To Catch the Moon (27 page)

He shed his overcoat. “You look beautiful,”
he told her, then glanced around, surprised to find the suite
empty. “Am I the first to arrive?”

She relieved him of the champagne and plunged
it into a waiting ice bucket. “Actually, you’re the only person
coming.”

Immediately he castigated himself.
I
should have known
. It was bait-and-switch, a classic Joan
maneuver. Yet he was out of practice where she was concerned and
hadn’t seen it coming. “You told me you were having several people
over,” he said.

“I hope you’re not disappointed.”

Nice dodge
, he thought, and considered
pressing the issue, before he realized that their solitude gave him
the perfect opportunity to question her about the night Daniel was
killed.

He walked to the fire in the marble hearth to
warm his hands. “There’s something I should warn you about.”

“Oh, no.” She came up beside him. “What is
it?”

“I might be called away tonight.”

“Called away?” Her face twisted. “Don’t tell
me that! Why?”

“It’s unlikely.” He abandoned the fireside to
extract the Perrier-Jouet from the ice bucket and hoist it,
dripping, in her direction. “Shall I?” She nodded, her brow still
furrowed, and he went to work tearing off the bottle’s metallic
casing. “There’s been another terrorist threat, this time against a
specific target.”

“What target?”

“The Rose Bowl.”

“You mean the parade and football game down
in Pasadena?”

“Right. The annual New Year’s Day
festivities.” He twisted off the cork’s protective wire cap. “If
anything happens I’m going to have to go down there.”

Her face relaxed. “You had me worried for a
second.” She moved away and perched on the love seat, the slit in
her gown widening to reveal a devastating view of her shapely legs.
“You won’t have to go to L.A., Milo. Nothing will happen. Nothing
ever has after any of these warnings.”

True enough. But the domestic news producer
had put him on notice. Milo was the news division’s biggest star
who also happened to be on the West Coast this New Year’s Eve and
hence would be called upon if a big story broke.

“I hope you’re right. But I’m going to have
to keep my cell phone on, just in case.” He wrapped a small towel
around the champagne bottle, twisting it slowly while he maintained
a death grip on the cork. Seconds later he was rewarded with a soft
pop. “Voila.”

He poured and they faced each other,
champagne-filled flutes in hand. “What shall we toast to?” she
asked.

He thought for a moment. “How about simply to
the New Year?”

She smiled. “Perfect.” Then she touched her
flute to his.

“Come sit down.” He led her to the love seat.
Time to begin the mini-interrogation. “How are you feeling?” He
kept his tone soft and concerned. “I’m sure part of you would
rather be alone.” He spoke the words though he didn’t believe them.
Joan was never a woman to seek solitude.

She bent her head. “I’m just sorry you have
to spend your New Year’s Eve cooped up here with me. After all, you
could be out and about, having a grand time.”

This wasn’t the moment to remind her she’d
gotten him there on false pretenses. “Who says I’m not having a
grand time?” he replied mildly, and she flashed him a grateful
look. He paused, then, “You must miss Daniel terribly.”

Again she dropped her eyes. It was some time
before she responded, as if she were choosing her words carefully.
“I miss the good times.”

“I’m sure there were a lot of those.”

“There were. Early on.”

“Tell me about them.”

She shook her head. “Milo, I can’t believe
you really want to hear about my marriage.”

“I’m curious. That is, if it’s not too
painful to talk about.”

“No. In a way, it feels good.” Her face was
thoughtful. “Do you know we went to Italy on our honeymoon?”

That made him wince. “The trip you and I
never took.”

“See? This is a bad idea.”

“No, no, really. Tell me. Where did you
go?”

“The Amalfi coast. And Florence.”

“Two very romantic spots.”

She nodded, then smiled. “The funny thing is
we were both so exhausted from the wedding we barely did any
sightseeing at all. We’d sleep till noon, then have lunch and
wander around. Then go back to the hotel ...” She hesitated.

“And go back to bed?” He chuckled. “That’s
what honeymoons are for, Joan.”

Her smile faded. “It didn’t stay that way,
though.”

Something changed in the air, a subtle
intimation that truths were about to be revealed. “What happened?”
he asked.

She was silent, then, “Daniel got bored. With
me.”

Milo was so surprised at the admission that
for a moment he couldn’t think what to say. At length he gathered
himself. “Do you mean—”

“Yes.” She raised her eyes to his. If Joan
manufactured the pain in their blue depths, she did a masterful
job. “He was unfaithful. We got married in June and by September
...” Her voice faltered. She looked away.

The wind whipped at the French doors and
whistled down the chimney, making the fire in the grate sputter.
This might be Joan, he thought, with all her Hudson arrogance and
ego, but he couldn’t help but hurt for her. “I’m sorry.”

“Can I tell you something else?” Again she
turned her eyes to his. “That night I was in Santa Cruz, the night
Daniel was killed—” She stopped.

He held his breath. “What?”

“I feel so guilty about it.” Her gaze
skittered away. “The terrible thing is I wanted to be away from
Daniel that night. I wanted time to think. Milo, I was actually
considering leaving him. For good. Then the next day, when I found
him ...” She shook her head, grimacing as if in pain. “You can
imagine how I felt.”

He frowned. “No, I honestly can’t.”

“It was horrible. And so painful when that
prosecutor woman kept wanting to confirm that I was at Courtney’s!
It made me feel guilty all over again for being away from home that
night. For wanting to be.” Her eyes teared up. Abruptly she rose
from the love seat.

“So you were at Courtney’s the whole night?”
He watched her.

She began pacing, quick little steps next to
the baby grand. “Of course! But what if I had been home? Maybe I
could have kept this whole thing from happening.”

That was almost laughable. Joan staving off a
murderer? “It’s a very good thing you weren’t. Who knows what might
have happened if you’d gotten in the way?”

She put her hands over her face and began to
tremble, so much that it was visible from across the room. “Oh,
God.”

Milo rose and approached her, rubbing his
hands down her arms. Her skin was ice cold to his touch.

“Just hold me.” She raised her eyes to his, a
beautiful, demanding beggar. “Please.”

He complied, and rubbed her naked back as she
collapsed onto his chest. What she said was plausible. He could
imagine the scenario unfolding as nightmarishly as she described.
And that fellow who claimed he’d seen Joan back at her house? Well,
eyewitness reports were notoriously unreliable. People had Elvis
sightings, for Christ’s sake! Penrose had pointed out as much to
Alicia in the conversation Milo had overheard, but of course she’d
have none of it. The sad truth was that for whatever mix of
reasons, Alicia had it in for Joan.

Who cried for a long time, then finally
pushed herself away. “I’m all right now.” Yet her face was streaked
with tears, rivulets that cut across the powder on her skin like
angel’s tracks on newly fallen snow. “Milo, I’ve made so many
mistakes. But I want you to know I’m different than I used to be.
I’ve learned a lot. I’ve grown up a lot.”

How to respond to that?
“We all make
mistakes,” he said.

“No, I want you to understand.” She forced
him to meet her gaze, their faces only inches apart. He had the
idea this was a prepared speech, yet something in him wanted to
hear it delivered. “I made a mistake leaving you. I took you for
granted. I know that now. I didn’t appreciate you.”

He shook his head. “We were both much younger
then.”

“Yes,” she said instantly, “that’s my point.
We’re older now, and wiser. I know what’s important now.”

What she wanted began to dawn on him. He
frowned. “Are you saying—”

“I’m saying I want to try again. You and me.
Do you think you could give me another chance?” Her eyes were huge
blue pools, deep and endless. A man could drown in them. He used
to, himself.

Could he again? These nights he dreamed of
brown eyes, flashing and dark. But they belonged to a woman who
kept pushing him away, time and again.

He was thirty-eight years old, and alone, and
in his arms was a woman he’d once cared for deeply. She wasn’t
perfect, but then neither was he. She spoke of making mistakes;
that was terrain he trod constantly. Didn’t the mere fact that she
could make that admission show what a different woman she had
become?

“Tell me something, Joan.” He pushed her
slightly away. “Did you invite anyone else here tonight?”

“No.” Her reply was instant. “But I knew you
wouldn’t come if you thought it would be just you and me.”

Yet more evidence of the new, honest Joan in
action. “Why wouldn’t I have come?” he persisted.

“Because you don’t trust me yet. And I can’t
say I blame you. But I believe you’ll come to trust me again.” She
held his gaze as she stepped closer, so close he could see the fine
texture of her skin, smell the sweet, fresh scent of her body.
“Remember, there was a lot that was right between us, Milo.
Remember that.” And then she brushed the lightest of kisses on his
lips before pulling away. “I’ll be right back—I just want to go and
freshen up.” On her way out she plucked his overcoat from the sofa,
where he’d tossed it.

Milo was still for a moment, then ambled
toward the ice bucket and pulled out the champagne, ice-cold drips
falling onto the creamy white carpet. What a surprising turn this
night was taking. Yet, strangely, it was comfortable, like the best
of the times he’d ever had with Joan.

*

Joan felt light-headed as she walked out of
the suite’s main room, as if the champagne bubbles had floated to
her head and taken over her brain waves. She was being brilliant.
So very brilliant. An Oscar-winning performance.

Just around the corner from the main room, so
that Milo couldn’t see, she pulled open the door of the small
closet between the entry foyer and the half bath. She reached into
the pocket of his overcoat and smiled, closing her fingers around
the very thing she was looking for.

It was a metallic blue Nokia cell phone, so
small yet capable of wreaking so much havoc. Though she didn’t
really believe Milo would be called away that night—why should a
terrorist threat prove real that night?—she didn’t care to take the
chance.

She used her nail—painted for New Year’s a
light pearly pink—to push the phone’s tiny power switch. It emitted
a tinny little beep, then went dark. Pleased, Joan dropped it back
into Milo’s pocket, then continued down the hall to the en suite
bathroom for the promised freshening of her makeup. But before
picking up her powder puff she used the bathroom phone to call down
to the hotel operator, requesting that all calls be held. “I’m
having an early night,” Joan informed the operator, who clucked
with understanding. Of course. So tragic. The new widow must be so
heartbroken on this New Year’s Eve ...

Joan gazed at her reflection in the marble
bathroom’s mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her blue eyes
glinted. With her blond hair curled, she looked like a feverish
china doll.

He’s mine
, she told
herself—needlessly, because she’d known from the moment she set her
trap that he would be. She knew exactly what to say to pull him in.
He might be surprised but she wasn’t. She’d always known she was
not to be underestimated.

Milo was warming his hands at the hearth when
she returned to him. She stopped halfway across the room. His eyes
lit up when he saw her, and his lips curled in the lazy half smile
she remembered so well. “Shall we call down for dinner?” he
asked.

“No.”

His brows rose in surprise. “You’re not
hungry yet?”

She stepped closer. “No.”

Understanding seemed to dawn in those dark
eyes of his. He stood completely still. When she got very close she
ran her hands up the starched front of his tuxedo shirt. His ruby
studs were cold and bloodred. The ornate clock on the mantel chimed
the hour.

“Nine PM,” he said into the stillness when
the last note sounded. Joan noticed, her hands still resting
lightly on his chest, that his heart was beating very quickly.

She smiled. “I’m not making you
uncomfortable, am I?”

He shook his head in instant denial. “No,
no.”

No part of her believed him. She cocked her
head. “Would it be so very wrong?”

He said nothing. His eyes were cautious but
she could see desire too in their black depths. She rose on her
toes to brush her lips against his. “Would it be so very wrong to
make love?”

His face froze. “Joan—”

“I’m alone.” She kissed him again. “You’re
alone.” He began to protest anew but she silenced him with a soft
finger on his mouth. “We could make each other happy.”

“We could also regret it.”

“How could I regret being with you?” So, so
true. And she’d never been much for regrets as it was. They held
you back. They kept you from doing what you wanted.

“But it hasn’t been very long—” He
stopped.

“Since Daniel died?” She didn’t think that
much mattered, but knew that Milo, like everyone else, thought it
did. How strange. Daniel was dead. He wouldn’t be more dead in a
month. But she mustn’t say that to Milo.

So instead she looked deeply into his eyes
and said, “Daniel was lost to me long before he was killed, Milo.
I’ve been alone for a long, long time. I don’t want to be alone
anymore. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”