Final Words (14 page)

“Wait here,” she said. Taking a firm grip on her purse
strap, she marched across the bar.

Alan and his companion looked up as Emma approached. The
heavily made-up blonde watched with mild curiosity as Emma stopped at the
table. But Emma didn’t care about her. Blondie was just another in a long line
of Alan’s playmates. Instead, Emma focused her attention on her ex-husband.

“You said you wanted to try again,” she said. “Not that I intended
to but you almost had me believing you might be growing up.”

Alan lowered his hand from the blonde’s shoulder to the back
of her chair. “Emma, what a surprise.”

“Cut the crap, Alan.” Leaning on the table, Emma glared at
her ex-husband. “Lose my phone number. Forget where I live and where I work. Do
you understand?”

His attention shifted to a point somewhere behind her. His
eyes narrowed as he looked at Jason and obviously jumped to conclusions.

Emma leaned closer, blocking Alan’s view of the detective. “Do
you understand?” she repeated firmly.

Animosity burned in Alan’s eyes when they swung back to her.
“I understand completely.”

“Good.” Pushing off the table, Emma turned and marched away.

Opening the door, Jason followed her outside. Not until she
reached the curb did Emma realize she was shaking. But that was ridiculous. She
didn’t love Alan anymore. She wondered now if she had ever really loved him.
Could she trust anything that she felt or thought?

Yes, damn it! Especially about him!

With that thought, she realized that her shaking came from a
sense of freedom and relief, not from failure or self-doubt. Closure. That was
it. She was finally over Alan. The dreams and hopes that had died when her
marriage dissolved no longer seemed important.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said and, grabbing Jason’s
hand, tugged him toward the parking lot.

Sliding behind the wheel of his Mustang, Jason considered
the hurt that darkened the soft blue of Emma’s eyes. He felt like a skunk. He’d
forced her to see a truth about her ex-husband that she apparently hadn’t been
ready to see.

“You don’t seem up to driving.” He started the engine. “So I’ll
take you home instead of to your car. Okay?”

She hugged her arms over her stomach as if it hurt. “I don’t
want to go home.”

Tears brimmed her eyes and he knew it wouldn’t take much to
spill them.

“Alan will only call me if I go home,” she continued,
rocking slightly. “He’ll make up some story to explain that woman. He always
has a story. I don’t need to hear this one. Just…let’s just go. Anywhere.”

Shifting into reverse, he backed out of the parking space
and then glanced at her again. A single, silver tear had slipped free and
coursed a slow path down her pale cheek. That ache hit him again and he knew it
was more than the need for sex—although that need was there too. This ache
stretched all the way up to his heart.

He set his jaw, mentally cursed Alan Winfeld—and himself—and
shifted into forward gear. The tires of the Mustang squealed as he peeled out
of the parking lot.

* * * * *

“Do you need my handkerchief? I promise it’s clean.”

At Jason’s question, Emma’s cheeks warmed. It embarrassed
her to have him see her crying. She could have called a cab but she’d been so
blinded by her feelings that it had taken everything she had just to walk out
of that bar. Emotions she hadn’t expected had gone on a rampage inside her. She
wasn’t even sure how much time she’d been trying to get control of herself.

“No,” she said quietly. “Thanks.”

Unfolding her stiff arms, she opened her purse and dug
inside for a tissue. As she stemmed the flow from her eyes, she realized that
Jason had stopped the car and turned off the engine.

Clearing her eyes with a blink, she looked out the front
windshield at a small, dark house sitting on stilts. A breath of air eased
through the open car window and she could smell the salt from the bay. The only
sounds were the wind chasing the corners of the house and the tick-tick-tick
from the cooling engine of his car.

She looked at Jason. “Where are we?”

“My place.”

She remembered again the warnings Marta and Skitch had given
her. His reputation as a ladies’ man and his apparent interest in her made Emma
wish that she
had
taken a cab. But then she remembered his guilty
expression when she’d first seen Alan tonight. She remembered the courage she’d
felt to do what had to be done and she wondered again if there was more to
Jason than his reputation.

“I couldn’t think of a better place for you to relax,” he
said, opening his car door. “Come on inside.”

Getting out, she reluctantly followed him to the house. He
remained as quiet as he’d been during the drive. Did he regret bringing her and
her tears here?

When he stopped to unlock the front door, she touched his
arm. “I needed to see Alan with that woman,” she said.

He opened the door, reached inside and flipped a switch.
Light skimmed over his face. She saw again the guilt he felt at what he must
consider his own deception.

Emma experienced a sudden need—like the one she’d felt in
the hospital—to help him put that guilt to rest.

She pressed her fingertips deeper into his arm. “Seeing Alan
tonight gave me a sense of freedom that I haven’t felt in a long time. A sense
of confidence in myself.”

Jason searched her face. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I do either.” Heating beneath his gaze, she
stepped past him and entered the house. A quick glance gave her an impression
of hominess and a surprising trace of femininity. Considering his notoriety for
playing a very large field, she realized she shouldn’t be surprised. He must
have women out here all the time and he’d decorated his home for their comfort.

Pushing aside an unexpected jolt of sorrow, she walked to a
picture window that overlooked a deck, the beach and the bay beyond. Lamplight
behind her cast a faint reflection on the glass, giving her two images at which
to look.

“I told you I was considering going back to Alan.” Knowing
it didn’t really matter, she still wanted to explain. “That wasn’t entirely
true, although I guess a small part of me had hoped we might at least stay
friends.” Snuggling her arms over her chest, she watched moonlight drape the
bobbing water. “I know now that he hasn’t changed. I guess no man can.”

“Don’t lump all men into one bastard’s category.”

She saw Jason’s reflection in the window as he moved close
behind her. Heat flushed her body when his eyes, dark and serious, focused on
her face. Again, she tried to ignore the desire that pierced her, although it
was becoming less unwelcome with every moment.

“You have quite a reputation,” she said, trying to convince
herself of something she no longer quite believed.

“Undeserved in the past year,” he answered quietly. “I’d
like the chance to prove it to you.”

“Even though you suspect me of—” Breaking off, she met his
gaze in the glass. “Just exactly what
do
you suspect me of, Detective
MacKenzie?”

“I’m not quite sure, Dr. St. Clair.”

“I promise you I haven’t committed any crime.”

“Withholding evidence is a crime. Interfering in a police
investigation is a crime.” Despite his words, his tone remained gentle. “Actually,
I’m hurt that you didn’t trust me.”

“I’m sorry.” She shifted her attention back to the moonlit
bay. Was it time to get back to why she had agreed to go with him for coffee
tonight? Did she still really want to set him straight?

“I saw you with a very affectionate woman the other night,”
she said.

He turned away. “It’s nice on the deck this time of night.
Go on out. I’ll bring the coffee when it’s ready. Just drop your purse on the
sofa there and I’ll be out in a minute.”

“All right,” she murmured and then made her way to the back
door, suddenly unsure where this night was headed. And unsure where she wanted
it to go.

As he watched her walk outside, a thrill charged Jason’s
gut. Higher and lighter than the sensation he usually experienced with a
beautiful woman, he knew this was more than physical desire. Her presence
filled the house. Her scent flavored the air and the place seemed brighter in
spite of the night.

He wanted to believe that an anonymous informant had sent
her into Craig Potter’s territory. Instinct told him she was hiding something
but it also told him that she couldn’t do intentional wrong. And yet she’d done
something very foolish and had nearly gotten herself killed. Why?

For tonight he would give her the benefit of the doubt. For
tonight he would try to forget he was a cop. Just for a while.

Opening the coffee can, he measured the grains into the
coffee maker. Enough coffee for two, he thought and was glad his companion wasn’t
Charlie. Since he’d moved here after Rose’s death, Charlie had been a regular
visitor to the beach house but Jason had brought only a couple of women here.
It hadn’t seemed right either time.

Lifting two mugs off their hooks, he paused and then put them
back. Opening the cabinet above the refrigerator, he took down two cups and
saucers from his mother’s bone china set. The delicate china winked in the
light and Jason grinned.

For the first time in a long time, something felt right.

The night was still, the waters of the bay calm under the
quarter moon, waves barely whispering as they caressed the shore. The perfume
of roses mingled with that of the sea.

Emma studied the oak barrel planters placed at each corner
of the deck, each holding a tall, blossom-heavy bush. Each bush was further
evidence of Jason’s need to have women around him. Along the side of the house
below the deck, more roses grew along a strip of land that sloped toward the
beach.

Roses. The man grew roses.

Shaking her head, Emma stood at the rail and watched the
bay. When they’d left her office tonight she had intended to tell him she wasn’t
interested in him in anything but a professional way. And yet she couldn’t help
remembering the softness in his eyes when he’d looked at her. And the hunger.
She remembered that too.

Don’t go there, she warned herself.

“I brought sugar and the fake stuff.” He balanced a tray
through the door and placed it on a table between two wooden deck chairs. “Sorry
but I don’t have any cream or milk.”

“That’s okay.” Turning, she leaned back against the rail and
watched him. “One packet of the fake stuff is fine.”

He tore open a packet and stirred the artificial sweetener
into her coffee. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks.” Taking the cup, she held it up to catch the light
from the house. A delicate ivy pattern edged the rim of the cream-colored
china. “Pretty,” she noted.

“It was my mom’s.” He stirred sugar into his own coffee. “It
doesn’t get used much.”

Emma took a deep breath and forged ahead. “Don’t you let
your girlfriend use the fine china?”

Jason’s eyebrows dipped. “Girlfriend?”

“The woman you were with the other night at the Marquis.”

“Oh.” Giving up a chuckle, he shook his head. “She’s not my
girlfriend.”

“I thought…maybe…that you were dating her.”
Ignore that
surge of excitement.

“I’m not doing anything with her.” Carrying his own cup, he
joined her at the rail. “I’m not sure
anyone
should do anything with
her.”

“She’s trouble?”

“With the famous capital T.” He leaned on the rail beside
her, apparently not bothered by the subject. “Why do you ask?”

Emma hesitated. “You have quite a reputation, Detective.”

He looked at her and replied quietly, “You keep saying that,
Doctor.”

“And yet you’ve been quite the gentleman with me.”

His eyes sharpened. “Are you asking me not to be?”

Looking away, she shook her head. “No.”

He stood quietly for a moment before saying, “I want to make
a move on you but you need to sort things out tonight.”

Surprise fluttered pleasantly through her and she took a
deep breath of sea-scented air. “You don’t want to catch me on the rebound,
huh?”

“I’m not a rebound kind of guy.”

She looked back at him. “What kind of guy are you? Really.
Reputation aside.”

The gleam in his eyes faded. “Is it that important that you
know?”

“Yes.”

“I used to play the field,” he answered quietly. “Have fun
with a lot of different ladies at one time, lose a lot of sleep and drink a lot
of beer.”

“What about now?”

“Now I find the field a lonely place in spite of the crowd
and the beer, so I tend to avoid it.” He shifted to face her fully, keeping one
elbow on the rail and his cup cradled in both hands. “I’d like to prove that to
you someday.”

Heat from her own coffee cup warmed her cold hands. The
proximity of his body soothed that hollow chill inside her. For the first time
in a long time, she felt comfortable. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to drag
someone into her strange life.

“It might be a while before I’m ready to let you,” she said quietly.
“Or anyone else.”

“We’ll see.”

Emma couldn’t help laughing. “You’re kind of cocky, you
know?”

“Charlie tells me so every day.” He grinned. “And why
shouldn’t I be? I have looks, brains and charm and I know how to show a girl a
good time.”

She laughed again, enjoying the long unfamiliar vibration
inside her chest. “Oh, I think ‘cocky’ is too mild a word.”

“You have a beautiful laugh, Emma.” His voice came at her faintly,
a whisper on the breeze. “I like to hear you laugh.”

Humor faded as guilt nibbled at her again. She looked out
over the bay. “You should know that I’m seeing a psychiatrist. I’ve been having
a few problems coping with what happened.”

“You had a traumatic accident. You lost a friend. Your
marriage ended. Anyone might need a little help after that.”

“Thanks.” She relaxed again, glancing at him once more. “Okay,
Detective MacKenzie. I’ve told you something personal about myself. It’s your
turn.”

He faced the bay too, coffee cup still cradled in his hands,
its contents not yet tasted. “I was born and raised in Houston. I wanted to be
a cop ever since I could say ‘bang-bang’.”

“Does your family still live there?”

“My parents passed away a few years ago.” His voice dropped
to something just above a murmur. “My sister is gone too. She was killed by a
hit-and-run driver.”

Emma’s heart started to melt as his drive became suddenly clear.
“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “I live with it.”

A telephone rang inside the house. Jason didn’t move from
his spot at the rail. Emma leaned forward to catch his eye and, when the phone
rang a third time, she lifted one eyebrow.

Jason shrugged. “The machine will get it.”

After the fourth ring, she heard a click, followed by a loud
beep. A woman’s voice slurred over the line. “Off grave-digging again, are you?
Give me a call when you decide to crawl back into the world of the living.”

The woman muttered an expletive and then hung up. Jason took
a sip of his coffee and watched the bay.

Following his gaze, Emma focused on the moonlight as it lit
the tops of the waves. “If that was your date from the other night, I’m
beginning to understand what you meant.”

“I’m pretty understanding, myself.” He took another sip of
his coffee, half-turning toward her again so that she felt his gaze touch her. “You
just remember that, Dr. St. Clair.”

Sipping her own coffee, Emma wondered how understanding he
would be about her secret. Someday she might need to tell someone other than
her psychiatrist. She wondered if that someone was standing beside her.