Final Surrender (18 page)

What in the world will tomorrow bring?
he wondered as the sun peeked over the horizon and he finally drifted into sleep.

Chapter Eighteen

As the sun shined brightly in the bedroom, Angela was pretty sure she had never been so sore in all her life.

After trying to roll over twice to get more comfortable, she decided a trip to the bathroom was imminently necessary.

Clay was in front of her, beside the bed, before she could even groan from the effort.

“Well, I think I could get used to this,” she mumbled as Clay gently pulled her to a standing position as if she weighed nothing.

“If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a million times. I’m at least there to pick up the pieces when my clients get bombed. You know, you really messed up my perfect record last night,” he joked as he mostly carried her to the bathroom. He seemed different this morning. Lighter. It was really nice.

Hobbling was about all she was good for and his arms, strong and sure around her waist, made her heart go pitter-pat in her chest. He wouldn’t let her fall and her heart fluttered just a bit more at that realization.

“I’ll try to be more careful next time then. I’d hate to start a trend,” she chided back, liking the feel of being…friends with him.

Clay snickered despite the scowl pulling down his mouth. “Hey, I need to run out real quick, pick up a paper, coffee. Check things out. Think you can manage for a few minutes?” He made sure she could stand on her own and then got the water started, and laid a towel out of her.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Coffee sounds great and I’m just going to hop in the shower while you’re gone. Feel like I need to wash most of 5th Avenue out of my hair.”

He left her standing in the bathroom and as he closed the door, he said, “Okay, I’ll be gone for just a few minutes. If you need me for anything, I programmed my number into your phone. Take your time and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“’Kay,” she added as he latched the door behind him.

“What a predicament I now find myself in,” she stammered out as she stared at herself in the mirror.

Unwrapping all of the bandages from her arms was exhausting. Her arms and face looked raw and the knot on her head was going to make it hard to wash her hair, much less brush it afterwards.

She stripped down and got under the warm water. It stung her exposed cuts and scrapes, but it did something for her mentally. Washing away most of the panic and fear still lingering under her skin from the chaos of the day before was priceless.
At least I am still here to hurt
, she thought.

As gently as she could, she washed her body, shampooed her hair and then stood in the spray of the water for a few extra minutes. It felt nice, but after a little while she was afraid she was nodding off, so she shut off the water and patted herself dry with a towel.

Her hair was going to have to dry crinkly since blow-drying it sounded like the fifth circle of hell.

She went back in her bedroom, turned the TV on and wandered into the closet to grab clothes. A new pair of panties and a T-shirt she got as a gag gift from Jose years ago that said
If you’re gonna ride my ass, at least pull my hair!
were all she had on before she heard the announcer on the morning news.

“Here is some new footage from the bombing last night at The Plaza Hotel. Police are speculating that designer Angela Meyers was the target.”

Angela stared at the footage they showed. It was from one of the photographers there on scene. He must have been some kind of reporter and his footage was up close and terrifying.

She saw herself fly through the air and then the camera ducked down and all you could see was smoke and debris, and she could hear Clay yelling her name. It felt like she was choking on the smoke.

The cameraman recovered after a few seconds and scanned the terrified crowd, settling on Clay leaning over her.

They were talking about theories or something and they were interviewing the same reporter that had shot the footage, and all she could think was how scared Clay looked.

Her legs were shaky, so she more or less fell on the edge of the bed after turning off the TV.

“Angela, what’s taking you so long? You okay?” Clay asked as he walked into her room and knelt in front of her, placing a hand on her knee.

Her body sagged into his. “I was flying on the news,” was all she said before Clay surprised her by scooping her up into his arms and carrying her into the living room.

She didn’t even think to fight him.

It must be my muddy brain
, she assured herself.
It has nothing to do with his broad chest, or intoxicating smell, or the way he holds me so closely.

“I’m just a bit overwhelmed by everything, I think. It’s been a hard few days,” she admitted.

He placed her on the couch and said, “Well, today we are going to do nothing but veg out and watch old movies.”

“But I’m sure I’ve got to deal with the media and the rumors. All of my people have got to be freaking out, not to mention Mark and my parents.” She finally ran out of steam and just stared at her hands lying in her lap.

“Now that you got all that out of your system…” He handed her a steaming cup of coffee and the
New York Times
.

“Ah, sustenance,” she muttered before blowing on her hot brew and taking a tentative sip of heaven after placing the paper on the table. She didn’t think she could stand seeing herself again if she was anywhere close to the cover.

“I’ve already been on the phone with Mark, who is keeping your parents calm until you feel up to talking to everyone later.

“Your attorney, the police department, your publicity agent and several of your employees have called and I have informed them that you are understandably a bit under the weather at the moment and won’t be able to reach them for comments until tomorrow. You can thank me later,” he added with a smirk.

“What time did you get up? Or how many days did I sleep is maybe a better question?” she asked as she set her coffee cup down to stare at him.

“It’s about lunchtime on Sunday and I’ve been up long enough to clear your schedule for the rest of the day. Also, before I forget, I talked to Detective Wyatt about some things last night before we came and met you at the hospital. There’s more to this than you know and he’ll be over later to hook up a wire tap again on your phone.”

Clay settled down next to her, nursing his own coffee.

She continued staring at him, wishing all the fuzziness would get out of her head.

Rubbing her eyes, she inquired, “What, there’s more than creepy phone calls, disconcerting letters and broken bones? Oh, and let’s not forget about last night’s bomb. Bomb,” she added with an unladylike snort.

“It wasn’t the first bomb, Angela.”

She separated her fingers and stared at Clay through them in disbelief. “Yes it was,” she stated emphatically. “I think I would have remembered being blown up before.”

“You weren’t there when the police found the first one. It was at JFK and you weren’t even there when they got the call. They said they checked the manifest and you had changed your schedule and left on an earlier flight. You were very lucky. That makes twice, but I don’t really want to give them a third shot. They got plenty close enough yesterday.”

“Wow,” was all she said after a few minutes. “Why didn’t they tell me any of this before?”

“They’ve decided to play it close to their chest against your dumbass psycho. If I was them, I would have done the exact same thing. You didn’t know anything about it so they decided to keep it that way. Right after that is when they just stopped. Who the hell knows why, but they’re back now and this time we’re going to get to the bottom of it.”

Clay kept silent and let the new reality of what she was…what
they
were dealing with sink in. He absentmindedly played with her hair. His fingertips pulled the wet strands slowly to the end. Angela licked her lips nervously, glancing at Clay out of the corner of her eyes.

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Yes, is it working?” he asked with a playboy smile she didn’t know he still possessed.

“It always works, Clay. Anybody else I can tune out. Everybody else is on the outside, except for you. You’ve always been my Achilles’ heel, but you know that.”

Angela laid her head back against the couch cushions and decided she needed to stop talking. Her insides were already feeling hot and needy, and wanting this man beside her wasn’t going to help her heart or her life stay in one piece. She was brave last night in the near darkness of her bedroom. This morning, not so much.

“I’m nothing special. You could have any man you wanted, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”

He got up and took his cup back to the kitchen and didn’t hear her whisper, “Not every man I want, apparently.”

After he sat back down he asked, “So, want to go out and take a walk, or do you want to stick around here, order in and watch reality TV?”

She lifted her head off the couch with a scoff and said, “You don’t really watch that crap, do you? Every moment you watch is more brain cells you’ll never get back.”

“Please, what do you watch, almighty TV guru?”

“
The Big Bang Theory
, which is the only sitcom that should be allowed on TV. It is fantastically funny. Always makes me laugh no matter what I have going on. Have you ever seen it?”

“Nope, but if it makes you laugh, with that perma scowl you’ve got going on, then it must be pretty good.”

Clay got hit with a pillow out of the blue and he turned to see Angela hiding a wicked grin behind her hand.

“Oh, if you didn’t have a concussion, it would so be on.”

“Well, see, there’s the silver lining of being blown off those steps. I win a pillow fight with you by default. My day is complete. Oh no, not yet. I haven’t had any chocolate.”

“Chocolate, the way to every woman’s heart.”

“Of course it is.”

“So you want to venture out?” he asked again.

“I don’t know,” she answered softly.

“Scared?”

“Little bit. I feel like I’ve got a big target on my back. I don’t want to hunker down and hide from the world, but maybe today we could keep a low profile. I’ve gotta call Mark and my parents.” She stammered again at the thought of being alone with Clay all day and the rest of her breath left her lungs in a rush as Clay’s knuckles brushed her cheek.

“How about we’ll dress you up.” His voice was soft and seductive. “That way you can feel safe and still get out for a little while.”

He stood and looked down into her wide doe eyes and without thinking, she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet.

He mesmerized her with a simple glance. He was two different people, one when they were alone and another when others were around. But she was too, if she really wanted to admit it. They were more alike than she cared to recognize.

The head injury had left her weak and a bit dazed, but Clay standing in front of her threw her completely off balance. He pulled her into his arms and she rested her cheek on his chest as he stroked her hair.

“We’ll fix this.”

“My stalker or us?” she asked before she could clamp her mouth shut.

“Hopefully both before you get completely sick of me and kick me out, like you’ve been threatening.”

“It’s no threat, Clay,” she said, pulling away from him so she could wander back to her bedroom. “It’s a promise,” she added with a snicker.

“Ah yes, but I know the secret to making you happy now,” he said as he moved to follow her.

“What’s that?”

“Chocolate.”

In the middle of the afternoon, Angela sat on a park bench at her thinking spot in huge sunglasses, one of Clay’s hoodies that completely hid her body beneath and a pair of pants she normally only wore when she was painting. She didn’t look anything like herself. It was odd and exhilarating all at the same time.

Clay sat next to her, trying nonchalantly to fold and discard the newspaper he had been reading.

“So how bad is it?” she asked.

“How bad is what?” he innocently questioned as she grabbed his arm before he could get up and make it to a trash can.

“Clay, just give me the newspaper and I won’t have to hurt you.”

“Please,” he snorted, “you think I’m too pretty to hurt.”

She snatched the paper from him and was very glad her sunglasses were covering her eyes or he would have seen them rolling.

Page two was a picture of her lying lifeless on the ground with Clay leaning over her. The caption at the top read
Bomb in New York. Terrorist Attack or Vendetta?

“Well, at least they captured my good side,” she joked. Knowing just how bad her other side had looked at that moment. Not that it looked or felt much better now.

Clay ground his teeth at her humor and was about to berate her for downplaying the incident when her cell phone rang.

It was her parents. She answered the phone and elbowed Clay as he tried to take it from her.

She spoke to them for a few minutes and then clicked over to talk to Mark, who was calling on the other line. Forty-five minutes later she finally closed the phone and Clay took it and stuck it in his back pocket before she could put it back in her purse.

“That’s enough for now,” he declared as he settled his arm behind her on the bench and rested his hand on her shoulder after sliding in next to her.

“Stop being so pushy,” she managed as the heat flooded her face from his touch and she turned her head around to face him.

“Pushy is my middle name, didn’t you know?” he asked with a smirk.

“No, trouble is definitely your middle name, if I’ve ever heard it. Seems to follow you.”

“It does seem to find me,” he admitted with a nod of his head.

She leaned into his side without thinking better of it and he slowly rubbed her arm in more than a friendly caress.

Angela turned to face him again and opened her mouth to speak when something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

A flash of something. A bird or the flash from a camera? She turned around to look all around her. Clay stiffened and said, “What is it?” as he looked around in earnest. Not like he hadn’t been doing that anyway every five seconds.