Where There's Smoke

by Sandra Brown

  “So does Key.”

  The arrow in her heart twisted. “He seemed extremely uncomfortable to find himself suddenly in the spotlight.”

  Janellen’s sweet face puckered with anguish as she blurted out, “He’s going away again. To Alaska. He told me this morning. He’s been offered a job as a spotter along the pipeline. That’s a pilot who checks for leaks.”

  Lara nodded vaguely.

  “He says it’s good money and that he needs a change of scenery. I reminded him that he’d just had a change of scenery, but he said the trip to Central America didn’t count. I don’t want him to go,” she said, her anxiety plain. “But now that Mama’s in better health, I guess there’s nothing to keep him here.”

  “I guess not.” Her voice had a hollow ring.

  “I’m so worried about him,” Janellen went on. “At first I thought he was just tired from the ordeal, but you’ve been back a week and he hasn’t snapped out of it yet.”

  Lara was instantly alarmed. “Is he ill?”

  “No, he’s not sick. Not physically. He’s withdrawn. His eyes don’t sparkle anymore. He doesn’t even yell when he gets mad. That’s not like him.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “It’s like somebody pulled the plug on the electricity that kept him charged.”

  Lara didn’t know how to respond.

  “Well,” Janellen concluded awkwardly. “I just thought I’d tell you.”

  She hesitated, as though there was more she wanted to say. Lara wondered if she knew that they’d slept together. Surely she couldn’t know… but maybe she’d guessed.

  “Well, uh… When are you leaving town?”

  “I don’t have a timetable, just whenever I get everything packed. I haven’t yet made arrangements with a realtor to handle the sale of this building.”

  “Will you be moving to Washington?”

  “No,” she answered sharply. Ameliorating her tone, she added, “I haven’t made any specific plans.”

  “You’re going to pack up and leave, and you don’t even know where you’re going?”

  “That’s the gist of it,” Lara replied with a weak smile.

  Janellen was flabbergasted, but common courtesy kept her from prying further. “When you know your new address, would you please send it to me? I realize there’s bad blood between you and us Tacketts, but I’d like to stay in touch.”

  “You had nothing to do with the ‘bad blood,’ ” Lara said gently. “I’d love to hear from you.”

  Janellen seemed to debate whether it was the proper thing to do, but in the end she gave Lara a quick hug before rushing down the walk to her car.

  Lara watched until she drove out of sight. Slowly she closed the door, symbolically ending a chapter of her life. This visit with Janellen was probably the last contact she’d have with the Tacketts.

  Later, Janellen and Bowie were cuddled up on the parlor sofa. All the lights were out. Jody had retired to her room hours earlier. Key, as usual, was out.

  Bowie was semireclined on the corner cushions with Janellen sprawled across his lap. She was using his shoulder as a pillow for her head while she mindlessly strummed his bare chest through his unbuttoned shirt.

  “It was so sad,” she whispered. “She was standing there surrounded by all those boxes, looking like she was at a complete loss about what to do next.”

  “Maybe you read her wrong.”

  “I don’t think so, Bowie. She looked like she didn’t have a friend in the world.”

  “Doesn’t make sense. She just found out her dead husband is alive.”

  “It doesn’t make sense to me, either. Why isn’t she with him? If I had believed you were dead, and discovered you weren’t, I never would let you out of my sight again. I love you so much that—” She raised her head. “Well, I’ll be. That’s it. Dr. Mallory doesn’t love her husband anymore. Maybe she’s fallen in love with somebody else.”

  “Calm down now. You’re cooking up something in your mind that ain’t necessarily so.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like there’s something brewing between the doctor and your brother.”

  “You think so too?” she asked excitedly.

  “I don’t think anything. I think that’s what you think. Flying off to Central America alone together and getting captured by guerrilla fighters is pretty romantic stuff. Sounds like a movie. But don’t go reading anything into it that’s not there.”

  She looked chagrined and admitted that a romance between Key and Lara had crossed her mind. “Both of them seem so wretchedly unhappy since they got back. Key’s itching to leave.”

  “He’s always been a drifter. You told me so yourself.”

  “It’s more than wanderlust this time. He’s not rushing toward a new adventure, he’s running away from something. And that describes Dr. Mallory, too. She didn’t act like a woman who’s beloved has suddenly returned from the dead.” She made a face. “From what I saw of him on TV, I can’t say I blame her. He sounded like a real jerk. Besides, he’s not nearly as handsome as Key.”

  Bowie chuckled. “You’ve got a romantic streak a mile wide, you know that?”

  “Key said that I’m in love and want everybody else to be as happy as I am. He was right.”

  “About you wanting everybody to be happy?”

  “About my being in love.” She gazed into his soulful eyes, her love exposed. Cupping his face, she asked earnestly, “When, Bowie?”

  This subject often came up. Each time it did, it either fanned their passions or squelched them. Tonight it caused a physical breach. Frowning, he disengaged himself from her embrace, stood, and began rebuttoning his shirt.

  “We have to talk, Janellen.”

  “I don’t want to talk anymore. I want to be with you. I don’t care where it has to be as long as we can be together.”

  He averted his eyes self-consciously. “I found a place I think might do.”

  “Bowie!” She had a hard time keeping her voice to an excited stage whisper. “Where is it? When can we go? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Choosing to answer her last question first, he said, “Because it isn’t right, Janellen.”

  “You don’t like the room?”

  “No, the room is all right. It’s…” He paused and shook his head with exasperation. “I hate sneaking in here every night like a damn kid, fumbling around in the dark, copping feels, having to whisper like we’re in the goddamn library, then leaving by the back door. It’s no damn good.”

  “But if you’ve found a place where we can go—”

  “It would only be worse. You’re too fine a woman to be snuck through the back doors of motels for a quick toss.” He held up his hands to stave off her protests. “And another thing, you might think we could carry on without anyone finding out, but you’re fooling yourself. We couldn’t. I’ve lived in Eden Pass long enough to know how fast and accurate the grapevine is. It’s too risky to take a chance.

  “Sooner or later word would get back to your mama. She’d probably come after me with a shotgun or sic the law on me. Hell, I’ve been in scrapes before. If she didn’t flat-out kill me, I’d survive. But not you. You haven’t had a troubled day in your life. You wouldn’t know how to handle it.”

  “I’ve had lots of trouble.”

  “Not the kind I’m talking about.”

  She’d learned from her brothers that men hated when women cried, so she tried her best to keep from bursting into tears. “Are you trying to get out of it, Bowie? Are you making up excuses when actually you just don’t want me? Is it my age that’s turned you off?”

  “Come again?”

  A small sob escaped. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re trying to worm out of it because I’m older than you.”

  He was equally vexed and incredulous. “You’re older than me?”

  “Three years.”

  “Who’s counting?”

  “Apparently you. That’s why you’re trying to back out. You could h
ave a woman much younger than I.”

  “Shit!” He paced in a small circle, swearing under his breath. Finally he came back around and looked down at her with annoyance. “How long did it take you to dream up that crap? For chrissake, I didn’t even know how old you were, and even if I had known, it wouldn’t have made any difference. Don’t you know me better than that? Shit.”

  “Then why?”

  His aggravation dissolved, and he knelt in front of her, clasping her hands. “Janellen, as far as I’m concerned, you’re way up there above any other human who’s ever drawn breath. I’d rather lose my right arm than hurt you. That’s why I never should have let this get started. The first time I felt that yearning for you, I should have packed up and left town. I knew better, only I couldn’t help myself.”

  He paused, searching her face with such intensity that he seemed to be memorizing it. He ran his thumb across her trembling lips. “I love you better’n I love my own self. That’s why I won’t sneak you in and out of rented bedrooms, hide you like you were a floozie, and have you gossiped about like you’re white trash.”

  He came to his feet and reached for his hat. “I won’t do that to you. No way in hell. No, ma’am.” He placed his hat on his head and gave the brim a firm tug. “That’s the end of it.”

  Lara weakly leaned her head against the doorjamb. “This isn’t a good idea, Key.”

  “Since when has anything involving you been a good idea?”

  He forced his way past her. She closed the back door behind him after checking to make sure no one was around to see his arrival. It was a futile precaution. Having the distinctive yellow Lincoln parked in her driveway was as good as announcing it on local radio.

  When she turned back into the room, he was leaning against a supply cabinet. His shirttail was hanging loose outside his jeans. He was an untidy, disturbing, sexy reminder of the first time she’d seen him in this same room.

  That night he’d asked her for whiskey. This time he’d brought his own. The liquor sloshed inside the bottle when he raised it to his mouth and took a drink. The gash on his temple had closed, but the skin around it was still bruised. So were his ribs. His expression was insolent, his complexion flushed.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “You’re right.”

  She folded her arms across her middle. “Why’d you come here?”

  “Can Ambassador Porter come out and play?” he asked mockingly.

  “He’s still in Washington.”

  “But he’ll be here tomorrow. They printed a story about it in the evening edition. ‘Hero Statesman Visits Eden Pass.’ Big fuckin’ deal.”

  “If you knew he wasn’t here, why’d you ask?”

  He grinned. “Just to get a rise out of you. To see if your heart would go pitter-pat at the mention of his name.”

  “I think you’d better go.” Coldly turning her back to him, she opened the door.

  His hand shot forward from behind her and slammed it shut; then he kept his palm flattened against the wood, trapping her between himself and the door. In the small wedge of space, she turned to face him.

  “You never did answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  “About your daughter. Since we made it back alive, I want to know. Was she Clark’s kid?”

  What did he want to hear? she wondered. What did she want to tell him?

  The unvarnished truth.

  Oh, God, what a liberating luxury that would be. She could fully explain the situation, fill in all the unknown details, and, by doing so, perhaps make Key feel more charitable toward her.

  The mitigating circumstances were the critical ones. Ironically, because they were so very critical, they must remain a secret.

  Especially from Key. Especially now that she knew she loved him.

  “Randall was Ashley’s father.”

  Regret flickered in his eyes. “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  She could see that it made a difference to him, but he tried not to show it. “So you suckered me into risking my life for nothing.”

  “I didn’t persuade you to go to Montesangre, you persuaded yourself. I never even suggested that Clark was Ashley’s father.”

  “You never denied it, either.” He leaned in closer. His whiskey-scented breath felt hot on her face. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you? A clever manipulator. A tricky chick.

  “At first I couldn’t understand how my rational brother could have such a careless affair with his best friend’s wife. You did a real seduction number on him, didn’t you? Pussy-whipped him till he didn’t know which end was up. Then dopey ol’ Randall stayed with you. What a sap. He’s a prick, probably a liar, but even he doesn’t deserve your royal treatment.”

  His hands clasped her waist and with one swift motion yanked her against him. He nuzzled her neck beneath her ear. “You’re good at getting what you want from a man, aren’t you, Doc? You mind-fuck him real good before he even gets his cock out.”

  Lara squeezed her eyes shut. The accusations were ugly. They hurt, especially coming from Key. Key, who more than once had risked his life to save hers, who had been tender and passionate, ardent and loving, whose touch she still craved and whose voice haunted her dreams.

  Based on the facts, as he knew them, he had cause to insult her. His scorn was founded on what he believed was truth. It was a miscalculation she couldn’t rectify—far more for Key’s sake than her own.

  She wanted him desperately. But not this way. She’d conditioned herself to tolerate the world’s contempt, but she refused to nurture his.

  “I want you to leave.”

  “Like hell.” He dropped the liquor bottle, slipped his hand beneath her skirt, and tugged on her panties. “You’re all I can smell. All I can taste. All I think about.” His mouth covered hers and ground an angry kiss into it. “Jesus, I gotta get you out of my system.”

  “No, Key!” She pressed her thighs together.

  “How come? It’s not like you haven’t been unfaithful before.”

  She swatted away the hand groping at her breasts. “Stop this!”

  “You owe me, remember? Either the ninety thousand balance of my hundred grand. Or this.” He forced his hand between her thighs and fondled her intimately. “I choose this.”

  “No!”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll leave before sun-up. Your husband won’t catch you in the act this time. I’m smarter than my brother. I’m also better. Aren’t I?”

  “No, you’re not,” she cried. “Clark never had to resort to rape!”

  That sobered him as instantly as the cold water she’d once thrown in his face. He released her and staggered backward, his breath coming harsh and loud.

  Knowing the root of his aggression, Lara felt more sorrow than anger. She longed to touch his face, run her fingers through the damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, placate him, tell him she regretted having to hurt him in the worst possible way—by unfavorably comparing him to Clark.

  Instead, she had to let her statement stand and watch his lip curl with repugnance for his brother’s cast-off, adulterous whore.

  He looked her over and made a scornful sound. “No, I’m sure he didn’t. Relax, Doc. You’re safe from me.”

  He reached around her and pulled open the door. The liquor bottle almost tripped him. He kicked it out of his way. It crashed against the wall and shattered.

  He stormed through the door, leaped over the steps, and climbed into the Lincoln. He gunned it; the tires spun in the gravel before gaining traction. He sped away.

  Lara closed the door and, with her back to it, slid to the floor. Folding her arms across her lap, she bent at the waist and released a keening cry.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “So this is it? This is what you’re so reluctant to leave?”

  Randall had strolled through the rooms of the clinic and wound up in Lara’s private office, where she’d been packing books and files. He’d flown fro
m National Airport to Dallas/ Fort Worth and leased a car for the two-hour drive to Eden Pass.

  For hours before his arrival, media vans had been cruising the street in front of the clinic on the lookout for him. When he arrived, reporters and cameramen flocked to him in impressive numbers.

  His ordeal in Montesangre had atoned for the scandal involving his wife and Senator Tackett. Like a wayward child who’d taken his punishment and turned over a new leaf, he’d been warmly received by the president and the Department of State. Having experienced the Montesangren culture from the inside out, he was its reigning expert on Capitol Hill. He was newsworthy.

  Lara remained indoors while Randall conducted an impromptu press conference. After fielding questions for several minutes, he begged to be excused.

  “My wife and I have had very little time alone since our return. I’m sure you can understand.”

  After some good-natured snickering, they reloaded their Betacams and microphones into their vans and left. Many honked and waved as though bidding goodbye to a chum.

  Now dusk was gathering outside, but Lara hadn’t turned on the lamps in her office. The semidarkness was more in keeping with her mood. It also hid the dark circles beneath her eyes.

  Knowing she would never see Key again, she had cried herself into a stupor following his angry departure the night before. He’d left hating her. Her sense of loss was wrenchingly painful and came close to how she’d felt when she regained consciousness in Miami and realized that the terrible nightmare she’d had was indeed real.

  Finally, sometime around 2:00 A.M., she garnered the wherewithal to make her way to bed, where she’d lain awake until dawn. She’d spent the day packing her belongings, working feverishly between lapses of immobilizing depression in which her hands were rendered useless and she stared vacantly into space through dry, gritty eyes.

  The gloaming made the office feel cozier, warmer, safer, a refuge for her abject despair. She had come to like Dr. Patton’s paneled walls and masculine furniture and wished she could look forward to years of enjoying this office.

  “It’s so provincial,” Randall observed as he dropped onto the leather love seat.