The Red Diary (26 page)

"That's a pretty damn big risk to take if you really want to nail Phil."

She nodded. "Yeah ... but I'm not sure nailing Phil is more important than making sure someone innocent is taken care of."

I sit in a porcelain claw-footed bathtub filled with bubbles. in a bright white room. Overhead windows admit the sun, but the ceiling is hung with ferns that make the space feel cool and shady

A man watches me. I can't see him, but I know he's there, lurking just beyond my vision. As I smooth the suds across my shoulders and arms, then my breasts, deep need pulses between my thighs. Each move I make excites me because I know I'm not alone.

Finally, I lean back and close my eyes, hoping he will reveal himself. And when I start to drift off, I'm awakened by hands, massaging my shoulders. I start to turn my head to see him, but he whispers, "No. Don't, " his voice low, strong.

He reaches around me to dip a crystal goblet into the water. "Close your eyes and lean your head back," he says. He begins pouring cupfuls of the soapy water over my hair until the whole length of it is wet.

When I feel his hands-his fingers-massaging my scalp, I realize he s washing my hair. I bite my lip at the exquisite sensations produced by such a tender gesture. Each time his fingers extend, then draw in, cool darts of pleasure tingle through my neck, arms, the small of my back. Afterward, he pours more water over my hair until it is clean and smooth. "Thank you, " I whisper.

Although I still haven't seen him, his breath warms my ear. "There s more. But you must promise to keep your eyes shut." "I promise."

"I don't believe you, " he says.

"What can I do to make you believe?"

The answer comes with a stroke of silk on my skin, my face-he is tying something over my eyes.

When his hand finds my bent knee, I know he has moved from behind me to the side of the tub. His touch rakes down the inside of my slick thigh, never pausing, never teasing, his hand sinking quickly into the core of my desire.

I cry out at the abrupt pleasure and grip the sides of the tub, the heat spreading rapidly through my body until it is all know, all I am. I barely hear my own cries and whimpers, my body locked in a slow, sensual struggle. I hear his deep breathing as I move against his fingers; I hear the water in the tub being jostled with our movements. Heat becomes fire then, consuming me, reducing me to nothing but ash as I cry out, and as I come, I break my promise-I open my eyes beneath the silk covering.

I see only shadow, a dark outline of a man with broad shoulders, muscular arms, but it is enough to give him an identity, to make him real, enough to connect us in a new, viable way, even though he doesn't know.

"Let me hold you," he says when all is quiet, the water stilled.

"Let me see you," I demand.

His thumb slips beneath the silk at my cheek, and he gently lifts the blindfold.

Nick shuddered, part excitement, part shame, as he closed the book, careful not to let the pressed rose fall out this time. Here she was, off doing one of the most difficult things she'd probably ever done, and here he was, not quite able to head home for his paint and van without first taking a morning hit.

Her words from earlier echoed in his brain. I'm not sure nailing Phil is more important than making sure someone innocent is taken care of He'd never understood any sentiment better, because that was exactly why he'd told Lauren about Phil in the first place; taking care of her had been more important than hurting Henry. Even though it'd been hard to admit to himself, he'd felt noble, proud, to have done the right thing.

Yeah, he thought now as he sat holding her deepest secrets in his hands, you're one noble son of a bitch, all right. But the fact was, he needed these pieces of her now.

He couldn't deny it, couldn't even hope to tell himself no, and had almost quit trying. He needed these pieces of her she'd never give him any other way. It was despicable. But it just was. He was lost in his own deception.

Jeanne sat at her kitchen table wearing an over-sized nightshirt, gaping at Lauren, her shock magnified by the dark circles beneath her eyes. Dirty breakfast dishes surrounded them, and the sweet scent of syrup made Lauren feel even more queasy than she already did.

Her heart beat ninety miles an hour, just as it had the entire time she'd spent telling Jeanne everything she knew about Phil, starting with the embezzlement and ending with what Nick had seen at their party. She felt like the Grim Reaper. "I'm so sorry, Jeanne. I didn't tell you any of this to hurt you. I just thought you should know."

"Bastard," Jeanne muttered, her face pale. "Fucking bastard." She pushed to her feet and strode across the kitchen. Reaching in a drawer, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, then lit one.

It caught Lauren off guard. "I didn't know you smoked."

"When I'm nervous," Jeanne replied, exhaling a long stream that clouded the air between them. She turned her back for a moment, bracing her hands on the counter-top, then suddenly revolved to face Lauren again, the cigarette trembling between her fingers. "What the hell am I gonna do?"

"You're going to call the bank and anyplace else you have money, find out how much you can withdraw without both signatures, then you're going to withdraw it."

Jeanne snuffed out the cigarette atop a half-eaten waffle left on a plate, then sank back down in her chair. She slowly raised her eyes. "Part of that money might be yours."

Lauren shook her head. "Doesn't matter. This isn't just about money. But you'll still need as much as you can get your hands on."

Jeanne nodded, her head drooping forward as tears began to flow, and Lauren fought back the moisture gathering behind her own eyes. She couldn't get emotional; she had too much left to do, and she had to keep her game face intact. Instead of crying, she placed a firm hand on Jeanne's shoulder. "Whatever you need, Jeanne, anything at all, I'll be here for you." Jeanne sniffed and nodded, then suddenly lifted her head. "I followed him the other night."

Lauren flinched. "What?"

"I knew something was going on-he hasn't touched me in months. Same happy-go-lucky Phil as always, but he hasn't touched me, not even ... a hug, or a peck on the cheek." Lauren's stomach wrenched at the pain in Jeanne's voice. "Anyway, he goes out at night a lot and comes home late. He says he's going into the office, but I knew deep down he couldn't have that much work. Even if he's been robbing Henry blind, it couldn't take that long. So I got in my car and followed him. He went to the condos at the south end of Clearwater Beach, you know the ones?"

Lauren nodded.

"He knocked at one of the doors and a woman answered-pretty, young, brunette. I've seen her at our parties and just assumed she was someone from Ash. He didn't come out for three hours." She shook her head, as if revisiting her disbelief. "I hadn't figured out what to do yet," she said, lifting her gaze to Lauren. "I've been with Phil my entire adult life." Silent tears continued rolling down her cheeks. "I know he's a bastard, but I'm not sure who I am without him."

After waiting for Jeanne to get hold of herself again, Lauren asked the question that worried her now. "Can you keep all this from him, just for tonight? Can you pretend everything's normal, pretend you don't know anything?"

She looked incredulous. "Why would I do that?" "Because I need a little time. I need to tell my dad. We need to figure out what's next, and I'm not sure what that'll entail." As she took Jeanne's hands, the other woman peered up at her like a lost little girl. "I know it's a lot to ask-I know right now you probably love him and hate him and everything in between, and maybe you'll even be tempted to help him, but I'm asking you not to. I'm asking you to give me a night"

Jeanne took a deep breath and drew her hands away.

She looked around at the scattered mess of the kitchen, at the house Phil had built for her-at their life, Lauren supposed. "I'm not sure," she finally said, her voice barely audible. "I'm not sure I can keep it from him. I'm not sure it won't all come spilling out of me as soon as I see him."

Lauren's stomach sank. Nick had been right; this had been a mistake.

Yet then Jeanne shifted her eyes back to Lauren, suddenly looking more together, maybe even a little bit determined. "I'll go away for the night," she said. "To a hotel, or to my sister's in Sarasota. Phil won't care; it'll just mean he can spend the whole evening with his whore. I'll leave a note, tell him I'm with a friend, let him wonder where I am for a change." All the air rushed back into Lauren's lungs. She hoped Jeanne could see the profound gratitude in her eyes, since words seemed woefully inadequate. ''Thank you."

Jeanne just shook her head. "Don't thank me, Lauren. It's not for Ash, or even for you. It's because I want to see him get what he deserves."

After that, Lauren had one more favor to ask, with which Jeanne unflinchingly complied. Together, they looked through Phil's home office and discovered bank statements for PH Construction. It was the last bit of proof she needed. Lauren's mind raced as she made the drive home. She barely felt the wind in her hair or the sun on her face. Jeanne was virtually alone in the world now, after the split second it had taken Lauren to disassemble her life. She'd shattered Jeanne's existence with so little planning, so little thought or consideration. Sure, she'd done what she thought was best for Jeanne by giving her it day's warning, yet still a steady guilt streamed through her like the flow of a river that hadn't been there just twenty-four hours earlier.

But there was little time to dwell on that. She'd done all she could for Jeanne, and now she had to move on to something equally difficult-she had to tell her father his trusted business partner had duped him.

Toughen up, she told herself. Handle it like you've handled it so far. Nick's praise last night had helped her to wake up feeling strong, as strong as she needed to be today. He'd been right, she had handled it well. She'd never even thought about that part of it-she'd just known she had to be tough and make smart, ruthless moves.

Well, not too ruthless. She'd risked everything for Jeanne's sake. Maybe she'd taken a lesson from what her father had done to Nick's family; maybe she'd remembered compassion had a place here, too. But she'd managed to push her shock and professional humiliation aside to deal with this, and she had to keep right on doing so.

When she turned into the driveway, she didn't bother to open the garage door or pull inside. Nick stood on a ladder, painting the trim below her bedroom window, and when he turned to look down at her, nothing was more important than getting to him. being with him. As she threw the car into park and got out, he came to meet her by the fountain.

"How'd it go?"

She bit her lip. "It was rough." Trying to talk as she remembered Jeanne's devastation made her voice crack, tears still nearer than she'd realized.

Nick lifted a comforting hand to her cheek, but right now she needed something much more important from him. "Will you go with me?" she asked, breathless.

"Where?"

"To tell my father."

His body went rigid. He didn't say a word; he didn't have to. She could see it all in his eyes.

"I know what I'm asking of you. I know it's huge, I know it's awful, I know it's selfish." Her voice trembled as she went on. "But it's huge for me, too, in a different way, and I just ... don't want to go alone. I could really use someone to lean on." Then she shook her head briskly. "No, not someone. You, Nick. I need you there to lean on. Will you do this for me?" He took a deep breath, and she could almost feel it herself, the air being pulled in deep, filling her chest, then slowly leaving her. He had every right and reason to say no. And she didn't even fully understand why she needed him there so much, but she did. Maybe because she feared looking like a failure in her father's eyes, and she knew Nick would never see her that way. Maybe because she so often felt like a helpless little girl, but with Nick, she'd started feeling much more like a woman, her own woman. Or maybe it was simpler than that. When her mother had died and the time had come to approach the gravesite and look down on the casket, she'd grabbed on to Carolyn's arm and pulled her along, because she'd just needed to know she wasn't alone in the world.

Yet ... it was too much. Nick was the wrong person to ask. and she couldn't quite believe she'd done it. She was trying to find the words, form the thoughts, to say she was sorry she'd asked, that she'd go by herself, to assure him his faith in her wasn't misplaced, that she could handle this like a pro ... when he took her hands in his.

"Yeah, Princess. I'll go with you."

Chapter Fifteen

Nick's chest tightened as Lauren led him through her front yard and around the tall stucco wall that separated her house from Henry's. A familiar sensation gripped him-he was at once a kid, the same kid who'd watched Henry tear their lives apart, and simultaneously the old man who'd seen too much and harbored too many regrets.

As they let themselves through a wrought-iron gate cut into the wall along the street, he felt like a trespasser. The ground beneath his feet couldn't have felt more foreign if he'd just stepped onto another continent. He'd thought Lauren's home was luxurious, but it was nothing compared to this. In fact, he suddenly realized how casually she lived compared to Henry. From the rear of his house stretched a maze of wooden decks, stone patios, and flowering gardens larger than ten of the backyards where he'd grown up, where Elaine and Davy still lived. The centerpiece was the enormous kidney-shaped pool that dwarfed Lauren's both in size and grandeur. A small waterfall spilled from a raised garden at the far end. While the back of the house possessed the same French doors as Lauren's, the upper floors boasted numerous awning-shaded balconies that overlooked the sprawling paradise.

Lauren dragged him past it all, and despite being nervous, she walked fast and her grip on his hand felt determined. He wondered why she thought she needed him, and considered asking her, but if this was the moment he was meant to come face-to-face with Henry Ash, so be it.

A brick driveway identical to Lauren's fronted Henry's house, only it was longer; besides leading into a large garage, it also broke away and curved past the front door. circling the fountain. Nick let the rush of the water drown out all other thought, all other sound, as she said, "He's home." A jade green Jaguar XJS sat in the driveway, looking just as majestic as the towering live oaks that draped the yard in Spanish moss, as the tall Greek columns gleaming white and stoic in the mid morning sun. Greed. The word entered his head unbidden. Who needed to live like this? Who needed this much luxury? His chest stretched as taut as a rubber band when Lauren pulled him up the stone steps onto Henry's front porch.

She clutched his fist as the door opened. and he held his breath--only to see a small, dark-skinned woman in a simple cotton dress of slate blue. A maid. He'd never even thought about Henry having a maid. "Bonita," Lauren said, sounding as strung out as he felt, ". need to see Dad. Can you get him right away?"

"
Si
, Lauren. Come in." The woman cast only a fleeting glance at Nick, her eyes drawn tight by the severe bun at the back of her head.

They moved into an enormous foyer as Bonita's footsteps echoed across familiar Italian tile. Yet the interior, too, put Lauren's home to shame. The entryway stretched in all directions, filled with bright sunlight from strategically placed windows overhead. Another small fountain gurgled before a mirrored column that gave it the illusion of being larger. Nick wondered fleetingly what Henry would think of him, if he'd even recognize him, what they'd say to each other. On impulse, he reached up and turned Lauren's chin toward him to see if he'd gotten any paint on her before, when he'd touched her face. "What?" she whispered, her eyes as wide as a deer's in the forest.

"Nothing," he whispered back, finding her silky skin spotless. He felt like he couldn't speak any louder, like even his voice would mar the opulence.

He didn't hear Henry approach-the man simply appeared like some grand specter, decked out in white shorts and a white pullover sweater-something old men played golf in. "Bonita said you seemed upset," Henry said, blue eyes narrowing on her before flicking his gaze to Nick, and Nick stared back, thinking-Do you know me, old man? But then Lauren began to speak, and Henry's attention fell back on her.

"Dad, I have something to tell you, so I want you to brace yourself. And I can't go slow, or I'll never get it all out, so just bear with me, okay?"

Henry blinked, looking nonplussed. "What is it?" She took a deep breath. "Phil is cheating us, Dad. Cheating Ash Builders. Stealing from us."

Nick watched the various emotions play across Henry's lined face-confusion, disbelief, shock. As Lauren hurried on, explaining Phil's embezzlement, his eyes darkened, tightened, seeming to shrink back into his head as his horror grew. This was nothing, of course, compared to what Henry had done to Nick's dad-Henry would still have money, still have the life he was accustomed to--yet just for that one moment, Nick was glad he'd come, glad he'd witnessed the moment Henry discovered how it felt to be robbed.

As she explained, Lauren squeezed Nick's fingers so tightly she nearly cut off his circulation, and her fingernails dug into his flesh, but he wouldn't have interrupted her for anything. Her emotion rose until it finally gave way to the part he'd known was coming. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I feel like this is all my fault. I should have noticed, should have questioned the increases more, should have put two and two together. Because I didn't, Ash Builders has lost who-knows-how-much money to Phil" Henry's face fell as he listened to his daughter berate herself. "Lauren, my dear, this isn't your fault," he said, stepping forward for the first time since she'd started speaking. Lauren finally released her death grip on Nick to accept her father's hug, and Nick felt all the more like an outsider, someone who didn't belong and had no purpose there.