Within Reach (32 page)

He stroked her hair. “I wish I could take some of it for you. Maybe I should go to Washington. Maybe I should have a talk with Blake.”

She brought her head up fast. “No! Don’t do that. You’ll only end up taking the blame for something that isn’t your doing at all.”

“Isn’t my doing? Hell, I’m screwing the man’s wife—” At Danica’s stricken expression, he quickly amended the thought. “I’m in love with his wife, with every last intimate inch of her.” He lowered his voice. “Better?”

She nodded. “There’s nothing sordid about what we do.”

“I know, and I apologize for using that word. It’s just that I get frustrated and angry. I wish something would happen.”

“It will. In time. It will.”

It happened sooner than either of them thought. That night, when Danica returned to Beacon Hill, Mrs. Hannah was up waiting with the urgent message that Danica’s mother had had a stroke.

The Hartford Hospital was no different from any other, with its long halls, its antiseptic smell and the ever-present sounds of bleeps, rustling uniforms and muted conversation. Danica came to know it all well over the next two weeks as she sat at her mother’s bedside.

Eleanor had been fortunate. Only her right side had been paralyzed, and even then she was slowly beginning to regain a measure of movement. Danica helped her eat, pushed her wheelchair around the halls, waited patiently while she was in physical therapy, and, more than anything, filled the void left by William Marshall’s absence.

Oh, he had come immediately after Eleanor had been admitted. He had shown up on each successive weekend. But he always had to return to Washington, where pressing business waited. Danica was reminded of when her mother had had her hysterectomy, when William had been about as doting. She was reminded of when she’d had her own miscarriage, when Blake had popped up for twenty-four hours, then had left. And she was reminded of Michael, who had been there, who had cared for her, who had told her without words that she was far more important than any work he might be doing.

Indeed, Michael had driven to Hartford several days before to see Eleanor. Though Danica hadn’t had much time with him alone, she had been deeply touched by his thoughtfulness. As for Blake, his lavish floral bouquet sat wilting now on the windowsill; he hadn’t made it north at all.

Ironically, the freest times for Danica were during visiting hours, when a steady stream of the Marshalls’ friends filtered in and out of the room. Danica would excuse herself, promising her mother she would be back soon, and would wander around the hospital or the nearby downtown area wondering why she was being so attentive. In the end, she only knew that she couldn’t be any other way. What had happened in the past didn’t seem as important as that what she was doing now gave her satisfaction. Eleanor, for all her faults, was her mother, and it was obvious from the frightened glances she sent toward Danica when Danica was leaving, from the way she held Danica’s hand with her own strong left one, from the way she seemed more relaxed when Danica was around, that Eleanor needed her.

More than once Danica wondered whether Eleanor’s recent attentiveness hadn’t been a forewarning that something wasn’t right. The doctors had said she’d had high blood pressure for years, though Danica had never known it. Her father, on the other hand, had his own thoughts on Eleanor’s stroke.

“She’s been worried about you lately, Danica.”

They were sitting in the coffee shop on the third Sunday. Eleanor was to be released from the hospital the following week.

“There’s nothing for her to worry about,” Danica commented as casually as she could, given the sudden premonition she felt.

“She doesn’t think so. She came back from Maine last summer quite concerned about you and Blake.”

“About me and Blake? I’m not sure I follow.” She certainly did, but she wanted to know exactly what her father had to say.

“You’re never together anymore. You live in different cities and you leave him to go about his business on his own. That’s no way to run a marriage.”

“It doesn’t seem to be much different from the way you and Mom ran yours.”

William grew stern. “It certainly
is
different. Your mother has always been with me, whether in Washington or Hartford. It’s only lately that she’s here more, and that’s because she’s tired.”

“Then I guess Mom’s a better person than I am. She’s undemanding and self-sacrificing.”

“She’s been a good wife. I’d have expected you to follow her example.”

“Times have changed. Commuting is simpler now.”

“That’s hogwash. Commuting was always simple if you wanted to do it. You, obviously, don’t want to do it. What’s the matter with you?”

Danica forced herself to speak in an even tone. “I have interests that Mom never had.”

William Marshall had never been one to beat around the bush when he had something on his mind. “You have this Buchanan fellow. What in the hell are you doing with him? That’s what has your mother so upset. She’s worried sick that something’s going on that you’re going to regret one day.”

“Just a minute, Dad,” Danica warned. “If you’re trying to blame Mom’s stroke on me, that’s unfair. According to the doctor, she’s had high blood pressure for years, and that could as easily be from trying to keep up with the life you want to lead as from worrying about me. Let’s not throw accusations around because we’ll never know what caused the stroke.”

“You haven’t answered my question, young lady. I asked what was going on between you and that fellow in Maine.”

Danica stared at her father for a full minute. “He’s a good friend, probably the best I’ve ever had. You should be grateful he gives me his time. God only knows, no one else does.”

“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She sighed. “Ach, this isn’t the time or place.”

In deference to her reminder, he lowered his voice, but that was the extent of his surrender. “No, girl, spit it out.”

“It’s not important. What
is
is that we try to get Mother out of here and back on her feet.”

“That will happen anyway. She has the best of doctors and therapists, and I’ve already hired a full-time nurse to take care of her when she gets home.”

“I’ll stay on for a while. She needs someone who loves her.”

If Danica was trying to get a message across, she failed. William was still thinking about the stack of photographs Morgan Emery had handed him. “You’re avoiding me, Danica. I asked you what you were doing with Michael Buchanan.”

“And I answered.” It was all she could do not to wilt beneath William’s cutting stare, but she managed. She loved him because he was her father, and she had always tried to please him, but short of outright lying, she would be damned now by whatever answer she gave.

“Then listen to me, and listen good. I want you to stay away from him. He and his family are trouble from the word
go
. He’d like nothing more than to embarrass us, and if you do something to compromise Blake, you’ll be doing just that. Honestly, Danica, I never thought I’d have to have a discussion like this with you.” When her mouth remained set, he went on. “Stay away from Buchanan. Your running all over Maine with him is indecent. Blake Lindsay is a good man, and he’s your husband. For your mother’s sake, if nothing else, behave yourself.”

Danica felt like a chastised child. Her resentment nearly overpowered her recollection of where she was and why. She would have liked nothing more than to tell her father to mind his own business, to tell him to clean his own house before he worried about cleaning hers, but she said nothing. One part of her feared the repercussions of such an outburst, and for her mother’s sake, if nothing else, she controlled herself.

Gathering her purse, she stood. “I think I’ll go back up and see how Mom is doing.”

William stood and took her elbow. “Do we have an understanding, Danica?”

“You’ve said what you wanted to say. Trust me to do what I feel is right.”

“That’s a nonanswer if I ever heard one,” her father grumbled. “Maybe I steered you wrong after all. You should have been a politician.”

“God forbid,” Danica replied with a deliberate touch of humor.

Unfortunately, William wasn’t deceived, or rather, he didn’t particularly trust his daughter. He felt that he barely knew her, that any number of things could be going on in her life that he didn’t know about. For the most part, he didn’t care what she did. He certainly wasn’t interested in getting a rundown on her charity work or even the work she was doing with James Bryant. The matter of Michael Buchanan, though, was something else. He was damned if he would have a scandal rock his family.

He had seen those pictures, had studied them time and again. Though there had been no evidence that Danica was having an affair, there was plenty of evidence that she might well do so in the future. He had warned her, but he couldn’t be sure she would listen. What he needed was solid evidence one way or another, and the only way to get that would be to keep Emery on the case. It was only a matter of money, a small price to pay if by doing so he could prevent Danica from making fools of them all. With evidence, something compromising, he could confront her. Better still, he could confront Buchanan, even the senior Buchanan if need be.

But that was a ways off. First, he had to get Emery on the stick. Once he had done that and once he knew that Eleanor was safely installed at home, he would be able to return his full concentration to more important business in Washington.

November in the Capital tended toward the chilly, yet Cilla had always preferred it to spring, when hordes of sightseers flocked to see the cherry blossoms and the myriad of historical sights the city offered. But then, she had always been a rebellious sort. She liked to root for the underdog in a baseball game, eat spinach instead of peas, wear her skirts long when designers said hemlines were rising. She thrived on doing the unexpected, so it was no surprise to her when she found herself very happily in bed with her ex-husband.

“Ahhh, Cilla, we always were good together,” Jeffrey breathed when his pulse finally began to slow.

She tipped her head on the pillow to look at him. “In bed, yes. Why is it, do you think?”

“Chemistry?”

“I think there’s something more. We’re both committed, intense. Making love with you is always fierce. It’s a challenge because there’s always some new little part of you that comes out.”

“Like a puzzle. We’re both puzzle freaks.”

“Mmmm. Ironic, isn’t it? The same thing that makes us dynamite in bed keeps us apart out of it.”

Jeffrey took a deep breath and drew her head to the crook of his shoulder. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“We have to at some point. This has been going on for two months now. We’ve been together several nights a week, but there’s still a barrier there.”

“Just like the old days.”

“Right. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me. Why couldn’t you have made your millions producing homemade chocolate chip cookies?”

“Why couldn’t you have made yours inventing Trivial Pursuit?”

He tucked in his chin to look at her. “Have you played?”

She stuck hers out. “Sure. I’m unbeatable.”

“That’s because you’ve never played against me. I never miss a question on history or geography or science or sports.”

“That still leaves entertainment and art. You forget, I have the memory of an elephant.”

“Mmmm. I bet we could team up and win championships all over the place. Hey, that’s an idea. Why don’t we both resign from our jobs and go on the road as trivia experts?”

She snorted. “We’d probably fight over who was going to roll the dice.”

“No, we never fought over petty things.” He grew pensive. “Just over big things, like cases we’re working on.”

She rolled over and propped herself on his chest. “Okay. Let’s see how far we’ve come. Tell me about what you’re doing.”

“Cilla…”

“See. You still don’t trust me. You trust me to do all kinds of wicked things to your body, but you don’t trust me with your thoughts.”

“God, we’ve been over this so many times before.”

“And we’ll go over it many times more. Unless—” she made to rise from the bed “—you’d just as soon call it quits now.”

He snagged her back. “I don’t want that. You know how I feel about you.”

“No. Tell me.”

“You know.”

“I…want…to…hear…the…words.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “You like it when I’m vulnerable, don’t you? It gives you the upper edge.”

“There you’re wrong. There’s nothing ‘upper edge’ about it. We’re talking equality. I know that I’m at my most vulnerable when I’m with you. I just need to know that I’m not the only one.”

“You’re not.” He hesitated a minute longer. “I loved you when we were married, and I love you still.…Hell, I feel so naked when I say that.”

“You are naked.”

He looked down the creamy length of her back. “So are you.”

She caught her breath at his near tangible caress. “Guess so. I do love you, Jeff. So help me, I’ve tried not to. I’ve dated plenty since the divorce, but I keep coming back. In my mind, at least.”

“Not only your mind.”

“Well…”

“Come on. Give a kiss.”

Her eyes grew sly. “Where?”

“Here, for starters.” He pointed to his mouth and opened it when she came. But it was only for starters because the combination of chemistry and challenge and love was a potent one with a will of its own, and before long they were sprawling over and around each other in a mutual search for satisfaction.

Some time later, when they were once again at rest in each other’s arms, Jeff sighed. “And we’re right back where we started, aren’t we, with a roadblock smack in front of us.”

Cilla rubbed her cheek against the matted hair on his chest. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m doing a story on toxic waste seepage into the Chesapeake Bay. The problem is that the source of the seepage is a chemical plant, which is owned by a very prominent and politically active taxpayer.”