Breaker's Passion (16 page)

It was drizzling again and the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees. The puddles of rainwater reflected the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles, making it seem like more of Seattle’s finest were at this scene than actually were. She stepped in a puddle and cursed.

“I’m Colby Taylor,” she said through gritted teeth. A police radio crackled, a fog horn blasted in the distance.

The crisis negotiator introduced himself, briefed her on the current situation, and after what felt like forever led Colby to Gretchen, who was standing on the top of the rail that separated the pedestrian walkway from the edge of the bridge. Her left hand was holding one of the support cables, her back to the asphalt lanes now emptied of traffic.

“Gretchen,” Colby spat. She had to repeat her name before she turned around. Colby was about ten feet away and couldn’t tell if Gretchen was crying or if rain slid down her cheeks. Her hair was plastered to her head and her eyes held that same wild look they did every time they fought.

“I’m surprised you came.” Gretchen’s voice was full of hatred.

“Gretchen, what in the hell are you doing?” The crisis counselor had told her to talk to Gretchen in calm, soothing tones and to say whatever she needed to get her off her perch. Fuck it. She was tired of coddling her.

“Why are you here? You don’t love me anymore.”

Here we go again, Colby thought. Gretchen had been pulling this crap for months. Her schedule was demanding, and more often than not she was at the hospital when Gretchen thought she should be home. Gretchen was an expert on passive-aggressive behavior and was equally adept at getting what she wanted through manipulation. When that behavior was no longer effective she had begun threatening to hurt herself if Colby didn’t come home, go to a party, or whatever other inconsequential, stupid thing she wanted her to do.

They argued constantly, Gretchen demanding more of Colby’s time and attention. They had been partners almost eight years, and Gretchen had known her career was demanding when they got together. Why now, after all these years, was it a problem? And tonight of all nights she had to pull this crap.

“Gretchen, we’ve had this discussion more than once, now get down from there.”

“I swear I’ll jump. I’m not coming down unless you promise to spend more time with me.” She stuck out her bottom lip like a petulant child. That behavior always infuriated Colby.

“Gretchen.” Colby shook her head. “This is un-fucking-believable. It’s three in the goddamn morning, and the baby I spent the last week trying to save, a baby who fought so hard for life, is dead. I can’t believe you have the nerve to stand up there and threaten to jump because I’m not giving you enough attention.”

Gretchen looked right through her.

“I’m tired of your empty threats, Gretchen. Get down.” Colby heard the intake of breath from the crisis negotiator. She felt him move closer and ignored him.

“Or what? You’re gonna run off and hide in your little hospital again where you’re such a big shot, Doctor?” Her sneer was clearly visible.

That was the last straw. She devoted the majority of her life working to save those too small and weak to save themselves, the complete innocents of the world. And this was what she got in return? She should have a lover who would take her in her arms after a case like this, no questions asked, no rebuke for the lack of time they spent together. Who would hold her, comfort her, love her. When did Gretchen become so selfish? When did she herself stop caring?

“Either get your ass down or jump off the fucking bridge. I don’t care which.”

What happened next was the script of her nightmares. Gretchen had held Colby’s gaze, leaned back, and let go.

“There was an inquest. The coroner ruled her death a suicide,” Colby said at the end of her story.

“Colby.” Elizabeth sat beside her and laid her hand on Colby’s forearm. Colby stiffened under her touch, then jerked her arm away.

“Don’t, Elizabeth.” Colby put one hand up, palm facing Elizabeth to emphasize her point. “I don’t want your pity, your sympathy, or your absolution. I killed Gretchen just the same as if I had pushed her off that bridge.” God, she was tired.

“That wasn’t what I intended to say.”

Colby practically jumped off the couch. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Elizabeth. I’m a doctor. I know what’s going on, and don’t even try to bullshit me. That’s exactly what you intended to say and I don’t want to hear it.” Colby turned away, not wanting to see the look of undeserved pity in her eyes—or worse.

“Just because we’ve been sleeping together doesn’t mean you can read my mind,” Elizabeth shot back. “Do you think so little of me that you can lie to me about something like this?”

“I didn’t lie to you.”

“Really? You led me to believe you were nothing more than a surf instructor.” Elizabeth was on her feet pacing now.

“I didn’t lead you to believe anything.” Colby knew she was quibbling.

“Then what exactly would you call it? Lying by omission?” Elizabeth stopped and gazed at Colby with an expression of dawning understanding. “Did you think I wouldn’t want anything to do with you if I knew?”

Colby dropped her hand. “That has nothing to do with it.” Her anger was returning.

“Then what does it have to do with?”

Colby was on the verge of collapse. She hadn’t slept last night, and the adrenaline that had kept her going these last few hours was depleted. She could barely remember to breathe, and the last remnants of the control she had so painstakingly maintained slid away. “I don’t deserve it,” she said, surprising herself.

“You don’t deserve what?”

“Anything, anybody.” Colby stood in front of the couch but didn’t sit down. “I killed her just the same as if I’d pushed her.” She held up her hand again, silencing Elizabeth. “I told Gretchen to jump. I killed her,” she repeated. “Why should I be entitled to anything? Gretchen is dead. A wonderful, loving woman is gone. Her parents were devastated, her sister had a miscarriage, and I can’t sleep at night because of what I did. What I did.”

Colby jabbed her own finger into her chest, emphasizing each word. “So don’t you dare tell me what I can or cannot have. What I can think or feel. I am responsible for the death of another human being. I took the Hippocratic Oath to protect and preserve life. And because I was tired,” Colby choked, “God help me, I abandoned it because I was tired.” Her head ached, her eyes were dry. She had cried so much the first few months after Gretchen’s death she didn’t have any tears left. She turned her back on Elizabeth, not wanting to see the disgust she knew was there.

“So you think you deserve to be punished for the rest of your life because of a stupid decision somebody else made?”

Elizabeth’s voice was soft, but her question was anything but.

How was she supposed to answer that? She was responsible for Gretchen’s death. She had to live with that fact every single day and take it to bed with her every night. She stood, her legs weak as she headed for the front door. Then she turned around and looked into sad eyes.

“Yes, Elizabeth I do. And nothing you or anyone else can say will convince me otherwise.” She stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind her.

Elizabeth was stunned. She had no idea what Colby had intended to say, but it certainly wasn’t this. How could she think that she’d killed that woman—her girlfriend? It wasn’t her fault she had jumped. From what little Colby said, Gretchen was manipulative and got caught in her final bluff. How cruel to leave that as the last thought of the woman you claimed to love. Elizabeth tasted the hatred boiling up in her throat.

She paced around her villa until it started to close in on her. Grabbing her key and a twenty from her wallet, she headed out the door.

She didn’t mind that she couldn’t find an empty chair on the beach. She preferred to walk, needed to move to work off the nervous energy coiled inside her. Colby’s words echoed in her brain: “I killed my lover.” How hard it must have been to say that and even harder to live with the belief that she had done something so horrible. Suddenly Elizabeth remembered the nightmare.

It was one of the few times they had simply slept together, at least for any length of time. She woke to Colby thrashing around mumbling something she couldn’t understand. When Elizabeth had woken her, Colby claimed it was just a bad dream, and within minutes Elizabeth didn’t remember anything except the feel of her mouth on her.

This affair, or whatever tag they would put on it, would soon end. It had to. She had to go back to work, and neither of them had mentioned anything about seeing each other again. They wouldn’t Twitter each other, be Facebook friends, or make video calls three times a week. That was simply an unspoken understanding.

“What a bunch of bullshit,” Elizabeth said out loud, after a newlywed couple passed. She sank to her knees, barely conscious of the water lapping around her, and it hit her like a tsunami. She had fallen in love with Colby Taylor. One hundred percent, totally, unarguably in love with the surf instructor with dark eyes, a gentle touch, and a breathtaking smile.

When did this happen? The first time she saw her? The first time they kissed? The first time they made love? Her body swayed and she moved off her knees and sat down, curling her toes in the wet sand as she gazed out into the water.

Images of Colby danced across the horizon. Mastering the waves on her board, walking in the sand, laughing at something silly, above her in the early hours before dawn. She choked back a sob. What had she done? How had she let this happen? She wasn’t in the market for a relationship, especially not falling in love. Hell, she hadn’t even been looking for sex. Well, she had certainly hit the trifecta with Colby.

An hour later Elizabeth sat in front of her computer, but not writing or conducting research for her book. She was reading the seventeenth out of eight hundred and thirty-nine hits on Dr. Colby Taylor.

As Elizabeth devoured the information, an entirely different image of Colby formed. She had graduated summa cum laude from Smith College, at the top of her class at Harvard Medical School, and had completed a prestigious residency in pediatric surgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital. She had moved to Seattle and opened her own practice and become one of the top pediatric surgeons in the country.

Article after article touted Colby’s skill in the operating room, her dedication to her patients, her generosity of giving her time to local charities. Elizabeth read at least four or five instances that stated how she had donated her skills to save the life of a child whose parents couldn’t afford it. There were pictures of Colby, mostly in scrubs, but one specific one made Elizabeth stop breathing.

Colby was evidently at a charity event, wearing a black cocktail dress that ended just above her knees, the spaghetti straps revealing strong, tan shoulders. Even looking at a four-inch-square picture, Elizabeth could tell the dress was a perfect fit, accentuating every curve of Colby’s lean body. She was standing with four other people and laughing. This was a Colby that Elizabeth had never seen. The caption identified the woman at her side as Gretchen Thomas.

Elizabeth stared at the woman who had caused Colby such pain. She was much shorter than Colby, with an edginess that Elizabeth instinctively didn’t like. Gretchen’s expression clearly said she was annoyed that she wasn’t the center of attention in the gathering. Elizabeth shook her head. She had no idea what Gretchen was thinking when the picture was shot. Anything could have been going on.

She finally pushed away from the computer when her battery died three hours later. Her legs were stiff when she stood up, and she rubbed the back of her neck as she went in search of the power cord.

No doubt about it, Colby was an amazing woman. She had simply chucked a successful career and become a surf instructor. But this situation was anything but simple. Colby was better than that. She had a wonderful skill, one that saved the lives of hundreds of children, some only hours old. And she threw it all away because, “Because what? Her stupid girlfriend jumped off a bridge,” she said out loud in her very empty room.

She fought the urge to fire up the Dell again and Google Colby some more. What else could she learn that she didn’t already know? The World Wide Web wouldn’t tell her what she knew about the woman with the shiny black hair and serious dark eyes.

Colby was thoughtful and considerate, pulling out the chair for her, practically standing whenever she entered the room or left the table. She had a fabulous wit and great sense of humor. She looked at her like there was no one else in the world she’d rather be with. She had the softest kisses, her touch featherlight, then demanding. Her breathing became shallow when she was aroused, her skin flushed and quivered under Elizabeth’s hands. She gasped when she climaxed.

Yes, Dr. Colby Taylor was an amazing woman, and Elizabeth had fallen head over heels in love with her. What in the hell did she intend to do about it?

Colby knew it would end like this. She had told herself hundreds of times if anyone discovered her secret it would be bad. She didn’t have to worry about becoming emotionally involved. That part of her was dead, shut down tight. Or at least she thought it was. As a doctor, to remain objective she kept herself removed from her patients. If she thought of them as extremely ill little kids she wouldn’t be able to focus on saving their lives. She lived her life emotionally one step away from everybody, and she hadn’t been aware she’d done it to Gretchen too.

The water lapped over her feet and ankles. She had no idea how long she’d been walking along the shore. The sun had set hours ago, and she’d been on the beach ever since she left Elizabeth.

She was a mess, carrying enough emotional baggage to fill an oil tanker. And, like one, she was leaking after running aground with Elizabeth Collins. She had built a shell around herself after Gretchen. No one knew about her other life, her world before her life as a surf instructor. The designer clothes, the seven-figure bank account, the three cars parked in the garage of a house located on two acres only fifteen miles away.