by Francis Ray
He went still. “What did you say?”
She pushed to her feet. “Everette is my mother’s maiden name. My given name is Dominique Nicole Falcon.”
“What is Daniel Falcon to you, your cousin or something?”
“My brother.”
Trent said one explicit word before turning away, then whipping back around so fast that she jumped. “You really had me going,” he said, his face and voice hard. “You must have had a great time laughing at me trying to help you with your business. You can probably buy the entire building—no, make that the block—and not put a dent in your checkbook.”
There was only one accusation she wanted to talk about. “I never laughed at you. I had given myself two years to succ—”
Dry laughter cut her off. “Two years! If you hadn’t succeeded, what would you have done?” His hands lifted when she opened her mouth. “Don’t tell me. I think I can guess the answer. Go back to wandering and being a part-time model and living a life most people can only dream about.”
“When I first came here you might have been right,” she told him frankly, and rushed on when his expression hardened. “That’s not true anymore. I’m tired of moving from one place to the other. I want more out of life.”
His temper flared higher. “So what was I? Your entertainment to keep you from being bored?”
“You know that isn’t true!” she cried. “I care about you. You’re the first man I’ve made love to since I left my husband.”
“So I’m supposed to be grateful for the privilege, is that it?” Cold eyes swept from her tousled head to her booted feet. “The sister of Daniel Falcon allowed herself to condescend to make love with a man whose income is pocket change to him.”
“Don’t you see? You just said it yourself. Before I told you who I was, I was Dominique. Once I did, I’m relegated to being Daniel Falcon’s sister,” she said fighting her own anger, fighting tears. “I love my brother, but I hate being in his shadow. I wanted to make it on my own, but I failed. If you hadn’t stepped in to help, I’d still be looking for my first big customer.”
“Yeah, good ol’ Trent, being suckered in by another beautiful woman to help her business.” He laughed bitterly. “I was so sure you were different, but you’re worse than Margo. At least she had a real need. But you just used me.”
Her own temper finally slipped free. “That’s nonsense. I never asked for your help.”
“You didn’t have to ask. Most men would do anything to help you, and you know it.”
Black eyes narrowed. “Yes, and you know what they expect in return.”
His head snapped back. “That’s not the reason I helped you, and you damn well know that,” he yelled.
“Then you should damn well know the only reason I went to bed with you is that I care about you!” she shouted just as loudly.
“Not enough to be honest with me.”
The fight went out of her. She reached for him. “I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.”
He pulled his arm away. “Oh, I understand perfectly. I don’t want to hear any more.”
“Why won’t you listen?” she asked.
“I did listen. You should have listened to me.” His voice had a final ring.
Fear made her tremble. “I thought you were so big on second chances. Don’t you think I deserve one?”
Trent gazed into the depths of her eyes and knew if she didn’t leave soon she wouldn’t until he had compromised another principle and taken her on any terms. “Good-bye, Dominique. Tell Janice to stop buying extra groceries. I won’t be coming over anymore.”
Dominique shook her head, accepting defeat. “No, don’t do that to her. I’ll leave. There’s a loft apartment next door to the studio.”
“That area isn’t safe at night,” he flared.
She wanted to take comfort because he still worried about her, then she remembered he was a caring man. He cared about her, but he didn’t love her, and he wasn’t going to forgive her. “Good-bye, Trent.” She stepped around him, opened the door, then closed it softly behind her.
Hearing the door close was like hearing the sound of his heart being ripped out. Dominique Falcon. Another rich, spoiled socialite had stuck it to him. How could he have been so stupid? At least he had found out before he had given her his surprise.
He stalked back to his bedroom and went straight to the fresh vase of roses. Pushing aside one tight bud, then another, he finally located the pink rose he sought.
Laying in the center of the perfect, open flower was a two-carat, flawless diamond ring in a heavy platinum band encrusted with gemstones. The ring was as unusual and as beautiful as the woman he had intended to give it to—a friendship ring that he had hoped in time would represent a deeper, more lasting commitment.
He scowled. Grabbing the ring, he opened the drawer and tossed it inside. The brush set followed. He whirled and picked up the robe, intending to trash it, but found himself clutching it instead. Sitting on the bed, he let his forehead fall into the palm of his hand.
He had never hurt this much in his life. His chest felt strangely tight; his throat ached. Why couldn’t Dominique be who she’d pretended to be—a struggling photographer needing a second chance—instead of an incredibly wealthy woman who didn’t need him?
And that was what tore at him. She didn’t need him. There wasn’t one single thing in the world he could give her that she couldn’t get for herself.
Her wealthy and powerful family dated back centuries; he didn’t even know who his mother was. Dominique could toss him aside just as easily and carelessly as his mother had.
The pressure on his chest increased.
He couldn’t stay here. Standing, he tossed the robe onto the bench at the foot of the bed, grabbed his keys, and left the room. There was always paperwork at the offi—
A woman’s scream pierced the night.
Less than a heartbeat later Trent knew it was Dominique. Terror ripped through him. Heart pounding, more frightened than he had ever been in his life, he raced to the front door and jerked it open.
What he saw sent raw fear coursing through him. He was off the porch and running all out toward Isaac, who was trying to drag the struggling Dominique into the open back door of a battered Camaro.
“Stay back, Old Man, or I’ll cut the bitch,” Isaac warned, his eyes wild, his unsteady hand holding the handle of a six-inch knife to Dominique’s throat.
Trent’s blood went cold. His gaze briefly flickered to Dominique, trying to reassure her. Her gaze locked on his. She stopped struggling. “Let her go. It’s me you want.”
“Yeah, but you want her,” Isaac sneered. “I’ve been watching you since the first night you spent together, waiting for this chance. I knew an old man like you couldn’t keep going.”
“Come on, Man, let’s get out of here,” yelled the driver. “The porch light across the street came on.”
“Maybe you should let her go?” suggested an unsteady voice.
“Shut up, Jessie. I’m running this.” Isaac took another step backward. Trent followed. “I told you to stay back, unless you want me to slash her pretty throat. You can have her back after I’m through with her.”
“You’ll have to kill me first.”
“That could be arranged.” Isaac thrust the knife out toward him.
Trent couldn’t believe what happened next. Dominique thrust her left elbow sharply into Isaac’s stomach, dropped, whirled, and grabbed his arm, spinning him around so that he was between her and the three teenagers in the car, then pushed his arm high up behind his back.
“Ow! Let go of my arm!”
“Drop the knife.” Dominique didn’t have to say it but once. Metal clattered to the sidewalk.
“Get this bit—ohhh!”
“I wouldn’t say that word again if you want to use your arm again,” Dominique warned, her voice steady.
A police siren sounded in the distance.
“I’m getting outta here,” said
the driver, reaching for the gearshift.
Trent moved, grabbing the young man through the open window and dragging him out of the car. With his other hand, Trent cut the motor and pocketed the keys. “I don’t think so.”
The passenger door abruptly swung open. Out jumped another teenager. He ran down the street without looking back. Less than fifty feet away he stumbled and fell when his baggy pants slid down around his knees.
By the time he managed to get up he was pinned by the high beam light of a police car. Another police vehicle came from the other direction. The wail of a third car grew louder.
“Dominique, are you all right? Did he hurt you?” Trent asked, keeping the teenager he’d subdued on the grass.
No answer.
“Dammit, be pissed at me tomorrow, but please turn around and tell me you’re all right.” he said, his voice ragged with fear.
A policeman and a policewoman jumped out of the second car and ran over, “What’s going on here?”
“He tried to force her into that car with his friends,” Trent explained, dragging his prisoner to his feet and handing the officer the car keys.
“He’s lying,” Isaac yelled.
“Turn them loose,” ordered the slender black policewoman, her hair in microbraids.
“What?” Trent yelled.
“You heard me,” said the officer.
Dominique released Isaac. The instant he was free, he swung at her with his fist. She blocked the blow and sent a quick jab to his nose with the heel of her hand.
He went down, rolling and cursing.
With a savage curse, Trent started for Isaac. The two officers grabbed him, then were aided by another policeman who had arrived in the third patrol car.
“You see, they’re both crazy. I just brought my cousin over here and they went medieval on us,” Isaac cried, his words muffled from holding his hands over his bleeding nose.
“That’s a lie!” Trent yelled. “I heard Dominique scream and came out, and you were trying to pull her into that car.”
“You saw what she did to me,” Isaac said, moaning. “I couldn’t have dragged her unless she wanted to come. Maybe she wanted a real man between the sheets.”
Trent lunged for Isaac. The officers tightened their holds.
“See, what did I tell you? I need a doctor,” Isaac wailed. “My cousin will tell you. Tell him Jessie. We were just coming over for him to visit and try and get back on the football team.”
Jessie, in a black sweatshirt, oversized jeans, and a sideways baseball cap, eyes wide, was trembling as he got out of the car. “I—I don’t want to go to jail.”
“Jessie, don’t lie for him,” Trent said. “You don’t have to go the same way as Isaac. I’ll help you.”
“Now he’s trying to bribe my cousin,” Isaac flared. “He has money.” The youth glanced around at the growing crowd gathering on Trent’s lawn and across the street. “His neighbors will probably lie for him. We’re just poor, honest kids.”
“Cut the crap, Isaac,” said the policeman, who came up with the other teenager who had tried to run. “I don’t know about the rest of these kids, but Isaac has a long rap sheet. I arrested him myself for car theft when I worked the Southwest Division.”
“I’ve been going straight,” Isaac whined.
Dominique stepped forward. “If you’ll look on the curb by the car you’ll find a knife with Isaac’s fingerprints. And if that isn’t enough to prove Trent told you the truth, I don’t think I would have gotten this if I were willing.”
She tilted her head to the side. Blood welled from a two-inch cut on the side of her neck.
Chapter Fourteen
Trent exploded in a cry of rage. Another policeman rushed to help with subduing him.
“Trent,” Dominique said calmly. “If you’re in jail, who’s going to take me to the doctor?”
“Oh, Lord.” He started toward her, then found himself unable to do so. He gazed at the police officers. “Please, let me go to her. I won’t touch him.”
The officers looked at the lone female officer, who had two stripes on her sleeve. She nodded.
As soon as Trent was free he rushed to Dominique, picked her up in his arms, and ran back to the house.
Several neighbors Dominique recognized from the block party followed—which proved to be for the best, Dominique realized, because Trent had completely lost it. An elderly woman whom Dominique remembered as Mrs. Garland, a retired nurse, finally got him to put her down on the sofa. When Dominique protested she might get blood on the white material, Trent picked her up again and hugged her so tight she had difficulty breathing.
Once again Mrs. Garland took control. She sent her husband for her first aid kid, then said, “Trent, I can’t see how to take care of her if you don’t put her down.”
Reluctantly, Trent did so, but he kneeled beside her, his hand clutching hers. He didn’t move when Mr. Garland returned and handed the kit to his wife. He did when Dominique turned her head to one side for the retired nurse to clean the wound.
With a guttural curse, he started for the door. Neighbors hastened to get out of the way.
“Trent, please hold my hand,” Dominique requested softly.
He was back in seconds, kneeling, gathering her hand in his. His were shaking. “It’s going to be all right. You’re going to be all right.” He looked at Mrs. Garland. “Do you think we need to take her in for shock or something?”
“Just keep her warm and quiet,” Mrs. Garland advised. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble doing that. Mr. Scoggins is going to wait on the porch for Janice to come home.”
“Here,” said a middle-aged, pudgy neighbor wearing a fuzzy robe that resembled a horse blanket. She recalled his name was Mr. Carol, and that he was a history professor at the local university. “Some of my best Scotch.”
Trent went to lift Dominique. An arthritic hand on his shoulder stopped him. “That’s for you.”
“I don’t want any.” Troubled, he gazed down at Dominique, and with his free hand pulled up the blanket someone had brought to cover her with to her chin. “You’re warm enough? Can I get you anything?”
Now that it was over, the aftershock was getting to her. “If you’re not going to drink that, I will.”
Sitting her up, he let her take a sip, then another. The amber-colored drink disappeared.
A whistle of approval went up from Mr. Carol. “Now, that’s a woman.”
At his comment, people began talking about her subduing Isaac. His hand in hers, Trent felt her tremble. “Thank you all for helping, but I think Dominique needs to rest. Mrs. Garland, will you please see everyone out for me?”
“Of course.” She lightly touched his shoulder. “You know how to contact me if you need to.”
“Thank you, again,” Trent said.
“You’ve helped us enough times,” she said, then left.
No sooner had the door closed than the doorbell rang: “It’s Officer Blair. I need to speak with you,” called a female voice.
Trent scowled at the closed door. “If she hadn’t ordered us to let those punks go, Isaac couldn’t have taken a swing at you.”
Dominique’s fingertips touched his tense shoulder. She wanted to touch his face and crawl into his lap, but she wasn’t sure of her reception. Helping her didn’t mean he had forgiven her. “Isaac got the worst of it. Besides, she more than made up for it when she let you go.”
His dark eyes centered on her for a long moment. The doorbell rang again.
“I don’t think she’s leaving,” Dominique said.
Releasing her hand, Trent opened the door, then went back to sit beside Dominique and hold her hand. “The nurse said she should rest.”
Officer Blair’s expression didn’t change at the brusque statement. She took a seat across from them and flipped open a small spiral tablet. “Of course. I just need some information for my report. Why don’t we start with you, Sir?”
Trent gave the officer the info
rmation she requested, then it was Dominique’s turn. She wasn’t sure about the use of her assumed name, so she gave Everette as her professional name and Falcon as her legal name.
Trent tensed on hearing Falcon, but he didn’t release her hand. Officer Blair’s pen stilled, her head came up. Dominique could see realization dawning in her narrow, dark brown face.
Falcon wasn’t a common name, and when Daniel Falcon hit Houston several months before, the city and state took notice. They still did.
“Any relation to Daniel Falcon?”
“My brother.”
Officer Blair’s eyes widened, her fingers clenched on the pen. “Sorry about the punch the kid threw at you.”
“As I told Trent, you more than made up for it when you let him go.” Dominique smiled. “Thank you.”
The young woman’s shoulders relaxed. “If you can tell me what happened, I can let you rest.”
“There’s not very much to tell. I was leaving here, going back home, and Isaac came from behind the shrubbery by the side of the house and grabbed me. I screamed.”
Trent’s hand clenched in hers.
Officer Blair frowned. “You handled yourself well. How did he get a jump on you?”
Dominique glanced at Trent. “I was thinking of something else.”
“I see. That’s when Mr. Masters came out?”
“Yes.” This time it was Dominique who trembled.
The policewoman flipped the small notebook closed and stood. “I have all I need. An investigative officer will be assigned to the case and contact you.”
“I’ll be out of the studio tomorrow morning with a photo shoot,” she said.
“Dominique, you’re not going to work tomorrow,” Trent ordered.
Calm eyes turned to him. “I beg to differ.”
“I’ll show myself out. Don’t worry about Isaac. He finally made it to the big time with attempted kidnapping, and assault with a deadly weapon,” Officer Blair told them.
“What about Jessie?” Dominique asked, remembering the frightened boy.
“He’s underage, but he was an accessory. The court will decide.” The policewoman opened the door. “By the way, you’ve got some nice moves.”
