MAN IN THE MIST

by Annette Broadrick

  * * *

  Chapter 11

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  Fiona stirred several hours later and sleepily reached for Greg, wanting to know he was real and not some figment of her overheated imagination.

  He wasn't there.

  She opened her eyes and looked around the room. Greg must have turned off the lamp at some point during the evening. Now the only light came from the window, where Greg stood in silhouette with his shoulder leaning against the window frame. He wore his robe and had his hands in his pockets.

  "What's wrong?" she asked softly, not wanting to startle him.

  He turned his head, but with the light behind him, his face was shadowed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

  "You didn't. Will you talk to me … please?"

  He stood there in silence long enough for Fiona to decide he wasn't going to respond before he slowly straightened and walked over to her side of the bed. He sat at the end of the bed, facing her.

  Fiona knew something was terribly wrong. He'd been warm and so passionate with her, making her feel as if no one else existed for him except her. Was he already regretting their lovemaking?

  She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest.

  "What do you want me to say?" he finally asked.

  "What were you thinking, standing there at the window?"

  He gave his head a quick shake. "So many things. I couldn't begin to sort through them and make any kind of sense."

  Greg sounded sad and resigned. She leaned toward him so that she could touch his hand, needing the contact.

  "Are you sorry for what happened this evening?" she finally asked when he said no more.

  He turned and gripped her hand as though unable to resist touching her again. "Sorry?" he repeated in a strangled voice. "That's such a mild word for what I'm feeling at the moment."

  She moved closer to him. "Please don't blame yourself for what happened, Greg. If I hadn't been so—"

  "Don't blame yourself for what happened. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. The tension between us was palpable. Even your aunt recognized it."

  "Then what is it? Why are you awake?"

  Greg was quiet for a few moments and then he sighed heavily. "I don't like the feeling that I'm using you for my own needs without regard for your best interests. I've said more than once that I don't want to take advantage of you and I'm afraid I have."

  "Then you are sorry we made love. Even though I was the one who seduced you."

  His mouth flickered into a brief smile at her words. He lowered his head and kissed her so tenderly she felt her bones melt. Regardless of the turmoil he was experiencing, his gentle touch told its own tale.

  Fiona slipped her arms around his shoulders and held him. By the time he released her they were both trembling.

  Greg rested his forehead against hers. "Probably none of this is real. I'm probably still hallucinating and when I wake up, none of this will have happened. Only in my dreams." He swallowed before saying, "In so many ways that I can't explain, I almost wish this were only a dream. You see, it doesn't change anything. You need to know that. It doesn't change a thing."

  "I know. It wasn't supposed to change anything. It just happened, that's all. I don't regret it. I don't want you to, either."

  "I had no business—" he began before her fingers stopped him.

  "Let's don't waste time when you only have a few more hours here," she whispered. "There's to be no recriminations, remember? Just pleasure. Let's enjoy the pleasure."

  He removed his robe, returned to bed and made tender love to her, his gentleness bringing tears to her eyes.

  * * *

  When Greg opened his eyes several hours later, he saw daylight filtering through the window. He glanced at Fiona who lay next to him, her hand resting on his chest.

  A soft scratching at the door caught his attention and he recognized the noise that had awakened him. Moving carefully in an effort not to wake up Fiona, Greg quickly dressed and went to the door. He wasn't surprised to see McTavish sitting there, looking abandoned and bereft.

  Without a word, Greg went downstairs and quickly fed both animals before letting them outside. Then he went into the downstairs bathroom and prepared for his day.

  After his shower and shave, Greg went to his room. It took only a few minutes for him to repack his belongings. After taking a careful look around, he returned to the hallway and set his suitcase by the door.

  He went back upstairs and found Fiona still sleeping. He knew he had exhausted her the night before. He hadn't been able to leave her alone. He'd told himself that his reaction was due to the three years he'd gone without sex.

  This morning he knew differently, but his knowledge of his motives didn't change the facts. He had other commitments that did not include the young woman before him.

  He pulled out the small notebook that he always carried in his pocket, wrote a brief note and left it on the pillow he'd slept on the night before.

  Once downstairs, he stepped out the back door and whistled for McTavish who eagerly dashed toward him. Greg squatted on his haunches in front of the dog.

  "I'm leaving you in charge. Take care of her, all right? You stay close and make certain she's safe." He opened the back door and followed McTavish. He watched him climb the stairs and nudge the bedroom door open before disappearing inside.

  After a moment, Greg picked up his suitcase and let himself out the front door.

  He had several hours of driving to do before he reached Glasgow. He would check into a hotel near the airport to be ready for his flight home. He kept his mind carefully blank of everything but what he was doing. He wanted no memories of any kind to distract him.

  He was going home. That was all that mattered.

  * * *

  Fiona was drowsily aware of Greg's weight in her bed. He hadn't left yet, she thought with a smile. She knew he would need to go soon, but for now, she could pretend that he was staying in Scotland with her.

  Without opening her eyes, she reached for him. Startled, her eyes flew open and she sat up in bed, staring at McTavish, who lay stretched out beside her.

  "What do you think you're doing?" she asked with a mixture of disappointment and amusement. "You know you aren't supposed to sleep on the bed!"

  McTavish thumped the bed with his tail.

  Fiona looked around the room, knowing without need for confirmation that Greg had left. She looked at the clock and was startled to see it was almost ten o'clock. No doubt Greg had been gone for hours.

  She tossed the covers back, got up and headed for the bathroom. Once under the warm spray from the shower, she allowed her emotions free rein. Only she would know the amount of tears she shed that morning while the water washed them away.

  By the time she dried off and dressed, she was once again in control. She had her own life, after all. She had always known that he would leave. There never had been a reason for him to stay.

  She wasn't sorry for experiencing lovemaking with him. No matter how he wanted to look at what had happened, she was fully aware that he had been touched by what they had shared, even if he hadn't admitted it.

  At least she had had those few hours with him when he had let down his emotional barriers and had allowed her close to him. He'd allowed her to see his vulnerability as well as his inability to let anyone get close to him on a permanent basis. Otherwise she wouldn't have found him awake in the middle of the night concerned about what had happened between them.

  McTavish had gone downstairs by the time she returned to her bedroom. She stripped the sheets off her bed and replaced them with clean ones, before making up the bed.

  As she turned away, she noticed a folded piece of paper lying on the floor. She picked it up and opened it, then slowly sat on the side of the bed.

  She'd never seen Greg's handwriting before. She was struck by the bold strokes and lack of frills, so much like the man himself.

  "Fiona," she read, "I couldn't force myself to wake you this mor
ning so I'm taking the coward's way out and telling you goodbye this way. There's no way I can repay what you have done for me. Please take care of yourself." It was simply signed "Greg."

  Tears trickled down her cheeks once again, but she refused to give in to them. Not now. Not ever. What was done was done and could not be changed, even if she wished it so. Which she did not. She touched her still-tender lips with her fingertips and whispered, "I will never forget you, Greg Dumas. That is my blessing and my curse."

  * * *

  Greg was one of the first to board the plane back to the States early the next morning. He hadn't slept much the night before, despite being tired from the long drive from Glen Cairn.

  When he finally had fallen asleep, he'd dreamed about Jill, which wasn't unusual, and yet these dreams were different. They weren't about her death. They were about his explaining to her why he had made love to another woman.

  He kept waking up, feeling like the worst kind of heel. Once awake, he still couldn't rid himself of the guilt of becoming involved with another woman.

  Once buckled into his seat, he closed his eyes and waited for the plane to take off. He reminded himself that the only wrong he'd committed was against Fiona, not against Jill.

  He'd taken the gift Fiona had offered, knowing that he had little to give in return. She'd been generous and loving and he'd wanted to protect her from her own impetuous choices. But he hadn't. Instead, he'd taken full advantage of the situation.

  Greg didn't like the view he saw of himself every time he closed his eyes.

  By the time the plane left Glasgow, Greg was asleep. He slept most of the way to New York. When the plane landed several hours later, he was ready to face the day with a minimum of jet lag.

  Jill's parents and Tina met him when he came out of Customs. Tina raced to him and threw herself into his arms, chattering all the while she kissed him all over the face, from his brows to his chin.

  Helen laughingly gave him a hug and George shook his hand, but it wasn't until they returned home that Greg was able to say much about the trip.

  Over a late lunch he told them about Scotland. He'd already given Tina the souvenirs he'd picked up for her and she had what seemed like hundreds of questions about everything.

  It was later that afternoon when he called his client to report on his lack of success. When the phone was answered, he heard, "MacLeod residence."

  "May I speak with Ms. MacLeod, please? This is Greg Dumas."

  "Ah, yes, Mr. Dumas. I'm Janet O'Reilly, Ms. MacLeod's housekeeper. She mentioned that you might call while she's away."

  "She's not here?"

  "No, she's in Italy at the moment. I'm not certain where, exactly. If it's urgent I can give you telephone numbers to try."

  "I don't think it's urgent enough to disturb her in Italy. Would you please have her call me when she returns?"

  "Certainly, Mr. Dumas." He gave her his number and hung up.

  So that took care of that. He'd go to the office tomorrow and type up a report. He preferred to tell her in person about the possibility that Fiona was her sister. He wondered if Mr. McCloskey would confirm that Fiona was one of the triplets. That would be something for Ms. MacLeod to handle.

  That night Helen suggested that both he and Tina stay with them rather than return home for the night. Greg didn't care one way or the other so let Tina choose. Now that he was home, Tina was comfortable staying one more night at her grandparents' home before returning to her former routine with her father.

  Once Tina was in bed, Helen said, "So tell me what you haven't told us," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

  Greg looked at her in surprise, while George made a disgusted sound behind the paper he was reading.

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  Helen grinned. "All right. Then I'll be more specific. You haven't mentioned a word about Fiona. I want to hear more about her."

  "C'mon, Helen. I told you before. She was kind enough to look after me when I fell sick. When I was better, it made sense that I stay there while going through her father's files, for all the good that did me."

  "You said she was twenty-five. Tall, short, blonde, brunette? What is she like?"

  Greg sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "She's small … not just short … but slender, as well. Her hair is red."

  Helen waited, and when he said no more, said, "And you were attracted to her, right?"

  George lowered the paper. "Leave the man alone, will ya, Helen? Can't he have any secrets?"

  Helen ignored her spouse. "I can hear it in your voice. I can't tell you how relieved I am."

  "Relieved," Greg repeated slowly.

  "For the past three years you've buried yourself in your work. Outside of Tina, and us, of course, you've made no effort to stay in touch with friends or do anything else. Work is not the answer for what ails you, Greg. I hope you've begun to understand that."

  Greg shook his head. "I have a life, Helen. I stay busy. I have a daughter whom I love very much. What more do I need?"

  "A woman in your life."

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. "That sounds strange, coming from you."

  "Why? Because I'm Jill's mother? Well, she'd be telling you the same thing if she were able to express herself at the moment. And you know what? She'd be right. Grieving is one thing. We've all done that. But life goes on. Tina is growing up. Your company has taken off. Now it's time for you to slow down a little and meet new people."

  "What does any of this have to do with Fiona?"

  "That's what I'm asking you, you thickheaded cop. Something happened to you over there, besides this case you're working on, and I'm betting that something was Fiona MacDonald. Now you tell me if I'm wrong."

  "You're wrong," he replied doggedly.

  "Ha!" Helen replied.

  "There," George said. "He answered you. Now leave him alone."

  Helen threw up her hands. "All right, if that's the way you want it. I just figured you might want someone to talk to, someone who would understand, but if you want to keep everything all bottled up, like you've done for the past three years, why, be my guest!" She turned and walked out of the room.

  "Women," George muttered.

  Greg smiled. "But we can't get along without them," Greg replied.

  George gave him a penetrating look. "You know Helen means well. She worries about you. We both do."

  Greg stood and walked over to George in his recliner. He patted George on the shoulder. "Thanks. I appreciate both of you more than I can ever tell you."

  Greg wandered over to the piano, where Helen had arranged family photographs. He stood and looked at the display, his hands in his pockets.

  Jill smiled at him from her various school pictures, her graduation snapshots and while she held a newborn Tina at the hospital.

  Jill had been a beautiful person, inside and out. Tall and voluptuous, with dark curly hair and exotic features. Her smile had been the first thing he'd noticed about her—that, and her vivacious personality.

  Standing there, he remembered how she used to give him a bad time about being such a sourpuss.

  She'd probably been right. He knew that he'd laughed more in the five years he'd known Jill than he had during the first twenty-five years of his miserable life.

  He shook his head and turned away.

  Greg left the room after bidding George good-night. He went into the guest bedroom where he undressed and crawled into bed, still wide-awake. He rested his head on his folded arms and remembered…

  His mother died when Greg was eight and he'd been raised—if that was the word—by a father who got mean when he was drunk … and he was never sober.

  By the time he left home, Greg had bailed his dad out of jail for drunkenness too many times to feel anything more than contempt for him. Once he left, Greg never went back.

  He had no idea whether his father was dead or alive.

  He'd put himself through school and joined the police
department when he was twenty-one. He'd worked hard for his promotions and by the time Jill showed up in his life four years later, he'd made sergeant.

  She'd been hired as a civilian to work at his precinct and help with the endless paperwork. They got married that first year and Tina came along three years later. He'd been cocky back then, and why not? He'd had everything he ever wanted in life—a good job, a beautiful wife, a nice home in a quiet neighborhood and a precious daughter.

  Tina was two the night they'd left her with Helen and George while they caught a movie. He could still see Jill as she looked that night—the dress she wore, the way she'd fixed her hair.

  After the movie, they'd left the theater and strolled down the street, chatting about the show. Jill had cried at the sappy ending, he remembered, and he was teasing her about being so sentimental.

  They had passed a convenience store and Jill reminded him they were almost out of milk, so they went inside. She went back to the dairy case while he browsed through the magazines near the front of the store.

  It was while he waited that he happened to glance over at the guy behind the counter who stood frozen in place, staring at something in a customer's hand. Greg moved to get a better view and saw a punk kid in a leather jacket holding a .38.

  As quietly as he could, he found Jill, handed her the cell phone and told her to get outside and report a robbery in progress. He could hear the guy behind the counter explaining to the kid that he didn't have access to the safe and that there was less than fifty dollars in the till.

  Greg drew his weapon and waited for the patrol car to get there. He'd been unaware the kid had backup outside who must have seen Greg with his gun. The next thing Greg knew, the guy outside was spraying the store with a semiautomatic, yelling for his partner to run.

  The patrol car arrived, sirens screaming as Greg fired back at the perp outside, taking him out. The kid at the counter ran to the back of the store but there were cops there waiting for him.

  Greg remembered flashing his badge and running to the front door to check on Jill. When he reached the street he saw a crowd gathered. Jill lay on the ground. One of the officers knelt beside her. A stray bullet had hit her in the neck, severing her carotid artery. There was no way to stem the bleeding.