Tango in Paradise (19 page)

April paled at his tautly controlled tone. “You said yourself you asked Franklin for this. Maybe you didn’t think your plan to seduce the information out of me would work and this was backup. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re investigating me, Jack.”

“If you’d stop for two seconds you’d realize how ridiculous you sound.”

April’s skin zoomed from pasty white to flushed red. “Well, I’m sorry if you think keeping my private life private, after the hell you people put me through the last time, is ridiculous. I don’t happen to think so.” She spun around, but Jack’s hand clamped down on her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“Oh, no you don’t. You said you aren’t leaving until you hear the whole story, and by damn you’re staying if I have to tie you to the couch.”

Abruptly April relaxed, her burst of anger spending itself like a brilliant rocket on the Fourth of July. She resigned herself to listening to him, wanting only to expedite leaving this bungalow so she could go somewhere private, if there was such a place around the resort, to lick her wounds.

Feeling her resignation, Jack gentled his grip
but didn’t release her completely. He knew the only way he could get through to her now was to weaken the defenses she was rapidly piling up between them, so he used her initial lapse to tug her into his arms.

She struggled, but he shushed her, whispering quietly against her hair. She stilled, and though she didn’t return his embrace, just the knowledge that she’d still allow him to touch her, to be this close to her, gave him the strength he needed to try and sort this mess out.

“My reasons for asking Franklin for the information were personal, not business. But, honey, I’ve heard the story already from your own lips, and while I may be sick over what Markham and your father did to you … Actually, if I saw either one right now I’d gladly wring their necks. But the fact is that it was ten years ago. What could I possibly gain from writing about it now? Other than a where-is-she-now story—and I’d like to think you know me well enough to realize I don’t do that kind of thing—you really aren’t newsworthy.”

Instead of the relief he’d expected to feel under the fingers he was trailing up and down her spine, he felt her stiffen further, a feat he hadn’t thought possible.

She lifted her head from his chest and looked him straight in the eyes, her expression nothing less than challenging.

“Are you telling me that you didn’t ask Franklin to find the connection between Smithson and Markham?”

Jack’s confused reaction lasted approximately two seconds. He’d missed something terribly important here. He should have known she wouldn’t lose it like this without strong provocation. “I saw you and Smithson talking at the reception. Something he said spooked you. At the time I was merely curious and wondered if he was the reason you were so skittish around me.”

She tried to pull from his arms but his arms tightened around her. She burrowed against his chest, but he butted his forehead gently against hers until she looked up at him. Then he said, “What did Franklin find out? What didn’t you tell me, April?”

“Markham is about to announce his candidacy for president. Apparently he’s a heavy favorite. With all the hoopla over morality and family values lately, Franklin thinks you’re on to something. Apparently he thinks that if I come out of seclusion and go public with the charges again, it will knock him out of the race. And, it goes without saying, the journalist with the scoop wins the prize.”

“Holy hell.” He pulled her against his chest again, trying to block out the doubt in her eyes while he quickly tried to figure out what to do.
Because his emotions were irrevocably entwined with her, he had to work hard to think rationally, to sort out what should be done.

Taking a steadying breath, he looked back down at her. “You do know that I had no idea.” After a long pause during which he was certain he would die for lack of oxygen, she answered him.

“I want to believe that more than I’ve ever wanted to believe anything in my whole life.”

“Well, you can believe it, dammit! Because it’s the truth. Are you ready for another truth?” He didn’t wait for an answer; it was now or never. “I love you, April. Do you hear me? I love you, dammit!”

Shocked at the burning sensation behind his eyes, he lowered his head the rest of the way and kissed her long and hard until they were both wavering on their feet. Sucking in a lungful of air, he broke away a mere fraction of an inch and whispered raggedly against her lips, “I’d sooner die than hurt you. Don’t you know I’ll do everything I can to make sure the slime pays this time?”

It took a few moments for his words to register; his declaration, combined with the kiss, had effectively muddled her brain. It must have, because he couldn’t have just said what she thought he had. She ripped herself from his arms, backing quickly away from him, her arms outstretched in front of her, palms up. “You think I’m going to come forward
again?” she all but shrieked. “Why, Jack? You said yourself it was old news.”

“He’s running for the goddamn presidency, April! Can you tell me you’re just going to sit down here in your safe little haven and let a rapist take over the White House?”

“And what am I supposed to do?” She wrapped her arms around her waist as the anguish over her impotence to change the situation washed over her again. “He’ll just crush me again. The evidence hasn’t changed.”

“Then I’ll find more. April, I’m damn good at what I do. I’ll find Frannie. Together maybe we can get her to confess. It’s too late to press charges, but at the least we’ll stop his campaign. Let me talk to your father. Maybe he’s had a change of heart.”

April felt chilled to the bone as she watched Jack transform magically before her eyes into the prize-winning photojournalist that he truly was. He was wrong, though; her father would never change. And finding Frannie after all this time was statistically more difficult than finding the proverbial needle.

It wasn’t her inability to nail Markham that deadened her, however. It was realizing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jack Tango wasn’t ready to make the change to a quieter, less stress-filled life. The man standing before her, even wrapped in nothing more than a damp bath towel, fairly radiated excitement. The challenge of getting the
story burned so strongly in his eyes they almost sparked.

She forced herself to stand there for a moment and absorb the impact of him, the power that emanated from him, the sensuality that even now, with her dreams nothing more than smashed fragments scattered at her feet, made her body respond to him.

“April?” Her name on his lips was both a question and a plea. She should have known he’d see her decision in her eyes.

“No, Jack. If you really knew me, you’d never ask me to help. I would have gladly gone back with you, but not for a story. Not for that story. Do what you have to, but you’ll have to do it without me.”

“To hell with the damn story!” Jack yelled, his temper frayed to the snapping point. “But it is precisely because I do know you that I didn’t think I
had
to ask. I actually thought you’d
want
to go back. The April Morgan I know has worked damn hard to become a strong, independent woman. Strong enough to do whatever she has to to put her past behind her, once and for all. If you’re going to waste this opportunity, then maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know you at all.” Jack’s expression was closed, his tone more cold than accusing.

April absorbed his stinging rejection without flinching, all the while praying her control would see her past the door. “I
have
put it all behind me,”
she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “But if going back to the States to dig up useless pain and relive hellish memories best left forgotten is the price tag for being with you, I simply can’t afford it. Good-bye, Jack,” she said quietly, then turned and left.

Two painfully long and silent days later, he was gone.

TEN

April turned up the familiar path to Jack’s old bungalow, determined to go in this time and not stop on the front porch. He’d been gone for over a week and she still hadn’t let the cleaning crew touch the private hut. She had no delusions that he was coming back, and she knew it wasn’t healthy, and it was certainly a poor decision from a business standpoint, but she had kept the bungalow empty since he’d left.

Which was why she was here, she told herself. To, once and for all, rid herself of the ghost of Jack Tango and get on with her life. Such as it was.

Rearranging her office and swapping desks with Carmen had taken care of one ghost. Now she would put this one to rest, too. Dry-eyed, she slipped her
master keycard into the slot and let herself into the bungalow.

At first glance it looked like all the other bungalows. Her laugh was humorless. “What were you expecting? A note?” she asked the stale air. As if in answer, her gaze fell on the couch and she felt her breath leave her body in a whoosh.

On the couch, exactly where he’d laid it one week earlier, was the brown folder. She quickly checked the rest of the place, but it was empty of all of Jack’s belongings. Unsure of the symbolism of his leaving the folder behind, but certain it had been intentional, she picked it up. Under it was the crumpled letter from Franklin. She stared at it for a full minute. Then she sat down on the small couch, opened the folder, and began to read.

A full hour later, April put the folder aside and stood. Arching her back to work out the kinks, she stretched, then simply stood there, her mind a whirlwind that couldn’t settle on a single train of thought.

Franklin had been very thorough; she could see why Jack respected the man. Not only had he made the connection between Smithson, Markham, and herself, but he’d even included some recent information regarding her father. It was that information that had sent her mind into a tailspin.

The information was dry, mainly details of his recent business dealings and whom he’d aligned
himself with politically. But it was the first time she’d read anything about him in ten years, the first time he’d reached out in any way and touched her, even if it was through a third party. She smiled sadly as she wondered if he’d aged gracefully, then laughed at her imaginings. Of course he had. Her father had been the typical Latino male, full of charm, sure of himself, and always in control. He wouldn’t dare let the vagaries of time affect him adversely.

Feeling strangely melancholy, April perched again on the couch, seemingly unable, once the floodgates had opened, to stop thinking about him. For years she had felt as if she had no family, and not without cause. But her abrupt departure had left him all alone too. She groaned. “Next thing I know I’ll actually feel sorry for the old man.” And in that split second her anger left her, and tears she hadn’t been aware of holding back slid down her cheeks. The tears turned to sobs and April simply wrapped her arms around her waist and let them flow unchecked.

When she couldn’t cry over the past any longer, she stood and left the bungalow. Minutes later she entered her office and instructed a very stunned Carmen to place a call to her father in the States and, if she couldn’t get through, to keep trying until she did. Then she went into her office and began methodically organizing the matters on her
desk, quickly deciding who would be best to handle each problem until she returned. She was going home.

Jack very gently placed the receiver back on the base, then stared across his paper-strewn desk at a clearly excited Franklin.

“So? Don’t drag this out. Was it the right Frannie this time?”

Jack raked his fingers through his already rumpled hair and took another sip of lukewarm coffee. He needed a shower, sleep, and a cold beer—preferably in that order. But that would have to wait. “Yes, it was.”

“Bingo! I knew you could do it!” Franklin spun around in his chair and let out a wild whoop. He stopped abruptly and braced his hands on the desk. “Will she talk?”

“Probably.” Jack looked away from the glazed excitement in his friend’s eyes. At the moment he couldn’t imagine ever having that much enthusiasm for anything ever again. Unless, of course, it was three days of uninterrupted sleep. Sleep. Even the scant hours he’d managed to see a bed since his return to L.A. two weeks ago had been a joke. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t shake the idea that he shouldn’t be alone in bed anymore. He missed April.

The haunted, hunted look that had entered her eyes when he’d blindly assumed she would step forward was the only thing preventing him from just getting up and walking out. Out for good. Out somewhere, anywhere. Anywhere where he didn’t hear April’s voice, smell her perfume, look up when someone with dark curly hair passed him on the street, even though he knew each and every time it wouldn’t be her. It would never be her. “Dammit!”

Franklin started at his outburst. “What, what?” After a moment of silence a knowing look came into Franklin’s eyes. For all his enthusiasm over bringing new light to the old charges against Markham, Franklin hadn’t been blind to Jack’s obvious reluctance to do the story. “You want me to talk to her?”

Jack thought for a minute, sorely tempted to just turn the whole thing over to Franklin. But he knew he wouldn’t. Not because he didn’t trust him to do the job, but because he had to trust himself enough to see this through. If Frannie would come forward, they could take care of Markham’s bid without having to do more than mention April’s initial role, and then it would be as heroine, not villain. And Jack was firmly convinced he was the only man for that job.