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Never.
He’d ripped out her heart.
He’d let her traipse into Carla’s office like a lamb going to slaughter and followed it up by making it crystal clear he was tired of playing the martyr. He wanted her to turn into Fallon O’Connell again, the Fallon O’Connell, and just in case the message wasn’t clear enough, he’d gotten her the names of not one but two surgeons.
He’d probably expected her to throw herself into his arms with gratitude.
The stupid, insensitive, heartless son of a bitch!
All that nonsense about wanting her for herself, about seeing who she really was…
She reached the corner as the light turned red. Traffic ground through the clogged intersection; caught in the knot of impatient pedestrians on the sidewalk, Fallon choked back an angry sob.
She knew who she was. She was a woman with a scarred face and a liar for a lover, and the sooner she took back control of her life—
“Fallon? Fallon!”
Fallon craned her neck and looked back. Stefano was running toward her. He looked upset and angry.
Angry? What did he have to be angry about?
The light was still red, cars were moving bumper to bumper, but she darted off the curb and dodged through them. Horns blared, drivers cursed.
Fallon didn’t care.
All she wanted was to get away.
“Fallon,” Stefano shouted, “damn it, stop! Have you gone crazy?”
Maybe she had been crazy. Now, she was sane. She didn’t want to see him, hear his lies, look into his eyes and know what a fool she’d been to have fallen in love with him.
Another intersection. Another red light—and an empty taxi, idling at the head of a long line of vehicles. Fallon dashed for the cab, pulled the door open and hurled herself inside.
“Drive,” she gasped.
The cabbie shot her a look in the mirror. “Where to?”
“Anywhere. Just get moving.”
She looked back. Stefano was halfway to the corner. He was panting, running hard, still shouting her name. People were staring at him, even blasé New Yorkers who’d long ago learned that the secret to survival was not to see anything you didn’t want to see.
“Just go,” she said urgently.
The light changed. The cabbie glanced in the mirror again.
“I don’ wan’ no trouble, miss.”
“No trouble. See that man? He’s—he’s my husband. I found him with another woman. I’ll give you an extra twenty if he doesn’t catch us.”
Stefano was almost at the cab. His face was red. “Fallon!” he yelled.
“Fifty dollars,” she said desperately. “Fifty dollars to get me out of here.”
The cabbie nodded, stepped on the gas and left Fifth Avenue and Stefano Lucchesi far behind.
* * *
Two blocks later, Fallon told the driver to take her to La Guardia airport.
Going to her apartment was out of the question. That was surely the first place Stefano would check. The airport was safer.
She was lucky. A flight to Vegas was about to board and yes, there was a seat left.
An hour into the flight, Fallon made three phone calls. One to her agent, one to Carla’s office at Bridal Dreams, one to the concierge at her apartment building in Soho.
“Jackie?” she said, when her agent answered, “it’s Fallon. In case you need me, I’ll be in London for a week or so.”
“Why would I need you?” Jackie asked in bewilderment, but Fallon had already broken the connection.
Next, she called Carla’s office.
“In case Carla didn’t mention it,” Fallon told her secretary, “I quit.”
The girl laughed. “So does anybody with half a brain. You want to pick up your check or should I mail it?”
“Actually, I’ll be in San Francisco for a couple of weeks. I’ll pick it up when I get back.”
Setting up the final diversion was the simplest.
“Jason,” she told the concierge in the building where she owned a condo, “it’s Fallon O’Connell. I know, I know. Well, I’ve been—I’ve been away. And I’m going away again. Tokyo. Right. So if anyone should come looking for me…Thanks. That should do just fine.”
She hung up the phone. The west coast, the Far East and the United Kingdom. Stefano would keep his minions busy for a while. By the time he figured out she really had no wish to see him again, his interest in finding her would have vanished.
The man was in the middle of a losing streak. Neither of his last two women had lasted very long, and both had walked out on him.
That, at least, was some satisfaction. But the truth was, sooner or later, he wouldn’t even remember her.
Never mind.
Right now, she had to think about what she’d say to her mother when she reached Vegas.
Hi, Ma, here I am and oh, yes, my face is a mess, isn’t it?
Hi, Ma, it’s me and why would you think something was wrong just because I’ve turned up on your doorstep without so much as a toothbrush?
Fallon closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She’d offer a simple story. No details, no dramatics and above all, no tears.
Not one.
She thought it was an excellent plan until her mother opened the door to the O’Connell penthouse at the Desert Song Hotel and Casino, took one look at her and said, “Oh, Fallon. Oh, my darling girl…”
“Oh, Ma,” Fallon sobbed, and flung herself into her mother’s waiting arms.
* * *
A week later, Mary Elizabeth O’Connell Coyle and her husband, Dan, stood close together in their bedroom, whispering like children plotting.
“I don’t know what to do with her,” Mary said. “She’s always been so logical, so focused. Now she stays in the guest room and hardly comes out.”
“Well, the accident…”
‘No, it’s not that. What happened must have devastated her—God knows, it did me—but I can tell that she’s come to grips with the scars. It’s something else, an ache inside her that goes deeper than the wounds left by the accident.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She mentioned a man’s name when she came here last week. She said he was a particularly persistent reporter and if he phoned, I was to say I had no idea where she was.”
“Well, that makes sense. Those vermin would sell their own mothers for a buck.”
“No, this is different. She got this sad look when she mentioned him. He’s no reporter, Daniel. Fallon wants to avoid him, but I’m sure it’s for more personal reasons.”
“You think he hurt her?” Dan narrowed his eyes. He had his own grown children but Mary’s were almost as dear to him. “Tell me his name. I’ll find the bastard and teach him what it means to hurt a girl of ours.”
Mary smiled. Who’d ever have imagined, at this stage in her life, she’d find another wonderful man to love?
“I know you would,” she said gently, “but I really don’t think that’s the solution for this kind of hurt.”
“Well then, what is?”
“I don’t know.” Mary sighed. “Fallon’s always been so independent. Even when she was little. ‘What’s the matter?’ I’d say, if I found her looking upset, and she’d say, ‘Nothing’s the matter, Mother,’ in a tone that made it clear she wanted me to mind my own business.”
“Stubborn.”
“Very.”
Dan grinned. “I can’t imagine where she’d get such a trait, Duchess. Can you?”
Mary laughed softly. Almost everyone who knew her referred to her as the duchess but few said it to her face. Her sons did, and now Daniel, and she loved the term of affection on his lips.
“I know. She’s like me, more so than any of my daughters. But I feel useless.”
“Fallon’s tough. She’s got your genes. All she needs is a little time.”
“Ah, but time slips away so easily. You and I have lived long enough to know that.”
Dan sighed and drew his wife close. “Wel
l, I don’t know what other options you have, dear. She’s a grown woman.”
“You’re right.” Mary patted Dan’s chest, then stepped back. “Go on. I know you have a security meeting scheduled.”
“Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. Fallon and I will have coffee, and I’ll see if I can get her to talk to me.”
“And if she won’t?”
“Then I’ll talk to her. See if I can get her Irish up. A little anger would be better than moping.”
Dan chuckled.
“What?” Mary said.
“Felonious mopery. That’s what we used to call it when I was on the job in New York, if you saw some guy just hanging around the streets, doing nothing. Felonious mopery.”
“Police talk for what ails my daughter,” Mary said, and laughed. They smiled at each other. Then she smoothed down the collar of her husband’s shirt. “I have to do something about it, of course.”
“Of course. But what?”
Mary shrugged her shoulders. “Something,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Mary. Look at me.”
Daniel put his hand under his wife’s chin and lifted her face to his.
“Go on,” she said gently. “Go to that meeting. I’ll see you later.”
“Why do I get the feeling I ought to stay right here?”
“Because you still have the instincts of a policeman. And those same instincts should tell you there are times it’s better to know as little as possible about a situation.”
Daniel gave a deep sigh. “I’ll be in my office downstairs, Duchess, if you need me.”
