“A goddess, huh?” Zia raised one eyebrow and peeked around a pillar.
Ruben looked up. “She’s one of my best sources. She’s been trying to reach me.”
There was no humor in his voice, and it surprised her. He was frowning.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“No. Everything is not all right. I knew I shouldn’t have answered my fucking messages!” Ruben threw a notebook against the wall and spun around in his chair, his back to her.
Zia retreated behind the pillar and found herself breathing fast. Whatever illusion of happiness she’d clung to these last few days seemed to slip away in an that one instant, and she was falling, afraid and alone.
“I’m sorry.” Ruben ran up to stand behind her. “Something really awful has happened with a story I should be working on, and I’m incredibly angry with myself. As soon as we figure out what’s going on with you–once we’ve got you settled tonight–I have to come back to the office, okay?”
She nodded but didn’t turn to look at him. He touched her shoulder.
“Just give me a few more minutes.”
Zia stood with her back against the pillar for what seemed like a long time, her eyes closed, her heart beating, her head spinning.
She thought again of Brad, and the face she’d pulled up from the dark place of her memory. Her stomach twisted with confusion. She’d cherished that face once. What had happened? How did a woman go from love to blood and fear? How long had it taken her? What had happened in between?
She felt her arms raise up. Her brain began to count and the music flowed through her, through her mind and through her throat in a hum. She kicked off her boots and dug her toes into the short Berber carpeting of the office floor.
One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four…
She ran to the front of the office, where she could see her reflection in the wall of windows backed by the night. It was Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty, and it poured through her, and the choreography was known once more to her legs and arms and body. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four…
She saw herself in the windows, not a woman in a pair of jeans and a cast, but a prima ballerina in a rich, glittering pink tutu with thick gold brocade trim and a skirt of densely ruffled netting. Her hair was pulled tightly from her face, a close-fitting crown of roses sat upon her head, her brows penciled in over the drama of false eyelashes.
She must remember this, that whatever they found tonight, whatever her name, this was what really mattered to her. Ballet. Dance was her life.
She was Aurora, the Sleeping Beauty, and she saw in the black windows how the King and Queen and their courtiers, the fairies and the suitors surrounded her.
She danced with the spindle until she pricked her finger, and fell gracefully into a deep sleep at the feet of the King. She lay stretched out upon the floor, legs crossed delicately at the ankles, her arm outstretched beneath her head, fluttering… fluttering into dark sleep.
An odd mechanical sound shook her from her trance. She stood up and stared at herself in the darkened window.
A barefoot woman in a sweater with loose, swinging strands of hair glared back at her – and, amazingly, the woman had a name.
Jane Frances O’Connor.
Janey.
She turned away from the reflection and began to walk. Panic unfurled in her belly, and it rose up her throat until it gripped her windpipe. She had to force herself to take in air as she remembered the awful, terrifying truth.
Janey O’Connor, you are in big fucking trouble.
Janey O’Connor, you’ve got to hide.
Janey O’Connor, there’s no room for anyone. No room for love. And you damn well know it.
She walked. She was lost. She let her fingers drop aimlessly along the corners of the desks, the ledge of a windowsill, the smooth, cool surface of the wall. She found herself near the fax machine, and the whirring suddenly stopped. She looked down.
It was a photograph of her—with Bradley Rowe.
Her hand reached down for the slick paper and she clutched at it with unsteady fingers. Her eye caught another sheet beneath it in the tray, another photograph. And another sheet, and another sheet… all pictures of her!
A handwritten note lay on the bottom of the stack: Hey Olivia – I know you’re already gone for the day, but I found these clips in the society pages. Thought they might help. I sent the other stuff Fed-Ex. Take care, Patty.
“Zia, I think I’ve found something!” Ruben’s voice sliced through the sickening thudding inside her head. “Hey, Zia. Can you come here a minute?”
Her vision was swimming, sliding, crashing. The fear strangled her. It was all she could do to step away from the fax machine toward the center of the office, where she suddenly saw Ruben in the glare of the office lights and lost her way, falling gracefully to the floor, scattering the papers around her, as she disappeared into a place of emptiness.
Ruben had nothing against crying. He’d cried before. The day he found his parents. The first time he held this woman in his arms. But at that moment, with her head in his lap and the fax papers spread on the floor around them, he felt too numb to cry.
Everything she’d said made sense now. This is who she was, who the man with the sword was. But what in God’s name did Olivia Richards have to do with this?
He stroked the delicate blond wisps from Jane O’Connor’s hairline and the adorable widow’s peak just off center there. He brushed his fingers along her cheek and smiled, remembering what she’d said the first day they spoke…
“I don’t think I’m a Jane.”
“Definitely not a Jane.”
Ruben caressed her hair. “Jane, wake up. It’s all right.” He leaned down and touched his lips to her temple. He breathed her in one last time. “Jane, we’ve got to go to the police.”
“What the fuck?”
Dave Kovac stood against the row of offices in a sweaty volleyball uniform, his jaw open nearly to his chest. “Jaramillo, what the fuck are you doing on the floor? And who is that?”
She sat in Ruben’s chair with the papers spread out on the desk before her, her head in her hands, trying to control the shaking. She sipped the cup of water Ruben had provided.
She looked up briefly to see Ruben still arguing with his co-worker. All she could think was she had no time for this. She had no more time for anything, because they were coming for her.
“Ruben, we have to go,” she said softly. “You need to take me back to your house right now.”
Ruben spun around, and she saw that his eyes held anger. He pulled his keys from his pocket and walked to the desk.
“Zia—Jane. Why don’t you wait for me a few minutes in the truck? I’ll be right there.”
She gathered up the faxes and took the keys from his hand. “It’s Janey,” she whispered, passing close by him, holding his eye just a moment. “No one ever calls me Jane.”
Then she nodded and walked by Ruben and Kovac. Without another word she was out the door.
Ruben watched her disappear through the security lights and into the night.
“Listen, you know I don’t give a damn what you do in your spare time,” Kovac continued. “But when you don’t show up for a whole week, I do care.”
“It’s none of your business, Kovac. Howard and Suzie know exactly what’s going on with me.” Ruben started to walk toward the door, but Kovac’s hand gripped his upper arm.
“I’m going to fill them in on what I saw here tonight,” Kovac whispered.
“And you’re going to tell them what? That I came in to work late and brought a friend? Who the hell cares?”
Kovac laughed even as his eyes narrowed. “What kind of trouble are you in? Is that the amnesia girl? Maybe I can help you out.”
Ruben’s mouth twitched. “Help me out? Kovac, pardon my bluntness, but you’ve never been motivated to help anyone but yourself. Let’s just pretend we didn’t see each other here tonight, all ri
ght?” Ruben looked Kovac over, from the kneepads to the sweatband around his balding head. “Who won?”
“I always win,” Kovac snickered.
Ruben turned from him and walked toward the door, but Kovac was right behind him. “I’m sure gonna enjoy having a front row seat when you crash and burn, Jaramillo.”
Ruben ignored him. “I always knew it would be a woman who’d take you down, Ruby. They call it poetic justice.”
Ruben still didn’t turn, but Kovac closed on him.
“Come on, little Indian boy. I’ve been waiting a long time to see you mess up. You might as well go out big, so how about you just let me have it, pussy?”
Ruben turned quite slowly and Kovac was surprised at what happened next—he laughed at him, loudly. “Goodnight,” Ruben whispered.
Kovac was on him in an instant, and Ruby felt the bones in his face give way as the editor’s fist met his jaw.
Janey had decided not to wait any longer when the newsroom door opened and the guy in the volleyball uniform walked out. He drove off in a hurry. What was keeping Ruby?
She laid into the horn. She had no time, no time for this, no time for Ruby, no time for anything. If she left tonight she might still be able to safely get to the house. How ridiculous that they’d just been up there and came all the way back! God! Such a waste of time!
“Fuck this!” She scooted over into the driver’s seat and drove away. She hated to steal Ruby’s truck, but she had no choice. He’d have to understand.
Something wet tickled his nose and Ruben reflexively shooed it away with a wave of his hand. He opened his fuzzy eyes and gasped in horror. He sat up, scooting back on his hands and rump from—
“You okay?” The diminutive woman cocked her head and stared at him as if he were the oddity, not her. Ruben reached for his glasses that lay on the tile floor and hooked them over his ears. Apparently, the cleaning lady had used the tentacles of a wet mop to rouse him.
“Estas bien?” She leaned down further to inspect him. “Necesitas el medico?”
“No. No.” Ruben’s hand went immediately to his jaw, where he gingerly pushed and prodded. Kovac had knocked him cold, the bastard. How long had he been out? Where was—? “Oh, shit!”
He jumped up, steadying himself against the glass office walls while he looked over to a clock. Nine-thirty. “Shit!”
He opened the door to the parking lot and squinted. His truck was gone.
“Shit!” Ruben jogged over to the corkboard near the city desk and removed a set of keys to one of the newspaper’s sedans. He signed his name and where it asked for destination and assignment, he scribbled two big question marks.
“Shit!” He ran out the door, cupping his swollen jaw.
The cleaning lady shrugged and continued to mop.
On the ten-minute drive home, Ruben willed her to be there. He focused all his positive energy on the fact that she’d be at Pura Vida, sleeping in his bed, her hair spilled out around her on the pillow. She’d smile when he came home. She’d tell all the things she was now remembering. She’d let him help her out of this mess.
And what a mess! Ruben moaned softly from the pain in his jaw. He would definitely file charges against Kovac. He would call Olivia to find out just what the hell she was doing spying on Zia–Jane—Janey! He would call the police. He would tell them that Zia-Jane-Janey was in danger. They’d bring in the Bradley Rowe guy for questioning in Philadelphia, and she’d be safe. It was manageable.
He swung the Ford into his driveway in time to see her getting into his truck. Thank God she was still here! He slammed on the brakes and blocked the truck in between the pear trees and the front of the house.
Ruben jumped out of the car and nearly ran into her as she turned on him. She was screaming.
“Who’s car is that? How did you get here so fast?” She glared at the Ford Taurus. “You’ve got to let me go!”
She suddenly gasped. “What happened to you? God, Ruben, you’re bleeding!”
“I am?” Ruben brought a hand to bottom lip and came away with a smear of blood. He frowned at her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She straightened her left arm and pushed him away. “Listen very carefully to me, Ruby,” she whispered. “You are a wonderful man. I like you so much…”
“You like me? What the hell…?”
She cut him off. “And the smartest thing you will ever do in your whole damn life is let me take your truck and get away from you. I promise I’ll get it back as soon as possible. You need to let me out of here. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Ruben breathed hard and stared at her.
“The longer you keep me, the closer to dead we both get. Can I make it any plainer to you?”
“I can help…”
“Let me go and forget you ever met me. Lie about me when they ask. Move the car out of my way.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Yes I do. I can help you.”
“Ruby! Damn it, this is not some news story! This will get us both killed. If you don’t let me go and pretend you never met me, they will kill you, too.”
“Who’s they? Are you talking about Bradley Rowe?”
She looked as if she was going to be sick. “Not just him. A whole bunch of people. Look, I’m leaving, whether you move the car or not. I’ll just smash into it until I’ve got enough room to pull out.”
“I’m going with you.”
She turned to get in the truck, and Ruben grabbed her arm roughly. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, turning to see Ruben’s bewildered face.
Across the road, Gina’s geese let loose with a great chorus of honking.
“Look, you said you loved me, right?”
Ruben nodded. “I do love you—present tense.”
“Then let me out of here.” She blinked back the tears. “If you love me, let me go.”
“I won’t.” He reached for her arm again. “Zia, I can’t let you go.”
“I’m not Zia, goddammit! My name is Janey O’Connor, and I’m in a shitload of trouble and I have a very narrow window to save myself. Get the hell out of my way.”
She turned again and slammed the truck door before he could stop her. She forced the truck into reverse and stepped on the gas, and a sickening crunch of metal echoed in the courtyard.
Ruben pounded on the truck window. “Stop it! God! Stop it!”
She waited precisely one second before she backed into the sedan again, shoving it a few inches more. Then she whipped the steering wheel around and inched the truck backward then forward, slamming into one of the pear trees in the process.
“Ah shit!” Ruben pounded his fist on the hood, and it hurt like hell. “Zia! Janey! Give me a break!”
She squealed off, tearing away the corner of the privacy fence and knocking over the mailbox before she got to the road.
Ruben ran to the end of the drive and watched the taillights disappear north on Corrales Road, where she was headed in the first place, ten days before. And she was moving fast.
He put his hands on his knees and gulped the air. She was gone. She was gone.
The geese stopped honking suddenly and Ruben felt someone staring at him. He opened his eyes to see two fuzzy pink slippers on the dark asphalt beside him.
Gina stood there, her hands on her hips, a pair of baggy striped pajamas glowing in the darkness.
“You missed her doctor’s appointment yesterday, Ruby.”
Ruben stared at her in disbelief, still breathing hard. Then he started to laugh.
“I don’t find that particularly funny,” she said.
He howled, until the pain in his jaw made him stop.
“What in God’s name is wrong with you?” Gina stared at him as if he were a mad man. “Are you bleeding?”
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me!” The geese decided to join in Ruben’s loud lament and he had to shout over their squawking.
“My jaw’s broke
n! My hand’s broken! My fence and mailbox are broken! The newspaper car I took without permission is wrecked! My career is falling apart! And the only woman I’ve ever loved just wrecked and stole my truck and disappeared from my life! How’s that? Does explain why I might be just a tad bit troubled at the moment?”
Gina sighed and shook her head. “I told you this whole thing was a spectacularly bad idea.”
Janey focused on the road in front of her and kept driving. It was very close to total blackness out here north of Taos, and she felt the mountains press close around her, a force she could feel more than she could see. The enormity of those cold mountains, the sheer weight of the rock, scared her.
But she’d have to get used to them, wouldn’t she?
Janey knew she should probably should pull over and wait for sunrise. She had no idea how to get to the town let alone the house, even in daylight. But she kept driving, as if the driving itself was enough to keep her safe.
For two hours she’d done nothing but stew in her memories and curse Brad, curse Agent Sheridan, curse herself for being so stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
Her head was spinning with the knowledge of her own life suddenly handed back to her, as if it had all been an unfortunate error in the paperwork of her brain—Oh, here you are, Miss O’Connor! We hope our oversight didn’t cause you too much inconvenience!
Auuggghhhhh!
She kept thinking of that winter day in third grade, when she’d pulled out her missing red wool mitten from the lost and found box at St. Mary Queen of Heaven School. She’d picked it up, held it curiously in front of her like it had returned from the dead. She’d just assumed it was gone forever, but it had been there all the time, waiting for her to find it.
Stupid!
Stupid for loving a man who was not what he appeared to be. Stupid for giving in to Sheridan. Stupid for thinking her life was worth anything without dance.
And how could she have done what she’d done in the last ten days of her life? It made her dizzy to think of it, how she fell into bed with some guy and paraded herself around like she didn’t have a care in the world, when all the while she should have been hiding.
Collision Course: A Romantic Thriller Page 15
