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It was silly really. She slid into her chair and waited as he poured them each a glass of wine. The clear chardonnay reflec
ted the candlelight as it splashed into the bottom of her glass.
Oh, Lord, she would miss him, she realized with a sinking feeling that swept into the farthest reaches of her heart. She’d gotten used to him, looked forward to his laughter and his lovemaking.
He touched the rim of his wineglass to hers. “To marriage,” he said, and her heart felt as if it had been smashed into a thousand painful shards. He was kidding, of course.
She painted on another false smile and said, “And to divorce.”
“Can’t wait to get rid of me, eh?” he asked, and she thought she saw a shadow of pain cross his eyes.
“As soon as possible.” Tossing back the cool wine, she imagined the small circle of gold around her ring finger, and her throat grew so thick she could barely swallow. A new, fresh pain cut through her at the thought that no matter what, soon Trent would be just another murky memory in her mind.
They finished dinner in silence, each wrapped in private thoughts. As she put the dishes in the dishwasher, he started a fire, and they finished the bottle of wine with their backs propped against the couch and the flames crackling against dried moss.
When he turned to her, it was as natural as the wind shifting over the sea. His lips settled over hers and she fought a tide of tears that stung her lashes. His arms were strong and comforting, his hands possessive.
He slipped the buttons of her blouse from their bindings and she gave herself to him, body and soul, knowing deep in her heart that she’d never love another man with the same blind passion that now ruled her spirit as well as her life.
She was his wife. If only for a few more days. If only because of the lie that bound them together and would, as surely as the moon tugged at the currents in the sea, pull them apart.
* * *
Nikki woke up with a start. Sweat streamed down her back, and her heart was pounding a thousand beats a minute. The nightmare had stolen into her sleep, burning through her conscious and terrifying her. Even now, snuggled against Trent, one of his arms flung around her, she shivered. Would the fear never go away?
She glanced at the clock and groaned. Four-thirty. The bed, tucked in the corner under the eaves, was warm, rumpled, smelling of sex and Trent, and through the window she saw stars, clear and bright, glittering above the city.
Letting out a long breath, she cuddled against Trent, when suddenly the memory slammed into her like a freight train running out of control. She remembered what she’d done with the Crowley file. The last wisps of her fear disappeared like night melting into the dawn. She slid from the bed. Trent growled and rolled over, his breathing never disturbed. Tossing on her robe, she walked to her computer, not bothering with lights. A few glowing embers smoldered in the fireplace, casting red shadows on candles that had burned down to pools of blue wax, their flames long ago extinguished, the wine bottle left empty on the coffee table, the wrinkled afghan where they’d made love left carelessly on the floor.
Her heart caught for a second before she told herself to quit being a romantic fool. She had work to do. On the day before she’d left for Salvaje, the very day she’d argued violently with her father, she’d decided to hide her information on Crowley, just in case someone from the Observer, or someone in Crowley’s employ, wanted to know what she was up to. She’d carefully hidden all her notes and the computer disk in a box of Christmas ornaments on the floor of one of the closets tucked under the eaves.
Quietly, she opened the closet door and yanked on the hanging chain dangling from the exposed rafters. With a bare bulb for illumination, she worked around the mousetraps and pulled out a heavy box with the stand for the tree, then dug through another crate filled with ornaments and lights.
On the very bottom, tucked in a cardboard envelope, was the disk. In a manila folder were her notes. “Son of a gun,” she whispered, pleased that her memory had finally come through. Leaving the closet door open, she carried her prize to the desk and snapped on the green-shaded banker’s light.
Trent snored softly and rolled over again.
Almost afraid of what she might find, she clicked on the computer, and as it hummed to life, she rifled through old newspaper articles, magazine clippings and her own notes. “Great stuff,” she congratulated herself. She felt a sudden sense of pride in her job and in her life, and she wanted to share it all with Trent.
She glanced over to the bed. He’d blinked his eyes open and was watching her, his black hair mussed, his beard dark, his naked torso bronze in the reflection of the dying embers. Stretching, he glanced at the clock and groaned. “You’re out of your mind, Carrothers,” he said, patting the warm spot on the bed that she’d recently vacated.
“I know, but I remembered!”
“Hallelujah!” he growled sarcastically as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Couldn’t it wait?”
“No way.” She held up the old articles and pictures. “Evidence, McKenzie. That’s what this is.”
He levered up on one elbow and his brows drew over his eyes. “You’re sure?”
“I think so. My guess is that good ol’ Diamond Jim owes favors to some of the most influential businessmen in Tokyo, Seoul and Hong Kong.” She couldn’t restrain a smile of pride as she flipped through the articles taken from newspapers around the world.
“You’ve got old news,” he said. “People have been trying to tie Crowley to a bribery scandal for years. Nothing ever sticks.”
“This will,” she said, as she skimmed her notes. “What ties it all together is a tip I received from someone who used to work for him. He claims that the senator did all his dirty deals, taking the cash and laundering it into a Swiss bank account, through a small island in the Caribbean.”
“Let me guess,” Trent said, his eyes no longer slumberous, every sinewy muscle of his shoulders and chest tense. “Salvaje.”
“Bingo,” she whispered. “That’s why I was down there.” She glanced through the window to the lights of the city winking through the trees. “That’s why he tried to have me killed.”
