Holding the Dream (32 page)

“Actually, I just came by to catch you up on the progress of the investigation. I figured after the trouble you went through, you deserve to know how it panned out.”

“Well, that makes one of you,” she murmured.

“Your boyfriend nudged me toward Roger Thornhill.”

“He's not my boyfriend,” Kate said quickly, then set her teeth. “If you're referring to Mr. De Witt.”

“I am.” He smiled a bit sheepishly and tugged on his ear. “I never know how to refer to these kinds of things. Anyway, Mr. De Witt nudged me toward Thornhill. Fact is, I was already looking in that direction. You don't look shocked speechless by the news,” he commented.

“I figured it out yesterday.” She shrugged her shoulders, discovering it simply didn't matter any longer.

“Thought you would. Thornhill's got a little gambling problem. Gambling's one of the best reasons to need quick money.”

“Roger gambles?” That did shock her. “You mean he bets on horse races, that sort of thing?”

“He bets on Wall Street, Ms. Powell. And he's been losing steady for the past couple of years. Overplayed his hand, so to speak, and lost his ante. Then there was his personal relationship with you. Then add in the information about your father and the fact that he was the one who found the newspaper article in your office and passed it to Bittle.”

“Really.” She nodded. “I didn't know that.”

“A little too pat, to my way of thinking. Connections usually aren't coincidences in my line of work. You had a little run-in with him yesterday at Bittle.”

“And how do you know about that?”

“Ms. Newman. She's got good eyes and ears, and a sharp nose.” He grinned. “I asked her to report any unusual incident, officewise. She's another who didn't like the way Thornhill smelled, so to speak. And she stood by you from the start.”

“Excuse me?” Kate tapped her ear as though her hearing had gone suddenly off. “Newman stood by me?”

“First interview I had with her on this business, she said if I was looking in your direction I was looking in the wrong one. She said Katherine Powell wouldn't steal so much as a paper clip.”

“I see. I always thought she disliked me.”

“I don't know whether she likes you or not, but she respects you.”

“Are you going to bring Roger in for questioning, then?”

“Already have. I had to move a little quicker after I learned you'd had a face-off with him. So I paid him a little visit last night. He was already packed and on his way to the airport.”

“You're kidding.”

“No, ma'am. Had reservations for a flight to Rio. He's been living on the edge since you were cleared. Whatever you said
to him at the office yesterday broke his nerve. He lawyered himself pretty quick, but we figure to cut a deal by the end of the day. They call this sort of thing a victimless crime. I guess that's a misnomer this time around.”

“I don't feel like a victim,” Kate murmured. “I don't know what I feel.”

“Well, I'd feel right pissed—if you'll pardon my French. But . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “His career's in the toilet, and he's going to be paying off fines and his lawyer for a long time to come. And the federal government is going to have him as their guest for a while.”

“He'll go to prison.” As her father would have gone to prison, she thought. For a mistake, an error in judgment. A moment of greed.

“Like I said, we're cutting a deal, but I don't see him walking away without doing some time. You know, the way things work today, you could sue him yourself. Defamation of character, emotional pain and suffering, all that. Your lawyer would tell you.”

“I'm not interested in suing Roger. I'm interested in turning the page.”

“I figured that.” He smiled at her again. “You're a nice woman, Ms. Powell. It's been a pleasure meeting you, even under the circumstances.”

She thought about it. “I suppose I have to say the same, Detective Kusack. Even under the circumstances.”

He stepped toward the door, stopped. “It's about opening time, isn't it?”

She glanced at her watch. “Just about.”

“I wonder . . .” He tugged on his ear again. “My wife's got this birthday coming up. Tomorrow, actually.”

“Detective Kusack,” she beamed at him, “you've come to the right place.”
 

Kate told herself she felt wonderful, revived. All of her troubles were behind her. She was starting the next phase of her life.

There was no reason to be nervous about going to Byron's. It was the middle of the day—lunchtime. He wouldn't be home. She would simply pick up her things, as he'd requested, and thereby close that chapter cleanly.

She would not regret. It was fun while it lasted, nothing lasted forever, all good things came to an end.

And if another cliché popped into her mind, she would scream.

She pulled into his driveway. The key she had meticulously removed from her own ring was in her pocket. But when she reached in to pull it out, she found herself holding Seraphina's coin. Baffled, she stared at it. She would have sworn she'd put that in the top drawer of her jewelry box.

She turned it in her hand. The sun caught the edge and shot out dazzling light. That was why her eyes watered, she told herself. It was the reflection off the gold, and she'd taken off her sunglasses. It wasn't because she felt a sudden, wrenching connection to that young girl, standing on the cliff, ready to throw her life away.

Kate Powell was not throwing her life away, she told herself firmly. She was facing it. Only the weak tossed away hope. She had years of happiness left in her life. Years. And she was not going to stand here and cry over some old coin and a misty legend.

This was reality. She blinked back tears. Her reality, and she knew exactly what she was doing.

She found the key, replaced the coin in her pocket. But it was harder than she'd imagined to use the key, knowing it would be the last time.

It was just a house, she thought. There was no reason for her to love it, no reason to feel this aching sense of welcome when she opened the door. There was no reason at all for her to walk to the glass doors and want to weep because the pups were napping in the sunshine.

And geraniums were blooming in gray stone pots. Wind chimes of copper and brass sang in the breeze from the sea. Shells that she had gathered with Byron from the beach were
arranged in a wide-mouthed glass bowl on the redwood table.

It was so perfect, she realized, so simply perfect. That was why she wanted to weep.

When the dogs' heads popped up in unison, and they scrambled up to bark and race, she realized she hadn't heard the car. But they had. They reacted just that way whenever they recognized the sound of Byron's return home.

Jolted with panic, she turned around and faced the door as he came in.

“I'm sorry,” she said immediately. “I didn't realize you'd be home early.”

“I don't suppose you did.” But he'd known, thanks to Laura's call, that she would be there.

“I came to get my things. I . . . I thought it best to come by when you were at work. So it would be less awkward.”

“It's awkward now.” He stepped toward her, eyes narrowed. “You've been crying.”

“No, not really. It was . . .” Her fingers slid into her pocket, touched the coin. “It was something else entirely. And then I guess it was the dogs. They looked so sweet sleeping in the yard.” They were at the door now, tails waving furiously. “I'll miss them.”

“Sit down.”

“No, I really can't. I want to get back to the shop, and . . . and I do want to apologize, Byron, for shouting at you the way I did. I really am sorry for that, and I'd hate to think we couldn't at least be civil.” She closed her eyes on her own absurdity. “This is very awkward.”

He wanted to touch her, badly wanted to touch her. But he knew his own limitations. If he so much as brushed his hand over that short cap of hair, he would want to touch more, have to touch more until he was holding her against him and begging.

“Then let's try being civil. If you won't sit, we'll stand. There are a few things I'd like to say.” He watched her open her eyes, saw the wariness in them. What the hell did she see when she looked at him? he wondered. Why couldn't he tell?

“I'm going to apologize as well. I handled things badly last night. And at the risk of getting kicked in the teeth again, I admit that you weren't that far off the mark in some of your, let's call them . . . observations about my character.”

He walked to the doors, jingling the change in his pocket. The dogs, still hopeful, sat sentry on the other side of the glass. “I do plan things out. We have that in common. I admit I eased you into living here. It seemed to me that it would help both of us get used to it. Because I wanted you here.”

When he turned back to her, she struggled for a reply, but found none.

“I wanted to take care of you. You see vulnerability as a weakness. I see it as a soft, appealing side of a strong, intelligent, and resilient woman. It's in my nature to protect, to fix—or at least try to fix—what's wrong. I can't change that for you.”

“I don't want you to change, Byron. But I can't change either. I'm always going to resist being guided along, however well intentioned it might be.”

“And when I see someone I love stressed out to the point of illness, taken advantage of, hurt, I'm going to do whatever it takes to turn it around. And when I want something, when I know it's right, I'm going to work toward making it happen. I love you, Kate.”

Her heart swam into her eyes, filled them. “I don't know how to handle this. I don't know what to do. I can't figure it out.”

“I've figured it out. You know, every once in a while it doesn't hurt to let someone else figure it out.”

“Maybe. I don't know. But there were points in all of this I had to come to myself. I didn't even realize some of them. They've arrested Roger.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.” She tried to laugh, then turned away. “When Kusack came by and told me, I wasn't sure how I felt at first. Relieved, vindicated—but there was more. I thought of my father. He'd have gone to jail, just as Roger will go.
It's the same crime, the same punishment. They're both thieves.”

“Kate—”

“No, let me finish. It's taken me so long to get here. My father made a mistake, a criminal mistake. As much as it hurts me to know that, I also know that he never tried to shift the blame, implicate anyone else. He wasn't like Roger. He would have faced what he'd done, and he would have paid for it. I realized today that that made all the difference. I can live with that, and forgive, and remember what he was to me for the first eight years of my life. He was my father, and he loved me.”

“You're a beautiful woman, Katherine.”

She shook her head, brushed away tears. “I had to get that out. It seems I can always pull out what's inside me and hand it to you. It worries me how easy it is to do that.”

“You worry too much. Let's see if I can help there. We'll try a simple logic test. I'm thirty-five years old. I've never been married, never been engaged, never formally lived with a woman before. Why?”

“I don't know.” She dragged her hands through her hair, fighting to use intellect over emotion as she turned back to him. “There could be a dozen reasons. You resisted commitment, you were too busy sampling southern delights, you were too focused on your career.”

“It could have been any of those,” he agreed. “But I'll tell you what it comes down to. I don't like to make mistakes any more than you do. I'm sure there are other women I could be happy with, build a decent life with. But that isn't enough. I waited, because I had this image, this dream about the woman I'd share my life with.”

“You're not going to tell me I was that image because I know very well I wasn't.” She stared blankly at the handkerchief he offered. “What?”

“You're crying again.” When she snatched it away and mopped at her face, he continued. “Some of us are more flexible in our dreams and can even enjoy when they take a
different shape. Look at me, Kate,” he said gently and drew her gaze to his. “I've been waiting for you.”

“That's not fair.” She pressed crossed hands to her swelling heart as she backed away. “It's not fair to say things like that to me.”

“We said civil. We didn't say anything about fair.”

“I don't want to feel this way. I don't want to hurt this way. Why won't you just let me think?”

“Think about this.” He did touch her now, drawing her in until their faces were close. “I love you.” And kissed her. “I want to spend my life with you. I want to take care of you and be taken care of.”

“I'm not the kind of woman people say those things to.” She thumped her hand on his chest. “Why can't you see that?”

He'd have to make sure she got used to hearing those things, coming from him. His lips curved as he ran his hands up her back.

“No. I see it.” She jerked back out of reach. “I can actually see that look come into your eyes. Kate needs to be soothed and stroked and eased into it. Well, it's not going to work. It's just not going to work. I've just got things sorted out,” she fumed, stalking around the room. “I've got the shop. Isn't it enough of a shock to deal with that I love being there? How am I supposed to suddenly adjust to all of this? There aren't any rules to being in love. Oh, I figured that out all right, tossing and turning all night because you'd told me to pick up my things at my convenience.” She spun back and seared him with a look. “Oh, that was low.”

“Yes, it was.” He grinned at her now, delighted with the image of her spending as miserable a night as he had. “I'm pleased to see it hit the mark. You hurt me last night.”