Then Robert went to the door to leave. “I’ve people up at the state prison, trying to find out what they can from any of the inmates who were associated with Harry Robertson. Maybe we’ll come up with something from that angle. I’ve talked to Keith Montgomery, and I’ve talked to the Hicks brothers. They don’t seem to know anything, either. I’ve got twenty-four-hour security going for them, too. Maybe you should talk among yourselves.”
“I was planning to do just that, at the benefit.”
“They’re going to bury Johnny this afternoon,” Robert said.
Brent glanced toward the bedroom. “Yeah, I know, I picked it up on the news.”
“You were planning on going?”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to say anything. Hey, Johnny was a real pill sometimes. We didn’t often see eye to eye, and we didn’t get along that great. But I worked with him enough over the years. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t go.”
“What!” came a sharp exclamation. Brent spun around. Kathy was out of the bedroom. “Now you’re going to go running around to funerals, too!”
“Kathy, I have to go.”
“Then I’m going.”
“The hell you are!”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Robert protested. “Kathy, listen to this. Brent, you listen, too. I’ll come for you both in time for the services, all right?”
“She shouldn’t—” Brent began.
“I shouldn’t! What about you?”
“You’re starting to sound married again,” Robert warned them.
It worked. They fell silent. Robert smiled and waved. “The funeral could be interesting, too, you know,” he told Brent.
Kathy turned to go to the bedroom. Brent saw Robert out. He paused by his car, looking at the house. “This is a good setup here. The gate, the fence, the dog, the fact that the peninsula is private and a getaway would be almost impossible. No one’s coming after you here, not even a professional. It couldn’t be a clean enough job.”
“Thanks,” Brent said wryly.
“Seriously—”
“I know.”
“I’ll be back.”
Inside Brent picked up the dishes. Kathy hadn’t come out to eat. Almost two hours later she still hadn’t appeared.
Brent watched the news, then sat at the piano. He picked out notes and played rhythms and beats, until his fingers started to move over the keys to “Forever My Love.” Then he hesitated, remembering she hadn’t wanted to hear the song.
Brent closed his eyes, thinking. There had been something about Harry and that song.…
He opened his eyes. Kathy was standing there in a handsome navy business suit, her hair pulled back and wound into an elegant knot at her nape. “Are you going like that?” she asked him, indicating his jeans.
He smiled. “That depends. I was waiting to crawl through the closet. What have I got to wear?”
She shrugged. “I don’t remember. But you’ve waited pretty long. Robert should be back soon.”
“I didn’t wait on purpose. You were in the bedroom.”
“I don’t remember that stopping you from entering before,” she said flatly.
His smile deepened. “I’ll remember that,” he told her.
She turned on her navy heels, leaving him at the piano. She was cold, very cold. Like ice. Anything he might have gained in their time together, he had now lost, he thought.
He left the piano, entered the bedroom and rummaged through the huge closet until he found a suit. By the time he had changed, Kathy was calling through the door that Robert had come.
When Brent came out, Kathy told him Robert had checked on Shanna and that their daughter was fine and safe and sent her love.
Brent nodded and thanked Robert.
They rode to the church in the police car. The church was filled to overflowing, and the curious and the fans spilled into the streets. Teenagers carried banners proclaiming, “We’ll love you forever, Johnny Blondell!”
Services were brief, then they moved on to the cemetery. Brent spoke with Johnny’s sister, who had made the arrangements and seemed to be the one person there who had really loved Johnny Blondell.
He looked around while the priest’s words droned on at the grave site. Kathy stood at his side; Marla Harrington, sniffing into a handkerchief, stood not far away. Cops surrounded the area.
Keith Montgomery didn’t make a showing; neither did either of the Hicks brothers.
When the service ended Brent felt a tap on his arm. Then he was suddenly engulfed in a massive and emotional hug as Marla threw her arms around him. She kissed his cheek and held him tight and looked at him with her huge velvet-brown eyes. “Oh, Brent! Poor Johnny, how horrible. And I was so, so worried about you! I called and called, and I drove by the house, and I talked to Keith and the others and no one, absolutely no one, not your manager, not your press secretary, no one knew where you were or how you were!”
He disentangled himself carefully from her arms. “I’ve been fine, Marla, fine. And I’ve hardly been gone a long time.”
“It’s just that I wanted to be with you so badly when I heard!” she whispered. Brent could feel Kathy at his side. Feel her like a live firecracker. “I wanted to do what I could to take your mind off things.”
“Marla—”
“Are you still doing the benefit on Friday? I thought they’d cancel, but everyone thought it was such a good cause, and Johnny wouldn’t have wanted anyone to cancel it because of him. Brent, I really need to talk to you. Maybe we could go together.” Marla did have her talents. The purr of her voice was so sensual she might have been stripping as she whispered her words. It didn’t matter. If she knew something, he wanted to know what, and he didn’t mind playing a few games to find out what.
“All right, Marla.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
Kathy, stepping around him, spoke at last. She wore a wonderfully sweet smile as she addressed the very startled Marla.
“Pardon!” Marla muttered, glancing from Brent to Kathy in confusion. Then she stared hard at Kathy and gasped. “You’re her! You’re his ex-wife.”
“Yes, I’m her, all right,” Kathy said sweetly with just a touch of sarcasm. “And I’m afraid he can’t accompany you because I’m accompanying him.”
“No, you’re not,” Brent muttered.
“Yes, I am,” Kathy said. They were both smiling at Marla over clenched teeth.
Kathy smoothly offered Marla a hand. “And you’re Marla Harrington. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thanks. I, uh, I didn’t know that you and Brent were still on friendly terms.”
“Oh, very friendly, at the moment,” Kathy said sweetly.
“Really?” Marla said awkwardly. Then the situation was eased as Kevin Terrill, Brent’s manager, made a sudden appearance, along with Pat Lacey, his press secretary. Both men were demanding to know where Brent had been and why he hadn’t contacted them. Then they both recognized Kathy, and it seemed there was a lot of confusion.
Johnny’s sister was led away, sobbing, and the caretakers made it pretty obvious they wanted everyone to leave so they could fill the grave.
Marla made it back to Brent for a brief moment. “Brent, darlin’, I’ve really got to talk to you!” she whispered huskily.
Did she know something? Brent wondered. Anything?
“Sure,” he said, squeezing her hands. “Sure, we’ll get some time alone together. I’ll see you on Friday.”
She turned and left him. He started to turn away only to find Kathy standing there, staring at him. She looked so sophisticated. Elegant, beautiful—and very cold. Her smile was glacial. For such a tiny person, she could appear very superior.
“Brent, darlin’, are you ready to leave? I believe that Robert is waiting for us. And the police aren’t staying around much longer so the fans will be free to attack you if someone more—or less—lethal doesn’t decide to first.”
“I’m
ready, Ms. O’Hara.” He took her hand and led her toward Robert’s car, his strides purposely long so she had to run on her high heels to keep up with him.
She was silent during the drive home while Robert quizzed Brent about the funeral. “I didn’t find out anything,” Brent said. “Well, I did find someone willing to talk, but Kathy rather nicely put an end to that.”
“Oh, darlin’, I don’t think talking was what she had in mind.”
“I have to find out.”
“That’s your prerogative,” she told him innocently.
By then they had reached the house. She thanked Robert sweetly and in a matter of seconds, she was out of the car, through the gate and hurrying up the walk to the front door.
“She? Marla Harrington?” Robert asked.
Brent nodded, watching as Kathy disappeared inside. “Yeah, I’ll try to get through to her on Friday. I’ve got to talk Kathy out of going.”
“You want to borrow some handcuffs? That might be your only chance,” Robert warned him.
“Thanks.” Robert got out of the car with Brent, but refused his invitation to come in. Brent locked the gate and patted Sam, then wondered if he wasn’t being a little ridiculous with the security.
No. He’d just left Johnny’s funeral and he wanted to stay alive. Life had become exceptionally intriguing once again.
He went into the house. Kathy was in the bedroom; the door was closed. He could hear her, though. She was on the telephone, setting up a date for a photo shoot in two weeks. Then she was on the phone again, easily hedging questions about him, making sure she had the studio time and the photographer she wanted.
He’d almost forgotten she had her own business.
“Brent?” she said on the phone. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping, even if she was talking about him. Especially if she was talking about him and suddenly sounding very casual.
“Yes, well, I’ve heard from him, of course. He was concerned about Shanna. I’m sure he’s fine. I don’t really know. We are divorced.”
Ah, divorced…But on very friendly terms, that was what she had told Marla.
He smiled and tried the door. It wasn’t locked. He pushed it open and went into the room. She was stretched out on the bed. Her feet bare, she was lying there in her tailored white blouse and form-hugging linen skirt. She had freed her hair and it fell in soft tendrils and waves around her shoulders.
She glanced at him and rather quickly ended her conversation.
He cast off his jacket and stretched beside her. “Busy?” he inquired politely.
“Well, Patty is great, but she really handles the house and my time more than anything else,” she said casually. “I had a few things to catch up with.”
“Oh.” Leaning on an elbow, Brent asked politely, “Any repercussions from all this hitting you?”
“No, no, not really. Well, of course, people are curious about you. I guess our past association is fairly well-known.”
“Our past association?” he echoed genially.
“Yes.”
“Just our past association?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked irritably.
“Well, gee, Ms. O’Hara, I just got the impression we were dating again.”
“Dating?”
“Friday night. You’re accompanying me, right?”
“If you’re going to go—”
“But I could have had a date!” he protested.
Her eyes flashed dangerously. “If you’re going to stay in this house and make demands, then you don’t get to date, too. Not while—”
“Not while what?”
“Not while you’re…you’re sleeping with me.”
“Oh?”
The telephone started to ring, breaking the tension rising between them. Kathy quickly picked up the receiver, her eyes a crystal fire of warning. “Hello?”
Brent could hear that the voice on the other end of the wire was male. Kathy listened uncomfortably for several seconds. She looked a little pale. She glanced at him uneasily, then tried to glance away. She slipped a hand over the receiver and smiled at him pleasantly. “Brent, this is personal. I don’t suppose you’d—”
She broke off as he slowly shook his head, his refusal brooking no argument. She flashed him a glance of pure fury and tried to resume her conversation.
“I’m sorry, I should have called you. It’s just that things moved so swiftly. I’m fine, I’m really fine. Shanna is away. Well, yes, I’m back now. No, I’m sorry, anything this weekend is really not feasible. I—”
She gasped as Brent suddenly pulled the phone out of her hands.
“Axel? Hi, Brent McQueen here.”
“McQueen, what are you doing there?”
“Oh, just stretched out, resting for the moment. Kathy can’t see you this weekend. She forgot to mention that she and I are on, er—what did you call it, Kath?—very friendly terms at the moment.”
Kathy lunged at him. He swept an arm around her quickly, sliding his hand over her mouth as she tried to grind out a few rugged expletives. “Ooh! What was that, sweetheart?” he murmured loudly.
“What the hell is going on? What are you talking about?” Axel demanded. “Put Kathy on the phone this instant. Where is she now?”
“She’s right here, lying in bed with me. But she can’t talk right now. Her, uh, mouth is occupied, you know what I mean?”
A burst of rage from Kathy was spilling through his fingers. “Can’t talk any longer, Axel. Boy, is she a tiger, huh? Talk to you soon.” He slammed down the receiver, rather uselessly, he thought. For Kathy kicked and rolled and sent the phone flying to the floor with a loud clang. His hand slipped from her mouth and she managed to get on top of him.
“How could you? How dare you? I don’t believe—”
“Hey!” he interrupted loudly, catching her flying fists and quickly flipping her beneath him. She was absolutely seething, her eyes pools of liquid blue fire, her hair a blond tempest flying all around her in an erotic tangle. She lay beneath him, hotter than flame, her breasts rising fascinatingly with each angry breath. She started to swear at him again and he smiled slowly.
“You had no right—”
“I had every right!” he retorted.
“You did not!”
“No, no!” he protested. “You called these shots, sweetheart. As long as I was sleeping with you, I couldn’t date, right? Well, the same holds true for you, too.”
“But I didn’t—”
“You split up a date I was making with Marla.”
“I didn’t try to tell her what I was doing with you! I didn’t say—”
“That my mouth was occupied?” he demanded, interrupting her.
“You bas—”
“Hey, Kath, don’t make a liar out of me, huh?” He couldn’t resist. He lowered his head and kissed her while her mouth was open. Kissed her with heat and fever and just a little bit of fury and the sudden explosion of passion that had come to him when he had heard her talking to another man.
She tried to wrench away from him, tried to shove his chest away. He didn’t let her. His body sprawled over hers. He caught her cheeks with his hands, and he kept her mouth open, filling it with his tongue. She twisted and protested, and he knew that he could never let her go because the fires rising inside him were coming to combustible heights.
And then suddenly, she was kissing him back. Her fingers were almost painful as they threaded his hair; her nails raked down his back.
He broke away from her, his lips traveling down her throat, his touch opening her tailored shirt and baring the rise of her breasts. He drew out her fullness, his thumbs running over her nipples. The areolae were nearly aflame, swollen, hard, puckered, ripe to his touch, to his tongue.
“I hate you!” she whispered. And he froze. But she moved against him and her head tossed on the pillow and she whispered, “I want you, Brent! I…want you.”
He shoved up her skirt and rubbed his body down the length of hers.
He ran his touch over the texture of her garters and stockings, and over the soft bare flesh of her thigh. He lifted her hips and nipped and licked the flesh at the heart of her desire over the erotic lace barrier of her panties. Then he rose and stripped them away in a frenzy and barely managed to rip open his buckle and zipper before lifting her thighs around him and plunging into her and filling her with the rage of desire that obsessed him.
He heard his ragged cries, heard the tumult of her heart with her every breath, and he rose even higher with the sounds of her whispers. Then her cries and pleas came moist and sweet against his ear.
When they reached their climax, her words were incoherent. He held her while she shuddered. His fingers curled tightly in her hair and he kissed her forehead gently, his lips trembling. “Damn…Kathy…” he murmured with anguish. Then he groaned and staggered to his feet. He zipped his pants and left her.
Kathy lay there, still and startled, for long, miserable moments, wondering how such ecstasy could bring such loss and such pain. She bit the back of her hands, tears forming in her eyes. She had said she hated him.
She leaped up and started to smooth down her skirt. Then she paused and stripped off all her clothing and donned a terry robe instead. She walked out and found him at the piano. He wasn’t touching the keys. He was leaning over it, his palms pressed against his eyes.
She sat next to him. Startled, he glanced at her, then stared at the keys again.
“Brent! I didn’t mean it!” she said urgently.
He looked at her again. “What?”
“I—I didn’t mean that I hated you.”
He smiled slowly, ruefully. “I didn’t think you did,” he said very softly. Then he really looked at her and saw all the hurt in her eyes. He slipped his arm around her and pulled her against him. “It isn’t you, Kathy. It’s me.”
“I don’t understand—”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me, Brent. You’ve never hurt me, don’t you understand? I—I wanted you.” She paused, then whispered softly, “Desperately. Passionately. Deeply. You’ve never hurt me.”
Forever My Love Page 11
