Passion and Peril: Scenes of PassionScenes of Peril

by Suzanne Brockmann

  LADEN WITH FILES, Maggie staggered back into her office at five o’clock the next afternoon after a six-hour meeting with a client.

  She pulled the wad of phone messages off her spiked message holder with a sigh, taking them with her into the former closet that was her office. She closed the door, dumped the files in the only other chair in the room, and, sitting at her desk, spread the message slips on the desk in front of her.

  Brock had already called twice. Seven of the messages were from clients she knew, three were names she didn’t recognize.

  There was a brand-new pile of files on her desk, with a casually scrawled note atop saying, “Deal with these before tomorrow, will you?”

  Oh, yeah, sure. No problem—if she stayed here at the office until midnight.

  Maggie let her head fall forward onto the desk. “I hate this job,” she whispered, wishing she were brave enough to say it loudly enough for either Andersen or Brenden to hear.

  There was a knock on her office door.

  Maggie lifted her head. This was where he’d make the scene. Her jungle man. She’d say, “Come in,” and the door would open and he’d be standing there, just looking at her with those golden-green eyes.

  He’d step inside and close the door behind him and say, “Ready to go?”

  And she wouldn’t hesitate. She’d say, “Yes.”

  And he’d smile and hold out his hand and she’d stand up and slip her fingers into his and...

  The door opened a crack and Janice Greene, the firm’s receptionist, peeked in. “You are still here.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Maggie said. “I’m still here.”

  “You missed one,” Janice told her, handing her the phone-message slip.

  “Thanks,” Maggie said as Janice went back out the door. She glanced down at the slip and... “Whoa, wait a minute, please— Didn’t he leave a number?”

  Matthew Stone, read the slip in Janice’s neat handwriting.

  “He said you would know it,” Janice said. “I’m sorry, I should have—”

  “No,” Maggie said. “It’s all right.” The only number she knew for Matt was the one for the big old house he’d once shared with his father, down by the water.

  As Janice shut her door, she picked up her phone and started to dial.

  But then hung it back up.

  She’d always felt a little funny about the fact that she’d taken Angie’s side during her and Matt’s last big fight—the one that had broken them up for good and even managed to disrupt Maggie’s own friendship with him.

  Angie had never gone into detail about what it was that Matt had supposedly done.

  All Maggie knew was that Matt and Angie had had the mother of all fights shortly after rehearsals for West Side Story had started. And that was saying something because theirs was a very stormy relationship, filled with conflict.

  Angie had come running to Maggie’s house for comfort. And soon after, Matt had shown up, too.

  Maggie could tell he’d been drinking from the aroma of alcohol that surrounded him. It had been whiskey she could smell, which alarmed her. Usually he only drank beer.

  “Are you okay?” she’d asked him, coming out onto the front stoop.

  He sat down heavily on the steps, and she knew as she sat next to him that something was really wrong. In addition to having too much to drink, he looked anxious and ill at ease.

  He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Mags, there’s something I have to tell you,” he said.

  “Get the hell out of here, you creep!”

  Maggie turned to see Angie inside the front door. Her eyes were blazing and her arms were crossed as she glared down at Matt.

  He swore softly. “I should have figured you’d be here.”

  Maggie had looked from Angie to Matt, feeling hopelessly caught in the middle. She stood up. “Look, you guys, why don’t I go inside? This doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

  Matt started to laugh, and Angie kicked him, hard, in the back. He fell off the steps, landed in the shrubbery and came up mad.

  “Damn it!”

  “Stay away from me,” Angie shouted back at him. “And stay away from Maggie. I’m warning you, Matt!”

  Maggie had never seen such venom in her friend’s eyes.

  Matt turned deliberately away from her and looked at Maggie. “I would like to talk to you. Alone. Will you come for a ride with me? Please?”

  “I wouldn’t let her go for a ride with you even if you were sober,” Angie shouted. “Get lost, you son of a bitch!”

  “I wasn’t asking you,” Matt shouted back. “Just shut the hell up!” He turned back to Maggie. “Come on, Mags. If you don’t want me to drive, we could take a walk.”

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie said as Angie pulled her back into the house.

  After that, she’d only seen Matt at rehearsals.

  She’d urged him to patch things up with Angie, but he’d simply smiled. “You still don’t get it, do you?” he’d asked.

  Finally, she did get it. Matt and Angie were through, and their three-way friendship was over.

  The next year, Matt went off to college. Angie found a new boyfriend and life went on. Maggie had kept track of Matt for a while.

  The last address Maggie had had for him was from nearly seven years ago, when he was living in Los Angeles. Since then, she’d heard nothing of him, as if he’d dropped off the face of the earth.

  But now he was back.

  Maggie picked up the phone and dialed.

  It rang four times before a breathless voice answered it. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Matt.”

  “Mags!” he said, genuine pleasure ringing in his voice. “Thanks for calling back so quickly. How are you?”

  Awful. “I’m fine. Welcome back to the East Coast.”

  “Yeah, well.” His voice sounded subdued for a moment. “I, uh, actually, I’m back in Eastfield on business and, um, that’s partly why I called. I mean, aside from just wanting to see you. God, it’s been forever.”

  “You sound exactly the same,” she said.

  “Yikes,” he said. “Really? That’s kind of scary.”

  Maggie laughed. “So what kind of business are you in these days?”

  “The inheritance business,” he told her. “Can you meet me tonight for dinner? I’m going to ask you to do me a giant favor and I’d rather not do it over the phone. I need the opportunity to use visuals—you know, so I can properly grovel.”

  He did sound exactly the same. “How giant is this favor?”

  “It’s about twenty-five million dollars giant.”

  Maggie choked. “What?”

  “I really want to wait and talk to you about this in person,” Matt said. “How about if I pick you up at six-thirty?”

  Maggie looked at that new stack of files on her desk. “Let’s make it later. I’m going to be here for a while, and I was hoping to hit the health club tonight. I want to go to a class that ends at eight. Is that too late?”

  “That’s right. Tonight’s that dance class you like to take. I’ve seen you over there, you know.”

  “You’re kidding. You saw me at the club and you didn’t bother to say hello?” Maggie couldn’t believe it. “Thanks a million.”

  “You didn’t see me?” he asked.

  “If I had, I would’ve said hi. Jeez, Matt.”

  He laughed. “It makes sense that you wouldn’t recognize me. I’ve put on some weight.”

  “Really?” Maggie tried to picture Matt carrying an extra fifty pounds around his waist. Oh, dear. He was probably balding, too. No doubt it was his cosmic punishment for being too gleamingly handsome as a seventeen-year-old.

  “Look, why don’t we meet at the club?” he asked. “We can get so
mething healthy to eat in the café.”

  Maggie snorted. “Yeah—since when do you eat anything healthy, Mr. Cheese Fries?”

  Matt laughed. “I’ll see you a little after eight.”

  * * *

  THANKS TO THE files on her desk, Maggie missed the dance class. It was eight-fifteen before she pulled into the health club parking lot.

  And there he was. Her jungle man. Hanging out right by the door, leaning against the wall. Dressed in jeans and that white T-shirt, just like in her fantasy.

  Only this was real.

  He was just standing there, as if he were waiting for her. And she was going to have to rush right past him, because she’d already kept Matt waiting.

  Boy, she hated being late.

  But as she moved toward him, the jungle man pushed himself up and off the wall. His hair was down around his shoulders, shiny and clean. His shoulders and chest were unbelievably broad, and the muscles in his arms actually strained against the sleeves of his T-shirt.

  His face was twice as handsome as she’d imagined—although the twilight still made it hard to see him clearly.

  He smiled as she drew closer, and she realized that his cheekbones were indeed a work of art. And his chin and his smile with those gracefully shaped lips, and those golden-brown eyes that were—oh, my God!—Matthew’s eyes...

  Maggie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been completely speechless. But she sure as hell was speechless now.

  Matthew.

  Her fantasy jungle man was actually her old buddy Matthew.

  He’d put on some weight, all right, but it was all solid muscle.

  “Hey, Mags,” he said—Matt’s voice coming out of this stranger’s mouth. He was laughing at her. He knew damn well that she’d noticed him in the club but hadn’t recognized him.

  Come on, Maggie. You’re an actor. Act.

  “Hey, Matt,” she said, her voice coming out perfectly matter-of-fact. “I’m sorry I’m running late.”

  “That’s all right,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re here. You look great, by the way.”

  “I still look fourteen,” she told him. “You look great. God, Matt, I’ve seen you around here for days, but I didn’t know it was you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve changed a lot,” he said, his eyes suddenly serious.

  Maggie had to look away, suddenly uncomfortable with this new man-size Matthew Stone. Somehow, she’d been expecting the kid she’d known in high school. This man was not only taller and broader, but he’d also lost the nervous energy that had ruled the teen. Young Matt had never sat still for longer than a few minutes, hopping from chair to chair around the room, smoking one cigarette after another.

  This man exuded a quiet strength, a steadfast calmness. And that was really why she hadn’t recognized him—never mind the long hair and muscular body.

  Matt smiled at her, not one of his old devil-may-care grins, but a gentle smile of genuine pleasure.

  “I really missed you,” he said.

  “I missed you, too,” she told him. “But right now I have to visit the ladies’ room. It’s a long drive from New Haven at this time of night.”

  “No problem. I’ll go up to the café. Want me to order you something?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” she said as he held the door open for her. That was a new one, too. Matt—holding a door? “Will you get me a salad?”

  “Italian dressing on the side,” they both said at the same time.

  Matt grinned. “Some things never change.”

  Chapter Three

  WHEN MAGGIE WALKED into the café, Matthew was standing at the juice bar, talking to three healthy, young college girls. What was it that he’d said? Some things never change.

  He turned as if he’d felt her eyes on him and quickly excused himself. Coming toward her, a smile lit his handsome face. “Hey.”

  Their food had already come out, and he pulled her by the hand to a table. And held her chair for her.

  She looked up at him as she sat, half expecting him to pull it out from underneath her, so he could laugh as she hit the floor.

  But he just smiled at her, and sat down. Behind a huge salad and a plate of steamed vegetables. The hamburger kid was eating vegetables.

  “Before we get down to talking about twenty-five-million-dollar favors,” Maggie said, “I’m dying to hear what you’ve been up to this past decade.”

  And where was the beer? Even at seventeen, Matthew Stone never sat down to eat dinner without a cigarette and a bottle of beer.

  “It would take a full ten years to tell you the whole story,” he said with a smile, digging into his salad.

  Maggie looked around the open, airy café. The ceiling was high; the colors were muted grays and maroons. A sign on the wall proclaimed that there was absolutely No Smoking.

  “Do you still smoke?” she asked.

  “Nope. I quit three years ago,” he told her. “I also stopped drinking and started eating vegan. See, I, um... Well, I got sick, and I needed to take some kind of action—feel like I was doing something to help myself get better. I don’t know if it really helped, but it certainly helped my head, you know?”

  “How long were you sick?”

  He shook his head. “A long time. Do you mind if we don’t talk about that? It’s not... I have these superstitions about... Well, I’d rather not—”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Of course, you don’t have to... I had an address for you in California.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I was, uh, all over the southwest for a while. Right after dear old dad gave me the boot. He kicked me out—did you know about that?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Yeah, there was trouble at one of the colleges and he wouldn’t even hear my side of it. I mean, sure, it was the fourth college I was...” he cleared his throat “...politely asked to leave, but... That time it really wasn’t my fault. Still, I got the ‘never darken my door again’ speech.”

  “That’s terrible,” she said.

  “It was good, actually. I finally learned to take care of myself. I kind of floated for a while. I actually did some acting—and got paid for it. My most legit job was at this dinner theater in Phoenix. I did two shows with them—Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and Guys and Dolls.”

  “That’s great—getting paid for acting?” Maggie smiled at him, and he smiled back.

  “I guess. It was... It really wasn’t that great. They didn’t pay very much. I had to wash dishes, and...” he shrugged “...their leading lady had nothing on you.”

  Yeah, right. “Thanks.”

  When he looked at her, something sparked. Maggie felt it deep in the pit of her stomach, and she had to look away. She’d trained herself for so long to feel nothing more than friendship for Matt that this kind of physical attraction seemed odd and unnatural.

  His eyes gleamed with humor. “Oh, here’s a story you’ll really like. When I was in L.A., I managed to get this agent. What a sleazeball. He told me he could get me some work in the movies. Nothing big, you know—bit parts. But still, it was the movies.... Anyway, he sent me on an audition, right?”

  Maggie nodded, watching Matt’s face as he talked, the corners of his mouth quivering with restrained laughter. It was hard to believe that it had been ten years since she’d seen him. It just seemed so natural, sitting here together.

  “So I go into this place,” he said, “and I realize that it’s not a cattle call. You know, there’re not four hundred other guys that look sort of like me lining up to audition for the part of the store owner who says ‘A dollar fifty,’ to Keifer Sutherland when he comes into the convenience store to buy a pack of cigarettes. The director actually comes out and shakes my hand—if you can believe that—and he takes me into the studio. I w
as so jazzed. They had cameras set up on a soundstage, along with this living room set. It looked like a stock American-home set—something out of a sitcom, you know?”

  He paused, taking a sip of water. “Well, imagine my surprise when the director told me to go ahead and take off my clothes.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah.” Matt grinned. “It didn’t take me long to figure it out. I asked to see the script and it was called—I’ll never forget this—Sleazy Does It. It was a porno flick, Mags. It wasn’t an audition—they were just going to shoot the film that same day. Is that too scary or what?”

  Maggie had to laugh. Poor Matt. Thinking he was going to get a part in a major motion picture... “Did you do it?”

  He choked on his water and glared at her, mock outrage on his face. “Thanks a lot. No, I did not do it.”

  She was still laughing. “Your past ten years have been much more exciting than mine.”

  “You graduated from Yale, went to law school and managed to get an M.B.A. at the same time. You had a fire, moved back in with your folks. You dated someone named Tom for four years, and now you’re seeing a guy named Brock Donovan. You’ve had the lead in Oklahoma!, Carousel, Paint Your Wagon, Showboat, The Boyfriend, Superman, Anything Goes, Guys and Dolls, Li’l Abner and one more.... What was it?”

  “Annie, Get Your Gun.” Maggie couldn’t believe it. “How do you know all that?”

  He closed his eyes, placing his fingertips on his forehead. “Matthieu senses all,” he said with a heavy Eastern European accent. “I also know that Angie’s married now,” he added in his regular voice.

  There was something in his face, in his tone, that Maggie couldn’t read.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Freddy’s great. You’d like him. But it’s kind of a drag—they live in London.”

  “That must be tough,” he sympathized. “You and Angie stayed close, didn’t you?”

  Maggie nodded. “I miss her.”

  “Did she ever tell you...”

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Why we broke up. I don’t know. It all seems so silly now.”

  He was looking at her, and she felt herself blush under his scrutiny.