All She Ever Wanted

by Barbara Freethy

  Ellie hoped that Nancy would like her. While Ellie had had all the material things money could buy, what she'd never really had was a girlfriend. She hoped more than anything that Nancy would be the best friend she'd always wanted.

  Natalie drew in a sharp breath and closed the book, her heart racing as if she'd just finished a long-distance run. The names were changed, but the story was theirs. Fontana Gardens, the three-story dorm, was Paloma Gardens, named for the street on which it was located. Ellie was Emily. And Nancy was her. Their suite mates Maggie and Linda were Madison and Laura. And that first day in the dorm rooms still burned brightly in her memory. She'd been just as worried about meeting Emily as Emily had been about meeting her. And she knew what was going to happen next.

  She set the book the aside. She didn't have to read the next page. All she had to do was lay back and remember. She pulled the covers up to her neck, and stared up at the ceiling, suddenly afraid to close her eyes. Did she want to remember? Did she want to go back to Paloma Gardens, to Emily, to the day where it had all begun? Her eyes burned as she tried to keep them open, but the past was pulling her back. Her lids grew heavy, as she gave into the desire to see it all again.

  The dorm room was smaller than she'd imagined, the walls bare, begging for posters. A cheap-looking dresser sat next to each twin bed. This was it? Natalie wondered. This was college? She'd worked so hard to get here, holding down two, sometimes three jobs, as well as maintaining a straight-A average. And she'd ended up in a bedroom that didn't look much better than the one she'd shared with her mother in a run-down apartment in Los Angeles. But the room didn't matter.

  She was free. She was starting a new life, and she couldn't wait. This life would be different. No one would have to know where she came from or what she'd left behind. No one would have to meet her poor excuse for a mother, who was drunk more often than she was sober. No one would have to know that she'd taken a five-hour bus ride to get here, with no one to send her off or say good-bye.

  No one would know that she owned nothing more than what was contained in the two old suitcases now sitting next to one of the beds.

  She could be anything she wanted to be, and she wanted to be a doctor. She wanted to make her father proud. He'd told her that the one thing he'd always wanted was a college education. But his parents hadn't been able to afford it, so he'd taken a job as a truck driver. He'd told her it would be different for her. And it would be different, but not because of him. He'd died when she was eight years old. But his dream for her had continued to burn in her heart, despite her mother's best efforts to squelch it. That dream was beginning today. She just hoped her roommate, Emily Parish, wouldn't be a total freak or a big party girl. Natalie might have made it to college, but this was just the first step in her ten-year plan to become a doctor, and she would need somewhere to study.

  The door burst open and a girl came flying into the room with so much energy and sparkle that Natalie took an instinctive step backward. Wavy, long brown hair, laughing brown eyes, and an incredible smile. Emily Parish quite simply lit up the room.

  "Natalie Bishop?" Emily asked. "Are you my roommate?"

  Natalie nodded and said, "Yes" as Emily enveloped her in a big bear hug.

  "Wow. Can you believe we're here?" Emily asked when she finally let go.

  "Not really."

  "We are going to have the best time. I've been waiting for this day for so long. I can't even tell you."

  "Me, too," Natalie muttered, as Emily's parents entered the room. Richard and Janet Parish were the picture of rich sophistication infancy clothes and expensive jewelry. They were polite to Natalie, but she could see from their expressions that they were more than a little worried about leaving their daughter in the dorm. With the help of a few strong guys down the hall, Emily's belongings were unloaded. By the time they were done, there was barely room to turn around.

  "Don't worry," Emily whispered. "As soon as they leave, we'll have a garage sale."

  "You can't sell your stuff."

  "I didn't want to bring it all. They insisted. They're a little overprotective."

  Overprotective was right. Both Emily and Natalie received endless instructions about staying safe. Mrs. Parish pulled Natalie aside at the last minute and said, "Watch out for our Emily. She's an innocent She doesn't know what she doesn't know."

  Natalie promised she would, because there was no way she couldn't promise. Besides, she was used to watching out for her mother, and Emily couldn't possibly be as difficult as that.

  When the door closed behind the Parishes, Emily cranked up the newly connected stereo, jumped on her bed and began to dance, her long hair flying out behind her. "Come on," she said.

  "Are you kidding?" Natalie asked doubtfully. "We might break the beds."

  "So what? I don't know about you, but this is the first time in my life that I can do whatever I want to do. I have been waiting for this moment forever!"

  A moment later, Natalie found herself attempting some sort of a dance on her own bed. She couldn't remember ever doing anything so silly or so girlish. And that was the way Laura and Madison had found them when they'd walked through the connecting bathroom to meet their suite mates.

  Laura, a short and slightly overweight girl with dirty blond hair, offered them chocolate-chip cookies. Madison, a tall and thin blonde with a model's face and body, offered them some beer her boyfriend had stashed in her suitcase. Within minutes Emily had dubbed the four strangers the Fabulous Four. It was the beginning of a friendship meant to last a lifetime.

  It had only lasted a year and a half.

  Natalie's eyes flew open. She ran a hand across her wet cheeks, realizing she'd been crying. She'd closed off those memories for ten years, and now they were back. She didn't know whether to be furious or happy. With a sigh, she stared down at the book, flipping it over to gaze at the author's face. Garrett Malone. Who was he and how did he know so much about them?

  Emily couldn't have told him. Had someone else in the Parish family talked to him? It didn't make sense that they would. They were devastated by Emily's death. They wouldn't have wanted a book to be published about their daughter, especially not a piece of fiction, especially not a book about ... murder.

  Natalie's stomach turned over at the thought. Emily's death had been a tragic accident. She'd fallen off the rooftop deck during a party at the sorority house. Everyone knew that. If it had been anything else, Cole and his family would have made sure someone was punished. She needed to keep reading, to find out where the story was going. If the author was right about some of the stuff, was he right about Emily's death? Was there more to it than any of them had suspected? She opened the book and began to read.

  * * *

  Natalie woke up hours later to a persistent knocking on her door. She pulled a robe over her sweats and thin T-shirt and stumbled to the door, dimly aware that it was obviously morning and she'd managed only a couple hours of sleep. She expected to find Mrs. Bailey, her downstairs neighbor, who often dropped by with bagels on Saturday morning. Instead she found Cole.

  "Why did you walk out on me?" he demanded.

  "What?"

  "You heard me." He marched into her apartment with a determined look on his face.

  Wearing a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeve black knit sweater that emphasized his broad chest and muscular build, Cole was even more impressive than he'd been the night before in his suit and tie. Or maybe in casual clothes he just looked more like the guy she remembered, the man she'd fallen in love with.

  Shutting the door behind him, Natalie drew in a deep breath, telling herself to stay calm. Unfortunately, her racing heart and sweaty palms didn't seem to be paying attention. It had always been like this with Cole, an incredible physical attraction that made her feel like she was going up in smoke every time he looked at her. The chemistry between them should have disappeared by now. They'd certainly done their best to bury it. But it wasn't gone, and she had to keep her cool. "What are you
doing here?" she asked finally.

  "I want to know why you bailed on me last night."

  "You were in good hands, and I had another case."

  "That's a lie."

  "Fine. I didn't want to see you, and I certainly didn't think you wanted me to be your doctor. Was I wrong?"

  Emotion flickered in his dark eyes, but she couldn't tell what it was. Had he thought about her over the years? Had he wondered where she was, what she was doing, who she was doing it with? Or had he been able to forget her as he'd said he intended to do?

  Natalie ran her hands down the sides of her sweats, wishing she had on something more professional. Her feet were bare, and her toenails weren't even polished. She could definitely use a pair of shoes about now. She always felt taller and more in control when she had her shoes on.

  "You shouldn't have walked out on me," Cole said abruptly.

  "Why not? Did you want to walk out on me?" She saw the flash of annoyance cross his face and knew she was right. "How did you find me anyway?"

  "I run a newspaper. I can find anyone."

  He glanced around her studio apartment, probably noting the sparse furnishings, the secondhand couch, the wooden crate that held her TV and the matching crates that served as a coffee table. Her unmade bed was barely hidden behind the Oriental screen she'd picked up at a flea market. The only remotely inspiring pieces in her apartment were the movie posters on her walls. A longtime insomniac, she'd always found escape from the lonely hours of the night in old movies.

  She wouldn't apologize for her place. It had taken every cent she had to get herself through medical school and residency. She still had loans the size of Mount Everest to pay off. Secondhand furniture was the least of her worries. It wasn't as though she were home that often anyway. Or even as though she would be living in this apartment come next month. She had job offers elsewhere. Since running into Cole yesterday, she was leaning toward taking a job at the southern end of the state. She sat down on the arm of her sofa, watching Cole pace.

  He'd certainly grown into his looks, filling out his jeans in all the right places. His thick brown hair framed a face that was more ruggedly attractive than truly handsome. His square jaw spoke of his strength, passion, and sense of purpose. The crooked tip at the end of his nose reminded her that he had never been willing to let an errant baseball or a broken nose deter him from what he wanted when he wanted it. Cole was the kind of man who made a girl want to turn him from being a guy's guy into a girl's guy. She'd certainly tried.

  She wondered if Cole was married now or single. Then she recalled Josh's comment at the hospital that Cole's girlfriend had thrown a stapler at his head. If she'd wanted to maim him for life, she'd failed. The stitches on his forehead made him look like a wounded warrior, which was even more appealing. What woman could resist that?

  She could. She definitely could. And she would.

  When he didn't speak, she asked, "How's your head?" It was easier to act like a doctor than an old friend—if that's even what they were.

  "All right." His gaze sharpened as it met hers. "Why here, Natalie? Why San Francisco?"

  "I told you—"

  "There are good hospitals all over the country."

  That was true. "I thought enough time had passed that it wouldn't matter. I didn't believe anyone would care where I was, least of all you."

  "Well, I don't care."

  "That's what I thought." She threw every bit of bravado she had into those words and wished he would look somewhere else, but she'd be damned if she'd look away first. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Is that it?"

  "No. That isn't it." He paused. "You said something to me last night about a book and Emily. What was that about?"

  Damn. Why did he have to remember her comment? If he didn't know about the book, she didn't want to be the one to tell him. On the other hand, wasn't that the way it should happen? They'd been brought together by her friendship with Emily and ripped apart by Emily's tragic death. Their entire relationship from beginning to end was irrevocably tied to Emily. And here they were again. They'd come full circle. "I picked up a book last night after I heard the author on television. The story line sounded familiar."

  "What's it about?"

  "It's there if you want to take a look." She tipped her head toward her nightstand.

  Cole walked across the room, opened the book, and began to read the jacket copy. She doubted it would take long for his sharp brain to compute the facts. It didn't. His shoulders stiffened, and there was anger in his eyes when he looked at her. "What the hell is this? Fabulous Four ... sorority house ... pledge falls from the roof ... Ellie Parks?" His voice rose with each muttered word. "Is this about—Emily?" He looked at her as if she should know the answer, as if she were responsible somehow. He shook the book at her when she didn't immediately reply. "Is this about my sister?"

  "It looks that way."

  "I don't understand."

  "I don't either. I've only just started it, but the book is about four friends in college who call themselves the Fabulous Four. The characters' names are different, but they all start with the same letters as our names. The book suggests that the main character, Ellie," she said, deliberately using the character's name, "did not die in an accidental fall from the roof of her sorority house. Instead, the author believes that she was ..." Natalie drew in a deep breath, not sure she could say it.

  "That she was what?"

  "Murdered." The word shot out of her mouth like a bullet.

  It hit him straight in the heart. Cole put a hand to his chest. "That's impossible. The police conducted a thorough investigation. I saw the report. My father made sure every question was asked."

  "I know. It was an accident, a terrible accident. The book is trying to make it into something else."

  "Who did it?" he asked abruptly. "If it's a murder mystery, there must be a murderer. Who killed my sister?"

  "It's fiction, Cole. It's part truth, part fantasy. It's Emily's story, but it's not. It's pieces put together in a puzzle that doesn't make sense."

  "So tell me the name of the fictitious killer."

  "I don't know yet. I haven't finished it."

  "And you weren't curious enough to look ahead?"

  Actually, she was terrified to look ahead, because she didn't like the way things were lining up.

  "Who are the suspects?" he asked.

  "Madison, Laura, and me. The author seems to think one of us killed our best friend, but he's wrong. You know that, and I know that."

  "Do I? Do I know that?"

  "Of course you do," she said, truly shocked at his words. "We were friends, all of us. We loved Emily, and she loved us."

  A tense silence stretched between them for long, painful seconds. She knew Cole blamed her for letting Emily down, for not watching out for her the way she'd promised, but surely he couldn't believe that she would have ever intentionally hurt Emily.

  Finally, Cole looked back at the book in his hands. He flipped it over to stare at the author's photo. "Who is this guy?"

  "I have no idea. He must have talked to someone who knew us."

  He threw the book down on the coffee table with such force that she jumped. "I'm not going to let this happen."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Find Garrett Malone for starters. I have plenty of investigators on the newspaper payroll. I'm sure we can ferret out one best-selling author."

  "You won't need an investigator." She picked up the Tribune and leafed through the pages until she got to the entertainment section. "You might want to read your own newspaper once in a while." She handed it to him. "Apparently, there was also a review in last Sunday's paper. Don't you oversee what's printed?"

  "I don't spend time reading the book reviews," he snapped, taking the paper from her hand. "Garrett Malone will be signing copies of his novel, Fallen Angel, at the Page One Bookstore, Saturday, noon to two," he read. "He's right here in town." He looked at Natalie with a glint in his ey
e. "What time do you go to work?"

  "Three o'clock, why?"

  "We have a book signing to attend."

  "I don't want to go."

  "Sure you do. That's why you circled it." He handed her back the newspaper. "Don't you want to find out what's going on, Natalie?"

  Of course she did. She hadn't been able to think of anything else since she'd heard about the book. She just didn't want to spend more time with Cole. It was difficult to be with him, to look at his face, to hear his voice. Everything was coming back—all the feelings, the love, the hate, the emotions she'd shut off the last ten years.

  "Come with me," Cole urged.

  His words took her back to a time when she would have gone anywhere with him, said yes to anything he asked. That time was long gone, but still she wavered ...

  "If it's about Emily, you owe it to her to find out."

  "All right, I'll come," she said finally. The sooner they got to the bottom of this mystery the better. Then she could get back to her life. And Cole could get back to his.

  Chapter 3

  Come with me. What devil had possessed Cole to utter those words? He didn't want to spend time with Natalie. He still couldn't believe she'd been living in San Francisco the past few years. Had she come here in the hope of a reconciliation? If she had, why hadn't she tried to contact him? If she hadn't come back because of him, then she should have stayed away.

  He looked into his rearview mirror and saw Natalie's car behind his. The paint on the hood of her Ford Taurus was peeling, reminding him that she was a woman who had never had much in the way of material things. She'd always struggled to keep her head above water, and it appeared she was still struggling. But she was a doctor now. She'd made it, just like she said she would, and he couldn't help feeling a grudging admiration for that success. Not that he intended to tell her that. In fact, the less personal information they shared the better.

  He shouldn't have asked her to go with him to the book signing. He didn't need her. He was a trained journalist. He knew how to sniff out a story. Unfortunately, this story struck too close to home.