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“Probably.”
After a moment she said, “Daily, we’re agreeing on a point that neither of us believes.”
They were quiet for a while, the only sound on the line being Daily’s wheezing breath. Finally he asked, “I almost forgot—how was Bondurant?”
Her heart executed a flawless swan dive. How was Bondurant? In or out of bed? In bed, he was bloody fabulous. Out… “About what I expected. Hostile. Taciturn.”
“Didn’t greet you with open arms, huh?”
In a manner of speaking, he had. “Well, not exactly.”
“Did he shed any light on the topic?”
“Not a ray. Not on purpose anyway. I’m convinced that there were some strong feelings between him and Vanessa. At least from his side.”
“You think they did the nasty thing?”
“Consummated or not, he’s still emotionally attached. In an unguarded moment, he lamented the hell she must be going through. I presume he was referring to her grief over the baby’s death.”
“Never presume anything, Barrie. Don’t you listen? Don’t you learn? Get the facts.”
“Well, I’m not going back for another round with him, if that’s what you’re suggesting. He told me to forget my story and, short of that, to forget him. I intend to do the latter. I’ll get my story, but I’ll get it sans Bondurant.”
“What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing’s going on with me.” God, she would die if Daily ever found out how she had sacrificed her journalistic integrity and objectivity to several minutes of sexual bliss.
“Okay,” he said without conviction. “You just sound awfully defensive.”
“I’m worried about my story.”
“So you’re sticking with it?”
“Absolutely. Since when does a minor reporter’s employer warrant a visit from the FBI? The more doors that are closed on me, the more convinced I become that somebody has something to hide.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll pick up the trail in Washington. Any news about Vanessa?”
“Same old shit.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow night when I get home. Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he said, not sounding fine at all. “Barrie? If you’ve stumbled over something really ugly… Well, just be careful. Okay?”
His concern was touching and made her homesick for him. Even after hanging up, she kept her hand on the receiver, reluctant to break the emotional contact. Daily was more like family than friend, more of a parent than either of her own had been.
Wearily, she went into the bathroom and began removing her clothes. The mirror over the basin was no kinder than the one above the bedroom dresser. She looked a fright. What was left of her makeup was thirty-six hours old. It was caked in the fine lines around her eyes, which seemed to etch themselves deeper on a daily basis. She was thirty-three. What would she look like at forty-three? Fifty-three? She had no basis for comparison. Her mother hadn’t lived that long.
Barrie pushed aside the shower curtain and turned on the water. She yelped when the shower spray struck her chest and looked down to see what had caused the stings. There were faint, pink abrasions on her breasts. Whisker burns.
God, what had she done?
She ducked her head beneath the nozzle, wishing the hard spray would pound out her memories of Gray Bondurant. Naked, he was lean and tough and supple. His body didn’t have the smooth perfection of youth. It had seen wear and tear. But its dents and dings made it all the more appealing, just as his graying temples and the creases around his eyes made his face more interesting.
She needed rest, she thought, working shampoo lather through her hair. Fatigue and stress were making her emotionally fragile and dangerously reflective. First on Daily. Then on her parents. Now on a tall, rangy man with laser-beam-blue eyes and a cruel mouth.
Didn’t your daddy love you?
