Night Mist
Page 20
She was going to collapse from relief and happiness. “You don’t hate me,” she whispered in wonder.
“It would be a lot simpler if I could. What you did was dangerous, stupid and dead, dead wrong, but…Ah, jeez, Rachel,” he groaned. “Come here.”
She flung herself into his arms and held on for dear life, absorbing his trembling as he absorbed her. But it wasn’t enough. For him, either, she learned a few seconds later when he began covering her face, her throat, her hair with desperate kisses until she was dizzy with their combined passion, so dizzy she barely felt the gun he still held crushing into her back.
“I love you. I love you. I love you,” she cried over and over.
“Don’t stop saying it.”
Never, she thought, grateful for him to even want to hear it. She wouldn’t let him know that it hurt a little not to hear it back. It was enough to be held, to be wanted, forgiven. And then she glanced over his shoulder and remembered the seconds before he’d shot Wade Maddox. The night looked different now, and she knew why. A deeper sadness filled her.
“What is it?” Joe asked, leaning back to study her face.
She didn’t get to answer. From behind them came the sound of running, a cautious pause, and then a man said, “Put the gun down, son. Real slow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“They had to call in the FBI,” Joe explained to her in a hushed voice as she sat stiffly in Adorabella’s parlor and watched the two men talking across the room with one of the policemen who’d been at the scene. “This situation falls under federal domain.”
“They all look and act like clones,” she replied ungenerously.
Ever since they’d arrived from their office in Baton Rouge, they’d done their best to keep her and Joe apart. She’d especially disliked how, once they’d found out who her parents were, they’d offered to call her father for her and get her on the next plane back to the East Coast. They’d said, “I’m sure your minimal part in this can be handled through the Washington office, Miss Gentry.” And their eyes had been alight with the hope that their care would garner them at least a letter for their files.
“It’s Dr. Gentry,” she’d corrected, and had left them to Joe ever since.
She’d spent much of the time apologizing to Adorabella and Jewel for causing so much commotion at this hour. The entire Nooton police department was here now. Mr. Bernard, too, having drifted down in his robe looking a little dazed but interested. In fact the only person missing was Celia Nichols—not that anyone had found that a revelation.
What had been fascinating was watching Joe handle the other law enforcement people. They’d wanted to establish an impression of authority from the beginning—and to let him know in no uncertain terms that his maverick behavior wasn’t amusing in the least. Most of all that he’d nearly given Gideon Garth and his affiliates a straight shot to freedom…and more power.
Through it all, Joe held firm. “I’ve done my job,” he said coldly. “You do yours.”
The two of them hadn’t had an opportunity to talk much in the past three and a half hours, but that coldness had seemed to transfer itself to her whenever she felt his gaze. She wanted to tell him he needn’t worry, that she would cooperate in every way she could, and that she wouldn’t let anyone know he’d threatened her at one point…or that very soon afterward they’d become lovers. Wouldn’t everyone have a field day with that information? In a way she couldn’t blame them; it hardly seemed sane to her.
A week—three days, actually—and they’d gone from being strangers to intense intimacy. Of course, it was strange. She didn’t even know when his birthday was. And what was his favorite food? Had he ever made angels on a beach at dawn?
But she did know he’d been trying—and succeeding—in the most desperate days of his life to give up cigarettes. That he liked to watch her when he thought she didn’t notice. Sweet heaven…that he liked to fall asleep with his hand covering her breast. Not much of a life preserver, she thought as the phone shrilled again.
Joe crouched before her, but was careful to avoid any contact. “They want us to go to Baton Rouge. Depositions and stuff. And…okay, I won’t lie to you, they think we’d be safer there. Even though they’ll be picking up Garth soon, he has his supporters.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“We either go willingly or unwillingly.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“I know this is going to add to your problems at the clinic…”
His tone was apologetic and patient and nothing like what she’d heard since the first moments after life had gone upside down on the bridge. “I’ll have to call Sammy,” she said, adopting a matter-of-fact tone herself. “And it’ll only take me a few minutes to pack. But you know that, don’t you?”
She made the call. As she expected, he was already at the clinic. When he learned what had happened, he wanted to come over.
“No, don’t. We’re leaving in a few minutes, anyway.”
“I feel like a pig. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was…complicated.”
“When will you be back? Will you be back?”
She hadn’t thought of that and relied on her new standby— “I don’t know.”
“Look, Rachel. We’ll work around it. If you need time, you’ve got it. If you want a transfer, you’ve got that, too. I just wish I’d guessed the magnitude—”
“Sammy, you’ve been the best.” She felt tears rising again and had to cut the call short. “I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.” As soon as she hung up the phone, she raced upstairs.
She needed space, privacy from the boring eyes, and to pack.
But once in her room, she began to shake again. It wasn’t a reassuring sign. Brutally, she dug deep and demanded control.
She would get through this. She would do and be all Joe needed her to be, and then she would worry about getting her own life back in order.
Light from the window drew her. She walked to it, noticing it would be dawn shortly. A different dawn this time. The sun would rise over Black Water Creek Bridge, turning the sky pink and lavender, then orange and finally gold. The fog was dissipating. It was wonderful news except that its passing meant someone she’d grown very close to would be going, too.
Her door opened. She quickly went to the night-stand and checked a drawer, knowing full well she’d never put anything there.
“Are you all right?” Joe asked, shutting the door softly behind him.
“Sure. It won’t take me a minute.”
“Do you need to talk? To ask me anything?”
“No. I’m fine.”
But he obviously wasn’t convinced. As she headed for her closet and her suitcase, he stopped her.
“You’re no more fine than I am.” He drew her into his arms and pressed his cheek to her hair. “You’re exhausted and confused and worried what the future holds, because we came to some edge of the world a few hours ago. Rachel…it’s changed us forever.”
Unable to keep from yielding to her need, she held him as she longed to. “We can’t tell them about the bridge and the fog, though, can we?”
“No. No, we can’t.”
“Then tell me. You saw him, I think. In the end, you saw him, didn’t you?”
“Rachel…”
“Didn’t you?”
“Yes. And I’ll never admit that again to anyone, Rachel, do you understand? Because I can’t. Except to you.”
It was enough. It had to be enough. “All right.”
He went still and seemed to sense her strange mood. Stepping back slightly, he studied her soberly and asked, “Why does it feel as though you’re slipping away from me?”
“You’re tired.”
“I love you, Rachel.”
She hadn’t been expecting that. Considering that a few hours ago it was all she’d been hoping to hear, it gave her hope.
“Do you understand what I’m saying? Wanting?”
Wanting? This ti
me she had to shake her head. “No.”
“I have no right to ask you to change your life again after all you’ve been through. I don’t know what trouble it could raise asking for a transfer, considering I’m not even sure I still have a job or if you’d even want to….”
“A transfer?”
He swore under his breath. “Rachel, I’m trying to ask you to marry me. To come to Houston with me.”
“Then do.”
It was that simple. That strange. That exciting.
“Marry me.”
“Yes.”
He stared at her as though she hadn’t answered at all, and then burst into laughter, hugging her and kissing her. “I should have known you’d be able to simplify it. God…say it again.”
“Yes. And yes, and yes.”
He kissed her for all three, and then he added another long, draining kiss just because he said he needed the taste of her to get him through the next several hours, until they could be alone again in the privacy of a hotel room. Strangely enough, it made her stronger than she’d been feeling in hours.
He needed her…and she needed him. It was almost perfect.
A half hour later, with their suitcases in the trunk of the conservative FBI sedan, they said goodbye to Adorabella and Jewel.
Rachel kissed Adorabella on her withered, rose-scented cheek. “Would you like to host a wedding in a few days?” she whispered in the old woman’s ear.
Years vanished from the old woman’s face. “Something intimate but lively?”
“That will do.”
“Oh, I’d love to. I’ll talk to Jewel about something special for the punch.”
“Do that,” Rachel said, turning to her housekeeper.
They faced each other soberly. Slowly, dry smiles inched free on both of their mouths. “You know, you’re not as scary as you think you are,” she told her.
“Then I need to try harder…Doctor.”
Rachel grinned and hugged her. “We’ll talk again soon.”
“I’ll be here.”
Joe escorted her into the back seat of the FBI car, and soon they were making their way up the driveway and turning onto the bridge. As she’d expected, the sun turned the sky apricot and tangerine.
She was so grateful for the second chance, the happiness she and Joe were being offered. So why was she dreading this crossing? No matter how hard she tried, she knew the moment they finished crossing the bridge, she would feel a part of herself lost forever.
She had to bite her lip as they approached that spot, clench her hands, but she couldn’t resist looking out the window. She couldn’t resist reaching out to touch the glass, and mouthing, “Goodbye.”
A larger hand covered hers. Wonderfully warm, reassuringly confident. And a deep, smiling voice murmured, “Hey, Bright Eyes, it’s okay. I’m here.”
She spun around. Bright Eyes? Bright Eyes? Tears blinded her, but she knew where she was reaching.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered, “I know, Joe. Oh, God, I know.”
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6266-2
NIGHT MIST
Copyright © 1993 by Helen R. Myers
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