by Jan Coffey
“The acceleration for this baby is zero to sixty-two in five-point-one seconds. It has a maximum speed of a hundred sixty-five miles per hour.” Conor brought his face to within a couple of inches of the passenger side glass and, in spite of her warning, rested a hand reverentially on the soft roof. “I wonder if this one is a stick shift or automatic?”
“Six-speed manual,” Ben commented. “Touchtronic transmission.”
“Not you, too,” she groaned.
“Awesome,” Conor breathed admiringly. He walked to the driver’s side. “Electronic control traction system?”
“Absolutely. Four-channel electronic ABS,” Ben replied.
“Your car?” she asked hesitantly.
He nodded.
“No way,” Conor said.
She looked from the tall man to her son. As the two continued to discuss the car, Emily’s thoughts ran along the line of some boys never growing up. She remembered reading in one of the articles about Ben Colter that he’d done some NASCAR racing when he was younger. An accident about four years ago had wrecked his shoulder badly enough to push him off whatever circuit it was he was racing on. He was now apparently into collecting cars. And very expensive ones, from the looks of it. Her gaze moved over the sleek body that had to cost more than she’d paid for her house.
“Do you want to check out the inside?”
The look on Conor’s face as Ben shut off the car’s security system tickled her in spite of herself. He looked like the little boy she remembered discovering his presents under the tree on Christmas morning. Only this time, he looked like he’d just met Santa.
“Just wipe your feet,” she said with a sigh.
Lyden Gray sat in his rental car and systematically cracked every joint in the fingers of one hand and then the other. With ritualistic precision, he cracked the knuckles from right to left on the right hand and then left to right on the left hand. The little finger was always the first, the thumb was last. Depending on the condition of his nerves, Lyden would crack them again and again, as some people might play a favorite song on a CD over and over.
He stared into the night. Some time during the past half hour, as he sat alone in the darkness, he’d felt the anger begin to well up in him. He continued to crack his knuckles and look through the windows of the car.
Pain. Lyden cracked the first knuckle on his thumb again. He would certainly like to inflict pain right about now on the man who’d stepped away from his toy car and left Emily’s son sitting in it. He was leaning against the light post, too close to her. Lyden couldn’t see from this angle, but their arms had to be touching. She was smiling up at whatever stupid thing he was telling her. The bastard was flirting with her. Lyden could tell. Two rows deep into the parking lot, he knew where the jerk’s eyes were wandering. The night was warm. Em had shed her jacket when they’d come to a stop by that overpriced pimp mobile. She was wearing her red sweater. The cashmere was molded to her breasts. The material of her black jeans fitted to her slim legs like a glove. She’d left her dark hair loose to dangle around her shoulders.
He’d driven two hours after work to come to her, only to drive another hour more, following Em and her son to this hospital. And now this. Some asshole was stealing time that was his.
The sound of their voices drifted in the parking lot. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. He lowered the window of his car a little farther. Still, the rumble of cars on the street killed the clarity.
He was parked right behind her. His plan was to get closer to Emily on each visit. He wanted to let her see him, to have his face etched in her memory. He’d already had lunch at the Eatopia Café a couple of times. On each occasion, though, she’d hidden herself away in the back office.
But he’d be going back.
After one of her online classes, as the attending students were thinning out, those remaining had begun to chat about movies. He’d asked Emily what was her favorite film. She’d told him that she liked a lot of movies, but that she really loved You’ve Got Mail. Lyden had downloaded the movie, watched it four times and realized that she was telling him something. Emily was sending him a message. This could be them, she was saying. Two strangers who met online and were destined to be together. After that, he knew he had to enter her life. She wanted him in her life. His job forced him to be away five days a week. But on weekends, she’d be his.
His.
“Please, Mom?”
Conor’s raised voice reached Lyden. He watched the teenager lean on the open car door and ask again. And then it happened. Fury flashed through Lyden, igniting a fire inside him. He sat up rigidly in the leather seat. The stranger had taken hold of Emily’s arm; his head was bent over hers. He was saying something to her.
He was touching her.
Lyden’s temper was on the verge of snapping. Forcing himself to stay calm…for now…he picked up the camera from the passenger seat and zoomed in on the two adults who seemed to be disagreeing on whatever he’d suggested. He said something. She shook her head. But Lyden could tell it was a halfhearted refusal. She was amused, torn. She was ambivalent. This was not like her. Not his Emily, who always knew what she wanted. She was always clear, always logical. He lowered the lens and found the man’s hand still lingering on her arm, just above the elbow. He saw his thumb move. He was feeling her.
The shutter clicked. He moved the camera to her face, snapped a picture of her smile, then swung the lens to the car’s license plate. He took three consecutive pictures of it.
Slowly, he lowered the camera, glaring at his nemesis.
“You don’t even know how much trouble you’ve just bought, pal.”
Seven
Emily groaned inwardly as she pulled into her driveway and saw the red Honda parked under the basketball hoop.
She loved her sister. But Liz visiting her on Friday night only meant that a date must have cancelled at the last minute, which also meant she was in the mood to do some serious male bashing.
The motion-sensor floodlights came on as she pulled the car in front of the garage door. She grabbed the small container that held what was left of her dinner and got out. A moment later, the air vibrated with the smooth hum of the powerful engine in Ben’s car as he pulled down the long driveway and stopped behind hers. She moved to the passenger side and watched her son climb out. He looked like a drunken sailor.
“Oh, Mom,” he sighed deeply and actually gave her a big hug, despite the audience. “This car is amazing. That was the most unbelievable ride. It’s nothing like riding in your car. You feel the power.…”
As Emily looked his way, Ben put both hands up and shook his head. “I didn’t drive over the speed limit.”
“Someday when I’ve got tons of money,” Conor said excitedly, “this is what I’m gonna buy.”
The front lights of the house came on, and Emily felt a sudden panic for Ben to leave. She could never compete with her sister if Liz came out and decided to hit on him, the way she’d tried this afternoon at the café.
Immediately, the heat of embarrassment rose into her face. Compete? She didn’t know what made her think along those lines. There was no competition. They weren’t teenagers. Most importantly, nothing was going on between her and Ben Colter. Still, a bevy of butterflies started stampeding in her stomach.
Conor leaned in to whisper. “Mom, can I show Mr. Colter the new racing game I got.”
“No, honey. Not tonight. I’ve still got some work to do.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ben told Conor with a wink, the two tapping their fists in a show of camaraderie. The teenager thanked him again for dinner and the ride, and ran up the front walk.
Emily shook her head and smiled as he disappeared inside. The bounce in Conor’s step spoke volumes about how good a time he’d had tonight.
“Is eight o’clock too early to pick you two up?” Ben asked.
She rubbed her arms in uncertainty and looked up into his face. She decided on speaking the truth. “We…I�
�have never been to a car race. Actually, I’ve never even watched one on TV. I don’t know…”
“Conor and I both thought it was a done deal. You agreed.” He had a boyish way of looking disappointed. And even though she knew it was a put-on, he still managed to make her feel guilty.
Emily had been coerced into the three of them going out to dinner on the way back to Wickfield. Then, while she’d been sipping a glass of red wine in the restaurant, Ben had brought up the races at Lime Rock Park, a track not an hour from Wickfield. In the next breath he was inviting the two of them to go with him tomorrow. With Conor practically standing on his seat, Emily recalled mumbling a very noncommittal “I’ll think about it” that someone had taken as a “yes.”
“You’d have a much better time taking somebody that actually has an appreciation for these things.” Somebody like Liz, her brain told her.
“I’d say Conor has an appreciation.”
“I’d say that’s the understatement of the year. That’s not what I meant.”
Emily would let her son go if Liz were going along. For some reason, though, she couldn’t bring herself to make the suggestion.
“I really don’t care to take anyone else. You’re the one that I’m working on here.”
“So, this is what you’re doing? Still recruiting?” she asked, somehow relieved. If he was just trying to coax her into working for him, then she could put everything into a tidy little box.
“I am,” he said honestly, leaning against his car. He was still in his work clothes, but the tie and jacket had come off somewhere between the hospital and the restaurant. The sleeves were rolled up, showing muscular forearms. “Do you mind?”
“My answer won’t change. I have commitments here that dictate what kind of a job I could take.”
“I respect that. And that’s why I’m working up some numbers where perhaps you would agree to work part-time for us on specific projects—or even just on a consulting basis. We could keep you on a retainer.”
His offer definitely had merit, and she’d be foolish not to take a look at a package like that. “We could discuss all of this over a cup of coffee at Starbucks. You don’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“No trouble at all. My two cohorts, Gina Ellis and Adam Stern, will be in Connecticut on Monday. I’d like you to meet them.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Before you get blindsided by their malicious attacks on poor old me, though, I thought it’d be better for you and Conor to see the really nice person that I am.”
“And they attack you with regard to…?” She let the question hang in the air.
“I didn’t want to do this.”
“Give it a shot.”
“They call me a workaholic with no ability to relax.”
“And that’s not true?”
“Well, I’m giving you the opportunity to see for yourself.”
Emily wasn’t too sure where the line between truth and jest was being drawn. “In that case…”
“How could you refuse?”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.” She nodded and backed along the brick walkway toward the front door. “We’ll be ready at 8:00.”
At thirty-nine years old, the one thing Ben had learned about himself was that he had to trust his feelings and let certain things he did in life go unanalyzed. Spending time with Emily and her son was one of those things. His interest in her had been spontaneous and, although he wasn’t being too forthright about it, his motivation was running along personal—rather than professional—lines.
But he was damned if he could figure out why. Emily Doyle was not even close to his type.
Ben waited in the car until she reached the house. Someone else must have been waiting right inside because the door opened before she even reached for the knob. When they’d first pulled into the driveway, Conor had identified the red car as his aunt’s, and Ben guessed Liz must be the interested party.
A grove of evergreens created a wall of privacy between the road and the house, and Ben backed between two of the trees to turn around. As he did, he spotted a late model sedan slowing down at the end of the long driveway. The driver seemed to be peering in the direction of the house. It was past nine o’clock and there were no streetlights on the quiet country road. As Ben shifted into gear, the car drove off.
The inn where he was staying was less than two miles away. By some unwritten rule, it seemed, Wickfield rolled up its sidewalks as soon as the sun went down. Ben had considered that a problem when he’d first booked the room. He was a night owl and functioned with very little sleep. But since checking in on Wednesday, his nights had been filled with work and reports and catching up with everything else that was being sent or faxed to him daily from New York. The base of their operation for this job had moved to Connecticut, but the rest of his business still needed to run.
Ben had stopped for a light at an intersection only a block from the inn when he spotted a late model sedan pull up behind him. In his rearview mirror, he could see there was only the driver in the car. It was a long shot, but Ben wondered if this was the same person who’d slowed down in front of Emily’s house. The two of them seemed to be the only ones on the road.
When he’d first checked into the inn, Ben had made arrangements to park his car in the small parking lot that was intended for the owner and staff in the back, instead of where the rest of the guests left their cars in the main lot. Taking a right turn into the narrow alleyway leading to the lot, Ben noticed the driver behind him slowing down and watching him until he turned into the inn’s rear lot.
Ben reached for his briefcase and got out. This guy was just eyeing his car, he told himself. It was one of the drawbacks of driving an Aston. The hundred-forty grand he spent on the car was definitely worth it to him—it was the best driving experience you could get off a track—but it did tend to turn heads. Still, he was okay with that, as long as turning heads was all there was to it.
“Let me get this straight,” her sister started as soon as Emily stepped through the door. “He just happens to run into you at the hospital. Then the three of you go out and have a cozy two-hour dinner. He asks you out on a date for tomorrow. And he’s gorgeous and sexy and drives an expensive car and nobody even had to fix you up with him?”
Not in her entire life did Emily recall ever seeing Liz look as impressed as she looked now.
“Where’s that big-mouth son of mine?” Emily hung her jacket on a hook behind the door.
“Conor’s already plugged into the computer upstairs.”
“It’s not what you think.”
Liz reached for the bag of food in Emily’s hand. Pulling out the container, she opened and examined the contents. “I’m all ears.”
Emily took the food from her and started for the kitchen. “I explained it to you this afternoon. It’s just work. There’s nothing to it.”
“Good,” Liz said, following her. “Then you can fix me up with him.”
“I don’t think so.” She opened the fridge, put in the food from the restaurant, and stared inside. “We have a professional relationship. Someday, I might be working for him.”
“You make me sound like the bubonic plague.”
Emily turned and cocked an eyebrow at her sister. “No, the bubonic plague took a few years to go through the population of Europe. We’ve only lived here for—”
“Nice way to talk about your own sister.”
“You were the one complaining about the shortage of men around here.”
Liz slid onto a bench of the built-in breakfast nook and grabbed an apple off the fruit bowl. She put on an innocent look as she took a bite.
“Well, you always manage to stay friendly with my boyfriends after I break up with them.” She held up the apple when Emily started to complain. “But seriously, how many times have I ever asked you to hook me up with a particular guy? Come on, Emily, when was the last time?”
Emily crawled deeper into the fridge and continued to stare at the bott
les of juices. She didn’t want to hear what Liz was saying. She didn’t want to admit to her sister…or to herself…that there might be something happening between her and Ben Colter. Something she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
“He’s not your type at all,” Liz said, as if reading her mind.
Emily backed out and closed the fridge door. “What happened with your date tonight? I thought you were going out.”
Liz shrugged and sat back against the wall, putting her feet up on the bench. “I really didn’t know the guy.”
“Didn’t you tell me this afternoon that you had asked him out?”
“I did. He’s cute and pretty funny. He’s a loan officer for one of the mortgage companies in Hartford. Does a lot of work with the real estate people around here.”
“Seems like you do know him.”
“You’re right. Maybe that’s the trouble.” Liz put the half-eaten apple back in the bowl. “He’s been stopping at the café a couple days a week, and I was the one that had to do the asking.”
Emily leaned against the counter and, for the first time tonight, really looked at her sister. With no makeup on, Liz was wearing jeans and an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of old sneakers. She was bumming it, and obviously on the downside of the emotional seesaw.
“I don’t know why I was even kidding you about fixing me up with this Colter guy. I hate men.”
“You love men,” Emily corrected. “You love life and every social aspect of it. This is who you are.”
Liz shook her head disgustedly. “I’m tired of it. I’m sick of putting myself out there—of being a flirt, of working so hard at having an active social life. And for what? Just to go through the entire exercise all over again a week or two later. After a while, I’m not sure who is using who, and I hate that. Even if things are looking good with a guy, it isn’t long before I’m second-guessing myself, thinking that maybe I jumped in too fast or that I should break it off before he walks away.” She crossed her arms, meeting Emily’s direct gaze. “I know, I know. I’m spouting the same schlock you’ve heard a hundred other times.”
