The Lives Between Us (6 page)

“Your friend. Male or female?”

“Does it matter?”

“Only if it gets in the way of our getting to know each other. I’m Alan.” He held out his hand. “And you are?”

Skye grabbed her purse and slid off the stool. “Going to the restroom.”

* * *

Mark Dutton walked in through Luigi’s front door. The cook spotted him through the takeout window. “Hey, Mark. We’re runnin’ a little behind. Be another fifteen minutes. Sorry, man.”

“No problem. I’ll be at the bar.” He entered the restaurant, skirted around hustling waitresses, and crossed the crowded room to the far side of the bar. “How’s it going, Cindy?”

“Busy. Can I get you something?”

“Just a water, please.”

Mark looked down the length of the bar until his gaze settled on a familiar face. He tilted his head, trying to place the woman. TV. Ed’s press conference. She was the reporter harassing Ed at the airport. What was her name? S something. Something unusual. Skylar? Mark looked away, not wanting to get caught staring.

He wondered if she lived in the neighborhood; he’d never seen her here before. Mark lifted his drink and allowed his gaze to casually scan the room, traveling in her direction. He drank the water and set the glass down. Wow, Ed’s nemesis was even more attractive in person.

Pretty face. High cheekbones, rich, wavy brown hair, and wide-set eyes. He couldn’t see the color from here, but he’d bet on brown—maybe hazel. Full, ripe lips that begged to be tasted. Nope, he’d have remembered her.

Mark never believed much in coincidences but wasn’t about to let this opportunity slide away unappreciated. He sipped his water, watching, deciding how to best take advantage of his good fortune.

Skylar toyed with her beer. Who was she waiting for? Not the guy who sat down next to her—she barely glanced at him. Mark dropped his head and grinned at the way she stiffened and her eyes narrowed.

Lothario smiled and oh-so-smoothly moved closer. She glued her gaze to the football game on the bar TV and turned her back to him. Ow, strike out. After a few more exchanges, she gave him an annoyed look before slipping off her stool and coming Mark’s way.

He settled against the doorjamb and pretended to watch the TV. She turned sideways and looked up at him. “Excuse me.”

“Sorry. Crowded tonight.” He stepped aside and put a hand to her back, as if to guide her around an approaching lady.

Skye paused, their eyes met, and she gave him a considering look as if wondering if he, too, was hitting on her. Damn. He’d wanted to slow her down a little on her escape—to hear her voice and see her up close—he hadn’t meant to annoy her further, but there was no mistaking the suspicion in her eyes after he’d touched her.

Mark smiled, surprised to find himself fascinated by a prickly spitfire. He was usually attracted to a sweeter, more accommodating woman. He sauntered over to the bar and slid onto Skye’s vacated stool. “Who’s winning?”

“Huh?”

Lothario stared at the doorway Skye’d gone through as if contemplating chasing her down and cornering her in the ladies room.

“The game.” Mark picked up Skye’s beer and used it to point at the TV. He took a long, deliberate sip. A little warm, but the lady had good taste in beer.

Lothario spared him a puzzled glance. “I don’t know. Hey that’s—”

“Don’t you just hate it when as soon as you turn your back, some guy hits on your lady?” Mark raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Confusion, then understanding settled on his face. “Uh...yeah. Sorry, man.” He shrugged and grinned. “Gotta expect it with a hot babe like that.”

“Not really.”

The guy threw some bills on the counter and took off. Mark grinned and polished off the Peroni. When a waitress set a big paper take-out bag next to him, Mark stood. “Hey, Cindy?”

“All set?”

“Yeah. Will you give the lady another Peroni? And put the drinks and her dinner on my tab.” He took out a ten-dollar bill for a tip and put it next to the cash register.

“You know her?”

“I will.” Mark picked up his bag and headed for the door. “Don’t work too hard.”

* * *

After ten minutes, Skye figured she couldn’t hide out any longer. She left the bathroom and entered the bar just as Jenny rushed through the door. A quick glance at the room showed Skye their two empty spots. Red napkin-wrapped place settings sat on small bread plates with a warm breadbasket between them. No unwelcome admirer. Good. She met Jenny at their seats.

“Sorry I’m late.” Jenny shrugged out of her coat and dropped it over the back of her stool, then sat down. “The interview ran on forever, but I got some good stuff. Looks like you haven’t been waiting that long.”

“Not long.” Skye looked around for her beer. Great, the obnoxious guy chased her into the bathroom, and she lost her drink, too. Figured.

“What’s wrong? Why the depressed face? Dear Darlene can’t be that bad.”

“It
is
, but that’s not it. I’m worried about my sister. She had eclampsia and almost died giving birth to my niece, and on the way over here, I found out she’s pregnant with twins.”

Jenny winced. “That’s tough. Going to abort?”

“Not an option.”

“I’m sorry.”

The bartender put two waters in front of them, promising to be back to take their orders.

Skye glanced at the TV newscast and a shot of a car with a LEVINSON FOR SENATE sticker. She looked sideways at Jenny. “Think Levinson actually had a heart attack or just used it to avoid a humiliating loss?” She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t think Hastings could’ve caused it, do you?”

“I think you’re a slow learner. Give up the vendetta on Hastings.”

“You’re right. He’s too smart for that.”

Jenny gave her a sharp look full of reprimand. “Are you
trying
to get fired?”

“No. I’m just trying to understand how Hastings could be so stupid and ignorant when it comes to stem cells.”

Jenny raised her eyebrow. “Anyone who graduated from Harvard undergrad and U of M law school with honors is hardly dumb. Just because he disagrees with you doesn’t make him stupid and uninformed.”

“He went to Harvard? How’d a white boy like him get into Harvard?” She’d have to check that out.

“Oh, Lord.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Tell me you did
not
just say that.”

“What?” Skye frowned. “You
know
what I mean.”

“So. I spent the past week learning about designer babies.”

“Baby clothes?”

Jenny shook her head. “Nope, designer babies.” She ripped a piece of warm, salty garlic bread off. “It’s the latest trend in the fertility industry. This lady buys eggs from attractive, college-educated women. She keeps a stash of sperm donors from handsome guys with doctorate degrees, and for about forty grand, will allow infertile couples to pick the genetic combo they want. A little mixing and matching, and presto; they’ve got their designer progeny.”

Jenny popped the bread in her mouth, closed her eyes and sighed in appreciation. “This bread. Is amazing.”

“How very Nazi eugenic. She’s bioengineering her own little master race. And this is legal?”

“So far.”

The waitress placed a fresh napkin and Peroni in front of Skye. “Compliments of Mark Dutton.” She turned to Jenny. “What can I get you?”

Skye leaned forward. “Excuse me, you must have made a mistake. I don’t know a Mark Dutton.”

“Well, he paid for your drink and dinner.”

“I...well...” How weird—and uncomfortable. Skye didn’t want some strange guy paying for her dinner.

Please tell me the redheaded creep isn’t Mark Dutton
. Skye resisted the urge to move closer to Jenny—suddenly very glad for her friend’s presence. She swiveled in her seat to survey the room, expecting to see some guy’s smooth grin. “Where is he?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yup. He saw that guy hitting on you, so he had a word with the gentleman, paid for your meal, and left.”

He did what? How’d he know she hadn’t enjoyed the attention?
Silly thought. Skye knew she had a rather transparent demeanor, and she’d hardly been subtle with the guy. “What’d he say to him?”

“Don’t know, but the guy got all red in the face and took off.”

Skye’s jaw dropped open as she squinted at Jenny. “That’s crazy. Who does that?”

“Apparently, Mark Dutton.” Jenny turned to the bartender. “I’ll have a Bellini, please.”

“Wait a minute,” Skye called out. “He told you his name?”

The bartender reached into the refrigerator for a spiced peach to garnish Jenny’s cocktail. “Mark’s a regular. Loves the Chicken Neopolitan.”

“I don’t suppose you could give me his phone number or address?”

“I could, but I like my job.” She placed the drink in front of Jenny. “He’s probably listed.”

Skye raised an eyebrow. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Probably listed.”

“Probably.” Jenny took a sip of her Bellini, closed her eyes, and sighed. “So. How was your day?”

“My day?” Emotionally worn out, Skye didn’t feel like explaining the family mess she’d uncovered. Her thoughtful gaze returned to the Peroni in her hand. “My day was a nightmare, but my night’s looking up.”

* * *

Skye eased her Prius to a stop in front of Faith’s house and put the car in park. Dropping her hands into her lap, she looked at the digital clock. The numbers glowed eight forty-five. Skye stared at the darkened house. Hmm. Had Peter and Faith gone to bed already? She wrinkled her forehead. Was Peter on days or nights this month? She couldn’t remember. Skye turned the car off and sat with her hands resting on the inside curve of the steering wheel.

Mom had had a family policy of never letting them go to bed angry. She claimed that it was bad for the soul. Mom probably just made that up because she hated familial discord, but habits were hard to break and guilt was a powerful motivator. Skye sighed deeply and left the car.

Skye found the side door open, let herself in, and followed sounds of the TV into the family room. It was dimly lit from the glow of the TV and one small lamp. Not wanting to startle them, she called out a hello, then moved into the room.

Peter sat at one end of the couch and Faith lounged at the other end. Peter held Faith’s bare foot in his lap, his thumbs massaging the bottom of one foot as they watched TV. “You’d think a cop would be more cautious than leaving his house unlocked.”

“Hey, Squirt.” Peter reached for the remote and paused the movie. “But then we’d miss out on surprise visits with whoever wanders by.” His glance lingered on his wife’s subdued greeting. Always good at reading the women’s nonverbal body language and knowing when they needed to talk, Peter pointed toward the kitchen and stood. “I’m... Just going to go make some popcorn.”

Faith tucked her feet under her and waited for Skye to speak.

“So.” Skye bridged her fingers, then put them at her waist. “Whatcha watching?”

“
Just Go With It
.”

“Jennifer Aniston?”

Faith nodded.

Skye shook her head. “I don’t think I ever saw it. Funny?”

“Uh huh.”

Unable to bear the stiffness between them any longer, Skye slid onto the couch and faced her sister. “Faith, I’m sorry for being such a butthead. I...I was just shocked and... Well, shocked pretty much covers it. And hurt that you hid your pregnancy from me and worried—but that’s no excuse. I acted like a selfish brat, and I’m sorry.” She bit her bottom lip. “A-n-d. I’ll do my best to be supportive. Can you forgive me?”

Faith blinked back tears. She nodded and held her arms open wide.

Skye launched herself at her sister, careful to not press against her belly. “I hate it when we fight.”

“Me, too,” Faith whispered, and she squeezed her tightly.

“I’m so scared for you. But I’ll control it,” Skye rushed to assure her as she pulled back.

“I’m scared, too.” Faith’s hand rested on her rounded stomach. “I mean I never thought we’d have more kids. We hadn’t planed on this.” She patted her belly. “I’m thirty-five now—a whole lot older than when I had Niki. And twins? Good Lord. Where am I going to find the energy for twins?” Faith ran a hand through her hair and propped her head on her hand as if it was suddenly too heavy to hold up.

“Don’t be silly—you’re not old. And you’re not alone. Peter’s a pro with a bottle and diapers.” Faith didn’t look convinced. “A-n-d... I can help if you need me.” Skye slowly spread her lips into a semblance of a smile.

“Really?”

Faith looked so hopeful and strangely unsure of herself that Skye had to force some optimism. One of them had to be confident and positive. “Sure. I can bring you meals from the bar. I’m a whiz at laundry and a genius with a Swiffer
.
”
Skye patted her arm and smiled brightly. “Absolutely. It’ll be fine.”

Fine and dandy.

Edward Hastings left the front seat of his assistant’s Audi and rounded the car to hold the door open for his wife. Drawing in a deep breath of crisp night air, he watched Noelle gracefully slide out of the car and walk toward their Tudor home. The click of her high heels pierced the quiet night, and the diamonds at her ears winked brightly in the full moonlight.

The event with the Right to Life group had been typically long and boring, yet Edward owed them many more nights of speeches and schmoozing for their considerable financial support. These were the people getting him reelected, and if he was ever tempted to forget that fact, Ben was there to remind him.

“That went well.” Ben grabbed an armful of binders, shut the car door, and headed for the house.

“It did. Thanks for the ride.” Edward hurried up the brick drive and patted Ben’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

“We have some stuff to go over. Shouldn’t take long, but I gotta confirm a few things so we can firm up your schedule, and this—” he hefted the binders in his arms. “—is your bedtime reading. I—”

“It can wait till tomorrow.”

“Nope. You’ve blocked out tomorrow as family time, and Sunday you fly out. It won’t take long to go over—an hour, two tops.”