The Drowning Man (17 page)

Trent closed his eyes, feeling unsteady on his feet. He’d thought of his survival as a curse, or blind luck at the most when he was through feeling sorry for himself. He turned around. But the truth was sitting right there in front of him. In his bed. “You,” he said finally.

“What?” Lora asked, uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

“You,” he said again. “If anything’s a miracle, it’s you. You found me.”

“That’s not a miracle. That’s me doing my job.”

Trent shook his head. “I’m no cop, but I know there’s no one else who would have figured it out. No one else could have found me in time.”

She tried to wave him off.

He bent and grabbed her hands. “I mean it, Lora. I was dying. I don’t think I would have survived another dunk in that water. I was done.”

He swallowed. He'd gone this far, might as well get the rest of it out. “It was bad. Towards the end, all I wanted was to die. I was sick. I stopped eating and drinking. I prayed she wouldn't be able to bring me back. I'm not proud of it. But I wasn't strong enough to take it anymore. They knew where my brother lived. The only way out was for me to die.” He stopped, unable to look at her face anymore.

“Trent,” her voice broke the silence. “I honestly don't know anyone who could have survived what you did for as long as you did.”

“It nearly cost me my sanity.”

“But it didn't. You survived.”

He still couldn't look at her. “I hated you for saving me. I didn't think I deserved to be alive.”

She used a finger to gently raise his chin up until he was looking at her. “And now?”

Trent's throat tightened. He couldn't talk anymore. He kissed her instead.

So much for just dinner.

Lora closed her eyes against the wave of sensations she felt flowing through her body and swirling through her mind. She did not want to think about Trent dead, did not want to see him broken like he’d been the day she’d found him. She opened her eyes and saw him now. Alive. Healthy. Whole.

She wanted to tell him that he’d done as much for her as she’d done for him. More even. Her life hadn’t been in mortal danger, but she hadn’t been happy for a long time. He made her feel things, good things, things that had been dormant inside of her for a long time. But she couldn’t say the words. Not yet. If she did that and he rejected her, if she opened her heart again and he crushed it, she was afraid it would be closed forever.

So she kissed him back and reached for the snap on his jeans, their bodies response to each other taking over, drowning out all thoughts of conversation.

“Do you like football?” Trent asked the next morning over coffee. They'd already devoured scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast after not getting around to dinner the night before.

Lora blinked at the out of the blue question, though she was glad the topics of conversation were much lighter than they'd been last night. “I love football,” she answered.

“I've got an extra ticket for Sunday's game, if you're interested.”

“Nate cancel on you?” she asked, looking up from her mug.

“Maybe,” Trent answered with that grin she couldn't say no to.

“I suppose I could fit it in.”

“I'll pick you up at 4.”

“It's a date,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he said, giving her a kiss on the check. “Now, I've got to get ready for work. The chief's a slave driver.”

“I'm sure that's because he has to deal with guys like you all day long.”

“Yeah, he's a lucky bastard.” He paused in the doorway. “Want to join me in the shower?”

Lora stood and rinsed out her mug at the sink. “Better not. Then you'd really be late for work. I'll let myself out.”

“Call you later,” Trent said with a grin over his shoulder then continued down the hallway, humming to himself.

Trent had never taken a woman to a professional football game before. Most of the women he’d dated had no interest in the sport other than watching men in tight pants bending over all day. When he’d picked Lora up, he’d found her dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, and a red Chiefs long sleeve tee, her hair pulled back. He’d never seen a woman look more attractive. He wanted to have her right then and there. But she'd seemed more excited to get to the game than he was, grabbing her purse and coat then pulling him out the door.

For the first time in all the games he'd gone to, his attention was not fully focused on the players on the field, but on the woman next to him. She ate two hot dogs, stood and cheered just as loudly as he did, and cursed at the refs when they made a bad call.

“We might actually make it to the Super Bowl this year,” she said, as they followed the crowd down the steps and around the side of the stadium after the decisive win.

“That would be-”

“Lora.”

They both turned towards the direction the brittle cracked voice came from.

“Pops,” Lora said, quickly moving forward and kissing the cheek of the old man sitting in the back of the shiny black limo parked at the curb, a crystal glass with an inch of dark liquid clutched in his veined hand.

“What are you doing? Why weren’t you in the press box suite with us?” the old man asked.

“I came with a friend.” She gestured behind her. “This is Trent Barlow. Trent, my grandfather, Drayton Nabors.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed in recognition. “You’re a brave man,” he said, shaking Trent’s hand.

Trent cleared his throat and carefully shook the extended hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, sir. Congratulations on the win.”

The old man looked from Trent to Lora, a bushy white eyebrow raised in question.

“We need to be going, I’ll call you later,” Lora said, squeezing the man’s hand and shutting the car door.

They walked on in silence. Lora kept her lips tightly together, moving forward at a brisk pace through the crowd. Everyone in Kansas City knew who Drayton Nabors was. What Trent didn’t know was why in the hell Lora hadn’t told him she was his granddaughter.

“You told me you didn’t have any family,” he said when they were halfway across the parking lot.

“I told you my parents were dead.”

That at least explained how she’d been able to afford her luxury condo. Family money. Damn. Just when he thought she was letting him in, she blindsided him again. Would she ever let him get to know all her secrets?

“It’s not a big deal,” she added.

He didn’t want to argue with her, not after the great day they’d just had, but it sure as hell
was
a big deal. Her grandfather
owned
the damned football team they'd just watched play and she hadn't said one word about it.

She reached out and took his hand in hers, one of the few times she’d initiated contact between them. “I just don’t like talking about my family, okay,” she said quietly with a quick sideways glance at him.

“Okay,” Trent answered. For now, he thought but didn’t add. The feel of her soft, smooth hand in his eased his anger. Sooner or later he’d get her to open up to him. It was a worthy challenge. And that was another first for him, wanting to know more about a woman than she was willing to give.

Simon Hewett had watched them through his binoculars from across the stadium. He followed them as they moved towards the parking lot. He saw the affection between Lora and the older man, saw the uncertainty in Barlow's body language. She hadn't told Barlow who her family was. Simon couldn't help but smile. How perfect.

It would be so easy to just kill her, Simon thought. He could take her out right now, in front of Barlow. One shot was all it would take, and she would die right there at Barlow's feet and there wouldn’t be a damned thing he could do to save her.

What would that do to a man like Trent Barlow, who died a little each time he wasn't able to save someone? Could be interesting to find out.

But then
she
wouldn't suffer. And that
was
his primary objective after all. So he would keep watching and waiting. The right opportunity for his plan would present itself. All in good time.

Lora gave a skeptical look at the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on her stove. She'd lost her mind. That was the only explanation there was. She didn't cook for herself, let alone for anyone else. But for some crazy reason she'd felt the need to call Trent and invite him over for dinner.

The pot of water for the pasta reached a rolling boil that matched the anticipation coursing through her. She should have cancelled the whole thing. A glance at the clock told her it was too late for second thoughts now.

She dipped a spoon in the sauce, tasted it, and shrugged. Not half bad. She gave it a final stir as the doorbell rang.

Trent stood in the hallway dressed in khakis and a button down blue shirt. Untucked. She had to fight down the urge to run her hands underneath the shirt. She shook her head and stepped aside to let him in.

Trent followed her to the kitchen and inhaled deeply. He was hungry, glad his stomach finally felt back to normal. Then again, maybe it was the company. He looked Lora up and down. Dark jeans and a white sweater hugged her every curve.

“I’m not the best cook,” she said with a shrug.

“I don’t exactly have gourmet tastes, Lora.”

She suddenly looked vulnerable. “I just wanted to do this right.”

“You can’t do it wrong.”

She smiled and looked down. She didn't smile often, and he loved it when she did it only for him.

As soon as she'd set the table, there was a knock at the door. Lora glanced at the clock on the stove and shook her head. “Punctual to the minute, as usual.”

Trent raised an eyebrow. “You order pizza or something? Is your cooking that bad?”

Lora just smiled and handed him a glass of water. “Wait here.”

Trent sat at Lora's table, trying to place the muffled voice he heard talking to Lora. He stood as soon as Drayton Nabors walked into the living room, Lora a step behind.

“Mr. Barlow, please excuse the intrusion. I thought it was time we were officially introduced, so I'm afraid I've invited myself to dinner.”

Trent reached out to shake the old man's hand. “It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Nabors.”

“Likewise.” The old man pulled a small bottle of Scotch out of his suit jacket. “Have to bring my own,” he said with a wink. Then he nodded at Lora and shook his head. “God love her, but she doesn't exactly keep a stocked bar.”

Lora groaned and handed him a glass. She motioned to the table. “Please, have a seat.”

Dinner conversation centered around the upcoming football playoffs and Trent couldn't help but think how jealous Nate would be if he knew who Trent was having dinner with.

A half-hour later, Drayton pushed his empty plate aside. “That was actually a pretty good meal.”

“You don't have to sound so surprised, Pops,” Lora said as she stood to clear the table.

While Lora went into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee and take care of the dishes, her grandfather refilled his glass and poured one for Trent. “My one vice,” he said.

Trent took a sip. “Very nice.”

“If you only have one vice, you better make sure you stick to the good stuff.” He raised his glass towards Trent's.

“I'll drink to that,” Trent said, clicking his glass against Drayton's.

“Now, tell me your intentions for my granddaughter.”

“Pops!” Lora said from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

“I'm only kidding,” Drayton said. He winked at Trent. “Kind of.”

Lora sat back down at the table with a cup of coffee.

Drayton turned back towards Trent. “You play cards, son?”

“Of course.”

Lora reached over to the bookshelf and grabbed a deck off one of the shelves.

“Hearts?” Drayton asked.

“Works for me,” Trent said.

Lora nodded.

“He's a keeper,” Drayton said to her.

“Shit,” Lora said a minute later as her pager went off. “I'll be right back,” she said standing and opening her cell, as she headed for the balcony.

Drayton refilled his and Trent's glasses again. “She tell you why she doesn't drink?” he asked.

Trent shook his head.

“I'm not surprised. I shouldn't, but I'm going to tell you anyway. So you understand why I won't tolerate anyone hurting her ever again.”

Trent cleared his throat and shifted in his chair under the old man's stern gaze.

“The family's housekeeper committed suicide over an affair she was having with Lora’s father when he broke it off. The saddest truth of all was that the woman had been more of a mother to Lora than her real mother had ever been, as much as I loved my daughter. Lora found out the details of the affair and the housekeeper’s death when she was fifteen and her mother had too many martinis after work when her father was out of town on business. Lora was so upset her mom mixed a martini for her. One turned into more and Lora spent the next day in bed sicker than she’d ever been. She hasn't had a drop of alcohol since.”

Trent rubbed his forehead. “Jesus,” he whispered. “What happened to her parents, I know they're dead, but …”

Lora came back into the room and looked from one of them to the other, then settled an accusing glare on her grandfather. “Pops?”

He put up his hands. “Just a friendly chat.”

“You need to go in?” Trent asked.

Lora shook her head. “No, Woods is handling it.”

“Good. Now, sit down and let's play some cards,” Drayton said, shuffling the deck.

It was after two a.m. when they stopped playing. Drayton paged his driver. “I'd ask if you want a ride,” he said to Trent, “but I don't think Lora will mind if you stay here.”

Lora blushed, but she quickly stood to kiss him on the cheek. “I'll call you tomorrow.”

Trent stood and shook his hand. “Take care, sir.”

After seeing her grandfather to the front door, Lora sank down onto the couch. “I'm beat,” she said. “Time for bed.”

“I have a better idea,” Trent said. “Let's take a bath.”

The Plaza in downtown Kansas City, with all its upscale shops and restaurants, was not a place Trent would normally choose to go. But when Lora had suggested it on a rare day off together in the middle of the week, he couldn't say no. Though it hardly seemed like her kind of place either. “Come here a lot?” he asked.