Her Secret Life Page 7

  Funny, he didn’t feel any pity in them.

  “I don’t remember pain,” he said. “Not when it happened. Later, yeah, it hurt.” The pain was more than he’d ever imagined any human body could tolerate.

  Lips trembling, she nodded. Swallowed.

  He could have been speaking about a case at the Stand. He felt the emotional intensity in the situation, but it wasn’t closing in on him, or closing him up.

  Oddity noted.

  “You were in college?” Her voice was thick, her eyes dark. He understood why she was such a hit on television. It was like he could feel exactly what she was feeling.

  But it was for real.

  He nodded.

  “Where’d you go to school?”

  “UC.” University of California.

  “Same as Lacey.”

  He nodded, held her gaze. And felt as though her soft touch had just drifted over him. All of him. Inside and out.

  “Was it on campus?”

  “No. I was home for the weekend. Here in Santa Raquel.” He could remember it all...surprisingly, he was told. Maybe not the initial pain, but the shock. The need to reach out even as he was lying on the floor. The stickiness of the blood pooling against his neck.

  There’d been no sense that he was going to die. Only that he had to get to Willie.

  “Was anyone else hurt?”

  Not physically. He shook his head. It seemed that letting the answers out as she sought them was something he could do.

  “Was it a fight?”

  Another shake of his head.

  “A break-in?” Her eyes grew wider.

  “No.”

  “What then? Before when I asked, you said you’d been in an accident. I just...”

  What then? What then?

  “It was an accident.”

  “What!” Leaning forward, Kacey rested her arms on the old tabletop, not far from his hands. He studied his fingers. And hers. So close.

  “I was sitting on the floor in the family room, leaning back against the couch, playing a shooting video game with my brother Dennis.”

  “He would have been twelve then...” Her words burst into his telling like she couldn’t hold them back. Like she was sitting there in his family’s home, watching the moment unfold.

  “Willie wanted to play. We told him, repeatedly, that as soon as we were done he could have a turn. Problem was, the game had been going on for hours. I was vegging after a hard week of tests. Dennis would play with me twenty-four-seven if I’d sit there...” He shrugged, wishing he’d better understood his role of oldest brother back then. He should have been more aware. More attentive...

  He wished he could just turn back the damned clock.

  Kacey’s mouth hung open, her gaze locked on his. She was ready to take this on. Take him on.

  To help carry the burden?

  An unfamiliar sensation coursed through him. Nothing sexual, but just as intense.

  He was in dangerous territory. And it felt so damned good.

  Was he imagining the whole thing?

  “Every once in a while Willie would come in and ask if it was his turn yet. Sometimes he’d sit on the couch and watch, coaching us in his little kid way.”

  “He was seven then, right?”

  Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he nodded. Focusing on her kept him from seeing the scene in his mind so intently.

  “He’d get bored, or impatient, and leave for a while. But he’d always end up back in there, bugging us.”

  He swallowed. Stared at her. And then he felt her hand slide over both of his.

  In that moment, it felt right. Okay.

  “He asked Dennis to let him have a turn at his control. Said something about being my brother, too. Dennis told him, ‘No way, squirt, you’ll lose my man and I’m getting close.’”

  He remembered those words. Distinctly.

  He had wondered, so many times over the years, if Dennis did, too. They never spoke of that day. Ever.

  It was kind of an unwritten rule between them. If the infamous day was mentioned, Dennis would leave and never come back.

  Michael didn’t doubt it would happen.

  “A little bit later, Willie was back.” His words sounded like bombs in the room. To him, anyway. Kacey’s other hand came over his—covering every available inch of his flesh. She was a toucher like none other he’d ever known.

  The fact should have bothered him.

  “He came in carrying my dad’s new .22-caliber pistol. Dad had shown it to me the night before, and Dennis and I both told Willie he’d better put it back before he got in big trouble.”

  “He said he wanted to show me that he could play as good as Dennis could...”

  His voice faded. He could breathe. And swallow. And talk.

  He just...didn’t.

  Kacey pressed lightly on his hands. Holding them. He tried to lose himself in the blue of her eyes.

  “Dad never leaves his gun loaded,” he said. “It was the number one rule. We all knew it. But the night before, when he was showing it to me, Mom had slipped off a step stool in the kitchen and Dad had shoved the gun under the bed where he kept it in case of intruders. He forgot to come back and...”

  He was staring at her, but all he could see was Willie coming farther into the room, instead of going back to put the gun where he’d found it.

  I just want to show you, Mike.

  “I’m here.” Kacey squeezed again. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

  He felt the tender mercies of Florence Nightingale sweep over him.

  “Dennis told him he couldn’t show me anything with that gun because it wasn’t loaded, anyway.”

  I just want to show you, Mike.

  “Willie said he could show me how good he could aim. I told him to get his butt back into the bedroom and put the gun away or I wouldn’t play with him at all. Period.”

  I just want to show you how good I am, Mike.

  “When he didn’t immediately turn around to do as I’d told him, I put down my control and started toward him. He spun then, to mind me, and in his haste, he squeezed the trigger...”

  It had been an accident from the get-go. A horrible, tragic turn of events that had shattered the lives of his entire family.

  But no one’s as much as Willie’s.

  * * *

  ALL HER LIFE Kacey had been surrounded by drama. Some of it was her own making, but most of it stemmed from scriptwriters and make-believe.

  She could cry and shout, shake with anger, and jump for joy on command. None of it was real.

  Michael’s pain, his life...were as real as they came.

  One thing was clear to her as she sat with him—he needed her.

  And she had to be strong for him, give him what he needed.

  Maybe for only this one scene. Maybe she was little more than a walk-on in his life. But she was in the middle of the big moment of her life. There was no doubt.

  Standing, she kept hold of his hand as she walked around the desk, and when she reached him, she pulled his head against her.

  He didn’t cry. But she felt his tears, just the same.

  He didn’t hold her, but she knew he took comfort from her embrace.

  Sometimes there were no words. Nothing a mouth could utter that would ease the suffering.

  Sometimes only heart to heart could do that.

  So she held him. Mike wasn’t a gooey type of guy. He didn’t need petting, and though she wanted to run her fingers through his hair, she didn’t.

  She had no plan for how long she’d stand there, pressing his cheek against her diaphragm. But it was almost as though she could feel the tension flowing out of him. Like a tire losing air.

>   “I understand now,” she said softly, after an undetermined amount of time had passed. “This is why you are your brother’s keeper.”

  He moved and she loosened her hold on his head but grabbed his hand again, touched his shoulder.

  And then, as she looked him in the eye, she touched his face.

  His jaw clenched. She surmised that he was gritting his teeth.

  “It’s as smooth as a baby’s bottom,” she told him, except for the slightly raised scar tissue in places. “I find this more beautiful than you can imagine.”

  His shudder hurt her. For him. And maybe for her, too. It was as though he didn’t believe her. Lifting an arm, he pushed her away.

  Kacey didn’t step back. She grabbed his arm and ducked beneath it to sit on his lap. Then with both hands, she held his face and looked him right in the eye.

  She might have done the same on set. She didn’t know. She only knew that she wasn’t on any set. She was living life and had to deliver the most convincing set of lines she’d ever uttered.

  “Michael, this scar...it’s substance. It’s real. A symbol of horrible tragedy, yes, but it’s also a trophy. Every day it tells the world that you are a survivor. It speaks of your inner strength.”

  He shifted beneath her. She wasn’t done.

  “Look at my face, Michael.” He had been all along. “It doesn’t have a single story to tell. It’s as shallow, as lacking in substance, as the characters I play. I was born with these bones, with this skin, and I’ve done nothing but enhance and preserve them. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to make this about me. Right now, all I can see...or feel...is you.”

  He swallowed. His lips parted. But she still hadn’t finished. Words boiled up inside her and had to spill over.

  She touched his new, slightly misshapen jaw. “Add to this scar the actions of your everyday life, the way you put yourself out there and serve your clients, the help you give to the women at the Stand and, most important, the unconditional support you give your little brother...even the friend you are to me. Well, it speaks louder than anything I’ve ever heard. It’s poetry, Michael. The kind that lives on through generations. It’s real beauty. Lasting beauty. The kind that touches souls, Michael. You, with this scar, are the most beautiful human being I have ever known.”

  And that was saying a lot. She’d grown up with Lacey, who was a pretty tough act to follow in the kindness and decency department.

  Well, in pretty much any department.

  His eyes glistened. He blinked.

  And there she was, sitting on his lap, in his office, with the door shut. No one called cut. There was no dropping of character, no release of the emotional tension. No clear understanding of when or how she was to extricate herself.

  His hand rose—to push her away again, she thought—and she braced herself to stand. He brushed the hair back from her face.

  “You, my friend, are captivating.”

  This wasn’t about her.

  “And I need you to get off my lap before I do something we’ll both regret.”

  His look wasn’t sexy. Or funny. But still, the pointed way he tilted his head, along with those words, was like that cut call.

  She stood and straightened her blouse over her jeans, considering whether or not she should apologize.

  “Thank you,” he said. She thought he meant for standing up.

  With a nod, she made her way back around the desk, eyeing her bag, wondering what time it was, whether or not she could still make her hair appointment, remembered she’d canceled it. Thought about the pedicure and manicure. About one of the women who did her hair at the studio—wondering if she’d have time to work her in just for a style that afternoon...

  “I meant that, Kace.”

  Swinging around, she looked at Michael. He was standing, too. She resisted the urge to look desk level and see if there was evidence of her misstep.

  Misseat, rather.

  “You are by far the best friend I have ever had. I mean that. And...thank you.”

  His eyes glowed with...real stuff. And it was all for her.

  “I meant what I said,” she told him, just to be clear.

  “I know you did. That’s why I’m thanking you.”

  She grinned then. Just because it was there and she had to let it out. “So...”

  “So...” He lifted his hands and let them fall.

  “Maybe I should... We should... Maybe tomorrow? I’ll be heading back to Santa Raquel sometime in the morning. We could meet for a late breakfast?”

  His gaze was easy. Comfortable. All Michael. “The usual spot?”

  “Yeah.” Her stomach settled. Life was...good.

  She smiled.

  He smiled back.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THEY HAD BREAKFAST Saturday morning as planned—he’d known immediately why she’d asked for the meeting. Any time she was afraid she’d be tempted to stumble on the road to her new life, she had him right around the corner, waiting. He knew she didn’t need him. The woman didn’t know her own force or see her will of steel. But until she did, he was happy to stand in for her.

  As expected, she showed up without makeup, her hair in a ponytail, jeans on her gorgeous behind and a smile on her face. She’d attended one after-party—hosted by her costar—had one drink, and was home in bed shortly after midnight.

  She’d be in Santa Raquel all weekend, and though they never saw each other there unless it was at the Stand, he was content just having her close.

  He didn’t need to be with her. To touch her or talk to her. He just liked knowing she was around. Safely and happily ensconced with her family. Taking her walks on the beach.

  Then on Tuesday morning, during a routine search, he found another photo, this one with Bo. They were in evening wear—a black tux with royal blue tie for Bo, a royal blue, sparkling and extremely low-cut dress for Kacey. He was holding her in his arms, as though carrying her. Again her eyes were nearly closed. She could have been caught midblink, but it didn’t look that way. Bo was gazing at her adoringly. And the caption read, “With a man like this to save the day, who needs the Rich and Loyal?”

  Twenty minutes after he’d seen the photo, his phone rang.

  “I know,” he said as he picked up.

  “You’ve seen it? My agent just sent it over, but I’m on my way to the studio and can’t stop to open it. I have a call in an hour.” Her voice had a bit of tunnel echo. She was speaking through the car system.

  “I’ve seen it.” He’d been at the office since six for another client who was hacked during the night.

  “And?”

  “What color dress did you wear on Friday night?”

  “Royal blue, why?”

  “Was it cut down to your belly button?”

  “No! Of course not! I show cleavage, I don’t go out undressed.” And then, hesitantly, she asked, “Why?”

  “Did it have little diamond studs in the shape of a rose just above the breast?” On the strip of material that went over her shoulder. That’s what he focused on as he sat in his plush office behind a built-in cherrywood desk that spanned the entire width of the room and held five different flat screens.

  Wallace, a recent college grad who was proving to be a valuable asset to MV Cyber Solutions, knocked once on his office door and came in, then backed out when Mike shook his head. He was working on the hacked food vendor’s case. Mike needed to talk with him as soon as possible.

  “Yes.” Kacey’s tone was curt. And soft. As though her feelings were hurt. Yes, her dress was blue.

  He tried not to feel her pain. To take her situation personally.

  He failed. But he did his job. “Bo’s carrying you, Kace. The caption insinuates that you party hard and he’s there having your bac
k, taking care of you, every step of the way.”

  So what if he was expounding on the words? The meaning was clear. Bo was good to her. For her.

  “He did carry me. I was slipping, walking down the gangplank in my shoes when we were getting off the boat, and he scooped me up and carried me down. It was really sweet. Everyone clapped. But I was most definitely not drunk. I had water with lemon the entire time we were on the yacht. I got seasick once as a kid and wasn’t taking any chances.”

  “And you felt fine once you hit land? You weren’t woozy or anything?”

  “Of course I was fine. I told you about the after-party. I had one glass of wine and spent half an hour talking with the new girl on the show. I really liked her. She’s sweet. Likes to read. And she made the dress she was wearing.”

  He remembered every detail, including the fact that the dress had been made out of some kind of thin yarn and had a silk lining. Kacey had sounded so impressed when she’d described it, as though she’d have liked to have been able to make one for herself.

  “Just checking,” he said now, all business, because her tone was a tad surly. And he didn’t feel quite comfortable remembering so much about a dress. “Someone could have slipped something into your drink.”

  “Why? How bad is it?”

  “You look like you’re nearly passed out, but it could also be that the photographer caught you in midblink. The caption leads the viewer to believe otherwise.”

  “Shit.”

  “I’m already looking into it.”

  “Lace and I have been using the account like you told us to.”

  “I know. I’m monitoring it.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone else use it?”

  “No. But that account had email notification turned off, so using the account to post wouldn’t have sent an alert to the email address.”

  “But you’ve been watching the blog account, too, right?”

  “Of course. And it wasn’t used until three o’clock this morning.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can you see where from?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “I know. Thank you. I’m sorry I’m crabby, I just...”