Читать книгу In Close - Brenda Novak - Страница 14

7

Working for himself made it possible for Isaac to accept only jobs that excited him. It also enabled him to do a lot of projects on spec. He often edited his own footage and created pilots and trailers, which his agent submitted to various film and television producers. For the print photography side of his business, he had a different agent who sent his pictures to various magazines internationally, as well as book publishers. He’d recently sold a coffee-table book, which would be a collection of some of his finest photographs.

He loved what he did. He could get lost in editing and refining his films and photographs for hours. After Claire had married David, his work gave him something he could devote himself to full-time so he wouldn’t have to dwell on his personal life—what he’d thrown away when he rejected Claire. His career also meant he was gone a lot, so he didn’t have to be constantly reminded....

But somewhere along the line, all the flights and airport transfers and taxis and hotels had begun to wear on him. Traveling so much started feeling more like drudgery, like running away, than career advancement. Which was why he’d decided to take an extended break. It wasn’t as if he had to go anywhere. He was in the middle of several projects he could finish right here, like the Alaskan sled dog series he was working on. He had plenty of footage from last winter when he’d gone to live with a family of Eskimos in northern Alaska. He was pretty sure he’d be able to sell it to his friend at Nat Geo. Michael had bought a lot of pictures from him in the past, had been a fan since his first spread in National Geographic, back when Michael had worked for the magazine, before he joined the TV network.

But today Isaac wasn’t making much progress. He couldn’t concentrate. He kept glancing over at the files he’d brought from Alana’s studio, wondering who had attacked Claire and why, whether David had been killed in an accident or on purpose, and if he should air his suspicions or keep his mouth shut. He’d hoped Leland would be able to convince him he was way off base, but Leland’s response to his call had only left Isaac more unsettled.

He drummed his fingers on the desk while staring at a frozen image of Kitbohn, the leader of the pack of dogs he’d become so close to last winter, on his computer screen. Something about the accident that had killed David wasn’t as it seemed. Leland obviously believed it, too, and yet he hadn’t sounded the alarm.

Why? Surely, he was in a better position than Isaac to do so.

He was probably holding off for the same reason Isaac was: no proof. Isaac didn’t want to stir up any drama, or hurt Claire by dragging her through more of the same crap she’d already been through. He’d caused her enough pain when she’d told him she loved him and he couldn’t reciprocate.

David’s death, even Alana’s disappearance, wasn’t any of his business. He prided himself on staying out of matters that didn’t concern him. He had enough to deal with in his own life.

So why was he tempted to jump into this?

Because he couldn’t get Claire out of his mind. He knew how much finding her mother meant to her, how much she loved David and would want to see his killer punished—if he’d been purposely shot. It was a testament to Isaac’s fascination with her that he was so willing to give her what she wanted, even when it came to the man who’d replaced him.

Or was it his way of making up for his own shortcomings?

Should he call and ask her to pick up the files?

He wasn’t sure if she was on her feet. He also wasn’t sure he wanted her in his house again. Touching her last night had convinced him that the past ten years had changed nothing. Not for him.

With a sigh, he watched the clock tick away. Ten, twelve, fifteen minutes. Frustrated at the waste of time, he tried to focus on the computer, but it was no use. He wasn’t worth a damn today.

Cursing his own stubborn heart, he retrieved the accordion folder he’d stashed under his bed. Then he got his keys. He’d pay Claire a visit, just to drop these off, and keep his suspicions to himself. Maybe then he could return to his normal routine. He’d thought about her before last night, especially when he was in town, because there was always the possibility of bumping into her, but his emotions hadn’t seemed quite so intense. Today, every time he heard her voice in his head, saying, “It hasn’t been easy for me after David. But this is better than being alone,” he felt as if she’d rammed a knife in his gut.

He hadn’t gotten over her.

But he would. Just as soon as he got her files out of his house, he’d wash his hands of her for good.

Claire wasn’t sleeping, but she was in bed where she’d spent the whole day, tightly curled up, thinking about David. How could she miss him so much, love him so much, when Isaac affected her as strongly as he did? What did that say about her? Had she been as faithful to David in her heart as she’d believed?

She’d never cheated on him, even though there were moments when the look on Isaac’s face told her he probably wouldn’t turn her away if she decided to pay him a visit. He’d never called her after she’d said “I do,” and she respected him for that, especially since the desire was still there, for both of them. She’d never been able to completely eradicate it, and he had no reason to bother trying. Maybe he didn’t love her, maybe he never had, but he certainly liked getting in her pants. Focusing on what she felt for David and her duty as a wife was the only thing that’d made it possible to stay away from him.

But David was gone.

The doorbell rang. She waited, expecting it to be Leanne again, but no one called out.

Maybe it was a client who wanted a haircut. She took walk-ins on the days she worked, and Tuesday was definitely one of those days.

She hoped whoever it was would go away when she didn’t respond, but that wasn’t the case. The doorbell rang three more times.

“I should’ve put up a sign,” she grumbled, and got out of bed.

The mirror showed her a sleepy face. Red, puffy eyes revealed that she’d been crying. She’d cried so much in the past year she rarely wore makeup anymore. And with her hair falling around her shoulders in a tangled mass of curls, she looked as unkempt as Leanne had said earlier.

The image staring back at her hardly made her eager for company. But who did she have to impress? She wasn’t dating anyone, had no hope of finding romance in Pineview. A few guys asked her out. Rusty Clegg, the sheriff’s deputy who’d probably helped David get hold of her mother’s files, was one who wouldn’t give up. He called incessantly. But he and all the others had been good friends with her and David. She liked them, but there wasn’t any…chemistry.

Shoving her hair out of her face, she grabbed an old woolen robe as whoever was at her door knocked again. July was too hot for such a heavy garment, but Leanne’s reaction to the mark on her neck told her she needed a high collar.

When she noted the size of the blurry image on the other side of the glass, she hesitated. She’d been right. This wasn’t Leanne. And there wasn’t any point in hiding the hickey. It was the man who’d given it to her.

“Come on, Claire. Open up!”

Damn! This would be her third encounter with him in less than twenty-four hours. Once or twice a month was hard enough.

Tightening the belt on her robe, she told herself she didn’t care that he was about to see her at her worst and opened the door.

Wearing a simple T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans that rested low on his hips, he loomed over her by almost a foot. Generally speaking, she didn’t mind being short. But she always longed for a little more height when dealing with him....

“What can I do for you?” She blocked the entrance and kept one hand on the knob. But then she spotted the accordion file beneath his arm and understood why he’d come.

Quickly checking to make sure Leanne wasn’t out—she didn’t want to be grilled about the reason Isaac Morgan had shown up at her house—she flung the door wide and waved him in.

His sardonic smile told her he knew it wasn’t him she was so excited to see. But he was wrong. To her own chagrin, seeing him always excited her.

“Nice place.”

He’d never been inside her house. She’d been living in a small apartment above Stuart’s Stop ’n’ Shop when they were “together.” Once David returned from college and accepted a job in Kalispell, she’d moved there, too, to attend beauty school. After she graduated, David opened his State Farm office and they both came back to Pineview, where they’d lived on David’s parents’ property until Tug finished building her house. Once it was done, they’d married and moved in.

“It’s small but comfortable.” She wasn’t sure if his compliment had been sincere, and she didn’t really care. She’d lost interest in so many things since David had died, not the least of which were cooking and cleaning. “Where did you get that?” She motioned to the file she’d attempted to remove from her mother’s studio.

He turned to face her. “Where do you think?”

“You went to the studio? Before the sheriff could get there?”

“I did. I could tell you wanted this.”

“That can’t be the only reason.” Such generosity wasn’t like him.

His expression hardened. “Why not?”

“It was late, you were injured and this is my problem.”

“Right. Why would I care? I’d never do anything just because it’s important to you. Only David would do that.”

She didn’t know how to respond. She wasn’t up to an argument today, and he seemed even more defensive than usual. “Regardless of your reasons, I’m grateful.” She tried to take it from him so he’d leave. Now that she’d canceled all her appointments, she’d have the privacy and time to go through all the reports without being interrupted. But he held them beyond her reach.

“Why didn’t you want the sheriff to get hold of this?” he asked. “It came from his office in the first place, didn’t it? Which means you could always get another copy.”

She didn’t want to focus on his eyes with their golden-brown irises, but neither did she want to focus on the long, tanned fingers that could work such magic on whatever they touched. Clearing her throat, she kept her own eyes on those files. “Not necessarily. That folder contains much more than he’d release to me.”

His dark eyebrows gathered. “And he doesn’t know you have it?”

“I didn’t even know until yesterday. I found it in the attic of the studio. David must’ve gotten it for me…somehow.”

“Ah, David again.” His mouth twisted into a sneer. “Your knight in shining armor.”

She raised her chin. “Yes. Always.” She’d sensed long ago that Isaac had never liked David. David had certainly never liked Isaac, and it wasn’t exclusively due to jealousy. He hated Isaac because of the way Isaac had used her. He’d often told her she should hate him, too, and she’d pretended, but it was hard to blame Isaac when she was a willing participant in the whirlwind of desire that had brought them crashing together. He’d never forced her to visit his cabin. She’d been so eager for his touch she could scarcely wait from one encounter till the next.

He lowered his voice. “What did he know about us?”

She didn’t want to talk about this. It was too…intimate. She nearly told him so, but she feared that would only confirm how sensitive an issue he’d been between her and David. She decided it might be less revealing to simply answer. “He knew we slept together. I don’t—didn’t—keep anything from him.” Other than the depth of her feelings for Isaac, and the fact that those feelings never seemed to change or go away.

His voice dropped even further, and this time a pained expression accompanied his words. “Is he the reason you’ve been crying?”

“I haven’t been crying.” She wasn’t sure why she was attempting to lie. The truth was all too apparent. But she hated the idea of Isaac knowing she was in such a bad state. It was stupid and weak that she couldn’t seem to get back on her feet.

She aimed to be just as tough, just as indifferent, as he was. Maybe someday she’d actually accomplish it.

“Right.” He rolled his eyes.

Ignoring his reaction, she drew a deep breath. “So are you going to give me the files?”

He pursed his lips. “I’m thinking about it.”

“I don’t understand why you’d even hesitate.”

“Have you eaten today?”

She gaped at him. “Have I…eaten? What difference does that make?” Especially to him?

“It’s a simple enough question,” he said with a shrug.

“It’s nearly dinnertime. Of course I’ve eaten.” Another lie. She’d lost too much weight in the past year. Everyone was nagging her about it, especially her best friend, Laurel, and her stepfather.

“What did you have?”

Letting go of the collar of her robe, which she’d been holding closed, she fiddled with the belt—as if it was the way she’d tied it that made her look so thin. “Again, I don’t see why that matters.”

“Then it should be easy to tell me.”

She glanced toward the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry, even now. She’d lost her appetite when David died. “Breakfast. I had breakfast.”

“Which consisted of…”

“Eggs. Oatmeal. Cereal.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “I don’t know.” It all sounded terrible to her.

A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You haven’t eaten a damn thing.”

“So?” she challenged.

“So where’s your sister?”

“I guess she’s at home. Or working in her shop.”

“She should be here, taking care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of it.”

“All I need is what you’ve got right there.” Again, she motioned to the files.

He glared down at her. “Why do you think Saint David had so much information about your mother?”

“Saint David?”

“Just to let you know I’m clear about his status.”

“You— Never mind.” She curled her fingernails into her palms. “I’m guessing he was investigating her disappearance. I’m sure you’ve looked through those reports. Isn’t that what you’d guess?”

“You didn’t know he was doing it?”

“No. He never said a word about it.”

A funny look came over Isaac’s face, a look that made her believe he was tempted to say more.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He blew out a sigh and held up the files. “How badly do you want this stuff?”

Feeling even more leery, she narrowed her eyes. “How badly do you think?”

“Badly enough to compensate me for the time and effort I put into saving it for you?”

She could feel her heartbeat pulsing in her fingertips, her throat. He was taking a new direction, had made some kind of decision. “What is it you want?”

When he reached for her robe, she thought she already knew. Uncertain as to whether she could let him touch her in David’s house, she stiffened. But he didn’t make any sexual advances. He merely examined the mark he’d left on her neck. “I want the opportunity to redo last night.”