by Nora Roberts
“Naturally,” Finn said pleasantly.
He’d hear about the rest anyway, Deanna reminded herself. From Joe, or someone else in the newsroom. That would be worse. “We had a little scuffle.”
There was a dangerous light in Finn’s eyes. “Did he put his hands on you?”
Deanna shrugged, hoping to lighten the mood. “In a manner of speaking. It was really just one of those push-shove sort of things. But Tim was there,” she added quickly. “And Joe. So it was nothing. It was really nothing.”
“He put his hands on you,” Finn repeated. “And he threatened you?”
“I don’t know that I’d call it a threat. It was just—Finn!” He was already up, removing his coat from the rack. “Finn, damn it, you said you’d be reasonable.”
He shot her one look, one stunningly frigid look that had her heart stopping. “I lied.”
Her knees were knocking together, but she was on his heels as he strode out of the house. The cold and the look in Finn’s eye had her teeth chattering as she struggled into her coat. “Stop this now. Right now! What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go explain to Pike why he should keep his hands off my woman.”
“Your woman?” That tore it. She bounded ahead of him, slapping both hands onto his chest. “Don’t you pull that macho bullshit on me, Finn Riley. I’m not going to . . .”
Her voice slid back down her throat when he propped his hands under her elbows and lifted her off the ground. His eyes were blazing.
“You are my woman, Deanna. That’s not an insult, that’s a fact. Anybody who manhandles you, anybody who threatens you has to deal with me. That’s another fact. Got a problem with it?”
“No. Yes.” Her feet hit the ground with a thump and she ground her teeth. “I don’t know.” How was she supposed to think when all she could see were those furious, deadly eyes boring into her. “Let’s go back inside and talk this through reasonably.”
“We’ll talk when I get back.”
She raced to the car after him. “I’m going with you.” There was still a chance, a slim one, that she could talk him down.
“Go inside, Deanna.”
“I’m going with you.” She opened the door, climbed in and slammed it shut. He wasn’t the only one who could slice flesh with a look. “If my man’s going to go make a fool of himself, I’m going to be there. Got a problem with that?”
Finn slammed the door and turned the key. “Hell no.”
The best Deanna could hope for now was that Marshall wouldn’t be home.
The wind had picked up and held a fresh threat of snow. It raced through Finn’s hair, sent it flying around his face as he stalked up to Marshall’s door. He had only one thing on his mind and, like a skilled reporter, easily blocked out all distractions: Deanna’s mumbled curses, the occasional swish of tires on the street, the numbing chill in the air.
“He’s not worth it,” Deanna said for the hundredth time. “He’s just not worth your making a scene.”
“I have no intention of making a scene. I’m going to talk to him, and he’s going to listen. And then, unless I’m very much mistaken, you’ll never see or hear from him again.”
He had been wanting a confrontation since the day Deanna had rushed out of the CBC Building in tears, and into his arms. Finn could already feel the grim satisfaction of pleasure postponed.
Deanna saw his eyes slit like a predator’s as the door opened. Her stomach clenched and she had one wild thought: to jump between them.
But Finn didn’t lunge, as she’d been half terrified he would. He simply strolled across the threshold and into the foyer.
“I don’t believe I invited you in.” Marshall ran a finger over the black tie of his tuxedo. “And I’m afraid I’m on my way out.”
“We’ll make this as quick as possible, since I don’t believe Deanna’s comfortable being here.”
“Deanna’s always welcome in my home,” Marshall said stiffly. “You are not.”
“What you don’t seem to understand is that we’re a team. When you threaten her, you threaten me. I don’t react well to threats, Dr. Pike.”
“My conversation with Deanna was personal.”
“Wrong again.” Finn stepped closer. The feral gleam in his eyes had Marshall stepping back. “If you come near her again, if you ever put your hands on her again, I’ll bury you, in every way you can imagine.”
“There are laws to protect a man against a physical attack in his own home.”
“I have better ways of dealing with you. Angela’s file on you made very interesting reading, Pike.”
Marshall’s eyes slid to Deanna. “She doesn’t have the file. She destroyed it.”
“No, Deanna doesn’t have it. But you don’t know what I have, do you?”
Marshall’s attention snapped back to Finn. “You have no right—”
“I’ve got the First Amendment. Steer clear, Pike, way clear. Or I’ll break you in half with it.”
“You bastard.” Fear of exposure propelled Marshall forward. He swung out, more in panic than design. Finn easily avoided the blow and followed it by one punishing fist to the midsection.
It was over in seconds. Deanna had done no more than squeak in response. Marshall had done no more than moan. And Finn, she realized as she gaped, had made no sound at all.
Then he crouched down, impossibly graceful and smooth. “Listen carefully. Don’t ever come near Deanna again. Don’t call, don’t write, don’t send a telegram. Are you getting this?” He was satisfied when Marshall blinked. “That should conclude our little interview.” He stepped back to where Deanna still stood, openmouthed, on the stoop. Quietly, he shut the door. “Let’s go.”
Her legs were jelly. She had to lock her knees to keep from swaying. “Good God, Finn. Good God.”
“We’re going to have to reheat dinner,” he said as he guided her to the car.
“You just—I mean you—” She didn’t know what she meant. “We can’t just leave him there.”
“Of course we can. He doesn’t need paramedics, Deanna. I only wrinkled his tux and bruised his ego.”
“You hit him.” Once she was seated, strapped in, she pressed both hands to her mouth.
His black mood had passed. He felt almost sunny as he drove fast through the windswept night. “Not exactly my style, but since he swung first, it worked for me.”
She turned her head away. She couldn’t explain, couldn’t believe what she was feeling. The way he’d sliced Marshall with words. Sharp and cold as a sword. Then he’d shifted his body aside, graceful as a dancer. She hadn’t seen the blow coming any more than Marshall had. He’d moved so fast, so stunningly. She pressed a hand to her stomach and bit back a little moan.
“Pull over,” she said in a muffled voice. “Right now.”
He did, terrified she was about to be sick, disgusted because he hadn’t reined in his temper long enough to make her stay home. “Take it easy, Deanna. I’m sorry you had to see that, but—”
Whatever else he’d intended to say was lost as she lunged at him. In one fluid move, she tore off her seat belt and whipped toward him. Her mouth was hot and wet and hungry. Through his shock, and instant arousal, he felt the violent thud of her heart.
And her hands. Jesus. Her hands.
Cars sped by them. He could only groan as she dived deeper into his mouth, her tongue greedy, her teeth vicious.
Both of them were panting for air when she leaned back.
“Well,” he managed, but his mind was wiped as clean as glass. “Well.”
“I’m not proud of it.” She flopped back in her seat, face flushed, eyes bright. “I don’t approve of intimidation or fighting. I absolutely don’t. Oh God.” With a half laugh, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her body was vibrating like an overheated engine. Intellect, she discovered, could be completely overpowered by glands. “I’m going to explode. Drive fast, will you?”
“Yeah.” His aching hand trembled a bit as he turned
the key again. Then, as he punched the accelerator, he started to grin. The grin became a hard, deep-throated laugh. “Deanna, I’m crazy about you.”
She had to curl her fingers into fists to keep herself from tearing at his clothes. “We’re both crazy,” she decided. “Drive faster.”
Marshall comforted himself as best he could, pampering his bruised stomach muscles, taking a painkiller. Shame and fury had driven him out of the house. He opted for a drink first, then two, before keeping his date at the opera.
He hadn’t thought he’d enjoy the music, or the company. But both had soothed him. He was a civilized man, he reminded himself. A respected man. He would not be intimidated by some grandstanding reporter like Finn Riley. He would simply bide his time, calmly.
Enchanted by the diva’s final aria, he still felt peaceful when he pulled in to his driveway, even though his stomach ached dully. Another dose of painkiller would take the edge off, he knew. Fury and frustration had been eased by Mozart’s music. Humming lightly, Marshall set the security on his car. If Deanna had the file, and he could no longer be sure, he would convince her to return it to him. But he’d wait until Riley was away on assignment.
They would talk, he promised himself, and finally set the past behind them. As Angela was behind them.
His eyes gleamed as he reached for his keys. He thought he sensed a movement to his left. He had time to turn, time to understand. He didn’t have time to scream.
Finn was watching Deanna sleep when the phone rang. They’d started on each other in the foyer, worked their way up the steps. Halfway up they’d decided, tactically, that they’d made it far enough.
It made him grin to remember how she’d torn at his clothes. Attacked him, he thought smugly. Of course, he’d been a willing victim, but she’d shown surprising energy, and amazing resilience. He almost thought it a shame he hadn’t dealt so satisfactorily with Pike before.
He dismissed all thoughts of Pike as he settled back, pleasantly aroused when Deanna curled her body against his.
He wouldn’t wake her, though it was very tempting to do so. He was too relieved that she no longer tossed and turned or awakened quaking as she had for several nights after Angela’s murder. Instead, he simply enjoyed the way her body fit to his.
He swore when the phone rang and she woke.
“Take it easy.” Like Deanna, he expected to hear nothing but breathing when he lifted the receiver.
“Finn? It’s Joe.”
“Joe.” He saw the tension dissolve from Deanna’s shoulders. “I guess it would be pointless to mention it’s after one A.M.”
“Got a tip for you, pal. I was whiling away some time with Leno and monitoring my police scanner. We had us a murder over at Lincoln Park.”
“I’m not on the crime beat.”
“I checked it out, Finn. Figured you’d want to know right away, instead of catching it on the early news. It was Pike. You know, the shrink who hassled Dee today. Somebody did him.”
Finn’s gaze cut to Deanna’s. “How?”
“The same way as Angela. In the face. My police connection wouldn’t give me much. But he bought it right on his own doorstep. A neighbor reported hearing gunshots around midnight. A black-and-white checked it out and found him. I’m calling from the cop shop. We’ve got a unit on it. Story’ll break top of the hour on Sunrise.”
“Thanks.”
“I figured Dee would take it better from you.”
“Yeah. Keep me posted?”
“You bet.”
He hung up, dispirited.
“Something’s wrong.” She could see it in his face, in the way the air had seemed to thicken around him. “Just tell me straight out, Finn.”
“Okay.” He covered her hands with his. “Marshall Pike’s been murdered.”
Her hands jerked once, then went still. “How?”
“He was shot.”
She already knew, but had to ask. “The same as Angela? It was the same as Angela, wasn’t it?”
“It looks that way.”
She made a strangled sound in her throat, but eased back when he reached for her. “I’m all right. We need to tell the police about what happened after work today. It has to be connected.”
“It’s possible.”
“Don’t circle around it,” she snapped out, and pushed off the bed. “Marshall harassed me today, and we went over there. Hours later, he’s shot. We can’t pretend that one had nothing to do with the other.”
“And if it is connected, what can you do?”
“Whatever I can.” She dragged a sweater over her head, snatched trousers from the closet. “Even though I didn’t pull the trigger, I am the cause, and there has to be something I can do.”
She didn’t resist when he put his arms around her, but clung to him, pressing her face to his shoulder.
“I have to do something, Finn. I can’t bear it otherwise.”
“We’ll go see Jenner.” He cupped her face in his hands, kissed her. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Okay.” She finished dressing in silence. She was sure he wouldn’t feel guilty about facing down Marshall only hours before, because he would see what he had done as pure and simple justice. And perhaps he was right.
Is that what whoever had leveled a gun at Marshall’s face had thought as well?
The idea sickened her. “I’ll wait downstairs,” she said as he pulled out his boots.
She saw the envelope before she reached the bottom landing. It lay crisp and white against the glossy floor of the foyer, inches inside the door. There was a quick pain, a twist in the gut like a fist punching muscle. Then she went numb, crossing the polished wood, bending down.
She opened the envelope as Finn came down behind her.
“Goddamn it.” He took it from her limp fingers, and read.
He’ll never hurt you again.
When they left the house, someone was watching, a heart bursting with love and need and terrible grief. Killing for her had been nothing. It had been done before, and needed to be done again.
Perhaps she would see, at last.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Jeff stood in the control booth overlooking the studio, biting his lip in agitation. Deanna was about to film her first show since Angela’s death.
“Camera Three, on Dee.” He barked out orders. “Take Two, zoom out. Wider on One, pan. Give me Dee tight, Three, music in. Great, great applause. Start the playback tape.”
He applauded himself, as did the others in the booth. From their perch overlooking the stage they could see the audience surge to its feet and cheer.
“Ride it,” Jeff ordered. Oh yeah, he thought, sharing the triumph. She’s back. “Ride the applause.”
Down below Deanna stood on the new set with its jewel tones and banks of cheery holly bushes and let the waves of applause wash over her. It was, she knew, a show of support, a welcoming home. When her eyes filled she didn’t bother to blink back the tears. She didn’t think about it.
“Thanks.” She let out a long, unsteady breath. “It’s really good to be back. I . . .” She trailed off while she scanned the crowd. There were familiar faces dotted among the strangers. Faces from the newsroom, from production. Pleasure glowed on her face. “It’s really good to see you. Before we get rolling, I’d like to thank you all for your letters and phone calls over the past week. Your support has helped me, and everyone involved with the show, through a difficult time.”
And that, she thought, was all the space she could give, would give, to the past.
“Now I’d like to bring out a woman who’s given us all so many hours of entertainment. She’s incandescent. Luminous. With a talent as golden as her eyes. According to Newsweek, Kate Lowell can ‘ignite the screen with a sweep of the eyelash, by the flash of her signature smile.’ She’s proven both her popular and her critical appeal by holding the number-one box-office position for two straight years, and by winning an Oscar for her portrayal of the heroic, unforg
ettable Tess in Deception. Ladies and gentlemen, Kate Lowell.”
Again, the applause erupted. Kate swept into it, looking confident and fresh and every bit the star. But when Deanna took her hand, she found it cold and trembling. Deliberately Deanna wrapped her in an embrace.
“Don’t do anything you’re not ready to do,” she murmured in Kate’s ear. “I’m not going to push you into any revelations.”
Kate hesitated a moment. “Oh God, I’m glad you’re here, Dee. Let’s sit down, okay? My knees are shaking.”
It wasn’t an easy show, from any angle. Deanna was able to guide the first ten minutes through juicy Hollywood chitchat, keeping the audience amused to the point where she assumed Kate had changed her mind about the announcement.
“I like playing women of strength, and character.” In a fluid movement that rustled silk, Kate crossed her long, million-dollar legs. “And there do seem to be more scripts being written for strong women, women who are not just bystanders but who have beliefs and standards they’re willing to fight for. I’m grateful for the chance to play those women, because I didn’t always fight for what I wanted.”
“So you feel as though you’re able to do that now, through your work?”
“I relate to many of the characters I’ve played. Tess in particular. Because she was a woman who sacrificed everything, risked everything for the sake of her child. In an odd sort of way, I mirrored Tess. Mirror images are opposites. And I sacrificed my child, my chance with my child, when I gave it up for adoption ten years ago.”
“Damn.” In the control booth, Jeff’s eyes popped wide. The audience had dropped into stunned silence. “Damn,” he said again. “Camera Two, tight on Kate. Man, oh man.”
But even as he worriedly bit his lip again, he focused on Deanna’s face. She’d known, he realized, and let out a long, calming breath. She’d known . . . .
“An unplanned pregnancy at any time, under any circumstances, is frightening.” Deanna wanted her audience to remember that. “How old were you?”
