Midnight Rain

by Dee Davis

  She walked over to the retaining wall, looking down at the street. “That’s because my meeting wasn’t in physical therapy. I was talking to your doctor.” She turned around to face him. “Why were you looking for me?”

  “I need a reason?” He fought against the bile rising in his throat and forced a smile.

  “No, I guess not.” She frowned, obviously unsure of where the conversation was going. “I should have left a number.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He moved away from the wall, heading for a group of chairs near a potted tree and some assorted shrubbery. He needed to sit down—his legs were shaking, threatening to give out.

  “Of course it does.” She followed him, the concern in her voice almost his undoing. “I never want to worry you.”

  He had to admit she was good, he almost believed she meant it. “Right. That would explain why you lied to me.”

  She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening. “What are you talking about? I told you I was meeting with your doctor. If you don’t believe me, call him.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll confirm the meeting. But that doesn’t mean it happened, now does it?” He was baiting her, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know just how far she’d go to protect her identity. As if in measuring he could somehow decide if there had been anything real between them at all.

  “John, you’re not making any sense.” She sounded confused, but a thread of suspicion was there as well, a signal that understanding was dawning.

  He fingered a leaf on the mountain laurel, the waxy smoothness helping him stay focused. “Of course I am. You’re just not following the conversation.” His anger was rising, bubbling to the surface in tangible waves. “We were talking about the hospital. And how you were but weren’t there. Just like you are but aren’t from Medfield.”

  “But I am from Medfield.”

  The branch broke between his fingers, the leaves crushed. “Don’t you mean Medway?”

  “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She was fumbling for words, now, her attempt to sound indignant failing miserably.

  He fought against his need to go to her, to pull her into his arms and pretend that none of this was happening, to pretend that they were the only two people in the world that mattered. But it was a lie. And unlike Katie, he wasn’t going to base a relationship on half-truths and empty promises.

  He narrowed his eyes, locking his reservations deep inside. It was time for the final move. “I’m talking about the truth, Kaitlin. I think I’ve been lied to enough.”

  She blinked, her mouth opening then shutting again, tears glistening in her traitorous green eyes.

  Game, set, and match.

  He’d won—or lost. Quite frankly, he wasn’t sure he knew the difference anymore, and more importantly, he wasn’t sure that he cared.

  Katie felt the tears welling in her eyes, and fought to keep them at bay. Nothing was ever gained by crying. She’d known the risks when she took this job. Well, maybe not all of them. But she’d known there were risks, and that was almost the same thing. The point was, it was a little late in the game to be crying over spilt milk. She’d known this was coming. She just hadn’t expected it so soon.

  His expression was flat, and if it weren’t for the muscle ticking at the corner of his eye, she’d have thought he didn’t care at all, but the twitch gave him away, and some silent part of her rejoiced. At least there was emotion left. That was something.

  “So you know everything?” It was a silly question, but her brain wasn’t functioning, her emotions having taken control.

  He shrugged. “I know what’s important. I know that you’re FBI, and that everything you’ve told me about yourself is a lie.”

  “Not everything.” Her protest was useless, but her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. She fought for control. There wasn’t any sense in losing it. “How did you find out?”

  “Danny.” His voice was soft, deceptively soft. “He thought we ought to know a little more about you since I was starting to . . . to . . .” He stopped, his eyes growing hard. “I don’t suppose it really matters, does it?”

  “Of course it matters.” She couldn’t keep the need out of her voice.

  “No. It doesn’t. Not anymore.” There was a sense of futility she’d never heard from him before, and her heart twisted with grief.

  If only she could make it right somehow, but even as she had the thought she knew it was hopeless. As far as John was concerned, she’d betrayed him. And in point of fact, she supposed she had.

  “So was all of it an act? Just a way to lure me into confessing?” He pulled to his feet, taking a wobbling step away from her. She moved to help him, but he brushed her away.

  “No. Of course not. What happened between us was very real. You know that.”

  “All I know is that you lied to me. And now you’re standing here, expecting me to sort out the fact from the fantasy.” He gripped the edge of the wall, his knuckles white. “You’re not even a physical therapist, are you?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m not.”

  “You people have no decency. Did anyone stop to think that I might have been hurt?” His anger was almost palpable.

  “Of course they did. We all did. I had extensive training, and I’ve been in constant contact with your doctor and another physical therapist.”

  “And I suppose that makes it all better?”

  She flinched at the accusation in his voice. “No, of course not. It just means you were safe.” She knew her words were ineffectual, but there wasn’t anything she could say that was going to make it better.

  “Safe from what? Christ, Katie, I almost gave you my heart.” His anguish cut through her like a knife, leaving hot, physical pain in its wake.

  “Almost?” The word popped out before she could stop it.

  “What the hell do you want from me?” He whipped around to look at her. “I’m hanging on by a thread here. And you’re looking for confessions of love. Damn it, Katie, you betrayed me.”

  “I know. But you have to understand it was part of my job. I didn’t know who you were when I first came here.” She was on the verge of begging, and yet she held herself back, some part of her not capable of dealing with the emotions he pulled out of her.

  “Fine. That’s a given. I didn’t know you either. But later, when we were making love, didn’t it occur to you then to tell me the truth?”

  “Of course it did.” Her own anger rose to meet his. Anger at herself, anger at him, anger at the whole twisted situation. “But I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Because it would compromise your case.”

  “No.” They were standing nose to nose now, eyes sparking with anger. “Because I knew if I told you, you’d throw me out.”

  “Well, you were right about that.” He started to turn away, the muscle by his eye twitching ominously.

  She grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. “If you’d thrown me out, I wouldn’t have been in the position to help you.”

  His face was a play of emotion. Astonishment warring with anger and confusion. “Help me? There’s a laugh. You people are unbelievable. You’ll stop at nothing to get what you want. If almost killing him doesn’t get the job done, then why not seduce the bastard.”

  “I didn’t seduce you.” She spoke through clenched teeth, the words coming out on a hiss.

  His eyebrow shot up. “Didn’t you? You could have fooled me. Is that your specialty, Katie, whoring for the FBI?”

  White-hot rage twisted through her, and she swung at him before she had time to think better of it. But he was faster, his left hand closing around her wrist. “I have never prostituted myself for anyone.”

  “Well, then I’m flattered to know I was the first.” His fingers stroked the inside of her wrist, his touch somewhere between sensual and contemptuous.

  She jerked away. “You’re a jackass.”

  “Maybe. But whose fault is that?” His smile h
eld no trace of humor.

  “No one wanted you to get hurt.”

  “Oh right. That would explain why you all rushed to tell me my life might be in danger.” Sarcasm didn’t sit well with him, the sentiment twisting his face in a bitter parody of the man she knew that he was.

  “I didn’t know about that.” She held up a hand. “I swear.”

  His laugh was harsh. “And you expect me to believe you?”

  “Right now I’m not sure I care what you think. But you deserve to know the truth. There’s a lot more going on here than you realize.”

  “Believe me, I’m more than aware of that. The question of the hour seems to be whether I can trust in anything you have to tell me.”

  “I’m trying to be honest with you.”

  “Are you? I guess I missed it somewhere between your taking a swing at me and then calling me a jackass.”

  Her anger evaporated. “I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t.”

  “Katie, what you’re failing to see here is that I haven’t a clue what you mean and don’t mean. So far in our brief relationship, the bulk of what you’ve told me has been a lie. So why the hell would I believe you now?”

  “Because I . . . I care about you.” She stumbled over the word care, not having the courage to admit even to herself how she really felt about him. Not now. Not like this.

  “You certainly have a funny way of showing it.” He turned back to the wall, his gaze on the last of the fiery sun riding the horizon.

  “John, I know I lied to you.” She came up behind him, laying a hand on his arm. “In the beginning it was part of my job. And then, however misguided it might seem, I lied to protect you.”

  “Protect me? From what?”

  “From whatever is happening here. From whoever it is that’s behind all of this. If Roswell’s to be believed, we’re talking international conspiracy. These people are playing for keeps, John. You need someone on your side.”

  “I have Flo and Danny.”

  “But they’re as clueless as you are. You need someone with an inside track.”

  “And so you thought you’d do the job.”

  “The setup is perfect. I can find out what’s happening and hopefully help you head things off at the pass. There’s a lot I can do for you, if you’ll let me.”

  He turned to face her, his expression shuttered. “The only thing I want from you, Katie, is for you to get the hell off my roof and out of my life.”

  “John . . .” She trailed off, hating the note of pleading in her voice.

  “Please . . . just go.” The words were soft, no more than a whisper, his pain evident in every syllable.

  He opened his hand, the crushed leaves of the mountain laurel falling featherlike to the street below, their twirling descent the physical embodiment of her shattered heart.

  “Well, you’re certainly an improvement over Jason.” Frank stood in the door to Jason’s office. It seemed that no one worked in their own office these days.

  “My computer’s down.” Florence Tedesky looked up from the computer monitor with a smile. “Jason was kind enough to let me use his. John wanted these reports sent out to D.E.S. tonight.”

  “Any idea when yours will be back on-line?”

  “No. The hardware guys worked on it most of the afternoon.” She tipped her head toward the west wall, the one that adjoined her office. “But it’s refusing to cooperate.”

  He nodded, leaning amiably against the door frame. “The joys of modern technology.”

  “Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.” Florence’s smile widened. “You looking for Jason?”

  “No. I just saw you in here and stopped. Things have been a bit hectic around here and we haven’t really gotten to talk about any of it.”

  “You’re worried about John.” As usual, Florence managed to cut right to the heart of the matter, and Frank couldn’t see any reason not to acquiesce. Might even help them gain ground with her.

  “Yeah, I am. Particularly whether he’s really up to running Guardian.”

  She blew out a breath, her expression thoughtful. “I can’t answer that. I think he’s doing the best that he can, but under the circumstances—”

  “It may be more than he can handle?” This might be easier than he’d thought. Maybe he wouldn’t need to do anything after all.

  “I didn’t say that. I just worry that he’ll compromise his health to make sure Guardian is protected.”

  “Protected from him.” It came out before he had a chance to think about what he was saying. Which showed just how on edge he really was. He smiled belatedly, hoping it took the sting out of the remark, knowing that it didn’t.

  Florence’s smile was tight. “That’s certainly not what I meant. There would be no Guardian without John, Frank, and you’d do well to remember that fact.”

  He held up a hand in defense. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. It’s just that so much of what’s happened in the last few days seems to be related in some way to him.”

  She eyed him speculatively. “I know. But that doesn’t mean there’s anything of substance there. The police are grasping at straws, and John is a handy target.”

  “But the FBI are involved now, Florence. That ups the ante, surely.”

  She crossed her arms over her ample chest. “It doesn’t change anything but the person asking the questions. I’m confident that we’ll get to the bottom of all of this. But in order to do that, we have to stick together.” She shot him a motherly look, calculated to make him feel guilty.

  It worked.

  Almost.

  “I’m not the one who’s been doctoring accounts and withdrawing money.”

  “No. But you’re flirting with the idea of supporting Valerie.”

  He swallowed, staring down at the tips of his shoes. How the heck had she known that? “I’m not doing anything of the sort.”

  “Frank Jacoby, don’t you dare lie to me.”

  Why was it he was always on the defensive. With Jessie, with Valerie, and now with Florence. “I’m not lying. I’m not siding with anyone. And Valerie just wants what’s best for the company.”

  Florence’s laugh was derisive. “Valerie wants what’s best for Valerie. And if you’re letting yourself believe anything else, you’re setting yourself up for a fall.”

  He straightened his shoulders, meeting her gaze full on. “I know who Valerie is, Florence. That’s not the point.”

  “So what is the point, then?”

  “To do what’s best for the company. And as much as you love Jonathan, you have to admit that at the moment he’s more a liability to the company than an asset.”

  Florence shook her head. “That’s not true. Even incapacitated, John Brighton is more capable than the rest of you put together. And if you can’t see that, then you’re not the man I think you are.”

  He bristled at the statement, his resolve solidifying. He was so tired of people judging him. And Florence Tedesky wasn’t even a player. How dare she think she could tell him who he should side with?

  At the end of the day, it was all about winners, and if he was going to be one, it was time to start acting like one. No matter what he had to do.

  “I think perhaps you’re the one underestimating things, Florence. The only thing that matters is Guardian. And that makes everyone expendable.” He forced a smile, his hand tightening on the door handle. “Even you.”

  Chapter 18

  “John, when you get the chance, I need to talk to you. . . .” The answering machine warbled on, Flo’s voice sounding tinny, echoing through the darkened study.

  John reached over and clicked the machine off. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Particularly not Flo. She’d see more than he wanted to share, and he wasn’t certain he could take that right now.

  Maybe later.

  Or then again, maybe never.

  He’d never felt like this before. So hopeless. It was like he’d sunk into some kind of emotional quagmi
re and it was sucking the life from him. Now, there was a melodramatic thought. He pushed away from the desk, and struggled to his feet.

  Climbing to the roof had been a mistake. The muscles of his right leg had gone beyond aching into some sort of knotted torture. If Katie were here she could massage the pain away. But Katie was gone. Forever.

  Good riddance.

  He was lying to himself, but for the moment it was the best he could do. There were other things that needed his attention. Little things like embezzlement, hit men, and murdered colleagues. And somewhere in all the questions there were answers.

  Without meaning to, he found himself at the door to Katie’s room. Hesitating, he peered inside, both relieved and disappointed to see that she wasn’t there. Part of him was glad she was gone, it followed with what he believed about her, but part of him had secretly hoped she’d stay. That she’d fight for him.

  Stupid thought. She was a federal agent. Nothing more. She didn’t give a damn about anything but her job. She’d said as much, hadn’t she? Nailing him had been her only concern, the rest of it an act. A charade to make him confide in her.

  He bent to pick up a slip of material. A scarf of some kind. Katie’s scarf. He held it to his face, inhaling the sweet smell of her, his body responding immediately to the olfactory signal.

  With a sigh of disgust, he started to throw it on the bed, then almost as if his hand had a will of its own, he tucked the silk into his pocket, his fingers kneading the material, remembering the feel of her skin.

  He was beyond foolish, moving right into moon-struck lunacy, and he despised the weakness, even as he accepted it. Some things, it seemed, were inevitable. And whatever spell she’d cast on him was not easily broken. Which meant that he had to work all that much harder to break it.

  And, truth be told, he was approaching the task with something less than enthusiasm.

  He walked to the window, the night sky bright with artificial light. Man’s attempt to keep the dark at bay. Heat lightning flashed on the horizon, a counterpoint to the flashing neon of the city.

  He placed a hand against the window, the glass still warm to the touch. She was out there somewhere. It was almost as if he could feel her calling to him. He closed his eyes, the soft curves of her face filling his mind. It was almost as if a part of him had been ripped away. Torn from him. A part that he could never replace.