Nowhere to Run

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Emily, damn it, give me a chance to—”

  “You had your chance seven years ago, Detective.”

  Emily scooped her beach bag from the floor, and her car keys from the table, and headed for the front door. But Jim got there first. He blocked it. It was clear he had no intention of letting her leave.

  He was still naked, and still oblivious to that fact. But Emily wasn’t oblivious. He was much too gorgeous. Every last inch of him was lean, well-toned muscle—muscle that rippled beneath his skin as he moved. It was distracting. Distracting and disturbing, because it made her realize she still wanted him. Despite the fact that they’d made love not more than a few minutes ago, despite the fact that he was making a mockery of her most treasured hope, despite the fact that she’d made a first-class fool of herself by giving in to his lust and her own wishful thinking…Despite all those things, she knew that if she stayed here much longer she’d end up back in his arms. Back down on the floor with him. Or on the dining table. Or up on the kitchen counter. Or wherever and whenever else he wanted her…

  He gestured toward his clothes and his wallet, still scattered on the floor. “Then what just happened here?” he asked hotly. “If you weren’t giving me a second chance, then what the hell were we just doing?”

  Emily turned away, heading for the sliding glass doors that led to her tiny deck.

  Jim followed, only a step behind. “Explain it to me, damn it!” he said, even louder. “What were we just doing?”

  “We were having casual sex,” Emily said, her voice shaking. “All right? That’s all it was.”

  Jim shook his head. “No. No way. I know you. You don’t have casual sex.”

  Emily laughed humorlessly as she slid open the glass door. “I’m not an eighteen-year-old virgin anymore,” she said, going out onto the deck and looking over the rail. There was about a twelve-foot drop to the ground. She wouldn’t get out of here that way.

  She went back inside. Jim was frowning, staring at her as if she’d just announced she would be taking a trip to the moon.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. His voice was suddenly much softer, but no less intense. “Are you telling me—? When we first made love…you were a virgin?”

  Emily stepped past him. He didn’t block her route to the door. He didn’t even move. He just turned and watched her, that incredulous look on his face, waiting for her to answer him.

  But she didn’t. She didn’t say a word. She hadn’t meant for him to find out. She hadn’t talked about it seven years ago, and she had no intention of discussing it now. Emily opened the door and went out onto the landing, heading for the stairs that led down to the parking lot.

  Jim moved then, sprinting after her. “Emily, wait! God, I didn’t know—”

  But she didn’t stop. She didn’t even slow down.

  Halfway to the stairs, Jim realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes. He swore, and dashed back into Emily’s apartment. He jumped into his shorts and ran after her, taking the stairs two at a time as he fastened the top button.

  But when he reached the parking lot, Emily’s car was already gone.

  Thanks a lot. It was a blast.

  For the first time, the impact of what he’d done to Emily seven years ago hit him square in the face.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SANIBEL ISLAND was in an entirely different world, an entirely different Florida. Though it was only a few dozen miles down the Gulf Coast, it seemed to Emily as if it were a million light-years away. It was a tropical island, connected to the mainland by a toll bridge. Once over that bridge, everything moved more slowly, the air smelled mysterious and thick with tropical flowers, and the plants and underbrush seemed more green and lush, like a jungle on the verge of reclaiming the sidewalks and streets. Where the road wound between two particularly swampy areas, Alligator Crossing signs were posted.

  When Emily first came to Sanibel, she had thought those signs were just a corny joke. But after seeing one or two of the giant reptiles at the side of the road, and after coming face-to-snout with one in her parents’ backyard, she knew that Alligator Crossing meant Alligator Crossing.

  The entire island was a throwback to Florida’s past. Early in the island’s development, rules had been set prohibiting the building of structures higher than a certain number of feet. The result was condos and hotels that were hidden from the beaches, instead of towering above the sand, blocking out the sun.

  Emily sat in front of her parents’ beach house, watching the sun set across the Gulf of Mexico. It was beautiful. The sky was a blaze of oranges and pinks and reds, the colors swirling together and reflecting off the water. The beach had been close to empty for most of the day, due to the heat, but now it was totally deserted, as the few people who had braved the burning sun had gone inside for dinner.

  This was Emily’s favorite time to be on the beach. She was alone, save for the birds that floated overhead and occasionally dived after the fish that swam in the crystal stillness of the water. Shadows were long, and the brilliant blues of the sky and the sea were muted, softened by the red-orange shades of the sunset.

  Emily sat there, on her favorite beach in the world, at her favorite time of day, and still she felt lousy.

  And the depressing thing was, she didn’t see herself feeling any better anytime in the near future.

  She hadn’t slept more than a few hours last night. Whenever she’d closed her eyes, she could feel Jim Keegan’s touch, feel the heat of his mouth, the gentleness of his strong hands. When she finally fell asleep, she’d dreamed she was back in his arms, making love to him.

  He’d hit the nail right on the head with his comment about casual sex. Emily didn’t take sex lightly. She wouldn’t make love to someone she didn’t care deeply about. And she cared about Jim. Reprimanding herself and telling herself that she was a fool to be taken in by the same man twice was all well and good, but it didn’t change the way she felt.

  It had taken every ounce of her control not to cry yesterday morning after they made love, when Jim had told her so casually that he loved her. It had taken all her strength not to burst into tears at his words. How had he known to say that? Somehow he’d figured out the one thing to say that would hurt her the most. His lightly spoken words of love made a mockery of her own devastating feelings. She knew damn well that he didn’t love her.

  But she loved him. She really loved him. She’d set out to uncover the real James Keegan, hoping to find someone she would dislike, someone selfish and uncaring and cruel, someone more bad than good. Instead, she’d found this man. He wasn’t the perfect superhero she’d thought him to be back when she was eighteen. He was human, with a whole array of human strengths and weaknesses, a curious mixture of good and bad, with the good often outweighing the bad. He was not perfect, and somehow his imperfections made her love him all the more.

  If only he could mean it when he told her he loved her, too.

  Emily pulled her knees in close to her chest, and rested her head on her arms, letting a tear escape. It trickled down her cheek to her chin, and plopped down into the sand between her feet. It was just one of a thousand tears she’d shed because of Jim Keegan. Emily sighed. One tear or an ocean of tears—it didn’t matter. Crying wouldn’t change the fact that she’d never have what she truly wanted. She’d never have Jim’s love. She’d never have his real, true, honest love. Sure, she could have his automatic words, spoken in response to an intensely sensual physical joining, but those words were meaningless.

  “Emily.”

  Startled, Emily lifted her head, then scrambled to her feet.

  Jim.

  He was standing only a few feet away from her, his lean face shadowed in the soft light of dusk. He looked different somehow, and Emily realized he was wearing his hair pulled austerely back in a ponytail. His face seemed more angular, more rugged.

  He was wearing a short-sleeved button-down shirt carefully tucked into a clean pair of jeans. It was obvious that he’d taken some p
ains with his appearance. But why? Because he was nervous about seeing her again? If he was that nervous, why would he even bother to come?

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, keeping her voice even.

  “It didn’t take much to track you down, you know?” he said, his familiar, husky voice blending with the gentle hush of the surf. “I figured you’d either head down here or fly up to Connecticut.” He pushed his hands into his front pockets, kicking at the sand with the toe of one boot. He glanced up at her, his eyes catching the last of the light from the fading sky. “You scared me when you didn’t come home last night, Em.”

  Home. The way he said it made it sound as if it were their home, as if they shared it together.

  Emily didn’t answer. What could she say? She had no intention of apologizing.

  He sighed and took a step toward her. “Look, Em—”

  She took a step back, away from him, and he stopped.

  “You’ve found me,” she said. “I’m safe, you can stop worrying.” She looked out at the glistening ocean. “Now, if you don’t mind, I came here to be alone.”

  “I do mind,” Jim said, taking another step forward. Again she stepped away from him, and he gritted his teeth to keep from cursing. “I came here because we need to talk.”

  She stood there, so cool and serene. He only caught the slightest trace of something flickering in her eyes when she turned to look back at him. But it might’ve only been his imagination, or maybe a reflection of the sunset.

  “I have nothing to say,” she told him.

  He tried to keep his hurt from showing in his voice, and instead his words came out with a sarcastic-sounding edge. “You have nothing to say to me at all?” he said. “Nothing? Well, that’s just great. You make love to me as if the world were coming to an end. And if that’s not enough to totally blow my mind, as you’re walking out the door, you let slip the fact that seven years ago, I took your virginity.” He exhaled loudly in disbelief. “Honey, we got truckloads to talk about here.”

  Her expression didn’t change. “You took something from me far more valuable than my virginity,” Emily said in a low voice. “But what happened between us seven years ago is over and done. Talking about it won’t change anything.”

  He took another step toward her. “I need you to know why I…split up with you the way I did,” Jim said.

  This time she stood her ground. But anger and hurt flared in her eyes, cracking her calm facade. “Believe me, you made that more than clear at the time.” She turned and started toward the house. “I’d like you to leave now.”

  Jim caught her arm just as she went up the steps to the wide wooden porch. “I thought you deserved someone better than me,” he said, determined to make her listen. “I thought if we stayed together, I thought if you married me, you’d end up hurt.”

  “Married?” Emily laughed, then wrenched her arm free, her smile quickly fading. “You had no intention of marrying me, and you know it.”

  “You’re right,” Jim said. “I had no intention of marrying you.”

  She turned away again, and he reached for her, to stop her, but she jerked her hand out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me!”

  Jim held up his hands, as if in surrender. “I won’t,” he said. “I won’t, all right? But you’ve got to listen, Em. Give me a chance here—”

  “Why should I?” Her calm coolness was gone at last. She stood there, trembling with anger and emotion.

  “Because even though I didn’t marry you, even though I didn’t ask you—God, Emily, I wanted to. It was crazy, you were only eighteen, but I wanted to marry you. I wanted you.”

  “Yeah, well, you got me,” Emily said hotly. “Twice. So now you can just leave me alone.”

  She reached for the screen door, but Jim was ahead of her. He pressed one palm against it, keeping it tightly shut.

  “I was in love with you, damn it,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Again, Emily laughed, but she had tears in her eyes, angry tears that threatened to overflow. “You were in love with me,” she repeated. “And because you loved me, you broke my heart?” She shook her head. “You are so full of—”

  “You gotta let me explain—”

  “You keep saying that! ‘Give me a chance, let me explain….’ Well, why? Give me just one good reason—”

  “Because, damn it, seven years ago, you loved me, too.”

  He was standing there, his features shadowy and mysterious in the rapidly fading dusk. His mouth was a grim line, his jaw was stiff and unyielding. And his eyes…More gray than blue in the growing darkness, his eyes were filled with tears.

  “Please,” he whispered. He didn’t seem to notice as one tear escaped and made a gleaming trail down his face. “Just hear me out. That’s all I’m asking, Emily. Just listen to what I have to say. Then…I’ll go.”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  Jim took a deep breath, relief making his knees suddenly feel weak. Emily was going to listen to him. She was giving him a chance to explain. He sat down on the porch, just sat right there on the wooden floor and leaned back against the house. He wiped his face in the crook of his arm, surprised to feel the moisture of his tears. God, had he actually been crying? Funny, he hadn’t noticed. He must be in one hell of an emotional state, when the only way he could tell if he was crying or not was to check whether his face was wet.

  He took another deep breath. “This story starts before I met you,” he said, glancing up at Emily.

  She was still standing, her arms crossed tightly in front of her.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” he interrupted himself to ask.

  “Yes.”

  He could barely make out her face in the darkness, but he knew enough not to argue. She was listening, and that was all he could ask for.

  “Eight years ago,” he said, trying to find the words that would explain, that would make her understand what he’d been carrying around all those years before—what he was still carrying around. “I was twenty-four years old, working for the New York Police Department. I’d just made detective, everything was perfect. I was living in Brooklyn, in an apartment in my brother Bob’s house. Bob and Molly’s house…He was, you know, married. They had a little baby, a little girl, Shannon. I was an uncle for the first time. Bob had a great job, and they really didn’t need the rent from the apartment, but he was my big brother. Even though we were both grown-up, he was still looking out for me.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, everything was perfect. The neighborhood wasn’t the greatest, but that was okay, because, you know, I was a cop. Everyone knew I was with the twelfth precinct.” He laughed. “I think everyone’s property values went up just a little bit the minute I moved in. I’m not bragging—that’s just the way those neighborhoods are.” He laughed again. “Of course, Bob used to say that the property value would’ve gone up a whole lot higher if I’d been working for the mob.”

  Emily listened, staring out at where the ocean glimmered and gleamed, sparkling through the darkness like a living blanket of reflected light. Jim’s husky New York accent seemed to thicken as he spoke, as if he had somehow been pulled back into the past.

  “It was summer,” he said, “and I was working with a team assigned to try to stop gang violence. Some of these kids were thirteen years old, walking around with automatic weapons, blowing away other kids because they were wearing the wrong colors. At the same time, there were members of the same gangs that were in their forties. I helped lock up some of the older members of this one gang, and they—”

  Emily heard him shifting his position, and she glanced toward him. She could barely see him as he ran his hands up through his hair. He cleared his throat—a sudden loud noise in the darkness.

  “The gang retaliated,” he said. “They found out where I lived. They drove by my house as I was getting home from work, and they blew me away. Except they made a mistake. It wasn’t me they killed. No, those sons of bitches didn’t k
ill me.” His voice shook, but he didn’t stop. “They killed Bob. They killed my brother. They gunned him down like a dog in the street.”

  Emily made a sound, a small sound from the shadows that told Jim he had her attention. She was listening. As he watched, she slowly sat down on the edge of a wooden lounge chair.

  “Eight years, Em,” he said quietly. “It happened eight years ago, and it still hurts as much as if it happened only yesterday.”

  Inside the beach house, an automatic light clicked on and shone out through the window, illuminating them. Emily was watching him, her eyes reflecting the pain that he knew was etched on his face.

  “Molly never forgave me,” he said. “She said she did, she said it wasn’t my fault, but I knew she hated me for it. God, I hated myself. I couldn’t look Molly—or my mother—in the eye. I still can’t face my mother. I haven’t talked to her in years. She calls me every few months, leaves a message on my answering machine, but I still can’t bear to call her back.”

  Jim looked up, unable to hold Emily’s gaze in the dim light. His eyes looked tortured, and his face was lined with despair. “I still sometimes hate myself,” he whispered.

  “I’m sorry,” Emily murmured.

  “There’s more,” Jim said, his voice harsh. “It gets worse.”

  Worse than his brother dying? Emily tried to imagine feeling responsible for her brother Danny’s death, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even imagine how awful that would be. The thought of Danny dead, his quick smile and his cheery “Hey, kiddo” gone forever, was awful enough.

  “I wasn’t assigned to the case,” Jim said, “you know, to find Bob’s killers. They wouldn’t let me handle it, I was too involved. But I wanted to find those bastards. I wanted to find them and—So I kept on top of the investigation. There were witnesses who ID’d the shooter and the driver of the car. We knew who they were, we just had to find them. But New York’s a big city, and these guys didn’t want to be found.”