by Meryl Sawyer
“Go away. We’ll talk in the morning.” Of course, she didn’t plan to be here then.
“Let me in or I’ll break down the door.”
A moment later a thunk rattled the door’s hinges. Matt meant it. He was going to break down Trevor’s beautiful door. She flipped the latch, and he exploded into the room.
He stood before her, breathing like a long distance runner. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his temple.
“You didn’t let me finish talking to you.”
“Conversation wasn’t on your mind.”
“Back at the beach it was.”
“All right, I’m listening.” She closed the door, then turned to him.
“You know, I thought we had something going … something special. But you don’t trust me. What’s a relationship without trust? Nothing.”
There was an edge to his voice that some might have mistaken for anger. But she’d seen him angry and had been the object of his fury. This wasn’t anger; it was hurt.
A lump rose in her throat and tears pricked hotly at the back of her eyes. No man had ever cared about her—ever. If she didn’t do something, she would destroy their relationship.
“You’re wrong, Matt. I do trust you—with my life. What’s more, I love you with all my heart.”
Evidently, he hadn’t expected this. His expression stilled and became even more serious. “Oh, angel,” he said as he pulled her into his arms. “You know I’m crazy about you. Tell me who you really are. I’ll do anything to help you.”
That was what she was afraid of. He was the kind of man who would die trying to protect her. She opted to tell him part of the truth. “You can help me most if you don’t let anyone know I’m not Shelly. She died in the crash. I’m Amy Joyce Conroy, and I’m in terrible danger if certain people know I’m alive.”
“I don’t get it. The cop just said—”
“Scott Phillips is an FBI agent. He was only posing as a police officer. He really came to take me back into the Witness Protection Program, but I wouldn’t go. Now that I found you, I didn’t want to leave you.”
He hugged her so tight that she could barely draw a breath, then he kissed the top of her head. He gazed down at her, asking, “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Are you safe here?”
“Yes,” she hedged, “as long as everyone believes I’m Shelly, then it’s just as good as being in the Witness Protection Program. Much, much better, actually, because I’m with you.”
The even, whiteness of his thrilled smile dazzled her. She was glad she’d told him she loved him. Granted, he was only “crazy” about her, but after a lifetime of loneliness, it was enough.
“Why are you in the program?”
“If I tell you, they might kill you.” She caressed his cheek with her hand. “For your own protection, that’s all I can say. Trust me.”
He frowned, but reluctantly nodded, seeming to accept her decision.
Chapter 27
Stealing its way between the shutters, a slanting bar of moonlight played across Shelly’s face as she slept.
No. Not Shelly.
“Amy,” he whispered. “Amy Joyce Conroy.”
They had agreed that it was too risky to use her real name, but Matt couldn’t resist trying it. “Amy.” Her name sounded so … right.
“You idiot,” he cursed himself. He should have figured out sooner that she wasn’t the woman he’d known in New York.
The chemistry between them had been too powerful. Even before she was able to speak to him, he’d been drawn to her, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t break free. There had been other subtle clues as well. Something about her had struck him as being slightly shy and innocent. He’d been proven right when they’d made love.
After he realized she was impersonating Shelly, a thousand scenarios had run through his mind, but being in the Witness Protection Program hadn’t been among them. The FBI must think she was in some sort of danger, or they wouldn’t have sent an agent to get her. She hadn’t gone because she loved him.
“Amy,” he muttered under his breath again. Watching her sleep, her injured hand curled near her cheek, he marveled at the miracle that had come so unexpectedly into his life. “Amy Conroy.”
After she’d told him who she was, they’d made love again. This time they’d taken it slowly, and it had been even more pleasurable than the primitive mating on the terrace. He’d crossed an invisible line into some uncharted realm of emotion that was more intense—and satisfying—than anything he’d ever experienced.
“It isn’t fair to her,” he said to himself, thinking about his own terrible secret. In the end, he would hurt her, but he couldn’t help himself. He loved her more deeply than he could have ever imagined. Leaving her now was out of the question.
Still, one day soon it would be time to face his problems. That would mean turning his back on this special woman who loved him more than he could possibly be worthy of.
She shifted position, and he resisted the urge to touch her. If he did they would be making love again. He couldn’t help her until he found out more about her troubles.
Taking care not to wake her, Matt eased out of bed. He found his trousers in a heap on the floor. Bingo and Jiggs were snoozing on top of them. He roused the animals and pulled on his pants.
Not bothering with his shirt, he slipped out of the room barefoot, Jiggs and Bingo at his heels. The house was dark, his only guide was the moonlight filtering through the plantation shutters.
He walked into his room and flipped on the lights. He suddenly realized the nagging headache had vanished. With luck it had just been too much sun. Hell, he hoped so. She needed him, and he didn’t want the headaches to begin now.
“If only you could talk,” he said to Jiggs. “You could tell me all about her.”
He found his laptop in the closet under his duffel bag. He hadn’t touched it since he’d left New York. He sat on the bed and Bingo hopped up beside him. Naturally, Jiggs followed.
Waiting for the machine to boot up, he plugged into the phone line, then said, “Are you two going to watch?”
They settled at his elbow, seemingly fascinated by the now-lit screen. Years of training as an investigative reporter kicked-in. Despite resigning, Matt hadn’t canceled an Internet service called Information Unlimited. For a monthly fee plus search charges, you could locate anyone.
Most of the time, the service found the person and could tell you their last known address, phone number, credit status, and a helluva lot more. He typed in her name and Seattle, otherwise he ran the risk of bringing up every Amy Joyce Conroy in the whole damn country.
“Deceased” flashed on the screen along with the date, and Key West, Florida. Okay, the FBI had entered the bogus death, but they hadn’t reentered the information that the Witness Protection Program deleted when she went into hiding. IU had nothing else on her.
Next, he switched to Lifestyles America, an organization that tracked buying habits of Americans. Logging credit card purchases, recording warranty cards, the service advised big corporations—or anyone who could afford it—about what America was buying.
Nothing.
“The Feebies were thorough,” he told Bingo who was washing his ears with his hind paw. Jiggs had fallen asleep. “That’s it for the legal route.”
He looked up the code that he kept in his Filofax under “D” for “desperate.” When he’d been desperate for information as a reporter, he knew how to tap in to the supposedly secure social security database. It was a federal crime to hack in to it, but anyone with half a brain could. It just might be the only database that the Witness Protection Program hadn’t wiped out.
He typed in her name. His entire screen filled with Amy Joyce Conroys. He scrolled down, searching for Seattle. “Bingo!” he said with a laugh as the cat peered up at him with his one eye.
Then he took a closer look at the information, reading out loud. “Employer: Foxx Enterprises. Holy shit!”
“That’s why the FBI came for her tonight. Dexxter Foxx is involved.”
Dexx—the double XX—had shifty little eyes and oozed phony sincerity like a TV evangelist. Matt had written him off the minute he’d met him. He tried to recall everything the little prick had said.
Small talk, mostly as he flirted with “Shelly.” Lounge-lizard stuff that wasn’t very intelligent or sophisticated. But his fiancée, Irene, had been pissed off big-time by all the attention Dexx paid to Shelly.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he said out loud. “If Dexxter knows her, why didn’t he say something when the FBI agent said Amy had been killed in an accident?”
His gut instinct told him that she was in danger. He went back to her room and found her still sleeping at an angle across the bed, her body half-covered by the sheet. As he sat on the bed, the springs gave and she opened her eyes.
“Tell me about Dexxter Foxx.”
She scrambled to a sitting position. “What about him?”
“Come on, honey. I’m a reporter. It didn’t take me two minutes to find out you worked for him.”
“Matt, stay out of this. I—”
“Why doesn’t Dexxter recognize you?”
She hesitated a moment, measuring him with a worried frown, then seemed to decide she wasn’t going to avoid telling him the rest of the story. “No, apparently Dexxter didn’t know it was me.”
“Did surgery change your face that much?”
She hesitated, longer this time. “It’s a long story. I—ah …”
“Tell me about it. I love you. I want to help, but this doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”
“Love?” she whispered as if it were a foreign word.
“Of course, I told you I was crazy about you.” He didn’t understand women. She seemed genuinely stunned as if she didn’t realize how he felt about her.
“Being crazy is … different than love.”
To him it wasn’t but he didn’t want to argue. He brushed a wisp of hair off her cheek. “It’s hard for a man to say ‘I love you’ to a woman. I do love you—more than you’ll ever know.”
She put her hands on his cheeks and gazed into his eyes. There was no need for words. He could see the depth of her love. With every fiber of his being, he wished he could live for years and years to love her. If only he could make up for the way she had suffered before fate had brought them together.
“If you want to help, play along. Pretend I’m Rochelle Ralston.”
“I can’t blindly play along.” He pulled her into his arms, saying, “Trust me.”
“It isn’t a matter of trust. It’s …” She moved away with a troubled shrug. “You don’t know me.” She pointed to her face. “This isn’t me. Surgery has made me look exactly like my mother. For years I was someone else. The Beast.”
“The Beast? Yeah, sure.”
“It’s true. I had a horrid birthmark covering the side of my face. It was so bad that people looked the other way when I came into a room.”
He was momentarily speechless, trying to imagine this beautiful woman revolting people. From the tone of her voice, he knew the experience had scarred her emotionally as well as physically.
“I wouldn’t have looked away.”
“Yes, you would have. It’s a normal reaction. Kind, actually. The rude people stare. The cruel ones make nasty remarks.”
“Honey, I’m so sorry.” He recalled something she’d said, and the depth of her misery hit him. “When you were talking about the pathetic woman and the half-eared dog, you were talking about yourself, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was pathetic. The birthmark turned me into a loner without much self-esteem. I told myself I didn’t care because I didn’t want to admit how much it hurt. The accident gave me a new life. It brought me to you.
“I’m not running and I’m not hiding. That’s what The Beast would have done. We deserve a lifetime together, but we’re not going to get it. Let’s enjoy the time we do have.”
She spoke with quiet yet determined firmness. He knew he would never change her mind. She had sacrificed her safety because she truly loved him. Raw emotion swelled in his chest, and his heart actually ached.
“What about Dexxter?” he asked, anxious to fully understand the situation.
“I’m certain he doesn’t know who I am. He must have come here to check.” She thought a moment, then added, “He never does the dirty work himself, at least he hasn’t before.”
“You’d better start at the beginning. When did you first meet the double X?”
“After I completed my master’s at the University of Washington, I went job hunting. Despite glowing references from my professors, no one hired me.” She was making a valiant attempt to check the emotion filtering into her voice, but he picked up on it. “The birthmark made people uncomfortable.”
He wanted to hug her tight, but he was afraid if he did, he would break down. She had endured a lifetime of suffering. Now, her love for him had opened a trap door. Without knowing it, she was falling into a pit where even more pain and misery awaited her—when he told her about his problem.
“I had to earn a living. My mother was ill with Parkinson’s. When Dexxter offered me a job, I immediately accepted.”
“What was your relationship with Dexx like?”
“I rarely saw him. I reported to the head of the computer department. A few times I caught him watching my good side.” She patted her left cheek. “From one side I wasn’t half bad. My nose was a little long before Clive fixed it, but I was passable. When you saw my full face, well, one guy called me Beauty and The Beast.”
The tautness in her voice told him how much that cruel remark had hurt her. The realization unleashed a tenderness, a protectiveness that he hadn’t experienced before. If he could find the dumb-ass who’d callously called her that name, he’d deck the bastard.
“Dexxter was notorious around Foxx Enterprises for having prostitutes service him in his office. When I worked there, Dexx never had a girlfriend, even though Irene made it clear she was available.”
Matt listened while she explained the FBI profiler’s valuation of Dexxter. What it boiled down to was the man was a coward who didn’t have relationships with women because that would dash his version of reality.
“Maybe Dexx sees Irene as someone safe because he’s known her since they were kids,” he suggested.
“Possibly, but why isn’t she wearing an engagement ring?”
“Trust a woman to notice,” he said. “I picked up on something you might not have. Dexxter is hot for you.”
“You’re kidding,” she said, wide-eyed. “Well, I did realize each time he talked to me that Irene’s claws itched to draw blood.”
“Okay, so his love life is screwed-up. Why does the FBI want him? That’s the key to the puzzle.”
“I became suspicious when I realized the Research and Development Department had only two people in it. If you know anything about software companies, you would find this odd. R and D can take up half the building. You have to invest a lot in development to stay ahead.”
“Did you ask Dexxter about it?”
“Yes, he said most of the R and D was in Singapore, which isn’t unusual. The computer business has grown so rapidly that we don’t have the manpower to handle it all in this country.
“Out of curiosity, I e-mailed R and D in our Singapore office where the software is actually manufactured. There were four people in that unit, but all they were designing was packaging.”
“Dexxter was pirating software and selling it as his own,” Matt guessed.
“Exactly and it gets worse. He reproduced the software under less than ideal conditions. The failure rate was bound to be astronomical. Some of the phony software went into planes. Private jets, mostly, but the Pacific Rim airliner that crashed in Malaysia was using his software.”
“I remember that crash. A reporter from the Post was on it.”
“The accident made me even more suspicious. I e-mail
ed my contact in Singapore R and D that there were only two R and D people in Seattle. He started asking a lot of questions, and Dexxter had him killed. A week later, another man in the Singapore office was murdered.”
“Dexxter was in Seattle when all this went on?”
“Yes. I knew if Dexx thought to check their e-mail, he would find out about me. My mother was near death, so I couldn’t run. I didn’t want to go to the authorities and be dragged in for questioning. I needed to stay at my mother’s side. I loved her so much. I wanted to be with her … until the end.”
With a rush of tenderness, he imagined a lonely young woman waiting those final hours at her mother’s side. He remembered the feeling from his own youth. Her situation must have been even worse. He’d had his sister to share his grief and comfort him.
She had been all alone.
“After my mother’s funeral, I went to the authorities. They took me to a safe house where I stayed until they could arrange a new identity. Dexxter found me. You see, The Beast was easy to spot with that livid birthmark.”
“Couldn’t it be removed with a laser?”
“Yes, and they had an appointment set up. Dexxter’s man found me first.”
“What a run of bad luck,” he said, unable to imagine a life on the run, a killer dogging every step. “After the accident, Clive changed your face enough to fool Dexxter, right?”
Her arms slid around his waist and she burrowed against him, saying, “Yes, and the accident brought us together. I’ve never been so happy.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he said, and he meant it. There had been other women in his life but no one who had been through so much yet loved him unselfishly. Another woman would turn her back and leap at the opportunity to enjoy a new life after being The Beast for so long.
He owed it to her to tell her the truth about himself.
This wasn’t a discussion he planned to have with her until it was time for him to leave—months from now. But her confession changed things radically. There was no easy segué into this, so he opted for the direct approach.
