Deceived Page 12

  But what did she know? Her track record with men was dismal. Maybe there’d been signals she’d missed. Or maybe he thought she was too needy—and there might be some truth to that. While the support group was helping, she had a long way to go before she regained the confidence and self-esteem Rich had demolished.

  And perhaps that should be her priority. Perhaps she needed to get her own house in order, find some meaning in her life apart from other people, before she tried to figure out someone else’s problems.

  One way to do that was to get a job, as Sarah had done.

  Squaring her shoulders, Diane wiped away her tears, marched into the study, and booted up the computer. Once upon a time, she’d been a competent, fast-tracked accountant with a responsible position. That career had fallen by the wayside when Rich came along and convinced her to stay home so she could focus on starting a family. Not that she’d put up much resistance; what paycheck or promotion could compete with the joy of holding a child in her arms?

  Too bad she hadn’t realized Rich’s true motivation sooner. Her husband had had no interest in a family; he’d just felt threatened by her independence and success and wanted total control over her life.

  But by the time the truth sank in, she’d felt trapped.

  The user ID screen came up. Leaning forward, she entered her password and connected to the Net. Surfed until she found several examples of résumés. Began to type her own.

  And come tomorrow, she was going to dig out the New Start phone number Sarah had pressed on her Saturday night and make an appointment with the woman her support group friend claimed could work miracles in building confidence and finding jobs.

  Kate Marshall.

  Connor flipped off the TV news, shoved the empty container from his nuked dinner aside, and drummed his fingers on the small island in his condo’s kitchen. There were plenty of things he could do tonight. Work out at the gym. Run a few miles. Visit the range and log some target practice. All worthwhile, productive activities.

  Except he wasn’t in the mood for any of them.

  He was in the mood to see Kate.

  Expelling a frustrated breath, he rose, rinsed out the plastic dinner tray, and deposited it in the recycle bin. She’d put up a brave front at the end of their conversation earlier in the day, but now that she’d confirmed the boy in his photos was the same one she’d seen at the mall, she had a tough job tonight. One that might be easier to get through if she had some moral support close at hand.

  Not an option if he played by company rules.

  But why not call her? See how she was doing, ask if she had any questions? That would be a compassionate gesture, and a phone conversation didn’t violate Phoenix’s informal no-fraternizing policy.

  Without giving himself a chance to second-guess those motives, he pulled out his phone and tapped in her number.

  She didn’t answer until the third ring, and when she did pick up, the unsteadiness in her greeting confirmed his suspicion—she was having a tough time with the chore he’d given her.

  “Hi. It’s Connor. I thought I’d touch base, see how you were doing with your photo search.”

  “I finished going through the digital stuff and dropped quite a few to a flash drive. Now I’m getting ready to dive into the prints.” She stopped. Exhaled. “It took me a while to sort through the boxes in the storage closet, but I have the albums in front of me now. I was about to open the first one.”

  He walked over to the window and surveyed the dark clouds encroaching on the blue sky. The meteorologists had warned that a storm was approaching, and for once they seemed to be right.

  “Look . . . if you want to spread this out over a couple of days, that’s not a problem. I set up a meeting with Elaine for tomorrow afternoon, but I can switch it to Wednesday.”

  “No. There’s no sense putting off the inevitable. It’s probably time I dug these out. I just didn’t realize it would be so . . .” As her voice choked, he tightened his grip on the phone. “Sorry. Looking at these brings everything back—good and bad.”

  Somewhere in the distance, a faint rumble of thunder heralded the looming squall, and the branches at the tops of the trees began to sway.

  “Listen . . . would it make things easier if I came over?”

  The offer was out before he could stop it—a blatant violation of company policy.

  Unless he could come up with some sort of work-related rationale. Fast.

  Grasping at the first thing that came to mind, he continued without giving her a chance to respond. “I could sort through the photos with you, help you select the ones that might be most useful to Elaine.”

  Although the justification was weak, it held a modicum of truth—and it was the best he could come up with on the fly.

  Kate’s silence suggested she was as surprised by the offer as he was—yet she hadn’t turned him down flat. At the same time, he could understand her reluctance to let a man she’d known all of one week hang around while she hovered on the brink of a meltdown. On the plus side, if she did decline, he wouldn’t have to worry about crossing any lines.

  But he hoped she wouldn’t do that. If she did fall apart, he didn’t want her to be alone.

  “I’m sure you have better things to do with your evening, and you’ve already clocked a lot of hours on my case today.” Her words were hesitant—but infused with a distinct touch of yearning.

  She wanted him to come over.

  Yet she was giving him an out. One he should take.

  Instead of being smart, however, he not only leaped into the danger zone, he laid his cards on the table. “Nothing I was thinking about doing tonight is urgent. And I won’t be charging you for these hours.”

  More silence on the line as she digested that. Perhaps, with the offer of gratis personal time on the table—and the underlying message—she’d back off.

  But she didn’t.

  “If you’re sure, I wouldn’t mind the company. Going through the digital images was difficult, but I have a feeling handling the photo albums will be worse. Maybe I’ll hold myself together better if someone else is around.”

  He wasn’t certain her rationale was any more sound than his, but he wasn’t going to dispute it.

  “I live in Manchester, so it shouldn’t take me more than fifteen minutes to get to your place. See you soon.”

  As he slipped the phone back on his belt and another rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, a twinge of guilt tugged at his conscience. Never once in the five years since he’d joined Phoenix had he been tempted to spend personal time with a client. His tenure with the Secret Service had taught him to toe the line and had honed his already well-developed sense of discipline.

  So how could one lovely blonde-haired widow he’d known for less than a week undermine his self-control so quickly?

  Shaking his head, he snagged his keys off the counter and detoured to the bathroom to dispatch his five o’clock shadow. Too bad he couldn’t ask Cal and Dev how they’d avoided succumbing to the same temptation while working the cases for the women they’d fallen for. They must have struggled with the same dilemma he faced, and it would be helpful to know how they’d managed to keep their emotions under wraps until the cases were solved.

  If he asked for their advice, however, he’d be publicly agreeing with Nikki’s assessment that he and Kate made a cute couple.

  No way was he going to open himself up to that kind of ribbing. Not when he’d always been the one who’d played his social life close to his vest. Who’d never once let a woman disrupt his professional demeanor. Who’d watched in tolerant amusement as both Cal and Dev struggled with the very dilemma he was grappling with.

  He leaned close to the mirror, inspected his jaw, and shut off the electric razor. For now, he’d keep his predicament to himself—and hope Kate’s mystery was solved ASAP so her role could change from client to . . . something else.

  She should have told him not to come.

  And she shouldn’t hav
e bothered changing from cutoff shorts and sport shoes to capris and sandals. Why should she care what he thought about how she looked? This wasn’t a social visit.

  Or was it?

  Kate paced from one side of the small living room in her condo to the other as she pondered that question and came to the only possible answer.

  Maybe.

  Why else would he tell her she wouldn’t be charged for these hours? Companies didn’t offer their services for free.

  On the other hand, Connor was a perceptive man. He’d caught her at a weepy moment, and she had no doubt he’d picked up on that. Perhaps comforting distraught clients was a complimentary service Phoenix offered on occasion. Given their steep fees, they might consider a little free hand-holding smart business.

  She stopped, blew out a lungful of air, and combed her fingers through her hair. All of that might be true—but if she was honest with herself, Connor’s motives weren’t the main reason for her agitation.

  Her own reaction was the culprit.

  The fact was, she liked the man. Found him attractive. Hoped his visit tonight was prompted by more than Phoenix standard operating procedures.

  All of which made her uncomfortable.

  No matter what Pauline said, she wasn’t ready to feel . . . tingly . . . about someone new. And until she was, she’d have to play this calm and cool.

  Too bad she had no idea how to do that.

  The sudden chime of the doorbell echoed in the quiet condo, and her heart stumbled—as if to prove her point.

  Forcing herself to suck in a few deep breaths, she crossed to the foyer, peered through the peephole . . . and stared.

  Dressed once again in snug jeans and a chest-hugging black T-shirt, Connor radiated magnetism even through the closed door. The sprinkling of black hair on his muscled forearms, his intense dark eyes, and that chiseled jaw didn’t hurt, either.

  Get a grip, Kate. Pretend this is purely a business meeting.

  Right.

  Grasping the knob, she exhaled, swallowed, and pulled the door open.

  In greeting, Connor held up two cups bearing a familiar mermaid logo, each topped with whipped cream and capped with a plastic dome. “I come bearing gifts—which are melting as we speak.”

  Smiling, she moved aside and ushered him in. “The perfect antidote to a hot day.”

  “Since I didn’t know your preference, I brought a strawberry and a chocolate chip. I’m fine with either, so take your pick.”

  After locking the door, she turned back to him. “I like both too.”

  “I guess we’re easy to please.” He handed her the drinks and fished a coin out of his pocket. “Heads or tails?”

  “Tails.”

  He flipped the coin. “Tails gets chocolate.”

  They both bent to examine the penny as it came to rest, and as she caught a whiff of that subtle, masculine aftershave he favored, she actually felt dizzy.

  This was ridiculous

  Standing, she handed him the strawberry and took a swift step back. “I guess I get all the calories.”

  “Trust me, frappuccinos are equal opportunity when it comes to nutrition—or lack thereof.” He fished two straws out of his back pocket and handed one over, pinning her with an assessing look. “You doing okay?”

  Hardly. Not when his mere presence was setting off an electrical storm inside her to match the one Mother Nature was brewing outside.

  But he was talking about her chore for the evening, and on that score, at least, she could give him an honest answer.

  “I’m hanging in.” She brushed past him toward the dining room, leaving him to follow—and buying herself a few seconds to try and suppress the flush on her cheeks before she had to face him again. “But after you called, I decided to wait until you got here to start on the albums.”

  “Good. Reviewing the pictures together should make the job easier.” He took a few moments to peruse the contemporary furnishings in her vaulted-ceilinged unit before joining her in the dining area. “Nice condo.”

  She set her drink on the table and tore the paper from her straw. “Thanks. But I have to admit it’s never felt much like home. Probably because I sold most of the furnishings from my previous house before I moved, except for a few sentimental pieces. The therapist I went to for a while thought it would be healthier for me to start fresh.”

  He freed his own straw and refocused on her. “How long were you in therapy?”

  “Not long enough, according to both the therapist and my mother.” She poked her straw into the hole at the top of the plastic dome, giving her an excuse to look away from his probing eyes. “They both thought I was a mess—and they were right.”

  “You had reason to be.”

  At his quiet comment, she looked back up at him—and as the gentle compassion radiating from his eyes washed over her, she was blindsided by the sudden fierce pressure behind her own.

  No!

  She was not going to cry!

  Crying didn’t change a thing.

  “Some people would have handled it better than I did.” To her dismay, the words she tried to make casual and conversational came out shaky. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

  His assessing expression dashed that hope. “Anyone in particular?”

  Might as well be honest. This was a man who was used to delving for the truth.

  She picked up her drink and played with the straw, creating swirls in the whipped cream. “My mother, for one. My dad was killed on a construction site when I was eighteen, and she didn’t miss a beat. She did her grieving, reorganized her life, moved on, and never looked back. She didn’t believe in lamenting about things that couldn’t be changed.”

  Connor lifted his own drink as he studied her. “Some people feel more deeply than others. And I don’t consider that a liability. In fact, those people tend to be even stronger. They have to be in order to survive.”

  Once again, pressure built behind her eyes. There was nothing he could have said to endear himself more to her than those few sentences.

  Not trusting her voice, she took a sip of her drink before she responded. “I’d like to believe that—but I wasn’t very strong in the beginning . . . and I made some bad decisions.”

  Dare she tell him about her biggest lapse in judgment? Would he revise his assessment of her if he knew just how weak she’d been?

  “We all make bad decisions.” A flicker of pain rippled across his face, come and gone so fast she wondered if she’d imagined it. “In your case, you had an excuse. Thinking processes can be compromised by trauma. And the fact you’re standing here today, a fully functioning individual, tells me you’ve overcome whatever mistakes you think you made. Which I doubt were as bad as you seem to think they were.”

  The perfect opening to spill her secret—if she had the courage to take it.

  She gestured to the table, stalling as she weighed the pros and cons of baring her soul to this man she’d known for mere days. “Please, have a seat.”

  In silence, he complied. Waiting. Giving her the time she needed to decide how much she was willing to share.

  Sliding into her chair, she looked into his eyes, listened to her heart—and made her decision.

  “You’re wrong about the magnitude of my mistake. It was huge—and very foolish.” Her words were steadier than she’d expected, rippled only by the barest of tremors.

  He tipped his head but remained silent as he watched her.

  She forced herself to maintain eye contact. “I used Valium. Too much of it. And I got hooked—big-time.”

  His expression didn’t change. No disgust flattened his features. No disdain curled his lips. No condemnation crept into his eyes; just the opposite. If anything, they softened.

  Or maybe she was seeing what she wanted to see.

  Except his next words proved otherwise.

  “I stand by what I said earlier. Breaking an addiction takes an enormous amount of strength.”

  She traced a bead of sweat do
wn the side of her cup with her fingertip, not as willing to forgive herself as he was. “I shouldn’t have gotten addicted in the first place.”

  “I’m sure that wasn’t your intent.”

  “No.” She took a sip of her drink, letting the sweetness dissolve on her tongue. But even the rich chocolate flavor couldn’t overcome the sour taste stirred up by the memories of those awful months. “In the beginning, I only planned to take enough to help me sleep at night. But as I later learned, tolerance to Valium builds quickly, and before long I needed fifteen milligrams instead of five. That went on for six months, and by then, if I missed a dose, I’d feel ill and shaky. That’s when I realized I was in trouble.”

  “Did you get help?”

  She inspected her drink. The whipped cream had deflated—along with her spirits. “No. I should have, but I was too embarrassed. My parents had raised me to be strong, to stand on my own two feet, and instead I’d turned to drugs to help me get through a rough time. I didn’t even tell my grief counselor. I just read everything I could find on Valium addiction and weaned myself off of it over the next few months.”

  Connor frowned. “That can’t have been easy.”

  “It was hell.” The words came out broken, and she took a few seconds to regain control. “From my research, I knew what to expect. Stomach cramps. Sweating. Tremors. Anxiety. Insomnia. Plus a lot of other bad things. But I was determined to overcome the dependence, and gradually, things did begin to improve—as did my outlook. I also made the decision to go back to work, and began looking for a job.”

  “How did you end up in St. Louis?” He finished his drink, set it aside, and linked his fingers on the table.

  She shrugged. “My best friend in college grew up here. I came home with her on a couple of spring breaks and liked the city. It seemed as good a place as any to make a fresh start.”

  “Has it been?”

  “Until the past two weeks.” She rubbed the spot above the bridge of her nose where a faint headache was beginning to pound. “It’s strange. I thought I was done with trauma. That I’d finally moved on, created a new normal. And then I have a chance encounter with a little boy that plunges me back into craziness. I’m trying hard to believe there’s a purpose in this, but most of the time it feels like a cruel joke.”