by Gina Wilkins
She sipped her coffee and looked at him through her lashes. Her gaze lingered on his left cheek. She remembered the single dimple there that at one time had almost melted her insides every time he’d smiled. She hadn’t seen it since he’d found her again.
He looked tired, she thought, studying the dark circles under his eyes, the weary lines around his unsmiling mouth.
“How long has it been since you’ve had a full night’s sleep?” she asked, hardly aware that she’d spoken aloud.
“Two and a half years.”
She winced at the blunt reply and looked down at her coffee. She couldn’t blame him for the occasional bitter barb.
She didn’t blame him for anything, really. In his eyes, she deserved his anger, his resentment, his scorn. She just wished he weren’t so darned stubborn. What was it going to take for her to be able to push him completely away from her? What was he hoping to gain by holding her here this way?
“What is it you want from me, Gabe?” she demanded impatiently, setting her mug aside.
“I told you what I want,” he replied, apparently unperturbed by her fierce tone. “Answers.”
“I’ve given you answers. You didn’t like them.”
“I didn’t believe them,” he corrected her. “I want the truth.”
She looked at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
“And once you’ve decided I’ve told the truth—then what? You’ll just let me go? Forget about me?”
He took another sip of his coffee. “That depends on what you tell me,” he said finally.
“I don’t love you,” she said, making her tone as cold and blunt as possible.
He didn’t react to her statement, except for what might have been a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not the answer I’m interested in right now.”
“It’s all you need to know.”
“What are you running from, Page?”
His steady persistence was like water dripping on stone. And she wasn’t feeling like the strongest of stones at the moment.
“You,” she snapped. “I’ve been running from you.”
“You didn’t even know I was looking for you until a few days ago.”
He had a point there. She really hadn’t expected him to pursue her this relentlessly. Any other man probably would have written her off a long time ago.
But Gabe Conroy wasn’t just any man. She’d known that when she married him.
When she’d fallen head over heels in love with him.
She shrugged and managed to speak carelessly. “I figured you would look for me. An ego like yours doesn’t take rejection well. You can’t imagine that any woman would be immune to your charms.”
“I never claimed to be Prince Charming,” he returned with what might have been dry amusement.
No, he’d never made such a claim. But there’d been a time when she’d thought he was just that.
The memories were getting too insistent. It was becoming harder for her to keep that mental lid closed. She worried that if she allowed it to open fully, she would never find the strength to slam it down again.
It was the same reason she never allowed herself to cry. She’d been afraid that if she started, she would never stop. She felt very much like crying now. The temptation to dissolve into tears and tell Gabe everything was almost overwhelming.
Only the awareness that doing so could prove deadly gave her the strength to force the emotions aside. Within moments she could feel herself returning to that cool, brittle, ever-vigilant automaton she’d become in the past years. She could look at Gabe without softening now, her mind clear, her thoughts racing ahead, watching for an opportunity to escape.
He lifted an eyebrow as he watched her. Had her mental transformation somehow been visible to him?
“Page?” he asked, sounding wary.
She stood. He did, too.
She took a step closer to him, holding his gaze with her own. “You’ll know if I tell you the truth?”
A bit suspiciously, he nodded. “I’ll know.”
“Good. Then read my lips, Gabe. I want you to stay away from me. Far away. Am I telling the truth?”
“Yes,” he muttered, looking deeply into her eyes.
“I want you to go back to Austin and get on with your life. I want you to stop following me, stop asking questions that are none of your business. Are those lies, Gabe?”
He shook his head. “No.”
She drew a deep breath. “I’m going to leave here now. There’s nothing you can do to stop me, short of physically hurting me. I know you won’t do that.”
“You can’t be so sure,” he countered, inching closer, their eyes still locked. “You aren’t the only one who has changed, Page. I’m prepared to do whatever I think I have to do. Do you believe that?”
She searched his face. “Yes,” she whispered. “I believe you. But—”
His hands fell on her shoulders. “Give me one more honest answer, and I’ll consider letting you go.”
She braced herself. “What?”
“Did you love me the day you walked away from me?” he asked unexpectedly.
Her eyelashes twitched, but she didn’t look away. “No.”
What might have been grim satisfaction crossed his face. “Liar,” he said softly.
She caught her breath. “I’m not—”
His mouth covered hers.
His kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It held a world of anger and hurt and betrayal.
It broke what was left of her heart.
“For only a moment she let herself soften against him. Her hands rested on his chest, palms spread against his warmth and strength.
The kiss changed. Slowed. Deepened. Just for a little while, she allowed herself to enjoy it
Gabe was the one who broke away with a deep groan. He buried his face in her hair. “Damn you, Page,” he muttered unsteadily.
Her heart spasmed at the pain in his voice. She stiffened and pushed away from him, catching him momentarily off guard. She broke free of him and turned to run toward the door.
Let me go, Gabe. Please, let me go.
Even as she sent the mental plea, she knew it was useless. He wouldn’t give up so easily. Not yet.
But still she had to try.
She heard him curse under his breath, knew he was already moving after her. She threw open the door, wondering what the odds were that she could outrun him once she was outside.
She ran straight into Blake’s open arms.
She had no trouble recognizing him this time. He’d abandoned the cowboy hat and dark glasses, revealing his thick blond hair and bright blue eyes. He’d changed out of the Western clothing and into a loose white shirt and softly pleated gray slacks. This was the way he’d looked when she’d worked with him in Des Moines.
His hands gripped her forearms tightly, but his smile was deceptively lazy when he looked down at her. “Hello, Page. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting quite such a warm welcome.”
Gabe stepped up behind her.
Caught between the two men, Page sighed and pushed a hand through her hair. “Hello, Blake,” she said tonelessly. “Won’t you come in?”
He chuckled. “Why, yes. I believe I will.” He motioned with one hand, still holding her captive with the other. “After you.”
“I TAKE IT she’s still being uncooperative,” Blake remarked to Gabe as they went back into the cabin.
“You could say that,” Gabe replied.
Page glared sullenly at both of them.
Blake had been carrying Page’s purse and wheeling her suitcase behind him when she’d barreled into him in her futile escape attempt. He’d dropped both to catch her, but he’d retrieved them before coming inside.
He tossed the purse onto the coffee table and set the suitcase on the floor. “I brought these from her car. I thought she might want them. The car’s been towed, by the way, and is being repaired. It seems that something foreign got into the gas ta
nk somehow. Gummed everything up pretty badly.”
Gabe could see Page’s resentment at being spoken about as though she weren’t in the room. But he was in no mood to worry about her sensibilities at the moment.
He shouldn’t have kissed her, he thought. That had been the biggest mistake he’d made yet
The kiss had almost unmanned him. For just a moment she’d responded...and he’d been holding his Page again. And he’d known that the old feelings were still there, still alive. Still painful.
“She hasn’t told me anything,” he said to Blake, trying to think of something besides the all-too-familiar way she’d felt in his arms. “I still don’t know why she’s been hiding out. Who she’s running from—other than me, of course.”
Blake ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “Want me to get out the thumbscrews, boss?”
Gabe looked at Page’s set expression with a mixture of frustration and bafflement. “If I thought it would work, I just might let you.”
Blake shifted his shoulders and slid effortlessly into a James Cagney impersonation. “I can make her talk, boss. Give me five minutes alone with her. She’ll be singing like a canary.”
Page’s eyes snapped with fury. “This isn’t funny.”
Blake touched her cheek and spoke in his own voice. “No one said it was, sweetheart”
She jerked away from him. “I’m not your sweetheart,” she almost snarled. “I’m not anyone’s sweetheart.”
“We’ll debate that later,” Gabe said, moving to stand between her and Blake. For some reason he didn’t like seeing the other man’s hands on Page, even casually.
He motioned toward the chair she’d sat in earlier. “Sit down, Page.”
“I’d rather stand.”
He took a step closer to her. “I’ve had just about all I can take,” he warned her, speaking very softly. “Sit down.”
She sat.
Gabe returned to his seat on one end of the couch. Blake perched on the opposite arm. Both of them looked at Page, who faced them defiantly.
Gabe took a deep breath.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s put aside personal feelings for the moment. Blake and I think you’re in trouble. You’ve been living the life of a fugitive for the past couple of years. I want to know why.”
“You have no right—”
“Page,” he cut in, still in that quiet voice he used when he was at the end of his patience. “Don’t tell me again what my rights are. You really don’t want to get into that with me just now.”
She bit her lip and glowered at him.
“Now,” he continued. “It’s obvious that you’re running from something. And, no matter what you may want us to believe, I know damned well it isn’t me. We know that you’ve changed your name at least twice in the past year. Before you moved to Des Moines, you lived in Denver as Pamela Harper.”
Her eyes widened. He could tell he’d surprised her with that bit of information, but she didn’t speak.
“You worked as a bookkeeper in a mortuary there,” he added. “Nice, quiet job. Your employer said you were a good worker, but not overly friendly. You kept to yourself. Your landlord said you never had visitors and rarely went out. You wouldn’t sign a lease, but paid your rent in advance, always promptly, filed no complaints, caused no problems. And then you moved out two weeks before your rent was due again. You quit your job without notice. Your employer wasn’t happy about that.”
Page slanted an angry look at Blake. “I suppose your lackey dug that up for you?”
“Lackey? I like that,” Blake said, grinning.
“You would,” Page said witheringly.
Gabe brought the conversation back on track. “Actually, no. It was the P.I. I used before Blake.”
“If I’d been on the case then, you wouldn’t have slipped away without anyone knowing about it,” Blake murmured.
“Don’t bet on it.”
Gabe interrupted before the bickering could start again. “A year after you left Dallas, months before we found you in Denver, another investigator identified someone who might have been you who’d lived for a few months in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. She called herself Patricia Webster, a blue-eyed brunette who worked in the claims department of a small insurance company. She made no friends, worked hard and well, then suddenly quit without warning.”
Again, Page reacted to the report with a slight grimace. Gabe hadn’t known until that moment whether the woman in Indiana was really Page. At the time he’d gotten that information, he’d found it hard to believe she would live under an assumed name, making no effort to contact the people who cared about her.
He believed it now. She really had been on the run. . And he was more determined with each passing moment to find out why.
It was obvious that she wasn’t going to volunteer any explanation. She sat very still, her arms crossed in a vulnerable, defensive position, her eyes haunted.
Gabe felt another momentary twinge of guilt for hounding her this way, but he forced it aside.
She was in trouble, he reminded himself. For whatever it was worth, she was still his wife. And he didn’t think either one of them could go on much longer the way they’d been living for the past two and a half years.
5
GABE LOOKED at Blake, deciding to try a new tactic. “You’ve had some experience searching for people .who’ve run away. What are their usual reasons?”
Blake made himself more comfortable on the arm of the couch, looking entirely at ease. He held up one finger. “Running from the law is the primary reason,” he said. “Embezzlers, insurance cheats, murderers...” Page gasped in involuntary indignation, but obstinately pressed her lips together when Gabe and Blake looked her way.
Gabe turned back to Blake. “What else?”
Blake lifted a second finger. “Mental illness. Schizophrenic, paranoia, delusions—all can make a person behave in ways that seem inexplicable. Many homeless people are mentally ill, you know. Or addicted. They’re simply incapable of leading what most consider to be a normal life.”
Page’s scowl grew heavier. Gabe could see she was making an effort to stay quiet in the face of Blake’s dramatic speculation.
“I find it rather hard to believe that Page is mentally ill, despite her erratic behavior,” Gabe murmured, just a bit tauntingly.
She gave him a withering look. “Thank you for that, anyway,” she snapped.
“You’re welcome. Blake?”
“Fear,” Blake said promptly. “They’ve done or seen something they shouldn’t, and they’re afraid of retribution. The witness-protection scenario.”
Gabe frowned and swung his head toward Page. That explanation was a more reasonable one, he decided. “Page? Is that it? Are you afraid for your life?”
“No,” she said, looking him straight in the eye as she answered. “I have no fear for my life.”
He was torn between relief and disappointment at the sincerity of her tone. While he was glad that she didn’t seem to be in physical danger, at least it would have been an answer he could understand.
“There’s another possibility,” Blake remarked. “Blackmail.”
Gabe was still watching Page; he saw the ripple of unease cross her face in response to the word.
“What on earth could you have done that anyone could blackmail you about?” he asked, perplexed. “And what would anyone hope to gain? You don’t have a lot of money, and God knows I didn’t when you left me.”
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
The automatic action reminded him forcibly of her sweet taste. He pushed the thought aside, finding it too painful to deal with at the moment. Too distracting.
“Talk to me, Page. Did blackmail have anything to do with you leaving me? And if so, why? Surely you knew even then that there was nothing anyone could have told me that would have changed the way I felt about you.”
She seemed to flinch, then to draw more deeply into herself. “I’ve told you why I
left,” she said tonelessly. “I made a mistake. I wanted out. I didn’t want to be married to you anymore.”
Gabe sighed and glanced at Blake, who was watching him for a reaction to her cutting reply. “You see what I’ve been dealing with?” he asked wearily. “She gives me the same line of bull every time my questions hit too close to home.”
“I agree,” Blake said with a nod. “She’s hiding something. There’s more to it than what she’s telling you.”
“So how am I going to get the truth without her help?”
“You have no right—”
Ignoring Page’s angry protest, just as Gabe was.doing, Blake considered the question.
“Well,” he said. “Looks like you’re just going to have to keep digging. If you have no moral objection, you can start by going through her personal things.”
Gabe followed Blake’s glance toward Page’s purse. “I have no objection to that at all,” he said flatly.
He reached for the purse just as Page made a lunge for it. “Don’t you dare!”
Gabe was faster. He had the purse in his hand before her grasping fingers could close around the strap.
Page jumped to her feet, her face flushed with fury. “Damn it, Gabe, you can’t do this! I can’t believe the way you’ve been treating me. You’ve been arrogant and overbearing and tyrannical, and that’s not the Gabe Conroy I knew. What has happened to that man?”
“You happened to him,” he snarled. “The Gabe Conroy you knew was a stupid, lovesick fool who naively trusted his wife to honor her marriage vows. He came home one day and found a moronic note in her place. And then he went out of his mind, searching for her, worrying about her, missing her, asking himself over and over what he’d done to drive her away.”
Page had gone very still, her face pale, her eyes locked on his face. Blake cleared his throat, looking rather uncomfortable with the painfully personal turn the conversation had suddenly taken.
“This Gabe Conroy,” Gabe continued evenly, “is tired of hurting, and tired of spending night after night lying awake, wondering what the hell went wrong. This Gabe Conroy is willing to break rules, bend laws, kidnap you, intimidate you, invade your privacy... anything short of physically harming you. I have to know, Page. Now that I’ve found you, I can’t just walk away without the truth.”
