Forever My Love

by Heather Graham

  “Johnny,” Keith muttered. “Well, Johnny lived hard, and he died hard.”

  He sounded bitter, Kathy thought. He was a handsome man, with intelligent, dark brown eyes, dark hair, and the look of one of yesteryear’s composers. Beethoven, perhaps. But tonight he looked haggard, drained.

  “Kathy, want to talk, really talk?” he asked her suddenly.

  “Sure.”

  He drew her outside. Workers were setting up for the bands and singers by the pool. Keith didn’t want to be there. He drew her away from the house, into the trees. She followed him trustingly. He stopped at last, and he seemed to have difficulty breathing. “Kathy, do you know what’s going on?”

  She nodded. “Someone killed Johnny Blondell. Someone who grew angry. The same person who had Harry Robertson killed in jail. The same person—”

  “Who probably killed my wife. Kathy, I was ill, I missed her so badly. But you know, this is terrible, I don’t want to die myself. He’s after a number. There’s something stashed somewhere. Something of incredible value. And it’s here and it’s close, and we should all know it. Kathy, it’s in the song.”

  She shivered suddenly, feeling the coolness of the night breeze rake up her spine. “How do you know?” she said.

  “Johnny called me up and said he had some of it figured out but he’d be damned if he was going to be double-crossed. He wanted to talk to Brent. He was all excited. I think Johnny might have been halfway in it with Harry.”

  “But Johnny is dead.”

  “Harry probably didn’t trust Johnny. Oh, I don’t think Johnny was in on the smuggling. But Harry told him something. Brent was the only one that Harry really trusted. That’s why I think he stashed this thing somewhere purposely, using numbers that would mean something to Brent.”

  Kathy shook her head. “I’ve been through the song, Keith. I’ve been through it and through it and—”

  “Brent has to come up with something! Or else we’re all going to die, Kathy. We’re all going to die.”

  “Kathy!”

  Brent shouted her name, thrashing furiously through the trees. He snatched her by the shoulders, bringing her against his chest and staring furiously at Keith over her head. “What the hell are you doing, Keith?”

  “Talking. I was just talking.”

  “So you dragged her out here.”

  Just then there was movement in the trees. Two guns were suddenly beneath their noses, held by hands attached to the arms of Steve and Jerry.

  “We were with her all the time, Mr. McQueen. Honestly,” Steve said.

  “Hey, what the hell—” Keith began.

  “We were watching you, too, Mr. Montgomery,” Jerry promised him solemnly.

  “Yeah, hell, Miami’s finest,” Keith muttered. He looked at Brent. “You used to be my friend. Why don’t you really try to keep us all alive, huh?” Then he swept past them.

  “Sorry,” Steve said. “I guess we should have stayed in the bushes.”

  Brent shook his head, looking after Keith. “No, no, it’s all right.” He slipped an arm around Kathy’s shoulder. “Let’s get back in, shall we?”

  They walked along a trail to the patio. Robert was waiting for them, watching them emerge from the trees.

  “Everything all right?” he asked Brent.

  “Yeah, fine,” Brent told him briefly.

  “Good. I’ll stay with Kathy. You’re on stage in a few minutes.”

  Brent nodded and disappeared. Kathy stood by Robert as a group of English brothers who had made it very big and bought property in south Florida came on. Their harmonies were legendary, and they put on a wonderful show. Kathy applauded enthusiastically. Then someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to receive a sloppy kiss and hug from each of the Hicks brothers.

  Larry, blond and blue-eyed, looked her over openly, then grinned. “Okay, Kathy. Looking good. So you’re together again. We’re real glad.”

  Thomas nodded. He was the more serious of the two. “It’s good to see you, Kathy. Really good. I hope we see more of you. Although I don’t know. We haven’t had a chance to talk about doing anything else about the Highlanders.”

  “Aren’t you playing tonight?” she asked him.

  He nodded again. “Yeah, sure. We just saw you and we had to stop.” He looked around her shoulder to Robert and nodded cordially, but he was wearing a small frown. “It’s the fuzz, huh?” he muttered to Kathy.

  She smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I guess, you could say that. Robert, this is Thomas Hicks, and his brother, Larry Hicks, and—”

  “Oh, hey, man, it’s you!” Thomas laughed, greeting Robert. “I didn’t recognize you in the duds, man. Lieutenant McGregor! Nice to see you. And thanks for being so conscientious. Those guys of yours have been with us like a second skin.”

  Kathy was staring at them all curiously. “We met,” Robert explained to her. “I had to question everyone after the explosion that…that killed Johnny,” he said.

  “Oh, of course,” Kathy murmured.

  “We’ll get together,” Larry said. “We’ll all get together. Maybe we can solve it that way, huh?”

  He waved to Kathy, then he and his brother were weaving their way to the stage. A few minutes later, after a pop female vocalist had done her number, Brent, Keith, Larry and Thomas were announced—as the Highlanders. Brent was at the mike saying in his husky voice that they were dedicating the night to Johnny Blondell. And then they were doing Highlander numbers, and the crowd was going crazy.

  At the end, Brent announced that he was going to do an old favorite. And he sang “Forever My Love.”

  There didn’t seem to be a sound, a rustle of movement, as he sang. The song was haunting, beautiful. As it ended, Kathy knew he had chosen to do the song as their finale on purpose. He wanted to goad someone with it, to stir up something.

  But then she realized that he was singing the song to her. His eyes sought her out in the crowd, and he was singing to her. And she felt his eyes with the same quivering excitement she had known all those years ago.

  The last notes hung in the air. Then there was an explosion of applause that lasted and lasted. The Highlanders tried to leave the stage, and Kathy knew he was heading toward her, but it seemed like forever before he reached her.

  When he did, she suddenly realized something. “Brent!”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got it!”

  “What?”

  “Well, I haven’t got all of it, but I’ve got some of it, I think.”

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

  Robert was turning to them. She didn’t want to share this with Robert. Not yet. Only with Brent.

  “Can we go?” she asked.

  “Now?”

  She sighed with exasperation. “Well, you had your little chitchat with Marla, didn’t you?”

  “Yes—”

  “Then let’s go! Please, Brent, I think I’ve got something.”

  “All right, all right.”

  “What’s all right?” Robert demanded.

  “Kathy wants to go. She’s—tired.”

  Robert nodded. He seemed disappointed. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  When they reached the house Kathy warmly kissed Robert good night, then warned Brent with her eyes that she didn’t want him to discuss the night’s happenings with Robert forever.

  Still it was almost thirty minutes before he came into the bedroom. “He wanted to know everything Marla had to say.”

  “What did she have to say?” Kathy demanded.

  “Not much. Except that Johnny talked to her. And Johnny said Harry had told him I was the key to the whole thing, that the answer was in the song. But I’ll still be damned if I see—”

  “But I do!” Kathy exclaimed. “It’s in the article.” She pulled the article from the box. “Brent, only someone who knew you well could see it. I don’t have the number yet, but I think I know where!”

  “Where?” he demanded, puzzled.

&nb
sp; “There’s a line about the bay and a paragraph where you talked about the writing of the song. You mention your old house and how you could see the bay and—” She paused, staring into his eyes, waiting for him to remember. He did.

  “The warehouses by the bay. They all have combination locks. And combination locks mean numbers.”

  Kathy shook her head emphatically. “Yes.”

  “I still don’t have the number.”

  “It’s in the music, Brent. It has to be in the music.”

  He nodded. Then he laughed and kissed her. He spun her off her feet, seeming to fly with her off the ground, and they landed on the mattress. He demanded excitedly, “Do you know what I’m going to do now?”

  “Work on the music?” she suggested.

  He shook his head. “No. Now I’m going to get to take this whisper of satin and shimmer off you, my love.”

  His eyes were gold and sparkling. His whisper was husky and provocative, and he had called her his love.

  Suddenly she didn’t care what the future might bring. She wanted only the magic of the night.

  Chapter 10

  She lay in a froth of white and satin and sparkle. He’d watched her from the time they’d reached the party that night, watched the material swirl around her, watched the rhinestones catch the light. He’d seen the easy sway of her walk and he’d listened to the sound of her laughter. He’d found himself praying just to have the night, no matter what came after. Just this night.

  And it was his. Her eyes were eternally blue as they stared into his. Her smile was sensual, tempting. He should tease her lips, but he didn’t. Instead he kissed her forehead, her cheeks and the lobe of her ear. He whispered against it, telling her just how wonderful she looked in the dress, and just what he intended to do to her and where. He lowered his lips to her shoulder and gloried in the satiny texture of her flesh there. He nuzzled the plunging cleavage of the gown, pressing his lips and tongue against the rise of her breasts.

  Then he rose, anxious to rid himself of his constricting clothes. She was suddenly on her knees before him, working on the buttons of his shirt. He wrenched it off and tossed it carelessly to the floor as she kissed the planes of his belly. When her tongue moved into his navel, he drew her against him and his lips found hers at last. Hungrily, they met and meshed and parted, then met again, openmouthed and hungrier.

  His fingers wound through her hair, found the hook at the back of the dress and released it. The white sparkling bodice fell forward and her breasts seem to burst from their confines. He buried his head against her, tasting the sweet-smelling flesh there, pressing her closer and closer against him and pushing down the lacy garment to close his mouth around the ripeness of her nipple.

  Her head fell back and soft blond hair cascaded over his fingers. The sensual sound of her whimpers nearly drove him to a frenzy. With shaking fingers he tried to take off the bra. But she eluded him, moving away with a subtle smile. In a pool of light she dropped the lacy garment and stepped from the froth of glitter and white.

  She stood arrayed in garter and panties and stockings that shimmered seductively down the length of her legs. She remained still for a moment, seeking his eyes, seeking something. Perhaps she discovered all that she really wanted in his eyes, because her kiss-dampened smile deepened and she whispered softly, “I love you, Brent.”

  He groaned. “I love you, too, Kathy.” Then he sank at the foot of the bed, staring at the rounded beauty of her naked breasts and the erotic wonder of her legs. Just a part of her thighs was bared, and the thin wisp of her panties barely covered the exotic blond beauty of her deepest sexuality. He reached out his hands. “Come here,” he commanded softly.

  When she did, his hands wrapped around her waist and he pulled her against him. Her fingers went through his hair, then fell to his shoulders. He stroked the garters and brushed her thighs with the warm moisture of his kiss. He cupped his hands over her buttocks and pressed her closer against him. Tenderly he assaulted the apex of her thighs, the panties more of an enhancement than a barrier as he bathed her with fiery wet heat, delving, caressing and delving once again.

  She trembled and shuddered and cried out and fell against him, and he crawled over her. He knotted his fingers around the panties and pulled them off, leaving her clad only in the stockings and garters. She moaned softly, and he kissed her lips and breasts, and once again fell against the heart of her desire, only now there was no barrier between them. She cried out sharply, releasing everything to him, her head thrashing on the pillow.

  He shed his trousers and briefs, shaking with the desire to plunge within her. Still he controlled himself, for she was so alluring with her hair spread in wild disarray, her flesh sheened from his lovemaking, her lips parted, her eyes shaded by the fall of her lashes, and the garters and stockings framing the wet, welcoming beauty of her sex.

  He held back no longer. A strangled cry tore from his lips as he plunged deep within her to find a welcoming warmth close around him. Her eyes widened with the force of his entry, then her thighs locked around his hips. It seemed that the spark of desire, dying within her just moments ago, rose to life again on a rampant breeze. She squeezed him tightly, and he stroked and thrust with an increasing rhythm that seemed to bring the promise of climax closer and closer.

  She met his thrusts with the arch of her hips. He ground against her. She cried out softly and he kissed her lips and breasts. When he knew he could hold back no longer, he caught her lips once again and filled her mouth with the desire and frenzy of his tongue as he filled her with the last shuddering force of his body and the stream of his seed. He felt her writhing beneath him, and he held her tightly in his arms until the spasms were over.

  He wondered how anything could be so good and stay so good, and how she could electrify him time and time again. He knew it wasn’t the wanting, it was the love, and that desire grew from that love.

  But if it was so good, why had it all turned on them so painfully?

  He held her closely. The seconds ticked by. She didn’t speak, and neither did he. And when she would have spoken, he pressed his fingers against her lips and silenced her with his kiss. He made love to her again.

  Later, much later, he felt the dampness on her cheeks, and he knew that she had been silently crying, but he couldn’t say anything to her.

  They had to get through this. And then he had to leave. There would be no way for him to change the past, no way for them to go back. No way to pretend he hadn’t hurt her. And for himself, no way to pretend he wouldn’t do so again.

  All he could do was hold her and pray that the night would never end.

  He was up, wide-awake, leaning over her. She opened her eyes slowly—they didn’t want to open. They hadn’t slept at all. She hadn’t minded, she hadn’t wanted to sleep, she had wanted to touch him, to hold him, forever.

  But the night had ended, and day had come.

  His lips landed wetly and enthusiastically on hers, and then they were gone and his golden eyes were staring into hers. “You gave me the secret! Kathy, I think I’ve got it. I’ve got to get to my place and get the guitar. I’ve called Robert. He should be here any minute.”

  She groaned. “With Jerry and Steve, right?”

  “Right. What’s the matter with Jerry and Steve?”

  “Nothing. They’re real nice guys. Cute as buttons. You should worry about leaving me here alone with them.”

  “You’re not coming with me. It could be dangerous for you to be out.”

  She groaned again. “Brent, if you’re going out—”

  “If I’m going out, I feel safer with you here.”

  The sheet fell from one of her breasts. His eyes slipped to the rise of her flesh, and he leaned over her to take her warmly into his mouth. Regretfully, he rose and smiled at her. “I’ll be back.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  He was starting for the door. “Wait!” she cried. “You didn’t tell me! What did you figure out?”


  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “You think it’s Keith, don’t you? You were awfully rude to him last night.”

  “I don’t think anything,” he said coldly.

  He turned and left. Kathy watched him and sighed. A few minutes later she heard the commotion at the door that meant Robert and his troops had arrived. She was exhausted but she knew she’d never be able to sleep. She felt exceptionally restless.

  Because he knew something. He knew, but he wasn’t sure, and so he wasn’t going to tell her. But maybe someone else would think he knew.

  The killer, perhaps…

  She shot out of bed and hurried into the shower. Thirty minutes later she emerged from her bedroom to discover that Jerry and Steve had brought doughnuts and that they had gotten very good with her coffeemaker and were smiling and eager to greet her.

  They were both very nice. Dedicated, all-American. That morning she spent drawing them both out and trying not to think about Brent. Jerry was one of five children. He’d spent three years in the navy, had lived in Miami all his life and wanted to change the city’s image of being a hotbed for the drug and smuggling trades.

  Steve was from a very small town in Alabama. He had a wife and a two-month-old baby, and he simply loved the Miami area, the beautiful old homes and the foliage in Coconut Grove, the water that was always warm and always available. He even loved the action of the garish nightlife.

  It was such a nice, easy conversation. Kathy didn’t notice when it turned to her. There was nothing tricky or subtle about the change of subject. Jerry noticed a picture of Shanna and commented on what a truly stunning girl she was. And Kathy found herself laughing and agreeing and saying that yes, Shanna was their pride, both hers and Brent’s. Then she was explaining how she had gotten into advertising, how she had worked while Brent struggled with music, how he had insisted they had everything, but that she should go back to school and take something that interested her. Sometimes her schedule had conflicted with his touring, but they had always worked something out.

  Jerry was quiet, watching her. Then he blurted out, “It sounds so damned good. You were both courteous to one another. How the hell did you ever wind up divorced? No money problems, no religious differences. What happened?”