by Debra Webb
One good thing had come of today's loss of control. Jayne had connected with him on at least one level. Even if she only felt sorry for him, it was a starting point. He'd need all the help he could get before this was over.
He checked the screen on his cell phone once more before going inside. Jayne was busily drying her hair, still clad in that damned towel. His throat went instantly and fiercely dry. This was the first time since…in a long time that he'd wanted a woman the way he wanted Jayne. He respected her, was awed by her determination. Maybe it was that she so effortlessly achieved what he'd once loved. To stand on some fourteen-thousand-foot summit and peer out over the world had once completed something inside him. That, he realized then, might just be the unexplainable connection he shared with her.
She moved with nature, not against it. He felt reasonably sure that watching her was all that had prevented today from turning out far worse. She'd kept him grounded to a degree.
Needing her, however, would be a liability for both of them in the end.
"Hey, Murphy! Come over here!"
Rafe gestured wildly for Heath to join him at the end of the bar. A small crowd had already gathered around the tables and the music whined and coiled its way around the room.
"What's up?" He paused at the bar, anxious to get to his room…to a better, larger image of the woman upstairs. He groaned inwardly at his inability to keep his head on straight. Oh, hell, what was one more admission today?
"Listen, Murphy," Rafe said in a stage whisper, "you gotta help me out here."
"Rafe, I don't—"
"There isn't much time, you've got to take care of this for me," the old man insisted.
Heath held up his hands in the classic surrender gesture. "Tell me what you need me to do."
Rafe edged closer as if his instructions were top secret. "Go upstairs and keep my girl occupied until I tell you to bring 'er down."
A frown furrowed a path across Heath's brow. "How's that?" The music was loud, maybe he'd misunderstood.
"It's her birthday, man," Rafe urged. "Keep her busy until I get everything in order down here."
Heath surveyed the crowd more closely and recognized the other mountain rescue team members and several people he'd noted Jayne chatting with when she'd waited tables.
"Look back here." Rafe grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to the kitchen door. He grinned like a new grandfather when he pointed out the enormous cake holding a place of honor on the island.
"I see." Heath nodded. "I'll go up now." His entire body tightened at the prospect. Rafe had no way of knowing that sending him to her room was not a good idea.
"Give me the number of that slick cell phone you carry," Rafe said, grabbing a napkin and the pen from his shirt pocket.
Heath rattled off the number and headed toward the back stairs. He hesitated at the short corridor that led past the public rest rooms long enough to give the old guy a two-fingered salute. Rafe grinned and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
At the end of the corridor was a door marked "Employees Only" that led to the storeroom where the stairs were located. A smile tugged at Heath's lips as he double-timed it up the ancient steps. He should have known her friends wouldn't let her down. He was glad. He'd seen her eyes after that call from her father. As con tented as Jayne liked to pretend she was, she was lonely. She would love this.
He stood outside her door for several seconds before he knocked. His hesitation wasn't about courage, it was about that other "c" word. He was having a hell of a time with control where she was concerned. Where this whole case was concerned. She'd likely figured out that walking away from her without doing something stupid like kissing her last night was what he'd meant about it not being easy.
Just another admission he should have kept to himself. Already regret weighed heavily on his shoulders. He didn't want to be the one to do this to her…to show her the truth.
Her door opened and she stood there, now wearing that ragged terry cloth robe and still clutching a hair-brush. She blinked away the surprise at seeing him and asked, "What's up?"
Whether she'd intended the next move or not, he couldn't say, but the one thing he could predict was its effect. Her gaze slid down his body, from the V neck of the lightweight sweater he wore beneath the jacket that concealed his shoulder holster and weapon to the wellworn jeans he preferred over any other trousers. Muscles already taut with tension turned rock hard with want.
Definitely a bad sign of how this day could ultimately end.
"Can I come in?" he asked, drawing her gaze out of dangerous territory and back to his face. Big mistake.
That wide-eyed innocent stare glowed with desire. She blinked. "Sure."
He waited for her to step back and open the door wider. Keeping physical distance was imperative right now if he was to have any hope whatsoever of keeping this on a professional level. In his wildest dreams he would never have imagined it would be this difficult. The concept that he might not be cut out for this kind of work nudged him for the second time since he had left Chicago.
He'd done a little undercover work back in his cop days, but he'd never had this much trouble keeping perspective.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, eyeing him speculatively. Not that he could blame her, he'd pretty much lost it on that mountain today. She had good reason to doubt his sanity.
He tried not to look at the shoulder bared by the loose fitting robe when she inclined her head to the right like that. "Ah…maybe you'd be more comfortable if you got dressed. I don't mind waiting." He gestured to the closest chair. "I'd like to get some more back ground information. If that's okay?" The house of lies he was building felt shakier with each one he added.
Confusion skittered across her makeup-free face. "Okay. Good." She shrugged, which bared more of that gorgeous shoulder. "I'll…ah…get dressed."
When she'd left the room Heath breathed a little easier. He took advantage of the moment and looked around to see if anything had changed since he was here before. He wondered if her father had come into the room. He'd had the perfect opportunity while they were climbing today. Heath slipped a palm-size electronics detector from his jacket pocket and scanned the room and the tiny, adjoining kitchen nook. The only bugs he found were the ones Cole's people had installed, but that left the bedroom and bathroom. That opportunity might not present itself unless he could slip away from the party for a few moments tonight.
Heath paused to study a framed photograph of a much-younger Jayne and another woman who he suspected was her mother. The resemblance was there, too dramatic not to notice. He hadn't found any pictures of her father, didn't see any now. Stephens had probably warned her not to keep any around, a sacrifice of the job. Jayne was a smart lady; he wondered if she blindly accepted his explanations for his long absences and stealthy behavior. It seemed unlikely to Heath, but then a kid would do most anything for a parent's approval.
He thought of his own parents and how he rarely got down to see them anymore. He'd blamed his negligence on the accident, like he did everything else, but maybe it was more related to the idea that he didn't want to see the accusation in their eyes. Or, like his psychologist had suggested, maybe it was merely his own self-guilt that made him see and feel only what he expected to see. Either way, he couldn't deal with it.
"That's me and my mom when I turned eighteen," Jayne said from behind him. "Less than a year before she died."
Heath turned to face her. "You look a lot like her."
She smiled, her eyes distant with memories. "Thanks. We were very close."
"Staying in tonight?" he asked, changing the subject.
She looked down self-consciously at her attire, faded jeans and an equally fatigued Altitude T-shirt. He hadn't meant to make her feel self-conscious. It's just that he knew what was in store. He couldn't help grinning at those bare feet. Pink nail polish gleamed on her toes. Cute. Sexy as hell. Something else for him to think about when he should be concentrating on his job.<
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"Yeah." She shrugged. "I'm spending the night with a bottle of wine."
He'd noticed the bottle on the kitchen counter…and the single stemmed glass.
"It's my birthday," she explained as she padded over to the counter. "At least it will be in about four and a half hours." She uncorked the wine and reached for the glass. "Would you like to join me?"
The voice of reason told him to say no, but he just couldn't turn her down. She looked so vulnerable and needy. Where was the strong, determined young woman he'd first met some forty-eight hours ago? Apparently he wasn't the only one baring weaknesses today.
He took the glass from her. Their fingers brushed, the resulting sizzle chasing away the last of his good sense.
She prowled in the cupboard for another glass and came out with a plastic one sporting the logo of a local Mexican restaurant. That blush of self-consciousness tinted her cheeks again. "I don't have guests often," she explained.
"Here." He exchanged glasses with her. "It's your birthday."
The gesture brought another of those sweet smiles to her lips stealing Heath's ability to take a breath.
When she'd poured his wine he offered a toast, "To you, may this be the best birthday ever."
She touched her glass to his. "To me," she murmured before taking a sip of the amber liquid.
But this wouldn't be her best birthday ever. That's why he was here, to rip away the fantasy. To make her see the worst in the man whose shadow she'd clung to all these years.
Heath drank deeply in hopes of drowning the guilt, but it wouldn't work. He'd tried that before. That he'd gone into this with his eyes wide open only made him more of a monster and he had to live with that. Even if what he was about to do was for her own good.
Or was it?
Why couldn't Danes have found some other way to lure her father? Then the man would simply have stopped calling, stopped making those rare visits. She would never have had to know the truth. She could have made up a dozen different romantic and heroic scenarios for his disappearance.
Damn Cole Danes.
Heath clutched his drink so hard it was a miracle the plastic didn't crack.
"Murphy, I was wondering—"
"Heath," he interjected, his voice stilted. "You were going to call me Heath, remember?" She should at least be on a first-name basis with the man who was about to turn her world upside down.
"Heath," she relented. "I know you wanted to ask me some questions, but, if you're up to it, I'd like to talk about that accident you mentioned. What happened to you today…" She looked away for a moment. "I'd like to help."
To his supreme gratitude his cell phone rang just then. "Excuse me." He set his glass aside and turned away from her expectant expression to answer the call just in case it wasn't Rafe. "Murphy."
"We're ready down here," Rafe whispered.
"I understand." Heath closed the phone, scarcely suppressing the smile that tickled his lips. Rafe was something. He would be here for her. As would the others on her rescue team. They would help Jayne through the devastation to come. That assuaged his conscience a fraction, but it didn't relieve him of responsibility.
He dropped the phone back into his jacket pocket and faced the woman who seriously messed with his objectivity. "I have to pick up an incoming fax at the Mail Boxes Etc., across the street," he said without hesitation. "Would you walk over with me? We can talk on the way." That last comment was purposely misleading. He wouldn't be talking about the accident. Couldn't. But he needed her to go with him, for that she needed motivation. More lies. Funny thing was, each one pinged his conscience a little harder.
She glanced at the clock. "Are they still open?"
He shrugged, dismissing her concern. "Must be, they called."
She set her wineglass on the counter. "A walk would be good."
She grabbed her ever-present pager then tugged on her ankle boots and he helped her into her coat, relishing the feel of her hair against his hand. This was the first time she'd worn it down. He liked it that way. The image of the silky stuff gliding over his skin as they made love loomed large in his overactive imagination before he could stop it.
Another bad omen.
* * *
IT WAS A GOOD THING Jayne knew the stairs down to the ground floor by heart because she couldn't take her eyes off the man at her side.
The stark contrast between what she'd witnessed on that mountain and the man with her right now totally blew her away. So polished, so damned good-looking. Perfect composure, radiating strength and confidence.
Whatever had happened to him was too horrible to talk about. Too horrible to relive and yet he made that climb with her today as if his life had depended upon it.
The two extremes didn't mesh, made no sense at all. Why would he put himself through that kind of mental anguish to get a story? Did his job depend upon this one story? He'd said he worked for a number of publications. Maybe his career had taken a downward spiral and he hoped for the story that would put him back on top.
Whatever the case, she had to respect that kind of grit. She'd known he was strong from the beginning but that glimpse of vulnerability today had shaken her to the core. She'd never met a man confident enough in his masculinity to risk such a display.
God almighty, she was falling for this guy.
A soft sigh ached out of her. And he was only here temporarily.
How could this happen?
She'd sworn never to let this happen. Okay, it hadn't yet. At least not completely. Firming her resolve as they reached the door that led out into the corridor, she promised herself not to let this relationship progress any further into personal terrain. From now on this would be a purely professional relationship of interviewee and interviewer. Nothing more.
"Jayne." He stopped shy of opening the door.
She looked up at him and every speck of willpower she'd gathered scattered like snowflakes on a windy day. "Yes?"
If he hadn't looked at her that way, hadn't let his gaze drop to her lips, she might have had a chance, but he did look at her that way…as if he wanted to kiss her more than he'd ever wanted to do anything in his life.
"Happy birthday," he said softly. He kissed her cheek and her heart stumbled. In that infinitesimal moment be fore he drew away—that throbbing pause that turned one's knees to mush—he whispered two words that sent uncertainty rushing through her veins. "Forgive me."
She stared at his profile as he opened the door and ushered her into the corridor. Before she could demand an explanation hundreds of arms were reaching for her, voices crying out, "Happy birthday, Jayne!"
Her friends dragged her toward the center of the room, away from Heath, where a huge birthday cake awaited.
As Rafe draped an arm around her shoulders the en tire crowd broke into a seriously pathetic rendition of the birthday song. Jayne couldn't help herself, she had to cry. Foolish tears rolled down her cheeks and the members of her team all had a good laugh.
"Well, now Jayne," Walt said, pushing his way to her other side, "we didn't mean to make you cry like a baby, but since we did, we'll need a picture for future corroboration."
Cameras flashed as she swiped her eyes and struggled not to laugh. This would ruin her tough-as-nails reputation. "Just wait," she threatened, "I know your birthdays, too." She looked from Walt to Rafe. "I'll make sure the funeral director's hearse is parked out front."
"Let's get this party started before the little lady gets to any of the rest of us," Chad, her team partner, suggested.
Cheers of approval went up as someone pumped up the music's volume. Chad gave her a hug, then Paul. She lost count of the number of people who wrapped their arms around her and pointed to gifts piled on one end of the bar. She hadn't even noticed the gifts.
She looked for Heath but couldn't find him in the crowd. Had he meant that she should forgive him for being in on this surprise? The words, his tone, felt too somber for something as happy as this.
Forget it. Thi
s was her birthday party and she could do anything she wanted, including letting her hair all the way down for the first time in a very long time.
* * *
HEATH KNEW STEPHENS was out here. His weapon palmed, he moved around the building once more, watching for any movement between the parked cars.
He'd seen someone at the bar's main entrance. He'd gotten only a glimpse of the man's profile, but he was ninety-nine percent certain it was him.
Daddy had come to see his little girl on her birthday.
Fury pounding in his skull, Heath searched the en tire parking lot, looked inside every car before accepting that the area was clear. He had to be sure Stephens was gone for now.
Heath clenched his jaw hard when he found no sign of the man. Bastard.
How could he do this to his own daughter?
Heath went back inside and quickly scanned the crowd to ensure all was as it should be.
Jayne's friends toasted her over and over and the many famous Altitude concoctions were loaded onto tray after tray, never allowing anyone to go thirsty. She'd shed her coat. The simple T-shirt clung to the soft swells and lean valleys of her torso. The jeans complemented her lower anatomy with every bit as much natural sensuality. She had an amazing body. His throat parched sending him in search of a bottle of water behind the bar. There'd be nothing else alcoholic for him tonight.
He kept his distance from Jayne for the remainder of the party. He wanted this night to be filled with good, with no significant memories of him. No one's birthday should be tainted with the kind of hurt his name would be forever associated with in her mind. She deserved better than that. Had already been let down, big-time, by the bastard who'd sired her.
And then there was that other bastard. The one who'd sent Heath here, who'd used Jayne as nothing more than human bait to lure in her evil father.
Men like Cole Danes were barely a cut above the lowlifes they hunted down.
This—Heath's gaze followed Jayne across the dance floor in another man's arms—should never have happened.
