Читать книгу That Night We Made Baby - Mary Wilson Anne - Страница 12

For a minute Sam thought her mind was playing tricks on her, that she’d imagined hearing her married name. Until she stepped into the car and the small man asked, “You are Mrs. Viera, aren’t you?”

She didn’t recognize him. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“Simon Curtis,” he murmured. “We met at a gathering at Judge Wagner’s place last July fourth?”

She remembered fireworks and music and a lot of people. Nick knew so many people. He drew them like a magnet, just the way he had drawn her at first. “Oh, of course,” she said, being polite and not because she remembered him. “How are you?”

“Just checking in on an associate. How are you?”

“Fine.” She lied.

“And your painting, how is that going?”

“Fine, thank you,” she said, thankful to get her mind on better things. “I might be having a show at the Berry Gallery.”

“Oh, my, that’s very impressive. I was there for a show last year, and, my dear, it’s a wonderful place to display your work.”

“Oh, I know. It’s not set yet, but they’re very interested.”

“Your husband must be very proud of you.” He smiled at her. “I could tell when you were together at the party that you two were special together. I’m just so pleased that it’s all working out so nicely.”

His words were like a blow to her.

She stared at the flash of floor numbers as the elevator descended. “We’re divorcing,” she said bluntly, just to get out the words she’d said before, words that now sounded incredibly horrible in the confines of the elevator.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought…I really am very sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known,” she murmured.

The elevator stopped at the second floor and Mr. Curtis hesitated as the doors opened. His clear blue eyes looked sad. “My dear, it was lovely seeing you again. I do hope that you have great success with your art, and that you find what you’re looking for.”

Her fingers crushed the envelope that held her divorce papers. “Thank you,” she said, not at all sure what she was looking for anymore.

He bowed, an old-fashioned gesture, then turned and stepped out. The doors closed and Sam was alone, very alone. She hadn’t cried much since leaving Nick, having known that she’d made a mistake and had to go on with her life alone, like always. But right then her eyes burned and she swiped a hand over her face.

When the elevator opened to the parking area, she headed for her rental car. As she neared the small blue vehicle, she realized that she was shaking.

She got into the car, tossed the envelope and her purse onto the passenger seat, then closed the door. Inserting the key in the ignition, she started the motor, then as easily as it started, it died. She tried again, but this time it coughed, clicked and wouldn’t even turn over. Three more tries only met with a cranking sound. And then nothing.

The curse she uttered rattled in the confines of the car. If she had never left Jensen Pass, if she had never agreed to come to Los Angeles to talk to the gallery owner, if Mrs. Douglas hadn’t called with the message…. If…if…if…

She jumped when someone rapped sharply on the window. She turned and acknowledged how screwy the day had become when she found herself looking out at Nick.

Nick had stayed in Danforth’s office long enough to get a drink of cold water, sign the myriad of papers and tell Danforth that he was going home to go to bed. But when he stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage, he heard the cranking of an engine and stopped by the little blue car to lend a hand. He was surprised to see the driver was Sam.

He motioned for her to roll down the window. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“So did I,” she muttered as she sat back and took one swipe at the steering wheel with the flat of her hand. “The car won’t start. Stupid machine.”

This was so familiar to him, it was like a warm wave of the past rolling over him, a seductive wave that beckoned to him. Sam in a car that she’d disabled by some means, a perfectly good car until she got in behind the wheel and had her way with it. “Necessary evils?”

Her eyes flashed and she nodded. “I knew I should have just used taxis.” She bit her lip. “I thought renting a car would be a good idea. It’s dead. It won’t start at all.”

“This might seem like a dumb question, but do you have gas?”

“I just filled it,” she said.

“You’ve got the gear shift in Park?”

She glanced between the seats, then back at him. “It’s right on the ‘P’, as in Park.”

He crouched down by the door, bringing himself to eye level with her as he gripped the window frame with both of his hands to keep his balance. “And the key…?”

“Yes, yes, I have the right key,” she muttered.

“Just checking,” he said, not about to remind her of the time she’d sat in his Jeep for a good five minutes trying to figure out why the key wouldn’t fit in the ignition. He’d finally rescued her by pointing out that the house key wasn’t meant to be used for the car. Despite feeling like death warmed over, he could sense a smile forming and tried to hide it. “Sorry, I had to ask.”

“It’s the car key, not the hotel key. Those plastics cards don’t even begin to fit.”

Her tension was easing, and there was the echo of a smile at her full lips. God, he hoped against hope that her smile wouldn’t find its full expression. He remembered its effect on him from the past, and he didn’t need that now.

“Good point,” he said softly.

“Besides, all your keys looked alike, and any car you had was so damned complicated.” The suggestion of the smile was gone. “I’m just not mechanical.”

He’d forgotten how it felt to spar with Sam and tease her. Even his persistent headache didn’t kill the pleasure. “Not being mechanical doesn’t explain hitting curbs and blowing out tires,” he said.

“I did that one time. That’s it.”

“No arrests for reckless driving lately?”

Sam stared at Nick, the past washing over her. She hated this car, and hated being stuck here, hated the fact that she was so damned aware of Nick’s hands gripping the door frame. Strong hands. Hands that had touched her so softly. She exhaled in a rush and muttered, “I wasn’t actually arrested, and you know it.”

“I made sure you weren’t.”

“The damned car just won’t start.” She noticed the paleness that tinged his complexion and the way his hair clung to his temples. “Are you sick?”

“I’ve felt better.”

“Then why don’t you just go home? You don’t look well, and I need to get ahold of the car rental company.”

“I’ve just got a touch of the flu. Nothing big.”

“Well, you look terrible,” she said, not about to mention that even sick, the man was striking. Instead, she turned from him, reached for her purse and took out the car rental packet. “There has to be a pay phone around here,” she said.

She sensed him shift and when she looked back at him, he was holding out a tiny cell phone to her. “Be my guest.” When she hesitated, he shrugged. “No germs, I promise.”

She took the phone and punched in the number. When she got in touch with the rental company, they promised to send out a replacement car, but they had a two-hour wait on any service right then. She gave them the address, told them to pick up the car, keep the replacement car and she’d take a taxi. She closed the phone and turned back to Nick. Thankfully, he was standing straight now and back a few feet from the car door.

“Cabs in L.A. are few and far between, and this time of day…” He shook his head slightly. “That’s not going to be easy.”

She picked up her purse, left the keys in the ignition and got out. “I’ve found a taxi in this city before,” she muttered as she slammed the door shut.

“So, you have,” he said.

She faced Nick. In the harsh overhead light, she could see things she hadn’t noticed in Danforth’s office. The fine lines at his eyes, the faint paleness that was there despite a tan, and the fact that the top button on his shirt was open, the tie gone. He really didn’t look well. It bothered her a lot that she felt real concern and maybe a bit of protectiveness toward the man. She didn’t want that at all.

“Here, and thanks,” she said, holding the phone out to him.

His fingers brushed hers as he took the small case, and she jerked back, thankful that he had a hold on the phone before she reacted.

“Can I suggest something?” He moved back a half pace, leaning his hips against a gunmetal gray Mercedes convertible behind him.

“What is it?”

“I’ve got a car. I’ll drive you to your hotel. No need to risk your life getting a taxi.”

Reasonable, logical Nicholas. Saying things she couldn’t rebut, things that made sense, but left her feeling helpless. “I don’t know.”

“I won’t cough on you, I promise.”

“You really do look awful,” she said without thinking.

He smiled a bit weakly, but it still jolted her slightly. “Thanks, I needed that,” he murmured, and as he spoke the smile was gone, replaced by a slight grimace and narrowing of his eyes. “You, on the other hand, look fantastic. Small town life must really agree with you.”

“Jensen Pass is not that small,” she said, “and you need to sit down.”

“I’d be glad to sit, if you’d make up your mind about the ride.”

She’d never known him to be sick before, but then again, she hadn’t known him for very long. “Maybe I should drive.”

She was worried there’d be another smile, but it never came. He passed a hand roughly over his face, then exhaled. “I’ll drive,” he said, his eyes narrowed even more, as if the harsh light in the garage was bothering him. “You’re coming?”

“Yes,” she said.

He turned and reached for the door handle of the gray Mercedes he’d been leaning against. A sleek, sports convertible that fit him perfectly. She should have known he’d be driving a car like this. “A new car?”

He opened the door and stood back. “Yes, and I want to keep it in one piece.”

“I’m not that bad a—”

He cut her off with a touch on her shoulder. “Get in. We aren’t going to argue about your driving skills right now.”

His fingers felt hot against her skin, shocking her, and she darted him a look before slipping into the luxurious leather interior and away from his touch. When he got inside with her, a scent she’d forgotten existed surrounded her—that mingling of mellow aftershave Nick always wore and a certain maleness that had always seemed to be all his.

She tried not to inhale too deeply and glanced away from Nick, down at the console between the seats. Something bright caught her attention in a sea of wood tones and leathers. Something small and glittery gold. A present. The size of a ring box. She looked away quickly, but not quick enough. Nick was watching her, but said nothing. She turned from him, realized that her stomach was tight and just stopped herself before she pressed a hand to her middle.

A ring box. Why did the idea of another woman in Nick’s life feel so horrible for her? She hadn’t been stupid enough to think he’d be without a woman for long. And she certainly wasn’t in his life any longer, and as soon as she signed the papers, everything would be done. But she couldn’t deny that it hurt a bit to have him heading into another relationship so quickly. Maybe that was why he’d shown up here to get the papers signed despite his being so sick.

She almost jumped out of her skin when he spoke again. “Where to?”

She told him which hotel, then he drove slowly out into the heavy afternoon traffic. Fingering the leather covered steering wheel, he inhaled audibly before speaking again. “So, you’re doing good?”

“Yes, and you?”

“Good, fine, busy.”

“That’s good. You like that, keeping busy.”

“Sometimes.” He rubbed the back of his neck and rotated his head slowly. “Today I could have used a calmer agenda.”

“Been in court all day?”

He cast her a sideways glance, the hazel eyes muffled by the dark lashes and the way his lids lowered slightly. “All day. Three cases.” He looked away. “I really messed up one case. The guy’s going to trial and I should have been able to cut a deal.”

Déjà vu. This could have been happening last summer, Nick tired from court, her listening to him, watching him wind down, then having her time with him. She stopped the thoughts, veering away from how they spent their time together. “I’m sure you’ll get him off even if it goes to trial,” she said. “Even if he’s a serial killer.”

“No serial killer,” Nick said.

“What did he do, burglary, rape, terrorism?”

“Bad checks.”

“Oh,” she said, biting her lip, killing a strange urge to laugh.

“Oh? That’s it?”

She looked at him now, and was startled at how tense he looked. His jaw was set and the brackets at his mouth were deeper with no trace of humor. It killed any laughter in her. “What do you want me to say? Is he innocent? I didn’t think that was a consideration for you. I wasn’t innocent.”

“No, you weren’t, were you?”

“Not even close. I didn’t mean to do anything, but I did it. I did it for good reasons, but that didn’t matter, did it?”

The traffic came to a dead stop before they reached the freeway. “We all do things for good reasons, then realize that we’ve messed up big time,” he said.

She looked away from him, his words too close to the past for her comfort. “I’m not so unique, am I?”

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” he muttered.

She looked back at him as he ran his hand over his face and she could see a thin film of moisture on his skin. “Nick, are you—?”

He hit the steering wheel with the flat of his hand, cutting off her words at the same time a siren sounded outside. “Just what I need,” he ground out as he stopped the car.

It was then she realized how crowded the street was and the fact that no one was moving except for a police car with its siren going, weaving in and out of the cars on the clogged street. The sirens wailed, then faded off as the squad car headed west and Nick reached for his cell phone. She had no idea who he called, but she heard him say where they were, then ask what was going on. He listened, then closed the phone and dropped it on the console.

“What is it?” she asked, straining to see in front of them.

“We aren’t going to be able to go this way for quite a while.” He sank back in the seat and exhaled. “There’s an incident near the freeway, and the police have the area shut down completely.”

“An incident?” she asked.

He looked around as he spoke. “Probably a standoff or an arrest or the ever popular slow speed chase. Whatever it is, the whole place is shut down tight.”

“You could get a new client, maybe,” she said.

The joke fell flat as he darted her a sharp glance. “I’ll leave that up to the ambulance chasers,” he said tightly, then turned toward her, his arm moving in her direction.

She wondered if he was going to put his arm around her. But was incredibly relieved when he gripped the back of her seat, twisted and looked behind him. “We’ll find an alternate route,” he said as he eased out of their lane, and off onto a side street.

She watched him, not missing the way he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, or the way he kept exhaling heavily. “Nick, you’re sick. Just let me drive.”

He glanced at her, those hazel eyes narrowed on her. “I’m sick, not crazy,” he said, but softened his words with a slight smile. “I’m also dying of thirst.”

“Then stop for a drink, and I can take a cab.” She spotted a row of small restaurants ahead of them. “Just stop at one of them, and I’ll find a cab.”

“Not a bad idea,” he said almost under his breath as he eased the car to the side of the street.

Sam looked to her right and saw he’d stopped in front of a small Italian restaurant with valet parking. An attendant was at the driver’s side before the car completely came to a stop.

“Okay,” she said, wishing she wasn’t so aware of the very faint shadow of a new beard at his jawline. “I can call a cab from the restaurant,” she said.

He turned around, shifting to grip the steering wheel with both hands, but his eyes never left her. “Sure, whatever. Let’s just get inside, okay?”