Memories: A Husband to RememberNew Year's Daddy (Hqn)

by Jackson, Lisa

  She was his wife. If only for a few more days. If only because of the lie that bound them together and would, as surely as the moon tugged at the currents in the sea, pull them apart.

  *

  Nikki woke up with a start. Sweat streamed down her back, and her heart was pounding a thousand beats a minute. The nightmare had stolen into her sleep, burning through her conscious and terrifying her. Even now, snuggled against Trent, one of his arms flung around her, she shivered. Would the fear never go away?

  She glanced at the clock and groaned. Four-thirty. The bed, tucked in the corner under the eaves, was warm, rumpled, smelling of sex and Trent, and through the window she saw stars, clear and bright, glittering above the city.

  Letting out a long breath, she cuddled against Trent, when suddenly the memory slammed into her like a freight train running out of control. She remembered what she’d done with the Crowley file. The last wisps of her fear disappeared like night melting into the dawn. She slid from the bed. Trent growled and rolled over, his breathing never disturbed. Tossing on her robe, she walked to her computer, not bothering with lights. A few glowing embers smoldered in the fireplace, casting red shadows on candles that had burned down to pools of blue wax, their flames long ago extinguished, the wine bottle left empty on the coffee table, the wrinkled afghan where they’d made love left carelessly on the floor.

  Her heart caught for a second before she told herself to quit being a romantic fool. She had work to do. On the day before she’d left for Salvaje, the very day she’d argued violently with her father, she’d decided to hide her information on Crowley, just in case someone from the Observer, or someone in Crowley’s employ, wanted to know what she was up to. She’d carefully hidden all her notes and the computer disk in a box of Christmas ornaments on the floor of one of the closets tucked under the eaves.

  Quietly, she opened the closet door and yanked on the hanging chain dangling from the exposed rafters. With a bare bulb for illumination, she worked around the mousetraps and pulled out a heavy box with the stand for the tree, then dug through another crate filled with ornaments and lights.

  On the very bottom, tucked in a cardboard envelope, was the disk. In a manila folder were her notes. “Son of a gun,” she whispered, pleased that her memory had finally come through. Leaving the closet door open, she carried her prize to the desk and snapped on the green-shaded banker’s light.

  Trent snored softly and rolled over again.

  Almost afraid of what she might find, she clicked on the computer, and as it hummed to life, she rifled through old newspaper articles, magazine clippings and her own notes. “Great stuff,” she congratulated herself. She felt a sudden sense of pride in her job and in her life, and she wanted to share it all with Trent.

  She glanced over to the bed. He’d blinked his eyes open and was watching her, his black hair mussed, his beard dark, his naked torso bronze in the reflection of the dying embers. Stretching, he glanced at the clock and groaned. “You’re out of your mind, Carrothers,” he said, patting the warm spot on the bed that she’d recently vacated.

  “I know, but I remembered!”

  “Hallelujah!” he growled sarcastically as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Couldn’t it wait?”

  “No way.” She held up the old articles and pictures. “Evidence, McKenzie. That’s what this is.”

  He levered up on one elbow and his brows drew over his eyes. “You’re sure?”

  “I think so. My guess is that good ol’ Diamond Jim owes favors to some of the most influential businessmen in Tokyo, Seoul and Hong Kong.” She couldn’t restrain a smile of pride as she flipped through the articles taken from newspapers around the world.

  “You’ve got old news,” he said. “People have been trying to tie Crowley to a bribery scandal for years. Nothing ever sticks.”

  “This will,” she said, as she skimmed her notes. “What ties it all together is a tip I received from someone who used to work for him. He claims that the senator did all his dirty deals, taking the cash and laundering it into a Swiss bank account, through a small island in the Caribbean.”

  “Let me guess,” Trent said, his eyes no longer slumberous, every sinewy muscle of his shoulders and chest tense. “Salvaje.”

  “Bingo,” she whispered. “That’s why I was down there.” She glanced through the window to the lights of the city winking through the trees. “That’s why he tried to have me killed.”

  “Nothing you can prove.”

  “Yet,” she said, determined to get the fat-cat senator. She dropped the clippings onto the desk beneath the lamp, and one yellowed article slid away from the rest. Along with the report was a picture of Senator Crowley with the head of an automobile company headquartered in Japan.

  She reached for the article, but her fingers stopped in midair. Another man was in the grainy photograph, a man standing just behind the shorter industrialist, a man she recognized. Her world stopped and tilted as her future and past collided. She swallowed against the bitter taste of deception as she stared down at the unmistakable, rough-hewn features of Trent McKenzie.

  Chapter Eleven

  NIKKI STARED AT the picture in disbelief. Anger surged through her bloodstream. He’d lied to her again! God, why had she trusted him, believed in him?

  “What is it?” Trent asked, his voice rumbling and deep with recent sleep.

  “I, um, found something interesting.” A cold settled in the pit of her stomach. Her first impulse was to shove the damning piece of evidence under his nose, demand answers, rant and rave about truth and justice and the pain in her heart. Instead, she told herself to be calm, and with trembling fingers, she forced herself to tuck the picture deep into the notes.

  “What?”

  “More evidence. I have to talk to one of the aides who used to work for him. Barry Blackstone,” she said, remembering a name she’d seen mentioned several times. “He quit working for Crowley a few months back and I’ve written a note to myself that indicates he can give me inside information.”

  “Blackstone?”

  She stood and walked on wooden legs to the edge of the bed where she dropped onto the quilt near the lying son of a bitch…the man she loved. “What can you tell me about him?”

  Trent’s jaw tightened and his skin drew flat over his features. He tried to reach for her, but she pushed his hands firmly away.

  “Not now,” she said, disguising the fact that her heart was breaking, that she’d never let him hold her again, that they would never again make love. Here, with the scent of sex still clinging to the sheets, she vowed never to fall into his tempting trap again. To shove temptation from her grasp, she moved to the couch and leaned against its lumpy back. A world without Trent. It seemed so bleak. Suddenly world-weary, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve heard of him, I assume.”

  “I’ve met Blackstone,” Trent said, regarding her warily, as if he sensed the silent accusations charging the air. He slid into his faded Levi’s. Threadbare at the knees and butt, the pants threatened to split as he strode barefoot to the fireplace, crouched down to lay a piece of dusty oak onto the grate and blew into the coals. Sparks glowed bright, catching on the moss and dry bark. “I used to work for our friend, the senator,” Trent finally admitted, stirring the warm ashes with a poker.

  Nikki couldn’t believe his admission. Had he read her mind—known that she’d caught him in yet another evasion? Her heart began to pound and she didn’t know if she wanted to hear the rest of his story. Would it be the truth or a lie? Would he admit that he was in league with the man who had tried to have her killed? “You never said anything.”

  “Never seemed like the right time.” Red embers pulsed against the charred pieces of firewood. “A few years back, I was one of Crowley’s bodyguards for a few weeks.”

  Too convenient. He must suspect that you saw a photo of him or read his name in one of the articles. Still, she played along, wondering whether if she kept giving him more rope, he would
hang himself. “But you’re off the payroll now?” Nikki asked. Betrayal, like a serpent, coiled around her insides and squeezed.

  “Yep.” He shoved another hunk of wood onto the crackling, hungry flames. “I quit four years ago.”

  “Why?”

  He hazarded a glance over his shoulder. His mouth was drawn into a hard, cynical line. “I didn’t like the working conditions.”

  “Meaning?” She knew she was pressing him, but she couldn’t stop herself. After this one last time, she promised herself, she’d never again listen to his half truths and lies.

  Standing, he dusted his hands on his rear, then slapped his palms together. “Meaning I was beginning to suspect that Jimbo wasn’t on the up-and-up. A few things had happened that I didn’t like. I suspected he was on the take, from international lobbyists as well as from corporations here in the States. I confronted him.” A nostalgic, satisfied grin curved his lips. “He told me to take a hike.”

  “You were fired?”

  “Terminated is the word he used, I think,” Trent replied. “Nice, huh?”

  Nikki shivered and rubbed her arms. Don’t believe him. Not a solitary word he says.

  “But it was too late, anyway. I’d already turned in my resignation.” Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he sauntered toward her, the firelight playing in red-and-gold shades upon the smooth skin and sleek muscles of his torso. She tried not to notice the webbing of black hair that swirled across his chest and narrowed to a thin line that dipped seductively past the straining waistband of his jeans. She avoided staring at the sinewy ridges in his shoulder muscles or the way his eyes, deep-set and so blue, stared at her.

  Her heart did a stupid flip, but she didn’t even smile. “You lied to me.” The whisper echoed to the rafters and swirled around them like a cold whirlpool.

  “We’ve established that already.”

  “No, I mean you lied to me again. You didn’t want me to know that you were connected with Crowley. Why?” She angled her head up defiantly as he stopped just short of her, his bare toes nearly touching hers, his gaze delving deep into hers.

  “I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “What about me? Didn’t you think I might want to know?” she demanded, anger burning through her blood and controlling her tongue. The nerve of the man!

  “What good would it have done?”

  “This isn’t about good and bad, Trent! This is about the truth and lies, about trust. You expect me to pretend you’re my husband, let you live in my house, allow you to have a key to my door, for crying out loud, and you can’t even show me the consideration of telling me how you’re connected with Crowley!”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “I did,” she corrected, her lips curling. “You said it was personal.”

  “It was.”

  Throwing her hands up and grabbing the air in frustration, she shook her head. “How could I have been such a fool—such a damned fool?”

  “You’re not.” His fingers folded over her arm. “I should have leveled with you, but it didn’t seem important.”

  “Not important?” She yanked her arm away and strode to the fireplace, feeling a tide of misery swell in her heart. She loved him and he’d used her. Again. That was the sole basis of their relationship. It could never be anything more. “We’re talking about my life here. Because of what I’m doing I was nearly killed, and you don’t think it’s important!”

  A shadow crossed his eyes. “I’m trying to protect you.”

  “Then just stop. Okay? Get the hell out of my house and the hell out of my life! Leave me alone, Trent.” For God’s sake, leave me alone to lick my wounds and start over.

  But he didn’t. Cursing under his breath, he walked straight to her, and his expression was a mixture of anger, disgust and fear. “I can’t, Nikki.”

  “Oh, spare me the protector routine. It’s wearing a little thin.”

  “I love you.”

  The words echoed through her apartment and reverberated through her soul.

  “I always have.”

  He reached for her, and she slapped him with a smack. “Don’t say it, Trent. No more lies!” she cried as the red welt appeared on his cheek. Horrified that she’d struck him, she took a step backward but not before he caught her wrist and yanked her hard against him. His eyes slitted and she remembered once thinking that he was cruel.

  “I’ve lied about a lot of things, Nikki, and I’m not proud of the fact, and I’m not going to tell you that all my reasons were noble, because they weren’t. I slept with you, made love to you because I couldn’t stop myself, damn it. I even rationalized that it was necessary, but I didn’t count on falling in love with you.” His fingers dug deep into her flesh. “If there was any way I could have prevented falling for you, you’d better believe I would have.”

  Her throat worked painfully. “I don’t believe you,” she choked out. How could she trust a man who had lied to cover lies? The words were music to her ears, but like a false melody they would fade quickly, disappear when the time was convenient, never to be recalled again.

  “I love you, Nikki.”

  Again, those horrible, wonderful words. Her heart wanted to explode and tears filled the back of her eyes.

  “I think I fell in love with you from the first time I saw you.” He sighed loudly, playing out his role. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a sentimental sap. This isn’t like me, but I fell in love with you, and I swear, as long as I live, I’ll never love another woman.”

  Oh, God! She wanted to believe him. With all of her heart, she wanted to trust and love this man, but she couldn’t. As tears slid in tiny streams from her eyes, she tossed off his arm and shook her head. “And I swear to you, as long as I live, Trent McKenzie, I’ll never trust you.” Feeling as if she were shattering into a thousand pieces inside, she stepped away from him and brushed the tears from her eyes. “It’s too late.”

  “Nikki—” He reached for her but she stood on wooden legs, refusing to go to him.

  “Even if there was a chance for us once upon a time, it’s over. Leave, Trent,” she insisted, fighting the urge to run to him.

  “But—”

  “Just drop the key on the counter and walk out that damned door!”

  He studied her long and hard, looking for cracks in her composure, then, grimacing, he turned on his heel, grabbed his jacket and walked out of her life. The door slammed with a thud, shaking the room.

  Her knees started to give way. She grabbed the corner of a table and afraid she might fall into a puddle and cry for him to come back to her, she ran to the bathroom, locked the door, turned on the shower and stripped off her robe. Steam billowed, filling the room and her lungs as she stepped under the warm spray and prayed that the hot needles of water would wash away the pain in her heart. She loved Trent, was destined and doomed to love him all of her life, but she wouldn’t let him know how she felt. She had already experienced too much pain at his hands—she’d never be fool enough to give him the chance to hurt her again.

  She cried in the shower, quietly sobbing and letting her tears mix with the water. These, she swore, were her last tears for a man who could lie and say he loved a woman without batting an eye.

  When she finally turned off the spigots and shoved the wet hair from her face, she felt stronger. She would survive. Somehow she’d live each day without him and the pain would lessen, not quickly, but she would live with it and go on with her life. She’d learned long ago, during the pain of her parents’ divorce, that she was a survivor and that she could accomplish just about anything she wanted to. Right now, she wanted Trent out of her life.

  Cinching the belt of her robe around her waist, she clamped her teeth together and unlocked the bathroom door. She paused, took in a long, bracing breath and, in a cloud of steam, walked through the door.

  Trent was gone. She knew it before she even glanced through the shadowy apartment. From the atmosphere in the room, the lack of
life in the air, she knew that he’d left. And she realized that she’d been wrong. Just when she’d been foolish enough to think that she was fresh out of tears for Trent McKenzie, she found a few thousand more.

  *

  “I just don’t see why I can’t meet that husband of yours.” Ted Carrothers touched the crook of his daughter’s arm and propelled her across the street. He’d called while Nikki was at work and they’d agreed to have dinner together.

  “He’s busy,” Nikki hedged as they threaded through the crowd of pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalks. Umbrellas, boots, newspapers and purses tucked beneath arms, raincoats billowing, everyone walked briskly, as if each person was in his own personal race with the world.

  Unlike Salvaje, where the pace was slow, the weather warm and lazy, Seattle’s gait was brisk, in tempo with the winds that blew chill off the Pacific. Fog was rolling through the streets and a slight drizzle threatened. Ted shoved open the door of his favorite Irish pub, and the sounds of hearty laughter, clink of glasses, and noise from a television where a boxing match was being shown, greeted Nikki. Smoke hovered over the bar and the smell of beer was heavy in the air.

  “In the back. Rosie has a table for us,” her father said as they moved past the long mahogany bar that had been a part of Rosie’s Irish Pub since the great fire. “Here we go.” Ted weaved through the tightly packed tables and, true to his word, found a booth in a corner near the back wall.

  Nikki slid onto the wooden seat while Rosie, without asking, brought two frosty mugs of ale. Not believing that she could trust anyone to manage the place, Rosie worked day and night as a waitress and hostess. “Bless ya, Rose,” Ted said with a wink.

  “Come here often, do you?” Nikki teased, scanning her menu.

  “As often as possible. And don’t bother ordering. It’s already done.”

  “Don’t you think I might like a say in what I’m eating?”

  His blue eyes twinkled. “Not when I’m paying the tab.”

  “This is the nineties, Dad.”