Remy hadn’t seen it, either. Again, it would have been obvious if he’d known where to look. He’d been right about Sylvia having a lover, but he hadn’t predicted she would follow the same pattern that she’d followed with him. She preferred edgy, physical men over the refined country club types. She liked secrecy. She got an added thrill from sneaking around.
And what better way to titillate her sense of adventure than to have a brazen, daylight affair with a cop? Especially one who had a personal grudge against her husband.
Except this time her affair hadn’t worked out the way she had anticipated. The entries in Sylvia’s diary detailed her growing uneasiness with her lover’s escalating possessiveness. Sibley’s hatred of Remy was irrational. He regarded stealing Remy’s wife—and fathering her child—as payback. His rage when he’d learned of her abortion had frightened her. This was no longer a pleasant diversion. In her final diary entry, Sylvia had written about planning to meet Sibley one last time so she could break off their affair.
Was that why he had killed her? Probably. The diary alone made a strong case against him, but so did the material the police found at his house. It was bound to come out at Sibley’s trial. Dana didn’t really care about the details, as long as Remy was exonerated.
Dana kept her face averted as she walked past the policeman who was sitting outside Remy’s room. According to Derek and that lawyer friend of his, she shouldn’t be here. Until Remy’s conviction was overturned, he was still guilty in the eyes of the law. Continuing her association with him, as Packard put it, wouldn’t help her chances of having the charges against her dismissed.
But it had been three days. She had to see him, even if it was only a glimpse through his door. She had to see for herself that he was doing as well as the nurses had told Derek. She wanted to make sure he knew he’d soon be free…
Free to leave.
Her eyes filled. She reached into her pocket for a tissue—she never went anywhere these days without a good supply. Stopping at the end of the corridor, she wiped her eyes, then sat in one of the ugly orange vinyl chairs that were grouped under the window and fixed her gaze on the door of Remy’s room.
The main thing was, Remy was alive. And he’d soon be happy. He’d have everything that he wanted.
And she still had a book to finish.
Well, that cabin at Half Moon Bay hadn’t turned out to be such a great, distraction-free place to work after all, had it? Where would she have to go next time? Did any of her relatives own desert islands?
She wasn’t sure how long she waited. She had gone through three more tissues by the time the door swung open. The policeman guarding the door sprang to his feet as Packard walked out. They had exchanged only a few words before the small man in the camel-hair coat caught sight of Dana. He pursed his lips and gestured to her with an imperious flick of his fingers.
Dana hurried forward. “How is he? Is something wrong?”
Packard sighed. “Miss Whittington, I specifically advised you not to come here. But it’s just as well. This will save time.”
“What happened?” she asked, glancing at the door, wishing she could see through it. “You never answered my question. Is he all right?”
“Acting as Mr. Leverette’s attorney, I’m obliged to carry out his instructions. I was just informing this officer that my client has requested to be allowed a particular visitor.”
The policeman smothered a yawn as he turned to look at her. “You’re Dana Whittington?”
She nodded.
“Hold out your arms.”
She complied immediately.
He patted the sides of her coat, then reached beneath it to pat her thighs, her hips and under her arms. He stepped back and tipped his head toward the door. “Go ahead. I’ll stay right here, so just yell if you need—”
She didn’t wait for the rest of what he was going to say. That was all she needed. She pushed open the door and slipped inside.
A long, thin fluorescent light fixture on the wall was the room’s only illumination. Stark shadows flanked the utilitarian hospital furniture. There was only one bed.
Remy was lying against the pillows, his face almost as pale as the sheets. A blue hospital gown barely stretched across his chest. Metal gleamed at his wrist. He was handcuffed to the bed.
Something grabbed at her heart and squeezed. She had known he’d been in prison, but the reality of what he must have endured didn’t strike her fully until right now. The sight of him alone, helpless, shackled, was obscene.
He turned his head toward the door. “And while you’re at it, Packard, see what you can find out—” His words cut off as his eyes met hers. He stared. “Dana?”
She clasped her hands in front of her. They were shaking. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to speak past the lump in her throat. She moved to the foot of the bed.
He grasped the rails on either side of him and levered himself up. His lips thinned as he breathed hard through his nose a few times, but his gaze didn’t leave her face. “How… I only told Packard a minute ago.”
“I was outside. I…” She paused, not knowing what to say now that she was here.
So she simply looked at him, feeling the void his absence had made slowly begin to fill. He was going to be all right, she told herself. Despite his pale cheeks, his gaze was bright. Despite the trembling in his arms, his muscles were still strong. And she loved him so much her knees were buckling.
“Packard told me you found the diary,” Remy said.
“Yes. Morty helped.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It was Sibley.”
“Yes, I know. He was arrested this morning.”
“I can’t believe it’s over.”
She wouldn’t cry, she told herself. She wouldn’t have him remember her that way. “Almost,” she said.
“Have you seen Chantal?”
“Yes. She’s fine.”
“Does she…” A muscle flicked in his cheek. “Does she know about me?”
“Marjory promised she would tell her, when you’re cleared.”
His knuckles whitened where he gripped the rails. “I’m still trying to take it in.”
“Me, too.” She saw the controls for the bed on his right and realized the way he was restrained wouldn’t allow him to reach them. She moved to his side and pressed the button that would raise the head of the mattress.
He leaned back slowly, then let go of the railing and held out his hand toward her as far as the chain at his wrist would allow.
With a sob she laced her fingers with his.
At the touch of his skin, a sensation of completeness blossomed in her soul. She felt the calluses on his palms, the strength in his grip…and the indefinable bond that had sparked between them the very first time she had held his hand.
What was she doing? she asked herself. What had happened to the noble sacrifice she had been willing to make for his happiness? He was alive, he was going to be free. For the past three days she’d told herself that was all that mattered. If she really loved him, she would let him go.
Like hell she would let him go.
She pressed their joined hands to her breasts and looked into his face.
His eyes were shining with an emotion that took her breath away. “Dana, I want to talk about afterward.”
“Afterward?”
“After I’m exonerated, after I get my freedom and my daughter back.” He swallowed. He brushed his knuckles against her breasts. “I know this isn’t the best time or place, and I know I’m not in the greatest shape, but I thought I would have to wait twenty-five years to say this, and I don’t plan to wait another second.”
There wasn’t enough air in the room. There wasn’t enough space in her chest for the love that was swelling in her heart.
He lifted his free hand to her face. His fingers shook as they whispered over her cheek. “Dana, I don’t want you to leave.”
“You don�
�t?”
“When I get out, I want you to stay with me. Or I’ll stay with you. I don’t care where, as long as you don’t leave. Ever.”
“Oh, Remy, I’m not going anywhere. You can’t make me.”
His lips curved into a smile. “Seems I’ve heard that before.”
“Probably.”
He slid his hand into her hair and cupped the back of her neck. “I love you, Dana. I can’t picture my future without you in it. Will you marry me?”
The joy that burst over her was so fast, so deep, so huge, it made her gasp. She braced her hand on the pillow beside his head and leaned toward him. “I love you, Remy. You. Don’t ever doubt that.”
He pulled her closer, showing her his love with a kiss that left no room for doubts. Although there still was a shackle on his wrist, the bars around his heart were gone for good.
Epilogue
Remy heard the voices from the bedroom before he reached the doorway. Good, he wasn’t too late. It had taken him longer than he’d figured to get back from the new job site. If work kept going this well, he’d have to hire a second shift.
It had been a challenging six months. After he had been released and the charges against Dana had been dropped, he’d begun to rebuild his life. It had been as difficult as he’d thought to establish another business, but Dana’s cousin had been a big help. It had taken a while for Derek Johansen to warm to him, but once he had, Derek had been as supportive as his father had been fifteen years ago when he’d built the Half Moon Bay resort.
Sylvia’s parents were another matter. They had spent more than a year believing Remy had killed their daughter, so he couldn’t expect them to change overnight. They were making an effort to be fair, though, and he had no intention of keeping them away from their grandchild. He knew only too well how hard it was to trust someone again.
Thank God Dana had shown him how. He smiled, leaned a shoulder against the door frame and watched as the nightly ritual unfolded.
“And the brave leader of the pirate mice threw down his sword. His work was done.” Dana waited while Chantal turned the page. “The lazy rats would steal no more food. They would be too busy harvesting the corn that Mortimer planted.”
Chantal leaned forward to pet Morty. The cat curled up on the quilt, settled his head on his paws and purred smugly, as if taking credit for his namesake’s deeds.
Dana chuckled, then lifted her arm so that Chantal could snuggle underneath once more. They were on Chantal’s bed, their heads propped against a mound of frilly pillows that Dana had bought last week. A doll was tucked into the bed beside them and a pair of roller skates dangled from the footboard. Remy’s gaze wandered to the framed prints on the walls and the overflowing bookcase, more of Dana’s contributions to his and his daughter’s life.
But the cheerful room, the house they had found together last month, all the positive changes she had brought couldn’t compare to what she gave so freely every day.
Love. It was there in her eyes, her voice and her touch. It made the future shimmer like gold.
“And then what happened?” Chantal asked, although she knew the story by heart.
“John and Mortimer made a promise to always be friends. They jumped into their ships and sailed to the island of pirate mice.” Dana turned to the last page and leaned her cheek against the top of Chantal’s head. “The entire village was at the pier to meet the ships. There were fireworks and marching bands and ice cream and cake for everyone.”
Remy pushed away from the doorway and walked into the room, saying the last line himself. “And then John lifted his daughter onto his shoulders and danced all the way home.”
“Hi, Daddy!” Chantal said, her face lighting up as she held out her arms.
“Hello, Remy.” Dana smiled. “Welcome home.”
Remy felt his chest expand. Sometimes it took him unawares, this love he felt. He put his arms around both of them, hanging on until his breathing steadied. Then he tucked his daughter into her bed and carried his wife to theirs.
And afterward, as he was drifting to sleep, he marveled yet again at the wonder of it all. Somehow this incredible woman he had married had created the best happy ending in history.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0369-3
FUGITIVE HEARTS
Copyright © 2001 by Ingrid Caris
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