Slow Burn

by Heather Graham

  She could hear someone still talking on the other end. “I’m out of here. Off for the weekend. I’m restless and my projects are in limbo. I’d have you feed my cat, except that I haven’t got one.”

  He looked alarmed. Old for minute. “Where are you going?”

  “Newport.”

  “You want to go to Newport now?” he demanded.

  “Sly, I know you’ve got David following me, and it isn’t necessary—”

  “It was necessary in that graveyard.”

  “I’m going to be with Mom and Dad. What could happen—except that I could expire from being suffocated with affection, or drown in mineral water!”

  She strode for the door, waving to him. “Love you. I’m going to miss my plane.”

  “What plane—” he began, but she closed the door as if she hadn’t heard him. She was, after all, a big girl. Well over the age of twenty-one.

  It wasn’t until the plane was taking off that she began to ask herself just why the hell she was going to Newport. She loved her parents, but spending any amount of time with them could be torture.

  Her mother had come along a bit in the past few years. And after all, she couldn’t help her upbringing. Sly Montgomery had worked for the fortune he had amassed, the fortune that had sent her father to the best schools—and put him in a position to meet her mother.

  Her mother’s family had had money for so long that no one was quite sure anymore where it had come from, other than land speculation. Her mother was a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and a proud one, at that. She still considered the Irish who had come to Boston a hundred years ago to be newcomers.

  And the Spanish-speaking Latin Americans in South Florida remained “aliens” to her, even those who had been born in America.

  Spencer sighed, sitting back. The flight attendant came by, offering champagne before takeoff. Spencer smiled and accepted a glass. It was good, but she needed to go slow. She was going to rent a car in Boston for the trip out to Newport.

  She closed her eyes and felt a wave of heat sweeping over her. She couldn’t seem to stop torturing herself.

  She’d made love with David Delgado. Just thinking about it made her palms damp, her breathing ragged. She could remember each little intimate detail with shocking clarity. She could even remember the musky scent of him, the feel of him. And there was nothing in the world like it. Nothing so fast, so hot, so passionate. So intense. So damned alive and vital. In that way, things had changed so little between them that it was terrifying. Even after that last time, the day after he had been arrested…

  She would never forget what had happened. The nightmare of it. Her mother had promised to square things with David when Spencer had agreed to go to the dance with Brad.

  Damn, but she’d hated Brad. Right from the start. He was above everyone in creation, an ace polo player, golfer, yachtsman—according to him. His father was a newspaper mogul, and his mother was a member of the D.A.R. he had already been given the deeds to three of the family homes. His future was assured, whether he cared to work or not.

  Her folks had pleaded with her to be nice to him—she hadn’t realized that they had been certain she would fall for the “right” type of boy if she was just exposed to him for a while. At the dance, for the first time, he’d shown a little humility, admitting that he bragged so much because he was afraid of not being able to live up to all that was expected of him.

  She’d never meant to kiss him. And it had been such a pathetic kiss, too, lacking everything David’s lips had ever offered. Brad’s kiss had almost made her ill, especially when she compared it to the absolute passion that resulted from David’s touch.

  When she got home, her mother didn’t say a word about David. Apparently, he hadn’t even come by after he got off work, and he had promised he would.

  In retrospect, she realized that she should have known what was going on. Her mother had been especially down on anyone with the least hint of Hispanic blood ever since the Mariel boat lift. There had been such a hue and cry over it, some people shouting about human rights and others absolutely furious because Castro had managed to empty his prisons into South Florida. The old-time Hispanics were often as angry as the Anglo population. Crime had soared afterward. Spencer had tried very hard to explain to her mother that she couldn’t blame all Cubans for the actions of the criminal few. Even her father had read the papers and been able to see reason. But not her mother. She should have realized that her mother would have done just about anything to destroy her relationship with David.

  But she’d been young. Naive. And hurt that David hadn’t come by.

  So she’d had hot chocolate with Brad and played a game of Monopoly. He’d been decent that night, and she’d wound up laughing.

  Then she’d heard a commotion below and looked out just in time to see David being dragged away by the police. And no protests on her part had meant anything.

  Not to her parents. But David should have known.

  Then she’d found out that David had been watching her at the dance, deciding without giving her a chance to explain what had happened. She could remember how furious she had been when she found out. She could also remember the way he had held her, the way he had behaved, the rock-hard fury that had been both terrifying and exciting….

  Until the end. Until he had called her a whore and all but thrown her out of the way, then walked out. Out of his own house—and her life.

  Poor Reva. She had come home just as David slammed out. And Spencer had been so upset that she called David every single derogatory name she could call to mind. Refugee. Spic. Greaser. Reva had been ashen faced, and Spencer had been sorry. So sorry. But she hadn’t been able to say so, because her heart had been breaking.

  So she’d run away…. To Newport, she thought wryly.

  Wonderful, she considered a little hysterically. It seemed like every time she had sex with David Delgado she could only stand herself if she ran away afterward. Every time…

  No! There could be no more times! Because this time it had been in Danny’s bed, reminding her that she had married Danny knowing she would never want him the way she had wanted David. The way she still wanted him. Oh, God, she had to stop. She’d loved Danny. Maybe it had been different from the way she’d felt for David, but Danny had never known how she had felt. She had been a good wife to him, and their life had been good….

  Just different.

  Life was just so damned strange. She’d run away all those years ago because she’d been so sure she was right. He hadn’t given her a chance to explain. Maybe she didn’t have a good explanation for the kiss, but he should at least have listened to her. Instead, he’d actually accused her of worse, of making love to Brad.

  David had meant everything in the world to her. She’d learned to see through his eyes, to think through his mind. She’d even acquired a taste for Cuban coffee and arroz con pollo.

  She’d thought he would follow her. That he would beg her forgiveness.

  But he hadn’t followed her. And after a while she had realized just what he must have felt like, being dragged out of her yard and thrown into jail. He wasn’t coming for her. She’d humiliated him, and he hated her. He’d preferred to join the army. Boot camp had looked better than meeting up with her again anytime soon.

  Danny had shown up in Rhode Island that summer. A friend. Just there to be with her. They’d never discussed David. And they hadn’t gotten involved then, either. They’d both been taught that college was essential, so they’d gone their separate ways. Then Spencer spent time touring Europe with some friends from her graduating class. After that, she’d gone home and started working for Sly. She’d been home for a few years, working, beaching it, spending a few nights at the clubs, when she had run into Danny again and realized just how much he loved her. She realized, too, that he was right for her. Life should have been perfect for them.

  Then David had become his partner….

  Her head hurt. S
he’d drunk the champagne too quickly. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to her temple, trying to ease the pain away.

  Someone slid into the seat beside her, and she sighed. She had hoped to have her side of the aisle to herself for the trip.

  Selfish! she taunted herself. You can’t hog a whole plane just because you’re having personal problems.

  She opened her eyes, determined to be remote but polite to her seatmate.

  But when she opened her eyes, her hello froze on her lips and she just stared.

  It was impossible.

  David was sitting next to her. Watching her. Waiting for her reaction.

  She groaned and closed her eyes again. When she reopened them, he hadn’t gone away. This time, it seemed, he was willing to follow her.

  After all, Sly had paid him.

  “You charged my grandfather for first class?” she demanded, outraged.

  “Damn right,” he told her with a grim smile.

  The stewardess offered him champagne, along with a dazzling smile. He accepted the drink, returning the smile. His deep blue eyes flashed, and a single, small dimple showed in his left cheek. Spencer ached inside to see it. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run away.

  Damn it, she had tried to run away!

  But though she needed it desperately, that luxury was being denied her.

  She’d met up with the demon of her past once again, and it seemed they were plunging into hell together.

  “I’m going to my mother’s house, you know.”

  “So I was told.”

  “I doubt you’ll be welcome. My parents aren’t exactly your biggest fans. Not that they ever were.”

  He arched a brow. “How perceptive. Although it took you long enough to notice.”

  “You don’t have any right to judge them.”

  “Whatever gave them the right to judge me?”

  She ignored his question and said, “They won’t let you stay, you know. You’re not the kind of person they like to see me hanging around with.”

  “You’re all grown-up now, Spencer. Don’t you choose your own friends yet?” he queried.

  “What makes you think I’d ever consider you a friend?”

  “All right. Then I’m the enemy you like to fuck once a decade.”

  She gritted her teeth hard, felt her body tightening.

  “Don’t you ever go away?” she demanded.

  “Yeah, Spencer, I do go away,” he said softly. He was staring straight ahead, features tense. “I went to the army once. Saw the Middle East. Ended up in Europe. I went away, and I stayed away. And even when I came back and joined my best friend on the police force, I did my best to keep out of your life. I think I did a damn good job of it, but then, the scars I carried all those years might have made it a little easier. Then Danny died—and you decided to play Miss Marple. So, yes, I will go away. But not until this is over.”

  “And when will that be?” Spencer asked on a soft breath.

  “I guess when Danny’s killer is caught.”

  “That could be a long time. No one has managed to turn up anything yet.”

  “But that’s changing now, Sherlock. Remember, you’ve already landed Delia in jail.”

  “Which someone might have the grace to be happy about.”

  “Lots of people are happy about it. And lots of people know you’re suddenly determined to delve into their lives because of Danny. Maybe you’re the catalyst we need to stir things up, Spencer. But if that’s true, it means you’re in danger.”

  “So you’re going to follow me. Even to my parents’ home. Because of Sly.”

  “You’re perceptive tonight.”

  She started to rise, but his hand pressed hers down on the armrest. “Spencer, this is an airplane. You can’t run away from me here.”

  “Are you sure you have a first-class ticket?”

  “It’s the damnedest thing. They’ll sell a first-class ticket to anyone. Even an alien.”

  She turned her back on him, slamming a hand against the small pillow she had been given. “Pity,” she said succinctly.

  She could almost feel him stiffening. His pulse would be ticking in his throat. Only his tension would give any indication of his anger as his eyes darkened to near black.

  “¡Arpis!” he said softly.

  She clenched her teeth and leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Once, a long time ago, she’d learned a lot about his world. She’d studied Castro and Cuba, and she’d made a point of learning about his father. She’d learned to like Cuban food, and she’d learned a lot of Cuban words.

  That one, loosely translated, meant bitch.

  You don’t understand! she wanted to cry out. But she didn’t understand herself, so there was nothing to say.

  The past had never really ended for them. And Danny still came between them, almost as if he had a seat right there between them.

  She could feel the heat emanating from David. Could smell his scent. Without meaning to, she remembered when he had touched her, how he had made her forget the world.

  How much she had once loved him. How passionately. Even now, he could make her forget….

  Forget Danny.

  She had to find his killer. She had to. If she didn’t, she would never feel that Danny had forgiven her.

  God! If she could only get away.

  But David was right. They were in an airplane, thirty thousand feet above the ground.

  There was nowhere for her to go.

  9

  To Spencer’s amazement, she managed to sleep through most of the flight. Thank God for champagne.

  She also managed to miss dinner. By the time they landed, she was starving. She exited with David right behind her, making no attempt to help her with her overnight bag or jacket. He followed her step for step, and he was right behind her when they reached the car rental desk.

  “Do I have to rent my own to follow you? Or are you going to let me share yours? Either way, Sly gets the bill.”

  She cast him an irritated glance and signed the agreement.

  “Will there be any other drivers?” the pretty young agent asked.

  “No,” Spencer said.

  “Yes,” David told her, opening his wallet and setting his license next to Spencer’s.

  Her head was really beginning to pound, and her stomach was growling. She had to get out of there.

  “Two drivers, then?” the clerk said.

  “Whatever,” Spencer said, trying to keep her voice level and noting that the woman gave David a glance sympathizing with him for having such a nasty traveling companion. She also noticed that David flashed a handsome smile in return.

  Spencer started out to the courtesy shuttle. David fell in behind her, looking around.

  “You’ve never been to Boston before?” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “New York, Chicago, London, Madrid, Paris, Rome—but never Boston.”

  The shuttle dropped them off in a few minutes and Spencer found herself reaching across another counter for the keys. David followed her to the car, automatically approaching the driver’s side and reaching for the keys.

  “Excuse me, I’m letting you share my car. I’m not letting you drive.”

  “Spencer, do we have to argue over every—”

  “No! It’s my car.”

  “It’s a rental car!”

  “It’s my rental car. And we’re in a town I know and you don’t. Plus you know nothing about Boston drivers. The only thing a New York cabbie fears is a Boston driver.”

  “I’m sure they’d be thrilled to hear your low opinion of them.”

  “I didn’t say they were bad drivers, just aggressive.”

  “Yeah? Well I can be pretty damned aggressive, too. Now give me the keys.”

  She could see that it would be pointless to keep arguing, so she dropped the keys in front of him. She walked around to the passenger side and slammed her way in while he bent to retrieve the keys.


  He took the driver’s seat, then switched on the ignition.

  The traffic around Logan airport could be a killer, especially on a Friday night. David managed to thread his way through it as if he’d lived in the area for the past fifty years.

  “Straight to Newport?”

  “Yes!” she snapped, then hesitated. “No,” she amended. She was starving.

  “Hungry?” he taunted. “Ah, yes. You did miss that great steak on the plane. I imagine you know all the posh places in town. I won’t mind if you take me to one.”

  “I do know some incredible places,” she said sweetly.

  She gave him the directions to Boston’s Hard Rock Cafe, and when they got there, she leaped out of the car while he was still staring at the door. The valet came around to take the car, and David climbed out, casting her an evil glare as the sound of the music blasted him.

  She saw the look he gave her and hurried in. The music was exceptionally loud, and there was a long line. But, as luck would have it, they were a party of two, and those waiting were all groups of four or more. They were seated immediately, the perky hostess assuring them in a loud shout that they were incredibly fortunate.

  Spencer wondered what she was doing. She had a splitting headache. The Hard Rock could be fun. She loved to walk around and study the rock memorabilia.

  But not when her head was splitting. Like now. She’d brought David here because she knew he was tired and aggravated, as well, and probably wishing that no matter what he owed Sly, he hadn’t agreed to watch over her. Unfortunately, she was going to be as sorry as he was.

  But above all, she was starving. She ordered coffee and a grilled chicken salad. He ordered coffee—obviously, one of them had eaten on the plane.

  The music did seem painfully loud. And the Friday-night date crowd was out. Execs in suits, sweet young things in very short skirts. David didn’t even try to talk. He sat back, sipping coffee, idly observing the action.

  She hadn’t wanted to talk, but because he wasn’t making conversation, she suddenly found herself asking a question.

  “Your usual Friday night?”

  He shrugged. She realized suddenly that she didn’t know anything about his life. When Danny had been alive, even when she’d been avoiding David, she’d been dying to know what was going on in his life. But Danny had tried not to talk about David, and she had never dared to ask. She was irritated to realize just how hungry she was for the details of his life, and how jealous she still could become where he was concerned. Absurd. Surely she hadn’t imagined that he’d spent his life alone? Not a man like David.