Final Words

by Teri Thackston

  She glanced at the neon sign ahead. She needed to get inside and say what she had to say before she succumbed to his beautifully reluctant brown eyes. Maybe he knew what she was going to tell him.

  “This is fine,” she said, stopping at the door.

  He stopped beside her and glanced toward the big front window and then back at her with what looked like regret. That was strange.

  Determined not to give in to the pull she felt from him, Emma opened the door. Inside, candles flickered in sconces placed around the bar. Eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, she looked for a table and quickly realized why Jason had suddenly grown hesitant to bring her in here.

  Alan. And a woman.

  She looked at Jason. His eyes revealed the truth. He had known that her ex-husband was here with a date. He had known and he had brought her here. He felt compelled to show her the truth and yet the guilt of doing so plagued him. That was why he’d hesitated so many times. Both his compulsion and his guilt touched her heart and gave her courage.

  “Wait here,” she said. Taking a firm grip on her purse strap, she marched across the bar.

  Alan and his companion looked up as Emma approached. The heavily made-up blonde watched with mild curiosity as Emma stopped at the table. But Emma didn’t care about her. Blondie was just another in a long line of Alan’s playmates. Instead, Emma focused her attention on her ex-husband.

  “You said you wanted to try again,” she said. “Not that I intended to but you almost had me believing you might be growing up.”

  Alan lowered his hand from the blonde’s shoulder to the back of her chair. “Emma, what a surprise.”

  “Cut the crap, Alan.” Leaning on the table, Emma glared at her ex-husband. “Lose my phone number. Forget where I live and where I work. Do you understand?”

  His attention shifted to a point somewhere behind her. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Jason and obviously jumped to conclusions.

  Emma leaned closer, blocking Alan’s view of the detective. “Do you understand?” she repeated firmly.

  Animosity burned in Alan’s eyes when they swung back to her. “I understand completely.”

  “Good.” Pushing off the table, Emma turned and marched away.

  Opening the door, Jason followed her outside. Not until she reached the curb did Emma realize she was shaking. But that was ridiculous. She didn’t love Alan anymore. She wondered now if she had ever really loved him. Could she trust anything that she felt or thought?

  Yes, damn it! Especially about him!

  With that thought, she realized that her shaking came from a sense of freedom and relief, not from failure or self-doubt. Closure. That was it. She was finally over Alan. The dreams and hopes that had died when her marriage dissolved no longer seemed important.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said and, grabbing Jason’s hand, tugged him toward the parking lot.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sliding behind the wheel of his Mustang, Jason considered the hurt that darkened the soft blue of Emma’s eyes. He felt like a skunk. He’d forced her to see a truth about her ex-husband that she apparently hadn’t been ready to see.

  “You don’t seem up to driving.” He started the engine. “So I’ll take you home instead of to your car. Okay?”

  She hugged her arms over her stomach as if it hurt. “I don’t want to go home.”

  Tears brimmed her eyes and he knew it wouldn’t take much to spill them.

  “Alan will only call me if I go home,” she continued, rocking slightly. “He’ll make up some story to explain that woman. He always has a story. I don’t need to hear this one. Just…let’s just go. Anywhere.”

  Shifting into reverse, he backed out of the parking space and then glanced at her again. A single, silver tear had slipped free and coursed a slow path down her pale cheek. That ache hit him again and he knew it was more than the need for sex—although that need was there too. This ache stretched all the way up to his heart.

  He set his jaw, mentally cursed Alan Winfeld—and himself—and shifted into forward gear. The tires of the Mustang squealed as he peeled out of the parking lot.

  * * * * *

  “Do you need my handkerchief? I promise it’s clean.”

  At Jason’s question, Emma’s cheeks warmed. It embarrassed her to have him see her crying. She could have called a cab but she’d been so blinded by her feelings that it had taken everything she had just to walk out of that bar. Emotions she hadn’t expected had gone on a rampage inside her. She wasn’t even sure how much time she’d been trying to get control of herself.

  “No,” she said quietly. “Thanks.”

  Unfolding her stiff arms, she opened her purse and dug inside for a tissue. As she stemmed the flow from her eyes, she realized that Jason had stopped the car and turned off the engine.

  Clearing her eyes with a blink, she looked out the front windshield at a small, dark house sitting on stilts. A breath of air eased through the open car window and she could smell the salt from the bay. The only sounds were the wind chasing the corners of the house and the tick-tick-tick from the cooling engine of his car.

  She looked at Jason. “Where are we?”

  “My place.”

  She remembered again the warnings Marta and Skitch had given her. His reputation as a ladies’ man and his apparent interest in her made Emma wish that she had taken a cab. But then she remembered his guilty expression when she’d first seen Alan tonight. She remembered the courage she’d felt to do what had to be done and she wondered again if there was more to Jason than his reputation.

  “I couldn’t think of a better place for you to relax,” he said, opening his car door. “Come on inside.”

  Getting out, she reluctantly followed him to the house. He remained as quiet as he’d been during the drive. Did he regret bringing her and her tears here?

  When he stopped to unlock the front door, she touched his arm. “I needed to see Alan with that woman,” she said.

  He opened the door, reached inside and flipped a switch. Light skimmed over his face. She saw again the guilt he felt at what he must consider his own deception.

  Emma experienced a sudden need—like the one she’d felt in the hospital—to help him put that guilt to rest.

  She pressed her fingertips deeper into his arm. “Seeing Alan tonight gave me a sense of freedom that I haven’t felt in a long time. A sense of confidence in myself.”

  Jason searched her face. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not sure I do either.” Heating beneath his gaze, she stepped past him and entered the house. A quick glance gave her an impression of hominess and a surprising trace of femininity. Considering his notoriety for playing a very large field, she realized she shouldn’t be surprised. He must have women out here all the time and he’d decorated his home for their comfort.

  Pushing aside an unexpected jolt of sorrow, she walked to a picture window that overlooked a deck, the beach and the bay beyond. Lamplight behind her cast a faint reflection on the glass, giving her two images at which to look.

  “I told you I was considering going back to Alan.” Knowing it didn’t really matter, she still wanted to explain. “That wasn’t entirely true, although I guess a small part of me had hoped we might at least stay friends.” Snuggling her arms over her chest, she watched moonlight drape the bobbing water. “I know now that he hasn’t changed. I guess no man can.”

  “Don’t lump all men into one bastard’s category.”

  She saw Jason’s reflection in the window as he moved close behind her. Heat flushed her body when his eyes, dark and serious, focused on her face. Again, she tried to ignore the desire that pierced her, although it was becoming less unwelcome with every moment.

  “You have quite a reputation,” she said, trying to convince herself of something she no longer quite believed.

  “Undeserved in the past year,” he answered quietly. “I’d like the chance to prove it to you.”

  “Even though you sus
pect me of—” Breaking off, she met his gaze in the glass. “Just exactly what do you suspect me of, Detective MacKenzie?”

  “I’m not quite sure, Dr. St. Clair.”

  “I promise you I haven’t committed any crime.”

  “Withholding evidence is a crime. Interfering in a police investigation is a crime.” Despite his words, his tone remained gentle. “Actually, I’m hurt that you didn’t trust me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She shifted her attention back to the moonlit bay. Was it time to get back to why she had agreed to go with him for coffee tonight? Did she still really want to set him straight?

  “I saw you with a very affectionate woman the other night,” she said.

  He turned away. “It’s nice on the deck this time of night. Go on out. I’ll bring the coffee when it’s ready. Just drop your purse on the sofa there and I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “All right,” she murmured and then made her way to the back door, suddenly unsure where this night was headed. And unsure where she wanted it to go.

  As he watched her walk outside, a thrill charged Jason’s gut. Higher and lighter than the sensation he usually experienced with a beautiful woman, he knew this was more than physical desire. Her presence filled the house. Her scent flavored the air and the place seemed brighter in spite of the night.

  He wanted to believe that an anonymous informant had sent her into Craig Potter’s territory. Instinct told him she was hiding something but it also told him that she couldn’t do intentional wrong. And yet she’d done something very foolish and had nearly gotten herself killed. Why?

  For tonight he would give her the benefit of the doubt. For tonight he would try to forget he was a cop. Just for a while.

  Opening the coffee can, he measured the grains into the coffee maker. Enough coffee for two, he thought and was glad his companion wasn’t Charlie. Since he’d moved here after Rose’s death, Charlie had been a regular visitor to the beach house but Jason had brought only a couple of women here. It hadn’t seemed right either time.

  Lifting two mugs off their hooks, he paused and then put them back. Opening the cabinet above the refrigerator, he took down two cups and saucers from his mother’s bone china set. The delicate china winked in the light and Jason grinned.

  For the first time in a long time, something felt right.

  The night was still, the waters of the bay calm under the quarter moon, waves barely whispering as they caressed the shore. The perfume of roses mingled with that of the sea.

  Emma studied the oak barrel planters placed at each corner of the deck, each holding a tall, blossom-heavy bush. Each bush was further evidence of Jason’s need to have women around him. Along the side of the house below the deck, more roses grew along a strip of land that sloped toward the beach.

  Roses. The man grew roses.

  Shaking her head, Emma stood at the rail and watched the bay. When they’d left her office tonight she had intended to tell him she wasn’t interested in him in anything but a professional way. And yet she couldn’t help remembering the softness in his eyes when he’d looked at her. And the hunger. She remembered that too.

  Don’t go there, she warned herself.

  “I brought sugar and the fake stuff.” He balanced a tray through the door and placed it on a table between two wooden deck chairs. “Sorry but I don’t have any cream or milk.”

  “That’s okay.” Turning, she leaned back against the rail and watched him. “One packet of the fake stuff is fine.”

  He tore open a packet and stirred the artificial sweetener into her coffee. “Here ya go.”

  “Thanks.” Taking the cup, she held it up to catch the light from the house. A delicate ivy pattern edged the rim of the cream-colored china. “Pretty,” she noted.

  “It was my mom’s.” He stirred sugar into his own coffee. “It doesn’t get used much.”

  Emma took a deep breath and forged ahead. “Don’t you let your girlfriend use the fine china?”

  Jason’s eyebrows dipped. “Girlfriend?”

  “The woman you were with the other night at the Marquis.”

  “Oh.” Giving up a chuckle, he shook his head. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “I thought…maybe…that you were dating her.” Ignore that surge of excitement.

  “I’m not doing anything with her.” Carrying his own cup, he joined her at the rail. “I’m not sure anyone should do anything with her.”

  “She’s trouble?”

  “With the famous capital T.” He leaned on the rail beside her, apparently not bothered by the subject. “Why do you ask?”

  Emma hesitated. “You have quite a reputation, Detective.”

  He looked at her and replied quietly, “You keep saying that, Doctor.”

  “And yet you’ve been quite the gentleman with me.”

  His eyes sharpened. “Are you asking me not to be?”

  Looking away, she shook her head. “No.”

  He stood quietly for a moment before saying, “I want to make a move on you but you need to sort things out tonight.”

  Surprise fluttered pleasantly through her and she took a deep breath of sea-scented air. “You don’t want to catch me on the rebound, huh?”

  “I’m not a rebound kind of guy.”

  She looked back at him. “What kind of guy are you? Really. Reputation aside.”

  The gleam in his eyes faded. “Is it that important that you know?”

  “Yes.”

  “I used to play the field,” he answered quietly. “Have fun with a lot of different ladies at one time, lose a lot of sleep and drink a lot of beer.”

  “What about now?”

  “Now I find the field a lonely place in spite of the crowd and the beer, so I tend to avoid it.” He shifted to face her fully, keeping one elbow on the rail and his cup cradled in both hands. “I’d like to prove that to you someday.”

  Heat from her own coffee cup warmed her cold hands. The proximity of his body soothed that hollow chill inside her. For the first time in a long time, she felt comfortable. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to drag someone into her strange life.

  “It might be a while before I’m ready to let you,” she said quietly. “Or anyone else.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Emma couldn’t help laughing. “You’re kind of cocky, you know?”

  “Charlie tells me so every day.” He grinned. “And why shouldn’t I be? I have looks, brains and charm and I know how to show a girl a good time.”

  She laughed again, enjoying the long unfamiliar vibration inside her chest. “Oh, I think ‘cocky’ is too mild a word.”

  “You have a beautiful laugh, Emma.” His voice came at her faintly, a whisper on the breeze. “I like to hear you laugh.”

  Humor faded as guilt nibbled at her again. She looked out over the bay. “You should know that I’m seeing a psychiatrist. I’ve been having a few problems coping with what happened.”

  “You had a traumatic accident. You lost a friend. Your marriage ended. Anyone might need a little help after that.”

  “Thanks.” She relaxed again, glancing at him once more. “Okay, Detective MacKenzie. I’ve told you something personal about myself. It’s your turn.”

  He faced the bay too, coffee cup still cradled in his hands, its contents not yet tasted. “I was born and raised in Houston. I wanted to be a cop ever since I could say ‘bang-bang’.”

  “Does your family still live there?”

  “My parents passed away a few years ago.” His voice dropped to something just above a murmur. “My sister is gone too. She was killed by a hit-and-run driver.”

  Emma’s heart started to melt as his drive became suddenly clear. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I live with it.”

  A telephone rang inside the house. Jason didn’t move from his spot at the rail. Emma leaned forward to catch his eye and, when the phone rang a third time, she lifted one eyebrow.

  Jason shrugged. “The machine w
ill get it.”

  After the fourth ring, she heard a click, followed by a loud beep. A woman’s voice slurred over the line. “Off grave-digging again, are you? Give me a call when you decide to crawl back into the world of the living.”

  The woman muttered an expletive and then hung up. Jason took a sip of his coffee and watched the bay.

  Following his gaze, Emma focused on the moonlight as it lit the tops of the waves. “If that was your date from the other night, I’m beginning to understand what you meant.”

  “I’m pretty understanding, myself.” He took another sip of his coffee, half-turning toward her again so that she felt his gaze touch her. “You just remember that, Dr. St. Clair.”

  Sipping her own coffee, Emma wondered how understanding he would be about her secret. Someday she might need to tell someone other than her psychiatrist. She wondered if that someone was standing beside her.

  Emotions charged the air around them but Jason didn’t know if they came from Emma or from him. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he wanted to make a move on her. But he couldn’t do it tonight. She was too vulnerable. She’d said that seeing her ex-husband with that woman had opened her eyes. But had it opened her heart?

  “This is a beautiful spot,” she said after a few minutes.

  “My parents bought the house when my sister and I were kids. It was originally for our summer vacations but then they retired here.”

  She gestured toward one of the barrel planters that stood on the deck. “You garden. That’s a surprise.”

  “They were Mom’s plants first. Then my sister took care of them. I just inherited them.”

  “They smell wonderful.” Setting her nearly empty cup on the table, she returned to lean over the railing.

  The sea breeze caught her hair, lifted it off her neck and sifted the strands. His fingers tingled as if they had pushed through that warm auburn mass.

  “I’ve been something of a gardener, myself,” she went on. “I’d love to see these in the daylight.”