GAGE BUTLER'S RECKONING

by Justine Davis

  She knew it did. She knew that it would be wrong to really compare the two men, they were so vastly different both in temperament and approach. As different as the motivations behind their obsessions. Gage was driven by a compulsion based in memories so grim they even haunted her own thoughts. The fact that he still lived in the house where his sister had died, that he wore the jacket she'd torn from her murderer as if it were some sort of talisman, only confused her further; she didn't know whether to be sorry or horrified.

  But the basic difference was evident. Gage was driven by the memory of a sister he loved, something Laurey was intimately familiar with. Her father, on the other hand, had a much simpler motivation: greed.

  Not that there was anything wrong with wanting to be a business success, but her father's drive was not just for money, it was for position, to feed his already sizable ego. His sole goal in life had been to one day move out of Marina Heights and into the more elite Marina del Mar, both physically and socially. And he'd been willing to sacrifice anything—including his wife and children—for the furtherance of that goal.

  While Gage was equally determined to help people—and willing to sacrifice his life to do it.

  She stifled a shiver at the memory of him crouched over her, at the realization of how easily one of those bullets he'd been shielding her from could have hit him.

  "You all right?"

  She snapped back to the present to find he'd looked up from the newspaper spread out on the table and was watching her with some concern.

  More, she thought wryly, than her mother had ever gotten out of her father at the breakfast table.

  "You were looking … pretty intense," he said, when she didn't speak.

  "I was … thinking about my father," she said, thinking it was the safest part of the truth she could give him.

  He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then asked, "What about him?"

  She could hardly tell him that she'd been comparing them, so she quickly grabbed at the last thing she'd been thinking. "About how mad he was at me for wanting to stay at Marina Heights High after we'd moved to Marina del Mar."

  Gage looked puzzled. "Why? You moved right before your senior year, right?" At her look of surprise, he shrugged. "Your mother mentioned it, that since you were about to graduate, you'd gotten permission to finish there, with your class, instead of transferring. It's not that unusual to get an out-of-district exception under those circumstances."

  "I wasn't surprised that you knew, just that you remembered after all this time," she said. And was gratified to see him look at first startled, then almost embarrassed, by the obvious implications.

  "So why was he mad?" The question came quickly, as if he wanted to avoid any further inadvertent admissions about just how much he knew and remembered about her, and why.

  Telling herself that she was being foolish to think such things, to read anything at all into his reactions, Laurey explained. "His entire life was centered around 'making it,' which in his eyes was getting out of Marina Heights."

  "But you lived in Trinity West. That's not exactly a slum."

  "I know." The west side of Marina Heights was a transitional neighborhood, where the area changed from the poorer east side and headed down to the ocean and the wealthier communities. "But to him, nothing less than Marina del Mar would do. And when he finally made it, it infuriated him that I didn't want to transfer to Marina del Mar High School."

  "It's … a nice school," he said noncommittally.

  "I know. Lisa went there for a year when Marina Heights High was being rebuilt, right before I started. That's where she met Caitlin. But when they finished, Marina Heights was nice, too. And all my friends were there. I didn't want to leave and graduate with a bunch of strangers."

  Gage looked down at the paper, fiddling with a corner of it. "Maybe … your father was worried."

  "Worried?"

  "About who … some of your friends were. Maybe he wanted to get you away from them."

  She laughed. "My father? He barely remembered my name. He had no idea who my friends were, and he didn't care."

  Gage's head came up. She didn't think she'd sounded particularly bitter, but he looked at her as if he could see every bit of the pain hidden by her purposely light tone. Maybe he could, she thought. He'd obviously had enough experience doing the same thing, hiding remembered pain beneath an unruffled exterior.

  "The only reason," she said carefully, "that he was angry was that it embarrassed him among his new friends to say that his daughter went to Marina Heights. He wanted to give the impression he'd always been wealthy, that he'd moved here from some other wealthy town, not just moved 'up' from Marina Heights."

  "Ah," Gage said. "One of those." She looked at him, startled by his knowing tone. He shrugged. "Quisto says they run into a lot of those in Marina del Mar. They tend to … stand out. Flashy cars, Armani suits, Rolexes. When the real old money tends to run around in cutoffs and old dock shoes."

  Laurey laughed, and it was genuine this time. "You just described my father to a T. At least, the last time I saw him."

  "Which was?"

  He'd earned it, she supposed. He'd certainly told her enough about himself, although she doubted he would have had, it not all come boiling to the surface so abruptly.

  "A couple of years ago, on his way to a business meeting in Seattle, he called me to meet him at the airport for coffee."

  Gage blinked. "Coffee at the airport?"

  "It was all the time he could spare." The bitterness crept through that time, although she suspected he would have guessed even if it hadn't. "He had business to attend to."

  "I gather this was a regular thing?"

  "My father has his priorities. I accepted long ago that his family was way down on the list."

  "I … see."

  She wondered exactly what he saw, and why it was making him look so pensive. Then, suddenly, his brows furrowed.

  "You said you last saw him a couple of years ago?" She nodded. "But what about…?" He hesitated before going on gently, "Your sister? Her funeral?"

  Laurey felt her face stiffen. "He couldn't … make it. He was in New York. On business."

  Gage swore, low and harsh under his breath. And Laurey felt a stab of pleasure at the sound of it. She truly didn't care for her own sake, not anymore, but the way he'd deserted her sister, even in death, had destroyed any lingering hope she'd ever had that anything would ever change.

  "I'm sorry, Laurey. People just … shouldn't be parents if they're not willing to … do what it takes."

  And what about you, Gage? she wondered. Will anything ever be as important to you as your work? Will you ever ease up, admit that you can't do it all? Or will the work own you forever, just as it owns my father?

  "You should be proud," he said, his voice quiet now. "A lot of kids with … parents like that end up really messed up. I know, I deal with them every day."

  "I deal with them, too," she said, looking at him very steadily. "And the most painful thing I've had to learn from working at the rehab center is that I can't help them all. No one can."

  She saw his jaw tighten, knew she'd struck home. He quickly shifted his gaze back to the newspaper spread out on the table before him. After a moment, when it became clear he wasn't about to explore that topic, she sighed and fished out a piece of the paper to read.

  It was the front page, and Mitchell Martin's arrest was headline news.

  Gage photographed well, she observed, thinking for a moment with a magazine advertiser's eye. If he'd ever wanted to go into modeling, he could have been rich. For a moment she pondered the striking possibilities of an ad featuring Gage's bright blondness flanked by Quisto's aristocratic features and Ryan's exotic darkness, then quashed the thought with an inward chuckle; three more unlikely choices would be hard to come up with. None of the three men was particularly impressed with his own looks, something she found rather refreshing.

  But when she looked at the face of the handcuffed man
Gage was leading into the city jail, a chill swept over her. The grim story of what he'd done came back to her in a rush. He looked like the people Gage had spoken of, with his fancy clothes and jewelry, but not like a man with a twisted mind, a man who would drug and rape a virginal young girl, then offer her family money, as if she were no more than a prostitute to be paid for and then forgotten.

  But at the moment this photo had been taken, he looked quite capable of murder.

  "He looks outraged," she murmured. "As if you were in the wrong and he was utterly righteous."

  "That's exactly how he feels," Gage said. "And I'm sure he feels killing me to get me out of his way is merely … a necessity."

  She looked up at him and saw the glow of determination in his eyes again, and knew that if it were humanly possible, Gage Butler would see that this man would pay for what he'd done. And in that moment she understood; if there was ever something it could be right to be obsessed about, it would be the kind of justice Gage was dedicated to.

  "How do people get like that?" she asked, more rhetorically than anything.

  "You'll have to ask Kit. She's the one who figures out that kind of thing."

  "Kit?"

  "She's taken a lot of classes, psychology, criminal profiles, that kind of thing. She can pull motives out of thin air, it seems like sometimes. She's the one who figured Martin out, why he feels so … invulnerable."

  "I'll bet he doesn't now," Laurey said, looking back at the photo of Martin in handcuffs with some satisfaction.

  "According to Kit, now he's just mad."

  She shifted her gaze back to his face. "At you?"

  Gage shrugged. "Probably. I popped him. He isn't the type to forgive public humiliation."

  "So … he'll be after you more than ever?"

  He looked uncomfortable, as if he hadn't wanted her to realize that. "Maybe."

  "So we're back to that? You won't discuss it?"

  "It doesn't matter. We'll be safe as long as we're here."

  "And just how long will that be?" she asked, her voice rising. "Days? Weeks? Months?"

  "They'll find the guy he hired, Laurey."

  "But now that he's out, won't he just hire somebody else?"

  "He may try, but we're on to him now, and we can turn the heat up pretty high. He'll have trouble finding anybody willing to take it on."

  "But he could find someone."

  "Eventually, maybe. But with any luck, he'll be in prison first."

  "And what's to stop him from keeping after you, even if he does go to prison?"

  He let out a long sigh as he shoved back his hair with one hand, and she watched with a fascination she didn't want to feel as it slid silkily back over his forehead. "You're determined to make the worst of this, aren't you?"

  She was yanked out of her silly contemplation of his hair.

  "Pardon me!" She stood up so abruptly that she nearly knocked over her chair. "I'm just not able to dismiss the idea of hired killers so easily."

  She turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen.

  * * *

  Gage watched her stalk off, knowing with a sinking in the pit of his stomach that she had every right to be angry. He'd tried to reassure her, but she'd clearly thought he was making light of her fears. Fears that were valid, very much founded in reality. He should go after her, apologize, do something.

  You should sit right here on your butt and let her go, he told himself sternly. Didn't you learn anything last night?

  He'd spent most of the night lying awake wondering where the hell his head was at. Wondering why he hadn't been relieved that they'd been interrupted by Kit's news, since he had no time for a relationship in his life, no time for anything that would take away from his work.

  Apparently he hadn't learned anything, because he wasn't relieved now, either. Wasn't relieved that she had walked away from him, angry again. Wasn't listening to his own good advice to leave well enough alone, to be glad she was angry, and hope she was upset enough to just stay away. To take temptation out of his path and leave him to get on with life as usual.

  You're using your job to hide from life. You just keep on like you always have, nothing in your life but your work.

  What Kit had said a few days ago echoed in his mind. Was she right? Was he using his work to hide from life? Was he over the edge?

  You've got to find some balance. You're bordering on obsession here.

  Kit clearly thought he was far too close to that edge. Kit was very, very perceptive. And she had training to back up her perceptions. Could she be right? He'd always known he was intense about his work, but he'd always told himself he just had different priorities than—

  My father has his priorities. I accepted long ago that his family was way down on the list.

  This time it was Laurey's words that came back to him, as clearly as if she had just spoken them. He hadn't cared much for the portrait she'd painted of her father. He liked even less that he'd subconsciously connected himself with the man.

  He wondered if Laurey had done the same. Perhaps even consciously.

  And before he realized he was moving, he was headed down the narrow hall to the room she was using. He knocked before he could talk himself out of it.

  Her muffled response could have been "Come in" or "Go away." He chose to think it was the former and opened the door. She was sitting cross-legged on the double bed, a glossy magazine balanced open across her knees. She was looking at him, her expression unreadable.

  "Checking out the competition?" he asked, hating how forced he sounded in his effort to be upbeat.

  She glanced at the magazine, then back at him. "Did you want something?" she asked formally, ignoring his obvious conversational gambit. She wasn't going to make this easy. But then, he supposed he didn't deserve for it to be easy.

  "About what I said… You have every right to be upset. I know your … whole life has been disrupted. I was … out of line to belittle what you were feeling."

  She said nothing, and he rammed his fingers through his hair, shoving it back.

  "I … overreacted. Probably because I know you're right. Maybe because I'm supposed to protect civilians from … this kind of thing. But that's no excuse, either." He took a deep breath, thinking he should give up; he didn't appear to be getting anywhere. "Must be cabin fever, I guess," he ended lamely.

  "After a day and a half? That's not promising."

  His mouth twitched at the corners, but he stopped the threatening smile; he wasn't positive she was joking. "No. It's not. I'm not used to … being cooped up."

  "Neither am I," she said pointedly.

  "I know. I don't like this any more than you do." Then his mouth did twist into a very wry smile. "Well, most of it," he amended. In for a penny, he thought, and added, "Some of it I liked a lot."

  Her eyes widened and searched his face, as if looking for some hint that he really meant what it seemed he was referring to. He knew perfectly well why; they'd avoided the topic, had talked about everything but, had dug into painful pasts deeper than either of them probably had in a long time … but this, by a seeming tacit agreement, had been off-limits. He wasn't even sure why he'd brought it up.

  He wasn't sure he'd had a choice.

  "I … shouldn't have kissed you." His voice was tight, and he heard her suck in a quick breath, as if his words had hurt. "It's in violation of more ethical and moral standards than I can list right now. I should feel guiltier than sin, and I do, but…"

  She started to speak, stopped, and he saw her swallow before she forced the word out. "But?"

  "I'm not sorry," he said, sounding a little reckless, just as he felt. "I should be, but I'm not."

  "You're … not?"

  He shook his head. "I'm … a lot of things. Guilty. Worried. Scared. But not sorry."

  There was a silent moment, and he stood there wondering just how big a fool he'd made of himself.

  When she finally did speak, she asked the last thing he'd expected. />
  "Scared?"

  He nodded slowly.

  "Of what?"

  He hesitated. He wasn't sure why, but he had the oddest feeling that he was at some kind of turning point. And that he didn't have any idea how significant it might be.

  "I'm … not sure," he said, honestly enough. "Maybe I'm afraid Kit's right."

  "Kit?"

  "She told me … I was using the job to hide."

  Laurey closed the magazine. For whatever reason, he had her attention now. "From what?"

  "Life, she said." He gave her a rueful look. "What she meant was from…"

  "From?" Laurey prompted.

  He sighed. "I've … never been much good at … maintaining any kind of relationship. Not just … with a woman, but … anything. Anything that…"

  "Interfered?"

  Her voice was quiet, and he saw in her face what he'd guessed at earlier; her father had taught her well about men who let their jobs control them. She clearly suspected he was one of them.

  And he wasn't at all sure she was wrong.

  He looked at her for a moment, seeing the troubled concern in her eyes, the soft, gentle set of her mouth, the slightest of lines between her brows as she concentrated on him. Solely on him. Her intentness warmed him in a way he'd never known before, perhaps had never allowed before. How could her father have thrown this away?

  "I don't … want to be like your father, Laurey," he said suddenly, wondering where the hell it had come from.

  "You're not like him. Not really." Her certainty startled him. "You may be … as driven, as obsessed with your work, but it's for entirely different reasons. Better reasons."

  "Does that really make … a difference?"

  "It does." She took a long breath. "It might be just as hard to … live with, but at least … it's understandable."

  "I … thank you. I think."

  "You're … a special kind of man, Gage Butler. I'm sorry it took me so long to see that."

  He nearly gasped aloud; he'd never expected to hear such a thing from her. "Watch it, lady," he said, his tone teasing but his voice impossibly husky. "You're going to end up getting kissed again."