Ryan winced. “But you have burns. Did the car catch fire?”
Tara nodded. “I got in a fight with some guy over a bottle of rum as we were leaving. The alcohol ended up spilling all over me and burning in the fire. Most of the burns only left scarring, but my bra melted to my skin and that damaged more tissue. I got breast implants because I couldn’t imagine not being whole. Sometimes I wish I’d never done it.”
Ryan touched her hand, feather-light. “But wanting to be as much of yourself as you could, I understand.” He slapped his knee. “If there was a surgery to fix this, I’d be there yesterday.”
“You need your knee to function. I was stuck on vanity. They did help me get a cheerleading position, but when the uniforms changed—” She outlined the cut of the new tops. It was hardly more than a bra. “My scars showed, and that wasn’t going to fly.”
“With you or with them?”
“Them. I’m okay with people seeing them now. It took awhile. But during the auditions, I was fine, even a bit encouraged, you know. I wouldn’t be hiding them anymore. I could push off the persona of a ditzy blonde and show how hard I had worked. They cut me off before I even started the routine.” She brushed a speck of dust from her skirt. Her fingers trembled, belying the calmness with which she related the details of her accident and the life-changing aftermath.
He knew the agony of the initial event, but had no idea how to navigate life beyond. From what he could see, Tara had overcome the adversity. She’d found a new career path and a mentor and boss who believed in her. This thing with Chuck was simply a hurdle she would leap over. He wished he could show her how strong she was. If only he could resurface as valiantly. He reached for her hand and squeezed it.
“What happened to the driver?”
“He walked away with a couple bruises.” She rolled her eyes and the unfairness of the accident grated on Ryan.
Flashes. Tara’s face. Where he remembered her name. He and his friends had crashed a bonfire after graduation. It had been halfway between Glendale and Carterville. He’d lost his friends shortly after they arrived as his attention had been captured by a gorgeous blonde. His gaze had followed her as she flitted from group to group. She was always surrounded by people, and he couldn’t summon the courage to approach her. She was the spark for the bonfire.
His heart had fallen when a muscled meathead had slung his arm around her shoulders and planted a slobbery kiss on her cheek. She’d wrapped an arm around his waist as he’d propelled her toward the makeshift parking lot on the edge of the trees. She’d swung a bottle out of the grasp of a friend as they passed by. She and the Neanderthal had alternated swigging from the bottle, and Ryan could tell by their staggering steps this wasn’t the first they had imbibed during the evening.
The couple stumbled against the door of the car. The jock climbed in, and the girl moved around to the passenger side. Ryan started running toward them. He arrived as the engine roared to life, and she reached for the door handle. He slammed his hand on the door, holding it closed.
“What are you doing?” the girl yelled over the noise of the party, shaking the bottle of rum at him. The spicy smelling liquid sloshed and splashed on him.
“You can’t get in the car.” He butted his hip against the door and the caveman pounded his fist against the window behind Ryan’s butt.
“Get out of here! Tara, let’s go!”
Up close, she was even more beautiful. Her hair shimmered in the firelight and her skin glowed. Ryan could barely think. He grabbed for the bottle clasped in her hands, but she fought back, jerking his whole body toward her when he didn’t relinquish his grip. Ryan only wanted to keep her out of the car. As they battled, the rum splashed over them both. Finally, Ryan managed to yank the bottle out of her grasp, but the victory was as empty as the bottle. The remaining alcohol whooshed out and covered her shirt. He’d had only a brief second to enjoy the view of her drenched top when stars exploded in front of his eyes.
Ryan shifted to a sitting position on the tile. He touched the strange bend in his nose. “You had a wicked right.”
Tara’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I think I’m the one you fought with over the rum. You broke my nose.”
“You couldn’t have been at the party.” Her hands slid to cover the scarred portion of her abdomen.
“My friends and I snuck over from Glendale and crashed it. I can’t believe you’re her.” How had he not seen it before? His dream girl was right in front of him.
“Her?”
“This girl has been stuck in my head ever since. I only ever heard your first name. I never knew about the crash. I never met another woman as pretty as you until I met you again.”
* * *
Tara blinked and her stomach swirled. She felt like a penny, spinning on its edge, wavering and wobbling about to fall over.
Ryan had been there. Ryan had been the one. If they hadn’t fought over the bottle, it wouldn’t have spilled on her. She would have walked away from the crash just as unsteadily as the driver had.
She stumbled over to her desk and dropped into her chair. It scooted to the side under her bum, and she flailed for the table to steady herself.
Ryan had been there. Through all the pain, she had been so angry with this faceless person. Every surgery, every failure, she’d dumped at that boy’s feet.
He levered himself off the floor with his cane and came toward her. She put her hand out to stop him. She couldn’t have him near her right now. She needed to think, to sort this all out, but her fatigue refused to let logic connect the dots. “I can’t… I can’t believe my burns are because of you.”
“I was trying to be your knight in shining armor. Anything to get you to look at me instead of that lunkhead behind the wheel. I knew if you got in that car—” He stopped. “There are so many ifs. If you hadn’t been burned. If we hadn’t fought. If you hadn’t gotten in the car. If you hadn’t been drinking. If I hadn’t crashed the party.” He pressed his hands at the edge of her desk, his face inches from hers. His blue eyes held regret. The emotion deeper than when he’d lost his running career. “I should have tried harder. I failed.”
“If I hadn’t been burned, my body would be whole.” She wanted to rip her shirt open, so he could see the twisted skin in harsh glare of the fluorescent lights. She knew he understood what she had lost. His choice had led her to breast implants which invited men like Chuck to treat her as if they were the only part of her that mattered.
She looked at him, wishing she could grab the anger and regret that had boiled for years and throw it in his face, but his words shoved it away, leaving scuff marks on her heart. It was easier to blame a nameless stranger than accept her poor choices. It was easier to attribute the entire accident to Ryan’s actions rather than her inebriated decisions. It was easier to look for escapes than to accept responsibility. It was easier to believe she was a dumb blonde that guys pushed around than prove her intelligence.
She opened her mouth as Ryan pushed away from the desk. How did she explain all that? “I can’t—” She didn’t know how to finish the sentence, but when she saw his expression, it didn’t matter. He was leaving. He grabbed his cane and limped out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tara awoke face down in her bed to her alarm squawking six o’clock in one ear and her phone jingling in the other. She lifted her face off the pillowcase to find her makeup had left a smeared outline on the fabric. After slapping the off button on the alarm, she turned to the phone and squinted at the caller ID. Minnie? Goodness, why was she calling at this hour?
Then the events of the last twenty-four hours came rushing back. Charles. No, she grimaced, Chuck. And Ryan. Oh boy.
She flipped the phone open. “Hello?” she croaked, wondering how her breath hadn’t burned a hole through her pillowcase.
“The jerk-wad is still up in his room, complaining about a sore neck. I don’t expect he’s none too happy with his stay at The
Lilac Bower. Been having a problem with the water heater. It cut out right as he jumped into the shower. That city water is cold this time of year. Probably heard him scream halfway to Glendale.”
The occurrence that Chuck was out of bed at six o’clock could only be attributed to Minnie destroying his chances for sleep. Tara wasn’t sure how to reply. ‘Thank you’ and ‘That’s not even close to what he deserves’ were on the tip of her tongue, but neither seemed adequate.
“I’m working on breakfast. I may have to run to the store though. The milk I’ve got isn’t even close to its expiration date, and I’d rather have something a touch more sketchy.”
“He won’t drink milk. He likes some fancy Bavarian cream stuff.”
“Does it smell like almonds?”
Tara didn’t like where Minnie’s train of thought was going. Cold showers and that kind of torture she could get behind, but poison was a little too close to jail time. “Minnie, I don’t want you and Chuck to be cellmates.”
“Good thought. I’ll stick with burning the toast and overcooking the eggs. Hank says the insurance adjuster won’t be out until Monday to look at Chuck’s car since this isn’t a priority case or anything.”
“Thank you, Minnie. If you could keep an eye on him over the weekend, it would help out.”
“I’ve got him covered until the library benefit.”
Shoot. Tara had forgotten all about it. Leslie had taken care of their sponsorship months before, but she was still obligated to put in an appearance.
“I guess I’ll have to take him along.” Tara sighed. All she wanted to do was track down proof he was committing tax fraud, but distractions kept coming up.
“Don’t you worry. The Ladies will keep him out of trouble.”
Tara hung up, wondering what Mark would have to say about Minnie messing with the water heater. When she tried to program the outdoor sprinkling system in January, she’d had a skating rink over the entire yard until the spring thaw.
At least Minnie had a hold of Chuck for now, a situation worse than prison in his case. Tara could balance the rest of her spinning plates. Her job, tax fraud, Ryan, and confiding in Leslie about all of the above.
If Mark was being his usual gatekeeper self, Leslie wouldn’t have heard the news. But Tara couldn’t keep it from her. Leslie resurrected the tax office from a collapsing building into a flourishing business. As her friend, Tara couldn’t hide the danger she had put the enterprise in. She’d do everything possible to prevent Chuck from doing any permanent damage.
But cleaning herself up was the first priority. She ducked into the bathroom and almost fell in the toilet when she saw her reflection. Her mascara had not only smeared all over her pillow, it left bruise-like smudges around her eyes with streaks down her cheekbones. Her hair was twisted and ratted on one side of her head into a believable replica of a bird’s nest. The other side was plastered against her scalp as if she had stood behind a jet engine while spraying an entire can of cheap hairspray.
She shed her clothes, tossing them in the general direction of the hamper. Slashing back the curtain, she stepped into the streaming water before the warm water had traveled all the way up from the basement to her bathroom. The first splash woke her faster than a triple espresso. She gasped in short puffs, glad Minnie hadn’t had the notion to tamper with her water heater, but not shocked enough to feel sorry for Chuck. After shampooing her hair, the water had heated enough to allow her to stand in the flow without freezing the blood in her veins. She zipped through the rest of her toiletry process, swiping the minimum of makeup on, but blobbing a good smear of concealer over the dark circles below her eyes. She twisted her hair into a slick chignon. A glance in the mirror told her the look was passable for three hours of sleep.
Within thirty minutes of peeling herself off her pillow, she had pulled out of the drive-through coffee station and was headed to the office, rehearsing the conversation she needed to have with Leslie. She wished she could do it in person, but that meant closing the office with only a week left in the tax season. As much as she had screwed up so far, she couldn’t cost Leslie any more clients. She parked in her usual spot at the back of the office lot and extracted her phone from her purse.
She found Leslie in her contacts and pressed send. Holding the phone to her ear, she prayed Mark would answer and tell her Leslie was sleeping. Leslie’s rest was a good enough reason to delay the necessary confession.
Her heart rate spiked when Leslie’s voice greeted her. What was she supposed to say? The pictures were flashing in front of her, but she couldn’t put words with them. “Leslie, I’ve screwed up bad.”
“Oh dear. Isn’t Charlie working out? Do you need me to come in?” Leslie’s voice became muffled at the tail end, but Tara could still hear. “Mark, it’s Tara. No. I’m fine. Shoo.”
“It isn’t Charlie. It’s Chuck. I called the wrong person.”
Leslie’s voice was muffled again. “Mark, could you get me a glass of water? Thanks, sweetie.” Then her voice became clear again. “You didn’t find Charlene’s number? Wait, did you say Chuck as in Chuck Silverman?”
“Uh-huh.” Nausea swept over her at simply acknowledging her mistake. If only her confession was complete.
“Okay. Okay. He’s a jerk, but nothing you can’t handle. Keep him at arm’s length and keep your pepper spray close. He can help you out, but handle the cash. It wouldn’t surprise me if he has sticky fingers. Anyway, it’s not the end of the world.”
Tara sighed. “There’s more. I think he’s trying to defraud the government. Actually I’m sure of it.” Tara explained about the returns she’d found with the deceased client’s social security numbers on them. “Ryan’s helping me track down the computer evidence, and Minnie’s got Chuck holed up at the Lilac Bower.”
She waited for Leslie to scream at her, to fire her, something.
“I’m so sorry this happened, Tara. I should have trusted you with everything, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
Tara’s lips quivered. She couldn’t stand Leslie being nice to her when she had failed so spectacularly. She sniffed. “Please yell at me. Fire me.”
“Why? You caught Chuck. He’s been pulling dastardly stuff like this as long as I’ve known him. He deserves to be incarcerated and so much more. After his stay with Minnie, Chuck’ll be happy to go to prison. She better not mess with anything in the basement though. It took Mark weeks to straighten out the sprinkler thing. You’ve got everything covered. Keep me posted on what’s happening.”
Tara choked back the tears. How could Leslie trust her so much? “But Leslie, there’s a week left in tax season. We need someone who can do the complicated returns. Who can I call?” It might have been her exhaustion talking. While she wanted to fix everything, her mind was swirling with the steps she needed to take.
“Tara, you can handle it. It’s only four and a half days.”
“The busiest four and a half days of the year. I can’t do this myself. What about the complicated returns? The amended returns? I’ve never done any of those.” Her panic sizzled, despite her resolve. Leslie always helped her through these things. Tara drew strength from Leslie’s confidence. Her hand trembled as she reached for her coffee. The sip of caffeine cleared her head a bit. She needed to focus. One step at a time. Ease the slow tilt-a-whirl of emotions. “Who can I call?”
“You’ll get a lot of practice. You’ve had all the training. You went to the full training seminar last winter.”
Tara’s palms were sweating. She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder. She wiped her palms against her skirt. “What if I screw up?”
“You can’t do anything worse than what Chuck did.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“You know what I mean.” Leslie paused. “You are a better accountant than Chuck will ever be. He can’t even screw up without getting caught. Anything goes wrong, you’ll fix it. Just like you have been.”
“But it’s your business reputation. I
can’t risk that. You’ve worked so hard to make it what it is.” Tara’s stomach lurched.
Leslie’s voice sank to a whisper. “Do you want me to come in? I can’t be on my feet, but if I prop them up, I can type at the computer. I can be moral support.”
Tara wanted to say yes and lean on Leslie, but she knew she couldn’t. The doctor hadn’t put Leslie on bed rest on a whim. He expected her to follow his orders. ‘Stay off your feet’ meant no work, not just sit down all day.
“No. I can handle it.” She grabbed her coffee and chugged. The burst of caffeine shocked her resolve, but she gave herself an out. “I’ll call you if I have any questions.”
She’d take everything slowly, study each complicated return and triple check her numbers so she knew she was doing everything correctly. One step at a time. It’d take forever, but she could sleep next week.
Then she remembered she had to prove Chuck had stolen all those identities too. Somewhere she’d squeeze in time to do some investigating, but Ryan was helping her.
Ryan. They’d had quite the conversation last night. He had tried to keep her out of the car, and she had smashed his nose. What did it mean for them? Was there even a ‘them’ to consider? It was a problem she’d have to worry about later. Her plate was full.
Tara headed to the break room to start the coffeemaker since the cold blast in the shower and the triple espresso from the coffee shop would only last so long. As she pushed open the door, she wondered if Ryan would come back and find something to prove Chuck was behind all this stuff. Would he still be willing to help her? What could his motives be? He’d made it obvious, he was attracted to her. She couldn’t deny hers to him. His height, his strength, the sparkle in his eyes had her heart skipping.
His kindness in helping her and being an ear to hear her problems and her mistakes was quickly endearing him to her. She still felt unsettled about their conversation last night. Emotions she hadn’t visited, that she had locked away, rose to the surface fighting for her attention. Anger that he’d tried to make decisions for her, but now gratitude that he thought of saving her — a perfect stranger.
Climbing Heartbreak Hill Page 13
