A Secret Life (17 page)

But then his lips touched hers. So soft, so sweet, so hot.

Their mouths fused, opening in unison, so their tongues tangled together. His hands cradled her face, and her arms wound around his neck.

It might have been meant as a goodbye kiss, but it instantly turned into something else altogether.

He stepped into the embrace, his hard body coming flush against hers. She moved against him, fisting her hands and digging them into the back of his neck. She pressed closer, closer, closer still.

She couldn’t let him go. This one moment in time had to last forever, because when it was over, he was walking out of her life for good. He was fired, and she was alone.

“So sweet,” he muttered against her lips. His hands smoothed down her sides, then rounded to the small of her back. “So beautiful. You are the sexiest woman alive.”

She wanted him.

She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life, more than saving Indigo, more than publishing a book, more than appeasing her family. She wanted Anthony here and now, naked and inside her, even if she regretted it every second of every day for the rest of her life.

Something vibrated against her shoulder.

She jumped back. “What on—”

“My phone,” he mumbled, recapturing her lips and kissing her again.

It vibrated a second time, tickling her.

“Damn.” He ripped it out of his pocket and threw it on the bed.

“You should answer it,” she said around his next kiss. Real life was still out there, whether she wanted it to be or not.

“Screw it.” He kissed her neck.

The sixth muffled buzz sounded from the bed.

“Anthony.”

He sucked in a harsh breath and reached down to grab the phone. He flipped it open, his voice a bark. “Yeah?”

He was silent for a moment.

Then he blinked and gave his head a little shake. “I don’t—”

More silence.

Joan felt a chill. The regret she’d fully expected was upon her—even sooner than she’d feared. She started for her suitcase, but his hand shot out, grabbing her arm to stop her.

“I agree,” he said into the phone, giving her a look that clearly ordered her to stay put. Not that she could break the grip on her arm. Not that she wanted to. She should want to, she knew. But she didn’t. And there it was.

“Okay,” said Anthony. “Maybe Dallas for a few days.”

Business. He had already moved on. Something inside her died a whimpering death.

“Talk to you then,” he said and flipped the phone shut.

He stared down at her for a heartbeat, the earlier passion completely erased from his eyes. “We have a problem.”

She squared her shoulders. If he could move on, so could she. “What kind of a problem?”

His grip had loosened on her arm, so she reached for her suitcase.

“That was Samuel,” he said.

Joan stopped, her fear turning to Heather. “What’s wrong?”

“He thinks…” Anthony tucked the phone back into his pocket. “He saw someone dig up a baseball bat in his backyard.”

Joan squinted at Anthony. “So what?”

“The police thought his mother was hit with a baseball bat before she was shot. But they never found it.”

Joan nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I read that in the transcript.”

“If this is the baseball bat…”

A shiver of true fear ran through Joan. If this was the same baseball bat, there was only one person who would know where it was. “Then there really is a murderer out there.”

“And your book has made him nervous.”

She shook her head, taking an involuntary step back. “It’s not possible. I made it all up.”

“We can’t take that chance.”

“What do we do?”

“We go to Dallas for a few days. If Samuel’s right, you can’t be in Indigo right now.”

“But what about Samuel? What about
Heather?
”

“You’re the one the person’s scared of.”

“But I don’t know anything.” The whole situation took on a brand-new feeling of unreality.

“Samuel’s talking to Alain. Let’s give the police department a few days. We can stay with my parents until then.”

Stay with Anthony’s parents? With
Anthony?
With all that was going on between them? Bad idea. Really, really bad idea.

“I can go to Boston,” she said, even though she dreaded facing her own parents.

He stared down at her, looking all protective and Anthony again. She tried hard not to treasure that look.

“You honestly think there’s a chance in hell I’m going to let you out of my sight?”

“I fired you.” Her voice cracked over the words.

“We’re in this together, Joan.
Together.
”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

J
OAN AND
A
NTHONY
headed straight for the airport after Samuel’s call. They managed to catch a red-eye to Houston, then they hopped an afternoon flight to Dallas and rented a car. By the time they pulled into his parents’ driveway, Joan was exhausted and a nervous wreck.

She fluffed her hair, checking the visor mirror to make sure her makeup wasn’t too badly smeared.

“You sure this is going to be okay?” she asked for the hundredth time.

“They’re thrilled,” he reassured her. “I haven’t been home in nearly a year.”

“I know they’re happy to see you. It’s me that might be the problem.”

He slanted her a look of frustration as he shut off the key. “They’re friendly people, Joan.”

“But I’m an uninvited guest.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

He opened the driver’s door. “Let’s go.”

Joan took a deep breath. If Anthony’s family seemed at all uncomfortable, she’d go to a hotel. In fact, she’d suggested that to Anthony already. But he’d said his mother would be offended and might never speak to him again if they dared even suggest hotel rooms.

She stepped gingerly onto the concrete driveway and glanced around.

They were in an older, but very well-maintained family neighborhood. The lawns were lush, the hedges trimmed, and the driveways wound through generous sized lots to multi-story houses of brick and stone.

The Verduns’ house had a wide, front porch, with square pillars supporting the roof and double front doors, bracketed with sidelight windows. A rustic, willow furniture grouping on the porch looked like an inviting spot to spend a cool, fall evening.

She followed Anthony up the semicircular stairs, wondering how much he’d told them about her. Did they know she was a client? Did they think she was a friend?

As they stepped onto the porch, the double doors burst open. “Anthony!” A sixtyish woman burst through the entrance and pulled him into a warm hug.

“Hey, Mom.” Anthony responded by wrapping his arms around her and lifting her slightly off the ground.

Then he put her down, kept one arm around her and gestured to Joan. “This is Joan Bateman.”

“Joan!” The short-haired, rounded woman rushed forward again, this time wrapping Joan in an enveloping hug that lasted about five seconds too long for Joan’s comfort zone.

The woman finally released her. “Such a delight to meet you.”

“I’m happy to meet you, too,” said Joan, with a backward step.

Anthony immediately swooped in and put a hand on the small of her back. “Watch the stairs behind you.”

Joan stilled. “Right.”

She focused on Anthony’s mother. “I hope this isn’t an imposition.”

The woman smiled broadly and waved away her concern. “Nonsense. We’re thrilled to have you.” She smoothed her mint-green cotton blouse over her khaki shorts. “I’m Anna. Anthony’s father, Oscar, is in back in the yard. The—”

“Anthony!” Another body burst through the doors. A younger woman in denim shorts, flip-flop sandals and a blue-and-white striped tank top launched herself into Anthony’s arms.

Joan surreptitiously braced herself on the railing, just in case she was next.

“This is Nadine,” said Anna. “She’s Anthony’s brother Brett’s wife.”

The lithe and tanned Nadine pulled away from Anthony and tucked her long, dark hair behind her ears. She turned and stuck out her hand to Joan. “You must be Joan.”

Joan breathed a sigh of relief as she shook the woman’s hand. “Yes. Joan Bateman.”

Just then, a man who looked remarkably like Anthony appeared. “About time you showed up,” he boomed to Anthony with a hearty, backslapping handshake.

“And this is Brett,” said Anna.

Nadine took in Joan’s expression, then leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “I was new once, too. Don’t let them intimidate you.”

“Thanks,” said Joan, wondering how far it was to the nearest hotel.

“Let’s not stand around our here on the porch,” said Anna, ushering them toward the door with expansive arm gestures. “Dad’s got the grill going.”

Joan followed Anthony and his slightly larger brother.

“Carlos is playing a gig in Amarillo,” said Anna as they made their way through a gold-and-tan-colored foyer, cluttered with shoes, tennis rackets and a guitar leaning up against the wall.

The living room looked well used, with worn, overstuffed leather furniture, a massive stone fireplace, plants on every conceivable surface, and magazines piled haphazardly from the floor to a crowded bookcase. Obviously, Anna hadn’t been expecting company this weekend.

They cut through the kitchen. High-ceilinged, and done in the same muted gold and earth tones, it seemed more organized than the other rooms.

There was a hint of freshly baked cookies in the air, and appliances of every description covered the granite counters. Two wine racks were cut into the stone of a feature wall. Wrought-iron chairs were lined up beside a breakfast bar, and Joan could easily picture family members chatting with Anna while she cooked.

“David’s family should be here soon,” sang Anna as she opened French doors leading to a huge cedar deck. It was obvious the family spent a lot of time outside.

“David is the youngest,” Nadine offered. “He has three little kids, and his wife, Leila, hasn’t slept through the night in years.”

“Do you have any children?” asked Joan.

Nadine shook her head. “I teach third grade. So far, I haven’t had the desire to go 24/7 with the little mites.”

Joan smiled. Her own experiences with children were few and far between. She hadn’t decided about them one way or the other. Not that she was in a position to become a mother anytime soon.

“Joan?” called Anna from the other side of the deck. “This is Oscar, Anthony’s father.”

A big, burly man, wearing a Kiss The Cook apron and brandishing a spatula, descended on Joan.

Her mind barely had time to register panic before she was enveloped in a hug. She tensed for a second, but then realized his arms were gentle, his voice soft and teasing, and his scent a pleasant mixture of tangy spices.

“Welcome to Texas,” he rumbled against her.

“Thank you,” she managed as he pulled away.

“Anthony gives you any trouble, you come to me,” he winked.

“Anthony’s given me plenty of trouble,” she joked under her breath, feeling relieved by his jovial manner.

Oscar waved the spatula in Anthony’s direction. “You behave yourself.”

Anthony held up his hands. “Whatever she told you, it wasn’t me.”

Everyone laughed.

Oscar turned back to Joan. “How do you like your burgers?”

“However you’re cooking them will be fine.”

He ruffled her hair. “That’s my girl.” Then he called back to Anthony. “Don’t you let this one get away.”

Joan kept the smile pasted on her face, but didn’t dare look at Anthony.

“Can I get you a drink?” asked Nadine.

“Please,” said Joan without a second’s hesitation.

“Anything in particular?”

“Strong.” Joan wasn’t feeling choosy at the moment.

“David!” cried Anna, bustling toward the kitchen door. “You made it.”

The deck was instantly a whirl of toddlers.

“They drove down from Oklahoma City,” said Nadine. “Come on. The margarita machine is this way.”

“It looks a little crowded around here,” Joan said to Nadine. If David and his family were staying over, Anna was going to have a houseful. “Have we come at a bad time?”

“What? No. We’re all here to see you.”

Nadine led Joan over to an electric drink machine that was churning a lime-green mixture in a glass cylinder.

“They came all that way to see Anthony?” asked Joan. Now
that
was a loyal family.

Nadine handed her a plastic cup of margarita mixture. “Not Anthony.
You.
Anna called to tell us y’all were coming, so we dropped everything.”

“I don’t understand,” said Joan, giving her head a little shake.

“We love your books. Well, we love Anthony, too. But we
really
love your books.”

“You’ve read
Bayou Betrayal?
”

“We’ve read them all. Of course. We thought they were written by a man.”

It took a second for the words to sink in. “You’ve read them
all?
”

Nadine lifted her own drink to her lips, nodding. “Sure did. Me and everybody else.”

“You mean to tell me your family reads all of Anthony’s clients’ books?” He’d told her he had a supportive family, but that was way beyond the call of duty.

Nadine grinned and shook her head. “We didn’t know you were Anthony’s client.”

Now that was even stranger. “Then why?”

“Because they’re great stories. You do realize you’ll have to sign about sixty copies before we’ll let you out of here, don’t you?”

“I’ll sign anything you want.” Joan glanced around the deck in astonishment. These people had all read her books?

“Loved
Black Nights on Water.
”

Joan smiled at Nadine with genuine pleasure. “It was a fast write. I loved playing around with the Joe McIntosh character.”

“He was hot,” Nadine agreed. “Saw you on
Charlie Long
last night. You’re a natural.”

Joan’s smile faltered. “I’m not crazy about the publicity.” She didn’t mention the situation with her family. Judging by what she’d seen of the Verduns so far, Nadine probably wouldn’t understand.