Intimate Betrayal (12 page)

Annie felt a tiny bit ashamed as it occurred to her that if he had
not
murdered his wife and if he
had
loved her, he must have suffered far more deeply even than she had when Charlie died. She had been consoled by friends; her
grief had been respected. Carlyle’s grief, assuming he’d felt any—the inevitable qualification—had been discounted.

“Forgive me,” she said.

He blinked. “What for?”

She shrugged. “Insensitivity. Most people our age don’t know how it feels to have to cope with the death of a spouse. I do.”

He shrugged. “So it appears that you and I have something in common after all.”

Darcy pulled past the house, looking for a parking place. Damn San Francisco! There was never any place to leave your car.

She drove on up the next block, then pulled into a driveway and turned around. Coming back down the hill, she stopped on the
sidewalk a few doors from Sam’s house in the Russian Hill district. She was blocking the entrance of somebody’s driveway,
but it didn’t matter. She’d only be there for a few minutes, and she wasn’t getting out.

Fool! You shouldn’t be here at all. What if he sees you? What if you get caught?

She would die of embarrassment, she knew. There wasn’t
much that embarrassed her, but being caught skulking around after Sam Brody would do it.

This was crazy. There was absolutely no point to it. It wasn’t going to help, and besides, it was pure emotional torture.
Especially on a night like tonight. Sam had a date. He was seeing a blond woman who, from a distance, looked remarkably like
Annie. In fact, if Darcy hadn’t known that Annie was out this evening with Matthew Carlyle, she would have thought Sam’s date
was
Annie.

They had enjoyed a romantic dinner in a restaurant downtown, and now they had returned to his apartment. They’d each come
in their own cars. The blonde had parked hers just down the street on the left, lucking into an empty slot. She drove a little
red Mercedes, and Darcy glared at it balefully, wanting to come up behind her at a stoplight and ram the shit out of that
trim little rear end.

Sam had held the blonde’s hand as he’d led her up the stairs to the front door. By now he was probably kissing her and coaxing
her toward the bedroom, where he would make love to her with that careful blend of tenderness and passion that made him such
a skillful lover.

Stop it! This is crazy and self-destructive! He’s not worth it! Have you no pride, no dignity? Why can’t you stop obsessing
over this jerk?

Darcy stared at the light in the front window of the old Victorian. Sam lived in one of the “painted ladies”—a beautiful restored
Victorian from pre-1906 earthquake days. The lights were easily visible from the street, and Darcy couldn’t count the times
she’d driven by, at all hours of the day and night, just to see if his lights were on. No matter where she had to go in the
city, she chose a route that took her by his
house. Frequently when she started out she would resolve
not
to drive anywhere near his house, but some demon would take over, directing her hands on the wheel, and she would find herself
on his street.

It didn’t matter whether he was home. In fact, it was often better if he was away. Because he could
come
home while she was waiting, giving her a glimpse of him. Seeing him in person was better than simply seeing his lights, although
it increased the risk that he would notice her and wonder what she was doing there.

For some bizarre reason, this obsession did not bother her during the day at work. She could deal with seeing him then. It
was as if he were a different person during the day, in the office. There, she was in control.

But when she got away from work her control broke, and she was at the mercy of her unruly emotions. Sometimes they frightened
her so profoundly that she thought she was going insane.

Over and over she’d told herself that this would pass, that time would heal her, that she would forget about him and exorcise
this cancer from her soul. Sam Brody didn’t love her. He didn’t even want her. There was nothing she could do to change that
fact, and she’d damn well better get over it.

Especially now. There were problems at work, things to think about, things to worry about. Things she had to do. She couldn’t
afford to waste her evenings like this. It was beyond stupid—it was asinine.

Tonight was chillier than usual, and Darcy began to shiver. It was always a problem to decide whether to leave the motor running.
Once the police had driven by as she was idling in
front of a driveway. She’d hurriedly jerked a map out of the glove compartment and pretended to be studying it as they’d signaled
to her to move on.

This is sick. It’s got to stop! At this rate I’ll soon be boiling bunnies!

The light in the front window went off. Darcy felt her heart twist. They must be moving into the bedroom. She imagined Sam
and his date in bed, their naked limbs entwining, and her hands began to shake. Jerkily she turned the key to start the engine.
She had to get out of there. No one in her right mind would torture herself this way.

She started to head for home, but one of the new impulses that were so difficult to control made her turn instead down the
road that would take her once more around the block past Sam’s place.

Maybe someone would be leaving and she would spot a parking place.…

Annie was surprised at how pleasant her dinner with Matthew Carlyle turned out to be. They ate in a candlelit dining room
at a mercifully small table set in front of a roaring fireplace. The food, served by an unobtrusive staff, was delicious.

They spoke in more detail about the progress of the work on the cathedral. She found him to be a quick, intelligent conversationalist,
good both at talking and at listening. After some initial reticence, she began to open up, and he appeared to do the same.

“One thing I’m not sure I understand,” she said. “Having lost the last year and a half of your life, there must be a lot of
things you need to do, a lot to catch up on. Why get involved with the cathedral? You mentioned earlier that you don’t believe
in God.”

He shrugged. “That’s true, but I do owe something to Barbara Rae. And, as you probably know, I’ve been peripherally
involved in the cathedral from the start because of Francesca’s interest in the project.” His expression was intense as he
added, “The fact that you were involved was a major factor, for me at least, when it came time to write a check to the building
fund. Frankly, I admired your work.”

“I’m astonished to hear that,” she said. “And I’m not sure I believe it.”

He blinked. “Why not?”

“You’d refused to engage Fabrications the previous year.”

“I told you the reason for that. Everything I predicted came true.”

Her chin went up. “Everything you predicted came true because we didn’t get the Powerdyme job. If we had, Fabrications might
have survived!”

“Temporarily, perhaps. In the long run, no. You were too small. And, apart from you, the company didn’t have the talent. Your
work, personally, was terrific, but after Charlie died—”

“Let’s not rehash this now,” she said testily.

“Okay, but I think I’m just realizing something that I’ve never understood before.” He paused. “You blame me for the demise
of Fabrications, don’t you?”

“No, of course not,” she said, but she could hear that her tone was unconvincing. It was irrational to blame him, she knew.
Fabrications had failed for many reasons; probably mainly for the same reason that most small businesses fail—they simply
aren’t well known enough to get the contracts to keep them out of the red. The economy had been bad as well. Even big companies
like Brody Associates had suffered during those years.

Still, it had been much more comfortable to have a villain
to blame. And Matt Carlyle had fit the bill very nicely for a while. “What I blame you for, I guess, is blasting my hope.
Fabrications was all I had left after my husband’s death. I desperately wanted to believe I could keep it going.”

She looked at him, expecting a lecture on the risks and the realities of entrepreneurial ventures. But instead he said, “It
must have been a tough time for you. I’m sorry if I made it worse. My first company failed too, so I know how it feels.”

Annie was amazed at the congeniality of this statement. She never knew what to expect from this man! “You had a company that
failed?”

“Yup. One of the first computer game companies. If things had worked out, my life might have turned out quite differently.”
He shook his head. “Sam Brody’s life would have been different too. He and I were partners. Did you know that?”

“I knew you were friends. Roommates in college, right? But Sam’s an architect. What would he have had to do with computer
games?”

“He’s also a talented illustrator. And in those days he had no desire to go into the family business. He and I were going
to change the world together.”

Instead, she thought, he’d started a software company and changed the world alone.

“I don’t really know all that much about Sam’s personal life,” she said.

“Well, when we met, he was the sophisticated, wealthy private-school boy who took me under his wing. I was poor but smart—a
typical math and science geek. Sam used to call me the human computer—which wasn’t exactly a compliment
at the time, since computers were awkward, clunky things that took up an entire room.”

His manner was low-key and self-deprecating, which Annie found very appealing.

“Since Sam was so affable and well connected, he was the front man for our company,” he went on. “I didn’t know how to market
a product properly, and, what’s more, I hadn’t the slightest interest in doing so. Pretty ironic, isn’t it, considering what
I do today. Back then I didn’t own a three-piece suit, and my idea of sophisticated marketing was to candidly tell people
not only the strengths but also the weaknesses of our products.

“Anyhow, we failed, and poor Sam was pretty disgusted with me. Can’t really blame him, in retrospect. It took me a few more
years to learn the lessons about business that I needed to know.”

“You and he are still good friends, though, right?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” he said warmly. “Sam was one of the few people who stood by me during the trial. He never doubted that
I was innocent.”

“It’s good to have a friend like that.”

“Yeah, it is. Sam is one of the few people in my life whom I know I can always count on, no matter what.” He paused, then
added, “I’m glad things have worked out so well for you at Brody Associates. Sam’s previous design manager was incompetent.
And the timing was perfect—he had just gotten rid of her when I told him about you.”

Annie blinked. “When you told him about me?”

“I called Sam on your behalf, yes. He’d heard of you, although he knew your husband’s work better.”

“You mean Sam asked you for a reference when he was deciding whether or not to hire me?”

Matt shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not important. I’m just glad it all worked out.”

“No, wait.” Annie was so astonished at the implications of what he was saying that she couldn’t just let it go without explanation.
“Are you telling me that you were the one who put Sam onto me in the first place? He called me initially, you know.”

He nodded. “Right after that meeting we had when I told you I wouldn’t be hiring Fabrications. I mentioned to Sam that you
were a top-notch designer and might soon be looking for a job.” He hesitated for a moment. “Sorry if that sounds patronizing,
but I respected your work and wanted to do something to help.”

All this time she’d seen him as a villain—when in fact she owed her current job to him!

“I don’t know what to say. I had no idea.” She felt herself blushing. “I guess I owe you a belated thank-you.”

He shrugged. “All I did was make a phone call. You did the rest yourself. Sam never would have hired you if he hadn’t been
convinced of your talent.”

“He never told me,” Annie said.

“No reason why he should have.”

Looking at him, Annie reminded herself that Matt was a skillful businessman who never did anything without having a clear-cut
strategy. “Is there a reason why you’re telling me now?”

He looked directly into her eyes. “The most egotistical reason, I suppose.” His expression darkened. “I’ve just spent more
than a year deprived of my freedom. The public has
reviled me, most of my friends have abandoned me, my enemies have gloated.

“I know I wasn’t guilty of the crime of which I was accused. But I must have been guilty of something—some lack of charity
or sensitivity or kindness toward others, perhaps. I must have done harm, or surely I wouldn’t have been as thoroughly hated.”

Annie made a sound as if to stop him, but he continued anyway. “I’ve seen that dislike reflected in your own eyes—and I hate
it because it’s so different from what I once remember seeing there. Somehow I lost your respect, your affection. No doubt
I deserve whatever feelings you hold toward me. But for my own sake, I think, I need to remind myself that not everything
I’ve done with respect to you has been thoughtless or selfish or cruel. There was at least one generous act.”

The raw emotion beneath his words was so powerful that Annie was moved nearly to tears. She suddenly got a very clear and
dramatic sense of what it must have meant to be Matthew Carlyle for the past year and a half since his wife had been killed.

It must have been hell.

She felt deeply ashamed. All this time, she realized, she’d been judging him… and finding him wanting. Yet it was all due
to one stupid reason—that she’d believed he hadn’t found
her
good enough and had wanted to take some sort of petty revenge.

On that matter, at least, she’d been wrong about him.

Looking directly into his deep, burning green eyes, she said, “I owe you an apology.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”