Читать книгу Marriage of Revenge - Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 7

Saturday came too soon. Talia climbed in her sports car, a less expensive model than Aaron owned, and drove to Temecula, a vineyard-covered region in Southwest California, where the Pechanga Resort and Casino was located, an enterprise that provided revenues for tribal members.

She passed the impressive resort and followed the directions on the invitation to Jeannie’s house, a two-story structure with a white fence and a spray of colorful flowers.

Before Talia removed Danny’s gift from the trunk and ventured to the door, she smoothed her chic yet casual ensemble. She’d paired a trendy blouse with designer jeans and chunky-heeled boots that added four inches to her petite frame. She needed to pack a punch today.

She’d never been so nervous.

When she glanced at the other vehicles parked on the street, she noticed Aaron’s Porsche. It shined like a silver bullet with its custom wheels and convertible top. Talia’s car was black, like the onyx pendant around her neck.

She looked around for Thunder’s Hummer, but she didn’t see it. Apparently he and Carrie, his lovely fiancée, hadn’t arrived yet. The interesting thing about Carrie was that she was also Thunder’s ex-wife. They’d been married when they were teenagers, and after an emotional divorce, they’d reunited twenty years later.

Speaking of ex-wives…

She hoped Aaron had warned Jeannie that she was coming. Not that Jeannie wouldn’t be a gracious hostess. She and Talia had been uncomfortably polite to each other at first, but after Jeannie had given up on her troubled marriage and left Aaron, the women weren’t quite so uncomfortable.

After all, they’d ditched the same man.

Then again, Jeannie had moved on with someone else. Talia rarely dated. Instead she focused on her career. Which could be misinterpreted, she supposed, considering that Aaron was her boss. But she’d stayed at SPEC because remaining there had made her stronger. Seeing Aaron every day, especially while he’d been married to another woman, had shaped Talia into the femme fatale she’d always wanted to be. Of course sometimes she faltered.

Like now, she thought.

Finally, she got her emotions in check and removed Danny’s present from her trunk, hoping he was an artistic child. She’d bought him a slew of crayons, markers and kid-inspired paint sets.

She knocked on the door and a fair-haired man answered. He wore a polo-style shirt and slightly faded Levi’s. Medium built and casually attractive, he smiled at her.

“I’m Jim,” he said. “Jeannie’s husband.”

“I’m Talia.” She smiled, too. He seemed kind and genuine. She’d heard that he was a carpenter. To her, it seemed like an honest profession.

“Aaron told us you were coming.”

Thank goodness, she thought. Jim invited her inside, then escorted her to the backyard, where the party was already underway. She took a quick look around and noticed that she and Jim were the only non-Native people there.

Suddenly she wanted to cling to him, but she realized how stupid that was. He was Jeannie’s spouse and Danny’s stepfather. He wasn’t an outsider.

She caught sight of the birthday boy jumping on a trampoline with his friends. She saw Danny every so often at the office. When Aaron, the weekend dad, was swamped with overtime on Friday nights, he brought his son to work, letting him play P.I. at an empty desk.

Jim accepted Danny’s present and put it with the rest of the festively wrapped gifts. Then he offered Talia a soda and directed her to a group of tables where the adult guests were gathered, snacking on chips and dip and waiting for the main entrees to be served.

Talia tried to relax, but she couldn’t. This party had Indian written all over it. In the center of the grass was a big round object, covered with a blanket. She assumed it was a drum.

Aaron spotted her, and their gazes locked from across the yard. He stood and came toward her with long, deliberate strides. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with the casino logo. By the time he reached her, her heart was pounding. He looked deep and dark and ethnic. His raven-colored hair was combed away from his forehead, and his eyes seemed more black than brown.

No wonder his culture was so foreign to her. Until today, she’d never been remotely close, emotionally or physically, to his Apache or Pechanga roots. He’d never offered to bring her into that part of his life.

“You made it,” he said.

“Yes.” She clutched the soda Jim had given her. Was this Aaron’s attempt to make amends for the past? To draw her into his world? Or was he proving, firsthand, that she didn’t belong here? That she would never fit in?

None of the other guests were staring at her, but she could feel their curiosity. An older woman in a brightly colored dress and silver jewelry was scowling. Was she Aaron’s mother?

“I can introduce you to everyone,” he said.

“I already know Jeannie.” She glanced up and saw Aaron’s ex-wife coming out of the house and carrying a casserole dish. Jeannie was graced with a noticeable figure and a braid that flowed to the middle of her back. She wasn’t classically pretty, not by Anglo standards. But Talia thought she was stunning.

“Jeannie isn’t everyone,” he said.

She used to be, Talia thought, recalling how envious she had been of the other woman.

Regardless, Jeannie greeted her first. She thanked Talia for coming, and they gazed at each other in a moment of silence.

Then Jim appeared at his wife’s side, and Talia realized how hard he must have worked to fit in, to be accepted as Danny’s stepfather.

To Talia, it didn’t seem worth it. Especially when she met Aaron’s family. The scowling woman wasn’t his mother. She was his disapproving aunt. His mother was more reserved, offering a proper hello. By no means was she rude. But she didn’t make Talia feel welcome, either.

Her name was Roberta, and she looked about sixty, with mildly graying hair, strong features and pale lipstick. At thirty-nine, Aaron was an only child. He’d given Roberta a grandson she adored, but he hadn’t been a good husband to the boy’s mother. Talia could tell that Roberta wasn’t pleased about that. She’d wanted Aaron and Jeannie to stay together forever.

A short while later, Roberta and her sister engaged in a conversation in their Native tongue, and Talia assumed this was commonplace. That most of the people at the party spoke some sort of Indian language.

Aaron sat closer to Talia than he should have. His shoulder kept bumping hers, and she wanted to push him away. He was bandying around Native words, too. Something she’d never heard him do before.

By the time all of the entrées were served by Jeannie and the women in her family, the kids had been rounded up to eat. Aaron led the group in a blessing of thanks, and Talia remained still. Why hadn’t he ever prayed in front of her before? Why hadn’t he ever blessed the food just the two of them had shared?

Talia picked up her fork. The meal was a combination of Mexican and Native dishes. She ate tamales and enchiladas, with beans and rice on the side. She was curious to try the Native food, but she decided not to indulge, not with Aaron sitting so deliberately close, the heat from his body radiating next to hers.

Finally, Thunder and Carrie arrived. He held his pregnant fiancée’s hand and apologized for being late. Then he greeted everyone individually, hugging his relatives and scooping the birthday boy into his arms.

Danny laughed, and Thunder winked at Carrie. They looked incredible together, Talia thought. It didn’t matter that she was Anglo. Thunder had always dated non-Native women. But his side of the family was open to mixed relationships. His parents, who lived in Arizona, loved Carrie as if she were their own. Of course, Carrie had a miniscule amount of Cherokee blood. But she wasn’t registered with the tribe, so to most Indians, that made her white.

Thunder and Carrie sat at the same table as Aaron and Talia, for which Talia was grateful. Carrie was her ally, a newfound friend. They’d gotten close while the other woman had been struggling to reunite with Thunder.

“It’s good to see you,” Carrie said, her highlighted hair blowing softly around her face.

“You, too.” Talia tried not to let down her guard, to make everyone aware of how much Carrie’s presence meant to her. But she sensed that Carrie knew. They’d confided in each other about the men they loved.

Or used to love, Talia corrected in regard to herself. She wouldn’t dare feel that way about Aaron again.

After the meal, the gathering turned traditional. Talia was right; the blanketed object was a drum. Aaron uncovered it, and he and a group of men sat in a circle around it and burned a fragrant herb.

A burning bundle of the same herb was passed among the guests, too. “It’s sage,” Carrie whispered to her. “You can purify yourself with it. Or you can choose not to. No one will be offended.”

“Because I’m not one of them?” she whispered back.

Carrie gave her a sympathetic look, and when the sage came Talia’s way, she didn’t fan the smoke over herself the way everyone else did. She was too uncomfortable to try to fit in, so she passed the small, yarn-wrapped bundle to the person beside her without participating. Aaron chose that moment to glance up at her. Talia held his gaze for as long as she could. And then he blinked and looked away, as though he shouldn’t have been watching her from his sacred spot at the drum.

Soon the men were singing. They started with “Happy Birthday,” honoring Aaron’s young son with a thumping beat. He grinned like the sweet child he was.

Talia’s heart reacted with a maternal ache. She used to imagine having children with Aaron. Danny, with his silky dark hair and warm brown eyes, should have been their little boy.

The songs that followed sounded like chants. Most of the partygoers danced, moving in a rhythmic circle. Thunder and Carrie offered to teach Talia the steps, but she declined, concerned about drawing attention to herself.

When the singers took a break, the cake was served and Danny opened his gifts, with friends and family gathered around him. He thanked everyone, going from guest to guest, doling out hugs. When he embraced Talia, she wanted to cry. But she forced a smile instead, keeping her ache deep inside.

After the singers, including Aaron, returned to the drum, Talia decided it was time for her to leave. She said goodbye to Thunder, Carrie and Danny, then she thanked Jeannie and Jim for their hospitality. They were gracious, and their kindness made the ache inside her grow even deeper.

When she walked away, she wondered if Aaron was watching her again. She wasn’t about to turn around and find out.

Talia left without looking back, even though the sound of his voice and the tribal song he was singing stayed with her.

Long after she went to bed that night.

Aaron didn’t bother to knock. On Monday morning, he walked straight into Talia’s office, knowing he would tick her off.

With the phone pressed to her ear, she looked up and glared at him. He ignored her polarized expression and sat in a chair that faced her desk. Her office wasn’t as upscale as his, but she’d added feminine touches. Pretty dust collectors, he supposed. He’d always been aroused by the ladylike things she kept around. The gun she carried, a pearl-handled pistol, turned him on but good. Not that it should. The snub-nosed .38 was a weapon she would probably like to use on him.

Aaron cringed at the thought, imagining her aiming it at his fly.

She finished her call, and he slid a paper plate covered in aluminum foil toward her.

“What’s that?”

“Open it and find out.”

“Fine.” She lifted a corner of the foil. “Indian food?”

“Fry bread left over from the party.”

“If I didn’t eat it there, why would I want it now?”

He tore off a chunk and tried to feed it to her. The powdered sugar had caramelized. “Because it’s greasy and good.”

She waved him away. “Knock it off.”

“And you wonder why I didn’t marry you. My aunt thought you were a bitch.”

“Really?” That got her goat. “Well, I thought she was a bitch, too.”

Sometimes she was, but he kept that thought to himself. He ate the piece of fry bread Talia had refused, and she shifted in her chair.

“What did your mother think of me?” she asked.

“She didn’t trust you. You’re too La Femme Nikita for her tastes.”

She flipped her hair. “I try.”

“Don’t I know.” He wanted to make breathless love to her. Today she was wearing a blouse that rivaled the cobalt color of her eyes, and her skirt exposed just the right amount of thigh.

“Why did you invite me, Aaron?”

“To the party?” He caught a glimpse of lacy camisole beneath her blouse. “Because you complained about not meeting my family.”

“And now I have.”

“Yes, you have.” He covered the fry bread. “And it didn’t make a difference, did it?”

“Which means what? That you’re off the hook for hurting me? Nice try, but life doesn’t work that way.”

He smiled, keeping it thin and sharp. “You’re not over me, Tai.”

Her skin almost paled. “You wish.”

He argued his point. “If you didn’t care about me, you wouldn’t be holding a grudge.” He picked up a glass figurine from her desk. It was shaped like a butterfly. He traced each fragile wing, memories assaulting his mind. Talia had a tattoo of a butterfly on her bikini line. He’d been with her when she’d gotten it.

“Put that down,” she told him.

“Why?”

“So you don’t break it.”

“I’m being careful.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Part of him wanted to shatter the butterfly. Talia hadn’t made the slightest effort at the party. She hadn’t even tried to make a favorable impression.

He set down the figurine. If he didn’t, he would break it, snap its delicate wings in half. “Where’s the Gamblers Anonymous list?”

She opened a file on her computer. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what? Change the subject without warning you? Would you rather talk about how not-over-me you are?”

“Go to hell.”

As if he hadn’t been there already. After Talia walked out on him, he’d saddled up with Satan too many times to count.

She activated her printer and handed him a copy of the Nevada GA list she’d compiled. “Happy?”

“Are you?” he shot back.

“Ecstatic,” she droned. “I can’t wait to become your phony wife.”

“We’re going to sleep in the same room.”

“Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged.”

“How? Are you going to contract Julia and Miriam’s hit man to do me in?”

“If only I could. We don’t even know who he is.” Suddenly he thought about the person who’d asked them to help the FBI find Julia and Miriam. Thunder’s brother, Dylan, was the concerned party. Dylan had inadvertently rescued Julia from a kidnapping just days before she and her mother had disappeared, and now he was tangled up in their lives. Dylan even felt guilty about the assassin, but that was a long story.

“I don’t need to hire someone to take you out,” Talia said. “I could do it myself.”

“Go ahead and try,” he retorted. “Better yet, you can do it while we’re sharing a room.”

“I’m serious about that, Aaron.”

“So am I. It’s part of our cover.”

“Bull.”

“If we’re going to pull this off, if we’re going to become a married couple, then we have to behave accordingly, to get into character, to make our cover believable.” He glanced at the fragile butterfly, itching to touch it again, to threaten to break it. “We’re not going to blow this, Talia. We’re not going to put our lives on the line.”

She gave him a cynical look. “No matter how much we want to waste each other?”

Touché, Aaron thought, recalling her pearl-handled gun. “We’re going to pose as a couple on vacation in Nevada. I’ve been working on the details.” He paused, explained further. “I’ve got a makeup man on the payroll who will teach us how to change the way we look, just to be sure that the assassin doesn’t recognize us. We don’t know who he is, but he might know who we are.”

“I don’t mind changing my appearance.”

He took an unabashed gander at her. “I’m still deciding on the color of your hair.”

“Red,” she told him.

“We’ll see.” He wanted to tug her head back, to use her hair to rein her in. “SPEC will provide us with new identities, but I’ll make sure the feds approve them.”

“How long will we be gone?”

“Two weeks. Three if we need more time. I’ll make the travel arrangements.”

“I’ll be there with wedding bells on.” She fluttered her lashes, then mocked him with a breathy seduction. “I can’t wait to shack up with my husband.”

He didn’t appreciate her rotten-tempered wit. He stood and left her office, wanting to choke himself with his tie, right before he strangled her with it.

There was nothing funny about how badly he wanted to check into a hotel with her.

Nothing at all.