by Sheryl Lynn
“I didn’t say yes!”
“You will.”
CATHERINE PAUSED at her front door. Key in hand, she stared at the doorknob. Jeffrey had breached her home’s safety. He’d betrayed her trust For that reason alone she would force herself to confront him and make him confess.
The sound of Easy’s car coming up the driveway reassured her. She unlocked the door.
Oscar and Bent greeted her with tail-wagging fawning, rubbing against her legs and showing her wide doggy grins. She petted them and cooed the baby talk they both loved. She allowed them outside, then stood on the deck, watching them give Easy a cursory inspection before loping off to do their business.
Holding her elbows, she studied the sky. A thunderstorm built to the south, rolling its slow way toward the city. She hoped the rain reached her place. The forest was unseasonably dry.
“Are you okay?” Easy touched her elbow.
“I feel like an idiot. He was so nice to me, so very charming. He always said the right things. I would get annoyed by some of the things he did, but then he’d be so attentive and sweet. I felt guilty about feeling bothered.” She lowered her face so her hair offered some protection against Easy’s gaze. Either he pitied her or he thought she was stupid. Neither sat well with her. “Looking back, I can see he’s a lot like my father. He always has to be in charge. He has to make all the decisions.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. He made it his life’s work to be your best friend.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better,” she said wearily.
She called the dogs. Across the scrubby, wildflower-dotted clearing, they ran with the powerful grace of their breed. Paws pounding, they leaped onto the deck and crowded past her into the house.
“Those are cool dogs,” Easy said.
“You can adopt one. Or two. Retired racers without breeding prospects are euthanized if they can’t find families. They make nice house dogs.” She paused inside her studio, seeking any sign of an intruder.
Easy touched her back and she jumped.
“Sorry.” He held his hands high.
Between fear of Jeffrey and the instability of lingering sexual desire, she wondered if her nerves would ever calm. “Fix yourself a drink. I’ll be right back.” She hurried down the stairs.
In the bathroom, she avoided looking at the ruined towel bar and holes in the wall. She critically eyed her face in the mirror, seeking evidence of Easy’s lovemaking on her features. Other than smudged cosmetics and tousled hair, she looked much the same as she had before she ended up in his bed.
She certainly felt different. Softer somehow, and off-balance. Definitely discombobulated and uncertain.
She felt ashamed. She’d made a promise to herself: she’d never, ever endanger another child. In one heated encounter, she’d broken that vow. She no longer felt certain of anything, most of all, not of herself.
She washed her face and brushed her hair. She opened the bathroom door. Easy stood next to her bed. He held the small silver frame containing the photograph of the faux Elizabeth.
Her insides shriveled. “What are you doing?”
His face revealed no trace of contrition or embarrassment. He held the frame so she could clearly see the smiling child in the photograph. “Who’s this?”
“You have no right to be in my bedroom.”
“I was worried about you.”
“Put that down and get out of here.”
He resumed his bland-faced study of the little girl’s face. “This looks just like Trish when she was little. Did you cut it out of a magazine?”
“Easy, please…”
“This is supposed to be her, isn’t it? Our Elizabeth.”
Once again, he brought her near tears. She pinched the bridge of her nose.
He put the photograph back on the bedside table. “Tell me about it.”
Unable to speak, she shook her head in firm refusal.
“I’m not trying to upset you. You’ve been carrying the load alone too long. This picture is her, right? You can tell me.
She stared in dumb misery at her toes. “It’s just a picture. I don’t know who it is.”
“Do you think this is what she looks like? Uh-uh, she’s probably a blonde like you. She’s real smart, too. Even with half your brains, she’s gotta be a genius.”
She dashed angrily at her eyes. He had no right to speak so casually about their lost baby.
“I bet her parents are proud of her. They probably thank you every day for having the guts to give her up.”
She lost it then. Grief, anger, fear and loss gushed from within her. Unable to control the tears no matter how hard she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, unable to control her sobs and the choking in her throat, she knew she was going mad.
Easy grasped her shoulders and guided her to the bed where he sat her down. “I hate it when you cry.”
“I-I-so-sorry.” She gulped air in a futile attempt to stop the tears, but all it did was make her hiccough. She accepted the box of tissues Easy thrust at her.
He dropped to a crouch before her and dangled his hands over his knees. “You know what hurts the most? Knowing you had to do all this alone. I can’t ever make that up to you, babe. I know it, you know it I have to live with it. I don’t know how to make it right”
She scrubbed at her eyes, shredding a handful of tissues. “It hurt so much to give her up. It physically hurt. I ached for days and days. My stomach and my breasts and my arms. I was so empty. I loved her so much. I had twenty-four hours to decide. I wanted to run away with her and somehow make it on my own.” She managed a ragged breath. “I wanted to die. If it wasn’t for Grandma, I would have killed myself.”
“Oh, God…” He dropped forward on his knees and rested both hands on her lap.
“I couldn’t take care of her. My parents said if I didn’t give her up, I could never come home. Grandma had arthritis real bad. She couldn’t help with a baby. I would have had to drop out of school and get a job and leave Elizabeth with baby-sitters all the time. I couldn’t do it to her. She needed parents. Giving her up was the only thing I could do for her.” She tore another handful of tissues from the box. “I want to find her. I really do. I want to know I did the right thing for her, to make sure she’s happy and healthy and loved.”
“I’ll find her for you.” He nodded eagerly. “It won’t take more than a few phone—”
“No! This can’t be about me.” She felt his shared pain. Temptation nibbled at her soul. They could find Elizabeth, be a family, erase the past and start over. “We can’t,” she added, more to herself than to Easy. “She isn’t ours anymore. We’re the ones who made the mistake, but if we interfere in her life, she’s the one who will suffer.”
He looked past her to the small silver-framed photograph. “So you settle for magazine pictures.”
She nodded.
“We don’t have to talk to her. We can just find her. You know, check to see if she’s okay—”
“I’m not strong enough to do that. Honestly, I’m not. If I see her, I’ll want her. I won’t be able to walk away a second time.” She covered his hands with her own. “It’s so hard. I want to know how she is, what she looks like. I want to meet her parents and know they’re good people. I want to assure her how much I love her, but I can’t.”
His shoulders raised then he exhaled slowly, powerfully. “You’re a strong woman, Catherine St. Clair.”
“I don’t feel strong.” She glanced at the telephone on the bedside table. “I can’t call Jeffrey right now. My throat is sore. I’m too shaky to say the right things.” She turned her head and blew her nose. She hadn’t cried so much in years. It left her light-headed, empty and raw. Exhaustion made her slump.
“No problem. Lie down, kick off your shoes. I’ll fix you some hot tea. With lemon and honey?”
It wasn’t until she curled up on the bed that the vulnerability of her position struck her. She trusted Easy. She trusted him with her soul wo
unds, with her home and even inside the sanctuary of her bedroom.
A very strange thing.
“HEY. TINK, WAKE UP.” Easy reached for Catherine’s shoulder, but he hated waking her. She slept hard, completely silent and still. She looked like a little girl, all rosy cheeked and cute, her lips ruffling slightly with each exhalation.
Arousal hit him fast and hard. He tucked his hands beneath his armpits and stared helplessly at her sleeping form. Tangled emotions tightened his chest until each breath caused him pain. He loved her. It was as if he’d spent the past twelve years in a cocoon, shielded against any other woman, any other love. When she’d been in his arms, their bodies joined, their souls connected, he’d known she loved him, too.
Now he didn’t feel so certain.
He glanced at the pitiful magazine photograph in the fancy frame. His uncertainty deepened. He liked to fix things, solve puzzles and problems, but he doubted his ability to fix this.
He breathed deeply, shoving down the erotic memories, and hardening his soul against her beauty. When he felt in command of himself, he shook her shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered.
“Dinner’s ready. Come on, up and at ‘em. You slept the whole day away.”
She opened first one eye then the other. She peered unfocused at him and frowned. “What time is it?” Her words slurred.
He had swallowed the rising thickness in his throat. “Almost nine.”
“At night?” She struggled into a sitting position and raked her hands through her tousled hair. “I can’t believe I slept so long.”
Her soft mouth and the tender curve of her cheek, the vulnerable line of her neck and sleepy eyes tormented him. He picked invisible lint off his shirtsleeve. “I found some veggie pizza in your freezer and I made a salad.”
She nodded and mumbled something about coming upstairs in a moment. He made himself turn away and went upstairs.
When she finally appeared, she’d exchanged her skirt for a pair of baggy, ragged denim shorts and had pulled her hair into a ponytail. Her eyes were puffy. Her face was pale. The dogs hopped off the sofa and silently flanked her, twining around her legs like a pair of cats. She petted them absently.
“Why are you still here?” she asked. “Weren’t you supposed to meet Trish?”
“I didn’t want to leave you. I talked to her on the telephone. She’s rarin’ to go after Livman.” He grinned, tempted to recount the wild fantasies he’d been spinning—sexy fantasies that had nothing to do with a wife killer. “Besides, it took me most of the day to figure out how you organize the kitchen. Why do you keep coffee and tea in the freezer?”
“To keep them from going stale.”
He pulled out a chair for her at the small round table now set for two. His hand brushed her shoulder—soft, so soft. He hurried around the table. “So when did you turn into a health nut? You’ve got tons of grains and beans and tofu crap in there. No secret goody stashes.”
“Actually, it’s because of Grandma. She had arthritis really bad. Her hands were curled up and she had a hard time walking. She didn’t want to end up in a wheelchair. We started investigating alternative medicine. Massage, acupuncture, diet, exercise, vitamin therapy, prayer.”
“Did it work?”
“I think so. She still had arthritis, but the pain wasn’t so horrible and she didn’t end up in a wheelchair. She got so she could walk at least a mile every day. Swimming was as close to a miracle cure as I’ve ever seen.”
“I get it. You were her personal trainer.”
She gave the question a moment of thought, then nodded. “I guess you could say that. Grandma didn’t get discouraged if I exercised with her. Truth is, once I stopped eating meat and refined sugar, I felt a lot better.” She grinned sheepishly. “And one day I noticed I had a real waistline. I didn’t even realize I was getting in shape until I was almost there.”
“Good for Grandma.”
“I really miss her. I was a hundred times closer to her than I’ll ever be to my parents.”
He didn’t doubt it for a second. “I take it they haven’t changed.”
She shook her head. “After Grandma died, I got homesick. I guess I thought with me grown-up, they’d like me better. I was wrong about that. I only see them when Mom insists I come to dinner.”
“They’re still toads.”
A sparkle filled her beautiful eyes. “Dad wants me to quit fooling around and find a real career. And Mom…” She shrugged. “She’s still Mom. Never a kind word to say about anything.” She laughed. “I never did get around to introducing them to Jeffrey. Now they never have to know about that particular disaster.”
Glad she still had a sense of humor, he served up the pizza and salad. She dug into her food. He noticed she still ate with nervous little bites as if afraid someone might see her. This, he knew with a certainty he’d never felt before in his entire life, was exactly what he wanted, exactly where he wanted to be. Right here, with Catherine, sharing meals and making small talk.
He itched to tell her what he was feeling right now. How he wanted them to start over, start fresh. They’d been perfect together twelve years ago; they were perfect together now. They had a deal, though. He consoled himself with the knowledge that she’d get around to renegotiating the terms.
“Do you feel strong enough to start working on Liv-man? I jotted down a script.”
She froze with a fork full of salad halfway to her mouth. “I have to call him?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know if I can. I’m scared of him.”
“Don’t be scared. You’ve got me.”
Chapter Ten
Catherine studied the array of electronic equipment spread across Easy’s coffee table. She could disassemble and reassemble an animal skeleton, and use clay to accurately rebuild the individual muscles. Anything mechanical, though, boggled her completely. The bits of wires, colorful connectors and metered boxes looked like so much junk to her.
She shifted her seat on the hard couch in Easy’s apartment. A few days ago, she’d been loaded for bear where Jeffrey was concerned. He had lied to her, breached the safety of her home and played her for a fool. He had hired thugs to hurt Easy. He’d given her a dead woman’s precious memento and dared to call it a custom-made engagement ring. Righteous indignation had bolstered her spirits and mustered her courage.
Righteous idiocy, she mused. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed Easy to talk her into this nutty scheme. No way could she look into the eyes of a lying, manipulative, possibly homicidal con artist, and pretend to be his friend.
Easy slipped on a pair of headphones and fiddled with an electronic gadget. Trish bustled about her brother’s apartment, freshening drinks and rummaging for snacks in the small kitchen. John Tupper sat rigidly on a chair, his feet together. He mopped at his damp face with a handkerchief. Never in her life had Catherine ever known anyone who perspired as much as John did.
“Want a cookie?” Trish asked. She offered a bag of chocolate chip cookies to Catherine.
“No, thank you.”
“Are you nervous?” Trish munched a cookie, heedless of the crumbs floating down the front of her shirt
“Extremely.” Catherine watched Easy. The swelling had eased from his face, and the bruise had blackened so it looked more like a bad makeup job than a wound. Being with him was the most difficult part of this whole affair. She didn’t touch him, but she wanted to. She felt his desire to touch her, too. They didn’t talk about the past, but it hovered in the air, crackling like ball lightning. Being in this apartment, only a few feet away from where they’d made love, tormented her.
“Jeffrey knows something is going on. He knows I know he’s a liar.” She glanced at her watch. She was meeting Jeffrey at the Grape and Olive in about an hour.
Easy slid the headphones off his head. “We know he knows you know. That’s why you aren’t going to lie to him.”
She rubbed her throat. It ached as if encircled with tight, cold bands of
iron. Fear or not, she had to do this. She couldn’t work. She jumped at every noise. The realization that she’d almost married a killer awakened her in the middle of the night with cold sweats and a pounding heart. If she were ever to resume a normal life, she had to finish her relationship with Jeffrey.
“You’ll do fine. Trust me.”
“I’d sooner trust my dogs with guarding a steak,” she muttered.
“I’ve dated guys like Livman,” Trish said. “They think they’re smart and everyone else is stupid. One guy used to pull the same stunt on me that Livman is pulling on you. He’d get mad, then give me the silent treatment. I was always apologizing. It drove me crazy until I realized he was acting like an immature brat.”
Catherine managed a wan smile, but wondered if Trish’s ex-boyfriend’s immaturity extended to homicide. When Easy beckoned her to rise, her smile faded. He gathered electronic gear and a roll of medical adhesive tape. He urged her to follow him into the bedroom.
He caught the edge of the door as if to close it, but paused. “I can suit you up out there. I thought you might want some privacy.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling with good humor. “Want Trish to chaperon?”
He enjoyed this, she realized. All these I-spy shenanigans excited him. “That’s quite all right”. She lifted her chin and settled her sternest expression on her face. “We’re adults.”
He shut the door. “Some of us are. Take off your vest and blouse.” He began tearing off strips of tape and hooked the ends over the dresser. “Excuse me in advance for getting personal.”
Refusing to look at him, she removed the embroidered vest and unbuttoned her cotton blouse. Her fingers fumbled on the tiny wooden buttons. Her cheeks warmed as she slid off the blouse and stood facing him with only a filmy brassiere shielding her breasts. She braced for a smart-aleck remark. Or worse, something sweet and sexy.
With the businesslike demeanor of a window dresser arranging a mannequin, he slid a dime-size microphone under her bra and between her breasts. He had her hold it in place while he affixed it to her skin with tape. After asking her to lift her arms, he snaked a wire around her rib cage to her back.
