Freedom's Price

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Don’t—” Liam came thundering down the stairs as she picked up the telephone receiver.

  “Hello?” she said. “Bartlett residence.”

  “…answer that,” he said more quietly, swearing under his breath.

  The puppy’s enormous feet slipped on the tile, and she skidded, falling onto her fluffy little bottom.

  “My God, an actual human voice,” said the man on the other end of the line. “Bartlett must not have told you yet not to pick up the phone.”

  Liam was shaking his head. “I’m not taking calls,” he mouthed nearly silently. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “I’m sorry,” Marisala asked into the phone. “Who is this?”

  “Buddy Fisher. His agent? Of course, he probably doesn’t need an agent anymore, since he seems intent on celebrating the one-year anniversary of his book deadline by still not finishing the damned manuscript.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Fisher.” Marisala watched as Liam walked in a slow circle around the puppy, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her inability to walk without slipping and sliding. “Liam’s unavailable.”

  “Yeah, I bet he’s unavailable. Listen, honey, tell your new boyfriend that he’s got to deliver the book or cough up the advance money. The publisher’s breathing down my neck because Bartlett’s stopped answering his phone. Tell him all they want is proof that he’s still alive. All they want is his picture on the cover and his promise to make the rounds of the morning talk shows. Tell him I’ve been talking to a guy named Dave Furth who’s willing to ghostwrite the damn thing. Will you please tell him that? I’ve left Furth’s number on Bartlett’s machine more than once. If he wants it again, have him call me.”

  “I’ll give him the message.”

  “Just between you and me, honey, you might want to hang up the phone, give Bartlett the message, and walk out the door. He might be brilliant, handsome as sin, and charismatic as hell, but the man’s got some serious problems.”

  The line was disconnected before Marisala could answer. She hung up the phone. “I think you better start looking for a new agent. When they start telling someone they think is your girlfriend to leave you, you’ve got to wonder if they’re working in your best interest.”

  “There’s a dog in my house.”

  “He recommended I give you this message and then walk out the door.”

  “Ah. So he’s a talking dog.”

  “The puppy’s a she. I’m referring to Buddy Fisher. Your agent? Or maybe you don’t remember him because you haven’t spoken to him in so long.”

  Liam crouched on the floor. The puppy was looking at him as intently and as skeptically as he was looking at the puppy. “Why is there a dog in my house?”

  “Why is your agent calling with the name and phone number of a ghostwriter?”

  Liam held out his finger for the puppy to sniff. “This has got to be the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”

  Marisala sat down on the floor, and the puppy skittered over toward her, leaping into her lap. “She is not ugly. She’s gorgeous. Look at those big brown eyes. She’s just a little dirty.”

  “You’re right. She’s beautiful. I just wanted to get you to stop talking about Fisher. Where’d you find her?”

  The puppy’s soft baby fur was matted with mud and dirt. She’d clearly been living on the streets, on her own, for some time. “She followed me home from the Star Market.”

  Liam’s eyes narrowed. “You went all the way up to Boylston Street? To the Star Market?”

  Marisala narrowed her own eyes back at him. “I didn’t realize there’s a limit as to how far I can and cannot go while taking an evening walk, Warden Bartlett.”

  Liam looked away, straightening up. “Sorry.”

  “Liam, why is your agent trying to hook you up with a ghostwriter? And why would he say all those awful things about you? Are you really almost a year behind with your deadline?”

  She could see the muscles working in the side of Liam’s jaw. He met her eyes only briefly before he focused all of his attention on the puppy in her lap. “Yes, I am. I’m eleven months, two weeks, and four days behind. And counting. I can tell you the minutes and seconds, too, if you want.”

  She tried to keep her voice even. “What happened?”

  He sat down on the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, rubbing his forehead with one hand. With his face tight and his smile nowhere in sight, he looked tired and haunted and impossibly unhappy.

  “I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, his forehead in the palm of his hand, elbow resting on his knee. “I started writing the damn thing almost four years ago. I wrote about fifteen pages, and then I stopped.”

  When he opened his eyes, the sudden blueness was almost startling. “I don’t want to talk about this, do you mind?” He stood up. “Does the dog have any tags?”

  “No.” Marisala gently pushed the puppy off her lap and stood up too. “Liam—”

  “Don’t name her, Mara,” he said warningly. “Okay? Don’t get too attached. She looks like a purebred cocker spaniel. She’s got to belong to somebody, and they’re going to want her back. Besides, it’s going to be hard enough to find an apartment even if you don’t have a pet.”

  He took the bag of groceries off the table and carried it into the kitchen. “Come on,” he continued. “She can spend the night in the kitchen. Tomorrow I’ll borrow an instant camera. We can take her picture and make flyers to post—let people know you found her.”

  Marisala picked up the puppy. “The kitchen is going to be so lonely,” she said, rubbing her long floppy ears.

  “You want to take her upstairs, take her upstairs,” Liam said, turning back to look at her. “But when she has an accident on the carpet, you get to clean it up.”

  “That’s only fair.” She followed Liam, wishing he would tell her why he was having such trouble writing his book, wishing he would talk to her, wishing he would kiss her again.

  He’d kissed her. Mother of God, she still couldn’t quite believe that Liam Bartlett had actually kissed her.

  It had been wildly different from the way she’d imagined their first kiss would be, and she’d imagined it quite frequently since he’d first walked into her uncle’s house all those years ago. She’d always thought that he’d gaze into her eyes and slowly move closer, giving her plenty of time to anticipate. She’d pictured him lightly brushing her lips with his, pulling back to look at her again before he gently deepened the kiss.

  She’d imagined a sweet, reverent joining of their lips.

  Instead he’d possessed her with a fierceness that had melted her bones and infused her with a raging fire. She’d exploded, responding with years of pent-up longing. Saints help her, she’d damn near wrapped her leg around him in an attempt to pull him even closer.

  He wanted her. She knew now that it was true. The unmistakable and impossibly quick response of his body as he pressed against her proved that without a doubt, didn’t it?

  His blood burned for her, making him hot and hard as stone. No one—no one—could resist a passion that strong.

  Not even Liam Bartlett, Patron Saint of San Salustiano.

  “Is the dog hungry?” Liam asked as she set the puppy down on the kitchen floor.

  “No,” Marisala told him. “I gave her some of the cold cuts I bought at the market.”

  Liam laughed. “No wonder she followed you.”

  “She followed me before that.”

  “But no doubt the cold cuts cemented the deal. God, you are such a pushover when it comes to strays.” The newspaper was out and open to the apartment listings on the kitchen table. Liam took several of the pages from another section and handed them to Marisala. “You might try spreading this out on the floor of the bathroom that’s attached to your room. Here’s hoping she’s at least a little trained.”

  Marisala leaned over the table, looking closely at the newspaper. “You’ve circled some of these listings.”

  “There’s not a lot that w
ere suitable. I marked only a few.”

  “Here’s one that you didn’t mark that looks good. It’s in the price range we were talking about, and it says ‘near university.’”

  “Where?” Liam leaned over Marisala’s shoulder.

  “Here.” She pointed to the listing, reading aloud. “‘Near university. Studio with separate kitchen, utilities included. B-S-M-T of house.’ What’s B-S-M-T?”

  She turned to look at him and their faces were suddenly only inches apart.

  Liam quickly straightened up. “Basement,” he told her. “Believe me, you don’t want to live in a basement apartment.”

  Marisala shrugged. “I’ve lived in far worse.” She turned again to face him and he jumped back, away from her, over to the other side of the kitchen. The puppy jumped too, startled.

  “Is there a problem with the way I smell?” she asked, lifting one eyebrow. “Should I take a shower?”

  Liam shot an exasperated glance at her. “I’m just…” He took a deep breath and started over as he began putting away the groceries she’d bought. “I just think it would be smarter if we kept our distance. From each other. You know.”

  Marisala nodded. At least he was being honest. At least he wasn’t trying to pretend that they both didn’t know he was jumpy as hell because she was around. Because of that kiss. “Maybe we should talk about what happened today.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” Liam folded the paper bag and slid it between the refrigerator and the wall. That done, he started to pace. Marisala was beginning to wonder if he ever stood still.

  “I disagree.”

  He pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingers as if he had a headache. “It’s late. Maybe we should just go to bed.”

  “Well, that’s an interesting solution. Your room or mine?”

  Liam spun to face her. “Mara!”

  “I was making a joke. You’ve got to…what’s that expression you always used to use on me? Lighten up.”

  He sat down at the table, but even then he didn’t stop moving. He touched the pepper mill and salt-shaker. He rearranged the napkins in the napkin holder. “Maybe we should talk.”

  “Okay.” She sat down across from him and folded her hands demurely in front of her. “I’ll go first. I liked the way you kissed me.”

  He closed his eyes. “God, how did I know you weren’t going to make this easy for me?”

  “There’s nothing easy or hard about this,” she countered. “You kissed me. I kissed you. Either you liked it or you didn’t.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t.”

  At first his words stung, but then she realized she could still see the fiery remnants of that same burning passion in his eyes.

  So she lifted her chin and laughed. “You are such a liar. You liked it as much as I did. Maybe even more.”

  Liam ran his hands down his face. “Okay, yeah. You’re right. I liked it, but I didn’t like it. As much as it made me feel good, it made me feel bad too.” He sighed noisily, briefly closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he stared down at the kitchen floor. “I don’t think of you as a woman, Mara. To me, you’ll always be a child. A little girl. A sister. Someone to protect, not take advantage of. Not someone to kiss.” He gazed across the table then, looking her squarely in the eye. “I love you dearly, kid, but not that way.”

  He didn’t think of her as a woman. Marisala had been prepared to argue with Liam all night if necessary, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say to counter that.

  “And I’m sorry if I led you to believe—”

  She interrupted him, suddenly wanting nothing more than to have this conversation over with. “No. You didn’t. I mean, I didn’t. Believe anything, really, I mean…” She took a deep breath and even managed to smile. “I guess I just thought it would be really special. You know, you and me.”

  The look in his eyes was unreadable as he nodded. “We’ve already got something really special.”

  Marisala nodded, pushing her chair out from the table. The puppy looked up at her expectantly, and she bent to scoop her up. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She tucked the extra sheets of newspaper under her arm.

  “Oh, yeah, that reminds me.” He stood up too. “I’ve got some things to take care of downtown in the morning. Why don’t you sleep in, and we can check out some of these apartments after lunch?”

  It was amazing. He was acting so casual and friendly, as if he hadn’t just smashed all of her blazing hopes into tiny, unrecognizable pieces. Marisala felt sick to her stomach, and he was making plans for tomorrow.

  “That’s fine,” she murmured. “I’ll see you then.”

  She went up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom, wondering at this odd queasiness that made her chest ache. If she didn’t know better, if she weren’t so sure that her feelings for Liam were based only on years of friendship and sheer physical attraction, she might’ve thought that once again he’d managed to break her heart.

  FOUR

  “THIS ISN’T THE best neighborhood in the city.”

  Marisala looked at Liam over the top of his car. “That’s what you said about the last apartment we looked at.”

  “Yeah, that was a real dump too.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “The living-room window had a view of a brick wall. And it was three feet away. And the entryway door didn’t lock. Anyone could get in.”

  “I lived in the jungle for nearly four years,” she reminded him. “Compared to some of the places I spent the night, that apartment was not bad.”

  “I’d never sleep,” he told her as they walked toward the next address on her list. “I would be up until dawn, worrying about you. What’s the street number of this next place?”

  “Five thirty-two. The landlord’s in Apartment Two.” Marisala glanced at the lines of fatigue on Liam’s face. As it was, he hadn’t slept much last night. She’d heard him moving around quite late and had gotten up to see the lights blazing throughout the rest of the condo.

  She wondered if he had nightmares. She still did. She couldn’t imagine anyone living through what they had and not being haunted by it for the rest of their lives. But Liam had also survived all those months in prison, suffering God only knew what kind of mistreatment and abuse. She’d seen the scars on his back from the countless beatings. She could only guess what other scars he bore as well—both inside and out.

  God knows she had her own scars.

  Marisala caught sight of the crescent-shaped mark on her left cheekbone in the glimmering reflection from a newly washed car window. She’d always considered that scar a badge of her tremendous good luck. She had been struck by flying shrapnel. Had it hit her a few centimeters higher, she would have lost her eye. And if her head had been slightly turned, it could well have hit her in the temple, where even a glancing blow might have killed her.

  But now, as she saw herself reflected in the car window, she saw the way the scar interrupted the smooth lines of her face. And while she had always scoffed at her uncle’s suggestion that a plastic surgeon might be able to make the scar smaller and less noticeable, Liam hadn’t seemed to think the idea was so far-fetched.

  Maybe such a large scar on her face made Liam find her unattractive. Less womanly.

  Marisala glanced at him as they climbed the stairs to the porch of a three-family house and rang the landlord’s bell. He was wearing a funky pair of mirrored sunglasses that hid his eyes and made his face unreadable.

  “After this, I’m taking you to a realtor,” Liam told her. “They’ll find you a real apartment.”

  “But I’ll have to pay a fee of a half month’s rent.”

  “I’ll pay it,” he said shortly. “I’ll pay for the whole damn thing if I have to.”

  Mother of God, he was eager to be rid of her. Marisala kept her face carefully expressionless, trying to conceal the anger and frustration that boiled inside of her. What had happened to their easygoing friendship? What had become of the
man who had once trusted her enough to put his life in her hands? Who was this stiff stranger who stood in front of her now? “Well, it will be good to be settled. Classes start on Monday.” Her voice shook slightly, giving her away. He glanced at her, and she knew he could tell how badly his words hurt her.

  Liam rang the bell again, and when he spoke, his voice was softer, as if he were trying to make up for sounding so hard. “Tonight we can look at your schedule, and I’ll take you around and show you where your classes are.”

  “You don’t—”

  “—have to do that, I know.” Liam managed a small, slightly crooked smile. “I got your refrain down cold, babe. But you should know mine by heart now as well.”

  “You don’t have to do it, but you want to,” Marisala recited. She paused. “You don’t look like you want to do much besides go home and crawl into bed.”

  “I had a rough night.”

  Marisala’s frustration and anger eased with her empathy toward those flatly spoken words. She knew what it was to have a rough night. It was funny, some nights she could sleep like a baby. But others, the nightmares hovered on the fringes of her consciousness and she didn’t dare close her eyes until she was so exhausted she knew a dreamless sleep would come.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly.

  He didn’t look at her, didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

  The word came out flatly, almost rudely, but Marisala only felt more compassion. It was her experience that sometimes men had it worse. Some men found it terribly difficult to handle the fear and panic that the nightmares would bring. “I’m here if you ever change your mind.”

  He didn’t get a chance to answer as the door opened and the landlord stepped onto the porch. “You’re here to see the apartment? The entrance is around this way.”

  The unkempt-looking man led the way around to the side of the house. Marisala let Liam follow first as the man rattled off a list of rules about rent, utilities, parking unavailability, pets, and noise.