And, by God, he knew the answer.
A soft grunt caught in her throat. “Freelancing isn’t exactly steady income.”
What? Where the hell did that come from?
“You told me she’d decided to go freelance,” she persisted.
“What does that have to do with—?”
“Did she have money?”
“We had some savings, but not—”
“So. She found her own path, Daniel. Dealt with Driscoll in her own way. And she was able to do that because of you. Your steady salary would cover the bills, no?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“So you did protect her. You provided the cover fire.”
He dropped his head, stared at his shoes.
She leaned forward, tipping her head to see his face. “When you were having trouble with Sam, should I have punched him out for you?”
He chuckled, imagining her doing just that. But he got her point: It would have been absurd.
“Daniel, there are whole time periods that I can’t remember about our three days in Kavsak. Stretches that are just…blurry vignettes. I’d lost it. I couldn’t think clearly any more. You got me through that. All that awful time, you protected me.”
“Me and Jasha, Brenna.”
She shook her head. “Jasha didn’t keep me from flying through the van windshield. He didn’t pull me over the railing in the market. He didn’t run into the clearing and save me from sniper fire. You did.”
He looked away. He wasn’t a hero. He’d just done what needed to be done.
She stepped forward, into his personal space, so close he felt the physical pull.
He met her gaze.
“I’d be dead, if not for you,” she said. “Give yourself credit—in real life, if not on-screen. For which I thank you, by the way.”
His hand went up of its own volition and fingered the hair at her temple. It was longer now, the style softer. She was changed. The hard edge was off her. She wasn’t undefended—her skirmish with Driscoll proved that well enough—but she wasn’t clanking around in armor, either.
“You could have publicly scored macho points,” she said softly, her eyes locked to his. “Revealed how I flipped out, how you risked your life to save mine. But you didn’t.”
His eyes dropped to her mouth, so close. He leaned forward, drawn toward her. Realizing what he was doing, he stopped abruptly. Stepped back, out of range.
She blinked, drew in her bottom lip.
Glancing over her shoulder, he saw her bodyguards. They’d had her limo brought up, and were standing beside it, ready to take her home.
Brenna turned, her eyes following his. “Did you drive your own car tonight?” she asked, remaining at his shoulder.
“It’s in the garage.”
“There’s a little girl at my house who’d love to grab your nose.”
Come up to my place and see my etchings…er…my little girl.
He swallowed the knot in his throat. “I wanted to talk to you about Squeak. I was wondering if—”
“How about you drive me home, and we can discuss that?”
He hesitated. Home? Dangerous territory for a man who couldn’t move his feet when he first saw her—a man who not thirty seconds before had damned near kissed her. He reached into his pocket for his keys. “I’ll bring the car up.” No matter how conflicted he felt, he wasn’t turning down a chance to see Squeak.
Brenna steadied herself on his arm while she slipped her heels on again. “I’ll have my bodyguards follow us.”
He walked silently up the incline beside her. He’d leave her with her minders, get to the garage from inside, and pick her up here at the entrance. “By the way,” he said. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
He shrugged. “For coming. For starring as Brenna Rease.”
“It’s not who I am.”
He knew what she meant. The persona wasn’t her, she was saying. But it was, in part. People didn’t conjure charisma out of nowhere.
Parting with her, he took the down escalator. At the lower level, his phone vibrated in his jacket. He fished it out. There was a text message from Sam:
Re: Vice-Presidency
Driscoll ripped his britches. You have the job.
He snorted, turned the device off, and stuck it in his pocket again.
Chapter 31
Patiently easing his old Benz up K Street and around the edge of Georgetown, Daniel fell silent as he drove Brenna home.
The documentary was done, the premiere out of the way. He’d given Sam two weeks notice. His house was sold, a moving date set. D.C. would become history.
Soon, he’d be back in his home town. His parents were ecstatic that he was returning to Portland. His mom was relieved that she hadn’t irrevocably damaged their relationship.
Yet here he was, driving Brenna home. He’d damned near not been able to let go of her when she hugged him after the screening. He’d damned near kissed her. His life was changing, but his heart hadn’t.
He turned onto Wisconsin Avenue, checked his rear view mirror to be sure the trailing limo had made the light.
She’d been sweet with him tonight. Gentle, accessible. He didn’t know what he expected—that she’d be mean? Cold? Distant? She hadn’t broken his heart on purpose. She’d been broken herself, unable to commit even to her own life.
During their private moments this evening, she’d resumed where they had left off. There was still emotional intimacy between them, a way they communicated with each other that emerged from one heart and entered the other. He could be himself with her—successful, vulnerable, angry, it didn’t matter. She knew him. They had an abiding friendship. Their kind of connection wasn’t something you tossed away. There would always be a place in his heart for her. He would always prize her, even if she didn’t love him the way he wanted her to.
He just had to learn to switch his gonads off when he was with her. She was a knockout in that dress. He wouldn’t have survived two minutes with her in Kavsak if she’d looked like that then. Too distracting.
Brenna’s voice interrupted his wandering thoughts. “Thirty-Fourth Street is one way down. You have to overshoot and track back.”
He glanced at her. She looked unsettled, preoccupied by her own thoughts. Twice, she’d tried to speak, then left her thoughts undisclosed. It was awkward, dangling in the divide between love and friendship.
Maybe, he thought, they could be friends with benefits. No. That was just another name for marriage without commitment. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wasn’t about to go down that road no matter how badly he wanted to part her lovely thighs.
“Turn left at Volta,” she said. “Up ahead, at the church.”
He signaled and slowed, waiting for a big enough gap in the traffic for himself and the limo to both cross. Her street was a couple blocks ahead now.
“Now left again.”
He turned down 34th. They were almost there and they hadn’t talked about Squeak.
She gestured to a narrow alley. “Here.”
He applied the brake and turned the wheel. The car eased onto the cobblestones. He wasn’t sure where to stop.
“Just pull into the garage at the back.”
Garage? Reserved parking was an untold luxury in Georgetown. “The landlord won’t mind?”
She chuckled. “I am the landlord.”
Oh. No biggie. Just this little million-eight house smack in the middle of location-location-location. He’d forgotten she had money.
The limo pulled in behind him, blocking the alley entryway, and the headlights went off. The garage, an old brick structure, was narrow, and had no doors. He stopped short of it. “Why don’t you get out here?” Her wrap might get dirty, or caught on something.
“Thanks,” she said, and opened the door.
Daniel pulled the Benz ahead, locked the car, and squeezed out to the alleyway again.
The beads on Brenna’s wrap sparkled in the moonlight as she wai
ted by an iron gate built into the wall.
Daniel caught up to her just as a squat, muscular man wearing a black suit swung the gate open. “Evening, Ms. Rease. Everything’s quiet.”
“Thanks, Hank.”
Brenna gestured Daniel ahead.
A fountain burbled in the center of the garden. Benches on either side of it served as parentheses to it. The path forked left toward the house, right toward a snug carriage house, its windows aglow from inside. He aimed left.
“The carriage house,” she corrected.
He veered, surprised, passing a cluster of vintage roses that were in full boom, and stopped before a heavy plank door with hand-forged hinges. “Here?”
“Mm-hmm. It should be unlocked.”
He turned the knob and held the door for her. She brushed past, her dress rustling, and he caught the note of her subtle perfume. He stepped in, closing the door behind himself. The place was tiny, a small living area stripped to bare brick walls.
Dr. J was sitting in a battered old armchair, Squeak in her lap suckling a bottle.
The old woman’s face lit up. She lifted her arm, beckoning him nearer.
He smiled. “Dr. J!”
Brenna set her beaded handbag on the tiny table beside the door and leaned against the frame, watching him.
He crossed the room in two strides and bent over Dr. J for his hug and cheek-peck.
Squeak noisily broke the suction on the bottle and cooed, her sparkling eyes fixed on him. She threw out her hand. He caught the bouquet of fingers coming at him, squatted down, and kissed the baby’s dimpled knuckles. “Hey, Pumpkin.”
She squirmed. Dr. J sat her up. Squeak leaned toward him, wanting him to take her.
“May I?” he asked.
“Oh, yes! Yes!”
Daniel took her and stood up, tucking his chin down so he could see Squeak leaning against his shoulder. “Well,” he murmured, tugging down her rucked-up sleepers. “Look at you. Your hair’s so shiny. And your tummy—” he patted it “—I can feel an actual tummy.”
How did he do that? Brenna wondered. Come in a house and make it feel like a home?
Squeak gave Daniel a drooly smile. Dr. J grabbed the washcloth—not that Daniel looked perturbed about his tuxedo. He dabbed at her chin. “So…teeth? Let me see.” He tugged her lower lip with his thumb. “Two bumps! None of this one-at-a-time stuff for my little—”
He stopped abruptly, shot a glance at Brenna.
My little girl. She never imagined it would break her heart to hear a man stop talking in mid-sentence. Squeak could be his little girl, she thought, if her Mama hadn’t screwed up.
Dr. J broke the silence. “So. The premiere—it went well?”
“He got standing ovations, Dr. J. It was fabulous. Jasha was in it, and you, of course. Have a seat, Daniel, please. Can I get you something?” Apple juice? Formula? Mushy banana? Why hadn’t she thought to lay in a bottle of wine? Something he’d need to sip on, that would keep him here while she figured out what to do next.
He ignored her offer, cut to the unspoken. “Would you like to hold Squeak, Brenna? I didn’t mean to hog her.”
Yes, she did want to hold Squeak. But there was only one free chair—the new one she’d bought for Dr. J’s visits—and if she sat down, Daniel would be left standing. Then he’d go. She came forward and patted the baby’s leg. “She looks happy where she is. Would you excuse me a moment? I want to get this wrap off.”
She eased past him to the glass-paned doors that separated the living area from her bedroom. She flipped on the track lights, illuminating her bed, her dresser, her wall of photos.
God, her feet were killing her. She couldn’t wait to get out of these heels. But she kept them on. They were part of the look. She opened her closet door, took out a satin-covered hanger, and slipped her wrap onto it. Good. Now the beads were safe from baby goo. As for the dress—the one-of designer dress Gary had insisted she invest in (“Dress cost is directly proportional to difficulty of seduction”)—the dress would have to take its chances. No way she was schlepping back to Daniel in some oversized, baby-proof T-shirt.
She stepped into her tiny bathroom and closed the door. The stockings had to go. She’d torn them running barefoot on the pavement at the Kennedy Center. She wrestled them off, balled them up and tossed them crossly into the garbage. She closed the toilet lid and sat down, feeling too roiled up to go back out.
She groaned. Buried her hands in her hair. I love you. That’s all she had to say.
The thought alone made her heart race. She’d had perfect opportunities in the car, opened her mouth—and clammed up, all panicky and out-of-control-feeling.
Too jittery to sit still, she jumped up, and snatched a makeup removal wipe from the space-saver.
If nothing else, she thought, scrubbing at her face, this gave her a good idea how Daniel must have felt all the time he was holding his heart out and she wasn’t accepting it. He’d bought her a gold bracelet, for heaven’s sakes, had it engraved. Daniel loves me.
And she’d left it behind.
She flung the wipe in the trash. Stupid bloody idiot.
She glared at herself in the mirror. She was a coward hiding in a bathroom. Just tell him, she ordered herself, impatiently flicking tufts of hair into disarray.
At the very least, if her declaration blew up in her face, he would know she hadn’t meant to abuse his kindness. God, she moaned, steadying her hands on the edge of the sink. Just go out there and say it. It wasn’t as if she didn’t feel it.
Go, she ordered herself. She slid her feet into her shoes, gave the doorknob a hard twist, and strode out to the sitting area.
Dr. J and Daniel were chatting amiably. He was seated, thank God, with Squeak nodding off in his arms. Suckling intermittently on her bottle, relaxed in his arms, she was the picture of contentment. Squeak absolutely loved the man.
Brenna stiffened abruptly.
It wasn’t the words of love that terrified her, she realized, but that she had to go to Daniel, undefended, as she had that last night in Kavsak that spun her life out of control. She had to open herself to him, body, heart, and soul. And do it in the face of all the unknowns, of whatever might come—irrespective of how life could savage a woman who made herself that vulnerable.
The magnitude of that struck her with force.
Her knee wobbled. She knew what that was. Life had taught her all about powerlessness.
She shifted her eyes from Squeak up to Daniel’s face. His gaze was riveted on her. What? she thought. What was showing? Had Margaret’s renovations stolen her poker face?
Dr. J looked from Daniel to Brenna and back. “It is late,” she said, sliding forward in the chair. “I must go.”
Daniel stirred. “Can I give you a ride, Dr. J?”
“Oh, no, no. I am three blocks away, only. It is pleasure to walk—no bombs, no snipers. Please. Do not stand, the baby is settled.”
Brenna gave Dr. J a hug. “Thanks for taking care of Squeak.”
“Oh,” she shrugged. “I am like grandmother, yes?” Dr. J turned to Daniel. “Maybe we can have lunch before you leave?”
Leave?
Daniel faltered, glancing at Brenna. “I’ll fix you dinner, Dr. J, so we can have a good visit.”
Brenna turned to him. “You’re going somewhere?”
“I’m moving back to Maine,” he said gently.
“But—” She’d come back to D.C. to be near him. Just assumed he’d be here.
“I sold my house. Gave Sam my notice. I’m starting my own production company in Portland.”
Brenna flopped abruptly in the armchair Dr. J had just vacated, suddenly deflated. “Oh.”
Well. That was that.
Dr. J leaned over Daniel, pecked his cheek, and patted Squeak’s arm.
“I’ll call you,” he said, as Dr. J slipped out the door.
“Bye,” Brenna muttered, after the front door had already closed.
Daniel studied the baby si
lently. “I still want to be part of Squeak’s life, Brenna.”
She straightened. “Yes. Of course. Any time. I… I…” She trailed off, still reeling from the news.
“I’ll be back in D.C. from time to time on business. If I call you beforehand, maybe—”
She jumped up, too agitated to stay still. “For God’s sakes, Daniel. I’m not holding her hostage. Any time, okay, would be fine.” Before she realized what she was doing, she was standing in front of him, hands out for Squeak. “I have to put her in her crib now.”
He handed her over, fingers trailing, reluctant to release her.
She took Squeak, held her too tightly, kissed her hairline, needing the physical contact. Squeak fussed, unhappy to be snatched from tranquil repose. Brenna took her into the little nook off the sitting area, where she had set up a crib and a rocking chair. She plumped down in the rocker. Goddam heels, she thought, and kicked them off.
Daniel was silent in the adjacent room.
She closed her eyes, pressed her face into Squeak’s neck, half-crooning, half-grieving, spit be damned, dress be damned. So go, already. Leave. Move on. She had it coming.
In the other room, he got up.
He was leaving.
She buried her face in Squeak’s neck and stifled a sob.
Brenna took her time, settling herself as much as the baby. Twenty minutes later, Squeak was limp in her arms, sound asleep. Brenna got up, and gently lay her in the crib. “Sleep tight, sweet one,” she murmured, pulling the sheet over her shoulders. Don’t let it bother you that your mother’s a fool.
She tiptoed out of the nook, shoes in her hands, and rounded the corner into her bedroom.
Daniel stood there, a tall handsome figure in his black tux, looking so composed with his hands clasped behind his back and his head tipped, studying her wall of pictures.
“Oh.” She nearly tripped over her own bare feet.
He turned. “I hope you don’t mind—”
Mind? He was just in her inner sanctum, where her private life was plastered on the wall, her soul laid bare in photographs.
Day Three Page 63
