Final Words (9 page)

“My pleasure. Pamela will take care of you now and I’ll see
you Thursday.”

“Thank you.” Emma shook his hand, taking the comfort those
strong fingers offered and relaxed even more. “Goodbye.”

* * * * *

Still feeling good when she walked into her office twenty
minutes later, Emma looked forward to eating for the first time in days. As she
kicked her office door closed, though, she saw the message light blinking on
her telephone and decided that lunch could wait a few more minutes. This could
be her parents.

Dropping her deli salad on the desk, she picked up the phone
and entered her access code. She had one message.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Alan said. “Listen, I’m sorry for losing
my temper. We should talk again. I’ll be in town for a few days, at the Ramada
on Bay Street. I’ll call you again later, okay?” The message ended.

Emma stared at the phone. Alan had been a lousy husband but
as she’d told Paul, he’d been a great listener. Once upon a time, he’d been her
best friend and confidante, never failing to give her good advice when she’d
asked for it. In spite of their uncomfortable divorce, she wished she could
call him now and unburden herself of this awful secret that she’d shared only
with Paul Sanders. But he would probably take that as a sign that she wanted to
reconcile.

“No,” she breathed. “I’ll deal with this myself.”

She opened her salad and began picking off the onions she’d
asked the deli guy to cut. When the scuff of a shoe caught her attention, she
looked up to see Skitch peeking through the narrow opening of her door.

“Hi.” He pushed the door open all the way. “I thought you
went out to lunch.”

Emma suppressed a twinge of guilt. Of course she hadn’t told
her assistant she’d been going to see a psychiatrist. “I had some errands to
run and time got away from me. Do you want to join me?”

“I already ate.” He leaned one shoulder against the frame of
the door. “Did you hear that the cops got an ID on that fisherman we worked on
the other day? His name was Robert Harris.”

Emma’s throat tightened. “Robert…Harris?”

“Some kids on a field trip to the tide pools found a cooler
full of beer on the beach. When their teacher wasn’t looking, they dug through
it and found a wallet wrapped in plastic. The teacher caught them, then called
the cops and turned the wallet over to them. Just thought you’d like to know.”

He popped out as suddenly as he’d popped in. Lunch
forgotten, Emma crossed her arms over her chest as a chill crawled through her.
Robert Harris. Robert Harris.
The name echoed through her mind until she
thought she’d scream.

The sudden ringing of the phone almost made her do so.
Desperate to hear a human voice, she snatched up the handset. “Hello?”

“Emma?”

Alan’s voice.

Can’t get much more human than that, she thought with a
hysterical sob. Suppressing it with a hand at her throat, she gripped the phone
tighter and said, “Alan, I need to talk to you.”

Jason closed the folder containing the latest body shop
report and shoved it across his desk. Dust puffed upward to dance in the sunlit
air. What a waste of time. No witnesses. No evidence. The driver and his car
had just vanished.

Defeat weighed on his shoulders like an itchy wool coat. He
was failing Brian and Emma as he’d failed Rose.

Behind him, Charlie stood near the window and laughed
quietly into his cell phone. He whispered something low in Spanish. The words,
the tone… He was flirting with his wife.

The playful banter reminded Jason of another area in which
he’d failed—relationships. Despite his fear of loss if he got involved with
someone, listening to Charlie flirt with Veronica made Jason long for a
beautiful woman who would flirt with him on the phone and cradle his head in
her lap whenever he…

“Hey there, stranger.”

At the husky, feminine voice, Jason looked up. His blues
fell away, replaced by pure male pleasure and a sense that God was still
listening to him, after all.

And listening in a good mood for a change.

Layne Simmons, a detective with the Houston Police
Department, sauntered across the bullpen toward Jason’s desk, slender hips
swaying under a short leather skirt that was almost as black as her hair. Her
cobalt blue eyes focused on him and she appeared not to notice as the heads of
several male detectives swiveled to follow her journey.

Jason barely won the battle not to laugh. Layne noticed all
right. A woman like her always noticed the attention of the males around her.

“I’m doing okay,” he answered, pushing back his chair and
standing up.

It had been months since he’d seen her. That had been a hell
of a night if he recalled it correctly. Of course, half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s
could color anyone’s memory. But he definitely remembered the lack of guilt
following their sexual encounter. Quick and casual…that was the way Layne
preferred it and that suited Jason. She didn’t want strings any more than he
did and their brief liaisons made it easier for him to resist other more
emotional temptations.

“What brings you our way?” he asked as she reached his desk.
Charlie, he noticed, had turned to face the window while he continued to flirt
with his wife over the phone.

“Had some time off and thought I’d spend it at the beach,”
Layne replied, easing one hip down on a corner of Jason’s desk. “Isn’t it
convenient having that beach—and a good friend—only a couple of hours from
home?”

As she smiled and leaned toward him, his gaze dipped
automatically toward the cleavage revealed by the open top button on her snug
silk shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two other men lean back in
their chairs, following her motion. One of them jerked as he nearly tipped
over.

The sultriness in Layne’s expression deepened into amusement
as she too, glimpsed the man’s reaction. “How about taking an old friend to
dinner?” she suggested.

Involuntarily, Jason’s mind ticked off a comparison between
Layne and Emma. Somehow, in spite of her cool attitude toward him and in spite
of Layne’s obvious sensuality, Emma came out ahead. That, in the face of the
pleasure being offered, annoyed him enough to make him act impulsively.

“Dinner sounds great.” Maybe what he needed was a wild night
with a willing woman to put Emma St. Clair out of his mind once and for all.
And Layne certainly fit the wild and willing bill. If any woman could distract
him, she could.

He leaned toward her. “Tell me where you’re staying and I’ll
pick you up.”

* * * * *

The Marquis was the finest restaurant in Clear Harbor. Its
beautiful view of Trinity Bay, elegant table settings and attentive staff drew
customers from Houston and beyond. Lit by slender white candles, its tables
were positioned at discreet intervals and surrounded by palms and flowering
plants, making the restaurant romantic and fairly private.

Emma wished that Alan hadn’t chosen it.

“My firm recently got the contract on the new port annex
here in Clear Harbor,” he said as he topped off her glass of wine. “Should mean
a nice bonus for the senior staff come the end of the year. Being the
controller of one of Houston’s largest construction firms certainly has its
advantages.”

She turned her glass slowly but didn’t pick it up.
Vulnerable, she needed to keep her head clear while she told him the story that
she’d put off through dinner. “That’s wonderful news, Alan. Congratulations.”

“I’ll be traveling to Clear Harbor often in the coming
months, finalizing contracts and such.” Picking up his own glass, he leaned
toward her. “But we didn’t come here to talk about business, did we?”

Emma thought again about Amalia Campanero and Robert Harris.
She needed to confide in someone. And although he had betrayed their marriage
vows, Alan had never betrayed any of her confidences. “Actually I—”

Catching her hand, he lightly stroked her knuckles. “I’m
glad you reconsidered our marriage.”

“I haven’t reconsidered anything.” Gently freeing her
fingers from his, she drew both hands back and tucked them in her lap. As she’d
feared, he’d gotten the wrong impression when she’d told him she needed to
talk. “But we’ve been good friends. I don’t want to lose that too.”

His eyes darkened and his rejected hand curled into a fist
atop the table. “I don’t want to be your friend, Emma. I want to be your
husband. I want our life to be like it was before.”

“Our life together wasn’t that great for me.” She took a
deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’ve been under a lot of stress since the accident and
I just need to—”

“I know, babe and I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.” He leaned
toward her again, his blue eyes gleaming with what appeared to be genuine worry.
“You seem so fragile. I hate it that you were hurt, Emma. I hate it that I
broke your heart. I want to make it up to you.”

His concern seemed genuine and Emma relaxed for the first
time since she’d seen him waiting for her outside the restaurant. “Just be my
friend. That’s all I can handle right now.”

He smiled. “Let’s forget about misunderstandings and accidents
and just dwell on the good times we had. And we really have had some good
times, haven’t we, babe? Remember that weekend we spent in Dallas and stayed up
all Saturday night talking?”

“Of course I remember. It was our third date. But I—”

“I want times like that again.” As a waitress in a short
black skirt walked past, his attention shifted for a moment. But his smile was
fixed firmly when he turned back to her. “I know what’s best for you, Emma. I
always have.”

“Alan, please—”

He raised both hands in surrender. “That’s all I’m going to
say. I’m a patient man. I can wait until you’re ready to talk about our
marriage again.”

Sitting back, Emma picked up her glass and took a sip.
Tonight had mistake stamped all over it. She should’ve listened to her first
instincts. She couldn’t confide her troubles to this man, after all. Telling
Alan what she’d seen in the autopsy suite would only convince him that she was
too “fragile” to be alone and she would never hear the end of his entreaties to
get back together.

Frustrated, Emma took another sip of wine. Over the rim of
her glass, she saw another couple cross the restaurant. The woman, tall and
beautiful with flowing black hair, draped her companion like a fine silk throw,
running one hand over his shoulder and down his back. Her long fingers dipped
below his belt-line and clenched his backside through his suit coat. When the
man turned his face in profile, Emma choked on her wine.

“You all right?” Alan leaned toward her and patted her back.
“What happened?”

“I swallowed wrongly,” she croaked, then glanced again at
the other couple as they sat in a booth across the room. Jason MacKenzie was
certainly living up to his reputation as a ladies’ man.

“Do you know those people?” Alan asked.

Emma realized that he had caught her staring at the other
couple. Embarrassed, she turned her attention back to him. “That man is the
detective investigating my case.”

“Really?” He looked at the other couple again. “Do you want
to go say hello?”

“No. I…don’t really care much for him.” The words tasted
like a lie. But of course she didn’t care one whit about the man. “He’s the
overbearing type,” she added shortly.

“A real bully, huh?”

“I imagine he could be.” She considered that assessment and
found it to be another lie. Other than a brief—and mild—flash of temper at
Rodolpho’s, Jason had been nothing but gentle with her.

“Well, his lady friend certainly seems to like him,” Alan
noted, peering at them through the greenery between the two tables. “If she
gets any closer, she’ll be in his lap.”

And if she leans any further forward, her breasts will
fall out of that blouse!

The bitter thought disturbed Emma and she wondered why she
should care what type of woman Jason MacKenzie dated. After all he was just
living up to his reputation as a lady-killer.

“No wonder the guy hasn’t made any progress finding who hit
you. I’d say he’s a little distracted. You used to hang on me that way, babe.”
Dragging his gaze from the other couple, Alan captured Emma’s hand again and
pulled her forward so that their faces were inches apart. “Can we be like that
again?”

“Alan, we were never like that.” Sweat formed on her palm
where it pressed to his. “And you know that we couldn’t—”

“Being apart this year has made me realize how much I love
you. I was a fool.” His hand tightened around hers. “Please, give me another
chance. I’ll never be unfaithful again.”

She looked into his eyes but knew he wasn’t fully focused on
her. There were too many other women inside his head.

A feminine chuckle drew her attention back to Jason and his
date. Still hanging on him in the cozy booth across the room, the woman laughed
loudly. One of her hands, the long fingers tipped in crimson, dipped inside the
front of Jason’s jacket. Jason caught her wrist and pushed it gently away.
Glancing around as if embarrassed, he met Emma’s gaze. Surprise and discomfort
darkened his face. Then, frowning slightly, he nodded to acknowledge her
presence.

Emma returned the gesture and then looked back at Alan, only
to find him ogling another young woman who was bussing a nearby table. Sighing,
she reached for her purse. “I’m ready to go, Alan. We’ll have to talk later.”

Facing her, oblivious to her disappointment, Alan smiled. “I’ll
drive you home.”

Emma pushed back her chair and rose. “You know I brought my
car.”

“But a man should see his date home,” he insisted.

And a woman shouldn’t have to keep fighting off her
ex-husband’s advances, she thought. Especially when his eye keeps roaming
toward other women. “Another time, Alan.”

He pushed out his lower lip in a childish pout. “But you’ll
think about what I said?”

Emma sighed, dreading the long walk with him to her car.

* * * * *

Jason watched Emma and her escort leave the restaurant. The
guy held her arm as if he owned her while his wandering gaze checked out almost
every other woman in the room.

Jason frowned. A date deserved her partner’s undivided
attention.

“You know her?” Layne asked.

Guilt nipped at him. Okay, so maybe his own date wasn’t
getting his undivided attention tonight. Not that she’d seemed to notice. She’d
been all over him since he’d picked her up tonight, her inhibitions loosened by
about half the contents of that vodka bottle he’d seen in her hotel room.

But wasn’t that what he’d wanted? A lusty, uncomplicated
woman who would take his mind off his troubles? A woman who would expect
nothing more than breakfast in the morning?

Unfortunately what he’d wanted and what he’d gotten appeared
to be two different things. Layne was certainly lusty but she seemed a lot more
complicated than before.

“You’ve been watching her since we sat down,” Layne said, unexpected
accusation in her tone. Accusation and Stoli.

Jason turned his back on the departing couple. “She was a
victim in that hit-and-run Charlie and I are working.”

“Who was that with her?”

“I never saw him before.”

“They’re obviously close.” Leaning in, she breathed hot,
moist air against his neck. “The way he was hanging on her, I’d guess they were
married.”

Crowded by her nearness, he inched back. “She’s divorced.”

“Well, the guy acted like a husband. Maybe he’s her ex.”

It irked Jason to realize he wanted to know. “Maybe,” he
said noncommittally and then picked up their menu. “Have you decided what you
want, yet?”

“Oh, I know what I want.”

The right side of Jason’s body heated as she pressed against
it. But it wasn’t the pleasant warmth of arousal. He’d hoped to spend the
entire night with Layne, engaging in discreet pleasures and driving Emma St.
Clair out of his thoughts. But he found his companion’s tactics a little too
fast for his taste these days and the whole ritual of dating seemed foreign to
him after so long away from it.

Not that this was a real date. Layne knew that as well as he
did. Or he’d thought she did.

As she turned away to pick up her wineglass again, he
shifted to put the menu between them. “Are you enjoying your time off?”

“It isn’t really time off.” She drained her wine in a quick
gulp.

“Are you in town on a case?”

“Yeah, a case. It isn’t fair, you know? You work hard and
give up your life for the job and they just…” Reaching across him, she grabbed
the wine bottle. “I’m thirsty. Are you thirsty?”

“I’m fine,” he answered quietly, making a mental note to
order coffee after they ate. A lot of coffee. “What’s the case, Layne?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” She refilled her glass. “Let’s
talk about us.”