Irresistible Forces

by Catherine Ansaro et al

  "Wait." Nick sniffled and tore open the chocolate. "Thank you. I think."

  "You don't know it yet, but you already did, dear."

  Dear? He shifted the glob of soothing chocolate to one side of his mouth. "I did?"

  "Steph included me in her invitation." Mrs. Brown flashed a wicked grin and left the room.

  Nick grabbed the phone message and simultaneously bit off another chunk of chocolate. Maybe there really was some truth to that serotonin business. He felt better already.

  Raquel, meet us at the Studfinder around seven. Mar go's on assignment and we may need our attorney. Bring Mrs. Brown. A smiley face was drawn at the end.

  "Oh, my God." Nick Riley was going to watch male strippers. Revulsion slithered through him, until he remembered that Jared Carson was a main attraction.

  He broke off another chunk of chocolate, liking the idea of watching old Jar-O humiliate himself. If only Jared Carson knew who Raquel really was, that could make it all the more satisfying.

  "Get serious." He dropped the unopened boxes into the wastebasket and looked at the digital clock on his desk. It was too early to call it a day, but he didn't have any appointments. Besides, he didn't feel like himself. Well, even less than usual since his new appearance. Maybe Mrs. Brown was right about the PMS.

  Heaven forbid.

  He almost laughed. "I know what I'm gonna do to lift my spirits." He'd have Raquel's long red hair cropped off into something more manageable. And get rid of these manicured claws, too. The more he contemplated it, the more he liked the idea.

  He pulled a pair of fingernail clippers from his desk drawer—right where he'd always kept them—and rendered Raquel's red nails into nice, neat stubs. He'd have to ask Mrs. Brown what women used to remove this gunk.

  Then he went into the bathroom and scrubbed .off the makeup. When he looked in the mirror again, he noticed something for the first time since this journey into never-never land.

  Raquel had Nick's eyes. Behind all that eyeliner and mascara, he hadn't noticed. Maybe if he'd actually washed it off at night like the instructions said, he would've realized sooner.

  "I'll be damned." Maybe the eyes really were windows to the soul. Séamus might have changed Nick's body, but he hadn't changed his eyes or his handwriting. Even Mrs. Brown had commented how much Raquel's handwriting resembled Nick's. Knowing that part of him was still here made him feel better than he had since his arrival back on Earth.

  Well, for a few moments he felt better. After using the facilities, he marched back into his office and retrieved the box of maxi pads from the wastebasket. He slammed the bathroom door behind him, tore open the box and read the directions.

  "Thanks a lot, Séamus."

  7

  Jared had a hunch, and he didn't like hunches. He liked facts. Hard evidence.

  A local big shot named Henry Millman owned the Studfinder, along with at least a dozen other small businesses in the county. In the two weeks since Jared had started this assignment, tonight was the first time Millman had put in an appearance. Why tonight? And had last night's futile drug raid been timed accordingly?

  The rotund, cigar-smoking owner strutted through the dressing room about half an hour before showtime. He made a few ribald comments about entertaining women, not giving any dancer more than a cursory nod, except one.

  Millman directed a glare of suspicion that shot right through Jared. He'd seen that look before. The asshole knew something—or at least suspected it.

  Jared forced himself to return to the task of closing all the Velcro tabs on his costume, ignoring his sweaty palms and the alarm bouncing through his brain.

  Something big was going down tonight. He felt it. Smelled it.

  And Margo would be in the audience.

  "Damn."

  "What's up?" the dancer with the locker next to Jared's asked. His Tarzan performance opened every night. "Tough day?"

  Jared searched his gray matter for Tarzan's real name, and came up blank. "I was just noticing the fat guy." He slid a glance toward Millman, who was now deep in conversation with his emcee. At least he wasn't watching Jared anymore. "He's the owner. Right?"

  "Yep. That's the big man himself." Tarzan tucked something that looked like a rolled sock into his G-string. "Padding the fantasies."

  Jared managed a chuckle and patted himself on the back for not cringing. "I was just curious. Haven't seen him here before."

  "Oh, he comes in around the first of every month." Tarzan pulled his loincloth on and fastened the Velcro. "He never watches the show, though—spends all his time back here doing something in the office."

  "Hmm. Seems like he could hire somebody to do his payroll." Jared lifted a shoulder, feigning disinterest. "Tightwad, eh?"

  Tarzan rubbed oil across his shaved chest. "I figure the Studfinder is a tax shelter or something."

  Or something. Jared had to find a way to get into that office. Tonight. "Anybody ever meet him here?"

  Tarzan didn't seem suspicious of all the questions. He appeared thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, come to think of it, I've seen a tall bald guy with him a few times."

  Bald guy? The acid level in Jared's gut hit nuclear. His contact with the local P.D. was tall and bald. "Seems an odd choice for a bookkeeper."

  "Or a boyfriend." Tarzan chuckled. "Millman could probably take his pick in here, being the boss and all."

  Jared coughed. Well, Millman couldn't have his pick of every one.

  "That bald guy is one scrawny sumbitch, too."

  That did it. Charlie. The tall, scrawny, bald guy had to be Jared's link to the local police. That raid the other night had been arranged to rattle Jared. Charlie was obviously on the take, and Jared was in deep shit.

  His blood turned frigid, and his breath caught and held. Fear shot through him. For Margo.

  "Break a leg." Tarzan flexed his muscles and headed toward the stage door.

  "Yeah." Trying not to stare at the small door at the end of the dressing room through which Henry Millman had disappeared, Jared headed for the bathroom and made a call on his encrypted cell phone. Within a few moments, he'd notified his boss about his suspicions. By the time he took the stage tonight there would be three more agents on site, and more on the way. Turned out the feds already had Millman under investigation for various financial dealings. This case could be wrapped up a lot faster than anyone had hoped.

  A few moments later, he stashed his phone and took his place in line with the other Eroticops. With any luck, this would be his last performance. He was more than ready to hang up his G-string.

  Jared Carson had other things on his mind now. He couldn't deny the truth. From the first moment he'd seen Margo sitting in the audience, he'd known. This was destiny or fate or whatever. He would pursue her as he should have before she ever married Nick. He should have swallowed his pride back in college and told her he was sorry, that he loved her and wanted to spend his life with her. Loving her.

  Then he would leave his life with the DEA and pursue his original career goal of small-town law enforcement. He wanted to buy Margo her old Victorian fixer-upper and to make babies with her. Lots of babies.

  He wouldn't take no for an answer either. Not because he was a jerk, but because he'd felt her response. He'd seen love in her eyes, in her smile, and had tasted it in her kiss. They belonged together, and they always had.

  If only Nick… Jared. released a slow breath. No, he couldn't blame Nick any longer. Losing Margo had been as much Jared's fault as anybody's. Nick was dead, and Jared planned to let him rest in peace. Their old rivalry had been stupid when Nick was alive, and continuing it after his death was doubly stupid.

  Margo mattered. The future mattered.

  He heard Tarzan's yell and barely suppressed a shudder. Damn.

  Margo and Steph occupied the same table they had last time—center stage. Except, this time, Margo wasn't a bit reluctant to watch the dancers, knowing that very soon Jared would be there.

 
She couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. Everything he'd meant to her in the past had come flooding back as if they hadn't been apart all these years. As if Nick…

  No. She wouldn't think about Nick now.

  "I wonder what's keeping Raquel and Mrs. Brown," Steph said as she slid a drink across the table toward Margo.

  "I'm still trying to figure out why you invited her here tonight." Margo wasn't looking forward to seeing the unusual woman again so soon.

  "I called to invite Mrs. Brown, and she said Raquel had PMS and would probably enjoy it." Steph grinned and waggled her eyebrows.

  "Hmm." Margo glanced at her watch again. "Maybe they changed their minds about coming."

  "Mrs. Brown said Raquel had a hair appointment. I guess those gorgeous locks take longer."

  "What gorgeous locks?" Margo stared past her sister as Mrs. Brown and a very different version of Raquel approached the table between sets.

  Steph looked over her shoulder, then turned her wide-eyed stare on Margo. "Yikes! She got scalped."

  A more subdued Raquel slid into the empty chair next to Mrs. Brown. Raquel wore jeans, a blue sweater, and very little, if any, makeup. Her flaming hair curled around her face. She didn't look a thing like the fancy woman she'd been this morning.

  "Look what she did, just because of a little PMS." Mrs. Brown kept looking at Raquel and shaking her head. "Shame. What a shame. Such beautiful hair."

  "I donated it to a charity that makes wigs for kids on chemo." Raquel caught their server and ordered a Glenfiddich single malt scotch. "I don't miss that mop a bit."

  Nick's favorite label… Margo shook off the memory of Nick and smiled. "I think donating your hair to charity was a very nice thing to do."

  Raquel shrugged and her cheeks pinkened. "I hope they put it to good use."

  "You missed Tarzan," Steph told Mrs. Brown. "But the Eroticops are next, and they are to die for."

  Especially one of them. Margo had to stop mooning around about Jared and concentrate on her job. Tonight, her notes would make sense, and Jared had promised to find a likely dancer for her to interview.

  "So, Margo, what did old Fred want when he called earlier?"

  "Just letting me know he's passing through town tomorrow and wants to have lunch." Margo drew a deep breath. Her father-in-law had never been particularly fond of her—especially after Nick decided to settle in her hometown instead of returning to Riley's Crossing. "He doesn't have any other family with Nick gone."

  Raquel made a choking sound, and Steph patted her on the back. All the color had drained from Raquel's face.

  "Are you all right?" Margo asked.

  A pained expression crossed the redhead's face. "Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?" The server delivered her drink, and Raquel ordered another before she took her first sip. "I, uh, take it you were talking about your father-in-law?"

  "Yes, exactly." But how did Raquel know that? "Nick was his only son, and I think he's lonely. He misses him."

  "Will minor miracles never cease?" Raquel downed the scotch with one smooth flick of her wrist.

  "Do you know Fred Riley?" Steph asked, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

  "I'm not sure I ever really knew him at all." Raquel rested her chin on her fist, her expression wistful. "I, well, never mind. We're here to have fun. Right?"

  Talk about avoidance. Did Raquel know Nick's father or not? Margo exchanged glances with her sister, knowing Steph was also confused by the ambiguous answer. And how had Raquel known about the painting, or where Margo lived?

  "Did… did you know my husband?" she asked, uncertain how or why the question had left her lips.

  "I…" Raquel's gaze shifted around the table. "Yes, yes, I know—er, knew—Nick."

  "I thought you just moved here," Steph said.

  "I lived here until two years ago, but now I'm back." Raquel flashed a nervous smile.

  Two years ago? Raquel had left town about the time Nick died. She studied the woman's guilty expression, and a sinking sensation struck.

  No. She couldn't accept that. Nick had never given her reason to believe he was unfaithful.

  The lights and sirens signaled the beginning of the next act, and the crowd went wild, forcing Margo to shove her suspicions aside. Nick was dead, and thinking ill of him was wrong. Still, how did Raquel know so much?

  Once the dancers entered the stage, Mrs. Brown leapt to her feet and gave a wolf whistle that would have put the most sexist construction worker to shame.

  Steph laughed, and Margo turned her attention to Jared. He was dancing for her again—now she knew that for certain. No one else in the room knew his real identity, or why he meant so much to her. Tears scalded her eyes, but she blinked the liquid traitors away, focusing instead on holding Jared's gaze.

  Watching him reminded her again of his kiss. Her body softened and heated, hungry for him. And why shouldn't she indulge her desire? After all, she was single, and it wasn't as if Jared was a stranger. He'd been her first lover. Her first love.

  Her only love?

  Guilt shoved its ugly face to the forefront of her mind again. If any other man had attracted her attention, would she feel this way? The answer came swiftly—a resounding no.

  Oh, but she had loved him. And… she still did. Her heart raced ahead as she gathered that knowledge about her like a protective cloak. She wanted to invite Jared home with her tonight. Could she find the courage? And could she forget the past enough to think of a future with him?

  Nothing ventured … A smile curved her lips, and she blew Jared a kiss before she lost her resolve.

  "Well, isn't that special?" Raquel muttered.

  Margo girded herself and faced Raquel. A myriad of emotions danced in the woman's eyes1—regret, sadness, and something more.

  "He's Margo's," Steph told Mrs. Brown.

  "Lucky girl!" Mrs. Brown laughed. "If my hormones were thirty years younger, I'd give you a little competition."

  Raquel extended her glass toward Margo, her eyes misty. "I wish you the best in every… way." Her voice broke, and she drew a shaky breath.

  "Thank you." Margo wasn't sure what else to say. Why did this strange woman's words mean so much? Why was Margo relieved to hear her say them? It was almost as if she needed Raquel's approval to seduce Jared. Ridiculous.

  Of course, what Margo really wanted with Jared was a lot more than merely a night of sex. Her face flamed, and her heart did a pirouette.

  Nick is dead, Margo. She didn't need anyone's permission to do whatever she wanted with Jared or any other man. She'd been a good wife to Nick. Hadn't she?

  Wouldn't he forgive her now, knowing she was still in love with Jared?

  No, probably not. Though she'd loved Nick in her own way, she hadn't been blind to his faults. He'd been pretty self-centered, and competitive to the extreme. She sighed. Especially with Jared.

  Somehow, she had to come to terms with all this, because she couldn't let Jared just walk out of her life again. She needed this—needed him—in her life.

  Give me strength.

  Determined, she turned her attention back to the stage, watching Jared do things with his hips that set her insides ablaze. She bit her lower lip and sighed.

  "Ooops."

  Margo glanced over to find Steph shoving napkins toward Raquel, who had spilled her drink.

  When Margo met Raquel's gaze, a jolt went through her. The woman's eyes had disturbed her before, and now she knew why. Without all the makeup, Raquel's eyes were just like Nick's.

  Impossible.

  Raquel's expression grew solemn, and she gave Margo a sheepish grin as she pushed to her feet. "Be right back." Raquel left the table to weave her way toward the rest rooms.

  "She's wearing sneakers," Steph said. "Amazing transformation. Kind of like a butterfly in reverse."

  "PMS." Mrs. Brown sipped her tropical beverage, her gaze never leaving the stage. "Can I take one of them home with me?"

  Steph laughed. "Now, what would Mr. Brow
n think of that?"

  "He won't care. He's been dead ten years."

  He won't care. He's been dead… Mrs. Brown's words echoed through Margo's brain. She was alive. She had a right to lead a happy and fulfilled life.

  With anyone she pleased.

  Would Nick's ghost always lurk between them? Would his memory always create this surge of guilt in Margo's heart and mind? Did Jared feel guilty about Nick?

  And who the hell was Raquel Eastwood?

  Deciding to focus on the present for now, she looked at the stage gain. The set ended, and Jared blew Margo a kiss as he followed the other dancers offstage. Somehow, she would find a way to come to terms with everything.

  Right now, though, Margo had to find out why and how Raquel Eastwood had looked at her with her late husband's eyes. And how she knew so many things about him.

  "Running to the rest room." Without giving her sister a chance to respond, Margo rose and made her way through the crowd on wooden legs. Had she lost her mind? This was crazy—whatever this was.

  Reincarnation? Margo didn't know much about such things, but it seemed to her that people weren't reincarnated back into the same lifetime they'd left. Were they? Wouldn't that disrupt the space/time continuum? Or something?

  Gibberish. She squared her shoulders and turned down the dark hallway leading to the rest rooms. A movement at the end of the hallway caught her attention—another door opening and a redheaded woman slipping through it.

  Margo didn't hesitate. She shoved open the same door and realized it was some kind of storage area, with another door leading outside. What was Raquel doing back here?

  "Come on, Séamus," Raquel said to the stacks of boxes. "Cut me some slack here. She's on to me."

  Was Raquel talking to herself? "Who's Séamus? And who's on to you?"

  Raquel slowly turned to face Margo. She drew a deep breath and held her hands out at her sides, palms up. "He's… an angel."

  Margo looked around the deserted room again, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears she could barely hear anything else. "Your… guardian angel?"