Trust in Me (20 page)

“Over which she strapped on a gun belt,” Margo said dryly.

They giggled again. But quieted when they reached the tenth floor. Cleaning fluid and the lemon scent of a newly waxed floor was strong. It was still and silent up here. Except for the lights at the end of the hall, it was dark. Margo’s boots clicked on the wood, echoing in the emptiness, so she immediately went up on tiptoes. Annie and Beth crept down the corridor behind her.

The outer door to one of the studios was open. The three of them slipped inside; noise came from an inner room. Annie could see flashes, like somebody was taking pictures.

“Nude photos?” Beth whispered.

Well, he still had the looks for it. Annie shrugged.

As they neared the door, a female voice purred, “Ah, Joey baby, that’s great.”

Annie halted. The voice sounded sexy, like a come-on.

Beth grabbed her hand to tug her along. When they reached the doorway, the three of them scrunched into it for a clear view.

The back part of the studio was dark; up front was brightly lit with tall, free-standing lamps. The drop-dead gorgeous brunette held a camera and cooed to the man in the center of the lights. “Ah, yes, that’s it, baby. Make my mouth water.”

Annie’s ex-husband stared at the camera, a sexy look on his face. He reclined on a white leather couch, surrounded by sprays and vases of white roses. He held one red rose in his hand, and bent his head to sniff it.

His George Clooney hair was a bit mussed. His bare chest sported whorls of dark hair. He was naked except for blood red briefs bisecting his body. Slowly, he peered up from the rose. And smiled invitingly at the camera.

“Oh, God, just looking at you makes me wet,” the photographer purred. A big grin flashed across his face, which she caught on camera. “All right, Calvin Klein man. Let’s get you into another pair of skivvies before I lose control of myself.”

Margo gasped.

Beth gasped.

Annie gasped.

And the photographer looked their way.

o0o

“WHO the hell are you?” Taylor had turned to the door; Joe couldn’t see who was there because of the lights, but he’d heard the gasps.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” someone said. “Billy the Kid’s a model. For men’s undies.” The sassy voice was familiar.

Scowling, he raised his hand to shade his eyes. “Taylor?”

“We got company.” She switched off the lights, plunging the room into darkness. Joe hated when the spots swam before him. It was disorienting and threatened his hard-won control. He sat up, waited a second for them to disappear, then stood as Taylor switched on a normal lamp. “Who is it?” he asked.

“I dunno.” Taylor sounded disgusted. “Your fan club, maybe?”

“Hardly.” That voice he recognized immediately. He heard it in his dreams—a few good ones, mostly nightmares.

“Annie?” He crossed the room until he was about ten feet from them. The triumvirate. Though they looked more like a posse, out for his hide, now. “What are you doing here?”

Margo was laughing. Beth hid a smile. Only Annie’s face was sober. She stared at him with an expression he couldn’t read.

“You know these babes?” Taylor asked.

“Yes.” He smiled. “Taylor Cummings. Meet two of my friends from Glen Oaks.” He introduced Margo and Beth. “And this is my ex-wife, Annie Lang.”

Taylor whirled around, her long dark hair trailing down her back. “So this is the little lady who’s got your jocks in a twist. Pardon the pun.”

Joe winced. Meaningfully he glanced at the clock. “Can we take a break?”

“We just got started again.”

“Please, Taylor.”

“Okay. Not too long, though. We only got the studio until three.” She faced the women and gave Annie a long, hard look, then walked to the back room.

Annie stood stone-statue still and stared at him.

He plopped his hands on his hips, only then realizing he was almost naked. “Jesus.” He turned and strode to the table at the side of the room, where he reached for a robe. Its deep blue accented his eyes, Taylor had said. Right now he was more interested in covering up his body. He felt like a kid just caught in the bathroom with a
Playboy
. Shrugging into the robe, he nodded to the table. “Would you like some coffee?”

Beth said, “We just ate.”

Margo shook her head.

Annie still didn’t move.

“Annie, are you all right?” he asked.

She roused herself. “You model men’s underwear?”

Again, he swore under his breath. Though he was grateful for the money this side job had provided him for the last five years, nobody other than Taylor and Pete knew about it. “Yeah, I do.” He cursed his voice for being hoarse. It was an honest living, damn it. “Sit down.”

The three women crossed to the table and sat, Annie as far away from him as she could get. It dug like a knife into his heart. Sometimes, he actually forgot what a monster he was, but it only took a few minutes in her presence to remind him.

Then stay away from the bitch
, Taylor had said.

Taylor, you don’t know what I did to her

He took in a deep breath. “I model for an exclusive men’s underwear catalog. It goes mostly overseas.” He shrugged. “It’s good money.” His eyes narrowed on Annie. “And it’s completely legal and aboveboard. If you like, you can see my W-Two forms.”

She remained maddeningly silent.

Crossing her legs and bobbing one foot up and down, Margo seemed to be enjoying this. “How’d you get into it?”

He wished he never had to think about those times. “As you know, when I first came to the city, I was in a Batterer’s Recovery Program.” Annie stiffened. “They recommended AA.”

“You’re an alcoholic, too?” Annie’s words set off cruel emotional fireworks in his heart.

“I have a problem with drinking. Many batterers do, though it wasn’t the cause of the...abuse.”

Her eyes widened, accusing him more than if a jury had pronounced his guilt.
It’s the booze, Annie. It makes me lose control.

“I know, I said it was the liquor, but I was wrong. Anyway, it wasn’t too hard kicking the habit, so I’m not sure I’m an alcoholic. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t drink, and I still go to meetings occasionally.” Damn, he was always so defensive around her.

It’s called paying for your sins.

“What does that have to do with the modeling, Joe?” Beth’s tone was kind. She’d always been the most forgiving, and he knew she was grateful for his work with Ron.

“I, um, met Taylor at AA a year later.”

Margo’s brows arched. “The Andie McDowell lookalike is an alcoholic?”

“Yes. She openly admits it.” Though he felt uncomfortable discussing his friend. “She’s a professional photographer, and after a few meetings, told me I had good bone structure.”

Margo laughed. “That’s a new one.”

 “She meant my face, wise guy.” His mouth curved in a small smile. “My hair had started to turn gray by then, and it seems that was an advantage. I look older than I am, but my body...” Again he shrugged.

“We saw it,” Margo quipped again, wiggling her brows. “We understand.”

“It seems I’m a perfect model for the over-forty crowd.” He turned to Annie and his smile died. “I make good money. It’s how I was able to send you some back then.”

She nodded. Stood. Stared down at him. His breath caught in his throat at the anger he saw in her pretty amber eyes. “Landed right on your feet, didn’t you, Joe?”

Forcefully, he swallowed back an objection. For a minute he was bombarded by the black hell of self-discovery he’d gone through—
you hit a defenseless woman...only scum would do that...you’re no better than a worm....

He said only, “Yes, I landed on my feet.”

Annie threw back her chair, gave him one last contemptuous glance and stalked to the door.

Chapter 11

THE little silver Jag took the left turn onto Main Street with the ease of a Grand Prix qualifier. Doc said to Tucker, “Hungry?”

Shrugging, Tucker stared out the windshield. “Not really.”

He’d been in a rotten mood since Friday when Ron Donovan had come out to the cottage to work. Nothing unusual had happened between them—Ronny had snarled once or twice at him and he mostly avoided the kid—so Tucker couldn’t figure out why he was still feeling sour today.

“Well, I am.” Doc glanced out the window. “Let’s stop and eat lunch. It’s past one-thirty.”

Tucker grunted and parked at the curb in front of the drugstore. Doc got out of the car and, after a moment, Tucker followed.

“I ain’t eatin’ no drugstore food,” Doc said as Tucker circled the Jag. “I’m too old to sit at a soda fountain.”

That made Tucker smile. Turning up the collar of his navy blue fleece jacket against the March wind, he quipped, “Whatsamatter, old man, never shared sodas with your best girl?”

Doc cussed and headed down the sidewalk to The Downtown Diner. It took a minute before he realized he was alone. He pivoted. “Tuck?”

Tucker jogged up to him. Raking a hand through his hair, he met Doc’s gaze. “I, um, I don’t feel real comfortable going to the Donovans’ diner.”

Thoughtful, Doc shook his head. “Gotta toughen up.” When Tucker just stared at him, Doc shook his head. “Guilt’s gonna eat you alive, boy.”

Tucker stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. “I feel better about that.”

Doc started to walk, forcing Tucker to keep pace. “Yeah? Why?”

“I guess because of Beth Donovan.” He pictured her the time they were in the diner alone that night.

It wasn’t your fault, Tucker.... You have to forgive yourself.

“She’s just about the most forgivin’ person I ever met. Even if her kid would like to see me strung up by the cahonies.”

Doc didn’t say anything.

“What?” Tucker asked at the scowl on Doc’s face.

“Nothin’. Just wonderin’ how the Donovan woman could make you feel better when I been bustin’ my ass for years to get you to see clear on this thing and hit a stone wall.”

“She’s prettier than you are, old man.” Though he joked, the way her hair curled at her shoulders and how her dark eyes sparkled when she laughed made him smile.

They reached the diner. “Well, then, there ain’t no reason to stay away from this place.” As he pulled open the door to the restaurant, he said, “Okay?”

“Fine.” Tucker became The Menace as soon as they entered the diner and he had to face his ghosts.

They waited in the entryway. Beth stood at a table, talking with somebody. Tucker tried not to stare at her but she looked so good—she was medium height and well rounded, not rail thin like some of the models Tucker dated; she wore black slacks and a simple white cotton sweater. Her hair was pulled up in some kinds knot on her head, making her look young and innocent. When she turned around, her gaze landed on them.

Her smile was dazzling. Aimed at Tucker, it flew across the room like a well-shot arrow. Tucker grinned when it hit its target.

She approached them. “Hi, Mr. Holt.” She nodded. “Tucker.”

“Make it, Doc,” the old man said.

“Afternoon, Beth.”

Again the smile. “Are you here to eat?”

“Uh-huh.” Doc scanned the diner.

“Come on, I’ll give you a booth; it’s cleared out some.”

They followed her down the spacious aisle and Tucker’s eyes were glued on the sway of her hips.

“Hello, Doc, Tucker,” they heard from a couple they passed.

Tucker gave Beth’s brother a small wave. “Hi, Linc.”

Doc nodded, then sat in a booth down from them.

“Want something to drink?” Beth seemed oblivious to the fact that he was eating her up with his eyes.

“Coffee,” Doc said.

“Make his decaf,” Tucker added. “I’ll have high-test.” She smiled at his order, reminding him of her comments that night in the diner.

“I can have
some
, boy. I’m not ready to keel over yet.”

“The doctor just told you an hour ago to cut back. You’re cuttin’ back.”

“The doctor said my heart was just fine.”

“It’s not fine. Your angina’s under control is all.”

To change the subject, Tucker knew, Doc looked over at Linc Grayson. “That guy don’t look like no preacher I ever seen.”

“Former gang leaders usually don’t.”

Doc chuckled. Tucker knew Doc got a kick out of the checkered past of the town’s now-upstanding citizens. “Cute girl he’s with.”

“Is she?” Tucker perused the menu. “I didn’t notice.”

“Nope, you just got eyes for the owner.”

Tucker’s head came up fast. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Like hell,” Doc said, but didn’t pursue it.

Tucker surveyed the diner. The smell of fresh bread filled the air, and there were some pretty flowers on the counter. The kitchen door opened and Gerty Stoffer stepped out.

“Oh, hell.” This from Doc, who buried his face in the menu like some lovesick kid.

Gerty was dressed in a fringed dress and moccasins. Carrying coffee, she made a beeline for them. When she reached their table, she put down his coffee and Tucker’s. “Hello, Mr. Quaid.”

“Ma’am.” Tucker picked up his cup and sipped.

She zeroed in on Doc. “Hello, Leonard.”

Tucker’s drink spattered all over his shirt. But he kept his mouth shut and just cleaned himself up.

Gerty told them the specials without blinking an eye. “There’s a low-cholesterol, high-fiber lunch plate on the menu.”

“Probably tastes like cardboard.” At Doc’s comment, Gerty’s face fell. He said quickly, “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

Smiling at the waitress, Tucker ordered the veggie chili and cornbread.

Gerty nodded. “Man after my own heart.”

I like Corona.

A woman after my own heart.

Tucker sighed at the memory. He’d been thinking about Beth Donovan and wasn’t happy about it. He’d even dreamed about her, not the nightmare kind this time where she called him a murderer. The X-rated kind, where she called out his name when she was under him. He’d been disappointed when Ron had gotten a ride from somebody else both ways on Friday. Shit.

“Jesus, boy, where are you? I asked you a question.”