Perfect Specimen (3 page)

Mark grinned. “The rest of us were watching a playoff game. A
great
playoff game. You were the only one staring at her. But I did notice that she had great legs. And that you were gawking. Then you scored right around the same time the Lakers did. Sorry if I missed some details.” He patted Clay’s arm. “If it makes you feel any better, landing her—even for one night—was quite a coup. I was sure she’d shoot you down.”

“She would have. But she was waiting for a blind date, and she mistook me for him.”

When Mark quirked an eyebrow, Clay laughed. “I saw her lean over the bar and say something to the bartender before she went to the restroom. So I asked him what she said, and it was something like, ‘If someone comes in looking for Sara, tell him I’ll be right back.’ So when she came back, I walked up to her and called her Sara. The rest is history. In more ways than one.”

“And since none of us has heard from you lately, we figured you were pursuing her.” The psychologist gave him a sympathetic smile. “Let me guess. You’ve been spending a ton of money on her, but she wouldn’t put out. She led you on, then when you finally insisted on moving things to the next level, she told you about the husband. Right?”

“That settles it. You’re officially the worst shrink ever.” When Mark seemed surprised, he explained. “You couldn’t be more wrong. She was all over me from the start. Just wanted sex. No meals, no flowers, no talking, no jewelry. It was great for a while, then I started wanting more. That’s when she told me about the husband and kids.”

“Kids too?” Mark frowned. “Sounds like you had a narrow escape. What kind of skank does that?”

“Wrong again. She’s unbelievably sweet.”

The older brother’s tone grew stern. “I don’t care if she’s Mother Teresa. There are kids involved. End of story.”

“It gets worse,” Clay assured him. “She lured me into a life of crime.”

“What?”

Chuckling at the stunned reaction, Clay told his brother about the diary. “I swear I never really intended to read it. But for that one instant, I thought it might explain why she was resisting me, when it was so obvious we were perfect for each other. Then I got so mad, I forgot the damned thing was in my pocket till I was halfway to my car.”

Mark pursed his lips. “You thought it contained some deep, dark secret? But it turns out she’s just a cheating wife and a lousy mom. So here’s my advice: FedEx the diary back to her and be done with it. We’ll go out drinking tonight—anywhere but the scene of the pickup—and we’ll get you through this.”

Clay glared. “You actually get paid to give useless advice like that?”

“Nah. For someone else I’d suggest in-depth analysis. But you’re my brother. Which means I can’t be objective. But luckily, I can buy beer, so I can still help.”

Clay sat back in his chair and pictured Sara alone in her frilly apartment—the place she had set up for herself as a haven, safe from her estranged husband. She had never intended to have a guy there—maybe never intended to have any visitors at all—so she had decorated it like something out of a fairy tale with porcelain figurines, stuffed animals, flowered chairs and frilly throw pillows. Maybe she had even chosen that great view of the park so she could watch lovers wandering there in pairs and imagine herself having that kind of life.

“I’m not ready to give up on her yet,” he murmured finally.

Mark nodded, clearly not surprised. Then he pushed back his chair and stood up. “Let’s move this conversation to the den, shall we? I’ve got another hour before my first appointment. Hopefully, it won’t take long to convince you you’re making a mistake.”

At that moment, Clay’s cell rang, and he pulled it out, knowing before he answered that it was Sara. “Hey, baby,” he said softly. “Sorry about the way I stormed out of there. Are you okay?”

“Clay?” Her voice was hoarse and shaky. “Did you take my journal?”

“Yeah, sorry. But I didn’t read it. I swear. I just thought—”

“You didn’t read it? Not one word? Oh, thank God. Thank God. Thank God.”

“Hey, are you crying?” Clay winced. “I’m really sorry, Sara. It was a stupid thing to do. I just wanted to know more about you.”

“Promise me you won’t read a word. No matter what.
Please
, Clay?”

“Sure, honey. Whatever you say.” Clay grimaced in Mark’s direction, then continued talking into the phone. “I’m at my parents’ house. Come on over here and we’ll talk.”

“Your
parents
?”

“They’re out of the country,” he assured her.

“Oh, okay. Give me the address.”

He was shocked she had agreed to see him in person again, let alone on his turf. Of course, that was probably because she didn’t want him in her apartment anymore, but as Mark had noted, she could have told him to ship the diary back.

Maybe she was regretting the breakup too. Seeing a future with Clay—

Or she just wanted to get it done as quickly as possible.

Either way, it worked for him, so he gave her directions, promised again not to read a word of the diary, then hung up, feeling so optimistic he couldn’t help smiling.

But his big brother was scowling at him. “This is how you act with her? No wonder she’s jerking you around.”

“It’s not like that. She was in a panic over the diary. Usually, she doesn’t need much reassurance or touchy-feely mumbo jumbo. Trust me.”

Mark exhaled slowly and condemningly. Then he inclined his head toward the den. “Let’s get started, shall we? You’re a
lot
worse off than I thought.”

* * * *

Forcing herself to stand up straight and appear strong despite her pounding heart, Sara faced her Ra-ahli captor. “It’s fine. He hasn’t read it yet.”

The alien’s eyes were as vacant as ever, but the gills in his neck told the real story. He was livid.

Literally homicidal.

“He wouldn’t lie to me, Overlord. I promise.”

“Because he
loves
you? Are you the stupidest female in the universe? Love means
nothin
g.” Cracking the whip in his hand against his leg, he instructed her coldly, “Bow down to me.”

Oh no
. . .

“Bow!” He cracked the whip again, and immediately her face exploded with pain as blood gushed from her nose and ears.

Shrieking, she dropped to her knees. “Ga’rag—”

“How dare you address me as an equal!”

“Oh, God—” She covered her bloody face with her hands. “Forgive me, Overlord. Please don’t hurt him—”

“Hurt
him
? Worry about your
self
! About your daughters—”

“No! Don’t hurt them. Please! I’ll get the diary back. I promise.” Using her T-shirt to stem the flow of blood, she repeated unhappily, “I promise, Overlord. I’ll do whatever you ask. I don’t blame you for being angry, but please give me another chance. I need to get the diary back, and I will. I promise. But
please
don’t hurt him. It’s not necessary. Just tell me what to do. What to say. Please?”

Ga’rag began to pace. “You are endangering the experiment. Have you forgotten that there are others? You are my favorite, but I can terminate this experiment and choose one of the other females at any time. And maybe I should. If he has read even one word—”

“He hasn’t! He’d never do that.”

“He took it, did he not?” Ga’rag stopped and eyed her intently. “Make your choice. His life or the lives of our daughters. I do not wish to destroy them—”

“Stop threatening me!” Sara exhaled sharply. “You just said I’m your favorite. There’s a reason for that. I’m the strongest of your specimens. You’ve told me that a million times. You need me. Need to succeed with me. The future of your planet depends on it.”

He was listening, so she continued briskly. “Clay Ryerson is madly in love with me. No way would he jeopardize that by invading my privacy. You should have heard him on the phone, Ga’rag. He feels so guilty for just
touching
the journal, he’s putty in my hands. Plus, he knows I could report him to the State Bar and he’d lose his license to practice law. He’ll be on his best behavior. Trust me.”

Taking another, deeper breath, she added firmly, “There’s too much at stake for him to do anything other than just hand it back and apologize profusely.”

Ga’rag hesitated. Then he suggested in a soft voice, “But if he
has
read it? You understand I will have no choice?”

Sara’s stomach formed a knot, but she didn’t dare show weakness at this point. So she flashed a confident smile—the one she usually reserved for guys like Clay. Then she assured Ga’rag again, “Clay hasn’t read it. I’m sure of that. But if I’m wrong—if he’s read even one word—then yes. I understand what you have to do. And I won’t try to stop you. I promise.”

Chapter 3

“You’re not listening! She’s great. Sweet and smart and fun. You make her sound like some sort of loser, Mark, and believe me, she’s not.”

“She’s a married woman with three little kids. She used you for casual sex. Now she wants to go back to her husband, who presumably got stuck babysitting while she was picking up guys in bars.” Mark held up his hand to forestall Clay’s protests. “If you and she had been seeing each other for six months or a year, and
then
this came to light, I’d see why you’d be scrambling to salvage it. But it’s only been three weeks, stupid. I agree with Sara on this. You need to cut your losses and move on.”

“I’ve never responded to a girl this way before,” Clay insisted, his tone brimming with a confidence he eagerly embraced. “Three weeks, three months, three years—it’s not about time. It’s about gut instinct.”

“Fine. What does your gut tell you about her diary?”

“Huh?”

Mark sighed. “I was hoping we wouldn’t get into this, but face it, kid, her reaction isn’t normal. Sure, you should respect her privacy. Sure, there are probably some embarrassing facts or fantasies in there. But you said yourself she was in a panic about it. And earlier this morning, she was in a panic about a nosebleed. Lord only knows what this woman has been through in her life.”

Mark’s carefully modulated, professionally informed tone softened. “Like I said, if you two were an item, I’d say stick it out, try to help her. But she’s obviously a basket case. And forgive me if I don’t want to spend my family holidays sitting across the table from an unbalanced woman, especially if there’s a carving knife within reach.”

Clay scowled at the image. “I’m not saying I want to marry her. I just want to give the relationship a fair shot. To find out if she
is
the one. And meanwhile, if someone’s abusing her, then either way, I want to help her.”

“Unfortunately, if she’s as far gone as she sounds, you
can’t
help. She needs a professional. And not me, because I can’t be objective. But I can recommend someone.” Mark’s expression grew stern. “If you really want to help, give the diary back, let her go, and refer her to one of my colleagues.” Turning toward the window, he added dryly, “I hear a car. Is the diary still on the kitchen table?”

Clay nodded.

“Go get it then.”

“If I give it to her, that’s that. No more connection.”

“Clay . . .”

“I’m not going to read it. But I’m not giving it back either. Not until she talks this through with me. With
us
.” Clay stood and walked into the front hall, ignoring his older brother’s groan. Mark would complain, but he’d come through for him, just as Clay would do for Mark if the situation were reversed and Mark needed legal advice.

And despite himself, Clay was starting to smile. He was going to see Sara again, and this time, he’d be ready for her. No more cussing or complaining. She needed him to be strong so she could let down her guard and lean on him.

And that’s exactly how it was going to go this time.

Reaching the door at the same moment she did, he pulled it open before she had a chance to knock. Then he stared in dismay at her red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes.

Had she actually been crying
that
hard? Over a diary?

“Did you read it?” she demanded.

“No, Sara. Not a word. I promise.”

“Oh, Clay!” She surprised him again, this time by throwing herself into his arms and hugging his neck. “Thank you, thank you. I knew I could trust you. Of all the men I’ve ever known, you’re the best. In every way. Oh, God, what a relief.”

Clay could feel Mark’s gaze on his back, and knew his brother was concerned—professionally and otherwise—by Sara’s overreaction.

But at least she was in his arms. That was a good start. So he hugged her close, loving the softness of her skin under her white silk blouse. “That’s right, Sara. You can depend on me. All I want to do is help. And be with you.”

“Mmm . . .” She leaned her cheek against his chest. “What a morning.”

He stroked her soft blonde curls. “Yeah.”

When she finally lifted her face, she was smiling wistfully. “You shouldn’t have taken the journal, but at least now we can say good-bye nicely. I hated sending you away angry this morning. Not that I blamed you, but this is so much nicer.”

Clay arched a playful eyebrow. “Before we get to that, there’s someone I want you to meet. The ugly guy standing right behind me.”

“
What
?” Sara pulled free, clearly startled. Then she saw Mark and her smile returned. “Dr. Ryerson, I presume? Which one are you?”

“The psychologist.” Mark’s expression was warm as he shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Sara. My name’s Mark.”

“A lawyer, a doctor and a psychologist.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Your mother took that song seriously, I guess, and didn’t let any of you grow up to be cowboys.”

“The jury’s still out on the youngest one,” Mark said with a laugh. “But he’s shaping up to be more of a bum than anything else.”

“Well, if he’s half as handsome as his big brothers, he can make a fine living as a gigolo.”

Mark laughed again, but his expression was gentle. “I can see why Clay’s such a fool for you.”

“Really? What a sweet thing to say.”

The shift in her tone—from mischievous to measured—warned Clay she was about to turn into the other Sara. The distant, unreachable one.

And right on schedule, she added briskly, “Like I said, Clay, I’m glad we can end things on a more civilized note. Speaking of which . . .” She held out her hand. “My journal, please.”

“It’s in a safe place. You can have it back in an hour. After the three of us have had a chance to talk.”

She drew back, clearly stunned. “Pardon?”

“One short hour,” he repeated. “Just so we end this on a good note. Like you said.”

Sara moistened her lips. “I could have called the police right away, you know. And I still can.” Her gaze locked with his. “I want my diary. Immediately.”

“I promised I wouldn’t read it. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what’s in it. Mark thinks it must be god-awful to make you so panicked about getting it back—”

“Oh, really?” Her blue eyes turned cold. “I think my reaction was perfectly normal. But even if your brother thinks I’m a raving lunatic, I don’t really care. My past is none of your business.” To Mark, she added stiffly, “I can’t believe you’re willing to get involved in this. My guess is the professional licensing board would take a dim view of your behavior.”

“For the record, I told him to give it back and to wash his hands of you,” Mark said with a shrug. “If you want to talk, we can schedule some time. Or better still, I can recommend a colleague. But for now, I’ve got an appointment in less than twenty minutes. With an actual patient. So I’m outta here. Clay? Give Sara her diary. Sara, get help.” He eyed them both with cool dismissal. “I think we’re done here.”

“Thanks a lot, Mark,” Clay growled.

“No, Clay.” Sara touched his shoulder in a gesture that seemed almost flirtatious. “Let him go. It’ll give us a chance to spend some time alone together. To say good-bye properly. I’d really like that, wouldn’t you?”

To say good-bye properly
. . .

She was offering to sleep with him. And even though he knew it was just her way of conning him into giving the diary back, Clay felt encouraged. If he could get her into bed—a place where she always seemed to let her guard down, at least for an hour or so—maybe he could get through to her.

But his doctor-brother had other ideas. Taking out his cell phone, Mark punched a button, then muttered, “Julie? Cancel my first two appointments. I’ve got a medical emergency on my hands. I’ll check in at ten. Thanks.”

Then he turned his attention to Sara and told her bluntly, “There are several technical terms for a female who trades sexual favors for material items—”

“Hey!” Clay stepped toward his brother. “Back off.”

“You’re calling me a prostitute?” Sara demanded. “Aren’t you forgetting that that journal is
mine
in the first place?”

“So why do you feel the need to sleep with him to get it back?”

“Because he won’t just hand it over!”

“That’s because you’re driving him crazy,” Mark reminded her. “And just for the record, I
wasn’t
calling you a prostitute. You’re some sort of abuse victim, right? You’ve been dominated and controlled, and had to develop methods for handling that sort of guy. And now my brother here is jumping on the bandwagon, trying to control you by holding your diary hostage—”

“Hey!”
Clay growled. “What’s with you?”

Mark glared. “I’m giving you guys one hour. The ground rules are, Sara promises to be completely honest. Clay promises to give the diary back when the hour’s up. If Sara wants to leave then and never see him again, he’ll abide by that.” Taking a deep breath, he added more reasonably, “Can you live with those terms? Sara? Clay?”

“I shouldn’t have to, but I will,” Sara told him with a sniff. “As long as
he
gives his word.”

“As long as
you
tell the truth,” Clay countered, trying to sound as detached as she did. But inside, he was reeling with anticipation. And with grudging gratitude to his older brother.

Because if Sara told the truth, Clay would finally know what the barriers were between them. Then he could break those barriers down. He was sure of it. And then, Sara would be his.

Or at least, she would be free. Because in his gut, he knew that freedom—even more than love—was what she needed from him right now.

* * * *

Sara looked around at the room they called the den, wistfully enjoying the fact that it was messy and full of life. An ironing board blocking access to a desktop computer, overflowing bookcases on two walls, a view of the basketball hoop that had been installed over the garage door, and stacks and stacks of files and papers covering the floor around the desk.

It would be easy to let her guard down in this room. But she didn’t dare. Mark Ryerson was fairly perceptive, even if his ultimate conclusions about her were dead wrong. He thought she was controlled by an abusive male figure, which was completely accurate. What he didn’t realize was that her tormentor’s means of controlling her was to hold a gun to
Clay’s
head. Mark would now dig for the truth, oblivious to the fact that if he managed to learn it, he and his brother would be dead within an hour. Ga’rag would see to that. Even now, she wasn’t sure how long the Ra-ahli would wait before taking matters into his own clawed hands.

But for the moment, Ga’rag was relying on Sara’s experience with this sort of misguided interest. She had fielded it for years, first from her grandparents, then later by school counselors. Learning to lie to protect her babies had been necessary. And then—after Ga’rag killed Daniel Arroyo—she had learned to manipulate men who showed too much interest in her. She had done a good job with Clay that morning, making him so angry about her secret “husband” that he had stormed out of her life forever.

If only he hadn’t taken her journal.

But at least he didn’t read it . . .

Now all she had to do was convince him to give it back and let her go. With any luck, the psychologist would be an ally. He didn’t want his younger brother dating a married woman or an abuse victim, did he? So in either case, he would be anxious to send Sara on her way.

The psychologist was seated in a leather rocking chair, while Sara and Clay sat on a tweed sofa across from him. She kept her gaze fixed on Mark as she carefully told the brothers a version of her past that bore enough resemblance to the truth to have a nice ring to it. “I was very young when I had my first child. My husband was an old family friend who came by our house a lot when I was little. I got used to having him around, and even though he—well, let’s just say he took advantage of my youth and my inexperience—”

“You’re saying this old guy raped you when you were just a kid?” Clay’s hands clenched into fists as he spoke. “And you’re considering going back to him? Letting your little girls spend time around him?”

“Clay, let Sara talk,” Mark insisted calmly. “Sara?”

She sighed. “It sounds worse than it is. I knew exactly what he was, but I made my choice to spend the rest of my life with him. I regret some of the circumstances, but I don’t regret the choice itself. My girls need him. And in a way, so do I.”

“Do you love him?” Clay asked.

She met his gaze directly for the first time during their session. “I promised to tell you the truth, so . . . No. I don’t love him. But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to be with him because of the girls.”

“Because you’re afraid he’ll get custody if you leave him? No way, Sara. I’m a lawyer—”

“It’s not a question of custody. If my girls had the choice, they’d choose him over me. And I wouldn’t blame them.”

Clay stared, clearly confused by the statement. It didn’t make sense to him, but she knew she seemed convincingly resigned.