Something was going on, though, and it seemed Alex was the key. It was time to do what he’d been putting off and tell her the truth about himself. He swallowed hard, hoping the beer would lend him some courage. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t prefer shady Russian mob figures in a dark alley in Moscow to an angry Alex.
He was doing a crap job of coming up with the painting on his own. Coming clean with Alex was not only the clearest way to finding the picture, if Franklin Forrest had ever owned it, but it was also the best way he could see to protect Alex, and that was more important than anything.
From his perch at the pock marked, stained oak bar, Duncan could see everyone from loggers to farmers to the local bank manager. They were here to watch a game on the big screen TVs, to enjoy a brew with the boys after some sport or outdoor activity, or like him, to get out of the house and do their brooding over a drink. He wondered where their women were.
He knew where his woman was. At home, since she liked to spend Sunday nights obsessively organizing everything from her pantyhose to her hair clips for the week ahead.
If he hurried, he could watch, and maybe throw in a few suggestions for the week’s underwear. He found he could watch her do the most mundane tasks and get a kick out of them. He took pleasure in simply watching her, being with her, loving her.
A choking sound was loud in his ears and he discovered it was him doing the choking. Love? Was that what this was?
The truth was there in front of him like a hidden picture he’d uncovered—as beautiful and as magical as any of his finds. Hard to believe, but he was in love with A. M. Forrest. He loved every rule-obsessed, ultraorganized, sexy, gorgeous inch of her. He loved her sophisticated demeanor and the small town heart he doubted she knew she possessed. He loved her laughter and her openness, her intelligence, wit, and basic goodness.
He needed to trust her fully with the truth of who he was, why he was here, and, most frightening of all, with his heart. Instead of filling him with terror, the truth brought a warm glow to his chest.
He paid up and left, so anxious to get to Alex he damn near sprinted to his rental.
A glance at the car’s clock told him it was getting on for eleven. She usually watched the eleven o’clock news and then went to bed, so if he hurried, he wouldn’t wake her.
Of course, there was always the possibility that she’d refuse to let him in so late, but he knew her weaknesses. All he had to do was mention a couple of things he planned to do to her that she wouldn’t be able to resist. When she’d taunted him with how much she loved sex, he’d assumed she was exaggerating to torment him. He’d been wrong.
He’d never known a woman who flat-out loved sex as much as Alex did. Raunchy or gentle, noisy or silent, lights on or off, in bed, or anywhere. It didn’t matter. He hadn’t found a position she didn’t respond to or a time she didn’t feel like it.
He grinned to himself in the dark. She was a dream come true.
Of course, he had no idea how they were going to work out the future, but he assumed if they put their minds to it they’d figure something out.
He stopped grinning twenty minutes later when it was clear she wasn’t home. Where the hell was she at this time of night?
Frowning at the intercom wasn’t helping. He could get into her place easily enough, but if she was ignoring him for some reason, or asleep, she was not going to be thrilled to find him breaking and entering. However, if she was in some kind of trouble, he couldn’t break and enter fast enough.
He rang her apartment again. Still nothing.
Ten minutes later, he was getting ready to break in first and think of a good explanation later when he heard a car. Sure enough, it was Alex’s, driven with unseemly haste for such an orderly woman.
He sprinted after her and was in time to watch her speed into her parking lot and miss hitting the building’s siding by an inch.
Now what was that about? And where the hell had she been?
“Hey!” he said when she stepped out of her car.
“What?” she snapped.
“Alex, it’s me. Duncan.”
“Of course it is. Who else would bother me at midnight? I do not want sex and I certainly don’t want you. Go away.” She stomped to the side door and stuck her key in the lock.
“Now, that’s two lies in a row. You should be ashamed—” She entered and slammed the door behind her.
What bug had climbed up her ass?
He jogged around front and called her on the intercom, knowing the buzzer was going to drive her nuts until she answered it.
“Will you stop bothering me?” was his greeting when she picked up.
“I want to talk to you.” He wasn’t a fool. It was obvious she wasn’t in the mood for declarations of love and devotion, but would a simple conversation kill the woman?
A moment’s silence. He waited in faint hope for the click that meant she was letting him in. “I want to talk to you, too. Tomorrow.”
“Look, it’s import—”
Once again, he was talking to himself. With a muttered curse, he stomped back to his car. The woman he’d figured out he was in love with didn’t want to talk to him. Right now, he felt like yelling. While disappointment settled heavy in his belly, he realized he’d have to leave things until tomorrow.
Nothing life-changing was going to happen in one day.
Monday morning, Alex woke to sunshine. As was her custom when the weather was fine, she walked to work, track shoes on her feet and a pair of heels in her bag.
Well, walk would not be quite accurate. She stomped to work, wishing she could squish beneath her feet the feeling that she’d been made a fool of by Duncan Forbes.
Of course, not even a towering rage would cause her to cross against the light, so she waited, in spite of the fact there wasn’t any traffic in the area, until the neon sign across the street flashed that it was her turn to walk.
He’d lied to her by omission and what he’d omitted suddenly seemed to have significance precisely because he’d kept his moonlighting business secret.
Stomp, stomp—she reached the next sidewalk and kept going, working her heart rate good and hard as her pace increased along with her frustration.
It had seemed too good to be true to find a man like him in Swiftcurrent. Or anywhere, come to that. He was the kind of man she’d planned to move to a big city to meet. He was athletic but intellectual, good-looking but not narcissistic. And he was the best sex she’d ever had. Not that sex was everything—she’d learned long ago to be discriminating and that it was better to do without than to sleep with men she couldn’t respect.
Which immediately took Mr. Forbes off her list. How could she respect a man who was dishonest? She couldn’t. Maybe sex with him was fantastic, but sex wasn’t everything.
She drew abreast of the municipal square, where the war memorial held a place of honor. The men and women of Swiftcurrent had served gallantly in many a battle. The square was surrounded by the big municipal park, empty at this time of day. Too late for the before-work joggers and too early for the little kids to hit the playground. She was glad she was alone. No one could see her marching along in a fury.
Although the idea of never sleeping with Duncan again seemed to burn a hole right through her, she had to admit the possibility that she’d let him make a fool of her because she was in a dry spell.
Even as she rolled her eyes, she noticed a beige sedan very much like Duncan’s.
“Oh, give me a break!” she yelled at the oncoming car. The sun was in her eyes, and the driver had the sun visor pulled down, so she couldn’t even see his face, but she glared at him good and hard anyway.
The car didn’t slow. It headed right for her.
She gasped as she watched the car cross the yellow line onto her side of the road.
It was aimed right at her like a large beige bullet. Oh, my God, she thought, he’s going to kill me!
She heard the engine race and that’s when her adrenal glands yelled, H
ellooo!!
She screamed and instinct took over. She dove over the scrubby hedge of azaleas and vaulted over the stone wall they grew against, feeling the murderous intent behind her. She heard the roar of the engine loud in her ears, then a cacophonous shriek of tires and the sound of bushes torn and scraped.
She landed in a heap in the war memorial square. She dragged to her feet and tried to run but she’d hurt her ankle when she landed and she tripped and fell. Panic was like a hailstorm in her brain, she couldn’t think what to do.
Was she dead? But her body hurt too much to be dead.
Can’t just lie here. He’ll come back.
She tried to pull herself to her feet and gasped as the big pain flowered into a hundred smaller pains. Hauling herself up to sitting, she found she was clinging to the granite base of the World War II statue of a soldier in uniform.
She held on to the stone base, fighting nausea. Phone. That’s what she needed. Her phone. Call the cops.
In her bag, which she’d hung onto amazingly, she bounced her wallet out of the way, her tissues and cosmetics bag. Where the hell was her phone?
A pink tube at the bottom of her bag reminded her she carried pepper spray. Not much of a weapon, but it was all she had. Her phone must still be charging in her apartment.
Her hands trembled so badly she could barely fumble the tube out. If he came back for her on foot, this was all she had.
She gazed around in frustration. Where the hell was everybody? Where were the morning dog walkers? The van moms returning from taking the kids to school? But she chose her route for solitude, of course. The walk to the library was her time. She didn’t want to stop and discuss whether Game of Thrones was too violent for a ten year old, or why young adult fiction seemed to be dominated by the undead and what did that mean for the teenage psyche? Or when was Agatha Christie going to put out her next mystery.
She only seemed able to hang onto one clear thought at a time. Have to get to the library.
Her side burned where she’d hit the ground, her hip felt like all bruise and no bone, and her head ached. But the panic trying to choke her was the worst sensation.
Of all days, why was this the one in which she forgot her cell phone?
She dragged and hopped her way to the entrance to the war memorial square, using the statues of the fallen to support her. She was two blocks from the library. It seemed like a hundred miles through enemy territory.
When she heard the sound of a car, her muscles, every one of which was already in full fight-or-flight mode, tensed further. A glance over her shoulder confirmed the worst.
The tan car was back.
Her canister, weirdly in let’s support the fight against breast cancer pink, seemed pitiful defense as she tried to get the safety off.
“Alex, what happened?”
At first, relief washed over her when she recognized Duncan’s voice, then she pulled the spray can in front of her, aiming it as though it were a Glock. Wishing that’s what she held in her hand.
By this time he was pulled up beside her, the passenger window rolled down as he stared.
She ought to spray him first and ask questions later, but she was trembling so badly, she couldn’t aim, and the throbbing in her side was turning into the mother of all cramps.
“What’s wrong?”
“Go away. I’m calling the cops.”
He was out of the driver’s side in an instant and rounding on her. She tried to step back and stumbled.
“Hey,” he said, with a voice a whisperer probably used on a nervous mare, “let’s get you sitting down.”
That sounded reasonable and a very good idea, seeing as how none of the parts of her body that were designed to hold her upright seemed to be doing a very good job. In fact, she was going through reverse evolution as she stood there. Bending, hunching, losing basic language skills—soon she’d be on all fours and gibbering.
Duncan took her arm, still speaking softly, though what he was saying she couldn’t fathom, and easing her into his car as though she were a very frail person. If he was going to murder her, she realized she was going to let him. He buckled her seat belt for her, shut her door, got in the driver’s side, and started driving.
She pointed her pink weapon at him, but he acted like he didn’t notice it.
“Are you planning to kill me?” It seemed important to ask.
He glanced at her sharply. “Alex, I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“Oh. Good. Just checking.”
“Is that why you’re thinking about blinding me with that thing? You thought I—”
“It was the same car.”
“The same car as what?”
“Your car is the same as the one that ran me off the road a few minutes ago.” She glanced around and realized they weren’t near the library. “I thought you were trying to kill me.” She smelled coffee and realized he’d been to a drive through. The paper cup with its commuter lid seemed so every day. So normal. He had the radio on and the local weather suggested sunshine was going to continue at least for another day.
“Where are we going?”
“The hospital.”
“No. I have to open the library at nine.”
“Alex, did you hit your head?”
She touched her aching scalp. “I’m not sure. I might have.”
“You probably have a concussion. You have to get checked out. Plus, you’re bleeding.”
She hadn’t even noticed, but sure enough, when she glanced down she saw red liquid oozing through a jagged tear in the blouse she’d ironed to white crispness last night. “I’m sorry, it’s going on your upholstery. The rental company will charge for cleaning.”
“I’ll survive.” He sounded curt, but she thought his anger was directed at something other than her for bleeding on his car. When her head didn’t hurt so badly, she’d think about that.
In the meantime, he was pulling out a cell phone, punching buttons.
“Don’t you know it’s dangerous to drive and talk on a cell phone at the same time?”
“I’ll be very careful,” he promised. “I want Tom Perkins,” he said into the phone. “Tell him it’s an emergency.”
She sighed, thinking if Duncan were calling Tom about her near-death experience, then he wasn’t going to murder her.
“Tom? Duncan Forbes here. I’ve got Alex with me. Somebody tried to run her down this morning,” he said in a voice that was a little calmer than she liked. Maybe she wasn’t the love of his life, but a little panic, a little, Oh, thank God you’re all right, would have been nice.
“She says it was a car like mine,” and he gave the make and model. “One driver.” He glanced at Alex and she nodded confirmation.
“Male?” She thought back and realized she’d seen nothing but the blur of a ball cap.
“Couldn’t tell,” she said and he relayed that information. “License plate?” This time she shook her head. All she’d seen was the blur of the thing coming at her. She couldn’t have even said what state the license plate advertised, never mind the number. But she’d noticed it had a rental sticker, like Duncan’s.
“It was a rental, like yours,” she told him.
“She says it was a rental. I suggest you get an APB out and try to catch the bastard,” Duncan said savagely and she decided that maybe there was more than one way to say, Oh, thank God you’re all right.
“No, she’s not okay,” he yelled. “She’s bleeding, concussed, and limping. I’m taking her to the hospital—see you there.”
“You made me sound like a total mess,” she complained. “And you should have told him to get Myrna to open the library at nine.”
“I’m sure it’s top of his list. Now relax.”
“I feel kind of sick.”
“Hang on,” he said. “We’re almost there.”
But she couldn’t hang on, and with the hospital in view, she had to make him stop the car. One glance at her and he pulled over. He bolted out of the ca
r and opened her door just in time for her to vomit into the gutter, narrowly missing his shoes.
“Oh,” she groaned. “I’m sorry.”
“Sshh, it’s okay,” he said, smoothing back her hair. “Feeling better?”
She nodded miserably and eased back into the seat. He shut her door again and rounded the car and got back into his side. Before she’d had time to stop feeling embarrassed or to start feeling sick again, the red Emergency sign was in front of her.
23
“Hi. How are you feeling?”
Alex experienced her first smile of the day as her cousin appeared at her hospital bedside that afternoon with blueberry muffins. Her favorite.
“Gran’s recipe?” she asked hopefully, knowing her concussion couldn’t be too serious if she could still remember these.
“Absolutely.” Gillian smiled at down at her. “You look like hell.”
She chuckled weakly. “Thanks. That’s how I feel.”
“I spoke to the doctor. They’re keeping you overnight but she says you can go home tomorrow if you have someone to look after you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Alex. Come home. I’ll look after you.”
“You will?” It was such a foreign concept, to have her cousin the one doing the nurturing and her the needy one, that she smiled.
“I can cook, water all these plants,” Gill gestured to the greenhouse that Alex’s hospital room had already turned into, “and make sure you get some rest.”
“One thing I’d really appreciate you doing.”
“What?”
“Keep Duncan Forbes away from me.”
“Alex, he’s out there right now. They’ll only let one of us in at a time, even though it’s visiting hours. I pulled family connection and outranked him, but it won’t be easy to keep him out.”
“Please?”
Gillian was smoothing her sheet and tucking it in, the way she preferred her bedding. Funny she’d remembered that. “I thought you liked him.”
“I’m mad at him, but I have such a headache that if I see him I might start to cry.”
Her cousin patted her cheek. “You never would let anyone see you cry. Unlike me. Okay, I’ll keep him out.”
Wild Ride: A Changing Gears Novel Page 24
