He had to admit, it wouldn't be the first time. When Nikki had agreed to marry him, he'd rushed her to Vegas without fully considering the magnitude of such a step. He'd loved her, but that love hadn't been enough to sustain their marriage.
Was his pursuit of a relationship with his daughter destined to the same fate?
No, he refused to believe it. This was different. This was about his child. He'd already missed the first four-and-a-half years of her life; he refused to miss even one more day.
The ring of his cell phone was a welcome interruption from his disquieting thoughts.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?" came the impatient demand.
He recognized his agent's voice immediately.
"I'm in Fairweather," Colin told him.
"Didn't you hear the news? The police arrested Duncan Parnell."
"Yeah. Detective Brock called me last night."
"Then why the hell are you still in Pennsylvania? Get your butt on a plane and get back here."
"I'm not coming back," Colin said. "Not right now, anyway."
A long, stunned silence followed his announcement. Then Ian finally asked, "Why not?"
He didn't even know where to begin to answer that question. "It's a long story."
"It's a woman, isn't it?" Ian didn't wait for a response. "Dammit, Colin, haven't I always warned you that women are the downfall of men?"
"And you have four ex-wives to prove it," Colin finished for him. "Yeah, you've told me the story."
"Obviously you weren't listening."
"You're my agent, not my personal advisor. And as my agent, I need you to look into a job opportunity for me."
"You're not unemployed yet," Ian reminded him. "The new owners haven't made a decision about your contract."
Colin ignored the protest. "There's a new cable station launching in Fairweather in September—an all-sports channel—that's looking for on-screen personalities."
Ian groaned. "You don't know anything about television."
"Just get me an interview and a screen test."
"You're sure about this?"
"Positive."
For the first time in five years, he knew exactly what he wanted, and he wasn't going to let anything stand in his way of getting it.
Chapter 4
Nikki hung up the phone, wondering why she was surprised that Colin had bailed on their plans at the eleventh hour. And why she felt let down.
"I'm glad I didn't tell Carly he was coming with us," Nikki told Arden.
"He's not?"
"No. 'Something came up,'" she repeated his explanation scornfully.
Arden frowned. "Something that couldn't wait?"
"Apparently not." She wasn't disappointed, she assured herself, she was annoyed. After all, he was the one who'd insisted on spending time with Carly. The only reason she'd agreed was that she felt backed into a corner, his casual threat about taking her to court still looming in her mind.
The biggest irony was that she'd glanced at her calendar this morning and realized it was Father's Day. And she'd actually been pleased that Carly would, for the first time in her life, spend Father's Day with her daddy.
"That doesn't sound like the same man who badgered you into letting him spend the day with Carly," Arden said.
"No," Nikki agreed. "Although it's not the first time he's changed his mind about what he wants." They both knew she was referring to the marriage Colin had ended before their first year anniversary.
"He didn't offer any kind of explanation?"
She shook her head. "No." Not now, and not five years ago, either. "It just doesn't make any sense."
Then again, not a lot about this situation did make sense. She'd once loved Colin with her heart and soul. She'd believed he loved her. Five years later, there was no hint of the tender affection they'd once shared. All that remained were bitterness, remorse and accusations—and a little girl who didn't deserve to be at the center of their battle.
"How am I going to explain any of this to Carly?" she wondered aloud.
"She's four years old," Arden said gently. "She won't require as much explanation as you think."
"She's going to have to be told something."
"She'll deal with it," Arden said. "Kids are amazingly resilient."
"She shouldn't have to be resilient," Nikki said. "She shouldn't have her world turned upside down because of the mistakes I've made."
The pitter-patter of footsteps forestalled any further conversation, and Nikki managed a smile as Carly skipped into the room.
"Mommy, I'm hungry."
The familiar refrain transformed the forced smile into a more natural one. "You're always hungry."
"But it's been a really, really long time since breakfast," Carly said solemnly. "And my tummy is hungry for chocate chip cookies."
"Chocate chip cookies?"
"Uh-huh," Carly affirmed, nodding her head for emphasis.
"You know the rule—no choc-o-late—" Nikki enunciated the word "—chip cookies before lunch."
Carly's lower lip jutted out and her deep green eyes—eyes so much like her father's—pleaded. "But I'm hungry."
Nikki wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled her onto her lap. She breathed in baby shampoo and bubble gum. The unique scent of her little girl.
"Are you okay, Mommy?"
"I'm okay." Nikki pressed a kiss to Carly's soft cheek. "I was just missing holding you."
Carly wriggled to get down. "Maybe you need a chocate chip cookie, too."
Nikki laughed as she released her. "Maybe I do. And we can both have one after our picnic."
Colin had vowed that nothing would interfere with his plan to spend Sunday afternoon with his daughter. A single phone call had proved otherwise.
Four days later, including a day and a half of arduous and circuitous journey, he was finally back at the Courtland Hotel in Fairweather again. He sank down on the bed, wanting nothing more than a few hours of mindless slumber.
He'd barely closed his eyes when his cell phone started to ring. He should have left it in the car. He didn't want to talk to anyone, and he definitely didn't need any more bad news.
But what if it was Nikki?
What if something had happened to Carly?
He grabbed the phone before the third ring.
It wasn't Nikki. It was Detective Brock calling from Texas.
Colin had forgotten that the detective had promised regular updates on the investigation. He assumed that was what this call was about.
"Do you have any new information for me?" he asked.
Brock ignored the question to ask one of his own. "Are you in Maryland?"
A chill snaked through his body. "No."
"Then why are you registered at the Baltimore Courtland Hotel?"
He knew now that this definitely was not going to be good news. "You warned me that I might be followed," Colin reminded him. "I checked into the hotel there as a diversionary tactic."
"Smart move," the detective told him. "An IED was discovered in the bed of your hotel room."
IED. It took Colin a minute to remember the acronym: improvised explosive device—a homemade bomb.
He swallowed. "How was it found?"
Brock was silent for a long moment.
"What happened?" Colin demanded.
"Apparently one of the night managers knew the room wasn't really in use and decided it would be the perfect place for a rendezvous with his girlfriend."
Brock hesitated before admitting, "They were both killed."
He closed his eyes as a fresh wave of grief, of guilt, washed over him. He'd just come back from Maria's funeral, and now two more innocent people were dead. A man and a woman with friends and family who would gather to mourn their senseless deaths.
He closed his eyes, picturing all too clearly the grief-stricken faces of Maria's children. Despite their tragedy, they'd been nothing but gracious, thanking him for his generosity as an employer and his con
sideration in taking the time to attend their mother's funeral.
They didn't blame him for Maria's death. Then again, they didn't know about Parnell's threats. They didn't know that he could have prevented what happened. If only he'd taken the threats seriously, if only he'd gone to the police sooner.
Now it was too late.
Was there any hope of stopping these attacks? Or would it only end with his own funeral?
The police had believed Duncan Parnell was responsible for the explosion in his apartment. Colin was less certain. Despite the threats Parnell had made, Colin didn't believe the kid had either the guts or the know-how to build a bomb.
"I guess this blows your theory about Parnell," Colin said. After all, Parnell could hardly have planted a bomb in Baltimore when he was in prison in Texas.
"Not necessarily," Brock said. "The evidence suggests that both of these jobs were done by a professional."
"Are you suggesting he put out a hit on me?" Colin almost laughed.
"All it takes is money and connections. And a complete lack of regard for human life."
He no longer felt like laughing. "What should I do now?"
"Exactly what you've been doing—keeping a low profile. And you might want to notify your local police about the situation."
"Do you think I'm in danger here?" He couldn't bear to think that someone had followed him to Fairweather, that he might unwittingly have brought the threat into Nikki and Carly's backyard.
"I'd say it's unlikely. The fact that our bomber struck in Baltimore suggests he doesn't know where you really are."
Colin wished he could be assured of keeping it that way.
Nikki was on her way home from the grocery store Thursday night when she found herself driving by the Courtland Hotel. It wasn't the usual route she would have taken, and she wouldn't admit—even to herself—that she'd wanted to see if Colin's rental car was in the lot. It was.
Impulsively she pulled into one of the visitor's parking spaces. She found her way to room 1028 and knocked, waiting for what seemed like an eternity before he appeared at the door.
His weary eyes widened. "Nicole."
She was startled by his appearance. His hair was disheveled, his jaw shadowed with at least two days' growth of beard, and there were dark circles under his eyes. "Can I come in?"
He stepped back to allow her entry.
She glanced around, found that his "room" was really a suite, complete with kitchen, dining area and living room. The sofa and chairs in the sitting area were covered in an ornately textured slate-blue fabric that she guessed was silk. The tables were gleaming chrome and smoked glass.
It was a huge step up from her worn upholstery and stained carpet, and yet another reminder of the different worlds in which they lived.
"Do you want something to drink?" Colin asked.
She shook her head. "I didn't come here for a drink. I came here for an explanation."
"That's what I figured." But he didn't say anything more for a long minute as he found a bottle of beer in the minibar and twisted off the cap.
Nikki watched his movements, fascinated by the strength and grace of those strong hands. As a player, his most notable skills had been speed and good hands. She remembered that those assets carried over to the bedroom. He'd moved fast enough to get her there, but he'd sure known how to take his time once he'd had her clothes off. And those hands weren't just good, they were phenomenal.
She shook off the thought. She was here for a specific reason, and it wasn't to reminisce about their sexual past. She dropped her purse on one of the end tables. "I want to know why you changed your mind about spending Sunday afternoon with Carly."
"I didn't change my mind."
"That's right," she said scornfully. "Something came up."
He tipped the bottle to his lips and drank deeply.
"Was that 'something' blond, brunette, or redhead?"
He set his bottle down carefully. "Is that what you think—that I blew off my daughter for an hour of personal pleasure?"
She refused to be swayed by his injured tone. "It's the only explanation I could come up with for your abrupt phone call."
"It wasn't something I wanted to talk about on the phone." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Hell, it's not something I want to talk about now."
"What's not?"
"I couldn't make it to the picnic on Sunday because I had to go back to Texas."
Texas. It wasn't at all the response she'd expected, yet maybe it should have been. "You couldn't even spend four consecutive days in this town without needing a trip to the big city?"
"I didn't go back for kicks," he told her. "I went to a funeral."
She was duly chastised. "Oh."
"Nothing else would have made me break those plans," he told her.
His response had completely deflated her anger. "If you'd told me someone had died, I would have understood."
"I wanted to tell you in person."
She felt compelled to ask, even though she wasn't sure she wanted to know, "Who was it?"
"Maria Vasquez," he told her.
A woman. She swallowed. "Were you … very close … to her?"
"She was my cleaning lady for the past four years."
"Oh," she said again, strangely relieved by his response.
He took a deep breath, staring off into the distance. "Remember the explosion in my apartment—the one that you heard about on the news?"
She nodded.
"Maria was there at the time. She died from injuries sustained in blast."
Nikki's whole body went cold.
She'd assumed—obviously incorrectly—that the explosion had been a minor incident. The realization that someone had been killed—that Colin could have been killed—stunned her.
She looked at him, saw the guilt and regret in his eyes. He was clearly torn up about this woman's death, and she was giving him grief about canceling an afternoon picnic.
"I'm sorry, Colin."
And then, because it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do, she crossed the room and put her arms around him. She couldn't deny him the comfort he so obviously needed.
"Me, too." He pulled her closer.
She didn't resist, accepting that she needed this as much as he did. She needed to feel the warmth of his body, the beat of his heart, to prove to herself that he was okay.
She closed her eyes and held on to him, just for a minute.
"It should have been me," he said.
She pulled back just far enough to look at him. "It was an accident, Colin. There's nothing—"
"No," he interrupted, dropping his arms and turning away from her. "It wasn't an accident. Someone was trying to kill me."
The icy feeling returned. "What are you talking about?"
"It was a bomb." He delivered the news coolly, almost dispassionately.
"Who? Why?" The questions swirled through her brain.
"The cops arrested one of my former players. They think he wanted revenge because I cut him from the team."
She shook her head, refusing to believe it. "That's crazy. Lots of players get cut every year without trying to kill their coaches."
"This one has other issues."
"What kind of issues?"
"He was in a bad car accident that caused him to miss several weeks in the middle of the season and he started taking pills to combat the pain."
"And you refused to play him." She knew that as much as Colin liked to win, he wouldn't sacrifice a player's well-being to do so.
He nodded. "He blames me for ruining his career."
"And you can't help wondering if he's right," she guessed.
"I can't help wondering if I shouldn't have handled the situation differently. If I had, maybe Maria Vasquez would still be alive."
"It isn't your fault, Colin."
But she could tell he wasn't convinced, and she didn't know what to say or do to persuade him.
Despite their history, or m
aybe because of it, the thought of losing Colin forever created an emptiness in the very depths of her soul. An emptiness that she knew no one else could ever fill. He was her first lover, her husband, the father of her child—and as such, there was a bond between them that could never be broken.
"That's the real reason I came back to Fairweather."
She'd suspected there was more to his return than the explanation he'd given, and she wanted to be angry at his deception. But she was only relieved that he had come home, that he'd been given a chance to know about his daughter.
"The reasons don't matter," she said softly, surprising both of them with her easy acceptance. She laid her hand against his cheek, the stubble of his beard rough against her palm. "What matters is that you're alive, and you're here now."
Because her gaze was locked with his, she saw the change in his deep green eyes. She saw despair slowly give way to acceptance, acceptance gradually yield to awareness.
Then his lips were on hers, and the kiss sent shock waves reverberating through her entire system. Hot and deep and pulsing. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes and everywhere in between, she burned with desire, ached with need.
She closed her eyes and lifted her arms around his neck, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. His tongue traced the softness of her lips, and they parted instinctively in response. He swept inside her mouth, tasting of beer and heat and passion, and the intoxicating combination of flavors made her head spin.
Oh God. She should have known that coming here was a mistake. And yet, there was a part of her that wanted this. Needed this. But letting her hormones overrule her head wouldn't be fair to either of them when there was no future for them. Not so long as the deceptions of their past continued to loom between them.
Then his hands were on her, his fingertips skimming down her ribs, brushing against the sides of her breasts, and the surge of desire through her veins crowded out guilt and reason. When his thumb brushed over her nipple, she couldn't think about their past—his abandonment or her dishonesty. She couldn't think about anything but the here and now. And then she couldn't think at all.
"I want you, Nicole." He whispered the words against her lips. "I need you."
She knew she should refuse. She couldn't let this happen. It had already gone too far; she'd be crazy to let it go any further. But when she opened her mouth to respond, she said, "Yes."
Extreme Measures Page 5
