Книга - Marriage To A Stranger

Marriage To A Stranger
Kay David


You're going to have to act like his wife, whether you want to or not.After seven years, the marriage of Conley and Lara Harrison is over. Lara still cares for Conley, but he's hurt her once too often. She wants nothing more than to get her divorce and move on. But that's not going to be easy. Not once she learns there's a stalker pursuing Conley.Lara's a bodyguard and, according to everyone from her father to Conley, the perfect agent for the job. After all, no one's in a better position to protect a husband than his wife.









A stalker had taken over Conley’s life. And Lara hadn’t even known.


Her father’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I need you to work this case, Lara, and so does Conley.”

Lara swung her head around, her hands clenched at her sides. “You can fire me if you like, but I’m not taking this on. Conley doesn’t need a bodyguard so much as he needs a baby-sitter. When he goes out, when he’s in the office…someone has to be with him 24/7. And whoever it is has to be good. Someone no one will notice.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re going to have to find the perfect person.”

“That’s right.”

His repetition registered, and Lara finally understood. She held up her hands as if she could ward off his suggestion. “No way. I am not—”

“You have to. You’re the only one who can be around him that much and not raise any suspicions. No one will give your presence any thought. The setup’s too great to ignore.” Her father stared at her, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. “You’re his wife,” he said quietly. “And you’re going to have to act like it whether you want to or not.”


Dear Reader,

I married my husband when I was nineteen years old. He was five years older than I. He came from a small town in West Texas, and I grew up in a large metropolitan area. He was an engineer, and I wrote. He was intense, I wasn’t. My parents were married, his were divorced. I’m Anglo, he’s not.

When we walked down the aisle, money had to be changing hands. The odds were probably a thousand to one on the marriage lasting. We were too young and too different. But very much in love.

Twenty-seven years later, we’re still together—and still much in love. We’ve moved fourteen times, from one end of the world to the other (literally). We’ve lost dreams and replaced them with new ones. We’ve lost hope and found it again. Like everyone else’s, our marriage has had good times and bad.

And that’s why I wanted to write Marriage to a Stranger. Sometimes, no matter how long you’ve been together, you wake up one morning and realize you don’t really know the person next to you. Your partner’s changed. Or most likely, you both have.

In this book, Conley Harrison knows he doesn’t want a divorce. He hasn’t been the best mate in the world, but he has his reasons and believes they’re good ones. He decides he’s not going to let Lara go, at least not before he tries to make things right one last time.

His success—or failure—depends not only on himself but on Lara, as well. Is their love strong enough to survive?

Sincerely,

Kay David

P.S. Visit my Web site at www.kaydavid.com.




Marriage to a Stranger

Kay David





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Marriage is one of the trickiest relationships.

You have to be lucky to have a good one, but you have to be smart to make it last. This book is dedicated to everyone who has been brave enough to walk down the aisle and also to those who are contemplating taking the plunge. How do you know you’re doing the right thing? You don’t. You only know you can’t do anything else!




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN




CHAPTER ONE


“I WANT A DIVORCE.”

Standing in the doorway of her kitchen, Lara Harrison spoke in a calm and deliberate manner. Last night, she had practiced saying the words over and over. Looking into her bathroom mirror, her face straight and her voice quiet, she had repeated herself until the fateful sentence had come out sounding both dignified and determined. At least until she’d started to cry.

By dawn, she’d run out of tears. Now, in the painful morning light, all she had left was the awful realization that her marriage was over.

From across the room where he sat at the breakfast table, Conley Harrison, her husband of seven years, put down his coffee mug and looked at Lara. Conley was always collected and composed, and her pronouncement did nothing to change this.

His reaction—or lack thereof—was exactly what she’d expected.

Conley’s taciturn manner—the complete opposite of her father’s nonstop agitation—had thrilled Lara when they’d first married. Quiet and mysterious, her husband had been everything she’d wanted in a man. Things had changed, though, and his attitude had begun to drive her insane. He didn’t share his feelings or let her know what he thought about anything. If she wanted his opinion, she had to drag it out of him. Lately, as impossible as it seemed, he’d become even more reticent. He answered her questions with curt replies and appeared totally preoccupied. To make matters worse, all he did was work. On the rare occasions when he did have a free hour, he acted as if he had better things to do than be with her.

Which, she suspected, he did…and had for some time. She quickly shut her mind to that painful reality. It wasn’t the primary motivation for her decision and there was nothing she could do about it one way or the other.

His jaw twitched, a reaction he couldn’t control, and he repeated her words. “You want a divorce.”

She looked at him steadily. “It’s time to call this one over, Conley. Past time.”

“I don’t believe I understand.”

Lara shrugged as if she didn’t care, but deep inside she struggled to contain her churning emotions. They’d fallen in love so deeply it had almost hurt. She had meant it when she’d promised to love him “forever and ever.” But now forever was over.

“There’s nothing complicated about it,” she replied. “I’m simply tired of living this way.” She crossed her arms. “You do nothing but work. You’re never at home. We aren’t a married couple and we haven’t been for quite a while. I think it’d be best—for both of us—to go our separate ways.”

“And when did you come to this conclusion?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a long time.”

The cold silence built, a reflection of the day outside. The snow had started last night after Lara had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep; she’d woken and heard the quiet in the middle of the night, had sensed the heavy blanket of white. Years ago, she’d loved the wild Colorado winters. They’d meant she and Conley had an excuse to stay at home in bed.

She couldn’t even remember the last time that had happened, though. She’d moved out of their bedroom several months ago. Sleeping by herself in the room they’d once shared, night after night when Conley didn’t come home, had become a special torture all its own.

The last time they had made love had been more than ten months ago. They’d been in the Turks and Caicos, a small group of islands in the Caribbean. The whole trip had been a foolish idea; Lara wasn’t even sure why she’d agreed to go but she’d been so surprised when Conley had suggested a holiday, she’d said yes without thinking. Once there, they’d passed by the docks one evening on their way to dinner, and she’d caught an aching glimpse of the sailboats in the harbor. A long time ago, they’d promised each other they’d buy a boat and live on it someday. She’d even given Conley a compass when they’d barely had money enough for food.

The failed vacation had been awkward and uncomfortable; a heavy weight neither could carry by themselves.

She looked at Conley again. “You know how I’ve felt. Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”

“I’m not surprised,” he said stiffly, “but I would have thought there might be some discussion about it before…this.”

She felt a surge of disbelief. “When would that have happened, Conley?” She lifted her hands helplessly. “You’re never here. Would I have called you in Hong Kong and left a message? E-mailed you in Moscow? Paged you in Rio?” She paused, the awful quiet around them suffocating in its intensity. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” she finally said. “Even when you are here…you aren’t. You wouldn’t have heard me if I’d tried.”

Their gazes met. The connection was painful and sharp, a bitter moment of truth for which Lara wasn’t prepared. Regret immediately stabbed her. She didn’t love Conley anymore, but this look hurt more than she could have expected.

With his eyes still holding hers, Conley stood up unexpectedly. For a moment, it seemed as if he were going to come toward her, but all at once, coffee mug in hand, he turned abruptly. Too abruptly. He bumped the edge of the carved oak table with his thigh. Hot coffee splashed over the edge of the mug and down his tan wool slacks, staining the expensive fabric and obviously burning his leg.

He looked at the splotch then froze, his mouth an angry slash. Lara thought he would say something then, scream at her, yell maybe, react somehow. With her breath caught in her throat, she wished for once that he’d just let go.

A moment later, he did.

But it wasn’t what she expected.

Without a word of warning, he raised his arm and hurled his coffee mug into the sink. He’d been a pitcher in college. The mug landed in the drain with a crash, shattering into a thousand pieces.

His reaction was so out of character, so totally unexpected that Lara couldn’t help herself. She gasped and stumbled backward, but Conley didn’t appear to even notice. He tore out the back door and into the snowy morning. A few seconds later, the engine of his Suburban roared to life and a heartbeat after that he shot out the drive, the tires crunching, the big green vehicle a blur of movement as it passed the kitchen window.

Lara stared at the door, still vibrating from Conley’s departure. With everything she knew, she’d assumed he’d be relieved. Bewildered and confused, she lurched toward the threshold. She was halfway across the room when a shard sliced into her heel.

Pain raced up her leg and she cried out. Bending over, she reached down and pulled out the shard, a red stain spreading across the bottom of her sock as dark as the one on Conley’s slacks. She stared at the blood then blinked as the image began to waver. Covering her face with her sticky fingers, Lara moaned into her palms, the heartfelt sound of her sorrow filling the cold empty kitchen.

God, what had she done?

Even though she’d known she had to do it—to say the words that had been unspoken until now, to make the choice that Conley couldn’t—she’d taken an irreversible step. With the utterance of one little word—divorce—she’d put into motion wheels no one could stop. A knot of sick grief lodged deep in her throat. Her foot throbbed hotly, but the pain was nothing compared to the ache in her heart.



CONLEY MANEUVERED the green Suburban down the side street with reckless speed. His mind wasn’t on his driving; it was back in the kitchen with Lara. All he could see were her beautiful hazel eyes, filled with agony and anguish. He’d been prepared for her words, but not for the level of pain they’d caused him.

The SUV slid slightly to the right, and Conley cursed, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. The snow was thick, clouds of the white stuff shooting out from his tires to add to the drifts already in place. Driving in Red Feather could be difficult, but no one really minded. Snow made the place what it was—a wonderful ski resort that swelled with tourists in the winter season. The little town clung to the edge of the Rocky Mountains an hour north of Boulder and when the weather turned bitter, everyone who could came here, their skis strapped to their roofs, their minds on having fun.

Conley and Lara had met on the slopes but they had settled here for a much different reason than skiing. They’d needed their own space, away from Boulder, where Lara worked at Mesa Protection and Security, her father’s firm. She hadn’t wanted to be any closer to the office—or Ed—than was necessary during their time off, and Red Feather had offered the perfect getaway.

Or so they’d thought.

Cutting around another snow-covered corner, Conley reached the small lot outside his own office and parked, throwing the SUV out of gear with a jerky motion then killing the engine. For a few seconds, the sound of the huge motor echoed in the sudden silence, then the noise died out, leaving behind an emptiness that matched the one in Conley’s heart. He stared down the street at the sign in front of his office.

Harrison’s was all the sign said, but that was all that was necessary. Conley had started the firm after finishing college and now he had more than seventy-five employees. The company had grossed almost fifty million last year, the world-renowned computer chips they designed highly specialized and incredibly expensive. They helped run everything from the space station to mechanical hearts. But their very uniqueness was also their downfall. When someone had a question about a Harrison chip, Conley Harrison was the only person they could ask.

Big deal. Who in the hell cared? None of it really mattered to him anymore and it hadn’t for quite some time. His throat closed tightly as Conley thought about the effort and hard work he’d put into his business over the years. His only goal had been to make a good life for Lara.

And for himself, as well, he confessed silently. The faces of his always weary parents came to mind. They’d been sharecroppers in Kentucky, hardworking, plainspoken people who’d managed to raise five children in the midst of a poverty that belonged to another country, in another time. Despite their problems, they’d taught Conley and his four siblings a lesson Conley had learned well—providing for your family meant everything. You took care of them first and the rest followed.

He tried to live his life that way, but things hadn’t worked out like they should. He’d given Lara everything…but it hadn’t been enough.

A blowing gust of wind caught his attention, snow scratching over his windshield. If he didn’t leave the damn truck soon he might be stuck in it for good. He jumped out with his hand on his cell phone and hurried down the street, the wind cutting through his sweater as if it didn’t exist. He’d been stupid to leave the house without a coat, but staying warm hadn’t seemed important at the time. He’d only wanted to get away from Lara’s accusing stare and hurtful words.

He’d been waiting, holding his breath for months, it seemed, but when she’d finally said what he’d been expecting, the reality had shocked him. He’d wanted to grab her and force her to take back the request, shake her until the words no longer existed. But he couldn’t. She had every right to ask for a divorce and even though it felt as if she’d yanked his heart straight from his chest, he had to acknowledge her prerogative to do just that.

He hurried to the corner, then ducked his head and started across the street. The last few years had been tough ones, he’d be the first to admit, but the most recent couple of months had been even worse. Keeping her unaware of what was going on had been damn near impossible. It sounded crazy, even to him, but Conley could not let Lara find out about his problem. She handled situations similar to this all the time and for that very reason—as illogical as it sounded—he didn’t want her involved. He didn’t want to be just another case for her.

Without any warning, a stunningly cold sweep of wind hit him from the side, searing his face and stripping away his breath. His excuses went with it, planting a blow he couldn’t dodge. Who in the hell was he trying to kid? He didn’t want Lara involved with this mess, yeah, but the truth was, he didn’t think she’d even want to be involved.

Their marriage had been on the skids for a very long time. At some indeterminable point, they’d started drifting apart and neither of them had had the energy or time to do anything about it. Like so many couples everyone knew, they’d stopped listening to each other, stopped giving each other the time that every marriage needed.

They were both guilty, but he was the primary offender; he put everything before their marriage. His work. His company. His self. The painful realization stung, but he had to admit it.

He was almost on the other side of the street, and another burning gust of wind brought his head up—or maybe it was something else, he thought later—some kind of sixth sense, a warning he didn’t consciously consider. Whatever it was that made him look, it didn’t really matter.

The car was coming too fast.

Before he could react, Conley realized he didn’t have a chance. The front bumper of the speeding coupe caught him at the knee and pitched him sideways, into the air. It took forever for him to come down and hit the drift of snow.

He thought of Lara as the whole world went quiet.




CHAPTER TWO


DESPITE HER throbbing foot, Lara was on the StairMaster when the doorbell rang. She’d halfheartedly swept the kitchen then jumped on the machine to try to clear her mind with some hard physical activity. The plan had been a good one, but it wasn’t working.

The bell sounded again, and she ignored it again. By the time she got downstairs, whoever was waiting would be gone. She didn’t even care anyway. She didn’t want to see anyone right now. She was too upset.

Lifting a hand to wipe her forehead, she closed her eyes and tried to block out the chimes, but the noise persisted. With a curse, she finally gave up and made her way to the front door. When she reached the entry, Lara could see her neighbor and friend, Sandy Oakley staring inside, her hands cupped around her eyes to peer through one of the sidelights.

Lara moaned out loud. How could she have forgotten? She and Sandy had made a date last week to have breakfast this morning. She’d promised to pick Sandy up more than an hour ago! She hurried to the front door and threw it open, apologizing before Sandy could even get inside and shake off the snow.

“God, Sandy! I’m sorry! I completely forgot about our breakfast—”

“No problem, it’s okay. Really. My car’s in the shop again so I just trudged up the sidewalk in a snowstorm, that’s all. I’m up to it.”

She waved toward the street, and Lara followed her movement. Footsteps proved Sandy’s point. She looked back at her friend. “Why did you walk, for heaven’s sake? Couldn’t Matthew have given you a ride?”

Sandy’s husband, Matthew Oakley, was Conley’s right-hand man and former college roommate. Conley depended a lot on the brilliant hardware designer.

“He had to go in early. Something about some chip or something…” Sandy patted her bulging stomach. “The baby didn’t mind. He likes cold weather. Really…”

Lara rolled her eyes at Sandy’s elaborate exaggeration. Friendly and outgoing, Sandy was the exact opposite of her quiet and intense husband, although just as smart. She and Lara had developed a close friendship over the years, mainly because Sandy was one of those people who never missed an opportunity to announce how she felt about anything. She kept Lara honest.

Shaking out of her coat, Sandy turned around to add to her litany of woes, then she saw Lara’s face. “Oh, my God. You told him, didn’t you?”

Lara nodded, her eyes filling. Sandy enveloped her in a hug; then, with her arm around Lara’s shoulder, she guided them both back to Lara’s kitchen. “Sit down,” she said. “I’ll fix us some tea.” Sandy got out the mugs and tea bags, and within seconds, the smell of lemon and honey filled the kitchen.

“Tell me.” She placed the steaming cups on the kitchen table and sat down in the chair Conley had vacated a scarce half hour before. “What’d he say?”

Lara shook her head. “It didn’t go well. He…he wasn’t thrilled.”

“Did you expect him to be?”

“I thought he was ready.”

“But he’s not.”

Lara sipped her tea and grimaced. Sandy always made it too sweet. “He threw a mug into the sink, then stormed out. It wasn’t like him at all.” She looked up. “You know how he is. Mr. Strong and Silent.”

Sandy waited a heartbeat, then she said just what Lara expected, her reaction sharp and to the point. “You’re an idiot, Lara. A total, complete idiot.”

Outside the back door, the wind suddenly picked up. Snow swirled and the fir tree beside the window tapped a staccato beat against the glass as if it agreed with Sandy’s pronouncement.

“I had to do it,” Lara said stubbornly, not meeting her friend’s eyes. “And you know why.”

“I know why you think you had to do it, but I refuse to believe your suspicions. Conley isn’t that kind of man. You don’t really think that anyway. It’s an excuse, that’s all.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Lara spoke quietly, sadness coloring her words. “There’s an emptiness between us that I can’t fill by myself. We aren’t the couple we used to be. We aren’t close. We aren’t a family. We don’t even seem to care. And it hurts too much to keep trying.” Her eyes went to her friend’s swelling stomach. “Maybe if we’d had children…”

“Having a baby doesn’t make you a family. Love makes you a family. You could get it back if you tried.”

“I did try, Sandy. But it takes two.”

“You and Conley just got on the wrong track, that’s all. If you’d both—”

“There’s nothing either of us can do now.” Lara interrupted her friend. “It’s over. Believe me, it’s over.”

The wind continued to howl, the gusts growing stronger. Sandy waited a beat. “I’m well aware that’s what you think. But what if it isn’t what Conley believes?”

Looking up at her friend, Lara gripped her tea mug a little too tightly. “I don’t see—”

“Throwing dishes isn’t a typical sign of consensus, is it? Did he say straight out that he’d agree to a divorce?”

“He stormed out the door, Sandy. It was obvious—”

Sandy cocked her head to one side and raised her right eyebrow. It was a familiar move; Lara had seen her do it a thousand times…usually right before she made some horrendous point Lara hadn’t considered. “Did he or did he not actually say to you that he would give you a divorce?”

Lara felt her heart thump. “He—he didn’t actually say the words but…”

“Lara, Lara, Lara…” Sandy shook her head slowly. “Colorado’s a no-fault state and Conley’s got plenty of money. You and I both know money makes the impossible…possible. And vice versa. If he doesn’t want a divorce, it could get nasty.” She put her teacup down carefully. The deliberate movement reminded Lara of Conley. Instead of mere hours, she felt as if a lifetime had passed since they’d talked.

“If he wants to fight you, he can.” Sandy raised both eyebrows this time. “If I were you, I’d be worried about that possibility.”



SANDY STAYED a little while longer, then Lara took her home. The streets were completely empty, the snow coming down in sheets of solid white. When they pulled into Sandy’s driveway, she turned to Lara and paused, her fingers on the door handle.

One last question, Lara thought with dread. God, hadn’t she said enough already?

“Have you told Ed?”

Lara grimaced. Her father would go ballistic when he heard her news, and then there’d be hell to pay. When Ed was unhappy, everyone was unhappy. He made sure of it.

“Not yet. I’m dreading it, though.”

Sandy’s expression turned sympathetic. “He’s not an easy man to break bad news to, that’s for certain.”

Lara tucked her hair behind one ear and smiled grimly. “He’s not an easy man, period.” For just a second she was six years old again and in the first grade. That’s when she’d learned other kids called their fathers “Dad” or “Pop” or even “Father.” Anything but their first name. The argument had been short, and Lara had learned quickly how much her opinion—or anyone else’s for that matter—meant to Ed.

“He won’t like it,” Sandy said.

“Yep. He told me when I got married to make it last. I guess I haven’t followed his advice.”

Sandy snorted. “He’s a big one to be giving advice about marriage.”

Ed had been to the altar four times. Lara’s mother, his first wife, had deserted him when Lara was five. Unable to stand his overbearing ways and need to control, Alicia Bentley had fled, leaving her baby daughter behind. She’d died shortly after that in a skiing accident. And Ed had been with a number of women since.

“You’re right,” Lara conceded. “But I’m sure Ed would tell you he loved every one of them.”

“Well, he can be charming.” Sandy grinned. “But there’s that other side of him…”

“You mean the side I’ll see when I tell him about the divorce?” Lara gripped the steering wheel. “He likes Conley. He’ll believe this is all my fault.”

The silence stretched out, then Sandy reached across the seat and put her hand on Lara’s right arm. Her expression held a wistful note. Married longer than Lara and Conley, Sandy and Matthew had never had a perfect relationship but since the pregnancy, things had gotten more tense. Sandy had always idealized Lara’s marriage, mainly because she idealized Conley.

“Are you sure about this, Lara? I mean, really, really sure? Conley’s the kind of man every woman dreams about….”

Lara stared through the windshield. She’d asked herself that very same question a thousand times the past few weeks, and each time, her answer had been the same. Yes. Absolutely. Positively. Without a doubt. She wanted a divorce.

She wanted it because things weren’t working out, but for other reasons as well. Lara had vowed a long time ago that she would never be like the women her father had always married. Except for one—Bess MacDougal—they had been helpless and insecure, women who didn’t know who they were without a man. When Ed’s interest flagged, Lara had read the desperation in their eyes; she’d be damned before she’d see it in hers.

A few years ago, she and Conley had reached this same point and had almost separated. They’d decided to give the marriage another try, but after a while, a very painful while, it was clear to Lara nothing had really changed. The agony of that realization was something she never intended to experience again.

To top it all off, there was the Other Problem. She couldn’t bring herself to use the actual term because then the situation would become too real for her so she always thought of it as the Other Problem.

She turned to her friend and spoke. “Yes,” she said. “I’m absolutely sure. I don’t love Conley anymore. It’s time to move on.”



WHEN SHE CAME BACK through the kitchen door, Lara’s phone was ringing. It was probably Ed, she decided, wondering why she wasn’t yet in the office. She loved her job, but sometimes she found herself wishing someone other than her father owned the company. He was a hard boss and it was a hard job. Bodyguards to night patrols, employee checkouts to prenuptial investigations, Mesa Security offered very discreet services to very wealthy clients. The firm kept a low profile—so much so it was known only in certain circles. But it was the best, and when someone needed help with a delicate situation, they called Mesa. Mainly responsible for the day-to-day operations, Lara left the heavy-duty bodyguard service to the fleet of freelancers Ed managed. A few years back, personal security was all she’d done, but she’d put that part of the business behind her.

She’d had to.

The phone rang again and with a moan, she shrugged out of her coat and grabbed the receiver off the wall. But the person at the other end wasn’t Ed.

“Lara? This is Theresa. Did I…catch you at a bad time? You sound out of breath.”

“I just came in the door. I had to run Sandy home. She’d stopped by.”

Catching her reflection in the window over the sink, Lara pushed her hair out of her face and tried to imagine Theresa Marchante, Conley’s attorney, appearing as Lara did right now. Sweats, no makeup, in need of a shower. The woman had to exercise—she was too svelte and attractive not to—but somehow Lara couldn’t picture the lawyer bedraggled and mussed. Theresa always looked wonderful, her suits tailored and in flawless taste, her red hair shining and pulled back. Normally such perfection would have made Lara dislike Theresa immediately, but because of the attorney’s attitude that was impossible. Conley valued her opinion in all his legal matters. Theresa was a hard worker and loyal to her clients—she’d been Conley’s counsel for several years now.

“I’m sorry to have to bother you, but…” She paused and seemed to hesitate.

A rush of coldness swept over Lara, shaking her to her toes. Theresa Marchante didn’t flounder over anything. God, had Conley already contacted her? Had he already told her to start the paperwork for the divorce?

Lara dropped her coat on a nearby kitchen chair then gripped the phone with both hands. “It’s okay, Theresa. What can I do for you?”

“I…I have some bad news, Lara.”

Lara’s chest went tight. He had told her! Conley had gone directly to his office and called his attorney! Damn, he might have even called her from the Suburban. Lara’s initial feeling of dismay, even though she’d been the one to bring it all up, morphed illogically into anger. His little act of rage this morning had been just that—an act. He couldn’t wait to be free of her, could he?

“I know what you’re going to say, Theresa.” She forced herself to speak. “I’m just surprised he told you this fast. Did he…ask you to start the paperwork already?”

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing, Lara. In fact, I know we aren’t. I’m calling about Conley—”

“I don’t know what he told you this morning, but the divorce is my idea, okay? I was the one who brought it up and I’m the one who—”

“Lara, look, I don’t know anything about a divorce.” In a voice uncharacteristically shaky, Theresa broke in, halting Lara’s explanation. “I’m calling because Conley’s been in an accident. I’m at the hospital right now. He asked me to phone and let you know.”

“Wh-what? An accident?” She fumbled for the chair behind her and sat down, her coat falling to the floor. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure at this point. We were supposed to have a meeting early this morning. I was running late and when I got here, I found him in the street, right outside the building. He was shivering and banged up pretty good. He said something about a car hitting him, but I didn’t get all the details. I took him straight to the hospital. The doctor’s in with him right now.”

“Oh, my God…is he okay?”

“He doesn’t seem to be hurt too seriously, but he wanted you to know what was going on.”

Lara jumped up from the chair. “I’ll be right there, Theresa. I have to get dressed but it’ll only take a minute then I’ll—”

“Lara, don’t! The weather’s horrible and it’s getting worse. You’ll just cause another accident rushing over here.” Theresa’s voice returned to its usual firm and sensible tone. “It’s not necessary. I can bring him home when they finish. If they keep him longer, then you can come after lunch. It’s supposed to be better later this afternoon.”

Lara jogged down the hall toward her bedroom. “No,” she said firmly. “I want to see him. I have to see him. I’ll throw on something and be there in twenty minutes.”

Theresa was still talking as Lara clicked off the phone and tossed the cordless unit to her bed. The attorney meant well, but she didn’t understand. When Conley got upset or worried, his mind was like a train on a single track. Lara yanked off her sweatshirt and Lycra pants. He’d been concentrating on their angry words; he’d never seen the car or whatever had hit him and she was to blame.

Pulling a pair of gray slacks from the closet and a black turtleneck, she dressed in record time, guilt fueling her every step. Five seconds later she had her hair slicked back and lipstick slapped on. Running through the kitchen, she grabbed her purse and cell phone and headed out the door, a missed shard crunching beneath her right boot.

She didn’t stop to wonder why her heart was lodged in her throat.



“I DON’T KNOW the details. That’s all I can tell you right now.” Lara gripped the steering wheel of her truck and maneuvered out the driveway. The overhead speaker of her cell phone crackled in response.

“I don’t care if he just has a hangnail, he’s better off in Denver.” Her father’s gravelly voice boomed across the line. “That Podunk hospital in Red Feather is a disaster waiting to happen. He should be down here in Boulder, at the very least.”

Before Lara could answer, she heard her father bark instructions to someone in his office, probably Larry, her stepbrother. “Get me International Helo Service outta Denver! Earl Stanley runs ’em and I want him on the phone—”

“Ed, Ed! Hold off.” Lara spoke loudly, trying to get his attention back. “I want to check things out at the hospital before you start taking over the situation. I’ll call you from there.”

“But I can have a chopper at Red Feather in no time! We’ll airlift him to Denver then Houston if we need to—”

“Let me see him first, okay? I promise I’ll call you after I get a handle on things, then we can decide what to do.”

Something in her voice must have registered. He spoke again, this time slower. “Are you sure, sweetheart? I can—”

“I know you ‘can’ anything, okay?” Lara reached the corner, the snowbound street before her virtually deserted, a blanket of white swirling down over the trees and parked cars. Another six inches of snow had fallen since she’d taken Sandy home. “But let me see what’s going on before you go into action. The way Theresa talked, I don’t think he’s hurt that badly.”

Silence was her only answer and Lara cursed to herself. He had his faults, but the old coot could read her like a well-worn book.

“If that’s what you think, how come you’re so upset?”

Lara tightened her hands, her leather gloves squeaking inside the still freezing cabin of the truck. “What makes you think I’m upset?”

“I can hear it in your voice, dammit. What kinda imbecile do you think I am? I’ve been your father for thirty-three years! You don’t think—”

“Okay, okay…enough already!” She gunned the engine and turned the corner, fighting the skidding tires. She didn’t want to explain but telling him this way did have its advantages; she could confess what was going on, then hang up on him. He could rant and rave to Larry and his wife, Stephanie. Stephanie was the sweetest person Lara knew—she could actually calm Ed down sometimes.

“So what it is?” he demanded. “If you think Con’s okay what’s wrong?”

“We had a fight this morning.”

“Everyone fights. That’s what marriage is about.”

“Not us,” she answered grimly. “Conley doesn’t argue, you know that.”

He grunted his agreement and waited for her to continue.

“We fought because…because I told him I want a divorce.”

“A divorce! Are you nuts?” Her father’s wrathful voice filled the interior of the truck. “Have you lost your mind?”

“You don’t understand—”

“You’re damn right I don’t understand! Conley Harrison is the best thing in your life. The man’s a brick! He makes more money than you can ever spend, he obviously loves you—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ed must have heard the pain and weariness in her voice because he instantly fell silent, an unusual state for her father. “I don’t want to go into it right now, but you’re going to have to trust me on this one. Things have gotten pretty bad around here.”

When he remained silent, Lara knew exactly what he was thinking. He’d told her more than once it’d almost killed him when her mother had left him. She’d been the only woman he’d truly loved, and it was Lara’s theory he’d been searching ever since for the same feeling.

After a moment, he asked quietly, “Is it another man, baby? Are you in love with someone—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I’m not in love with anyone else. It…it just isn’t working, Ed, and hasn’t been for years. That’s all I can say for now.” The vehicle’s heater suddenly kicked in and sent a blast of feverish warmth toward her face. “I’ll call you from the hospital as soon as I know something.” She reached over and switched off the phone, then did the same with the heater.

After fifteen more minutes of fighting the snow and wind, she pulled under the overhang at the Red Feather hospital.



THE HOSPITAL WAS like hospitals everywhere. Cold, stark and sterile. Lara shivered as she raced down the corridor toward the emergency room. He had to be okay, she told herself. Theresa hadn’t seemed too upset and God knew how competent she was. On the other hand, that was part of the problem. The world could be exploding and Theresa Marchante probably wouldn’t react.

A flashing red light above one of the doors caught Lara’s eye and she hurried toward its blinking beacon, the crimson letters ER standing out against the white of everything else. Her throat was tight and clogged as she pushed open the door and rushed inside.

In contrast to her own turmoil, the room inside was peaceful and quiet. It was too early for the skiers who’d be brought in later, and the drunk drivers from the night before were all long gone. The only people in the waiting area were a mother and father, a small child cradled between them who looked lethargic and stuffy.

Lara quickly crossed to the desk that lined one wall. “I’m Lara Harrison,” she said, leaning over a high Formica barrier. “My husband, Conley was brought in a little while ago. I think it was a car accident—”

The woman behind the counter wore a brightly colored nurse’s smock, her hair tied back in a no-nonsense fashion. She tilted her head in a puzzled way. “You’re Mrs. Harrison? I thought…” She shook her head then finished her sentence. “There’s a woman with him. I got the impression she was Mrs. Harrison.”

A cold chill rippled over Lara before she understood, relief hitting her hard when she did. “You must be thinking of Theresa. She’s his attorney. She found him.”

A chagrined expression crossed the nurse’s features. “I’m so sorry…I just thought…” She broke off her words. “Please go on back. He’s in cubicle number one. I believe the doctor’s with him right now.”

Lara followed the woman’s wave toward a door on one side. Stepping into a long corridor sectioned off by curtains, she quickly located the first one. She pushed aside the dark-blue fabric and her heart stuttered to a stop.

Conley sat on a metal examining table. Theresa Marchante stood close beside him, patting his bare shoulder in a comforting way. She nodded at Lara, touched Conley one more time, then dropped her hand as Lara stared at Conley in distress. It was obvious someone had cleaned him up, but just as obvious he was hurting. A huge bruise on his temple was already turning black, the edges of it ragged and painful looking. His right pant leg had been sliced from his hip to his ankle, an angry swelling distorting the calf, a long, nasty cut on the side. His eyes were what stopped her, though. They were full of something Lara had never seen before. She ran to his side, Theresa stepping away slowly.

“My God…Conley…are you…are you all right?” Lara touched his jaw and then his arm, her horrified eyes taking in a litany of minor wounds she hadn’t seen from the doorway.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

From across the cubicle, an older man with his back to her spoke before Conley could, his voice deep and reassuring. He turned, a syringe in hand, a stethoscope around his neck. A name tag on his smock identified him as Dr. Sorelli.

“His injuries appear severe, but they’re mostly insignificant. Landing in the snowdrift saved his bacon, big time. You’re Mrs. Harrison, I presume?” The man’s manner was forthright, almost crusty and Lara suddenly realized why his name sounded familiar. He was well-known in town, having been in the emergency room for almost two decades.

Lara nodded, but her eyes stayed on her husband’s face. “Conley, I can’t believe this happened. Good grief—”

“I’m fine, Lara.” His words were brusque and curt, and somehow that made her feel better. He didn’t look like himself, but he sounded like himself. “It was a stupid accident, that’s all. I wasn’t paying attention when I crossed the street in front of the office. A car came out of nowhere and clipped me as I stepped up on the curb.”

Lara’s knees went weak. She gripped the edge of the bed and held on, fighting nausea as well. “A car hit you?” She turned to Theresa then sent her horrified gaze back to Conley’s face. “I thought you were in the Suburban…I thought there’d been a wreck, not this!”

The doctor came to where she stood. “If you’re going to faint, do it outside. I need to give him this shot and we can’t handle you, too.”

Pulling herself together, Lara nodded numbly then watched Conley wince as the needle went in. The doctor stepped back to the counter, dropped the syringe into a red jug then he started to wash his hands.

Lara had more questions, but Sorelli grabbed a towel and turned around, speaking before she could. “I want to keep you for a couple of hours, Mr. Harrison. For observation. Sometimes nasty things develop that we can’t see at first. After that you’ll need to take it easy for a day or two—”

“I can’t do that.” Conley shook his head then grimaced. “I don’t have time to be here as it is. I’ve got a flight to Baku tomorrow and work to do before I leave.”

The doctor crossed his arms. “You’re not going anywhere tomorrow. You’ll be lucky if you can make it from the bed to the bathroom without these little white pills I’m going to give you.”

“But I feel fine—”

“No, you don’t,” the doctor said, “and you definitely won’t tomorrow. Especially after I sew up that leg. It’s going to be stiff for at least a week.”

Conley’s mouth went into a familiar line of stubbornness and Lara stepped closer to the table. “You need to listen to him, Con.”

“She’s right.” Theresa spoke up from the side of the room. “You were lucky out there, Conley. Don’t be a fool. Stay home and take care of yourself.”

“And Baku?” he asked.

“Matthew could go,” Lara suggested.

Conley answered her, impatience heating his voice. “No, he can’t. Matthew designs the damn chips but I can’t let him near the clients, you know that. His people skills are nonexistent. We’d lose the account and then—”

“I can handle Baku.” Lara and Conley both turned to Theresa when she spoke.

“You don’t know the first thing about that account, Theresa.”

“You’re absolutely right,” she agreed, “but I can handle it. I’ll pick up the phone and tell them you’ve been delayed. If they don’t like it, that’s too bad.”

He seemed to hesitate for just a second, and Lara held her breath. She felt a tug of anger that he’d consider Theresa’s suggestion and not her own, but on the other hand, whatever worked, worked.

Reaching for the suture equipment he’d laid out on the counter, the doctor spoke again. “You’ll have to talk to the police, too, you know. We’ve already called them.”

Conley shot Lara a look, his gaze skimming hers in an unfamiliar way, something quick and fathomless shimmering there then swimming away before she could catch it. He turned to the doctor who was threading the needle. “That wasn’t necessary,” he protested. “It was a simple accident. All my fault, really. The car couldn’t have avoided me—”

“It was a hit and run, Mr. Harrison. The police have been called.” The doctor’s words were blunt but his touch was swift and professional. Within seconds, he had Conley’s wound closed with almost invisible stitches. He stepped back and appraised his work, then nodded, clearly pleased.

Snapping off his gloves he washed his hands once more and looked at his patient. “We’ll find you a bed and let you settle in. If you’re okay after a while, you can go home.” Smiling at Lara, he spoke a final time. “Good luck keeping him quiet, Mrs. Harrison. Something tells me you’re going to need it.”




CHAPTER THREE


CONLEY HAD NO intention of sleeping, but as soon as his head hit the starched white pillowcase, he found he didn’t have a choice. When he woke hours later, it was early evening. He was stiff and sore and felt as if…he’d been run over in the middle of the street.

Without moving, he opened his eyes. Lara sat in a padded chair on the other side of the bed, holding a magazine. She wasn’t reading it, just holding it. The look on her face broke what was left of his heart. A deep sadness darkened her gaze and there were lines of weariness around her mouth. Lavender shadows colored the hollows of her cheeks and made circles underneath her eyes.

He let his lids flutter down and cursed himself. She looked like that because of him. There was no other reason and he knew it.

His mind skipped back to the moments before the car had come down the street. It had been a car, he was sure. A coupe. He struggled to recall more details but none came. Almost with relief, he knew that was all he could tell the police. He had absolutely no proof that it’d been anything but an accident. Maybe the driver had kept going because he hadn’t even known he’d hit something.

The argument sounded hollow, even to Conley’s doped-up senses.

He kept his eyes closed but the shot the doctor had given him was working well and all the thoughts Con usually managed to control now refused to stay buried. The problems he’d managed to suppress for months eddied around him like the snow outside.

It had all started with the notes.

They’d been arriving for several months, some by regular mail, some by computer, one right after another. At first he’d been amused, then as they’d continued, he’d become annoyed. His answer had been to ignore them, but lately even that had become impossible. Whoever had been harassing him had decided it was time to turn up the heat.

But harassing wasn’t really the right word, he thought groggily. Harassing implied something different, something angry and abusive. The neatly typed letters and multiply-routed e-mails—all completely untraceable—were of a unique nature. They’d been full of admiration for him, full of praise for his accomplishments, for his successful business. Then they’d turned personal. Comments about his looks, remarks about his body. The author knew him well, so well Conley had become increasingly uncomfortable, even though the tone of the notes had never been threatening. Storing the letters in a safe at the office, he’d copied the e-mails to a file at home and passworded it so Lara couldn’t read it.

The phone calls had started after that. There was never anyone on the line. As bizarre as it sounded, it seemed as if whoever called just wanted to hear his voice. He’d say hello over and over, then the caller would quietly hang up. Finally the flowers had started; red roses sent to him every Monday.

The last straw had come when his coat had been stolen during a business lunch. He’d dismissed the problem as inconsequential, telling Lara he’d misplaced it, but the keys to his office had been in the pocket. He’d immediately had all the locks changed, but it didn’t seem to matter. A week later, someone got inside. Nothing had been taken, but he was positive someone had been there. Small things in his desk drawer had been rearranged and his chair had been left at a different angle. Worse, his computer had been accessed.

At that point, the problem took on a whole new meaning. Conley went to incredible lengths to maintain Harrison’s proprietary secrets. Was someone trying to breech that wall? Knowing Matthew would die before he’d tell anyone, Conley had enlisted his help. Together he and his engineer had added extra security to their entire system, but for a couple of weeks afterward, Conley had made it a point to spend one night a week at the office, varying the nights. He’d set up camp in the room next to his own and waited, but no one had shown up. Finally he’d given up and picked up the phone to call the police.

Then he’d put it back down.

Harrison’s was Conley Harrison. His investors were a nervous group and any hint, however remote, that something was amiss would send them flying faster than a covey of quails spooked by a retriever. Stalker, casual thief, corporate spy…they didn’t care.

If this “accident” was in any way connected to the notes and his moneymen found out, Harrison’s would be history, no matter how successful the company was. The fortune he’d made, the success he’d become…all of it would disappear. He’d be yesterday’s news, another bad businessman who wasn’t smart enough to hang on to what he’d made, his childhood poverty a mocking ghost that threatened to return.

Without the drugs swirling in his body, Conley knew he wouldn’t have even allowed himself to think about any of this. He opened his eyes and looked at his wife. The horrific problems at work faded as he remembered her words that morning.

He’d known they were coming to this crisis but seemed incapable of stopping it. The long, cold silences, the angry accusations, the way she looked at him when she thought he didn’t know. Everything had turned to shit and he didn’t know how to avoid the inevitable. Conley let his eyes close again, the lids too heavy to hold up, his thoughts too onerous to consider anymore.

With Lara’s pronouncement that morning, his future loomed before him. No career. No capital. No wife.

No life.



LARA SLIPPED BACK into the hospital room, the door closing behind her with a whisper. She hadn’t wanted to leave, but with Conley asleep, she’d decided to run home and get him some clothes and give Ed a quick call to tell him what was going on. He’d been apoplectic when she’d refused his demands to bring Conley to Boulder, but Lara had persevered. “They’re keeping an eye on him for a while. Basically, he’s fine.”

And he was. The doctor had already signed his release form. Despite being covered with bumps and bruises, some pretty nasty, Conley seemed all right.

But not exactly.

Placing the extra clothes she’d brought him in the bathroom, Lara came back and sat down, her eyes going to his still form. He appeared to be sleeping comfortably now, but before she’d left, he’d been turning restlessly, moaning from time to time. Lara had been shocked; Conley was the heaviest sleeper she knew. Was it pain that was bothering him or something more? She thought back to the look he’d sent her when Dr. Sorelli had said he’d called the police. What had that been all about? She’d wanted to ask, but in the end she’d said nothing because Conley wouldn’t have answered her, anyway. He’d have to give answers to the two cops who’d already come by, though. Explaining that he was sleeping, Lara had asked them to return later and they’d agreed.

Too jittery to sit still, Lara opened the door and stepped into the corridor. She was halfway to the coffeepot at the nurse’s station when Bess MacDougal came out of the elevator. The older woman was clutching the stethoscope around her neck, her face wreathed in concern. Her gray hair was piled on top of her head in a haphazard bun, jeans and sneakers peeking out from beneath her white coat.

“Lara! I’ve been doing rounds and I just now picked up my messages and got yours! Is Conley all right? What happened?”

Just seeing Bess made Lara instantly feel better. Ed’s third wife and the only one closer to his age than Lara’s, Bess was a pediatrician and Lara’s surrogate mother. She confided in Bess in a way she couldn’t with Sandy, even as close as they were. Sandy was a good friend, but Bess was…something more.

“Your office told me where you were,” Lara said. “I knew you’d come when you could.”

“How is he?”

“He’s fine,” Lara answered, “at least physically…” They sat down on a nearby couch and Lara gave Bess the details. “He seems awfully nervous, though. I don’t understand it.”

“Well, good grief, child, he just got hit by a car. You’d be a tad nervous yourself!”

Lara nodded. “You’re right. Things were so crazy this morning before he left I’m not thinking straight, I suppose….” She gave the older woman the rest of the story.

Without comment, Bess listened until Lara ran out of words. “Sandy thinks I’m an idiot,” she concluded. With a troubled frown, she looked up at Bess. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

“Oh, Lord, Lara…I don’t know.” Bess reached into her pocket and pulled out an orange sucker. She offered it to Lara then stuck it in her mouth when Lara turned it down. “Relationships aren’t exactly my strong point, you know. Ask your father if you don’t believe me….”

Something more than her usual self-depreciating humor echoed in Bess’s voice. Any other time Lara would have asked the other woman about it, but right now, her concern about Conley overrode everything else.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Lara said. “The last time we got to this point, I let him talk me out of it. When things slipped back into the same old routine, the pain was twice as bad.”

Bess patted her on the knee. “It always is the second time around.”

“I can’t go through that again. And I’m tired of trying. I have to protect myself.”

“Well, you’ve already made your decision, honey, so stick with it and see what happens. That’s all any of us can do. Young or old—” She started to say more, then her beeper went off. Grabbing the device and looking at it, Bess jumped up. “Oh, Lord, I’ve got to run! I’ve got a sweetie on the fourth floor who needs me. A bad case of flu—” She gave Lara a quick hug then flew down the hall toward the stairs. Wishing they could have talked more, Lara watched her leave. Bess would have been good for Ed, Lara thought for the ten millionth time. If they’d stuck together, he’d be a different man.

Turning around, Lara headed back to Conley’s room, her emotions more tangled than ever. When she cracked open the door, her confusion only grew.

Conley was sitting up in bed.

With his rumpled hair and unshaven jaw, he looked vulnerable, defenseless…and sexy, Lara realized with a pang. Conley had always been one of the most handsome men she’d ever known, but he’d gotten more so as he’d aged. His eyes, forever dark and intense, now held shadows in them that drew her even closer. The few threads of silver that gleamed in the hair at his temples only added to his attraction. In one of those strange twists that couldn’t be explained, the further apart they’d grown, the more appealing he’d become.

He lifted a hand to his forehead and touched his bandage. Then he threw off the sheets and started to get out of bed. Moving his right leg too quickly, he paled immediately, a sharp curse following the movement as he fell back against the pillows with a groan and pulled up the covers once more.

Lara couldn’t help herself; she hurried into the room and to the side of the bed. “Are you all right? Do you want me to call the nurse?”

Before he could answer, the door squeaked open again. Lara and Conley both turned at the sound, but under his sheets, Conley immediately tensed, his whole body going taut and rigid. She glanced down at him in surprise then faced the two men who stood in the doorway. The two cops who’d stopped by earlier looked back at her.

“So you finally woke up, eh, Mr. Harrison?” The taller of the two, Officer Margulies, Lara recalled, walked to Conley’s bed and held out his hand. He introduced himself and then turned to the shorter man beside him. The other one, Officer Fields, nodded at Conley.

“We came by earlier, but you were asleep. Your wife suggested we come back later.”

Conley’s mouth went tight. “She didn’t tell me you had come.”

“I didn’t have a chance yet.” Lara sent an apologetic smile to the officers, then a puzzled look to Conley. He was always short with his words, but he was rarely downright rude. “I was going to—”

“Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter,” Margulies dismissed her apology with a breezy wave of his hand. “We just wanted to talk to you about what happened, see if we can’t track down the son of a gun who put you here, that’s all.” His smile was friendly enough, but behind his demeanor, Lara caught an edge of determination. He pulled out a notebook and pen as a wave of tension rose from Conley’s bed. Lara was pretty sure the cops couldn’t tell, but she could. If he’d been able, Conley would have sprung from the bed and raced down the hall to get away from the men.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. “I’m sure it was an accident. The guy just didn’t see me—”

“So it was a male driver?”

Conley tightened his mouth. “I couldn’t tell for sure. I just meant the driver. Whoever he—or she—was, they couldn’t see me. The snow was too bad and I was crossing the street against the light.”

The cop wrote something. “Car, van, truck?”

“It was a car,” Conley said, almost grudgingly. “A coupe, I think.”

Margulies looked up. “Didn’t get a plate number by any chance, did you?”

Conley shook his head.

“Color?”

“I don’t know.”

“Make?”

“No idea.”

Lara stood by in silence. She wasn’t surprised by Conley’s answers; he’d been focused on their argument and wouldn’t remember the details of the car. But why was he so nervous?

The other officer, who had said nothing up to this point, went to the opposite side of the room to lean against the wall. He spoke with his arms crossed, his face closed. “You own Harrison’s, right?”

“That’s right.” Conley’s voice sounded even tighter than it had before.

“Can’t you give us any details at all about the car that hit you? Any damage on it, for example? A broken headlight maybe?” Margulies tapped his pen against his notebook. “This isn’t much to work with.”

“I’ve told you everything I can.”

Fields spoke again, and despite her initial impressions, Lara realized he was the one in charge. “You have any enemies, Mr. Harrison?”

“Everyone has enemies, don’t they?”

The two cops looked at him and so did Lara. After a second, Conley shrugged. “None that would want to run over me,” he said finally. “At least none that I know of.”

Slapping his notebook closed, Margulies shook his head. “Well, I guess that’s it, unless you can think of—”

“Any problems at work?” Fields spoke as if the other man hadn’t. Then he shot a glance in Lara’s direction. “Any problems at home?”

“Everything’s fine.” Conley spoke quickly and Lara jerked her head in his direction. He smiled at her for the benefit of the watching policemen, but his eyes warned her not to call him on the lie.

Lara smiled back automatically. He was tighter than a watch spring, she thought in amazement. What on earth was wrong with him?

“I’d like to get home, though.” He looked at the cops. “If that’s all you need…”

“No problem,” Margulies said, sending a nod in Lara’s direction. “But you give us a call when you’re feeling better and maybe we’ll be able to do a little more. In the meantime, take care of yourself.”

The door closed behind them with a swish, and Lara turned immediately to Conley. “What’s going on?” she demanded without preamble. “You acted as if they were here to arrest you, for God’s sake!”

“Nothing’s going on.” His demeanor sharp once more, he eased to the side of the bed with a grimace and stood up, an audible groan escaping before he could stop it.

Her first thought was to help him but this time she stayed where she was. “Conley, come on! I know you! I know you’re hiding—”

Turning sharply, he cursed at her. “Dammit, Lara, I said nothing was going on. Would you believe me for once? Cut me some slack, for God’s sake. I’m in pain here!”

When he came out of the bathroom a few moments later, he was dressed in the clothes she’d brought him. “Let’s get out of here,” he said without looking at her. “I want to go home.”



CONLEY BROODED all the way home and Lara let him. It was pointless to try to get him to talk so she didn’t even make the effort.

They drove through the snow-locked town in silence, the beauty of the frozen landscape nonexistent to them both. The only thing Lara could think about were the two cops and their questions. At Mesa, she frequently dealt with the police about the various cases they were handling. Margulies and Fields were good but it would have taken better to pry anything out of Conley.

And he clearly had something to hide.

As she turned down their street and eased into the driveway, it hit Lara. Maybe Conley did have something to hide…but not from them. She’d been in the room, too. Maybe his reluctance to elaborate had more to do with her presence than theirs.

The idea upset her, but there was nothing she could do about it. If she had any sense, from now on she’d close her mind to thoughts like those. Their marriage was over. She’d declared it dead with her request. The only thing left to do was bury it. Getting hurt and wondering about what could have been made no difference now.

She pulled the SUV into the garage and parked, but by the time she got to the other side of the vehicle to help Conley out, he’d already managed to open his door and slide from the seat. Pale and clearly in pain, he stood stiffly as she rounded the truck’s fender.

“I would have helped you.” She stopped, her hand on the cold metal. “Couldn’t you have waited?”

“It’s okay,” he said from behind gritted teeth.

Always silent, always tough.

“Fine.” She turned around and abandoned him where he was. If that was what he wanted, she could play by those rules, she fumed. Let him make his own damn way inside.

She unlocked the door and went into the house. She’d left the thermostat up that morning when she’d rushed to the hospital and a comforting warmth wrapped itself around her. The place felt like home. Except one ingredient was missing—the essential one—and that was, as Sandy had so aptly noted, love.

A few moments after she entered, the door squeaked again and Conley stepped inside. One look at his face and the thoughts she’d just had fled Lara’s mind. Conley looked horrible, all his weight on his good left leg. She rushed to where he wobbled.

“Put your arm around my shoulder,” she commanded. “You need some help.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, Conley! You’re white as a sheet and just about as strong. Let me help you get into bed!”

He started to say something, then obviously thought better of it. Lifting his arm, he draped it over her shoulder.

Her reaction was instantaneous.

It’d been months since Conley had touched her, even the most casual of brushes. When they passed each other in the hall, they both went to great lengths to avoid contact. Now the whole length of his body was pressed up against hers, the warmth of his arms and legs heating her too sensitive skin, his chest tucked against her shoulder in a perfect fit. Memories of other times they’d walked this way, with her snuggled under his arm, his cologne filling her senses, suddenly flooded her. She could even feel his heart beating, she thought with alarm. His pulse was pounding a rhythm so fast and powerful, it had to be painful.

Then she realized it wasn’t his pulse she was feeling. It was hers. And it was painful. Each beat spoke to her. This is what it used to be like. This is what you used to have.

She wondered for a second if he were experiencing some of the same conflicted emotions, then Lara gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking? Of course, he wasn’t.

He brought their progress to a halt and looked down at her. She lifted her gaze to his, his mouth so close to her forehead she could feel his warm breath when he spoke.

“Am I too heavy?”

“I—I think I can manage.”

“What about the stairs?”

“Oh, my God…” Lara looked up at him. “I didn’t even think about the stairs! There’s no way you can go up there.” The master suite was on the second floor. “You’ll have to take the guest room.”

His expression shifted minutely, then she understood.

“I’ll move out,” she said stiffly. “It won’t take but a few minutes to get my things.”

“Don’t.” He tilted his head toward the den. “Just put me in there. I’ll sleep on the couch for a couple of days. As soon as the swelling goes down, I’ll be fine with the stairs.”

Without any argument, she nodded, and together they made their way into the paneled room off the kitchen. Lara eased him down onto the couch where he settled with a heavy sigh. “You’ll have to get my stuff from upstairs,” he said. “I need my briefcase and my cell phone. There’s a file on the chair beside the bed, too. Bring it and—”

Lara stared at him in amazement. “Conley, what you need is to rest! You can’t work right now.”

“I can’t just sit here,” he said in a tight voice. “I’ll go nuts.”

“Then here—” she handed him the remote “—watch a little TV. Do nothing for a change. Relax. That’s what normal people do sometimes, you know.”

He started to reply but the telephone rang. Lara crossed the room to answer it, and Theresa Marchante replied to her cool hello.

“Lara, is Conley there? I stopped by the hospital and they told me he’d checked out.”

“We got home a little while ago, Theresa. Would you like to talk to him?”

“I’m afraid I have to. It’s about the Baku situation….”

Without another word, Lara handed her husband the phone then stepped out of the room. He was going to work, with or without her help, so she might as well leave him to it.

In the kitchen Lara started dinner, her mind hopping from one thing to another. Her thoughts landed, as she knew they would, back on Conley’s behavior at the hospital. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bunch of onions to chop for the soup. He hadn’t wanted to talk to the police, that much had been obvious. If her presence in the room had been the main factor, why?

Her fertile imagination had Lara coming up with more answers than she needed. The knife flashed as she listed them in her mind, but all the variations centered on one thing: the Other Problem.

Conley was having an affair.

Lara didn’t know who the woman was and she didn’t want to know, but she recognized the signs; in her business, she had learned them all. Through the years, though, she’d studied Conley as well and that was how she’d finally figured it out. He’d been hiding something from her for months now. Not to mention the nights he didn’t come home. Or the times he raced to pick up the phone when they were both at home. And then there was the note, of course. The classic giveaway.

It was so clichéd, she’d wanted to throw up. On her way to the cleaners, she’d found a crumpled e-mail in one of his pockets. The message was clear, the point so personal and graphic, Lara’s guts had been turned inside out. She’d gone home and searched their computer for more. She’d found an encrypted file, but hadn’t been able to get past his security password. She was sure it held other e-mails.

She’d asked him point-blank if he was having an affair. He’d looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns then denied it—just as she’d known he would. That was when she’d moved out of the master bedroom.

A sound from the doorway brought her head up. She wondered how long he’d been standing there and watching her.

Their eyes connected over the kitchen table. “I think I need one of those pills Sorelli gave us. Do you have them?”

Lara nodded and wiped her hands on her apron. “They’re in my purse. I’ll get them for you.”

She handed him the medicine and a glass of water a few seconds later. When he finished, he set the glass on the counter with a sigh. He looked worn-out.

She spoke without thinking. “Why don’t you go back into the den and rest? I’ll bring you your soup on a tray.”

“You don’t mind?” He ran a hand through his dark hair, leaving it spiked and wavy. “Waiting on me like this?”

“You can’t very well do it yourself, can you?”

“No, but it’s been a long time since you did anything like that.”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been around so that I could.”

Without a word, he turned around and went back into the den. Angry at herself for the pettiness, Lara returned to the sink.

An hour later, when she walked into the den with a wooden tray in her hands, Conley was asleep. Sprawled on the couch, he had a pillow tucked under his swollen knee and another one behind his head. In his restlessness, he’d already managed to throw off the afghan. It lay in a brightly colored pile at the foot of the sofa.

Lara put the tray on a nearby table and picked up the wool throw. Fluffing it out, she bent over to put it across his sleeping form, but it was too short; it barely covered his torso and the top part of his legs. Stretching it as far as the yarn would allow, she bent to her knees and tucked it in around him, then she stopped and looked at his bruised face.

Even in rest, Conley looked fierce and anxious, tension etching its way across his features. She reached out and gently smoothed a lock of dark hair that had escaped to curl over his brow. Long and silky, it was softer than she remembered. He was such a handsome man, she thought with a catch in her throat. Lean and hungry-looking, he was the type women glanced at then imagined in bed.

Her hand drifted lower, down to the edge of his jaw. A line of steel that never bent. His chin was dark with the shadow of his stubble, his skin felt warm, as warm as the rest of his body had been as she’d helped him inside. She let her touch linger for a moment, her eyes on the pulse at the bottom of his throat.

How many times had she kissed him in that spot?

How many times had he done the same to her?

For one crazy minute she thought about pressing her lips against his neck, then she came to her senses.

What was she doing? She’d told this man she wanted to end their marriage. She’d told him she wanted a divorce. She’d told herself she didn’t love him anymore.

She’d told the truth.

Hadn’t she?




CHAPTER FOUR


CONLEY HUNG UP the phone and started rearranging the papers in the file spread over his mahogany desk. It was busywork and nothing more, and with an angry curse, he stood and limped to the window that covered one wall of his office. In the crystal-blue distance, the Rocky Mountains glistened, their towering peaks blanketed in a thick layer of pristine snow, dotted with patches of green firs. Filled with a sense of doom, he stared out at the stunning view.

He’d gotten the first call the day after his accident. A second one had come the day after that. By the end of the week, it was clear his mishap hadn’t escaped the notice of his investors. Suspicious and wary, it was almost as if they’d been told about the other incidents. With no options left, he’d flown to Houston that weekend and met the primaries in an elegant hotel. The gracious surroundings had done nothing to smooth their worried brows. To say they hadn’t been happy was more than an understatement.

The shit had hit the fan.

They’d given him an ultimatum: Get security and get it immediately. Call the police. Call the FBI. Call whoever it takes, but have the stalker found and stopped. And by the way, make damn sure no one hears about this, either. No one.

Conley shook his head. He couldn’t deny their logic. The tech market was shaky enough on a good day; publicity as potentially bad as this could put a spike right through the heart of Harrison’s. The whole company would go straight down the tubes. This morning—a week since his accident—he’d brought Matthew Oakley in and discussed the situation, explaining the nervous investors and their desire for security. Matthew had reacted just as Conley had known he would.

“This makes my point, Con,” he’d said. “We need to move on the glass chip. I’m telling you, it’s the best way for us to get on top. The money guys will forget about everything when they hear about this idea.”

Standing beside Conley’s desk, Matthew had worn a familiar expression—one of stubborn persistence. Quiet and self-effacing, the gifted designer understood the world of computer chips better than anyone Conley had ever known. But he was also invisible. Light-brown hair, nondescript eyes, average height and weight. When he walked into a room, no one ever saw Matthew. Even fewer listened when he talked. And so he was dismissed.

But not by Conley. He’d recognized Matthew’s intelligence instantly.

Matthew put his hands on the desk. “Let me run with it, Con. We can’t wait any longer. Somebody else will jump in there.”

They’d had this discussion too many times to count. Matthew had designed a chip—on his own—that he wanted Harrison’s to sell. But Conley wasn’t willing to go forward. There had been problems with the preliminary run and even more had been discovered in the beta testing phase. If Harrison’s delivered a product before the bugs had been worked out, the harm the company could suffer would be greater than missing the market completely.

“I can’t do that, Matthew.” Conley had shook his head. “Not now. Not yet. It’s not ready and neither is the company. You’ve still got some problems with that chip and I’m not putting Harrison’s name on it until those are solved.”

The expression on Matthew’s face had said it all. Anger, then resentment, then acceptance. “Okay,” he’d sighed. “You’re the boss. You know best.”

Right, Conley thought now.

His company and his marriage were two trains on parallel tracks, each heading toward the edge of the canyon with no bridge in sight. I’m the boss, he thought. And I know…shit.

A knock sounded on his office door. Turning painfully, his leg still sore, Conley called out and the door opened.

Theresa stood on the threshold, a notebook in her hand, her strong, distinctive perfume preceding her. She rented space downstairs, and in fact, that was how they’d met. Right after Conley had moved the company into the bigger offices several years ago, they’d literally run into each other in the hallway. When he’d learned she was an attorney they’d started talking and the relationship had followed.

“I just received the new contracts for the London deal. Is this a good time to go over them or would you rather wait until later?”

He motioned for her to come in, and she did so, closing the door behind her. Walking briskly to the conference table at one end of his office, she opened the file and spread out the papers. Conley stayed where he was, staring out the window.

After a few minutes, he realized she was waiting. “I’m sorry, Theresa,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve got a lot of my mind—”

“It’s okay.” She looked as if she were debating something. Finally, she spoke. “It’s Lara, isn’t it? She told me about the divorce, Conley. I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry….”

Conley didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “She told you?”

“Yes. When I called her about the accident, she explained.”

Conley fell silent. Lara wasn’t the kind of woman who shared personal things with people, excepting Sandy, of course. Her job called for that kind of discretion but it was her nature, as well. Then it dawned on him. She’d told Theresa so she could get a referral.

“Did you tell her who to call?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you give her the name of an attorney?”

For once, Theresa looked flustered. “No— I—I didn’t do that. She didn’t ask. I—”

“It doesn’t matter.” He turned back to the window and stared out at the mountains in the distance. Their frozen peaks looked as cold and hard as his heart felt at the moment. “I think we’d better review those contracts later if you don’t mind.”

She murmured something he didn’t quite catch and a few minutes later the door opened then closed. He stayed where he was for a little bit longer, then he reached for the phone. There was no sense in putting off his decision. This was a problem that had to be resolved…and there was only one firm for a thousand miles that could handle it.



THERESA CLOSED the door softly, but stayed where she was, her fingers wrapped around the door knob. Poor Conley. He didn’t look well. Still pale and shaky from his accident, he shouldn’t have been at work. He should have been at home, sipping hot tea in front of the fireplace, taking it easy after that horrible accident. He should have been relaxing. He should have someone taking care of things for him.

Someone who loved him as he deserved.

Her hand tightened involuntarily, the cold metal hard beneath her touch.

If he’d been her husband, she wouldn’t have let him leave the house.

Forcing her fingers to relax, she released the doorknob and started down the hall toward the back stairs, her shoulders stiff with anger. Lara Harrison didn’t deserve him and she never had. She didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a man. All she cared about was herself. Anyone who’d ever met her knew how true that was. She was just like her father. Self-centered and completely oblivious to those around her.

Her heels clattering on the metal stairs, Theresa reached her office and slammed the door behind her. Dropping the files on her desk, she crossed the room and stood beside the window. Her view was the same as Conley’s. She’d planned it that way from the very beginning. When she looked out at the mountains she saw exactly what he did.

The symbolism had appealed to her.

Closing her eyes against the startling beauty of the mountains, Theresa allowed herself a tiny smile. Her mother had always told her one day her luck would change and she’d been right. Theresa had grown up on a ranch in South Texas, a hardscrabble place where she and her mom, the cook and maid on the spread, had lived in a run-down shack that froze in the winter and baked in the summers.

Her whole life had felt like a struggle that never ended, one catastrophe after another. Her father was someone she never knew. The fight for grades and a scholarship. Then law school on no funds and a dishwashing job. Nothing had been easy for Theresa. Then she’d met Conley Harrison and everything had fallen into place. And that’s when she’d understood. Conley was the key to her happiness. It sounded corny, but Theresa didn’t care. She recognized the truth when it made itself known. For years, she’d been waiting for someone to make her life right. Conley was that person.

Because she saw everything as Conley did. Not just the view, either. His business, his way of life, even what he ate. Everything about them was the same, even their hard childhoods. They were two halves of one whole, and someday soon he’d realize that.

Lara would, too.



“WE NEED TO make sure we’re clear on this.” Tapping the file on his desk with one burly finger, Ed looked past Lara to where her stepbrother sat. Larry Journay—Ed’s son by wife number three—nodded in agreement, which was exactly what he always did and what Ed expected him to do. The new client Ed was referring to, an accountant who thought his business partner was cheating him, was someone Larry would handle. “I don’t want this guy going nuts if we find out the truth. Call the Denver police and make sure he doesn’t have any priors. I’m not sure I trust what he’s telling us so far.”

Ed turned to Lara. Beneath a pair of beer-colored eyebrows, his green eyes burned with their usual intensity. “Has he sent in the retainer yet? If he hasn’t, we might want to wait….”

Lara blinked and tried to focus. She’d been listening, but most of her attention was back at the house, not on Ed’s latest potential catastrophe. The day after Conley’s accident, work had intruded before he’d even dressed, Theresa visiting him with some papers needing his signature. Lara had wanted to talk to him about the divorce, to pin him down if she could, but he’d left in a hurry. He’d phoned later from the office and told her he was going to have to take a call in the middle of the night from Baku so he was just going to sleep there, on his couch. Then he’d flown to Houston for the weekend. A meeting, he’d said.

Right.

A week had passed since the accident, but she still hadn’t been able to corner him long enough to talk about the problem. All she’d done was worry over the point Sandy had made. What would Lara do if Conley refused to give her a divorce?

“Lara?” Ed’s voice boomed with impatience. “Have we gotten this guy’s money or what?”

She answered automatically. “No. He said he was sending a check, but nothing’s come in yet.”

Ed made a sound of impatience, then continued his instructions until Stephanie, Larry’s wife, came into the office and interrupted them. Her eyes fell on Lara, her voice subdued.

“Con’s on line one. Shall I put him through to your office?” Normally bouncy and cheerful, Stephanie didn’t wait for Lara’s answer. “I can put him off,” she offered. “If you don’t want to talk to him….”

Ed had told everyone at their office Lara and Conley were divorcing, and they’d all been treating her as if someone had died.

Lara stood up. “I’ll take it in there, Steph. Put him through.”

Back at her desk, Lara took a deep breath, then picked up the phone. Conley’s tense voice answered her own edgy hello.

“I need to see you,” he said without preamble. “Do you have some time available this afternoon?”

Lara stiffened, Sandy’s warning flashing through her mind like an out of control strobe light.

“I might,” she hedged. “Is there something important we need to talk about?”

“It’s not an issue to discuss over the phone.”

“If this is about the divorce—”

“It isn’t about the divorce, Lara.” He spoke as quietly as ever, but behind the words, Lara detected something she’d never heard in Conley’s voice. Ever. She told herself she was imagining things, then he spoke again and she was sure she was right. What she heard was fear.

Before she could question him, he said, “It’s something else, a problem. I want you to bring Ed, as well. Come at three. I’ll be free by then.”

She said all right, but he’d already hung up, so she did the same, staring at the phone as if it could answer all her questions. She must have been mistaken. Conley afraid? It made no sense, none whatsoever. Whatever his faults might be, he was the toughest man she’d ever known. He’d left home at sixteen and joined the military as soon as he could. Afterward, holding down three jobs, he’d made his way through college and had still sent money home. He’d been on his own forever. Nothing could scare Conley Harrison.

But he’d definitely sounded frightened.

She wanted to give the idea more thought but she pulled herself together and went back to Ed’s office. It wasn’t worth facing his ire if she missed the rest of the meeting. She slipped inside and took her seat, and for the next hour they continued to discuss their current clients. The firm was respected in circles that counted. In fact, they had a waiting list because Ed kept the number of cases very limited. They only had three at the moment: a senator’s wife who was scared of her about-to-be-divorced husband, the eleven-year-old daughter of a corporate raider who was under a kidnapping threat, and a Wall Street firm that thought someone was about to blackmail their CEO. If Mesa took the accountant, he’d be number four and that would be it. They never handled more than four cases at a time.

At long last, Ed finished up. Larry left the room, but Lara stayed where she was. Ed looked over his half glasses at her, his eyebrows lifted.

“Conley wants a meeting,” she said. “With the two of us this afternoon. At his place.”

“A meeting? How much time will it take? I have to be at the bank before five and I’m taking Bess out tonight. What does he want?”

He was taking Bess out? Lara wondered briefly what that was all about, then she put aside the question. She’d call Bess later and find out. If Conley was lying and he did want to fight the divorce, then Lara had more important things to worry about than what her father and Bess were up to.

“I don’t know what he wants, Ed. Something about the divorce, I guess. What else could it be?”

“Then why does he need me?”

“I have no idea.”

As Lara spoke, an indescribable weariness came over her. Her life felt as if it were melting under the onslaught of heated emotions and disappointments. Ed stared at her and started to speak, but all at once Lara gathered her papers and stood. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say, no matter what it was. She turned and walked out of his office.

She couldn’t handle anything more.



LATE THAT AFTERNOON, Conley limped around his office with a restless energy, the cord of his headset dragging along behind him. His leg was feeling better, but it still hurt some. He grimaced against the pain and concentrated on his phone call.

“Have you checked on the dip switches on lines two and four? Those com lines have to be open and clear or there might be a timing problem. If all the buses are trying to use the same path, the data’s gonna cross and everything will be scrambled.”

He waited for the translator to relay his question and cursed silently. He should be there in person! How could you fix a computer without seeing what in the hell was going on? It wasn’t just the data that was getting scrambled, he was sure. There was no way someone who didn’t know what they were doing could follow his directions.

Looking at his watch, he cursed again. Right now, Lara and Ed were probably walking into the building, and he hadn’t had a moment to think since he’d called her early this morning. He’d wanted to organize his thoughts, get his facts lined up just so, and he hadn’t had the chance.

Along with his phone problem, he’d been too busy staring at the damn roses sitting on his desk. Ellen, his secretary, had brought them in sometime midmorning. When he’d questioned her, she’d told him they’d been delivered by a courier. As always, Conley had her tracking down the florist but he was sure the people at the shop would say the same thing each florist did. The flowers had been ordered over the phone and paid for with cash mailed in advance. Sorry, they had no record of the sender.

He usually sent the bouquets immediately to the retirement home down the road, unable to stand the sight of their bloodred petals but he’d kept them this time to show Ed and Lara. The one word note lay on his desk, the four letters blinking up at him almost evilly.

Soon…

With a start, he realized the translator was talking again. He’d completely lost track. Interrupting the woman, he stopped her in midword.

“Look,” he said, “I’m not going to solve this problem like this, okay? I can’t come myself, but I’ll send someone. Tell them—”

At the other end of the line, his Azeri customer started to scream. Obviously he knew more English than Conley had assumed. “No,” the man cried. “Not someone. You. Must be you. Other person, no!”

With promises he knew might be empty, Con soothed the man as much as he could, hanging up a few minutes later. He was ripping off his headset when a tap sounded on his door. The door opened and Theresa stood on the threshold, Lara and Ed right behind her.





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