The more she thought about the danger, the more vividly she recalled the horror—the thunder of gunshot on a hot afternoon. The faint, acrid smell of smoke lingering in the air. The screams. The blood, everywhere. Her uncle's body, spattered across the sidewalk. And her little cousin Petey, slumped in a heap over his new baseball mitt.
The horror wouldn't fade.
A knock at the door startled her. Anxiously she moved to the peephole and peered out. Dan stood there. Wondering if her father and Trev were with him, she swung open the door and came face-to-face with the tall, broad-shouldered, tawny-haired man beside him. The one with a nasty gash above his amber eye and a bruise discoloring his right cheekbone. Trev.
Her heart leaped; her anxiety skyrocketed. He'd been hurt. Fighting the urge to press forward into his arms, kiss his wounds, weep in gladness over his survival—and pummel him with her fists for getting himself caught up in the danger—she demanded curtly, "What happened to your face?"
"Let us in, Jen." The deep rumble of his voice sounded unnaturally hoarse. His face looked tense, beard-shadowed, overly tired, cut, bruised and heart-wrenchingly handsome. Her father, she noticed, wasn't with him.
She kept her chin high and her spine straight, while the two men filed past her into the apartment. Holding her tumultuous emotions tightly in check, she confronted Trev. "You didn't answer my question. How did you get hurt?"
"Just a little skirmish over the gun."
"Over the gun! You could have been killed!"
"Yeah," he agreed wryly. "That's why I took the gun."
"You took the gun? Away from my father?"
"Don't sound so amazed. He's in his sixties, at least, and not in the best of health. I'm not saying it wasn't a struggle, because it was, but—"
"He said he was holding you at gunpoint. How could that be, if you had the gun?"
"He called you from my back deck while drinking a beer and smoking a cigar. He'd returned the gun to his chest holster hours earlier. We'd just finished lunch."
Relief and anger surged through Jennifer in equal measures. "And you let him scare me like that?"
"I wasn't with him when he made the call. He used my cell phone, while I was booking us flights to D.C. But even if I'd heard him, I don't think Big Vick lets many people tell him what not to do or say."
She glared at him. Vick had tricked her into admitting she'd married Trev—while a U.S. Marshal listened in—and Trev didn't seem the least upset about it.
"Uh, Jennie…" Dan cleared his throat from beside her, reminding her of his presence. "I've got Vick in a suite upstairs. I have serious issues to discuss with him. We'd prefer that he didn't make a habit of taking people at gunpoint. You can probably see him tomorrow. As far as Mr. Montgomery goes, we've checked him out thoroughly, not only with a physical search, but also a background check. We've made sure that—"
"It wasn't necessary to check out Mr. Montgomery," she interjected, unable to curb the negative energy pumping through her. "He isn't a threat, and my father shouldn't have dragged him into this." She shifted her glare to Trev, though she continued to speak to Dan. "Not that Trev himself is blameless. He shouldn't have gone to my apartment or questioned my landlady or told anyone he was my husband. He should have stayed at home, kept his mouth shut and minded his own business!"
"And you shouldn't have stolen my car," Trev put in, his golden-dark gaze locked in battle with hers, "or left me without a goodbye … again."
"What difference would 'goodbye' make?" she cried. "We said all there was to say."
"No, you did all the talking."
"Oh-kay," Dan said, bringing his hands together in a conclusive clap. "It's perfectly clear to me that you two are married. Think I'll let you wage this war in private. Buzz me if you need me." After he'd strolled to the door and opened it, though, he paused, looking thoughtful. "At least I've found the answer to one mystery that's been puzzling me, Jennie."
She turned to him in silent question.
"I wondered why you haven't dated in the entire seven years I've known you."
Jennifer didn't comment, but continued staring at the doorway long after he'd left. Why, oh why, had he chosen now to say such a thing? She hadn't wanted Trev to know that, or to get the idea that she'd avoided other men because she'd wanted only him … or that she'd compared every man to him and grieved over the differences…
"I hope you didn't believe that was true," she finally murmured. Without risking a glance at him, she locked the dead bolt on the door, tossed her hair over one shoulder and walked past Trev with deliberate nonchalance into the living room, where she gazed out into the evening shadows of the walled patio. "Just because I didn't tell Dan about my dates doesn't mean I never went on any."
"Jen." Trev came up behind her, his hands strong and warm on her arms, his breath stirring her hair, his virile scent evoking poignant memories. "Don't try so hard to push me away. It won't work. I'm going into the Program with you."
Her heart turned over, and she whirled around to gape at him. "Into the Program with me?" She couldn't believe it. Hadn't he listened when she'd said she never loved him? Didn't he feel used and abused by her? Or maybe his decision had nothing to do with their personal relationship. Maybe he realized the danger he'd been exposed to, and thought he needed to go into hiding to survive.
Forcefully she shook her head. "No. No! I don't believe that will be necessary. I … I've figured out a solution. You have to start seeing someone, Trev. You know—dating." She couldn't bear to look at him while suggesting he go to another woman, so she paced across the living room. "It would be best if you actually remarried. That way, even if my father's enemies discover that we were once married, they'll believe I'm gone from your life, and that you have no way of contacting me or my father." She hoped he couldn't see how much the suggestion cost her. "Yes, I—I'm sure that will work." With an effort, she walked back toward him and forced out through a constricted throat, "You've got to find someone … to marry."
"Yeah, that's a great plan, Jen. There's only one problem." He slid his hands around her jean-clad hips and slowly but persistently pulled her to him, until she couldn't possibly avoid his gaze. "I don't want anyone else. I want you," he whispered fervently. "Do you hear me, Jen? I want you."
She met his heated stare with dazed astonishment and helpless longing. After all she'd said and done, he still wanted her! And God knew, she wanted him. She had to fight harder than ever to stem the desire. "Weren't you listening when I said I never loved you?"
"No, I wasn't listening. Because you said something very different with your eyes, and your kiss, and your body."
A groan tore from her throat, and she turned away, breaking from his hold, desperate to resist him. "You're not thinking straight. And you know nothing about the Program. If you entered it, you'd have to leave everyone behind—Babs, Veronica, Sammy, Christopher. You could never see them again."
"And that thought hurts like hell. But when all is said and done, they'll be fine without me. I won't be fine without you, Jen. Something vital in me died when you left, and I don't want to live that way again. My family will have each other, and we'll have each other—you and me. Don't tell me you don't want that. I know you do."
She pressed her lips together to stop their trembling. He was so damn persuasive. She had to make him see reason … before she lost hers altogether. But she'd already given her strongest argument, and he'd shot it down. Hailing for more ammunition, she said, "You'd have to leave your property and your business. All your plans for the new community. You'd have to start over, in some new field, doing heaven knows what for a living."
"I'm not afraid of starting over. I can always make a living. We'll face whatever comes, and make the best of it. Together."
Did he know he was offering her heaven, when she'd been consigned to hell? But she couldn't let him make such a sacrifice on her behalf, or put himself into danger by physically being with her. "If you go into the Program, Trev, you can never
have close friends, because you'll have too many secrets to hide. You can't be truthful with anyone. Ever."
"I'll be truthful with you—and you, with me. I'm still waiting for that, you know—for you to be truthful with me. As far as friends go, if I never have any, that's better than never having—"
"No, no … shh." She pressed her fingers frantically across his mouth to stop him from saying another word. Strong, deep-seated fear rose in her, reminding her of the horror. "If you go into the Program, it will have to be without me. I won't be a party to you giving up everyone and everything in your life for a woman you barely know. And no matter what you say, you barely know me."
"Now you're not thinking straight."
"We knew each other a total of six months," she cried, "and that was seven years ago. We're practically strangers."
"If that's so, then why did I recognize you despite the fact that you've done everything you can to change your appearance?"
The emphatic question shook her. She'd wondered the same thing.
"Your face is different, your clothes are different," he said. "Your manner of speaking, the color of your hair and eyes. You've succeeded in changing all of those things. But the way you laugh, the way you make me laugh, the way you tease, and blush, and kiss, and make love … and care so damn much about me and my family—none of that has changed."
Held by the fire in those golden-brown eyes—a fire that stirred her very soul—she fantasized for a moment, a brief, beautiful moment, that she could let herself love him … give him everything he wanted, always…
"Even while my logic told me I was wrong," he whispered, "I knew in my heart you belonged to me. I recognized you, Jen, on the deepest level possible … as my woman. My mate. My one and only. And I knew I had to hold on to you. Just as I've known, since the day you disappeared, that if you were alive, you'd come back to me."
She blinked back scalding tears. "But I didn't. I tried to get away from you. I ran. I threatened to swear out a restraining order against you."
"You came to my room and made love to me. You stayed in my home, slept in my bed. And what made that possible was your move to Sunrise. Out of all the places in the world, Jen, why did you choose Sunrise?"
"Because I … I like it. It's beautiful, and serene, and quaint."
"And we'd planned to build our home there. Whether you admit it to yourself or not, deep down inside, you believed I'd move to Sunrise someday. And I did. Do you know why? Not because of the scenery, Jen. I can show you hundreds of scenic little coves along dozens of coastlines. I settled in Sunrise to feel close to you. To walk on the beach that we'd chosen as our own. To build the home that I'd promised to build for you." He shook his head, his expression fierce. "No, it wasn't a coincidence that we met again."
Transfixed by the heat of his stare, the passion of his words, she realized he was right. She hadn't admitted it, even to herself, but from the first day she'd lived in Sunrise, she had nursed a secret, burning fantasy, deep in her heart of hearts, that he'd return—and fall in love with her again.
Taking her face between his hands, he swore in an ardent whisper, "I love you, Jen."
Her heart stood still. She loved him so much! But that love could only destroy him. In desperation, she tore her gaze away from his. Even the innocent suffer.
"Don't be afraid to love me," he urged with a demanding stare. "I love you. I want to marry you, and live with you. I don't care where or how. And I'm not afraid."
Choking back a sob, she gave in to the horrific need and slid her arms tightly around him. "But I am afraid," she whispered against his ear. "Because I do love you. I'm scared that I won't find the strength to leave you again. And if you're with me, you could be injured or killed. I'd rather die than let that happen."
He groaned and cursed and kissed her throat, her cheek, her eyelids. Her mouth. Deeply, then. Possessively. The kiss ended in loud, labored breaths and hot-eyed stares. "And I'd rather die than let you go."
"No … no…" She frowned, cradled his jaw between her palms and feathered tender kisses across his face. "Don't say that! You've already been hurt. Almost shot. I couldn't bear it if—"
He cut her off with another passionate kiss, molding her body to his with long, hard caresses and needful groans. The heat grew to a startling intensity.
But just as they fell together onto the sofa with serious intent, the intercom buzzed.
"Don't answer it," he breathed.
"I have to, or they'll think something's wrong." And something was wrong. She was giving in to his kisses, his lovemaking, even knowing she'd have to leave him again. Now that she realized the depth of his love for her—his willingness to sacrifice everything—the pain was more excruciating than ever. Struggling to normalize her voice, she reached for the telephone and hit the intercom button. "Y-yes?"
"Jennie, we have another … development." The sobriety of Dan's tone left no doubt of his urgency. "We need to talk. I'll be right down."
Before she and Trev had the chance to do more than extricate themselves from each other's arms and straighten their hair and clothing, Dan arrived. Oddly enough, he carried a videotape and headed directly for the television. "Please, sit down," he urged, inserting the tape into the VCR.
Jennifer sank down onto the sofa in the warm curve of Trev's arm, needing his warm, solid strength to help her weather this new "development." He was a comfort she wouldn't have for long. She loved him too much to allow him to stay with her. Her heart bled at that thought.
"I feel the best way to break this news to you, Jennie," said Dan, "is by letting your father explain it himself. He elected not to tell you in person, but insisted that I record this video."
"Record a video? He has something to say, but won't speak to me in person?"
Rather than replying, Dan turned on the television, clicked a button and started the video.
"Hello there, Princess." Vick Palmieri's swarthy face appeared on the screen and his gruff voice filled the room. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You're mad as hell that you have to watch this video instead of talking to me in person. Calm down and listen to what I'm telling you."
Jennifer watched her father shift his large, formidable frame into a more comfortable position in a leather armchair, then stare wordlessly for a moment into the camera. His face had been surgically altered, as hers had been, and he'd shaven his formerly silvering head completely bald. His eyes were blue now instead of black, and he looked much older than the last time she'd seen him. She wouldn't have recognized him on the street. Which, she realized, was a good thing.
"You should have told me about your husband. He's not a bad guy. He keeps decent beer in the house and fairly good cigars." A glint of humor lightened his gaze, and for a reason she couldn't quite grasp, Jennifer's throat began to tighten.
His humor soon faded. "When the feds first explained why you had to go into the Program with me, you said something I never forgot. You told me that I'd 'ripped your heart out.' At the time, I thought you were talking about your mother, and how I let her down. Now I know you meant the marriage you left behind.
"You should have told me, Carly. I didn't think I could feel any lower than I already did, but when I realized what I'd done to you…" He shook his head. "I gotta do what's right. I'm going home. I'm moving back to the neighborhood."
Jennifer gasped and tried to rise. Trev's arm tightened to keep her seated.
"Now, don't go thinking I'm doing this just because of you," her father said. "I ain't. I'm sick and tired of living around a bunch of strangers, with no one knowing or caring who I am or where I came from." Anger flashed in his face, and he thumped his chest with his forefinger. "I'm Vick Palmieri. I do what I think is right, and I'm not ashamed of that. I might have made mistakes. Plenty of 'em. But I'm not gonna die hiding like some yellow-bellied jellyfish. No more blue contact lenses, no more sissy clothes, no more aliases. When I get up from this chair, I'm changing back into me. My enemies want to whack me, they can try. I still have p
eople on my side. The slime I put behind bars has more enemies than allies. I'm ready to take 'em on."
"Oh, my God," Jennifer murmured, her vision blurring with unshed tears. "He's going back into it."
"Hey, Princess," Vick called to her from the television screen, sounding stronger and more dynamic than he had since her uncle's murder, so many years ago. "I know you're gonna try to stop me. That's why I'm cutting out before you see this video. You gotta understand—I'm feeling better already. I can't keep living like a schmo. Big Vick's back, and that's nothing to cry over. And you—" he shook a threatening finger at her, his voice suddenly stern, his expression one she remembered from her childhood "—you go live with your husband. No more running away. Make lots of babies. Trev Montgomery, you take care of her and the grandchildren she gives me, or next time we meet up, I'll have to kill you." Someone who didn't know him might have missed the glint of lightheartedness in his eyes … and a deeper, underlying emotion that struck a vibrant chord in Jennifer.
The video faded to static. Dan shut off the VCR.
Jennifer sat with her knuckles pressed to her lips. He was on his way. Back to the old life. And possibly, his death. The emotions clutching her were every bit as surprising as the decision he'd reached. Because even though her heart ached at the danger he faced, she was glad for him.
Glad. The times she'd seen him in hiding, she'd known he was dying inside. She'd known that everything important had bled out of his life, and that death wasn't looking as grim to him as it once had. He'd never been a saint, but he was willing to pay for his mistakes … and he'd always lived by his own code of honor. If he died by that code of honor, so be it.
"Jen?" Trev nudged her chin with his thumb, drawing her attention. "Are you okay?"
Taking the question into solemn consideration, she thought about the expression she'd seen in her father's eyes by the end of that video. It was the look of a man breaking free from his shackles. Come what may, he'd set out on a journey for either liberty or death. He wasn't the kind of man who could settle for anything in between.
INTIMATE STRANGER Page 19
