her. Told her he didn’t care about her investigation. Questioned her judgment.

  Even worse, he’d brushed her off when she wanted to talk about his book, when she’d been trying to connect to all the things he kept hidden, the “him” he never showed anyone else.

  He was an asshole, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve to have Frances Wickersham in his life.

  But he loved her, and he refused to give up. He would strip his emotions raw and stand naked if it would make things right.

  * * *

  Seventy-two hours later, Zachary took Frannie home to his condo. The doctor, worried about her patient, had kept a very stressed Frannie a few extra days because of the unfolding events involving Edward Cordell. Ivy had gone to the hotel several hours ago, picked up Frannie’s things and checked her out. Now there was no reason for Frannie not to stay with Zach.

  The family was gathering in a few hours to hear Frannie’s report. The police had made some arrests. Frannie had insisted on helping with their investigation once she realized that no one knew the chain of events like she did.

  Zachary settled her on the sofa with mounds of blankets and pillows and snacks close by. Frannie shook her head with a wry smile. “I think this is overkill, but thank you.”

  “How do you feel today?” he asked. “And don’t try to fib to me, Bug. I can read you like a book.”

  She refused to lie down. But she curled her legs pretzel-style and snuggled under a red wool afghan that flattered her coloring. “A lot better. Seriously. The headache is manageable, and I have most of my energy back.”