White Lies (5 page)

           
 
She wished they hadn't put this responsibility
on her. She didn't want to stay. This strange feeling she had for Steve made
her feel threatened. If she left now, it wouldn't have a chance to develop. But
if she stayed... She hadn't been devastated by their divorce, five years
earlier, because their love had never grown, never gone any deeper. In the end
it had simply faded away. But Steve was different now; he'd changed in those
five years, into a man whose power she could feel even when he was unconscious.
If she fell in love with him again, she might never get over it.

           
 
But if she left, she would feel guilty because
she hadn't helped him. She needed to find another job. She had to get back to
New York
and begin doing something to keep her life
from disintegrating. But she was tired of the frantic pushing and maneuvering,
the constant dealing. She didn't want to go, but she was afraid to stay.

           
 
Frank saw the tension in her face, felt it
vibrating through her. "Let's walk down to the lounge," he said,
stepping forward to take her arm. "You need a break. See you later,
Major."

           
 
Major Lunning nodded. "Try to talk her
into staying. This guy really needs her."

           
 
Out in the hall, Jay murmured, "I hate it
when people talk around me, as if I'm not there. I'm tired of being
maneuvered." She was thinking of her job when she said that, but Frank
gave her a sharp look.

           
 
"I don't mean to put you in a difficult
position," he said diplomatically. "It's just that we badly need to
talk to your husband... sorry, ex-husband. I keep forgetting. At any rate,
we're willing to do whatever is possible to aid in his recovery," Jay put
her hands in her pockets, slowing her steps as she considered something.
"Is Steve going to be arrested because of what he was doing, whatever it
was?"

           
 
Frank didn't have any hesitation on that
score. "No," he said with absolute certainty. The man was going to
get nothing but the best medicine and best protection his country could provide
him; Frank only wished he could tell Jay why, but that wasn't possible.
"We think he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, an innocent
bystander, if you will. But given his background, we think it likely he would
have picked up on the situation. It's even possible he was trying to help when
everything blew up in his face."

           
 
"Literally."

           
 
"Yes, unfortunately. Anything he can
remember will help us." They reached the lounge and he opened the door so
she could precede him. They were alone, thank heavens. He went over to the
coffee machine and fed coins into it. "Coffee?"

           
 
"No, thank you," Jay replied tiredly
as she sat down. Her stomach was blessedly calm, and she didn't want to upset
it now with the noxious brew that usually came from those machines. She hadn't
noticed before how tired she was, but now fatigue was washing over her in great
waves that made her feel giddy. Frank sat down opposite her, cradling the
Styrofoam cup in his hands. "I talked to my superior, explained your
situation," he began. "Would you stay if you didn't have to worry
about finding another job?"

           
 
She let her eyelids droop as she rubbed her
forehead in an effort to force herself to concentrate on what he'd said. She
couldn't remember ever having been as tired as she was now, as if all energy
had drained from her. Even her mind felt numb. All day long she had focused so
fiercely on Steve that everything else had blurred, and now that she had let
herself relax, exhaustion had crashed in on her, a deep lassitude that was
mental as well as physical.

           
 
"I don't understand," she murmured.
"I have to work at a job to make money. And even if you've somehow lined
one up for me, I can't work and stay here, too."

           
 
"Staying here would be your job,"
Frank explained, wishing he didn't have to push her. She looked as if it were
all she could do to sit erect. But maybe she would be more easily convinced
now, with fatigue dulling her mind. "We'll take care of your apartment and
living expenses. It's that important to us." Her eyelids lifted and she
stared at him incredulously. "You'd
pay
me to stay here?"

           
 
"Yes."

           
 
"But I don't want money to stay with him!
I want to' help him, don't you understand that?"

           
 
"But you can't, because of your financial
position," Frank said, nodding.

           
 
"What we're offering to do is take care
of that for you. If you were independently wealthy, would you hesitate to
stay?"

           
 
"Of course not! I'll do whatever I can to
help him, but the idea of taking money for it is ugly."

           
 
"We aren't paying you to stay with him,
we're paying you so you
can
 
stay with him. Do you see the
difference?"

           
 
She had to be going mad, because she did see
the difference between the two halves of the hair he had just split. And his
eyes were so kind that she instinctively trusted him, even though she sensed a
lot going on that she didn't understand.

           
 
"We'll get an apartment for you close by,
so you can spend more time with him," Frank continued, his voice soothing
and reasonable. "We'll also keep your
New York
apartment for you, so you'll have that to
go back to. If you give me the word now, we can have a place here ready for you
to move into on Monday." There had to be arguments she could use, but she
couldn't think of any. Frank was sweeping all obstacles out of the way; it
would make her feel mean and petty if she refused to do what he wanted, when he
had gone to so much trouble and they—whoever they were—so badly wanted her to
remain.

           
 
"I'll have to go home," she said
helplessly. "To
New York
, that is. I need more clothes, and I'll have to quit my job."
Suddenly she laughed. "If it's possible to quit a job you've already been
fired from."

           
 
"I'll make the travel arrangements for
you."

           
 
"How long do you think I'll be
here?" She was estimating a two-or threeweek stay, but she wanted to be
certain. She would have to do something about her mail and utilities.

           
 
Frank's gaze was level. "A couple of
months, at least. Maybe longer."

           
 
"Months!"

           
 
"He'll have to have therapy."

           
 
"But he'll be conscious then. I thought
you only wanted me to stay until the worst was over!"

           
 
He cleared his throat. "We'd like you to
stay until he's dismissed from the hospital, at least." He had been trying
to break the idea to her gradually, first by just getting her here, then
convincing her that Steve needed her, then talking her into staying for the
duration. He only hoped it would work.

           
 
"But why?"

           
 
"He'll need you. He'll be in pain. I
haven't told you before, but he needs more surgery on his eyes. It will
probably be six to eight weeks before he'll get the bandages off his eyes for
good. He's going to be confused, in pain, and they'll put him through more pain
in therapy. To top it all off, he won't be able to see. Jay, you're going to be
his lifeline."

           
 
She sat there numbly, staring at him. It
looked as if, after all this time and now that it was too late, Steve was going
to need her more than either of them had ever thought.

           
 
It felt strange to be back in
New York
. Jay had flown back on Sunday afternoon and
had spent the hours packing her clothes and other personal possessions, but
even her apartment had felt strange, as if she no longer belonged there. She
packed automatically, her mind on the hospital room in
Bethesda
. How was he doing? She had spent the
morning with him, constantly talking and stroking his arm, yet she felt frantic
at spending such a long time away from him. On Monday morning she dressed for
work for the last time, and was conscious of a deep sense of relief. Until it
had been lifted, she hadn't been aware what a burden that job had been, how
desperately she had been driving herself to compete. Competition was a fine
thing, but not at the expense of her health, though part of it could be blamed
on her own intensity. She had channeled all her temper, interests and energy
into that job, leaving nothing as an escape valve. She was lucky she hadn't
developed an ulcer, rather than the less severe stress symptoms of a nervous
stomach, constant headaches and disturbed sleep. When she reached her office in
the high-rise office building that housed many such firms, she scrounged around
until she located a cardboard box, then swiftly cleaned out her desk,
depositing all her personal items in the carton. There weren't many: a tube of
lipstick, an extra pair of panty hose, a small pack of tissues, an expensive
gold ballpoint pen, two small prints from the wall. She had just finished and
was reaching for the phone to call Farrell Wordlaw to request a meeting when
the intercom buzzed.

           
 
"Mr. Clements with EchoSystems on line
three, Ms. Granger. " Jay depressed the button. "Please transfer all
my calls to Duncan Wordlaw."

           
 
"Yes, Ms. Granger."

           
 
Taking a deep breath, Jay dialed Farrell on
the interoffice line. Two minutes later she walked purposefully into his
office.

           
 
He smiled benignly at her, as if he hadn't
cut4ier off at the knees three days before. "You're looking well,
Jay," he said smoothly. "Is something on your mind?"

           
 
"Not much," she replied. "I
just wanted to let you know that I won't be able to work out the two weeks'
notice you gave me. I came in this morning to clean out my desk, and I left
instructions for all my calls to be transferred to
Duncan
." It gave her a measure of
satisfaction to see him blanch. "That's very unprofessional!" he
snapped, surging to his feet. "We were counting on you to tie up the loose
ends—"

           
 
"And train
Duncan
how to do my job," she interrupted,
her voice ironic. His tone was threatening. "Under these circumstances, I
don't see how I can give you the positive recommendation I had planned. You
won't work again in investment banking, not without a favorable
reference."

           
 
Her dark blue eyes were steady and cold as she
stared at him. "I don't plan to work in investment banking, thank
you."

           
 
From that he decided she must already have
another job, which took away the leverage he had been planning to use on her.
Jay watched him, practically seeing the wheels turning as he considered his
options. She was really leaving them in the lurch, and it was his fault,
because he had fired her. "Well, perhaps I was too hasty," he said,
forcing his voice to show warm paternalism. "It will certainly leave a
black eye on this firm, and on you, if the matters on your desk aren't handled
properly. Perhaps if I add two weeks' salary as severance pay, you'll
reconsider leaving us so precipitately?"

           
 
She was supposed to fall back in line when he
waved the magic carrot of money in front of her nose. "Thank you, but
no," she declined. "It isn't possible. I won't be in town."

           
 
Panic began to edge into his face. If the
deals she had been handling fell through, it would cost the firm millions of
dollars in fees. "But you can't do that!

           
 
Where will you be?"

           
 
Already Jay could imagine panicky phone calls
from
Duncan
. She gave Farrell a cool smile. "
Bethesda
Naval
Hospital
, but I won't be accepting any calls."

           
 
He looked absolutely stunned. "The...the
naval hospital?" he croaked.

           
 
"It's a family emergency," she
explained as she walked out the door. When she was outside again with the small
cardboard box tucked under her arm, she laughed out loud from the sheer joy of
being unemployed, of being able to put that look of panic in Farrell Wordlaw's
eyes. It was almost as good as if she had been able to strangle him. And now
she was free to return to Steve, drawn by the powerful compulsion to be with
him that she could neither understand nor resist.

           
 
She had come up on a commuter flight, but
because of the amount of luggage and personal furnishings she was taking back
to D.C., Frank had arranged for her to take a charter flight back, and she was
pleasantly surprised when he met her at the airport. "I didn't know you
were going to be here!" she exclaimed. He couldn't help smiling at her.
Her eyes were sparkling like the ocean, and the lines of tension were gone from
her face. She looked as if she had thoroughly enjoyed walking out of her job,
and he said as much.

           
 
"It was...satisfying," she admitted,
smiling at him. "How is Steve today?" Frank shrugged. "Not as
well as he was before you left." It was damned strange, but it was true.
His pulse was weaker and faster, his breathing shallow and ragged. Even though
he was unconscious, the man needed Jay.

           
 
Her eyes darkened with worry and she bit her
lip. The urge to get back to Steve grew more intense, like invisible chains
pulling at her.

           
 
But first she had to get settled in the
apartment Frank had gotten for her, something that took up too much time and
ate at her patience. The apartment was about half the size of her place in
New York
, really only two rooms—the living room and
bedroom. The kitchen was a cubbyhole in a corner, and there was a crowded
little alcove for dining. But the apartment was comfortable, especially since
she planned to spend most of her time at the hospital, anyway. This was simply
a place to sleep and have a few meals.

           
 
"I've arranged for you to have a
car," Frank said as he carried in the last case. He grinned at her
surprised look. "This isn't
New York
. You'll need a way to get around." He
produced the keys from his pocket and dropped them on the table. "You can
come and go at the hospital as you like. You have clearance to see Steve at any
hour. I won't be around all the time, the way I have been, but whenever I'm
gone another agent will be on hand."

           
 
"Are you going to the hospital with me
now?"

           
 
"Now?" he asked, looking surprised
in turn. "Aren't you going to unpack?"

           
 
"I can unpack later tonight. I'd rather
see Steve now."

           
 
"All right." Privately he thought
the plan was working a little too well, but that couldn't be helped. "Why
don't you follow me in your car, so you can get used to the streets and learn
the way to the hospital? Uh...you do drive, don't you?"

           
 
Smiling, she nodded. "I've only lived in
New York
for the past five years. Everywhere else
I've lived, I needed a car. But I warn you, I haven't driven very much in that
time, so give me a chance to get used to it again." Actually, driving a
car was a lot like riding a bicycle: once you had learned, the skill wasn't
forgotten. After taking a moment to familiarize herself with the
instrumentation, Jay followed Frank's car without difficulty. She had always
been a steady, deliberate driver; Steve had been the daredevil, driving too
fast, taking chances.

           
 
It wasn't until she stepped into his hospital
room and approached the bed that she felt a knot of tension deep inside begin
to loosen. She stared down at his bandaged head, with only his bruised, swollen
lips and jaw visible, and her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. With
infinite care she laid her fingers on his arm and began talking.

           
 
"I'm here. I had to go back to
New York
yesterday to pack my things and quit my
job. Remind me to tell you about that someday. Anyway, I'm going to be staying
here with you until you're better."

           
 
The
voice was back. Slowly it penetrated the black layers that shrouded his
mind, forming a tiny link with his
consciousness. He still didn't understand the
words, but he wasn't aware that he didn't understand. The voice simply
was, like
light where before there
had been nothing. Sometimes the voice was calm and
sometimes it rippled with amusement. He wasn't aware of the amusement,
only of
the change in tone.

           
 
He
wanted more. He needed to get closer to the sound, and he began trying
to fight his way out of the dark fog in his
mind. But every time he tried, a vicious,
burning pain that permeated his entire body began gnawing at him, and
he would
withdraw, back into the
protecting blackness. Then the voice would lure him out
again, until the beast attacked once more
and he had to retreat.

           
 
* * *

           
 
His arm twitched the way it had once before,
and again the movement startled Jay into jerking her hand away. She stopped
talking and stared at him. Then, with only a slight pause, she replaced her
hand on his arm and resumed what she had been saying. Her heart was pounding.
It had to be an involuntary twitching of muscles forced into one position for too
long. He couldn't be trying to respond, because the barbiturates they were
feeding him literally shut down most of his brain functions. Most, but not all,
Major Lunning had said. If Steve was aware of her, could he be trying to
communicate?

           
 
"Are you awake?" she asked softly.
"Can you twitch your arm again?" His arm was motionless under her
fingers, and with a sigh she again took up her rambling discourse. For a moment
the feeling had been so strong that she had been convinced he was awake,
despite everything they had told her. She was back at the hospital the next
morning before the sun was little more than a graying of the eastern sky. She
hadn't slept well, partly because of the unfamiliar surroundings, but she
couldn't place all the blame on being in a strange apartment. She had lain
awake in the darkness, her mind churning as she tried to analyze and diminish
her absurd conviction that, for a moment, Steve had actually been trying to
reach out to her in the only way he could. But, for all her analyzing, logic
meant nothing whenever she remembered the feeling that had burned through her.

           
 
Stop it!
 
she scoffed at herself as she rode
the elevator up to the ICU. Her imagination was running away with her, fueled
by her own characteristic tendency to totally immerse herself in her interests.
She had never been one of those cool, aloof people who could dole out their
emotions in careful measure, though she had nearly wrecked her health by trying
to be that way. Because she so badly wanted Steve to recover, she was imagining
responses where there were none.

           
 
His room was bright with lights, despite the
hour, since light or darkness hardly mattered to him in his condition. She
supposed the nurses left the lights on for convenience. She closed the door,
enclosing them in a private cocoon, then walked to his bed. She touched his
arm. "I'm here," she said softly. He drew a deep breath, his chest
shuddering slightly.

           
 
It hit her hard, jerking at her like a rope
that had suddenly been pulled taut. That deep sense of mutual awareness
stretching between them, a communication that went beyond logic, beyond speech,
was there again, stronger this time. He knew she was there. Somehow he
recognized her. And he was fighting to reach her.