by Amy Olle
He stood frozen for a long painful moment. Then he eased slightly back. Away from her.
In the heavy silence, her skin stretched tight and the air passages in her lungs constricted. “I just w-wanted you to know. Y-y-you don’t have to say it back.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal.”
She flinched as though struck, and stumbled back a step. He didn’t love her. He liked her, and possibly, he even cared for her, but he didn’t love her. And the feelings she thought she’d seen weren’t his feelings, but her own feelings reflecting back at her.
He. Didn’t. Love. Her.
Harrison was right.
“I didn’t deceive you, Emily.”
“I know.”
She wanted to be mad at him for making her believe, but she couldn’t. He hadn’t done this, she had. He’d proposed because he was an honorable man, and she’d let herself believe his proposal was real because she couldn’t bear to think otherwise.
He’d proposed, but it was a lie, and she’d let herself believe the lie because she wanted so badly to belong to someone. Anyone. Even if they didn’t belong to her.
With his silence, a chill seeped under her skin.
Backing away, she started to shake. “I’m sorry. I m-misunderstood. It’s m-my fault. I thought I could do this, but I was wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
She raced up the porch steps, fumbling for her keys.
His hand came down over the lock to stop her from unbolting the door. “What does that mean, you thought you could do this?”
She didn’t want to be near him while the truth twisted and tormented her. “I’m going away.”
A long moment passed in which he didn’t speak or move. His face changed and a Luke she didn’t recognize emerged. Not the smooth charmer or the cool cop. This Luke was wild. Frantic.
And angry.
So very, very angry.
Rage rolled off him in waves and threatened to pull her down with the undertow. “You’re leaving me?”
“I don’t w-want to be the only o-o-one in love.”
Hot fury blazed in his eyes. “Have I not given you enough? Have I mistreated you in some way?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then stop this.” He turned toward his car. “I’ll see you for dinner.”
She watched his back as he retreated down the porch steps. Natalie’s words ricocheted around in her mind.
He isn’t capable of love.
Maybe it was true and he’d never love her. He’d never loved any of them. Not Kate. Or Natalie. Certainly not Emily.
“No.” With vicious swipes, she wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “I want more.”
“More what?” His voice broke with his frustration.
“More of y-you.”
His eyes glittered. “You want me to cut out my heart and give it to you?”
“Yes.” The word flew from her. “I want your heart.”
All the hot fury in him cooled in an instant. “That isn’t going to happen.”
Her heart cracked open and she gasped with the pain.
His head bent, and it took her a moment to realize he’d become riveted by something at her feet. She looked down to see that morning’s newspaper. On the front page was a picture of her house beneath large black typeface.
He crouched down and rescued the paper from the snow. Reading, he unfolded it.
His face darkened.
When his gaze snapped to her face, she shrunk back. A muscle ticked along his jaw. He turned the paper, holding it over his chest.
The headline screamed at her.
House of Porn?
Allegations surround controversial new movie filmed on Thief Island
Words jammed in her throat.
He spoke in a low, dangerous tone. “You lied to me.”
“No. I didn’t m-m-mean to. M-Max, after he changed the script I was w-w-worried, but—”
Betrayal slashed across his features.
She wanted to scream, to beg him to understand, to say all the words, any words, that would make things right between them again.
As always, no words were available to her.
He whipped the paper to the ground with a violent snap.
Cold green eyes lashed her. “You’re right, it’s best if you go.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The days passed in a haze of despair and whiskey, with sprinklings of work and sleep.
He stared into the bottle of amber liquid, seeing only tormented whiskey-colored eyes. His grip tightened on the bottle’s neck.
Whiskey mixed with agony. The memory of her soft moans invaded his mind and tunneled through his veins.
She’d lied to him. It was the one thing he couldn’t tolerate.
Through the murky alleys of his alcohol-addled mind, he fought to recall what she had admitted to, exactly.
Suspicions. She’d had them. Maybe.
He’d glimpsed the guilt in her eyes and, drowning under the weight of her abandonment, he’d lashed out. As long as she was there, he had a chance of finding his way out of the dark tunnel. Eventually. But if she were gone, there was no hope.
So like a snarling dog with a bone, he’d latched on to the idea that she’d lied to him because it was far easier to send her away than it was to watch her leave him.
No matter how they’d come to it, the fact was, she was gone, and with the loss, something inside him had snapped.
Was it the same something that’d twisted his dad’s mind after Luke’s mom died? It seemed likely, for the weakness was in the DNA, whether or not Noah believed it.
The fear had formed early and resided deep in Luke’s heart, that no matter how far he ran, or how sophisticated the mask of charm, he might never be able to escape his fate. He was not one of the good guys, and one day that truth would be revealed.
This was that day.
Because she wasn’t there.
Because he’d told her to get out and confirmed his fear.
He was weak, too weak to overcome the coding of his DNA.
He lifted the bottle to his lips. The liquor’s stench assaulted his nostrils. He didn’t want whiskey.
He wanted his wife.
When the sun peeked above the horizon, he stared into its fiery flame.
The bottle sat untouched at his feet.
Get up.
I can’t.
You must. The baby needs you to be strong and well.
So Emily got up. She moved through the empty house with heavy legs and a shattered heart, like one of the soulless zombies in Max’s movie.
A groan of disgust ripped through her as she recalled the article in the newspaper.
Written by a local journalist who’d attended Max’s movie premiere, the column had raised an array of disturbing questions. Was the sexually charged erotic drama a form of artistic expression, or did it cross the line into pornography? Was the filmmaker, a shadowy figure whose mysterious past was locked away behind a closed juvenile record, a budding porn king?
Viewers would have to decide for themselves, the article concluded, noting the controversial film, having gone straight to DVD, was available for purchase at most retail outlets.
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.
Regrets. That was all she had now. She should not have trusted Max and she should have told Luke about her suspicions when he’d asked.
Instead, she’d acted like a coward and it’d cost her the only man she’d ever loved. Though in truth, she’d likely lost Luke long before Max and his movie came into play. Or maybe he was never really hers to lose.
All the heartaches she’d endured in her life hadn’t prepared her for the devastation of his rejection. Better that it happened now, she told herself, before the baby came and it was too late. Or too hard. Or too… sad.
A soft knock sounded on the door to her suite. Emily climbed off the sofa and shuffled to the door.
Mina’s big blue eyes swept her fr
om head to toe. “How are you doing? Did you talk to Luke?”
In answer, silent tears streamed down Emily’s cheeks.
Mina wrapped Emily in her arms and hugged her, a deep-tissue squeeze that set loose the flood of Emily’s tears.
The jingle of his cell phone stirred him from a restless sleep.
“Yeah.” His throat croaked with dryness.
“You’re late, Detective Nolan.” Chief’s voice crackled over the connection. “Get your ass out of bed and to my office. Now.”
Given Cynthia’s tone and his general apathy, Luke skipped the shower and drove to the station. Once there, he ignored Newberry at the front desk and took a straight path to the Chief’s office.
As he approached, Sloane slipped through the door.
A sneer curled the bastard’s lip. “Let’s see you sweet talk your way out of this one.”
Luke’s hands began to shake and he knotted his fists into tight balls. Cynthia looked up from her desk when Luke knocked. Her expression turned sour.
She lifted a copy of the Thief Island Gazette. “Did you know about this?”
“Did I know what exactly?”
“That this movie was being made?”
“I knew a movie was being made.”
“The production of pornography is against city ordinance.”
“I know that, too.”
She eased back and folded her hands over her abdomen. “Were you or were you not aware that a pornographic film—?”
He interjected. “Alleged pornographic film.”
Cynthia heaved a sigh. “An alleged pornographic film was being made at a house owned by your wife?”
He scratched his head. “There are a lot of questions packed into that one sentence.”
Cynthia leveled him with a look. “A warrant has been issued for your wife’s arrest.”
Her statement hit him straight in the chest. A kill shot. “How? The film isn’t even porn. Who—?” Luke stopped talking when realization struck.
Sloane.
Luke cursed. All this for a bar fight? What a fucking pussy.
“The charges are serious, Detective.”
He held her gaze while panic rioted through his veins. “The charges are bullshit.”
“Still, as Lieutenant, this could be problematic for you.”
He blinked several times. “That’d be true, if I were Lieutenant.”
She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands over her abdomen. “I thought I’d introduce you as such when you’re honored at the ball next month.”
He bit back a curse. He’d forgotten about that stupid ball with its stupid award. Of course, he’d forgotten.
Well, shit.
“Let’s try to resolve this matter with your wife by then, shall we, Lieutenant?”
His knuckles white on the steering wheel, Luke raced to the inn.
Truth be told, the thought of arresting Emily held some appeal. At least he’d get to be near her, and touch her again.
But that was a little like finding the silver lining in a tornado cloud.
With a severe crank of the wheel, he barreled up her driveway and skid to a stop on the gravel. He stomped up the porch stairs and pounded on the front door with his fist. When she didn’t open, he pounded again and bellowed her name.
Nothing.
Frustrated impotence roared through him and he leaned over the porch balustrade to peer through the pristine glass of the bay window. The one replaced only a few months ago after the rock crashed through it.
He realized then her sedan was nowhere in sight. He plunged through the snow to the carriage house.
His fists summoned a response. “Where is she?”
Mina’s blue eyes grew huge in her small face as her gaze swept over him. He hadn’t slept and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten. Or showered.
“Who?”
His fists clenched at his sides. “Do not fuck with me. I need to find my wife.”
She turned her back to him. At the dining table, she dropped into a chair and took a tiny bite of a bagel.
“There’s a warrant out for her arrest.”
The bagel rattled onto the plate. “What for?”
“I need you to tell me where she is.”
“So you can arrest her?”
His gaze slid away.
Her expression pinched with annoyance. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”
He bit down on the volcanic anger seething inside him. “You wouldn’t aid and abet an alleged criminal, would you?”
“Damn straight I would.”
“I want to help her. Please, tell me where she is.”
Her features softened. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I have no idea where she went.”
A frustrated groan tore from him and he slumped into a chair at the table. “It’s like she’s vanished. I’ve searched this entire island and she’s nowhere to be found.”
“Oh, she’s not on the island. She left.”
His hand arrested in his hair midsweep, elbow pointed to the ceiling. “She what?”
“She left the island. She said she might go to Boston or New Orleans. Maybe Seattle. I don’t think she’d go back to Tucson,” she mused. “Maybe check with Haven.”
He stared, mute, while his world crashed down around him.
She couldn’t leave. He wasn’t ready to let her go. They might be estranged, but he expected to be able to see her around town. To be tormented by her nearness.
Mina misunderstood his silence.
“Haven Callahan. Her friend. She was at your wedding.”
“I know who Haven is,” he snapped. “When did she leave?”
Mina shrugged. “After she talked to you—”
“That was three days ago! She could be anywhere in the fucking world by now.”
He’d lost her. Panic rose up to choke him and he gripped the edge of the table to keep the world from dumping him over.
“Don’t worry. She said she’ll be back.”
“When? When will she be back?”
“She didn’t say, but she was adamant.” Her voice gentled. “She won’t keep the baby from you.”
The words twisted like a knife. He cursed and dropped his head into his hands.
“You know, you can be a good dad without being married to her.”
He reared back. “Why does everyone think that’s the only reason I married her?”
Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink but she held his gaze directly. “Isn’t it?”
With the upwelling of molten fury, he surged to his feet.
The muted buzz of a vibrating cell phone cut short his explosion of anger.
Mina snatched the phone off the table and read the display. He watched her face change.
“Who is it?” He lunged forward. “Is it Emily?”
Mina twisted to keep the phone from his grasp. She pressed the button to accept the call and raised the phone to her ear. “Hey, Em, what’s up? Where are you?”
Mina swatted at his hand. Her brow crinkled. “Slow down. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
The blood curdled in his veins.
“Yes, I’m alone.” She bit her lip on the lie.
As she listened, her face drained of color. She lifted a hand to cover her lips. “No, I know. I know you didn’t do it. What can I do?” She listened. “Okay. Okay, I’m on my way.”
She didn’t hang up and after a beat of silence, her eyes locked with his. “I promise, I won’t tell Luke.”
With a shaking hand, she disconnected the call, and he braced himself before she uttered the awful, ugly words.
She gulped. “Emily’s been arrested.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Thank God.
It was his first thought. Though blasphemous, at least now he could get to her.
Mina crammed her feet into her snow boots. “She sounds really freaked out.”
“How long has she been there?” he asked, his feet already moving.
He had to get to her.
“I don’t know. Not long I don’t think.” Mina snatched her coat off a hook by the door and pulled the door shut behind them.
A snarl of emotions, intense and chaotic, roared through him. He had no control over them. “Why the hell didn’t she call me?”
“I don’t know.” She chased him down the porch stairs and caught up to him in the side yard. “Remember she asked me not to tell you about this? Why don’t I go alone and—”
He slammed the car door on her words and jammed the key into the ignition. She fell into the passenger seat a split second before he punched the accelerator.
His pregnant wife sat locked in a jail cell. Was she scared? Hurt or hungry? Had she slept at all or had worry stolen her peace?
So consumed by his racing thoughts, he was vaguely aware of Mina talking into her cell phone while he drove.
He whipped into the station parking lot and stalked up the front walk, his sister-in-law dogging his heels. Noah waited for them at the front entrance, a cell phone pressed to his ear.
“What do we know?” He angled the phone away from his mouth. “Anything?”
Luke gave a shake of his head and swept inside the police station.
At the front desk, Newberry’s head came up. When he saw Luke’s face, he paled.
“Where is she?” Luke barked.
Newberry didn’t get a chance to answer. The door to the jail cell opened and Sloane emerged.
“Ah, good, I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can get our little jailbird to sing.” A pained grimace contorted Sloane’s bullish features. “Not much of a talker, is she?”
Luke’s hand shot out and clamped around the bastard’s neck. “You son of a bitch. You did this to her?”
Sloane’s eyes grew wide with shock and a bemused smile curled his lips. “Just doing my job.” The words rasped from him.
Luke wanted to kill. He could do it, too. All he had to do was squeeze until Justin’s airway passages became blocked, or his larynx was crushed. It wouldn’t be hard and Luke wouldn’t regret it, even if it made him a murderer, like his father.
“What’d you do?” Luke asked. “Call your daddy? Get him to issue a warrant even though you have shit for evidence?”
