Slightly Imperfect

by Tomlinson, Dar

  She shook her head. "We're doing very well. We've made a life for ourselves— unconventional as it may be. Don't let Pierce control you that way. You believe in what you're doing. You made a choice. Nothing has changed since then."

  "He's concerned about Zac Abriendo's influence on the children. He tells me he's affiliated with an unsavory organization. He compared him to Tommy Cordera."

  Victoria laughed derisively. "That's not true. Zac is nothing like Tommy." She gripped the envelope to her breasts with one arm, pressed her temples with her fingertips. "He's kind and gentle—generous. He's been good to us."

  "You make it sound as though you're refugees."

  "Yes." She took her hands down, squared her shoulders. "Only we've returned to our land, Christian, and we have a new life." She wanted to say it, to believe Zac was part of that life, but fear sprang up with the vision of Pierce's face, the echo of his voice. "You and I are divorced. You allowed me full custody of the children. You had to trust me in order to do that. I see no reason to recant that trust."

  His gaze fastened hers. "Pierce is purchasing the Ramona News. He's offered me the editor's position. I'm seriously considering it."

  "Why? You aren't—you've never shown any interest in the paper—in journalism."

  "I'd learn, and I could serve the community well from that vantage point. Especially the spiritual community."

  That sounded more like Pierce's reasoning than Christian's.

  "You'd be disrupting your life. I don't understand."

  He drew a long breath, squaring his shoulders. "I think you do. I want another chance. Baku's a lonely place. I've had time to think. To consider all the ways I let you down—"

  "You didn't—You did, but that's behind us. Nothing is going to change that."

  "Come to Phoenix with me. I need you, Victoria. Bring the twins. Let's be a family. Even if only for a few days. We'll see how it feels."

  "The twins."

  He tensed, sudden realization coloring his face, moving across the plane of his Coby-blue eyes.

  "The twins," she whispered, drawing her bottom lip into her teeth, sinking on the edge of the sofa. She wished he'd go, wished she could wake up. "Still the twins, Christian."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't think. Marcus doesn't know my family. He'd be out of place there. It would be best—"

  "Ariana and Alexander don't know your family either. Why would Marcus be any more out of place? Nothing has changed, has it? How can you even consider that we—"

  He stood, weariness streaming from him now, stooping his broad shoulders, bowing his pale head. "May I see them, Victoria? Is it all right if I go up now?"

  Resignedly, she said, "Just give me a moment to wake Lizbett." When she came back down the stairs she told him, "They're awake. Stay as long as you like, Christian. I'm sorry about your father." A look of disillusionment settled onto him, enveloping her. She strained to reach his cheek, kissed him lightly, aware of the familiar feel and smell of his skin. "Good night."

  She watched him ascend the stairs and listened for a moment to the twins' gleeful reception.

  She hadn't woken Marcus.

  * * *

  The phone shattered the dawn, the deep sleep she had finally fallen into.

  "Victoria?"

  She was caught off guard, suddenly raveled in surprise and dread, by the vibrancy of the voice in her ear. "Yes, Pierce."

  "The plane will be leaving at two this afternoon to take Christian to Phoenix. Your cousin is going with him—"

  "Why?" Why in God's name? "Coby shouldn't—" The descending spiral sucked at her reasoning, rendered silence.

  "I want you and the twins on that plane."

  She had never been able to dispute that resonant tone, or to understand the dark coalescence locking her to Pierce still. She barely managed, "And Marcus. I'll go, Pierce. But I won't go without him."

  "Two o'clock, Victoria. And there will be a columnist there. I don't want Marcus in the pictures. Do you understand me?"

  "Perfectly."

  The connection went dead. Her heart chilled.

  * * *

  "I don't understand, Coby—anything that's happening here."

  They were alone in the parlor of their Phoenix hotel suite. Christian had taken the twins to the Michaels' home. Lizbett and Marcus romped in the hotel pool.

  "Stop pacing."

  She stopped, stone still. She hugged herself and tried to find comfort in Marcus and Lizbett's voices echoing off the water just outside the steamy, sliding door.

  "Maybe I can clarify it for you, Tori. Come sit down."

  He edged his body in an inviting curve, stretched one arm along the sofa back. She craved comfort, longed to conform to his invitation, find assurance. But blatant recall of times when she had given in to that longing and suffered the consequences made her lower her body to the opposite end of the sofa.

  His lips pulled into an empathetic smile.

  "Why are you here? You have no connection with Christian. You tried to kill him."

  "That's history."

  She fell silent.

  "We Chandlers are adopting forgiveness, Tori. Hey! Remember the old Eagles song? We used to sing it at the top of our lungs from a convertible, preaching to anyone on Seawall Boulevard who'd listen."

  Her smile was voluntary, slight.

  Coby went on. "We didn't know what the hell we were saying. We're into real forgiveness now, en publicidad. Pierce sent a camera crew to record it—not from the Sun—too self-serving. From the Ramona News." Coby's smile dwarfed hers, urging. "The Houston Paper may show up for the funeral, though."

  "No one is forgiving anyone. We're all dancing around one another—smiling for the camera. I hate this, Coby." She pressed her temples, closed her eyes. "I thought I was free."

  "I forgive you."

  She opened her eyes. "For what?"

  "For being too evocative to be a sister. Even a cousin."

  Her body jerked. She searched his eyes for dreaded meaning.

  "For being the most beautiful, most desirable woman I've ever known."

  "Don't do this. I need you now, but not like that. You promised."

  "It's okay. I'm telling you the truth. I've come to grips with it. I just haven't gone blind yet, or been rendered insensitive. But I'll give the hospital credit. They tried to lab atomize me."

  He smiled beautifully, tenderly. She wanted to believe, to trust him. She wanted not to wonder if it was all part of a plan to draw her in, tether her again.

  "I love you, Tori. You're hurting. I want to help."

  "Pierce told me he?d take the twins from me—and take Marcus."

  "He wants Marcus?"

  His surprise, incredulity, appeared real. She grasped and savored that.

  "No. He'll have him returned as a ward of the court."

  "Unless?"

  "You don't know this?"

  He waited, face somber.

  "I'm to break all ties with Zac."

  "And that breaks all ties with Gerald Fitzpatrick."

  She nodded.

  "I can see his point. It's a little compromising to have his daughter oppose him. And the threat of his adopted son opposing him as well."

  "I told him how you feel—that you made the decision in his favor."

  "Still too much threat. He knows I'd follow you to hell."

  "I'm so afraid, Coby."

  "I doubt he can do it, Tori. I doubt he'd even try. But it's working so far. You're in Phoenix. And I understand he's pulling Christian back in. You're falling right in line."

  "He has... pictures."

  "Of what?"

  She shook her head. "He accused me of being neglectful—where the children are concerned—where my relationship with Zac is concerned."

  "Those kinds of pictures. Nice tactic. Have you?"

  "He can do what he says, Coby. Maybe no one else could, but I've seen what he can do. He took you—the moment he knew you were my world. When we were only children. He whis
ked you right out of my reach."

  "He was never quite able to do that. Remember?"

  "His indifference caused our mother to take her life."

  "You've never known that for sure."

  "He took Tommy—"

  "I took Tommy. He didn't. You defied him, made your decision to go with Tommy—finally. Pierce buckled, as I recall. When you defied me, I took you back the only way I knew how."

  She stood, avoiding his eyes, reluctant to remember. The horror had begun to ease, to pale, to seem not quite real with the advent of Zac. Now it rushed back, plummeting into possibility again.

  "I won't do that again." His voice came tenderly, from behind her. She heard him rise, felt him draw near, felt him wanting to hold her. "I won't do that or anything close to it. I love you more than I ever have, Tori. I want to see you happy."

  She moved into his arms, lowered her face to his chest, and gave up suffocating tears. He stroked her hair, rocked her in his embrace.

  "I don't know how to fight him. If I do what he says the twins will have an enchanted life." Her bitter, bile-laced laugh lay on the air, sickened her. She felt the malady travel into him. "An enchanted life—just like mine," she whispered. "But there's nothing—nothing I can ever do to make it right for Marcus."

  * * *

  "Hello. This is Victoria Chandler. Please leave a message. Thank you."

  Zac lowered the phone and stared at it, waiting, willing her to pick up, talk to him. Finally he relented. "Victoria, should I know something? Something you forgot to tell me?" He hadn't talked to her since the night of Gerald's party, and after three days of her innocuous machine he feared his message might be detrimental to their relationship. He decided on, "I love you. I'd like to talk to you."

  When he came from class that night his machine was blinking.

  "Zac—" The distress in her tone, even in the one word, made his breath catch. "I'm in Phoenix—I'm... sorry."

  "Sorry?" He spoke to the dead line. "For what, novia?"

  * * *

  Zac and Josh trolled for shrimp, dragging the nets to the soothing background of the Ramona Tres engines and the pursuing gulls. They leaned on the aft rail, munching the leftover fried chicken Sylvania had packed that morning. Alejandro napped in the shade of the wheelhouse, his head lolling against the pillow Zac kept on board for that purpose.

  "Have you talked to Lizbett?" Zac tried to keep his tone neutral, but agitation surfaced.

  "Yes, sir, I have."

  Zac waited.

  "She's not here, Mr. Z. They all went to Kerrville."

  Apparently Josh understood this was new information to Zac.

  "All?"

  "Ms. Victoria and the kids. Mr. Co-bee, too." The whites of his eyes enlarged when he mimicked Coby's name.

  "What the hell for?"

  If Josh's face weren't so black it would have reddened. "A doctor's appointment, I think. For Mr. Coby."

  Zac felt the boy's concern. "And the whole crew went?"

  Josh shrugged. "I guess Ms. Victoria and her brother were real close before."

  "I guess they are again. When are they coming back?"

  "Lizbett doesn't know. They've got some kind of summerhouse down there. She said they seem real happy, like they might be staying a while."

  "Does this summer house have a telephone number?"

  Josh fell inordinately quiet, busied himself scraping a spec of gummed varnish off the rail.

  "Have you been calling Lizbett?"

  "I don't have the number. I wait for her to call me."

  Zac made a brave attempt at stuffing his nagging anxiety.

  * * *

  "This is Victoria Chandler. Please leave your message with the hotel desk."

  She could have changed the message by remote, but Zac knew, by some charged sense, she had been to the hotel and left again. He hung up, not inclined to share his query or thoughts with the desk.

  A week after the Fischer's Landing party he ran by the hotel and used his key to enter the suite after trying the bell. The space was stark, disturbingly empty. He stopped by the desk, humbling himself to ask when Victoria would return, but learned nothing. The young, overly solicitous girl in the blue uniform asked, "Do you have a message to leave, sir?"

  "Yeah." He forced a smile. "But it's R rated."

  Returning to Bay Shore, he found Josh working wax into the Mercedes finish, shielded from blistering sun by the big elm overhanging the drive. Zac handed him a cold Corona, knowing it would be hours before he was off duty and free to drive. He hoped the beer would loosen Josh up to the point of divulgence.

  Zac leaned against a finished fender. "Ever think you might wax the paint off?"

  Josh grinned, making circles on the hood, muscles working rhythmically. "Naw. I'm gentle."

  Zac smiled, picking up his cue. "Which reminds me. Where's Lizbett now? Still with Victoria?"

  Josh hadn't been away from Bay Shore, except in Zac's company, for the past week, and Lizbett hadn't been to the house, according to Sylvania.

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Z. They're at that ranch down by Rosharron. Did you know about that place?"

  "Yeah. It's primitive." He could only assume as much.

  Josh cut his gaze toward him, under a hood of heavy lashes.

  "Is Coby with them?"

  Josh shook his head.

  "No phone number, I guess?"

  Josh's lips tightened.

  "Are they being held hostage?"

  It took a moment. "I think Lizbett is," Josh murmured grudgingly.

  "Well," Zac drawled, and drained his Corona. "I'd sure as hell like to get the ransom note." For the first time he gave in wholly to the impending doom hovering just within his denial.

  "Me too, Mr. Z. I'll help you pay."

  Zac went back inside the house and called the only P. Chandler in the Puerto San Miguel book. A male voice, definitely old and black, gave him a different number for Coby.

  "Coby Chandler. Pool side."

  "It's Zac. I'm looking for Victoria." He didn't bother to finesse. Whatever was happening, Coby knew it.

  "Hey, Zac. She's still at the ranch."

  He listened for a clue, detected none. He heard a diving board spring, water splashing, laughter. Nice, leisurely, mid-afternoon scene, but then Coby was born to it. Zac couldn't seem to buy the lifestyle no matter how much money Carron had left.

  "Were you there? At the ranch with her?"

  He laughed quietly, derisively. "We haven't healed that much. Not enough for her to take me to Rosharron."

  "When's she coming back?"

  "Today. Or tomorrow. I just talked to her."

  Zac exercised self-control, didn't demand the number. Yet.

  "Maybe she'll call you," Coby offered.

  "Maybe you'll tell me what the hell is going on."

  Silence ensued. Zac could feel Coby's consideration, hear ice rattle in a glass, a metal pool lounge dragging on a concrete surface. He tried to imagine "pool side" at Chandler House, growing up there, being welcome there. Anglo heaven.

  "I can't do that, Zac," Coby said at last. "Look. For what it's worth, Tori is subject to impulse."

  Not the Victoria Zac knew.

  "If she feels she's losing her grip, she'll adjust. She has a tendency to over-adjust at times."

  It made no sense, but the spirit in which the diatribe was delivered seemed gentle, sincere.

  "And does this over-adjustment involve you?"

  "Not this time."

  He wished Coby had said yes. That would lessen the ambiguity. Anything in Victoria's life beyond her cousin-brother-twin and Tomas Cordera was a gray area for Zac, and Tommy had been dealt with when Coby killed him.

  * * *

  "This feels a lot like getting the shaft, Josh."

  "No way, Mr. Zac."

  "There's preponderant evidence toward the same." He tried to smile, testing Josh's grammar repertoire, striving for humor.

  Josh grinned sympathetically. "Miz Victoria's s
o sweet. It must be something besides the shaft." He had volunteered to stay home that evening with Zac, rather than stalking Galveston's Seawall Boulevard in the red Mercedes. "She loves you. Lizbett finds notes all over the place where she writes your name and hers, and then hers with Abriendo on the end of it." His grin turned encouraging. "Just like high school."

  Yeah, it felt like high school. No, it was worse. When he was eighteen, if a girl even hinted rejection he would have retaliated with the first new girl he saw. But he would be thirty- four in a few days. He didn't have time for all those randy reactions. He wanted a wife. A family. His and Victoria's.

  * * *

  Car lights flashed across the study window around midnight, as Zac drew floor plans by the drafting light in the otherwise darkened room. He switched off the lamp and peered through the wooden blinds. Lizbett got out of Victoria's old Rolls Royce convertible, crossed the drive and the back lawn to the pool house. Josh came out, closed the door, embraced her and led her to the pool edge where they sat talking, dangling their feet in the water.

  Zac marveled at Josh's restraint considering his own raw craving for the woman who should have driven that car, who should be in his arms, in his bed—or at least ringing his phone.

  He crossed to the desk and dialed.

  "Hello. This is Victoria Chandler. Thank you for calling. Please leave your message. I'll return the call."

  She was there, on the other end of that line, listening. He could feel her, a frightened, wounded animal again. The one he had encountered in Portofino. He strived for his pre- marriage-plans voice. One that wouldn't scare or pressure her, throw her back into limbo.

  "Hi, Victoria. I'm glad you're back. I've missed you. I have business with Gerald tomorrow morning, but I'll be over after that. I'll take Marcus fishing in the afternoon."

  He gave her time but she didn't pick up the phone.

  "Goodnight. I love you, novia."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Rain began falling in the middle of the night, a typical South Texas storm that continued through mid-morning. Gerald, returning from an inspection of Louisiana casinos, was stranded on flooded streets leading out of the airport. Zac tried calling from Gerald's office to tell Victoria he was running late.