Liar, Liar, Heart's Desire

by Suzie Quint

  Could she count going back to The Sun as change? Cleo wondered. Was she moving forward or . . . Was going back a clue she should heed?

  “I know a woman,” Annaliese said. “She left the show to dance on Broadway.” The spoon clicked against the pan. “I think I’d like working on Broadway.”

  But staying at The Word wasn’t an option. Her career— “Wait. What? Broadway?”

  “Of course, I’d probably have to start out off-Broadway.” Annaliese turned off the burner “Maybe even off-off-Broadway―”

  “You’re serious?”

  Annaliese poured the milk into glasses. “Yes, I think I am.”

  “But— But—” Cleo couldn’t picture her mother anywhere but Vegas. “The condo. I mean, you own it. And Jada. You know she doesn’t handle change well.”

  Annaliese put a glass in front of Cleo then leaned on the opposite side of the breakfast bar. “I can rent the condo until I’m sure we won’t be back. And Jada . . .” She took a swallow of her milk. “Well, she handles change just fine if you present it right. I can make this look like an adventure. Besides, she’s going to have to deal with change sooner or later anyway. Life as a showgirl doesn’t last forever.”

  Cleo blinked several times then took several long swallows of milk before she found something to say. “Well, as long as you’ve thought it out . . .”

  Annaliese laughed. “Oh honey. Where’s the fun in that? I want to fly by the seat of my pants again. I haven’t done that since . . . Well, since you were born. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had a lot of fun along the way, but I’ve always had a steady job because I needed to take care of you.” She reached out and tucked Cleo’s hair behind her ear. “But you don’t need me anymore. And it’s time I shook things up. Truth is, it’s past time.”

  In a weird way, it felt as though Annaliese was about to leave her behind. Equally weird was that she felt a twinge of jealousy. Flying by the seat of her pants sounded exhilarating. And a little scary. But that was her. Annaliese had always marched to a different drummer. Still, it might be one of those fancies that sounded good in the middle of the night right after you got out of jail. Annaliese might have an entirely different plan by morning.

  Cleo finished her milk. “Whatever you decide, you know I’ll support you.”

  “You don’t need to support me, honey. You’ve done your share of that and then some, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

  Cleo expected the idea of her mother and Jada heading off for a grand adventure in New York to keep her awake, but the warm milk must have done the job, because she was asleep almost before she lay down.

  ~***~

  The sun was well up before Cleo awoke. She wandered into the kitchen in her bathrobe to find Annaliese with a tray of toasted bread in one hand and a steaming pot of coffee in the other.

  “Oh, good. You’re up. Grab that, will you?” She pointed with her elbow at a steaming pitcher of milk. “We’re having breakfast on the patio.”

  Cleo followed her outside where Jada was already waiting with three plates and a handful of napkins.

  “Why are we having a Cuban breakfast?” Cleo asked. “Alec isn’t here.” The words stabbed her.

  “I know.” Annaliese set the tray in the center of the glass-top table before she sat down. “I thought a simple breakfast would go well with the fresh air.”

  Cleo sat across from her and watched her mother pour coffee and then milk into the cups. “I thought you didn’t like the way he made coffee.” Couldn’t she just let it go? He was gone. Stop twisting the knife in the wound. Get over it.

  “I’ve already had a cup of my regular coffee,” Annaliese said. “So I thought I’d give this version a second chance.”

  There was a lightness, almost a buoyancy, to her mother that hadn’t been there the night before. Maybe it hadn’t even been there before she went to jail.

  “We haven’t talked yet about the estate.” Annaliese said as she dunked the toasted French bread in her coffee. “Did Liz inherit everything?”

  “I don’t know,” Cleo said, realizing she’d never had a chance to ask Alec.

  “I know,” Jada said around a mouthful of bread. “Willa told me.” She held her hand up to catch any sprayed crumbs as she talked around it. “Sebastian’s first wife got it all.”

  Cleo’s eyes met her mother’s for a second before they both burst out laughing.

  “That old dog,” Annaliese said.

  “I’ll bet Liz is pissed off,” Cleo said. After they stopped laughing, she added, “I’m sure there were some minor bequests.” Minor being a relative term. Liz—and whoever else Sebastian had deemed worthy—probably still got more money than Cleo had in her bank account. “Speaking of which, Willa said there was a rumor that all personal debts were forgiven in the will.”

  That sobered Annaliese. She sat back in her chair, her eyes misting a little. “That old dog had a heart after all.” She took a deep breath then blew it out. “I can give back the money you deposited, then.”

  “You should hang on to it until you hear for sure, Mom.” She likely wouldn’t need the money for a couple of weeks anyway. She hoped like hell what Willa had said was true, because she was burning bridges as though it was.

  She looked up to catch Annaliese’s gaze on her. Her eyes looked misty again. Her lips parted, mouthing the word, “Mom?” as though it had taken her through the heart.

  Oh hell. It had been an inadvertent slip. One Cleo wasn’t ready to examine yet. She blinked hard as she looked away to dip her toasta in her coffee and took a nibble because a full bite might stick in her already clogged throat.

  “Do you have to fly back out today?”

  Was that a wistful note in Annaliese’s voice? Tempting as it was to spend a few more days, Cleo needed to get the story written and negotiate her place at The Sun while she was still the hottest game in town. “Martin got me a seat on the plane to Tucson for this afternoon.” The text had been on her phone when she woke up.

  “Martin?” Annaliese asked.

  “Yes.” Cleo dipped her toasta again. Please let it drop.

  “I see.” Annaliese’s tone was so carefully neutral it didn’t trigger a need to defend her decision.

  So why was her breakfast sitting in her stomach like a cold, hard lump?

  Jada saved them from what was threatening to become an awkward silence by insisting they should do something to celebrate Annaliese’s homecoming. Cleo picked her toasta into bite-sized pieces as Jada and Annaliese planned their day, then excused herself to pack for her flight.

  As she got up from the table, Annaliese caught her hand. “If Martin and Tucson are what will make you happy, then I’m glad for you.”

  Cleo had to swallow around the lump in her throat before she could get the words, “Thanks, Mom,” out of her mouth.

  “And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone I’m your mother.”

  Cleo leaned down and gave her a hug. “You can tell anyone you want,” she said softly. Then she hurried off, afraid she might see tears in her mom’s eyes again.

  ~***~

  Cleo got to the airport too early. After clearing security, she wandered the concourse. The overhead monitors said her flight was still on schedule. It also listed a plane boarding for Denver on the next concourse.

  Five minutes later, she stood thirty feet from Alec as he handed over his boarding pass at the gate. The lump in her stomach from breakfast turned into indigestion.

  She closed her eyes. What had she expected? That he’d been too crushed by her defection to even get out of bed? That he wasn’t able to function like a normal person? Of course not.

  When she opened her eyes, he was gone. She moved to the window so she could see his plane. Why was she doing this? It was a plane like every other plane in the Las Vegas airport. It wasn’t like she had ex-ray vision and could see him put his carry on in the overhead bin. Or see him settle into his seat. Or smile at the attractive woman next to him.

  And she didn�
�t want to see that.

  She wanted to be the woman he smiled at.

  Oh God. When had that happened?

  She wanted him. But she wanted Tucson, too. It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t she have both?

  Was she supposed to give up her dream job for him? Like that would do her any good. He’d said it just days ago as they’d stood in her mother’s guest room. Out there, we’re colleagues.

  Which translated to: what happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas.

  But on some level she’d never been willing to acknowledge, she’d hoped . . .

  The gate retracted and the plane backed away.

  She watched until it was a speck in the sky.

  ~***~

  Her stomach had settled—more or less—when Martin found her in the waiting area by their gate.

  He looked well rested and very business casual in chinos and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. “Great article,” he said after kissing her cheek. She’d written and emailed it to him the evening before. “I forwarded it to Jeff last night. They made space for it in this morning’s edition.”

  Her stomach clenched with guilt, but she couldn’t understand why. The piece was breaking news. If she hadn’t written it, someone else at The Sun would have. And it wasn’t as though The Word dealt in breaking news.

  Maybe it wasn’t guilt. Maybe she was coming down with something.

  Martin sat beside her, one arm flung across the back of her seat. “You have the best instincts in the business. No one but you would have thought to get close to the Carson woman’s lover.”

  She almost told him the truth, but she knew it would turn into a lengthy explanation, and she just didn’t have it in her to focus that hard with the way her stomach felt. She’d do it later. In Tucson.

  “Don’t ever doubt yourself,” Martin said.

  She looked blankly at him. What made him think she doubted herself?

  He didn’t seem to notice her lack of response. “You’re a great reporter, and great reporters always trust their gut.”

  Before Martin had a chance to break out the cheerleaders for his little pep talk, the gate agent announced their Southwest Air flight was preparing to board.

  She followed Martin onto the plane and down the aisle but stopped one row behind an emergency exit. Southwest Air didn’t assign seating, leaving the choice to the passengers. “Let’s sit here,” Cleo said, remembering what Alec had said on their trip from Denver about the safest seats on a plane being within four rows from an exit.

  “Sure,” Martin said.

  She’d checked everything but her laptop. Ever the gentleman, Martin took the case from her and stowed it in the overhead bin. He started to gesture her toward the window seat, but she said, “I’ll sit on the aisle, if you don’t mind.” Alec’s second lesson in flight safety.

  “Of course. Whatever you like.”

  Once they were seated, she pulled out her phone and sent a text to Annaliese, letting her know she was about to take off. She hesitated a minute, then added, Love you Mom.

  As she was tucking the phone back into her purse, a voice from across the aisle said, “Hey, Martin,”

  And there sat Aaron Peabody. The ass from the San Francisco Chronicle. Cleo bit down on a groan. Couldn’t she at least have a non-stressful flight? She drew a deep breath in through her nose. It was only an hour-long flight. She could tough it out.

  “Hi, Aaron.” Martin leaned forward to talk around her. “What are you doing on a flight to Tucson? Get your gates mixed up?”

  If only.

  “Taking a couple of days to visit my sister in Scottsdale,” Aaron said. “You two back together?” He pointed their way, his finger waving back and forth between them.

  Martin covered her hand on the armrest and smiled. “Looks that way.”

  Did it? She looked at him in surprise. What had she said to give him that idea?

  “Our girl here has the best instincts in the business,” Martin said. “She not only goes places none of us can get to for a story, she solves crimes the police can’t.”

  He was bragging on her. She got that. She still wanted to stuff a dirty sock in his mouth to shut him up.

  “You talking about the Koblect story?” Aaron asked.

  “Of course,” Martin said smugly as if he was claiming credit for picking such a winner.

  Except she didn’t feel like a winner. She felt like Martin’s trophy.

  As the plane filled up and people found seats, the two men talked across her as if she wasn’t there. It felt like déjà vu. This was how it had been at The Sun. A good old boys’ club.

  Did she really want to go back to that? Her stomach tightened and she had a wild desire to run screaming for the door. Always trust your gut, Martin had said. Well, her gut was telling her she was making a mistake. She didn’t belong where the old boys’ club would treat her like a nifty accessory.

  The stewardess was walking down the aisle. Any minute now they’d be closing the door, and she’d be trapped.

  She slipped her purse strap over her shoulder. She took a deep breath, stood, and grabbed her laptop from the overhead compartment.

  “Cleo?” Martin asked. “What are you going?”

  “I’m getting off the plane,” she said.

  “Your girlfriend having some kind of psychic vision?” Aaron asked with a derisive chuckle. “Should we all get off?”

  “Cleo, honey . . .” Martin held out a supplicating hand. “What’s wrong?”

  As much of an ass as Martin could be at times, he wasn’t a mean-spirited ass. She owed him some explanation. Except she didn’t have time for one he’d understand. Hell, she couldn’t even explain it to herself.

  “I have to go, Martin. You told me to listen to my gut. That’s what I’m doing.” Was she really throwing her career away because her breakfast didn’t agree with her?

  “But, Cleo―”

  She didn’t have any time to spare, so she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye, Martin.” And she headed up the aisle.

  ~***~

  Alec was at his desk the next morning, putting the finishing touches on his Koblect article when Jackson stuck his head in the door. “So where’s Ms. hoity-toity? Did you lose her on the blackjack table?”

  Alec scowled at his friend. How did he already know? “I didn’t gamble her away. She’s just . . . not coming back.”

  “Really? I was kidding.” Jackson flopped in the chair that had been Cleo’s. “She’s really not coming back? Wow. I bet Nigel’s pissed.”

  “Haven’t told him yet, so go away and let me work.” He figured if he turned in a good story, Nigel might not give him too much hell.

  “Sure, sure,” Jackson said as he stood up. “But you owe me details. Drinks after work?”

  Alec waved his agreement, his attention already back on the screen.

  He wished he’d gotten more details from Cleo while he’d had the chance, but he thought he’d camouflaged the holes in the story well enough that Nigel wouldn’t spot them. As a bonus, he’d written a side piece about Sebastian based on the information he’d gotten from Bales. If he flooded Nigel with those plus the exclusive with Liz, maybe he wouldn’t even notice Cleo wasn’t there. Well, a guy could dream, couldn’t he?

  He wished his dreams were that mundane. Cleo haunted his sleep. She’d stood in the office bullpen in the sexy red suit she’d worn the first day, her megawatt smile aimed solely at him. After that, the dream had become triple-X rated, and he’d woken with the scent of her in his nose and an ache in his groin.

  When the story was fine-tuned, he sent it to Nigel. Fifteen minutes later—right on cue—Nigel called, and Alec went to face the music.

  He’d known it wouldn’t be easy explaining why Cleo hadn’t come back to Denver with him. Nigel expressed his displeasure in language much worse than the reserved Brit usually employed, but he didn’t appear to hold Alec to blame. That might have been different if he’d confessed the intimate relationship he’d had with
Cleo in Las Vegas.

  When he left Nigel’s office, he headed for the coffeepot in the bullpen to find half the staff there, gazing adoringly at a woman with her back to him. A woman in a red suit with legs so long they looked like she could step over the high jump bar to set a new Olympic record.

  He drew a startled breath, the air feeling like pure helium, lifting him six inches off the ground. She was there! Then the effect evaporated. She was probably there to do some legal wrangling over breaking her contract.

  He leaned forward, about to step toward her, but the sound of someone releasing an exasperated sigh stopped him from taking it. He looked to find Nigel standing beside him shaking his head. “Very good. You pranked me. Do you and Jackson think I’m not going gray fast enough?”

  Alec wished it was the practical joke Nigel thought it was.

  He looked back at the group near the coffee station, then backed away. Around the corner. Into the office he’d shared with her before Las Vegas. Before he’d discovered what she was like as a partner. Before he’d cared that she wasn’t coming back.

  ~***~

  Cleo knew he was behind her the second Alec’s gaze found her. Others might have doubted it, but even before she saw Jackson’s subtle flicker of acknowledgement aimed over her shoulder, she felt his eyes on her skin like a caress.

  It was all she could do to pretend to focus on what Marge was saying. As soon as Marge was done, Cleo murmured some vague response and turned. Nigel was coming toward her with a welcome-home smile on his face, but Alec was gone.

  She tried to listen to her managing editor’s words, but he might have been speaking Swahili for how little of it penetrated her brain.

  Half an hour later, after she’d been “debriefed” by her boss, she found Alec in their office. She stood in the doorway, watching him. Based on the soft swish-swish emanating from his laptop at regular intervals, he was playing solitaire.

  But he knew she was there. She could see it in how still he was, how his gaze never left the screen even for a moment. If she wanted to, she could back away now and pretend nothing special or unique had happened between them in Las Vegas, and he would let her.