Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night (14 page)

Gray broke out in a sweat and swore aloud in the empty room. Damn, he was as bad as his father! Give him a whiff, and he was ready to forget everything else in his rush to screw a Devlin woman. No, not every Devlin woman, he mentally amended. Thank God for that, at least. He had seen Renee’s potent appeal but found it resistible, and the idea of sharing a woman with his father repellent. Nothing about the older girl had been attractive to him. Faith, though . . . If she were anyone but a Devlin, he wouldn’t rest until he had her in bed and settled down to a long, hard ride.

But she was a Devlin, and just the mention of that name made him furious. His family had been wrecked because of Renee, and he could never forgive or forget that. Forgetting was impossible, when he lived every day with the results of Guy’s desertion. His mother had withdrawn until she was just a shell of her former self. She hadn’t left her bedroom for over two years, and even now refused to venture from the house except for doctors’ appointments in New Orleans, on those rare occasions when she was ill. Gray had lost his
father, and to all intents and purposes had also lost his mother.

Noelle was a silent, sad ghost of a woman who spent most of her time in her room. Only Alex Chelette could coax her into a little smile and bring a hint of life to her blue eyes. Gray had realized some time ago that Alex had fallen in love with his mother, but it was a hopeless cause. Not only was Noelle oblivious to his devotion, she wouldn’t have done anything about it if she had been aware of it. She was married to Guy Rouillard, and that was that. Divorce was unthinkable. Gray sometimes wondered if Noelle was still clinging to the hope that Guy would come back. He himself had long ago accepted that he would never see his father again. If Guy had intended to come back, he wouldn’t have sent that letter of proxy which Gray had received two days after his disappearance. It had been mailed in Baton Rouge the day he left; the language had been terse and to the point, with nothing personal included. He hadn’t even signed it “Love, Dad,” but limited himself to a businesslike “Sincerely, Guy A. Rouillard.” When he had read that, Gray had known that Guy was gone from his life forever, and his eyes had burned with tears for the first and only time.

He didn’t know what he would have done without Alex those first desperate months when he had been scrambling to solidify his position with the stockholders and various boards of directors. Alex had guided him through the rocky shoals, fought with him for every advantage, done whatever he could to help with Noelle and Monica. Alex had grieved, too, for the loss of his best friend. Guy and Alex had grown up together, been as close as brothers. He had been stunned that Guy would actually turn his back on his family for the sake of Renee Devlin, and had left without even saying good-bye.

In some ways, Monica was stronger now than she had been before. She wasn’t as emotionally needy, so dependent on others. She had quietly apologized to Gray for her suicide attempt, and assured him that she would never do something that stupid again. But if she was stronger, she was also more remote, as if that paroxysm of pain and grief had
burned out her excess of emotion, leaving her calm but also distant. She had interested herself in his work and gradually became an excellent assistant, one on whom he could rely with every faith in her judgment and ability, but she was almost as reclusive as Noelle. Monica did go out into the community; she was particular about her appearance and got her hair styled regularly, and made an effort to dress well. She hadn’t dated for years, though. At first Gray thought she was embarrassed by her suicide attempt, and would relax as the scars faded. She hadn’t, though, and eventually he had realized that it wasn’t embarrassment that had kept her at home. Monica simply wasn’t interested in socializing with anyone. She would do it at a business function, but on a personal level she refused all invitations, and steadfastly turned aside his suggestions that she reenter the dating scene. All he could do to bolster her confidence was show her how he trusted her in their work, and pay her a good salary so she would have a tangible proof of her worth, and a sense of independence.

Last year, though, the new sheriff, Michael McFane, had somehow talked her into going out with him. Monica had been seeing him fairly regularly since then. Gray had been so relieved, he could have cried. Maybe, just maybe, Monica had a shot at a normal life, after all.

No, he would never forget what the Devlins had done to his family. And with luck, he would never see Faith Devlin again.

Thank you.
Those had been the only words she’d uttered, other than to ask who was at the door. She had been cool and enigmatic, watching him as if faintly amused, her poise unshaken by his threat. It hadn’t been a threat, though, but a promise. He would have had her escorted out of the parish for a second time if she hadn’t left on her own. And he would have had to call the sheriff, because if he had touched her himself, he would have lost control, and he had known it.

She was a woman now, not the kid he remembered. She had always been different from the rest of the Devlins, a fey woodland creature who had grown up to be as much of a temptation as her mother. Some poor fool had evidently
thought so, because the fact that her last name was now Hardy meant that she was married, though she hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. He had noticed her hands, slim, elegant, well kept, and been cynically amused by the absence of a wedding band. Renee hadn’t worn one, either; it had cramped her style. Evidently her daughter felt the same way, at least when she was traveling sans the unknown Mr. Hardy.

She had looked prosperous, so, like a cat, she had landed on her feet. Gray wasn’t surprised. It had always been a particular talent of the Devlin women that they could always find someone to support them. Her husband must be a good provider, the poor sap. He wondered how often she left her husband at home while she rambled.

And he wondered why she had come back to Prescott. There was nothing for her here, no family, no friends. The Devlins hadn’t had friends, only victims. She had to have known she wouldn’t be welcomed back with open arms. Probably she had thought she could slip in without anyone being the wiser, but folks around here had long memories, and her resemblance to her mother was too marked. Reuben had recognized her as soon as she’d taken off her sunglasses.

Well, it didn’t make any difference. He had rid the parish of the Devlin vermin for the second time, and with a hell of a lot less trouble than it had been twelve years ago. He just wished she hadn’t come back at all, hadn’t revived the potent memory of his unwilling response to her, hadn’t replaced his image of her as a young girl with the image of her as she was now, a woman. He wished he had never heard her soft, cool voice saying, “Thank you.”

•  •  •

Faith drove steadily along the dark road, not letting herself stop even though her insides were shaking like jelly. She refused to let her reaction get the best of her. She had learned the hard way what Gray Rouillard thought of her, dealt with the shock and pain years ago. She would
not
let him hurt her again, or get the best of her. She hadn’t had any choice but to leave the motel, because she had seen the ruthless determination in his eyes and known he hadn’t been bluffing about having her thrown out. Why should he
balk at that, when he hadn’t balked at having her entire family removed? Her calm acquiescence didn’t mean, however, that he had won.

The threat of the sheriff hadn’t frightened her. What had her both scared and angry was the intensity of her reaction to Gray. Even after all those years, after what he had done to her family, she was as helpless as a Pavlovian dog to stop her response to him. It was infuriating. She hadn’t rebuilt her life just to let him reduce her to the status of trash, to be gotten rid of as soon as possible.

The day had long passed when she could be intimidated. The quiet, vulnerable child she had been had died one hot summer night twelve years ago. Faith was still a fairly quiet person, but she had learned how to survive, how to use her own steely will and determination to get what she wanted out of life. She had even become confident enough to indulge in her redheaded temper from time to time. If he had wanted to get rid of her, Gray had made a mistake in forcing the issue. He would soon learn that what looked like a retreat just meant she was adjusting her position for attack from another angle.

She couldn’t let him run her off again. Not only was it a matter of honor, she still hadn’t found out what had happened to Guy. She couldn’t forget about it, couldn’t let it go.

A plan began to form in her agile mind, and a smile touched her lips as she drove. Gray would find himself outflanked before he knew it. She was going to move to Prescott, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it, because she would be ensconced before he knew it. It was past time she faced all of her old ghosts, cemented her own self-respect. She would prove herself to the town that had looked down on her, and then she could forget about the past.

And she wanted to prove to Gray that he had been wrong about her from the beginning. She wanted that so fiercely that she could taste it, the victory sweet in her mouth. Because she had loved him so intensely as a child, because he had been the stern, ruthless judge and executioner, so to speak, on the night when he had run them out of the parish,
he had assumed far too much importance in her mind. It shouldn’t be that way, she should have been able to forget him, but the fact was there: She wouldn’t
feel
like anything other than trash until Gray was forced to admit that she was a decent, moral, successful person.

She didn’t just want to find out what had happened to Guy. Maybe it had begun as that, or maybe she had hidden the truth from herself, but now she knew.

She wanted to go home.

Seven

“Y
es, that’s right. I want everything handled in the agency’s name. Thank you, Mr. Bible. I knew I could count on you.” Faith’s smile was warm in her voice, something Mr. Bible must have heard, because his reply made her laugh aloud. “You’d better be careful,” she teased. “Remember, I know your wife.”

She hung up the phone and her assistant, Margot Stanley, gave her a rueful look. “Was that old goat flirting with you?” Margot asked.

“Of course,” Faith said good-naturedly. “He always does. It gives him a thrill if he thinks he’s being wicked, but he’s actually a sweet old guy.”

Margot snorted. “Sweet? Harley Bible’s as sweet as a rattlesnake. Let’s face it, you have a way with men.”

Faith restrained herself from an unladylike snort. If Margot had seen Gray run her out of town—again—she wouldn’t think Faith had such a “way” with men. “I’m just nice to him, is all. It’s nothing special. And he can’t be as bad as you say he is, or he wouldn’t still be in business.”

“He’s still in business because the old fart is a smart businessman,” Margot said. “He has an evil genius for sniffing out prime property right before it becomes prime,
and buying it up for a song. Damn him, people only go to him because he has the land they want.”

Faith grinned. “Like you said, a smart businessman. He’s always been as nice as he can be to me.”

She might have restrained herself from snorting, but Margot had no such inhibition. “I’ve never seen a man who
wasn’t
nice to you. How many times have you been stopped for speeding?”

“All total?”

“Just this past year will do.”

“Ummm . . . four times, I think. But that’s unusual; it’s just that I’ve been traveling so much this past year.”

“Uh-huh. And how many times have you gotten a ticket?”

“None,” Faith admitted, rolling her eyes. “That’s just coincidence. Not once have I tried to talk my way out of it.”

“You don’t have to, and that’s my point. The cop walks up to your car, you hand him your license and say, ‘I’m sorry, I know I was flying,’ and he ends up handing your license back and telling you to slow down, because he’d hate to see your pretty face all cut up in an accident.”

Faith burst out laughing, because Margot had been in the car with her when she had been stopped that time. The Texas state trooper in question had been a burly gentleman of the old school, with a thick gray mustache and a drawl as slow as molasses. “That’s the only time a cop has said anything about my ‘pretty face,’ quote and unquote.”