INTIMATE STRANGER

by Donna Sterling

  "I was running away from home, trying to start a new life, and break all ties—" Her voice caught. She bit her lip and struggled with emotion. After she'd quelled an apparent insurrection of tears, she murmured, "It's time that I tell you the truth. I made a promise to my mother on her deathbed that I would never tell anyone—anyone!—but I feel you need to know how serious the situation is." She swallowed hard, and in an uneven whisper, asked, "Have you ever heard of … Big Vick Palmieri?"

  Trev frowned. "The mobster? The one who testified against some crime boss?"

  She nodded, her eyes suddenly too large and round for her face. "He's my father."

  A feeling of unreality settled over him. "Your … father?"

  "You understand what that means, don't you, Trev? You've probably watched news stories about organized crime, or at least a few gangster movies. What happens when someone testifies against a crime boss?"

  "Retaliation," he murmured. "Against the witness—and, sometimes, his family."

  Jennifer didn't say a word, but allowed him time for the idea to fully evolve. She hated to burden him with the truth, and yet, he knew too much already, simply by recognizing her. In this case, too little knowledge was more dangerous than too much. She felt compelled to make him understand that they were dealing with a life-and-death situation.

  "Are you saying someone threatened you?" he demanded, the fury in his stare no longer aimed at her.

  "No one had to threaten me. I grew up knowing what happened to 'rats.' When I saw my father on the news and realized he was going to testify, I understood what I had to do."

  "My God," he breathed, looking shell-shocked. "You should have told me. We could have faced it together, found some form of protection."

  "There's only one form of protection that can possibly work for long," she said, upset but not surprised that he thought he could handle the problem on his own. "I'm not saying it's foolproof, because I don't believe any organization run by human beings is invulnerable. But my best chance of staying alive is in the Federal Witness Protection Program."

  She watched as full comprehension dawned in him.

  "All this time, you've been in hiding," he mused, his tone one of wonder. "You had surgery, took on a new name, a new job." He released a harsh breath and shook his head, as if the concept overwhelmed him. "God, Diana, why the hell didn't you tell me?" The anger was back, but now rang with familiar protectiveness. Her knight in slurring armor was climbing upon his white steed again.

  The thought scared her witless. As much as she wanted his forgiveness, his understanding … his love … she had to keep a barrier between them. For his own good. She knew what happened to the loved ones of men targeted by the mob. Even the innocent were killed. Trev, Babs, Veronica, Sammy, Christopher—all of them could be drawn into the danger and slaughtered as her five-year-old cousin had been.

  No, she couldn't allow it. She had to put a stop to any softening Trev felt toward her. "I didn't tell you, Trev, because I didn't see the point."

  "Didn't see the point?" He took hold of her shoulders and frowned at her. "Diana, you're my wife. I should have been with you, 'for better or for worse.' Weren't those the vows we took?"

  "I took those vows under a false name. And I … I—" she had to force the words from a tightening throat "—I came to regret them."

  He stared at her, stunned yet again.

  "I was only a kid when I met you," she whispered, drawing out of his hold. "Alone and on the run. I knew there was trouble brewing at my father's home, and I didn't want to be a part of it. When you came along, I—I found a safe haven with you. A place to stay, and people to help me through the tough times. I'll always be grateful for that."

  "Grateful?"

  "We both know that our relationship wasn't based on love. We didn't know each other. All we had was sex. Good sex, but … just sex."

  His jaw squared, and a coolness entered his gaze. "Is that how you saw it?"

  "Please understand, Trev. If this danger hadn't come up, I might have stayed with you for another few months, maybe longer. I certainly wouldn't have left the way I did. But I knew, almost from the start, that our marriage wouldn't work." How she hated to tell him these hurtful lies!

  He said not a word. Merely stared with unreadable eyes.

  She forced herself to continue. "The U.S. Marshals Service could have handled the divorce proceedings for us, but I had enough to contend with—the sudden move, the identity change, the surgery. The danger. I assumed you'd eventually divorce me. You know, for abandonment."

  "So you left, without a word."

  Pain lanced through her at his coldness. "Actually, I did send you a letter," she murmured, needing to tell him at least that much, "but I guess you never received it."

  His mouth formed a grim line. "I did receive a letter."

  It was her turn to stare.

  "I thought it was a hoax. It was so vague and impersonal, I didn't think it could possibly be from my … loving wife." Unmistakable bitterness underscored every quiet word. "It was typewritten, and signed with only a D. I snowed it to the detective I hired, but he rejected it as a prank, too."

  Her heart ached to think that Trev had believed in her love so staunchly, he'd discounted the very possibility that she'd left him. Oh, Trev! Struggling to maintain a tough front, she shrugged. "I didn't go into detail, or write the letter in longhand, or even sign it, because I thought it might be intercepted by the wrong people. Anyway, I saw no reason to draw a link between you and me. No good could come from it." Afraid to dwell too long on the truth—that she'd been protecting him the only way she knew how—she said as lightly as she could, "Neither the FBI nor the U.S. Marshals Service has a record of our marriage, or my alias as Diana Kelly. Your name appears nowhere in their files."

  He didn't look the least bit relieved by that information.

  She suddenly grew worried that he didn't understand its importance. She considered that secrecy vital to keeping him and his family uninvolved in the danger. "You understand, Trev, that it's important to keep all of this strictly to ourselves, don't you? You can tell no one about your association with me—not even someone in the government. You never know how information could leak out. You'd endanger both of us. Ruthless criminals could use you and your family to get to me."

  Still, he said nothing.

  Desperation spiked in her. "In a very real way, Trev, there is no connection between us," she stressed, fighting off a fresh threat of tears. "Diana is dead. She's never coming back. In fact, she never existed."

  "You're right." His voice was deep, gruff and cold. "Diana never existed. And I didn't know you at all."

  Her throat clenched. Her eyes blurred. Abruptly she turned from him and stared through a darkened window. She had to get herself under control. Trev's future depended on her playing out the game. The hour was only four a.m., and the moon barely illuminated the darkness. She shivered at the thought of going outside alone.

  But she'd have to.

  "Go to bed … Jen—if that's what you want to be called." His tone was dry, his voice weary. "I don't even know your real name. But then, I guess I don't need to."

  She bit her lip and remained silent. It was better that he didn't know it.

  "I'll restore the power so you can keep a light on in your room."

  She nodded, painfully noting his implied suggestion that she spend the rest of the night apart from him. It made perfect sense. She'd hurt him, and he no longer wanted her.

  Her heart ached too much to think about it.

  "Actually, I was thinking of warming a cup of milk to help me relax," she murmured. "And I thought I'd go say a few words to Caesar." On a strangled whisper, she added, "It's been a long time since I talked to him."

  He lifted a shoulder in an uncaring shrug. "Whatever gets you through the night."

  Never had she heard him speak in a voice so devoid of feeling. She struggled to keep hers steady. "Would you please turn the power back on?"

&nb
sp; Wordlessly he turned to leave the bedroom, wearing only his black terry-cloth robe, his feet bare.

  As she thought of him venturing outside into the chilly darkness to find the circuit box, she considered suggesting that he wear slippers and take the lantern, but a sudden suspicion stopped her. The fortuitous timing of the blackout, the lantern materializing at his bedside, the fact that the shower had been running but he hadn't been wet—all this registered in her mind with a sudden click.

  "You cut the power on purpose, didn't you," she called out.

  He stopped in the hallway, cast a cool glance over his shoulder, then continued on into the utility room without answering.

  The utility room. That's where he'd been when the lights had gone out, not in the shower. And he hadn't been surprised at all by the blackout. She pictured him clearly with his hand on the breaker switch, waiting to hear her scream.

  She supposed she couldn't blame him for his trickery, considering the gravity of the situation. His deception had been nothing compared to hers. And her deceptions were not yet over.

  The moment he was out of sight, she grabbed his jeans from an armchair, searched the pockets and drew out his car keys. With a pang of regret for what she was about to do—and for the pain she'd already caused him—she slipped the keys into the pocket of the denim shirt she wore.

  The overhead light suddenly blazed on, and the television sounded from the guest bedroom. As she strode down the hallway toward her room, Trev brushed past her without a word or glance. His aloofness cut her to the quick.

  But she didn't dare dwell on her emotions. Within moments of reaching her room, she donned her jeans and a fresh blouse, threw a few necessities into her overnight bag, grabbed her purse and headed for the door. She wished she had time to say goodbye to Caesar. She wished she didn't have to leave at all.

  But life, as she well knew, wasn't about wishes coming true.

  Forcing herself to part from the golden light of Trev's home and venture out into the frightening darkness, she stepped onto the porch. She hesitated only briefly. Swallowing her fear—along with the burn of emotions held too long in check—she resolutely closed the door of the house and ran to his car, which he'd parked in the driveway. She heard Caesar bark behind the closed garage door as she started up the engine.

  Shifting into gear, she guided the powerful vehicle down the crushed-shell driveway. In the rearview mirror, she saw Trev throw open his door and step out onto the porch steps.

  Goodbye, her heart cried in soul-deep anguish. Goodbye, for the very last time.

  She sped onward, then, into the black, chilly night, away from everything warm, everything wonderful. It was the least she could do for the man who meant more to her than life itself.

  Trev wasn't sure what to do, if anything. He doubted that she'd have taken his car if she wasn't planning to come back. Their confrontation had been emotional, and she may have needed time away from him. But he'd found her suitcase on the floor in the guest bedroom, which made him believe she hadn't left for good.

  As the minutes dragged by into an hour, though, he began to doubt his original reasoning. The last time she'd left him, she'd barely taken anything with her. And if she'd decided to vanish again, she could easily abandon his car on her way out of town.

  Anxiety filled him. Had she left him again?

  He had no car in which to pursue her, or any idea where she'd gone.

  Tense with foreboding, he called the police and reported his car missing. "One of my friends may have borrowed it without telling me, so go easy on whoever's driving it." He didn't want her mistreated if they apprehended her—and of course, he wouldn't press charges. He suggested they look for the car at her apartment, and asked that they call him when they had.

  They called him back within moments. No sign of his car at her apartment.

  He dropped down onto the sofa in a daze of pain and confusion. She hadn't gone home. Where had she gone? Would he ever see her again? The things she'd told him had left him feeling as if his insides were torn to bloody shreds. He'd barely been able to look at her without anger and resentment choking him. Yet, if she didn't come back, if he couldn't at least draw their relationship to a proper close, he swore he'd never be whole again. A damn pathetic way to feel after what had just transpired between them.

  He still couldn't quite grasp the truth. She'd never loved him. For seven years, he'd been grieving for a woman who hadn't given a damn about him or his family. She hadn't even told him her real name. He'd been married to her, and didn't know her name.

  How could he have been so fooled by her? Not only once, which was bad enough, considering he'd married her and mourned her for the better part of a decade. But then he'd fallen in love with her again, in a span of five days. He couldn't even blame her for that, since she'd begged him to leave her alone.

  And he still wanted to talk to her. Needed to talk to her, if only to say goodbye. Damn it all to hell, she could at least have said goodbye! But would he have let her go? He didn't know.

  He rubbed his palms wearily over his face. He was lying to himself. He did know. He wouldn't have let her go. He'd have found a way to keep her here. More proof that he'd lost his mind. Why should he want to keep her with him? She didn't love him, didn't want him.

  That thought hit a jarringly wrong note, and brought his face up out of his hands. The last part, at least, hadn't been true. She'd wanted him. The sexual chemistry between them had been as hot and combustible as ever. As he thought back over the past few days to the times they'd made love, the times they'd kissed, the times he'd simply held her … another certainty hit him: She'd felt more for him than "just sex."

  He'd sensed her intensely emotional reaction to him from the very start, when he'd cornered her in the hotel stairwell. He'd sensed her tenderness when they made love in his room. The quality of her gazes had turned his heart inside-out, and her kisses had spoken more eloquently than anything she could say. Hadn't it been her emotional intensity that had kept him coming after her, holding on to her, even while she pretended to be an incorrigible prostitute?

  She'd almost cried at least a dozen times while staying in his home—over Caesar, and Christopher, and the play she'd written. He believed she'd grown misty-eyed over the photographs of his family, too. And their wedding picture … she'd pressed it to her heart, as if she hadn't wanted to let it go.

  He hadn't imagined those emotional reactions.

  He hadn't imagined her love for him. He knew that as surely as he knew the sun rose in the morning. She'd succeeded in convincing him that she wasn't Diana because of the physical differences, the subtle change in her speech and the fact that an impersonation made no sense. But she hadn't succeeded in convincing him that she wasn't the woman meant for him—the woman who would love him for all time, as he would love her.

  She was that woman.

  And no, he didn't know her name. She'd purposely withheld that from him.

  A realization then dawned with such clarity that he marveled he hadn't seen it immediately. She hadn't wanted him involved in the danger. Ruthless criminals could use you and your family to get to me, she'd told him. Growing up in a family like hers, she'd probably experienced the pain of underworld violence in some way or another, which made the threat far too real for her to ignore.

  She was protecting him. She'd told him she never loved him, that she'd wanted out of their marriage. She'd known those were the only reasons he'd let her go.

  Ah, but she didn't realize he knew her better than that. Now that the shock had worn off enough for him to think, he knew she loved him, and would never stop loving him.

  And nothing would stop him from going after her.

  Another concern blindsided him: how close was the danger? She'd spoken of mob retaliation and explained the extreme precautions she'd taken to avoid being found, but he knew nothing about organized crime or the Witness Protection Program. How safe was she? The Program had kept her alive for seven years, but not very wel
l hidden. He had found her, though inadvertently. Could her enemies be closing in?

  He shut his eyes and strove to calm himself. He would find her and stay with her, whether she liked it or not. He'd get a gun. Brush up on his aim. Take care of her. How the hell do you think you'll find her? You're too late.

  She'd probably already left town to vanish again in the Witness Protection Program. She'd assume a new name, now that he'd breached her cover, and relocate to a new place.

  Anguish burned in his chest, followed quickly by torturous self-blame. Why hadn't he seen through the lie when she'd first said she didn't love him? He supposed he'd been too stunned, too overwhelmed by the incredible facts, to think clearly. He'd been operating in a state that bordered on physical shock, as if he'd lost too much blood and couldn't form a cohesive thought. That floundering may have cost him everything that made life worth living.

  He couldn't bear to lose her a second time.

  With growing alarm, he called the police again and asked about their progress.

  "Haven't located the car yet, Mr. Montgomery. We're working on it. We'll call as soon as we get news."

  He gave them his cell phone number, then immediately called for a cab. Just because the police hadn't spotted his car at her apartment didn't mean she wasn't there. Maybe luck would be with him and he'd catch her before she left town. While he waited for the cab to arrive, he cued his home phone to his cell phone, just in case she called.

  Please God, let her call. Let her come back to me.

  His cell phone rang fifteen minutes later, as he rode in the back seat of a cab toward Jen's apartment. His heart beat in his throat as he answered. He wanted so damn much to hear her voice.

  It was a police officer. "We found your car. The keys were still in it. Doesn't look like anything's been taken or vandalized. Your CD player is still intact, and a laptop computer is in the backseat. The car was left in the parking lot of that new luxury hotel. There's a convention going on there, and the lot is crowded. Nobody we questioned noticed who left the vehicle. Of course, that isn't too surprising at the crack of dawn. If you can come by the station, we'll have your car here for you."