Suddenly feeling hurt and inadequate and insecure all over again, Rebecca double-checked her outfit. The old blue T-shirt she'd put on had seemed a bit snug, so she'd deliberately covered it with an equally old checked cotton shirt. Nobody could accuse her of trying to put the moves on him in either of those, or the faded cutoffs she wore, but the pie in her hands, well that was a different matter.
That was bribery, plain and simple.
She needed to spend some time with Jake and food offerings seemed to be her best bet so far. After all, he'd invited her back to help him some more—which he wouldn't have done the week before.
Pasting a confident smile on her face, she approached him from behind. He'd stopped painting and was intently scraping trim from the dining room windowsill.
She tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Donovan, look—"
The next thing she knew she was back first against the house, a steely forearm pressing into her windpipe, a heavy knee between her legs. A look of black ice filled Jake's eyes, striking terror deep in Rebecca's soul. She lifted her hands in self-defense, but before she could grab Jake's arm to try to pull it away, he stepped back as if she'd scalded him.
"Jesus, Rebecca. I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
"I ... I ... don't know.” Feeling dazed and disoriented, Rebecca started to look at Jake, then changed her mind, unwilling to face that horrible blackness in his eyes again. She glanced away in confusion, and spotted the shattered red raspberry pie, its sticky filling spattered obscenely across the side of Jake's freshly painted white house. A wave of dizziness washed over her and her knees started to buckle. “Jake, I..."
He swore and caught her before she hit the ground. Her heart still racing, she found herself torn between wanting to pull away and wanting to lean into his warm strength as he carried her into the house.
Jake wouldn't hurt her. What had just happened between them was a mistake. An ugly, horrible, explainable mistake. It had to be. He'd scared the snot out of her, but he hadn't hurt her. As soon as he'd recognized her, he'd stopped whatever it was he was about to do to her.
With trembling arms, he sat her down on the living room couch. “Rebecca? Are you all right?"
She tried to speak, but couldn't. Her mind kept returning to the horrible darkness in his eyes. The astonishing strength and speed with which he'd pinned her to the house.
Jake went down on one knee. “Rebecca?"
She blinked, then realized she'd never seen him look so pale, or uncertain of himself. Clearly, he was as shaken as she was by what had just happened. “I'm ... fine,” she managed to croak. Something wasn't working right in her throat. “Fine.” She shuddered in an involuntary spasm of relief, and spotted paint on the couch seat. “I'm getting paint on your couch."
"Forget the couch, Rebecca, it's you I'm worried about. Are you okay?"
She took a moment to remove her outer shirt, grateful for the distraction. Jake took it from her, folded the paint stains inside, then laid it aside. “I'll buy you a new one."
"No. You don't have to. Really. It's old, and I was ... I was planning on getting paint stains on it anyway."
"I'm sorry, Rebecca. I wasn't expecting you so soon."
Confused, she looked at her watch. It was seven on the dot. Jake's gaze followed hers.
"Wow. Is it that late already? I must have lost track of time.” He squeezed her hands once and stood. “I'll get you some water. Here,” he said, returning half a minute later to where Rebecca sat on the couch, still fighting the adrenaline shakes. Awkwardly he handed over the glass. His hands seemed to be shaking as well.
Rebecca closed her eyes and took one small sip of water, then another. “So...” she began awkwardly. “Where did you learn how to do that?"
"In the army."
"I thought you were a mechanic."
"Mechanic, driver, and unofficial body guard for—"
"The General, I remember. You'd gone someplace and couldn't tell me where you were. You took a bullet in the hip and saved his life."
"Yeah, well, the training he sent me for saved mine."
"In the army, or in prison?"
"Both. Listen, Rebecca, I'm really sorry. I'm still not used to being out."
"No. I ... I should have realized."
"Realized what? That I'd attack you?"
"It was self-defense, Jake."
His expression hardened. “Not this time."
Rebecca let the subject drop, unwilling to ask if he'd been attacked from behind in prison. Surely no one could live in such a hellish place for eight years without being taken unawares at least once.
"How does your throat feel?"
She managed a reassuring smile. “Fine.” It was true. He hadn't hurt her, just scared her. She studied his face, and tried to reconcile his gentle care and concern with the lethal moves he'd used on her earlier. It had happened so fast, she couldn't even remember him moving. All she knew was that in the split second before he'd recognized her, she'd been convinced she was a goner.
Avery's warning that afternoon came to mind, and for the first time since she'd known Jake, Rebecca had to ask herself who was the real Jacob Donovan? Regret and remorse filled his dark eyes as he seemed to read the question in hers, and suddenly she knew. Jake's years in the army had trained him to kill, but Jacob Donovan was no killer. Beneath his combat training was a complex man with a conscience who suffered just as she would if she'd inadvertently caused an innocent creature pain.
"I'm sorry, Rebecca. So sorry."
She reached out to touch his face. “It's all right, Jake. Really. I'm okay now."
"Maybe you should see a doctor."
"For what? I lost my voice for a couple of minutes, but that was from fright, not because you hurt me in any way."
He looked into her eyes for what seemed like forever. “Nothing happened, Jake. Really.” She touched his warm cheek, feeling closer to him than she ever had, yet farther apart. This was her Jake, but she was only now realizing there were parts of his life he would never share with her, parts of him she would never be given the chance to try to understand. The idea saddened her more than she would have thought possible, given the dark days of anger and bitterness she'd had to fight off over the years.
But now, all she felt was regret. Regret, and the need to feel his lips on hers again.
Without thinking twice, she leaned forward to kiss him.
Jake pulled back abruptly, leaving her feeling stung to her soul. “I'll see you home now,” he said roughly, not meeting her eyes.
She accepted his cool, impersonal hand up from the couch, and reminded herself she should have known better.
Jacob Donovan had never wanted her, and never would.
* * * *
Jake sat alone in the dark, a pale sliver of moonlight illuminating the dishes he hadn't bothered to clean up after he'd walked Rebecca home. At his elbow sat a forgotten cup of coffee, black and stone cold.
He'd spent the hours since he'd left her thinking about Rebecca. She'd always had more compassion than anyone he'd ever known, but tonight she'd transcended compassion into ... what? He'd never forget the deep well of understanding in her eyes, or the gentleness of her touch as she'd forgiven him for, at the very least, scaring her half to death.
She'd forgiven him for so much. But Jake couldn't forgive himself. Not for not leaving her alone in the first place, and not for exposing her to the beast he battled inside himself daily. It took every ounce of control he had to walk around Warner pretending he was as normal as the next man. Every time he left the house, he could feel the eyes boring into his back, waiting and watching and wondering what he was going to do next.
Wondering if he was going to snap out again, like he had on that poor, innocent woman in Wyoming.
His prosecutor had been so convincing. She'd gotten ahold of Jake's juvenile record, and while it wasn't admissible in court, she'd still managed to use it to plant seeds about him as a hot-tempered man recently injured in a military skirmish
, quite possibly suffering from PTSD. The experts she'd brought in had convinced the jury it was more than possible he'd had some kind of combat flashback while he was in bed with Christine, and gone ballistic on her. They hadn't been convincing enough to net him a not guilty by reason of temporary insanity, but they'd kept him from serving life without parole, much to his pretty young prosecutor's disappointment.
Then, in that hellhole she'd sent him to, Jake had scared himself with how close he'd come to being the killer everyone thought he was. The beast inside was why he'd been denied parole for two years after he'd been eligible. That and the programs he'd had to complete. Anger management, batterer's group, victim awareness, half a dozen courses in all. He'd learned right away that until he'd satisfied their requirements, jumped through all their hoops, they weren't going to let him out of that place. Never mind that their courses had done nothing to tame the beast inside him. Nothing at all.
And now, tonight, he'd almost unleashed it on Rebecca.
The fear in her eyes would haunt him forever. Just thinking about what could have happened...
Swearing fluently, Jake pushed away from the table. He stood and scrubbed his hands over his face. The kitchen clock said it was three in the morning. He stepped onto the back porch and took in a deep draft of cool night air. The sight of Rebecca's apartment didn't help. A light shone in the rear left bedroom, the one that overlooked the pool, the one that had been her bedroom as a girl.
The thought that Rebecca was still awake, alone and quite possibly in pain, drove him off the porch and into the shadows. But instead of moving forward, toward Rebecca and the light, Jake turned away, toward the shadows of his silent street. By the time he reached the end of his dirt and gravel drive, he was jogging, by the end of his street, he was running. At the first intersection he hung a right, not knowing or caring where he was headed.
All he knew was he had to keep moving or he'd explode.
He ran until the pain in his hip felt like it would kill him, then ran some more. Sweat streamed down his face and soaked his black T-shirt as he pushed himself through the chilly August pre-dawn, determined to outrun his demons.
At the east edge of town, half delirious from pain and exhaustion, he stopped in the shadows of the old railway station to catch his breath. Moments later a late model Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows cruised into the neighborhood. Jake's instincts went on full alert as it passed him as softly as a whisper, then turned left in front of the boarded-up train station.
The Lincoln eased to a stop at the T-shaped intersection a block away. The back door opened and a boy who couldn't be more than ten or twelve emerged. He hit the pavement and didn't stop moving, running away from the Lincoln as fast as he could.
The Lincoln left as quietly as it had appeared, turning around in the middle of the street and gliding toward Glenhill, where Jake would bet his black soul one of three or more garage doors waited to soundlessly slide open as the long black Town Car rolled up the curving drive.
As he watched the car's tail lights disappear, Jake couldn't help but wonder who in rich man's land was playing with kids from the wrong side of the tracks in the dead of night.
Chapter Five
Rebecca was putting on her Coral Kiss lipstick the following morning when someone knocked on her apartment door. She opened it to find Jake standing there, holding her restored ceramic pie plate in his big hands. A closer look showed more than a dozen spidery cracks.
"I thought I'd bring this back."
Rebecca stared, floored by the image of him searching out all the pieces of a nine-ninety-nine ceramic pie plate, in the dark, no less—then painstakingly cleaning them and gluing them back together. Maybe he thought it was an antique?
"You can't talk?"
She lifted her gaze at his sharp question. “Of course I can talk. I'm just...” she nodded at the pie plate. “Overwhelmed. That must have taken you forever."
Jake shrugged, looking away as he handed the plate over, but not before she caught the embarrassed relief in his eyes. Apparently he was still hung up on the idea he'd physically hurt her last night. She accepted the plate and invited him inside. He stepped across the threshold as if entering the gallows.
Rebecca turned to set the pie plate on the kitchen table and surreptitiously blew out a long breath, knowing she had her work cut out for her. Last night Jake had left her at her door with another quiet apology for his behavior. Too emotionally drained to argue, she'd simply nodded her acceptance and said goodnight. The strain of it all had given her a massive headache.
But this morning her head was clear. She'd spent the better part of the night thinking about what she wanted from Jacob Donovan, and it was way past time she told him.
"You on your way to work?” he asked.
"Yes. I've got a budget proposal meeting in...” she glanced at her watch and frowned. Eight-forty already. “Twenty minutes.” She met Jake's eyes. “How did you sleep?"
"I didn't."
So Jake was still harder on himself than anyone else could be. Clearly, whatever demons drove him these days were all but eating him alive. The day they'd seeded the lawn, she'd watched him practically push himself into heat exhaustion, stopping only when she shoved a cool drink into his hands. As for last night ... God Himself could have shown up in the room and it wouldn't have convinced Jake he'd made an honest mistake.
"I see,” she said, refusing to let her emotions get in the way again. Because once she got past this particular hurdle, they still needed to talk about Katie. She'd be home Friday.
"I'm sorry,” Jake said again.
"I'm all right,” Rebecca said, keeping her voice as calm and neutral as she could. “I should have warned you I was behind you."
"I could have hurt you, Rebecca. Badly."
"I'm aware of that. But you didn't. Now let it go."
He studied her face, then her throat. Rebecca realized he was looking for bruises. There weren't any—not even a hint of any. She'd checked and double checked herself, even though he'd barely touched her. It was the look in his eyes that had scared her.
Apparently satisfied he'd left no marks on her, Jake stepped back and reached for the door. “I'll get out of your way, then. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
Sure. As long as he didn't count the body slam he'd given her heart when he'd rejected her kiss last night.
"I'm fine."
"I'm glad. Goodbye, Rebecca."
And with that, he was gone. Rebecca stared at her empty doorway, feeling rejected and hurt all over again. Damn the man, she thought, as an oppressive wave of heat and humidity rolled into the apartment in his wake. This time he wasn't coming back. Rebecca knew it in her bones. She scooped up her purse and briefcase, and charged out the door after him. “Jake. Wait."
At the foot of the stairs he stopped, caught in mid-flight. His dismayed expression made it clear he'd hoped for a clean getaway. She willed her heart to stop its wild, fearful hammering, locked her eyes on his and descended the steps, suddenly glad she'd taken extra time with her hair and make-up today. She knew her coral suit was one of her most flattering. She needed that to muster her courage as she joined him on the concrete drive. “We need to talk."
He eyed her warily. “About what?"
About our daughter. She licked her suddenly parched lips, and swallowed, hard. She couldn't do it. Not here. Not now. She was due at work in less than fifteen minutes. She couldn't simply drop the bomb that that Jake was a father and go to her budget meeting. “About ... about us."
His features hardened. “There is no us, Rebecca."
Her temper flashed, shunting her fear aside. “How can you say that? We were friends, Jake. We were—"
"Lovers?” Hard black eyes bored into angry blue ones for a turbulent moment before he looked away. “Don't remind me."
Stung pride stiffened her spine, put acid in her voice. “I'm sorry you find the memory so unpleasant."
He jerked his head back around. “Re
becca, that's not—"
"Don't try to spare my feelings now, Jake. God knows you haven't yet."
He looked as if she'd slapped him. A dull red flush crept up his face, and she realized he was hanging on to his control by a thread. Rebecca set her briefcase down and crossed her arms, meeting him glare for glare. She'd never get a better chance to push him over the edge. “I'm waiting, Jake."
Resentment flared in his eyes, but when he spoke, it was in even, measured beats. “I left, Rebecca, because of you. Because that was exactly what I was trying to do—spare your feelings.” His voice deepened a notch, roughened. “Because I thought things would be less complicated for you with me out of the picture."
She kept her arms crossed, refusing to be moved by the grudging admission. Refusing to acknowledge the spark of hope that ignited in her heart. “Less complicated for me, or for you?"
"For you, of course! Damn it, Rebecca—"
"And now?” she cut in ruthlessly.
He gave her another long, hard stare, clearly battling his emotions, then looked away. “And now it's not an issue any more. You're here and I'm leaving."
Her arms came uncrossed. She wanted to hit him. “Why do you keep saying that?"
"Because it's true! I am leaving, Rebecca. Just as soon as I can."
"Why?"
"You have to ask? Have you forgotten the reason I had to leave Warner in the first place?” His angry vehemence couldn't help but make her wonder if he was trying to convince her or himself. “I was considered a menace to society then, Rebecca. Who knows what the town considers me now."
"What difference does it make? Why do you let what a bunch of narrow-minded bigots might think bother you?"
"Rebecca, we're not talking about a minor youthful indiscretion or two here. Warner's finest are convinced they have a bona fide killer in their midst."
She looked at him for a long, considering moment. “So stay and prove them wrong."
"Are you kidding?"
Rebecca stood there, secure in her convictions regarding Jake's innocence, despite his statement to the contrary the other night. Yesterday Jake had proven beyond a doubt that even in the grip of blind rage, he was incapable of hurting her physically, or—and she would stake her life on it—any woman.
Jake's Return Page 5
