The icicle from Pattie's alley zipped up her spine again. "About me?" She couldn't believe it. Norman? Shaking her head, she said, "You must have misunderstood. If Norman were angry with me—and I can't think why he would be—he'd complain to me directly." She willed the icicle to melt from her spine.
"You think?" Zane asked.
"I'm sure. Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about Norman," she forced herself to admit.
"You didn't?" Zane seemed surprised.
"No. I came to talk about..." Her brain scrambled for the right words, a way to explain what she'd figured out this afternoon. She took a deep breath. "I came to talk about—trying again." Immediately, she grimaced. She needed to do better than that. "What I mean is, I care about you, Zane. A lot. And—and—it was just so hard for me to believe—" No, she couldn't discuss his gift of love, it sounded presumptuous. Regrouping, she stammered, "I was—I was just hoping we could give our relationship another chance." Her face was burning by the end of this. She felt stupid, but also kind of proud. She'd actually said at least part of it.
Zane's stony expression froze. She'd clearly managed to shock him.
Was it an unpleasant shock? Her old, insecure self thought so, but the person she wanted to be said to wait and see. She was supposed to believe...
Slowly, his expression unfroze. With a long expulsion of air, he shook his head. "Leave it to you, Pattie..." He didn't finish his sentence, but the old her suspected it wouldn't have been complimentary. "Let's walk," he muttered hoarsely, and started down the alley.
"Um. Okay." Pattie followed his long strides. At least he hadn't shut her down completely.
He strode over the uneven asphalt of the alley in silence. Pattie did her best not to hyperventilate as she let him think.
Muttering, Zane said, "The last thing I expected was for you to come here...and say that."
"I'm not sure I expected it, either," Pattie murmured.
A smile flitted over Zane's straight lips. "Honest."
Pattie sighed. "I'm trying to be."
With a slight nod, Zane acknowledged this. "The thing is—" Still walking, he glanced toward her. "Okay, the thing is, I care about you, too, Pattie. A lot. But—has anything changed? I mean, let's say we did try to get back together, why would anything be different?"
Because I wish it could be different. But it wouldn't be fair to say that. Wishing didn't make things true, did it? "I—I know I have a problem with trust," she admitted, and bit her lip. "But it isn't that I don't trust you, Zane. It's more that I don't trust myself." She bit her lip again, harder.
Frowning, Zane came to a stop where the alley joined the street. "You don't trust yourself?" By the light of a stained-glass lamp on a nearby wall, he turned his head to look at her. "You don't trust yourself...?"
Pattie expelled a hard breath. "I don't trust myself to be good enough for you. That makes it hard for me to accept the nice things you try to do for me, like tell Ted Cranston to stop beating up on me and—and other things like that." Other things like loving her, but again, she didn't want to presume that far.
Zane tilted his head. "But...doesn't that amount to the same thing? If you don't trust yourself, then you don't trust me, either."
Pattie's mouth felt dry. He was right. In the end, it was the same thing. If she couldn't trust herself—that she was worth his love—then she'd never believe him if he said he loved her.
She was nowhere near the kind of self-confidence that was necessary. All she knew was what she'd figured out this afternoon: she wanted to try.
She clenched her jaw. If she wanted to try, now was the time. This was her opportunity to take a first step on the road she claimed she wanted to take.
Do it. Just say it. You want a chance.
She opened her mouth. She tried to vocalize. But nothing would come out. Fear was like a noose tightened around her vocal chords. Give me a chance? That would be like graduating the course in trust before attending the first introductory class.
It was impossible.
She clapped her hands over her face, then slowly lowered them. "You're right, Zane. It is the same thing. I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to come, wasn't it?"
Of course it'd been wrong. She hadn't been ready to proceed with even a first step. Sorrow pulled down at her, but she did her best to smile. "It's just that I do really like you so much."
His lips made a straight line. "I like you, too, Pattie. And I have to admit it took guts to come out here like you did..." His voice trailed off and he frowned, as if unsure what to make of that.
Pattie's throat was getting even tighter, her eyes feeling stingy and wet. "I, um, better go pick up Tristan," she chattered, feeling urgent now. The last thing she wanted was to burst into tears. "He's with your sister. I thought, um—" Who cared what she'd thought? It had been stupid, whatever it was. The one thing Zane required of her, she couldn't give him. Her whole idea had been doomed from the beginning.
"Now, wait..." Zane said.
She couldn't wait. She was about to lose her last shred of self-composure. "Like I said, Tris is with your sister. So I'll just walk around to the front, right?" She turned and started down the sidewalk toward the corner.
"Pattie."
Zane followed her. She knew because she could hear his footsteps gaining on her. Her heart pounded.
He wasn't rejecting her. On the contrary, he was pursuing her.
With her heart hammering against her chest, Pattie walked briskly. A pool of darkness lay between her and the streetlamp on the corner. It felt like the pool of fear in her brain. He was following her, pursuing her, not letting her go.
That meant...she could stop running, she could turn around. He was maybe willing to give her that chance she'd been hoping for.
I can turn, I can turn, I can turn.
But the fear pounded along with her heart. Pattie didn't turn. Tonight she was discovering that fear was a hell of a lot more powerful than faith. Even if she had a chance now, she'd only blow it later—
A clump of tall bushes rose on her left. Pattie wanted to get past them and the pool of darkness. She wanted to get to the front door, where there would be Cassie, where there'd be no more privacy, and no more shame in giving up this second chance she was receiving.
A rustle in the tall bushes was sharp enough to get past her turmoil. It was very loud and unnatural.
Pattie came to a tripping stop. What was that?
Holding her breath, she peered into the bush, hoping to see a dog or a cat emerge. Instead, the rustle sounded again, louder, a human-sized noise.
Pattie's heart jumped into her throat. All of the little warnings and signals of the day added up in her mind. "Uh...Norman?" she called.
"What?" Zane asked. Now he was right behind her.
"Norman?" Pattie tried again. Her heartbeat was in her ears, even though she was certain Norman could never be dangerous. Uncomfortably weird, but not dangerous.
Zane, beside her now, put a hand on her arm. If Pattie had intended something so stupid as to shake his hand off, she never got the chance, for just then the bushes rustled yet more and a person stepped out of them.
Pattie couldn't have been more surprised if Santa Claus, himself, had stepped out of the bushes. "Bree. Bree? What in the world are you doing here?"
For answer, Bree brushed a leaf out of her hair and reached into her oversized tote bag. "What am I doing?" In apparent response, she pulled out a huge gun. "Why, finishing what I started when I killed Savannah."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
She was a bitch. The ten-year-old Jeep Cherokee handled like an overweight, estrogen-deficient woman with a maniacal grandiosity complex. The car, Zane thought, was a lot like the female sitting in the backseat. There Bree kept her hefty revolver pointed at Pattie, who sat in front beside Zane.
He'd regarded things as bad enough when Pattie had shown up at his front door, like temptation wrapped with a ribbon and bow. His heart had leapt with way too much joy. Why couldn't
he remember the woman was all wrong for him?
But now he knew Pattie's arrival hadn't really been bad. Because bad was the crazy woman stepping out of a bush, pointing a thick-muzzled revolver straight at Pattie.
Every frustrated and confused thought in his brain had immediately flown. All that had remained had been terror, and a powerful need to get Pattie safe.
Bree had cottoned onto Zane's attitude immediately. Once she'd stepped out of the bushes, she'd taken one look at Zane's horrified face and kept the revolver pointed firmly at Pattie.
Zane had had no choice but to obey when Bree had directed them into the car she'd parked across the street.
"It's a Colt 45," Bree had informed him as he'd climbed into the driver's seat. "Has no problem shooting through the back of your seats—or the wall of the car, for that matter." Then Bree had chuckled.
Her chuckle, evil and more than halfway insane, had convinced Zane the woman was absolutely serious.
Following Bree's directions, Zane had guided the car over the Santa Monica freeway to the 605, heading north.
"We're going to Angeles National Forest," Bree announced, once they were well underway. "It's an excellent place to dump bodies. Believe me, I've covered enough missing person stories to know." She laughed again, fully satisfied.
"You were in the alley behind my apartment building," Pattie remarked, looking stricken. "I thought someone was there..."
"Yeah, I saw you looking, but you didn't look hard enough." In the backseat, Bree sounded smug. "I followed you out to Encino, but I have to admit, I had no idea how I was going to get to you. Then, just as I'm scoping out the alley behind the house, out you come." Smiling, Bree shook her head. "With loverboy here. Our driver."
"But—why?" Pattie wanted to know. "What have I done to you?"
"What have you done?" Bree's amusement faded and her face hardened. "It's what you were going to do: close the newspaper. You were going to toss me out, as if I couldn't hack it. As if I'm worth nothing." Hissing the words, Bree started shaking. "I'm worth something. I'm worth a hell of a lot. Nobody understands." She waved the gun wildly.
Zane braced himself for a gunshot to the roof of the car, but Bree pulled herself under control and returned her aim to the back of Pattie's seat. "The Hollywood Rattler is peanuts. Peanuts! All I need is time to make it take off. And then everyone will see. Everyone! All the idiots who've shoved me out, from Florida to L.A. Including your sister. And you."
"Savannah was going to close the newspaper?" Pattie's surprise sounded genuine.
Bree made a disgusted noise. "She jerked me around. Told me she had this wild, big story. It was going to make us a household name. But hush-hush. She couldn't tell me a thing about it, not until she'd finished her 'investigation.'" Another disgusted snort escaped Bree. "Then she walks in one morning all sunny smiles and claims the 'big story' turned out to be nothing. And that made her smile! Made her...gleeful. Whereupon she had the nerve to tell me it was my lucky day. I could retire, she was closing the newspaper. Retire!" Spittle gathered in the corners of Bree's lips. "Retire! As if I'm past my prime. Why, I haven't even started yet!"
"Cranston must have agreed to pay Savannah's blackmail," Pattie murmured. "She didn't need the paper any more."
"None of her smaller schemes were worth her time once she got the big payoff from Cranston," Zane agreed.
Bree was breathing heavily, obviously trying to regain control of her emotions. "Who's Cranston?"
Zane let Pattie field that question while he watched the northbound lanes of the 605 freeway disappear beneath the Jeep's wheels. Panic rose, but he fought it down. Beneath the panic was anger. Anger was okay. Anger was motivating. He was angry with himself for believing Cranston had murdered Savannah. He was angry he hadn't let Pattie into his apartment tonight, afraid to let her see his new career sitting on the drafting table.
He realized now it had been cowardice operating in both instances. Four weeks ago, he'd rushed to conclude Cranston was the culprit because if they'd found Savannah's murderer, Zane wouldn't have to deal with Pattie any more. And tonight he'd wanted to keep her from discovering his new career because then she'd learn the scope of her effect on him.
So in a way, he deserved whatever happened here, but Pattie did not. She'd been the one to drive out to confront him. Bravely, she'd admitted she cared. Who'd have guessed Pattie would lay herself open that way? Who'd have guessed Pattie would make herself vulnerable?
It was definitely on him to save her now. Unfortunately, he hadn't a clue how to make that happen. Even discounting his own safety, he couldn't figure a way to get around Bree and her gun. Maybe if Zane could get them all out of the car— Maybe he could manage to separate Bree from her gun if he had some maneuvering room. But while Zane listened with half an ear to Pattie give up Ted Cranston's secrets, he couldn't think of a strategy to convince Bree to stop the car.
"So," Pattie concluded. "Savannah was expecting a windfall from Ted Cranston. That's why she didn't need the newspaper any more."
Bree emitted a disgusted grunt, as if Savannah's blackmail scheme were so much lower a form of crime than murder.
Pattie cleared her throat. "Just as a matter of curiosity...how did you kill Savannah?"
Softly, Bree laughed. "It was a piece of cake. Whenever she felt a migraine coming on, she'd pop at least four of her naproxen. So I waited until I heard her complain about a headache, then switched her meds for morphine pills. Sure-fire overdose. Easy, peasy. Icing on the cake, she happened to be at a party when she went for some 'relief.'"
"Oh," Pattie said. Weakly, she added, "Easy, peasy."
Silence fell over the roar of the Cherokee's engine. Zane bit his lip and shot a glance toward Pattie. Her face was calm, as if she encountered murderers every day of the week.
From deep inside him, love swelled. He loved her. God, he loved her. It had been idiotic to try denying that. Whether she was the wrong woman for him or not, with all her flaws and failings, she was the most important thing in the world.
If only he could figure out how to make Bree stop the car.
"I hate to say this," Pattie spoke from her face of serenity, "but I have to go to the bathroom."
Startled, Zane blinked.
Pattie's eyes flashed in his direction for one split-second, then turned forward again. She crossed one leg over the opposite knee. "Pretty badly," she added.
Silly, unbelievable, ridiculous.
And brilliant.
Overflowing with love, Zane rushed to take advantage. "We're coming up to a business area," he claimed. "I'll bet there's a bathroom somewhere."
Bree made a scoffing sound in her throat. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to stop the car."
Pattie recrossed her legs. "I really have to go."
"Tough."
Zane's brows lowered. "It wouldn't be good for you if she had an accident."
Pattie choked, but managed to agree. "Right. DNA evidence."
"Something would be left behind," Zane claimed, "no matter how thoroughly you cleaned."
From the rear view mirror, Zane could see Bree glare at him.
"You have to know you're going to be a suspect," Zane went on, "considering your connection to both Savannah and Pattie."
Bree waved the gun. "Nobody's even going to know you're dead. You're simply going to disappear off the face of the earth. Probably take a while for anyone to notice, too."
She was awfully careless with the gun, Zane observed. Not that there was anything he could do about it when he was controlling a vehicle hurtling down the road at seventy miles an hour.
They had to get out.
"Disappearing off the face of the earth might have worked," he told Bree, thinking quickly, "if Pattie weren't a mother."
While Bree stilled, Pattie shot Zane a surprised glance.
Why was she surprised? Zane wondered. She was a mother. "Pattie's babysitter is going to notice when she doesn't return," Zane went on. "Foul play will be the
assumption. You'll be questioned."
"Since my babysitter is Zane's sister, he'll be missed, too," Pattie put in.
Bree stewed for a second, apparently taking all this in. Then she swore. Vigorously.
"Look, it's no problem," Zane said soothingly. "Just let me pull over at the next exit. We'll find some facilities. Your car will stay clean."
"Fine." Bree spoke from between her teeth. "But I'm keeping the gun on both of you the whole time."
"What?" Pattie protested. "You can't intend this to be a group event."
"I'll make it a bloody event, if you don't do exactly as I tell you," Bree warned.
"No problem," Zane hastily assured her. Inside he was singing. Bree was going to let him pull over, let them out. He'd have a chance.
Beside him, Pattie recrossed her legs. Either she was continuing the bathroom-need deception or she was more anxious than her face showed.
Casually dropping one hand from the wheel, he reached down low to clasp her hand. God, he was proud of her. And blindingly in love. He'd been a fool to think he could, or even should, fight what was so deeply entrenched in his heart.
Now he had a chance to save her—with one major obstacle. Pattie would have to trust him. Only a little while ago, she'd admitted this was an impossibility.
If only he could convince her to trust him at least this once. He badly needed her to leave everything to him.
Not knowing how to get the point across, Zane squeezed Pattie's hand.
Behind them, Bree grumbled, apparently unaware of the message Zane was sending. Meanwhile, Pattie squeezed Zane's hand back. She squeezed hard and she squeezed long. Then she let go.
Zane kept his gaze out the windshield. His expression showed no indication he'd just received a return message.
Though he was damned if he knew what it meant. Hell. What if Pattie were telling him to leave everything up to her?
~~~
Pattie hoped Zane understood her squeeze-hand message. She was in utter panic mode. Utter. Panic.
Never in her life had she felt so completely helpless. She had a gun pointed at her! Randomly, she'd tossed out that bit about having to go the bathroom, like shooting a dart in the dark, hoping it might help.
If I Loved You Page 27
