“A reenactment?” Trace, clearly displeased, muttered, “This is getting better by the minute.”
“I know it sounds weird, but I think it’ll really translate into good footage. I’ve watched the news coverage and I’ve read the newspapers, but I’m really going to need to interview you to get a feel for how it actually happened, as I’ll be writing a short script for the segment. And I would like to do that today. Do you think you could clear your schedule to talk with me about that incident?”
Peter answered for Trace. “No problem. I’m sure Trace would enjoy telling the story. It’s nice to have a story with a happy ending. As you can imagine, we don’t always get to save the day.”
“Thank you, Peter. Now that that’s settled, I need to ask where can I possibly find lodging for my crew. I can’t have my crew staying with me at my dad’s. There has to be at least one hotel that isn’t booked solid. I thought maybe you could help me find one.”
“Well, unfortunately, it’s moose season so all the best hotels will be taken.” Peter looked perplexed, scratching his chin in thought. “But, if you’re not picky about your accommodations, there might be a hotel with some vacancies that I can look into for you. It won’t be the Hyatt, but it’ll be warm and dry with a clean bed.”
“That’s all we need,” Delainey said, smiling with relief. If Peter managed to scrounge up a hotel for them, she’d happily kiss the man because it would mean she could get out of her father’s house. “I’ll need about five rooms, six if you can get it. How soon can you find out?”
“I can have an answer for you by the end of the afternoon.”
“Excellent. In the meantime, Trace and I will conduct the interview and get that out of the way.”
Peter rose. “You need me here for the interview?” She didn’t know if Peter was asking for her benefit or Trace’s, but when Trace gave a minute shake of his head, Delainey realized it had been for Trace’s. “All right then, I’ll leave you to do your interview while I try to find a hotel.”
Sooner than she was prepared, she was sitting alone in the conference room with Trace. Her heart hammered hard against her chest and she tried to tell herself he was just like any actor she’d prepped for a role. Except, that was complete crap. “Do you mind if I record this?” she asked, pulling out her recorder. “I take notes, but I like the safety net of the recorder so I don’t miss anything important.”
“What did you come back here for?” he asked, throwing her off. He leaned forward and she actually found herself holding very still so as not to betray a single emotion. There was something about Trace that was primal and always had been. His energy buffeted her, and for a moment she rocked against the feeling that there were tangible sparks between them. It had always been this way between them, except before they’d had no reason to pull back. The sex between them had been explosive, and she’d yet to find a lover who could make her body sing like Trace had. More’s the pity. She colored at the sizzling memories that jumped to mind, and she had to refocus on the here and now before she embarrassed herself.
“You know why I’m here,” she answered, busying herself with straightening her pad and readying her pen. “Shall we begin?”
“What was the first thing that went through your mind when you heard my name in your little meeting? Did you think for a second that I was just going to fall into your arms and do whatever you say because at one time we had a history?”
Her hand trembled as she straightened her papers again, needing something to do. She couldn’t stand the subtle sneer in his voice. It was such a contradiction from the Trace she remembered. Maybe she deserved his hatred, but it hurt just the same. Be that as it may, he needed to get a grip. “Trace, unlike you, I don’t live in the past. I was just as surprised when your name came up in my meeting. It just so happens that I was the best person for the job. It really wasn’t personal,” she lied. If she were going to go to hell for lying her ass off, this would’ve been a prime example used to send her to the hot seat. “Can we get back to the interview, please?”
Trace chuckled and leaned back in his chair, regarding her intently. “You’d do anything to avoid talking about anything of substance, wouldn’t you?”
“This is neither the time nor the place.”
“Well, as I recall, you didn’t give anyone a chance to talk about anything before you left. As far as I know, you haven’t even talked to your old man or brother. It was like you just wanted to forget everyone and everything from your past.”
She couldn’t deny it, and having it pointed out to her didn’t make her feel any less like a self-centered jerk. “I talk to Thad now and then, but we’re both busy people. As far as my father... You know he and I have never had a close relationship. I’m sure he was happy to be free of me.”
“You’re so delusional,” Trace said, shocking her. “Whatever you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at night.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you turned your back on everything and everyone. Plain and simple. Yeah, you and your dad weren’t close, but he was still your father and you abandoned him and your brother like day-old bread.”
“What a hypocrite,” she countered, unable to hold back. “Funny thing about small towns. Everyone seems to know everyone else’s business and just loves to share. I happened to run into Molly Cavanaugh at the gas station, and you’ll never guess what she had to say.” Delainey didn’t wait for Trace to jump in, gaining speed as her anger rose. “Word on the street is that you’ve become a hermit and your own family is falling apart. I left Alaska, and in doing so, left behind some people in my life. But you stayed right here and did something far worse—you just ignored everything around you because you didn’t want to be bothered.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, glaring. “Neither you nor that busybody Molly Cavanaugh knows shit about my life or my family.”
“No, but plenty in town know enough to gossip. Everyone likes to talk about the Sinclairs, and you all have given them plenty of topics to choose from.”
It was a low blow—one that would’ve shamed her if she’d had any integrity left, but she’d long become conditioned to seeking out the vulnerable spots of her opponent, and she didn’t hesitate. The kidnapping and murder of Simone Sinclair had been the town’s most shocking tragedy, and as such it was still the favorite topic of gossip because Simone’s killer had never been found. At Trace’s stony silence, she said, “Doesn’t feel good to be judged, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed in a hard voice.
“Then I suggest you stop throwing stones in your glass house and start focusing on the here and now.”
“Do you really think we can work together?” he asked, and she realized he wasn’t asking to be a jerk.
She had similar concerns. They had too much baggage between them to pretend that they didn’t. But she didn’t have a choice. Her career was on the line.
“I can start with good intentions, but the minute I see you...I’m angry all over again,” he said.
“You signed a legally binding document, so I suggest that you try and figure out a way to be professional.” She sighed. “Trace...it’s a few weeks of your life. Surely, you can find a way to shelve your personal feelings about me for that long.”
“Maybe.” His answer was noncommittal, and she knew that was the best she was going to get from him at this point. If she were braver, she’d admit to him that she wished she’d handled things differently when she’d left, but that would mean admitting that she’d made some serious errors in judgment, and that would lead to admitting she may well have sacrificed everything she had for nothing. Tears threatened at the idea, and she sucked them back before they had a chance to betray her. She could not show any hint of weakness to Trace.
“Do you want me to apologize for leavin
g? Would that make everything better? Is that what you want from me?”
His stare became two chips of ice, and she knew she’d said the wrong thing. “Honey, I don’t want anything from you except your absence. But since I can’t have that and I’m stuck in this devil’s deal, I guess I better make the best of it. Let’s get back to the interview and leave the personal stuff out of it.” Oh, that was rich. He was advising her to keep things professional?
“I don’t need you to tell me to be professional. You’re the one who is being a jerk.” She stabbed the recorder on and fixed him with her most glacial stare. “Interview One with Trace Sinclair—the rescue of the governor’s daughter. Please tell me in your own words how you came to rescue a lost little girl.”
CHAPTER TEN
TRACE KNEW HE WAS being difficult. A part of him was appalled at how easily she’d gotten under his skin, but logic played no part in how he reacted when she was around. The adult side of his brain told him to cooperate, to get it over with so he could move on with his life and try to forget it ever happened. The more efficiently they were able to finish the project, the more quickly she could leave. The childish and immature part of his brain—quite possibly the area that was still holding on to the pain and the anger—wanted to make her job as difficult as possible.
“Why did you change your hair?” he asked. “You don’t look right as a blonde.”
“We’re not talking about personal things, remember?” she reminded him coldly. “Besides, not that it’s any of your business, but I happen to prefer my hair blond.”
“You looked fine the way you were. Did somebody in L.A. tell you to change it?”
She looked exasperated. “No more than ten seconds ago you were saying keep the personal stuff out of the conversation, and now here you are asking personal questions. Make up your mind. You want to know why I changed my hair? I’ll tell you. Because I was tired of looking like the drab little mouse. Mice get eaten in Los Angeles. I wanted to fit in, and I knew I couldn’t do that looking the way that I did.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe you’re not meant to fit into a place where you have to change who you are as a person?”
Her fingers curled around her pen, and he wondered if she might snap it in two. Knowing he’d gotten under her skin gave him a perverse pleasure. Maybe if he antagonized her enough she’d determine the project wasn’t worth her time and leave. “I’m not going to discuss my personal life with you. Let’s get back to the interview, please.”
“So what’s so great about Los Angeles? Is it everything you wanted it to be?”
“Everything and more.”
Hell, he hadn’t expected her answer to hurt. He supposed he wanted her to admit regret for leaving behind everything she’d ever known, but more important for leaving him behind. God, when did he become such a sap? He shifted in his chair, fighting with himself. Finally, he said, “Search and Rescue got the call from a hysterical father saying his daughter had been lost while camping. We didn’t know at the time that it was from Governor Errington. It wasn’t until we were suited up and hitting the trail that we got additional information that we were looking for the governor’s daughter. Not that it would’ve mattered. When we found out the little girl, Clarissa, was lost in the woods, we would’ve put all resources toward finding her, no matter who her father was.”
Momentarily startled but obviously relieved that he had returned to the interview, it took only a second for Delainey to catch up. “How long did it take you to find her?”
“Too long. She’d left the trail and tried to double back, but she got turned around and it was several hours before we were able to find her. Another hour and she would’ve died from hypothermia.” Trace didn’t like to think about how closely they’d come to losing the little girl. It reminded him too much of his sister Simone. He stretched his legs beneath the table and looked away. “We were lucky. The little girl was lucky.”
“Forgive me for paying you a compliment, but I don’t think luck had anything to do with it,” Delainey said quietly. “There’s a reason you’re the best. If you couldn’t find that little girl, no one could.”
Her praise shouldn’t have meant anything to him, but her confidence in his abilities wormed their way into a private place, one that he kept guarded fiercely, and he found himself yearning for more. There’d been a time when Delainey’s opinion had meant everything to him. At one time he believed Delainey was his other half. Of course she’d proved him to be a fool. “I was just doing my job. I’m uncomfortable with the accolades.”
“Why?” she asked, perplexed. “There’s nothing wrong with accepting well-earned praise.”
“As quickly as someone will praise you for doing a good job, the same person will ride you into the ground for failing. I’m not always able to bring everyone back.”
“Are you talking about Simone?” she asked tentatively.
“Among others,” he admitted. “Two years ago, a Carolina man, Stuart Dillinger, went hiking up the ridge and didn’t bring the proper gear. The snow disoriented Dillinger, and before he knew it he didn’t have a clue where he was. No compass, not enough water and not nearly enough cold-weather gear. Fresh snow had erased his tracks, another storm was barreling down and we were running out of time. By the time we did find him, it was too late. He froze to death.”
“No one expects you to be a superhero. Sorry to say this, but you and I both know that anyone who doesn’t have proper respect for the Alaskan wilderness will pay for it. It’s like the people who die on Mount Everest because they didn’t prepare properly. It’s unfortunate but in a way they were asking for it.”
“Try telling that to their families. Dillinger was a father, a brother and a husband. Now he’s resting six feet under in a North Carolina graveyard.”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with you. You’re the best tracker there is. Maybe it was just his time to go.”
“You know I don’t believe in that shit,” he said sharply, uncomfortable with how easily the words came out of his mouth. He despised talking about his feelings, much less his failures, and yet somehow Delainey had managed to pull the words right out of his mouth. He stood abruptly. “I have to go. We can finish this at another time. I have another appointment,” he lied, needing to get some air.
“Well, when do you want to finish, because I have to get the script ready. Can we finish tonight?”
He frowned. “What do you mean tonight?”
“I could bring the tape recorder and meet you at your place?”
“Hell, no. I don’t want you in my house.”
She drew back, stung. “That was rude and mean. Do you think I relish the idea of spending gobs of alone time with you? Get over yourself, Trace. This is a job that you agreed to do.”
Could he handle her in his home? What had almost become their home? The idea made him instantly sick to his stomach and apprehensive and yet strangely curious. “Fine. We’ll finish the interview at seven o’clock.”
“Perfect.” She clicked off the recorder. “Thank you for your cooperation, Trace.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll give you a half an hour. If you don’t get what you need by then, you’re out of luck.”
He didn’t wait for her to negotiate, because he knew she would try. He couldn’t get away fast enough; if he weren’t careful, Delainey would find a way to make him dance to her tune no matter the cost.
* * *
DELAINEY KNEW SHE OUGHT to shelve any feelings Trace had awoken to the far reaches of her mind, but he’d always had a way of getting under her skin. He hated her hair color. She touched the strands and winced at the fairly brittle feel of her bleached tresses. It was a brutal process to strip out the natural light brown to create the platinum she sported now, and she was well overdue for a deep-conditioning treatment. But with her precarious
finances she hadn’t been able to see clear to pay the exorbitant amount that a treatment would require.
“Pooh on you, Trace Sinclair,” she muttered as she gathered her documents, reminding herself that Trace’s opinion didn’t matter in the big scheme of things. In the land of fake smiles and plastic bodies, Delainey had stuck out like a country bumpkin before her makeover, and it had been painfully obvious that in order to make deals, you had to turn heads.
“Oh, honey, what is happening here?” Rafe Solange, the premier hairstylist in Beverly Hills, had exclaimed, lifting one limp mouse-brown lock in distaste. One look at her new zip code and she knew a trim was in order, so she’d gone straight to the top even though she couldn’t actually afford it yet. He tsked as if surveying a hot mess and wondering where to start. “Oh, baby child, this has got to go. We’re talking strip, color and style, and I’m talking tout suite.”
“Is it that bad?” she’d asked with embarrassment. In Alaska no one had put much store in fancy hairstyles because half the time, your hair was tucked up into a knitted hat to stay warm. She cringed when he simply stared, placing one hand on his hip with flamboyant flair, and she had her answer. “Okay, do whatever you need to do.”
“Thank you, baby Jesus! We’re going to make you shine, girl. Los Angeles isn’t going to know what hit it.”
And Rafe had transformed her from a mouse to a lion, and the transformation had given her the shot of confidence she’d been lacking from the moment she’d stepped off the plane, scared and nervous about her big, life-changing decision to leave Alaska to pursue her dream.
And she was never going back to who she was—and that included her mouse-brown hair.
“So you can just suck it, Trace Sinclair,” Delainey said, bracing herself against the chill as she hurried to her car. She may have left a mouse, but she’d returned a lion, and she wasn’t going to take any crap from anyone. “Not even you, you big, judgmental jerk.”
A Real Live Hero Page 7
