by Rachel Lee
“Well, can I help with them? I need something to do besides sit around all day worrying about what might never happen.”
And that, he thought, was a healthy attitude. He felt his last reservations about her start slipping away. “Sure. I’d like that. Help is always welcome.”
From the way she beamed, he realized how much she wanted to feel useful again.
But even as he watched her, he saw her smile start to slip, and a look of horror began to replace it.
“Kelly? Kelly, what’s wrong?”
“I just realized something. I can’t believe I was too stupid to think of it before.”
“What’s that?”
“The place where the guy tried to drown me? It was in one of the canals around Miami.”
“So the gators would get you?”
“Maybe.” But then she shook her head. “No, it just suddenly struck me it was a canal where I went jogging a lot of mornings. Not too far from Dean’s house.”
He wasn’t sure where she was leading. “That would seem stupid. It could link it to Dean.”
She shook her head. “Don’t you see? He would have made it look like I might have fallen while I was out running. And there are gators in those canals. Lots of them. Bull sharks, too, in some places. There wouldn’t be much evidence for long. But the important thing is, how likely is it that someone who didn’t know me would know where I liked to jog?”
She had him there. Hard. All of a sudden, no matter how wacky it might have sounded at first, he believed her husband wanted her dead.
“Okay,” he said quietly, feeling his jaw tighten. “I’m buying it. All of it.”
She lifted her gaze, questioning without words.
“I wasn’t sure at first. It seems so far-fetched that the guy would want to kill you. I mean, I know it happens, but it doesn’t happen that often, does it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Me, either. But to me it seems a helluva lot more likely that you were mugged by some stranger, odd as it seems, than that he’d carry you out some place just to drown you. But if he took you to a canal where you liked to jog…”
“He could just have been watching me,” she said tautly.
“Sure. Then why not go for you while you were out for a run? Why stalk you to your parking garage, then take you back there to kill you? Did he try to rape you or anything?”
She shook her head. “He just hit me over the head.”
“And you said he didn’t rob you, either. That fits with trying to make it look like an accident.”
Much to his dismay, he watched one lone tear roll down her cheek.
“Why are you crying?” he asked. “Isn’t this what you already thought was going on?”
She drew a shaky breath. “I guess,” she said sadly, “that some part of me wanted to believe I was wrong. Somewhere deep inside, I wanted to believe I was wrong about Dean. I wanted to believe I was making a mountain out of a molehill. I wanted to believe it was just random. Dammit, Hank, I didn’t want to believe, really believe, that the man I married is capable of murder.”
“You believed it enough to run.”
“And I spent the last six weeks telling myself I was crazy, even though I kept running.”
“And now you don’t feel crazy anymore.”
She shook her head. “Not now.”
“The canal changed your mind?”
“Yes, it did. Because Dean knew I ran out there all the time. Everyone knew it. And when they got around to finding whatever pieces of me were left after the gators or sharks were done, it would have been a sad, sad accident. Except that someone tried to drown me in that canal.”
“The police should have listened to that part.” He felt his ire stirring.
“How could they when I didn’t tell them? I was half-hysterical over being attacked, I was accusing Dean, they were telling me it was just random… God, I can’t believe I didn’t put it together before!”
He could. He knew what shock and denial could do to a mind. He’d experienced enough of his own. Impulsively, he reached out and took her hand, giving it a quick squeeze before he let go.
Of all the damn times to be inappropriately aware of the satin of a woman’s skin, this was it. He shoved the awareness down into a pit for later consideration. There were more important issues to deal with.
“You didn’t want to believe it any more than the cops and your lawyer did,” he said after a moment. “That’s normal enough. I doubt I’d have felt any differently.”
“No.” She shivered and rubbed her arms again. The night was cooling down, but not that much. At least not for him, but he didn’t come from Miami. “Jeez, now I do feel crazy. I went on the run because it occurred to me that Dean had paid someone to kill me, but I didn’t think of the one thing that proved it until just now? I need a shrink.”
“No,” he said firmly, “you’re normal. I don’t think the normal human mind is designed to readily accept the idea that someone wants to kill us. Certainly not someone we think we know and used to love.”
“Maybe. Maybe.” But she sounded awfully doubtful.
“Anyway,” he said bracingly, “you’re safe here. That’s what matters.”
“Yes. It is.” Several minutes ticked by then she managed a wan smile. “That was the whole point in coming here. But now I’ve got a lot of other stuff to think about.”
“Such as?”
“Such as why I’ve been such an idiot, believing and not believing, and running if I didn’t fully believe it, and…”
“Whoa,” he said gently, smiling for her. “Don’t start beating yourself up. The mind works in its own ways, and sometimes we don’t realize things until we’re ready for them.”
She seemed willing to accept that. When he went home a half hour later, the conversation had even turned back to the home repair project she wanted to involve herself in.
She seemed happier. And he was determined to find out what the hell had happened in Miami.
Thank God for friends in the police department.
Because, if he emerged from his own denial to look at this clearly, it seemed entirely possible that if a man with money really wanted to find her, there was little to stop him.
He needed details. Every one he could get. Only then could he figure out what he could do, what he might need to do.
He headed straight for his computer to send an email.
Chapter 4
The next few days passed swiftly for Kelly. She seemed to have put Dean and his machinations out of her mind, at least for now, because she was busy, truly busy, for the first time since she’d gone on the run.
It helped to give Hank a hand with the stove, to hover around while the electrician solved what turned out to be relatively minor problems.
Repairing the termite damage in the basement was messier and much more time-consuming, but she enjoyed the hands-on work of helping to jack up joists and reinforce the damaged ones. She especially enjoyed using the hammer to pound nails.
At one point her enjoyment must have become evident because Hank laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You look like you’re hammering Dean’s head.”
At once she blushed. “I wouldn’t do that. But it’s nice to work out some anger.”
“Especially harmlessly. Hammer away, lady. Need more nails?”
She laughed and took a few more nails from him, tucking them into the already-heavy pockets of the canvas work apron he’d given her.
“This feels so good,” she admitted when they decided to break for lunch.
“What does?”
“Doing something again. Accomplishing something. Spending all my time riding buses and hiding in motel rooms…well, that’s just not me. I like to be busy.”
“So do I, which is why I took on this house. I grew up next door, and the people who owned it were like grandparents to me. When I came back for their funerals, it just killed me to see how the place was falling apa
rt. And then I moved back and I figured it would be a great way to keep myself busy between stints on the range.”
“There’s plenty to do here,” she agreed.
He locked up the house behind them, and she walked next door with him. Already she’d gotten used to the fact that he insisted on making her lunch if she was going to help him with the repairs.
She liked it. There was an easiness in Hank’s manner that appealed to her even more than his rugged good looks. He might limp, he might look as if pain never left him, but he was still easy to be with, as if he was comfortable with who he was. Which was more than she could say.
Oh, don’t go there again, she told herself. But her thoughts refused to listen to reason. Somehow, sitting across a table from Hank while they ate tuna sandwiches, having spent the morning working with him, made him feel like an intimate. Closer than her girlfriends during the years of her marriage. She had the worst urge to tell him about all the nagging self-doubts and criticisms she kept leveling at herself, even though she knew she was probably being too harsh.
But considering the mess her life had turned into, being harsh with herself didn’t seem all that extreme.
“I was an idiot,” she announced.
“What makes you say that?” His gray eyes were steady, not quite smiling, as he looked at her over his sandwich.
“Oh, I’ve had a lot of time to think about the last eight years. I made a lot of mistakes.”
“Mistakes,” he said, “are only bad if we don’t learn from them.”
“Right. I tell myself that all the time. I’ve got a lot to learn from.”
“We all do.”
It wasn’t a question, and she appreciated that. Since the first night, he’d been awfully careful about not questioning her about anything that wasn’t immediately in front of them. Maybe he was respecting her privacy, or maybe he didn’t want to know. Either way, she liked that he didn’t push her to places she didn’t want to go.
But now she felt like talking a bit. It had been a long time since she had felt she could confide in anyone. And Hank seemed safe, both from his manner and the fact that she wouldn’t be here long.
“You know,” she remarked, “it’s sad, but I didn’t even feel like I could trust my girlfriends with the things I was dealing with and trying to sort out.”
“Then they couldn’t have been good friends.”
“I guess not.” She put her sandwich down. “Or maybe sometimes it’s just easier to talk to a stranger.”
He lifted a brow, but didn’t say anything, merely taking another bite of his sandwich. She liked the way weather and sun had created fine little creases around his eyes, the way his face was sun-browned right up to the line where his hat often sat.
She looked at his hands. They were big and work-roughened, unlike the last hands that had touched her. She wondered what it would feel like to have those hands on her skin, rather than Dean’s soft ones.
“Dean was vain about his hands,” she said suddenly.
Hank glanced down at his. “Uh… Sorry, I’m not.”
“No need to be sorry. I was just noticing that your hands look like they do hard work. Dean protected his hands in every way possible. I suppose that was because he was a surgeon. They were his instruments, in a way. I just accepted it, although I have to admit I found it odd the first time I saw him lather them with moisturizer and wear gloves to bed.”
Hank’s eyes widened a shade, and something like a stifled laugh escaped him. “Really?”
“Really.” She half smiled. “I mean, I suppose it was necessary. He had to touch his patients, and most of them were wealthy women who wanted to look a lot younger. He couldn’t be scratching them with dry skin and calluses. And surgical soaps, as he often complained, were hard on the skin. Dried it out.”
Hank nodded. “Okay, I can see why he’d take care of his hands.”
“Me, too. But every week he had a manicure, too. He was the first man I ever knew who did that.”
“I guess a lot of men do that. Not that I know any, but I’ve heard of it.”
“Sure. There are probably lots of fields where taking good care of your hands makes a good impression.”
“You’re making me want to hide mine.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, no! Don’t. I like your hands. I just noticed the contrast, that’s all. But I’ve been thinking about Dean a lot, obviously, and about how it all happened and the things I should have noticed and didn’t…” She trailed off, feeling the darkness edge in again. She didn’t want it, didn’t want to let it take hold. She was safe now. At least for now.
“Hindsight is 20/20 and all that,” Hank remarked. “I sometimes think the worst curse of being human is that we actually remember things, especially the things we did wrong.”
She saw his face tighten a shade, then relax as if he’d pushed something away. More than ever she wondered if he had a story, too. But she didn’t know how to ask.
“So, Dean’s care of his hands didn’t put you off?” he asked. “Do you think it should have?”
“No. Just one of those odd things that pops into your head sometimes. I was so naive.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I went to work in Dean’s office right after I finished my associate’s degree in medical billing. He hired me on the spot.”
Something in Hank’s gaze seemed to indicate that he understood why, and she flushed again. “I know. It was my looks. They were so important to him.”
“How so?”
“Oh, he was forever on me to look my best. No slouching around in old sweats or jeans. Nope. From the minute I got out of the shower in the morning, I had to be perfectly made up and perfectly dressed.”
He cocked a brow. “I don’t see any makeup on you now, and you look fine to me. Better than fine actually.”
“Thanks.” She felt her cheeks heat again. Darn, when was the last time she had blushed so often? “But it’s superficial. I learned that a long time ago.”
“How so?”
“I won the lottery when it comes to looks. I know that. But my mom always taught me that looks fade. It’s what’s on the inside that lasts.”
“Your mom was right.”
Kelly nodded. “Of course she was. We seem to be using a lot of platitudes.”
“They seem to fit.”
She gave another little laugh. “Yeah.”
“They’re probably platitudes because they’re true. Trite is usually true, too. At least that’s how it seems to me. So back to Dean and your looks.”
“Well, I feel stupid now that I didn’t understand why he was so interested in me from the moment I started working for him. I mean, lots of his patients are beautiful women so it never seemed to me that he would notice my looks.”
“Maybe it takes some of the shine off when you know you created that beauty.”
Kelly gasped, astonished by the thought, and then burst into a gale of laughter. “You might be right,” she managed breathlessly through the laughs. “You might be right.”
“Of course I’m right,” he said, spreading his arms as if to invite approval. “So you were beautiful, young and naive, and ever so much better to squire around on his arm than someone older whose surgical details he knew so intimately. I mean, imagine looking at a woman and remembering every detail of her face-lift.”
Kelly clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh my… Oh!” The image was at once horrifying and terribly funny.
“Frankenstein’s bride,” Hank said, shrugging. “That’s how it would strike me, anyway.”
“I never thought of that!” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes, wiping at the tears of laughter. “You’re great, Hank. I swear that thought never crossed my mind.”
He smiled crookedly. “It was the first one that occurred to me. So okay, you were what, twenty?”
She nodded.
“And you were fresh meat. No surgical memories attached, and you had the kind of beauty that would
make other men drool.”
Her laughter faded. “I know. It took me a while to realize why he was interested. It was just so flattered that he paid special attention to me, and even more flattered when he asked me out. I fell hook, line and sinker.”
“I imagine it would be easy to do.”
“That bothers me—that I was so easy. That I fell for it. I guess I was just blinded. I couldn’t imagine any reason for him to notice me other than that he really liked me. His office was full of beautiful women. What I didn’t realize was what a trophy I’d be.”
“How old is he?”
“That’s the thing,” she said. “Too old. That should have been another tip-off. What could a twenty-year-old girl have to say or do that would interest a man who was nearly fifty? Other than sex, I mean. I should have guessed.”
“I guess you weren’t used to swimming with barracudas.”
Startled, she started to smile again. “No, I guess I wasn’t. I expected people to be honest. It took a few years of living with him to realize that most people aren’t honest. At least not in those circles. They’re all about appearances. And for a while, I’m sorry to say, so was I.”
“We tend to adopt the values of the people around us.”
“I was raised with better values,” she protested. “Much better values. So I look back and think what an idiot I was. Blinded by flattery, and money, and moving in circles that I thought only movie stars moved in.”
“Try the youth excuse.”
“It’s not sitting very well just now.”
He shook his head and reached for his sandwich, taking another bite. “You wouldn’t be the first person who’d trusted the wrong people, and got her head turned for a while. I take it the honeymoon didn’t last long?”
“It did for a while. A few years, actually. At first I didn’t realize how controlling he was because everything was so new to me. I just did what I was told. But eventually it began to get to me. I couldn’t even decide what to wear without his approval. And after a few years I began to get my own sense of what I could do and what I shouldn’t do in those circles. I began to realize that I was capable of choosing my own outfit for a party or whatever.”
