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“William—William knows about—about Liam?”
“Certainly he knows. That man called from the airport. We know you and he flew to Florida. Together.”
Each word was a brand and an accusation. “Carrie.” Jessie took a breath, expelled it and rose to her feet. “Put William on the phone, please.”
“I don’t know that he’ll want to talk with you.”
“Maybe not. But ask him, will you?”
“He’s busy. If he has time later, maybe he’ll call you back.”
The line went dead. Slowly, Jessie hung up the phone. William couldn’t call, not without her phone number, and Carrie hadn’t requested it.
Something had changed while she’d been gone, some delicate shift of power and loyalty. Jessie thought about it for a minute. Not that it mattered. William might, in fact, despise her, refuse to see her. He certainly had the right.
Still, she had to face him.
Jessie put on her jacket, picked up her car keys and locked the door to her room behind her.
* * *
LIAM PULLED TO THE CURB just before Bill’s driveway and sat staring straight ahead as the car idled.
“Come on, Malone,” he muttered, “get it together.”
He had to before he faced Bill. It had all seemed so clear back on Flamingo Island. Confront Bill, explain that what had happened was nobody’s fault but his, that he’d never intended to betray their friendship, wish him well and walk away. He’d worked it all out during a couple of endless hours spent pacing the first-class lounge at the Miami airport, refined it during almost six hours of flying time.
So how come he still didn’t know what he’d say when Bill opened the door?
Liam smiled grimly. All things considered, he might not have to worry about it. He’d ring the bell, Bill would open the door and their conversation would begin and end with Bill delivering a hard right to Liam’s jaw.
That was what he’d do, if a man stole Jessie from him. Not that one punch would do it. He’d want to kill the bastard. Jessie was his. She’d always be his. Nobody could ever take her from…
Liam crossed his hands on the steering wheel and pressed his forehead to his wrists.
She wasn’t his. That was the point of this whole infuriating exercise. He’d come back to acknowledge the truth, that he had no claim on Jessie, even though he’d never stop loving her, that he was the worst friend a man had ever had, a lying, cheating, double-dealing, no-good bastard.
“Just admit you’re a rat,” he muttered, “and then get the hell out.”
He straightened in his seat, put the car in gear, shot up the driveway—and looked up just in time to see a small white car come hurtling up behind him.
“Son of a—”
He jammed his foot on the brake pedal, felt the jolt and heard the glass breaking as the white car’s headlights shattered. He threw open the door and jumped out.
“Damned idiot,” he snarled, as he strode toward the other car. “Where’d you learn to drive?” This jerk needed driving lessons. That was fine. Better than fine, considering his mood. If Bill slugged him, he couldn’t slug back, but if this idiot so much as made a sound—
“Get out of there,” Liam said. He yanked open the door, reached in…and saw Jessie. Her face was pale, her eyes were red rimmed. From tears, he knew, because he’d cried, too, in his heart, and he knew, too, that the person he’d really been lying to was himself.
No matter what happened, he would never let her leave him again.
“Jessie,” he said, and she was in his arms before her name had left his lips.
“Liam,” she sobbed. “Oh, Liam, my love.”
“Why did you leave me?”
“Why didn’t you come after me?”
