Dear Slate, I’ve decided to move on. I’m thinking I shouldn’t endanger you anymore in case the people looking for me find me here. You’ve been more than kind; I’ve appreciated your patience and your friendship. Maybe we can get together someday when this is all behind us and have a drink and a laugh.
Affectionately,
Rose
He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “What the hell is this, Rose?” His shout bounced ineffectively around the truck’s cab, rang endlessly in his head. What the hell is this?
She couldn’t know the danger she was in, or if she did she was a fool to ignore it. Assuming Allston’s men jumped Riley after discovering Riley had been double-crossing them by cooperating with the Feds and meeting Melissa, they wouldn’t stop until they got to Rose. Good as she was, she had no idea how men like that operated, no idea how to stay hidden, cover her trail. She’d go back to Boston and walk straight into their arms. God knew what they’d do to her if they thought she knew where the portrait was.
Slate clenched his teeth and drove faster. After what he’d heard Riley going through over the phone, it didn’t bear thinking about.
The road changed to dirt, and he slowed to a crawl and kept a sharp lookout in the woods. Who was he kidding? The fear of the danger, gripping and sharp, was nothing compared to the fear of losing her. How could she leave after what they’d shared? Treat him as if he was just another one of her party dates? She had real feelings for him, he was sure. Not even Rose could fake those.
Maybe he’d been too tough on her, too insistent that she shed her skin. Maybe he’d scared her; maybe he should have taken things even more slowly. But time had been a factor, and keeping their relationship nonsexual until she was ready to let him in completely had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed. Admittedly, he’d been impatient, had probably pressed her too hard to make changes she might not have been ready to make.
His headlights caught movement and the glowing eyes of a fox before it disappeared into the underbrush and left him with a wasted rush of adrenaline. Damn.
Rose had seemed so happy, become so natural with him, so different from those first few days. He went over the details of the previous evening for the dozenth time, carefully searched the woods to the right and left with his flashlight, motor humming. He’d been so distracted by worry over Riley that he hadn’t noticed anything unusual in her behavior. Now he strained to replay their interactions. Had she displayed any signs of unhappiness? Tension? Given any indication she was thinking of leaving?
No. She’d seemed tired, that was all. Maybe distant, but he’d been distant, too, unable to tell her what was bothering him, and guilty over it. She’d been outside, watching for meteors, when Riley called back—
Slate gripped the steering wheel and swore. He’d been sure he heard a step in the woods, heard her coming back while he was still on the phone. But he hadn’t seen her light, and with the wind picking up, he assumed he’d been mistaken. Had she overheard part of his conversation? Assumed the worst when he said he was holding her here?
Sweat broke out on his forehead, under his arms. He had to get to her before Allston’s men did. Explain the big picture, make sure she knew he’d been straight with her on everything that mattered.
He sped up, heading for the cottage. He’d call Barker, see if they’d found Riley. Throw his stuff in a bag, close up the house and not stop searching until he found her.
MELISSA ADJUSTED the silver necklace Bill had given her for their first anniversary. He’d like that she was wearing it, and it went beautifully with her new scarlet top. She smiled, and congratulated herself. Her first real smile since Riley had disappeared into the elevator three days before. Three days since Rose’s nighttime call, since the tangled mess had finally worked itself out with the good guys on top.
See? She could still smile. Life was okay. She’d taken the day off work, gone clothes shopping, and she had a date with Bill tonight. Apparently the New Ms. Perfect hadn’t been so perfect, after all, and he’d called Melissa, saying he missed her.
Ha! She couldn’t help being happy about Bill’s troubled romance. He was a wonderful man. She could do a lot worse than Bill. After all their years together, all the good times they’d had, they deserved to give it another try. They could probably make it work. Take the old established patterns and give them a little kick into something new, something fresh and satisfying.
Riley’s image appeared immediately in her brain, where it seemed to have attempted to cement itself. She smiled at it, a little less naturally this time, and gently pushed it away. No. This was her Getting-Over-Him period. She leaned forward and softened the line of eye pencil under her right eye. Her hand seemed unsteady and she had to swallow a hard lump of threatening tears.
Okay, so Getting Over Him was going to be a bitch. She’d never pretended otherwise. But grief wouldn’t kill her. It just needed getting through. She’d done the right thing, made the right choice about who she was and what she wanted.
The door buzzer rang; she glanced at her watch and rolled her eyes, smiling. Five after six. Bill was always exactly five minutes late.
She walked to the door, calmer now, and feeling safe and glad he was here. It would be so great to see him. She’d feel so…so…
She opened the door. Bill stood there, blond-haired, blue-eyed, not too tall. Solid and undistinguished, grinning shyly under a new mustache, offering an enormous bouquet of white carnations. So…nothing. Oh, hell.
“Hi, Melissa.” His eyes swept her up and down. “Wow. You look different.”
She gestured him in, accepted the carnations and a kiss on the cheek. Okay, safe and calm and glad was still better than thugs and gangsters and beaten bodies. “You like it?”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “But you know me. I’m not much for changes. Speaking of which, I made reservations at La Cucina. I asked for our usual table.”
Melissa’s body contracted in a wince over which she had no control; she hurried to put the carnations in water. Take charge, Melissa. Make the changes small at first. “Bill, why don’t we try somewhere new?”
He blinked. “Why?”
“I don’t know, I just think it would be fun to make a change. You know, a fresh start. Get out of the old ruts and make some new ones.”
She winced again and fussed over the carnations, which stuck stiffly out of the widest vase she had. Even new ruts were still ruts. Maybe she should have waited to see Bill until Riley’s presence dimmed from her memory a bit more, so the comparisons wouldn’t be so apparent. So she wouldn’t feel as if her future held only certain suffocation from routine and predictability.
Why was she doing this?
“Okay, sure. We can go somewhere else. Some night soon, we’ll do that.”
“Great.” She gave the carnations a final, rather vicious pat and took his arm. “It’s really good to see you, Bill.”
He turned and kissed her warmly. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the soft wetness of his mouth under the scratchy mustache, concentrated again on how nice it was to feel calm and safe and glad, so she wouldn’t compare him to Riley. Because this was what she wanted. Right?
Double hell.
“Mmm, nice.” He lifted his head and grinned down at her. “Let’s go.”
“I have a better idea.” She pressed against him, full of desperate hope. “Let’s not. Let’s blow off the reservations and go to the Publick House for a beer and free hors d’oeuvres. Then let’s go dancing. Then let’s come back here and order in pizza and watch a sexy movie.”
“Wow.” He did a pretend double take. “That’s quite an offer.”
“And?”
“Well…” He fidgeted. “It’s just that we have a reservation. They’re expecting us.”
“So?” She tipped her head back and quirked an eyebrow, trying to stave off the inevitable letdown. “Let’s do something unexpected.”
Bill frowned and examined her minutely. “Something’s h
appened. You’re not the same.”
“Don’t be silly.” She stepped away from him in alarm. “I’m exactly the same. Why would I have changed?”
“I don’t know, Melissa. You tell me.” He frowned harder, examined her more minutely. “You’ve been with another man, haven’t you?”
Melissa gasped; her eyes shot wide-open. Was it that obvious? “I…well, I…it was nothing.”
He put his hands to his hips, which meant he was upset and trying to hide it. “I don’t think so.”
“What…” Melissa cleared her throat to try and bring her voice down to its usual register. “What makes you say that?”
“He changed you. He couldn’t do that if it was nothing.”
“No.” Melissa shook her head emphatically and stabbed herself in the chest with her thumb. She had to make sure he was very clear on this. That she was very clear on this. Because if it wasn’t very, totally, absolutely clear to both of them, then she might have made the most stupendous mistake of her life. Which, after seeing how she reacted to Bill and how he reacted to her, was starting to seem like a distinct possibility. “I changed me, Bill. I tried to be something I’m not, and it didn’t fit.”
His eyes flicked miserably over her outfit. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You seem to wear it pretty well.”
“Bill—” She bit her lip. What the hell could she say? How could she begin to tell him what had happened since they last spoke?
“I’m not surprised, actually.”
Melissa put her hands on her hips, which meant she was upset and not at all trying to hide it. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve always had this wild streak in you.”
Her mouth dropped. Of all the things he could have said… “Wild? Me?”
“You always wanted more. More things, more places, more people…more sex. I never felt like I was enough for you. That’s why I was sort of…rigid in response.” He hunched his shoulders and looked down. “I’ve been in a ton of therapy over all this. You’re pretty intimidating.”
“Me?” Melissa repeated with a gasp, her brain refusing to supply any other response. “Intimidating? Bill, I’m the most plain ordinary woman on the planet.”
The minute the words came out of her mouth she realized what she’d said. She did feel like the most plain ordinary woman on the planet. Around Bill. Around Riley she felt enticing, witty, alive and free, albeit a bit confused sometimes. Why had it taken her this long to figure it out?
“No way, Melissa.” Bill shook his head emphatically. “No way. You’re amazing. It was a mistake to think I could come back. You need someone more like you, someone who lives closer to the edge than I do.”
She stared at Bill, heat flooding her face, unable to believe what she was hearing and feeling, and how right it all sounded and how right it all felt. “Why did you stay with me for so long?”
“Because.” He rubbed the back of his neck and eyed her sheepishly. “I wanted to feel like I was that kind of person. But I’m not. Not even remotely.”
“Oh, Bill.” She melted toward him; he enveloped her in a solid, comforting embrace.
“So, who is this guy?” His voice came out cracked and strained.
She sighed against his shoulder. “A private detective.”
“Kind of like Spenser for Hire?”
“Yeah.” She smiled up at him, trying not to look as dreamy as she felt. “Kind of like that.”
“Oh.” He nodded resignedly. “He sounds perfect for you.”
She tried to speak, but the tears got there first, sliding two warm trails down her cheeks.
“You know…” She shook her head and laughed a little. “I think he is.”
RILEY RUBBED the sandpaper around the last flowing curve of the lion’s mane, traced the same path with his fingers and smiled in satisfaction. There. Smooth as satin. He picked up a tiny chisel and began carefully carving the lines that would make the mane textured and lifelike. A mirror would go in the middle and the whole thing would sit on top of the dresser he’d made, so when Leo looked in it, his little face would be reflected in the center of the lion’s head, as if he were the magnificent beast himself.
Riley had worked steadily, obsessively on the piece for the past two days, since the idea had come to him and he’d been feeling well enough to try. He still had occasional headaches, his body still protested movement in certain directions, but he was definitely on the mend.
If only he could say the same for his mood. He’d stayed away from Melissa as promised, given her time to think things over, come to some decision regarding their relationship. But he hated the helpless, unfamiliar feeling of having his fate in someone else’s hands. Detested the vulnerability, the inactivity, the pain. Mooning around like some whipped, pathetic Romeo.
He loved her. And she could hurt him like nothing had ever hurt him before.
His phone rang. He put down the chisel and went to answer, trying to suppress the rush of hope that it might be Melissa.
“Slate here.” Slate’s voice sounded edgy, nervous, totally unlike his usual tone, nonchalant even under enemy fire.
Riley raised an eyebrow. “What’s up? Where are you?”
“I’ve been staking out Rose’s place. Barker just called. They found her visiting her mom out in Framingham. They’re putting her on a train back here.”
Riley pressed his lips together to keep back the laughter Slate wouldn’t understand. What a pair. Gemini—the invincible fighting unit that helped keep foreign countries safe for democracy, helped the FBI shatter Allston’s criminal empire and bring a crooked senator to his knees—reduced to a quivering helpless mess by a couple of women.
“What are you going to do?”
“Go meet her train, what else? Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck, Slate.”
“No?” He laughed humorlessly. “What do I need?”
“Balls.”
Slate laughed again, a short anxious burst. The sound of traffic came over the line, swishing through streets made wet by a late night downpour. “Riley.”
Riley tensed. There was something else. Something he wasn’t going to like. “Yeah?”
“Melissa just went into her building.” Slate cleared his throat. “With some guy.”
Riley’s body reacted with a flood of primal jealousy that left him speechless.
“Does she have a brother…or something?”
“No.” He punched off the phone, moved toward the stairs, took them two at a time.
Of course, there might be a perfectly logical explanation. Maybe they were old friends, having a late, friendly chat in her apartment. Riley grabbed his keys, flung open the door and stalked out into the rain, down the steps, onto the sidewalk, broke into a run.
Or maybe she was trying to get rid of his memory by becoming involved with someone she thought was more appropriate. Maybe she’d already found Business School Bob.
Tough. If she thought Riley would just sit there and let another man touch her, she had some serious rethinking to do.
He jammed his car into gear and sped through the wet city streets toward Cambridge.
His phone rang again.
“It’s Slate. You still home or on your way to do something stupid?”
“On my way.”
“Good.” Slate chuckled. “Because if you weren’t, I was going to remind you about the balls.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got ‘em.”
He said goodbye, turned off the phone and veered around a corner, splashing an unlucky pedestrian. He had them, all right.
And he’d be damned if he was going to let the woman he loved cut them off.
15
ROSE KISSED HER MOTHER, straightened the limp figure gently in her wheelchair. Her mom made a strange guttural sound, lifted her head and fixed Rose with wide, blue, childlike eyes.
“Goodbye, Mom. I’ll come again soon.”
Her mom’s head dropped down onto her chest, bobbed up again and
dropped down.
The nurse smiled and patted Rose’s shoulder. “Have a safe trip. We’ll take good care of her.”
Rose nodded and thanked her. At the door, she turned back, something she never did. She hated leaving, hated the sight of her mom looking so blank and so horribly alone.
She glanced over at her mom’s roommate, in a similar stage of Alzheimer’s. The woman’s husband was with her, as he was every time Rose came to visit, reading to her, playing her music, wiping her face gently and with such love. He’d bring flowers, greet her like his favorite daughter, call her sweetheart, nestle next to her and tell her about his day.
Rose glanced back at her mom, slumped and silent in her chair, one last time before she left to get her train.
TWO HOURS LATER, she sat staring at the raindrops on the windows, spattered, running together, dripping down and onto the gray metal sides of the car. Ten minutes until they arrived at South Station. It was still hard to believe the whole nightmarish month was over—beginning with the break-in at her apartment and ending with the Feds intercepting her on her way in to see her mom yesterday. The thieves had been looking for something Senator Mason had hidden in the giraffe sculpture; someone named Allston had sent the thugs to the train station; Ted’s TV Repair was the cops keeping an eye on her; and Slate…Slate had been trying to protect her.
She leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. She’d already cried her eyes out in her hotel room last night. Not one of her strange fits, but real, honest, grieving tears that stopped when her emotions ran dry and left her peaceful, if still bereft.
She’d have to see him again, of course. He’d come find her, probably soon. She couldn’t afford rent and hotel space, and she was tired of hiding, anyway. The next move she made would be a positive step to her new life, not just running away from her old one.
The train jerked unpleasantly over merging tracks as they approached the station. Seeing Slate would be awful and wonderful and thrilling and exhausting. Rose had had enough of that kind of upheaval for a while. That small town somewhere in New England beckoned, wonderful and thrilling all on its own, by virtue of the quiet, self-reliant existence she could fashion there.
The Wild Side Page 19
