Lover, Stranger Part 14

"But that's all. It won't happen again. You can take the bar key with you if it makes you feel any better."

Myra tossed her cigarette b.u.t.t over the balcony to the asphalt parking lot below them. Tiny sparks rained down in the darkness.

"That won't be necessary. I know you remember how bad it was for you back then. But you're strong now, Grace. Stronger than me in a lot of ways."

Grace didn't think that was possible. Myra was unparalleled. She would never consider drinking alone in the middle of the night, much less making love to a man whose secrets just might be even darker than her own.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" Myra asked suddenly.

"You were only seventeen, but I sensed that resilience in you even then. I hated the fact that your father always seemed h.e.l.l-bent on breaking you."

Don't, Grace thought. Don't take me back there.

She closed her eyes, letting the hot breeze blow across her face, willing away the melancholy that seemed to have gripped both her and Myra.

Beside her, Myra s.h.i.+fted restlessly in her chair.

"You came by the office to see your father that day. He'd just learned I was to be his new partner. He wasn't too pleased to discover I was a woman." , "Some things never change," Grace said.

"The Bureau is still a man's world." y "True enough," Myra said.

"But you're becoming a d.a.m.ned fine agent, Grace. You've earned a lot of respect."

"So have you. You paved the way for women like me. I'll always be grateful." For that and so much more, but Grace left the words unspoken.

Over the years, she and Myra had developed an internal method of communicating. They'd been through a lot together, but Grace couldn't help wondering if this was to be their final a.s.signment. When Trevor Reardon was no longer their nemesis, who or what would then become their raison d'etre?

Myra stood and stretched.

"By the way, we lifted some fresh prints from Hunter's clinic last night after the police left. I'll let you know as soon as I hear back from the lab."

Grace got up and walked her to the door. In the light from the corridor, Myra suddenly looked much older than her years. It made Grace uneasy, watching her.

Grace remained at the door until the agent disappeared around a corner.

After a moment. Grace heard the ping of the elevator and the sound of the doors sliding open and then shut again. Only then did she close and lock her door. But she didn't turn on the light. She stood in the darkness as the memories came flooding back. Putting her hands to her ears, she tried to shut them out, but Myra's pensiveness tonight had inadvertently opened a Pandora's box. In her mind, Grace saw the house where she'd grown up bursting into flames. She heard her mother's terrified cries, her father's anguished shouts, and her sister's tormented screams.

Grace closed her eyes, trembling. It had taken her years to get those images out of her head. Years of therapy and cold indifference before she no longer saw her sister, her hair in flames, at every window.

Years of single-minded devotion to her career to block out the argument she and Jessica had had just hours before her sister's death.

Like a roller-coaster out of control, Grace's mind whipped around the perilous corners of her past, plunged downward into the murky depths of her memory. Faces flew past her. Scenes blurred by her. She wished she could stop them--she would do anything to stop them--but it was too late for that.

Too late to do anything but huddle in the darkness and remember.

There had been a man. Grace had sensed from the first that he was different, someone special, but she hadn't learned until later just how extraordinary he was. When she'd first met him at the library during the Christmas break of her senior year in high school, all she'd known was that he was a das.h.i.+ng older man, probably at least thirty, and more sophisticated and worldly than she could ever have imagined.

She'd also thought that he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

When he looked up from the book he was reading and smiled at her, Grace knew instantly he was the one. The two of them had a connection, some special bond that had drawn her to him. His eyes were blue, his hair golden brown, and even in the dead of winter, he was suntanned, as if he'd just come from the slopes of some exotic ski resort.

Grace grew so nervous, just watching him, that she dropped the book she was holding. His smile broadened, as if he knew he was the source of her anxiety and was pleased by the knowledge. Grace turned and all but ran from the room.

The next day, she saw him again at the library. This time, her nerves in check, she took a seat two tables away from his, facing him. Every time she looked up from her book, she found his gaze on her, and Grace's insides quivered in delicious antic.i.p.ation.

On the third day, he approached her. He stood over her table, hands planted on the surface as he bent down 118 Lover, Stranger to whisper in her ear.

Grace could smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne, could see the faint shadow of his beard, and her heart went wild. This was no boy, but a man.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he whispered, his voice deep and knowing.

Grace could only nod. He removed the book from her hands, then pulled her to her feet. Clasping her hand in his, he led her outside to the parking area, to an expensive sports car that made Grace catch her breath.

"This is your car?"

He dangled the keys before her.

"Would you like to drive it?" Grace had her license but her father rarely let her behind the wheel of the family sedan. His career in the FBI had made him overly protective of his family, and Grace's nature had made her openly rebellious. The two of them often clashed. She wondered fleetingly what her father would think if he could see her now.

In spite of her defiant nature, the image subdued Grace a little.

This man was a total stranger after all. She shook her head.

"I'd better not."

"Oh, come on," he said in that dark and silky voice.

"You know you want to. For once in your life, live dangerously."

The challenge was irresistible. Grace took the keys from his fingers, and he opened the door for her. So gallant and so unlike the boys she'd dated. She slid behind the wheel and waited until he climbed into the pa.s.senger side before starting the car.

The engine roared to life, the sound thrumming through Grace's veins like a shot of pure adrenaline. So this was power, she thought. __ __ The man put his hand over hers on the stick s.h.i.+ft, helping her find the right gear. His touch made her s.h.i.+ver. Grace glanced at him warily.

"Where are we going?"

"Anywhere you want to go, Grace."

That stopped her for a minute. Her excitement cooled.

"How do you know my name?"

He smiled, pulling a card from his pocket and holding it up to her. It was her library card.

"You dropped it that first day," he said, "When you were running away from me."

"I wasn't running away from you," Grace protested, not wanting him to think of her as a child.

"Maybe you should have." His smile turned mysterious.

"I'm a dangerous man, Grace."

"I know."

Their gazes met and held for the longest moment, then he reached over and grasped the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. His mouth found hers and almost instantly, Grace felt his tongue plunge inside.

She knew she should pull away. This man was way too old and way too experienced for her, and he was a stranger. A stranger who kissed her like no boy had ever kissed her. Who made her feel the way no one had ever made her feel. Who whispered to her things no one had ever told her.

"You're very beautiful," he murmured.

"You have no idea how special you are to me. Grace."

Something warm unfurled inside her, some womanly need that made her cling to him, that made her groan against his mouth, that made her want him in ways she'd hardly dared dream about. She drove them to his apartment a few blocks from where she lived, and they talked a little, trying to get intoxicating scent of his cologne, could see the faint shadow of his beard, and her heart went wild. This was no boy, but a man.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he whispered, his voice deep and knowing.

Grace could only nod. He removed the book from her hands, then pulled her to her feet. Clasping her hand in his, he led her outside to the parking area, to an expensive sports car that made Grace catch her breath.

"This is your car?"

He dangled the keys before her.

"Would you like to drive it?" Grace had her license but her father rarely let her behind the wheel of the family sedan. His career in the FBI had made him overly protective of his family, and Grace's nature had made her openly rebellious. The two of them often clashed. She wondered fleetingly what her father would think if he could see her now. In spite of her defiant nature, the image subdued Grace a little. This man was a total stranger after all.

She shook her head.

"I'd better not."

"Oh, come on," he said in that dark and silky voice.

"You know you want to. For once in your life, live dangerously." The challenge was irresistible. Grace took the keys from his fingers, and he opened the door for her. So gallant and so unlike the boys she'd dated. She slid behind the wheel and waited until he climbed into the pa.s.senger side before starting the car.

The engine roared to life, the sound thrumming through Grace's veins like a shot of pure adrenaline. So this was power, she thought.

The man put his hand over hers on the stick s.h.i.+ft, helping her find the right gear. His touch made her s.h.i.+ver. Grace glanced at him warily.

"Where are we going?"

"Anywhere you want to go. Grace."

That stopped her for a minute. Her excitement cooled.

"How do you know my name?"

He smiled, pulling a card from his pocket and holding it up to her. It was her library card.

"You dropped it that first day," he said, "When you were running away from me."

"I wasn't running away from you," Grace protested, not wanting him to think of her as a child.

"Maybe you should have." His smile turned mysterious.

"I'm a dangerous man, Grace."

"I know."

Their gazes met and held for the longest moment, then he reached over and grasped the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. His mouth found hers and almost instantly, Grace felt his tongue plunge inside.

She knew she should pull away. This man was way too old and way too experienced for her, and he was a stranger. A stranger who kissed her like no boy had ever kissed her. Who made her feel the way no one had ever made her feel. Who whispered to her things no one had ever told her.

"You're very beautiful," he murmured.

"You have no idea how special you are to me, Grace."

Something warm unfurled inside her, some womanly need that made her cling to him, that made her groan against his mouth, that made her want him in ways she'd hardly dared dream about. She drove them to his apartment a few blocks from where she lived, and they talked a little, trying to get unbearable tension between them. But all the while they both knew the inevitable would happen--had to happen-- before she left him that night. They met again the next night, and the next. Grace was barely allowed to date boys her own age, so she knew bringing him home to meet her parents, especially her father, was out of the question. She started sneaking out of her room at night, begging her younger sister, Jessie, to cover for her.

Unlike Grace, Jessie had never been rebellious. She had always worked very hard to please their father, and lying to him went against her nature. Grace understood that, but her sister's conscience didn't matter enough to Grace to make her want to stop seeing him. On the night of the fire, Jessie had been especially troubled by Grace's deception. She even threatened to tell their parents and take her own punishment for the duplicity if Grace left the house again without their permission.

Grace lashed out at her, calling her a Goody Two- shoes.

"Why don't you mind your own business for once," she snapped before climbing out the window and slipping away into the darkness to meet her lover.

That night, he seemed different. Before, he'd always been dark and intense, even moody at times, but Grace had found those qualities deeply compelling.

Tonight, however, he was almost ebullient, laughing and smiling, whispering to her that he had a secret. It was only. afterward that Grace learned what his secret was. "Would you like to know my real name?" he asked, drawing her fingers to his lips and kissing each one of them.

Grace gazed up at him in confusion.

"Your name is Jonathan Price." He laughed out loud.

"Jonathan Price is a fictional character, you little idiot. I got it from a novel."

Grace didn't much care for the insult. She pulled away from him. He didn't even seem to notice.

"I go by many names, but the one you may have heard of is Trevor Reardon."

He laughed again when he saw the horror dawn on her face. "That isn't funny," she said, shaken. Nothing about him was the least bit amusing. In fact, he was beginning to scare her. Grace jumped up, pulling on her clothes while he lay on the bed, smiling that taunting little smile.

"Trevor Reardon is in prison," she said. "So you have heard of me." He propped himself on his elbow.

"I didn't think your old man could resist bragging about the coup he pulled off when he captured me. But didn't he also tell you that I'd escaped from prison a few weeks ago? Didn't he warn you I might come back for revenge?"

Her father had been acting strangely lately, even more protective than usual, making the whole family promise to be home by dark every day. Maybe that's why Jessie had been so frightened when Grace had started sneaking out of the house at night. Maybe she'd known something Grace hadn't.

Dressed by this time. Grace started backing toward the door. She didn't believe him, couldn't believe him, and yet. What if he was telling her the truth?

What if he was Trevor Reardon?

She put a hand to her mouth, trying to swallow back unbearable tension between them. But all the while they both knew the inevitable would happen--had to happen-- before she left him that night. They met again the next night, and the next. Grace was barely allowed to date boys her own age, so she knew bringing him home to meet her parents, especially her father, was out of the question. She started sneaking out of her room at night, begging her younger sister, Jessie, to cover for her.