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“Salvaje’s an interesting place. Semitropical. Warm. I’d like to go back someday.”
Her father’s lower lip protruded. “What about Jim Crowley?” Nikki’s insides jelled and she looked up sharply, but her father just seemed to be making conversation as he swirled the remainder of his ale in his mug. “I know he was down there at the same time as you. I thought you might be dogging him.”
“I was on my honeymoon, Dad,” she said. “I didn’t even talk to him.” Nikki’s tongue felt thick and twisted as she tried to evade the issue without lying to her father.
“He’s…well, he’s not really a friend of mine, but I know him. I’ve done business with his law firm for years. I deal with his son, James, Jr. Hell of an attorney. Smart as a whip.”
“What you’re saying, Dad, is that because Jim’s son is a great attorney, I should back off on any story dealing with the senator. Especially if it shows our favorite son in a bad light?”
“Just don’t hound the man, Nikki.” Ted tossed back the remaining drops of his dark beer. “You people with the press, always digging, always looking for dirt.”
“He’s a politician, Dad.”
“So he asked for it?”
“So he’s got to keep his constituents’ best interests at heart. He can’t be playing to special interest groups and he’s got to keep his nose clean. It comes with the territory.”
“I think he’s a good man, Nikki. I wouldn’t want his reputation destroyed on some drummed-up charge. It wouldn’t be fair and I wouldn’t want my daughter a part of it.”
“I’m a reporter, Dad.” Her chin inched upward a notch in pride. “I try my level best to write the truth without being biased or opinionated. Now, that’s tough given my gene pool, but the best I can promise you is that if Crowley’s nose is clean, I won’t harass him.”
Her father sighed. “I guess that’s the best I can expect.”
“Damn straight.”
Her father paid the bill and walked Nikki to her car. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and wondered how they, who had been so close, had drifted so far apart politically. Age, probably. Disillusionment.
She drove to her apartment and had the uncanny feeling that she was being followed. Again. Lord, she was getting paranoid. If she didn’t watch out she’d end up on some shrink’s couch, paying big bucks to find out that she was insecure because her parents had split up when she was young.
And because a man deceived you into believing that you were married to him.
Oh, Lord. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and told herself that she should never see Trent again. Let the memories fade on their own. Let sleeping dogs lie.
As far back as she could remember, she’d never let one sleeping dog slumber in peace. Her curiosity, her sense of justice, her desire to set wrong to right, overcame her good judgment. She’d never been one to take the easy way out, or pussyfoot around an issue, and she wasn’t going to start now. If she planned on being the best damned reporter that the Seattle Observer or, for that matter, the New York Times had ever seen, then she’d better quit thinking like a coward.
Sliding her jaw to the side in determination, she threw her convertible into Reverse, turned around and, tires screaming in protest, headed for Lake Washington. She was going to have it out with Trent McKenzie, right or wrong.
* * *
She drove with her foot heavy on the throttle, moving quickly in and out of traffic, suddenly anxious to see him. For weeks she’d been shackled by her injuries, by her amnesia, by Trent’s lies and by the love that she’d begun to feel for him, but now she was in control, her life in her own hands again, though those very hands shook a little as she clutched the wheel.
A part of her still loved him. That stupid, female, trusting section of her brain still conjured up his face and thrilled at the memory of his touch. “Idiot,” she growled, honking impatiently as a huge van pulled into the lane in front of her.
What would she say to Trent when she confronted him? She didn’t know. Scowling, she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror and decided, when she caught the worry in her eyes, that she’d have to wing it. She’d done it before.
She ran a yellow light and turned off the main street. Pushing the speed limit, she drove onto the curvy road that wandered over the cliffs surrounding the lake. Steeling herself for another painful session, she wheeled her sporty car into the drive of his house.
The sun, already hidden by high clouds and clumps of thin fog, was beginning to set and the tall fir trees surrounding the rambling old house seemed gloomy and still. She slid to a stop near the garage and bit her lip. Trent’s Jeep wasn’t parked where he’d left it the previous night.
“Wonderful,” she muttered, then walked to the front door and rapped loudly. No answer. She pushed hard on the doorbell, hearing the chimes ring. Still no footsteps or shouts from within.
She rubbed her arms and felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment. “Stop it,” she chided herself. He wasn’t going to weasel out of this showdown, not after she’d worked up her courage to face him. She walked to the back of the house and found a note on the back door, which she read out loud. “‘Wait for me.”’
Her throat squeezed. He’d expected her. Or someone. The hairs on the back of her neck raised as she opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Snapping on a few lights, she felt better, but the sight of the bedroom made her stomach wrench. The huge bed was made, the fire long-dead, the curtains drawn, but in her mind’s eye she saw the room as it had been. A warm fire threw red and gold shadows across the bed that was mussed and warm. Trent’s body, so hard and taut, was stretched over hers, his lips grazing her breast, his eyes gazing deeply into hers.
Love or lust?
She bit her lip in confusion. What she’d felt had been love. She’d welcomed his kisses, embraced his lovemaking, given her heart to him, and she’d do it time and time over, if she ever got the chance again. Sick at the thought, she realized she’d become one of those women who are inexplicably drawn to the wrong men, men who will only hurt and use them, men who are careless with their love, men who can never truly let a woman touch their souls.
