I Know Who Holds Tomorrow (33 page)

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Authors: Francis Ray

BOOK: I Know Who Holds Tomorrow
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He had to find a way to tell her the truth or at least the part he felt she could handle. He was almost out of the door now; if he confessed everything to her, he didn't doubt for a second she'd kick him out of her life completely.
 
 
Camille had a miserable day. Even when things went right, she had a difficult time finding enjoyment in them. The reason kept flashing through her mind: Gordon didn't want to see her anymore.
There'd been no more phone calls, he hadn't beeped her, hadn't tried to contact her in any way. She'd gotten what she wanted and she was miserable.
The remote in hand, she channel-surfed, then clicked the television off. Uncurling from the sofa, she started for the bedroom just as the doorbell rang. A ripple of excitement rushed through her.
It couldn't be him.
Even as she told herself it wasn't Gordon, she rushed across the room, smoothing her hair back as she went. Her fingers fumbled as she slid the chain back, flicked the lock, then opened the door. “Gordon!” His name burst from her mouth in a breathless rush.
“Hello, Camille,” Gordon greeted, his voice as cool as his gaze. “I hope you don't mind my dropping by without calling, but I wanted to discuss an idea I had for your kids. Those in your caseload, rather.”
As much as she cared about her children, she couldn't quite stop the twinge of disappointment. “Of course, come on in.”
Briefcase in hand, Gordon took a seat on the white sofa. “Mind if I move this flower arrangement?”
Still standing, she picked up the pitcher of sunflowers and sat them on the far corner of the coffee table. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No thanks. I won't be here that long.” Setting the leather case on the table he opened it, then looked up expectantly at her. “Could you sit over here? I'd like to show you something.”
Camille sat and clasped her hands, then hooked her foot behind her lower leg. Perhaps that way she wouldn't be tempted to touch him, her body wouldn't remember his.
He handed her several sheets of paper. “It occurred to me that many of your children might think no one cares about them and I started thinking about what I could do to help them realize they were wrong. So I made some phone calls.”
“These are pledge cards from athletes,” she said, flipping through the papers.
“Money, time, personal appearances. They're at your disposal to use for visits or for personal appearances to help raise funds. This way you can utilize them the best way you want. I figured you'd know the agencies that could utilize the pledges most effectively.” He reached in his coat
pocket and pulled out a check. “The kids wouldn't want to see me, but this will help buy school supplies or whatever. I also asked the guys to work on their wives and girlfriends to volunteer.”
Stunned, she looked from the check back to Gordon. “I don't know what to say.”
He clicked the case closed, then stood. “There's nothing to say. You have a heavy load in more ways than one. Hopefully this will help.”
She came to her feet with the papers clutched in her hands. “It will. In so many ways.”
“Good. Good night.” He started for the door.
“Is … Is that all you wanted to say?” she asked before she could stop herself.
He stopped and turned, his face expressionless. “I can't think of anything else.”
Misery almost buckled her knees. Her eyes shut. It was over.
“Was there something you wanted to say?”
Her eyes flashed open. What she saw in his eyes caused her heart to beat, her pulse to pound: naked desire. “Don't go.”
In seconds she was in his arms, his lips on hers. “You were going to leave me,” she accused.
His head lifted. “If you felt a tenth of the misery I felt last night, I'm not sorry. You know why? Because then you'll have a fair idea of how much you mean to me.”
Her knees shook. “Gordon.”
“I'll say it again. I want all of you, not just your body.”
Even as Camille's mind shied away from such a commitment, her body strained to get closer. Her lips brushed across his. “Can't we just enjoy each other?”
His arms unfolded from around her body. “That's not my way. I've never done anything by halves and I don't plan to start now.”
Camille felt like screaming. “Why does it have to be your way or no way?”
“Probably because I'm a selfish bastard or because I love you. Take your pick.”
Camille's eyes widened; she staggered back until the back of her legs came up against the couch. Her heart raced. She plopped down. “You—you shouldn't joke like that.”
“Do I look like I'm joking?”
He didn't. His eyes were fierce, determined. She put her face in her hands. “I don't want this.”
“You're lying.” Her head came up at the accusation. “You're scared spitless, but you care for me, too.”
She surged upward. “Caring isn't loving. You have to have more to make it work. I know.”
“You got it wrong with your husband and now you're afraid to try again.”
“You're damn right.” She shook her head fiercely. “I won't go through that again. The accusations. The arguments. I won't apologize for what I do or who I am.”
He took a step closer. “I said I was wrong. Why can't you get over it?”
“Because it's the same thing my ex-husband said at first, but he changed his mind soon enough when trouble came.” Camille drew in a shaky breath. “I—I didn't tell you everything. When Duncan, the man who broke into our apartment, got out of jail, he kidnapped his two girls, ages seven and five. There was a tragic traffic accident. Duncan and the youngest daughter, Laurie, were killed instantly. Paula was paralyzed from the neck down. Everyone felt sorry for the family. Someone had to bear the brunt of the tragedy and it fell on me, the case investigator.”
Gordon kept silent with an effort.
“Everyone, including my husband, friends, and family, began acting differently toward me. A few told me that perhaps I had been too diligent, perhaps I should have left the children in the home. Gloria, Duncan's wife, was the most vocal and bitter of all. Although she had instigated the investigation of sexual abuse of her daughters by her husband, she said she hadn't meant it the way it came out. I had taken her words out of context.
“She blamed the department for her husband and child's death, the lifetime of misery the other child would endure. Newspapers had a field day at my expense. My ex wanted a future in politics. I became a liability instead of an asset. He filed for divorce. I left D.C. and came back to Dallas. Mother accepted me because she knew I needed a refuge, but deep down I think she feels it was my fault.”
“It wasn't.” He went to her.
She bit her lower lip. “Sometimes I think maybe they were right.”
His hands circled her upper forearms. “No. Don't do that to yourself. You weren't to blame.”
She lifted pain-filled eyes to his. “You weren't there.”
“I didn't have to be. You care too much not to be sure. If there was the slightest doubt in your mind, you had to act. To do otherwise would have been negligent. If anything, you care too much. That's why you were upset the other day leaving Madison's office. You feel too much.”
He understood her better than anyone. “You could hurt me.”
“You could hurt
me
. But what we feel for each other far outweighs the risk.” He brushed his lips across her mouth.
She quivered. “That's not fair.”
His hands swept under her blouse and closed over her breasts. “Should I stop?”
She stared into his steady eyes and saw what she had thought impossible. Unconditional love. Scary as hell, but so was the alternative. Her hands went to his belt. “You do and you're a dead man.”
 
 
Madison watched the sun push back the night. She doubted if she'd slept more than a couple of hours. Dressed, she opened the door to the bedroom and stared at the reason. Zachary lay sprawled on the sofa, one arm behind his head, the other on his bare, muscular chest. His jeans were unsnapped. His gaze captured hers and she felt breathless, lightheaded. Needy.
“Good morning.” He came to a sitting position with the elegance of a giant cat. “You're up early.”
She moistened her dry lips. “So are you.”
He pulled his shirt off the arm of the couch, but made no move to put it on. “You want me to go get you breakfast?”
They'd purchased Manda food, but had decided they didn't want to bother with cooking and cleaning up for themselves. “I just want some juice.” Dragging her gaze away from his hand lazily rubbing his flat stomach, she hurried to the kitchen.
She sensed him behind her before she heard him. Her skin prickled. Trying to ignore him and her body's reaction to him, she opened the refrigerator for the carton of juice. She turned. He stood in front of her with a plastic cup. Helplessly her gaze traveled over his wide chest
and broad shoulders, then lifted unerringly to his mouth. She wanted—
Spinning around, she struggled for composure. Opening the refrigerator, she put the juice away with a hand that trembled. “I've decided I don't want any.” Giving him a wide berth, she went back to her room and closed the door. She didn't come out again until Manda was awake and ready for her breakfast. Madison wasn't taking any more chances of being alone with Zachary until whatever it was that caused her to act so strongly toward him was under control.
 
 
They planned to take the last flight out of Amarillo Friday night. Velma had been transferred back to the nursing home that afternoon. While Madison and Manda visited, Zachary had taken the boxes Augusta had helped him pack and shipped them to Madison's house.
When he'd arrived back at the nursing home, he visited the administrator to express his displeasure that a stranger had been able to walk into Miss Taylor's room. He was assured that this was an unusual occurrence, that they wanted their residents and staff to feel safe, that's why they had surveillance cameras in each entrance and in the parking lot.
“How soon before I can view the disc?” Zachary asked.
Picking up the phone, the administrator called the security firm. “Wednesday by the latest. They have to run through all of it, then find the section you need,” he answered, hanging up the phone. “I'll see that the police receive a copy.”
“You have Ms. Reed's address. I'd consider it a big favor if you could send her a copy,” Zachary requested. “Maybe she can identify the man.”
“I'll take care of it.”
Shaking the man's hand, Zachary left and located Madison, Manda, and Miss Taylor in the lounge. Velma had wanted to show off Manda and introduce her guardian. Manda had taken all the strange faces and attention in stride. Madison signed autograph after autograph with a smile. The only time she'd tensed up was when she looked at him. He took a seat in the back of the room. His time was coming. She wasn't going to be able to avoid him when they reached her house. He planned to make sure of that.
 
 
Tense, and bone-tired, Madison unlocked the front door to her house a little after eleven that night. Zachary stepped around her and continued down the hall with Manda. She'd been sleep since they'd left the nursing home.
Her nerves stretched almost to the breaking point, Madison closed the door and started for the bedroom. She met Zachary on the way.
“I'll bring the rest of your things.”
“Thank your.” In the bedroom, she undressed Manda, washed her face and hands, then put her in a fresh gown. Zachary had come in while she was changing Manda, but he had gone back out. She was glad he had. She wished he'd leave. She was too aware of him.
When she could think of nothing else to keep her from facing him, she wiped her sweaty palms on her slacks and went to the den. He was sitting on the sofa, his arm on the back of the seat, his gaze tracking her every movement.
Her stomach felt jittery. “Thank you, Zachary. I—”
“Sit down, Madison.”
“What?” He'd never used that sharp tone with her before.
His arm came off the back of the chair. “I said sit down.”
Her brow lifted. “I won't be talked—”
“It's about Wes.”
She shoved her hand through her hair. “I don't want to talk about it tonight.”
His gaze locked on her and he came to his feet. “Too bad, but I've waited long enough to tell you.”

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