Together always (21 page)

"Maybe he thinks he is."

"Well, he isn't." The look she gave him dared him to argue. John lifted his hands.

"You don't have to convince me."

"I know. But I'm not having much luck convincing Trace. And I'm beginning to wonder if Vm seeing things that aren't really there because I want them to be there."

"If you want my opinion, I think he loves you at least as much as you love him, but I think he's got a hang-up about not deserving you. He thinks you could do better than him."

"I don't want better than him. I want him*' Her lower lip quivered and John reached out automatically, pulling her into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder, sobs shaking her slim body. John's mouth twisted in a rueful smile. He must be getting old when he could hold a beautiful woman in his arms with nothing in mind but comforting her sorrow over another man.

"I know that and you know that but it may take a while for Trace to believe it. Have some patience. No man in his right mind would resist you for long."

Trace might have agreed with him. Turning his back on Lily was surely the hardest thing he'd ever done and there were times when he wondered if it wasn't alsQ the stupidest. As the days passed without seeing her, he had to keep reminding himself that the best way to keep her safe was to stay away from her.

He didn't doubt the wisdom of his choice when the second note was left on his windshield. A repetition of the first, this time it mentioned Mike by name, so there could no longer be any doubt that the bullet that had killed him had been meant for Trace. Soon after the second note, someone put a bullet through the windshield of the 'Vette while it was parked in the garage beneath his apartment building. A neat round hole just about where his head would have been if he'd been in the car.

Then the right front tire came off the car while he was driving down the freeway. If the traffic had been heavier or

he'd been driving faster, it could have resulted in a serious accident. As it was, he was able to keep the car from spinning out completely and get it to the side of the freeway with nothing more than some torn fiberglass and a badly damaged wheel to show for it. When the tire was fished out of the gully it had bounced into, it was easy to see that the lugs had been filed just enough so that they would sheer off under pressure.

He took to looking over his shoulder wherever he went and sleeping with his gun under the pillow. Whoever it was, they didn't seem to be in any hurry to kill him. He had the feeling that they were enjoying tormenting him for a while before they moved in for the final kill.

The search for someone with a reason to want him dead had drawn a blank. There was no one in his files who fitted the mold. No one who had a strong enough motive. So far, the best anyone had been able to come up with was that it was someone who'd picked him more or less at random and was working off some kind of a grudge against cops in general.

Worse than the knowledge that someone was trying to kill him was the aching hole in his gut that cutting Lily from his life had left. The hurt in her eyes haunted him. The need to call her, to talk to her, to put his arms around her tore at him, making sleep a thing of the past. Even when she'd been thousands of miles away in England, he hadn't felt this same aching loss.

But then, he hadn't held her, loved her, slept with her beside him when she left for Europe. He'd had only that one kiss to remember and he'd almost managed to convince himself that that had been little more than a dream. He couldn't convince himself that making love to her had been a dream. It had been too real, too vital. Too right.

Trace rolled onto his back and stared up at the dark ceiling. The sheets were twisted from his restless movements but

he didn't notice the discomfort. It was minor compared to the aching emptiness that filled him every time he thought of Lily. He could see her face above him, suspended in the darkness, as clear and sharp as if she were really there.

The harsh ring of the phone popped the image like a soap bubble. He stirred sluggishly, exhaustion making his movements slow and awkward. There'd been too many nights with too little sleep. He fumbled for the phone, his movements becoming more coordinated as he registered the late hour. Phones didn't ring at midnight unless there was something wrong.

"Hello?"

'Trace? It's Lily. I'm sorry it's so late."

He sat up, the sheet falling away from his bare chest. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"No, it's not me." Her voice shook and she stopped to regain control. Trace waited, his fingers knotted over the receiver. "It's John. He's been in an accident."

"How badly is he hurt?" Trace was reaching for his jeans as he spoke, thrusting his legs into them and grabbing for a shirt.

"I don't know. I'm at the hospital but I just got here and the doctor is still with him."

"Stay cahn. Chances are he's going to be fine. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He hung up the phone and shoved his feet into a pair of boots before snatching up a heavy jacket and the keys to his motorcycle, since the 'Vette was still out of commission. The freeways were empty and he pushed the motorcycle past the speed limit. He barely noticed the chill night air rushing by his face.

Lily needed him and he had to be there for her.

Chapter Thirteen

The waiting room was softly lit as if perhaps the dim light would help to soothe the anxieties of those who had to wait there. It didn't help. When Trace strode into the room, Lily was sitting on the edge of a soft chair, her feet set neatly together, her hands in her lap. The very composure of her position made her tension all the more obvious.

"Lily." He called her name softly and she looked up.

"Trace!" She flew across the room and into his waiting arms.

Trace held her close. Her slim body was trembling and his arms tightened around her, offering what comfort he could. Forgotten was the need to keep his distance from her. Forgotten was the fact that he wasn't good for her. She needed him and he had to be there for her. It wasn't a choice so much as a deep visceral compulsion.

"It's going to be all right, honey. It's going to be all right." He held her, murmuring quietly, until the trembling had eased. She drew back, looking up into his face with such love and so much trust that he felt as if his heart would stop.

"I knew you'd come."

"Of course I came." He brushed the hair back from her forehead, struggling with the urge to tell her he loved her. "I'll always be here when you need me."

"I'll always need you."

Trace shut his eyes in pain as she laid her head against his shoulder. How could he fight such simple honesty, even when he knew he had no choice?

*'Tell me what happened." He chose to avoid the issue. Now was not the time to confront it. He led her over to a chair and sat down next to her, holding her hand.

'*I don't really know much. The hospital called me. I guess the phone number was in his wallet. All they told me was that he'd been in a car wreck. I got here as soon as I could but they don't really know that much more. There was a highway patrobnan here waiting to ask John some questions but the nurse told him it was going to be a while before the doctors were through examining John and I guess he left. He said John's car was pretty well totaled."

'That doesn't mean that John was badly hurt. I've seen people walk away from cars that looked like they'd been through a trash compactor. Was John unconscious when they brought him in?"

"I think so. I don't know. They really haven't told me much."

'Tm sure he's going to be all right."

"As a matter of fact, we're pretty sure he is, too."

Trace had been concentrating so much on Lily that he hadn't noticed the doctor stepping into the doorway. He stood up and turned to face her, keeping Lily's hand in his.

The doctor was younger than he'd have expected and quite pretty, not the grizzled emergency room veteran he'd been picturing.

"I'm Dr. Levine. I presume you're friends or family of John Lonigan?"

Lily couldn't seem to find her voice so it was Trace who answered her. "More or less family. As close as he has, anyway. How is he?"

"He seems to be all right. He's got a nasty bump on the head, a few cracked ribs and a leg that's just short of bro-

ken. All in all, not too bad for someone who ran his car into a mountainside."

"When can he come home?" Lily asked, her voice shaky.

"Tomorrow, I think. We're going to keep him in overnight for observation and he should be able to go home tomorrow."

"Can we see him?"

Dr. Levine shook her head. "I think it would be better if you didn't. He's pretty groggy and we're trying to coax him into going to sleep. He needs rest more than anything else right now. Why don't the two of you go home and get some sleep and we'll call you in the morning?"

Trace nodded, sensing Lily's reluctance but seeing the logic in the doctor's suggestion. "Come on. We'll come back the minute they let us know he's awake."

"I just feel like he ought to know we're here. He doesn't have anybody else."

"We'll tell him," Dr. Levine offered. "You've both had quite a fright. Get some rest and come back tomorrow."

Trace left his motorcycle at the hospital and drove Lily's compact home. There was no question of leaving her alone. He could sooner have cut off his own arm than walk out on her now.

"I could use something hot to drink." Lily hung her coat in the hall closet, looking over her shoulder at Trace as she spoke.

"Sounds good to me. I could make some of my world-famous hot chocolate."

"World-famous?" She arched her brow, her pale face taking on a touch of humor.

* * Semi-world-famous?''

"Hot chocolate sounds great, even if it's only locally well-known."

They drank their cocoa without talking, each wrapped in thought. And when the cups were rinsed and put away, it

seined the most natural thing in the world for them to climb the stairs together. Trace hesitated outside her door. His common sense told him that he was playing with fire, but looking at Lily's pale face, he couldn't bring himself to just turn and walk away.

"I could stay with you tonight, if you'd like." He didn't look at her as he spoke, half hoping she'd say no. Staying with her tonight would only make it hard to walk away again. And he had to walk away in the morning. At least until whoever was after him had been caught.

He felt Lily's eyes on him, full of questions he couldn't answer.

"I'd like that. I don't really feel like being alone tonight."

So he followed her into her room, slipping off only his shoes before lying on her bed. Lily took her nightgown into the bathroom, and when she came out, he thought he'd never seen her look more beautiful. The plain blue cotton gown covered her from neck to toes, hinting at feminine curves without revealing anything. She crawled into bed without questioning the fact that he was still dressed, and Trace reached out to shut off the light.

In the darkness, it was possible to pretend that he belonged here. It was possible to forget that someone wanted him dead, forget that Mike's death lay on his conscience, forget everything but Lily's slim body cuddled so close to his, her head on his shoulder. He fell asleep with his arms around her, his face against her hair.

It was midmorning when Trace came downstairs. He'd slept more deeply than he had in days and he felt rested. It was a feeling he'd almost forgotten. Lily had already gotten up when he woke and it was a measure of his exhaustion that she'd managed to rise and dress without disturbing him.

The scent of fresh coffee floated from the kitchen but he hesitated at the foot of the stairs. The barriers he'd tried to build between them were showing signs of cracking and he wasn't sure about the wisdom of letting those cracks widen.

Lily looked up from the morning paper as he walked into the room. Her eyes reflected the wariness he felt. So much lay between them. So many questions that couldn't be asked or answered.

"Good morning." Trace moved to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Good morning." Lily folded the paper and set it aside. "I called the hospital. They said John is doing just fine and they'll call and let us know when he's ready to be released."

"Great. That's great." Trace took a swallow of coffee, almost choking as the scalding liquid hit his throat. There was something in the set of Lily's jaw that made him uneasy.

"I want to talk to you, Trace."

The uneasiness increased and he took another gulp of coffee. "About what?" His voice sounded raspy, which didn't surprise him. The way his throat felt, he was surprised he had a voice at all.

"I think we need to talk about what's been going on."

She fixed him with a look that demanded honesty and Trace glanced away. "Going on?"

"You blow hot and cold. It's a wonder I haven't caught pneumonia from the way your moods change. I thought about it at the hospital last night. I thought about how I'd feel if it had been you they were working on, and it made me realize that life is too short to play around with it."

"I agree, but I don't think this is a good time for this conversation."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" He stumbled over the simple question. "Well, we're going to have to go get John in a h'ttle while."

'"The hospital will call us. Trace, I love you. And I think you love me. I know you love me. Why do you keep fighting it?"

Trace stared down into his coffee, wishing he could just drown himself in the dark liquid. Maybe he was still suffering from the strain of the past few weeks. His brain didn't seem to be working as well as it normally did.

"You want to know what I think?"

"Do I have a choice?" he asked with a weak attempt at humor.

"No, you don't. I think you're afraid of what you feel for me. I think you're afraid that you're going to get hurt or you're afraid that I'm going to get hurt. I'm not sure which it is."

"Lily, this really isn't a good time—"

"It seems like a good time to me."

Why hadn't he ever noticed how persistent she could be?