"This could take hours," Cole muttered. "We should forget it."
"We can't forget it. You probably need stitches." Josh sat down in the chair next to him. "You really know how to piss off a woman, I'll say that for you. How's your head?"
"It hurts like hell." The throbbing pain made it difficult for him to speak.
"Next time you break up with a woman, make sure there aren't any heavy objects lying around."
"I didn't know we were breaking up."
"Apparently that was the problem," Josh said with a grin.
Cole moved his head, then groaned at the pain that shot through his temple. "Dammit. This is the last thing I needed today. I've got to get out of here. I have things to do."
"What things? It's Friday night."
"The news doesn't stop just because it's the weekend. In case you haven't noticed, the world has gone crazy in the last few months."
Josh leaned forward. "In case you haven't noticed, your world is going crazy."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you should start paying attention to problems closer to home, like your girlfriend. You can probably get Gisela back if you call her tonight."
"Why would I want to do that? She almost killed me."
"If you'd moved faster, she wouldn't have hit you. You've gotten slow, Parish."
"I have not gotten slow." Even though his job kept him at his desk for long hours at a time, he worked out every day. "Frankly, I think I've had enough of Gisela anyway. What is with that baby-girl voice she uses? It makes me want to rip my hair out."
"Thank God she finally got to you. She's been driving me crazy for weeks. She was hot though."
"Cole Parish?" a nurse asked, interrupting them. "Come with me."
Cole got to his feet. "You can wait here, if you want," he said to Josh.
"I'll stick with you. It's a zoo out here," Josh replied as a group of drag queens came into the waiting room.
They followed the nurse down the hall and into a room with three beds, each separated by a thin curtain. An elderly man lay in one bed. The other was empty. "A doctor will be in shortly," the nurse said. She had barely left the room when they heard a commotion in the hallway.
A flurry of people in scrubs dashed past the door, shouting out various medical terms as they pushed a gurney down the hall. Cole's reporter instincts kicked in despite the pain in his head. He craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on.
"I'll check it out," Josh said.
Cole frowned as his friend rushed out of the room, irritated that he was sidelined while someone else caught the action. He sat down on the bed, holding the ice pack to his head, and wished for a television set. If they were going to make people wait this long, at least they could offer an all-news channel to take their minds off their pain.
Josh walked back into the room a few minutes later. "Gunshot victim," he said. "Convenience store robbery in the Mission district. The owner shot the robber, a seventeen-year-old kid."
"Will he make it?"
"They took him to surgery."
"I should call Blake," Cole said, referring to the assistant editor who ran the city desk on Friday nights.
"I'm sure he's already heard about it."
"Where's my phone?"
"Who knows? Relax, dude. You might have a concussion."
"I don't have a concussion, and I don't want the Trib to miss the story. We have a lot of competition these days with blogs and online news outlets."
"We can handle the competition." Josh sat down in the chair next to the bed. "Besides, you have a lot of people working for you. Let them do their jobs." Josh leaned back and toyed with a piece of tubing hanging from some sort of a machine. "What do you think this is?"
"I have no idea. Where is the damn doctor anyway? I could have bled to death by now."
"'Death by Stapler,'" Josh said with a laugh. "There's a headline for you. Or how about 'Psycho Supermodel Snaps'?"
Cole groaned. "Not funny."
"It is kind of funny."
Josh was right. His personal life was now officially a joke. Gisela's parting shot had definitely gotten his attention. Maybe he did need to focus on something or someone besides the news. But not Gisela. That was over. He'd known it for a while. He'd just been too busy to end it. Now that she'd done it, he felt more relieved than anything else.
Cole looked up as a woman entered the room.
"Good evening, Mr.—" She stopped abruptly, looking up from the chart with wide, shockingly familiar eyes. "Cole?"
Natalie?
His heart thudded against his chest. It couldn't be Natalie. Not now, not after all these years. Not here, not in his city.
She moved farther into the room, slow, small steps, as if she wasn't quite sure she wanted to come closer. Her hair, a beautiful dark red, was pulled back in a clip, showing off the perfect oval of her face. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, her lips as soft and full as he remembered, but it was the tiny freckle at the corner of her mouth that made him suck in his breath. He'd kissed that freckle. He'd kissed that mouth. God! Natalie Bishop. The only woman he'd ever ... No, he couldn't think it, much less say it.
It should have been easy to see her. It had been ten years, but it seemed like ten minutes.
She was older now, a woman—not a girl. There were tiny lines by her eyes and around her mouth. She'd filled out, grown up, and she'd come back. He wasn't ready to see her again. She didn't look ready to see him, either.
Cole suddenly became aware of the white coat she was wearing, the stethoscope around her neck, the chart in her hands. She was a doctor. She was his doctor!
"Well, isn't this quite the reunion?" Josh murmured, breaking the silence between them. "Remember me?"
Natalie looked at Josh blankly for a second; then recognition kicked in. "Of course. You're Josh, Dylan's twin brother and Cole's next-door neighbor."
"Good memory."
Natalie turned her attention back to Cole. "Did you come to see me about the book? Is it really about Emily?" Her gaze moved to his head. "Oh, you're hurt. You have a laceration. That's why you're here. Of course that's why you're here," she added with a shake of her head. "What am I thinking?"
"What book? What are you talking about?"
Her mouth opened, then closed. "Nothing. Are you in pain?"
"I've had better days. Are you really a doctor?"
"Yes, I am. What happened?" She held his chart in front of her like a protective shield.
"I got hit by a flying object," he said, preferring not to go into the details.
"His girlfriend threw a stapler at his head," Josh interjected helpfully. "She was trying to get his attention."
"Did it work?" Natalie asked briskly, her demeanor changing at the mention of a girlfriend. Or maybe she was just coming to grips with the fact that they were in the same room. Whatever the reason, she now had on her game face.
"I'm definitely switching to paper clips," Cole replied.
She stared at him for a long moment. He wondered what she was seeing, what she was thinking. Not that he cared. Why would he care what she thought of him? He knew what he thought of her. And it wasn't good.
"You may need stitches," she said.
He wondered how she knew that when she hadn't looked at the wound. In fact, she'd stopped a good three feet away and couldn't seem to make herself come any closer. "How long have you worked here?"
"A few years."
"A few years?" he echoed. She'd been in San Francisco a few years, working at a hospital a couple of blocks from the newspaper?
"St. Timothy's is an excellent hospital. They offered me a terrific opportunity, better than I could find anywhere else. That's why I came to San Francisco," she said in a defensive rush. "It had nothing to do with you. I'm going to get some sutures. I'll be back."
Josh let out a low whistle as Natalie left the room. "I didn't see that one coming."
"I didn't either," Cole murmured. It must be his night
for getting blindsided by women.
"She looks good."
"I didn't notice."
"Yeah, tell that to someone who doesn't remember how crazy you were about her."
"I can't believe she's been in San Francisco for years. Why would she come here after everything that happened with Emily and with me?"
"She always loved the cable cars."
Cole's chest tightened. Natalie had loved the cable cars and the sailboats down at the marina, the fresh crab on Fisherman's Wharf, the long walk across the Golden Gate Bridge. At one time, he'd thought she'd fallen in love with the city as much as with him. Hell, maybe it had always been the city and never him. Not that he cared anymore. She was old news. Nothing was worse than old news.
"What was that book she was talking about?" Josh asked.
"I have no idea." It occurred to him that it was the second time that day someone had mentioned something about a book.
Silence fell between them as several long minutes passed. It was too quiet. Cole didn't like it. "Do you think she's coming back?"
End of Excerpt
DON'T SAY A WORD
Excerpt - Copyright 2011 by Barbara Freethy
All Rights Reserved
Prologue
25 years earlier...
She took her bow with the other dancers, tears pressing against her lids, but she couldn't let those tears slip down her cheeks. No one could know that this night was different from any other. Too many people were watching her.
As the curtain came down one last time, she ran off the stage into the arms of her husband, her lover, the man with whom she would take the greatest risk of her life.
He met the question in her eyes with a reassuring smile.
She wanted to ask if it was all arranged, if the plan was in motion, but she knew it would be unwise to speak. She would end this evening as she had ended all those before it. She went into her dressing room and changed out of her costume. When she was dressed, she said good night to some of the other dancers as she walked toward the exit, careful to keep her voice casual, as if she had not a care in the world. When she and her husband got into their automobile, they remained silent, knowing that the car might be bugged.
It was a short drive to their home. She would miss her house, the garden in the back, the bedroom where she'd made love to her husband, and the nursery, where she'd rocked ...
No. She couldn't think of that. It was too painful. She had to concentrate on the future when they could finally be free. Her house, her life, everything that she possessed came with strings that were tightening around her neck like a noose, suffocating her with each passing day. It wasn't herself she feared for the most, but her family, her husband, who even now was being forced to do unconscionable things. They could no longer live a life of secrets.
Her husband took her hand as they walked up to the front door. He slipped his key into the lock and the door swung open. She heard a small click, and horror registered in her mind. She saw the shocked recognition in her husband's eyes, but it was too late. They were about to die, and they both knew it. Someone had betrayed them.
She prayed for the safety of those she had left behind as an explosion of fire lit up the night, consuming all their dreams with one powerful roar.
Chapter One
Present Day ...
Julia DeMarco felt a shiver run down her spine as she stood high on a bluff overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a beautiful, sunny day in early September, and with the Pacific Ocean on one side of the bridge and the San Francisco Bay on the other, the view was breathtaking. She felt like she was on the verge of something exciting and wonderful, just the way every bride should feel. But as she took a deep breath of the fresh, somewhat salty air, her eyes began to water. She told herself the tears had more to do with the afternoon wind than the sadness she'd been wrestling with since her mother had passed away six months ago. This was supposed to be a happy time, a day for looking ahead, not behind. She just wished she felt confident instead of ... uncertain.
A pair of arms came around her waist, and she leaned back against the solid chest of her fiance, Michael Graffino. It seemed as if she'd done nothing but lean on Michael the past year. Most men wouldn't have stuck around, but he had. Now it was time to give him what he wanted, a wedding date. She didn't know why she was hesitating, except that so many things were changing in her life. Since Michael had proposed to her a year ago, her mother had died, her stepfather had put the family home up for sale, and her younger sister had moved in with her. A part of her just wanted to stop, take a few breaths, and think for a while instead of rushing headlong into another life-changing event. But Michael was pushing for a date, and she was grateful to him for sticking by her, so how could she say no? And why would she want to?
Michael was a good man. Her mother had adored him. Julia could still remember the night she'd told her mom about the engagement. Sarah DeMarco hadn't been out of bed in days, and she hadn't smiled in many weeks, but that night she'd beamed from ear to ear. The knowledge that her oldest daughter was settling down with the son of one of her best friends had made her last days so much easier.
"We should go, Julia. It's time to meet the event coordinator."
She turned to face him, thinking again what a nice-looking man he was with his light brown hair, brown eyes, and a warm, ready smile. The olive skin of his Italian heritage and the fact that he spent most of his days out on the water, running a charter boat service off Fisherman's Wharf, kept his skin a dark, sunburned red.
"What's wrong?" he asked, a curious glint in his eye. "You're staring at me."
"Was I? I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He paused, then said, "It's been a while since you've really looked at me."
"I don't think that's true. I look at you all the time. So do half the women in San Francisco," she added.
"Yeah, right," he muttered. "Let's go."
Julia cast one last look at the view, then followed Michael to the museum. The Palace of the Legion of Honor had been built as a replica of the Palais de la Legion d'Honneur in Paris. In the front courtyard, known as the Court of Honor, was one of Rodin's most famous sculptures, The Thinker. Julia would have liked to stop and ponder the statue as well as the rest of her life, but Michael was a man on a mission, and he urged her toward the front doors.
As they entered the museum, her step faltered. In a few moments, they would sit down with Monica Harvey, the museum's event coordinator, and Julia would have to pick her wedding date. She shouldn't be nervous. It wasn't as if she were a young girl; she was twenty-eight years old. It was time to get married, have a family.
"Liz was right. This place is cool," Michael said.
Julia nodded in agreement. Her younger sister, Liz, had been the one to suggest the museum. It was a pricey location, but Julia had inherited some money from her mother that would pay for most of the wedding.
"The offices are downstairs," Michael added. "Let's go."
Julia drew in a deep breath as the moment of truth came rushing toward her. "I need to stop in the rest-room. Why don't you go ahead? I'll be right there."
When Michael left, Julia walked over to get a drink of water from a nearby fountain. She was sweating and her heart was practically jumping out of her chest. What on earth was the matter with her? She'd never felt so panicky in her life.
It was all the changes, she told herself again. Her emotions were too close to the surface. But she could do this. They were only picking a date. She wasn't going to say "I do" this afternoon. That would be months from now, when she was ready, really ready.
Feeling better, she headed downstairs, passing by several intriguing exhibits along the way. Maybe they could stop and take a look on the way out.
"Mrs. Harvey is finishing up another appointment," Michael told her as she joined him. "She'll be about ten minutes. I need to make a call. Can you hold down the fort?"
"Sure." Julia sat down on the couch, wishing Michael hadn't left. She really
needed a distraction from her nerves. As the minutes passed, she became aware of the faint sound of music coming from down the hall. The melody was lovely but sad, filled with unanswered dreams, regrets. It reminded her of a piece played on the balalaika in one of her music classes in college, and it called to her in a way she couldn't resist. Music had always been her passion. Just a quick peek, she told herself, as she got to her feet and moved into the corridor.
The sounds of the strings grew louder as she entered the room at the end of the hall. It was a tape, she realized, playing in the background, intended no doubt to complement the equally haunting historic photographs on display. Within seconds she was caught up in a journey through time. She couldn't look away. And she didn't want to look away -- especially when she came to the picture of the little girl.
Captioned "The Coldest War of All," the black-and-white photograph showed a girl of no more than three or four years old, standing behind the gate of an orphanage in Moscow. The photo had been taken by someone named Charles Manning, the same man who appeared to have taken many of the pictures in the exhibit.
Julia studied the picture in detail. She wasn't as interested in the Russian scene as she was in the girl. The child wore a heavy dark coat, pale thick stockings, and a black woolen cap over her curly blond hair. The expression in her eyes begged for someone -- whoever was taking the picture, perhaps -- to let her out, to set her free, to help her.
An uneasy feeling crept down Julia's spine. The girl's features, the oval shape of her face, the tiny freckle at the corner of her eyebrow, the slope of her small, upturned nose, seemed familiar. She noticed how the child's pudgy fingers clung to the bars of the gate. It was odd, but she could almost feel that cold steel beneath her own fingers. Her breath quickened. She'd seen this picture before, but where? A vague memory danced just out of reach.
Love Will Find a Way Page 33
