Chapter 17

 

If it was true that rooms have a “personality,” Owen thought, then a hospital waiting room was a blank, a void—cold, impassive, unaffected by either time or human suffering. Afternoon faded to dusk, evening merged into night, dawn gave way to daylight, but the space defined by walls of beige or gray or muted greens remains unchanged. Furnished everywhere with vinyl seats of infinite color variations or fabrics designed to last an eon, the room’s indifferent reception extended without exception to all the vagrant sufferers who temporarily inhabit it. Some huddled together in a corner like refugees for warmth and support. Some sat alone.

They came. They waited. They left. And time meant nothing.

This waiting room was no different, Owen considered wondering whether the day outside these walls was about to break clear. The only windows to the room opened onto the nurses’ station. The only light came from the long fluorescent lights set into the textured white drop ceiling.

The doctors had told him that there would be no change in Tracy’s condition tonight. Nor tomorrow, either. Perhaps not for a week, or two weeks…or more. It was incredible, they said, that she was still alive. But to what extent her injuries would affect her recovery and her future—that is, if she should ever regain consciousness—was something that still had to be determined.

Owen had sent Carol Doyle home soon after arriving. Before she left, however, the dean told him that they had contacted Tracy’s older sister in Boston, and she was on her way.

Sitting alone, Owen ran through the situation over and over again. He knew Tracy Warner would be mad as hell to know that the only person keeping vigil for her was Owen Dean. But he didn’t give a damn what she might think. He was tired of this game that the three of them had played for most of his life. Andrew was dead. The war was over. The dead and the casualties were all that were left.

Now he just wanted her healthy again, before he walked away forever.

Owen got up, stretched and moved to the entrance to the waiting room, staring down at the gleaming tiles of the corridor, hurting inside. Behind the nurses’ station, he could see the ICU, with its beds and portable screens, its monitors and life-sustaining machines. There were two other patients besides Tracy, and for a moment he watched a nurse in blue scrubs navigating about the unit.

He’d come to Newport to say goodbye to Andrew. But he’d never thought how much it would hurt when the time finally came. Andrew had gone in a way neither of them could ever have expected. The violence of it sickened Owen. And he’d never even had a chance to say the things he wanted to say. He’d never even had the chance to say goodbye.

He took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his home number again. Just as when he’d called the last time, a half hour ago, his own answering message was followed by a beep. “It’s me…could you please pick up?”

He waited, hoping for Sarah to hear him—to answer the phone. But there was no response. She could be sleeping, just as he’d suggested. God knows, she must be exhausted. Owen tried to comfort himself with the thought. Hell, she could be in the shower again. She liked long showers, he could tell that already.

But none of this made him feel any easier about leaving Sarah alone in his apartment. He glanced at his watch again. Five-forty-two.

If they hadn’t already, the police would surely find Sarah’s car on the Warner property. Owen considered whether Andrew would have said anything to his killers about seeing Sarah and Owen together. He turned back to the room, staring at nothing. No, he was certain that Andrew would never have said a word, no matter what.

No matter what…

He heard the ping of the elevator and the click of the high heels coming down the hall. Turning, Owen recognized the older woman as he watched her stop and speak briefly to a nurse on duty behind the counter. With a nod, the woman went to the large, plate-glass window of the ICU and looked for a long time at Tracy and the equipment set up around her.

The last time he’d met Joanne, Tracy’s sister, he’d just finished high school. Andrew had forced him to come to some family picnic that Owen had known he wasn’t welcome at. He’d only stayed for half an hour. Other than Andrew, Joanne had been the only person who’d been hospitable, never mind civil. No, she’d been downright friendly, and he’d never forgotten her smile.

He guessed the older woman was pushing eighty now, but despite the tragedy, she still had the same welcoming smile when she turned and saw him watching her.

“Owen.” That’s all she could say, before the tears started. “Thank you for being here.”

He went to her, offering what comfort he could, and led her back to the waiting area.

But even as he sat with Joanne, his mind focused again on Sarah. Anxiety was beginning to eat at him, and he began to imagine the worst, all the while cursing himself for leaving her alone.

 

~~~~

 

The first pinks of dawn were beginning to streak the eastern sky when the Porsche pulled into the parking lot of the Port of Entry Motel. Weaving around two potholes the size of Delaware, the driver made her way around to the back, parking next to a stinking green Dumpster. Glancing up at the line of second-floor rooms, she stared for a moment at the light coming through a tear high in the drape in 213.

She flipped on the overhead light above the driver’s mirror and put on fresh lipstick. The sky was growing lighter with tick of her Rolex. She switched off the light and glanced impatiently up at 213 again.

Shit, she thought, it was gonna be hot today. She could feel the frigging humidity already.

A newspaper delivery truck pulled up at the corner of the back lot and stopped, leaving the engine running. In a second, a heavyset man stepped out of the door and dumped a bundled stack of newspapers by the corner of the building.

She didn’t spare the guy a second look, but after he had roared out of the parking lot, she considered getting out and taking one of the papers. Who knew how long she’d be waiting here?

But when she saw the door to room 213 open, her mind was made up. She shut off the engine, grabbed her cell phone and purse and got out.

“This babe was real good.” Her client chucked her good-humoredly on the chin as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind if you were to bring this one around again tomorrow night. Yeah, as a matter of fact, I want you to bring her. I’ll bring a new buddy of mine. We’ll have a little party.”

“I haven’t seen her yet.” Her eyes flickered away. “But I’ll probably have to take her shopping. Which means I’ll have to charge you the same as for a new one.”

She tried not to show anything as a flash of temper hardened the younger man’s face. “Bullshit, Cherie.”

“She’s going to cost me…”

Before she could defend herself, the man’s fingers were gripping her windpipe. With her feet barely touching the ground, she found herself driven backward until her back banged against the railing of the stairs.

“You’ll bring her around for free, you greedy bitch. After all the money I throw your way.” His face was an inch from hers. The smell of scotch was potent. She couldn’t breathe. “After all the fucking damage you did to my other car this week, this is how you show your appreciation?”

She reached up with both hands and tugged at his grip until it loosened a little.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Okay, I get it. I’ll have her here and ready for you. Just…just leave me a message what time you want her.”

He let go of Cherie’s throat and patted her cheek. “Now, that’s more like it. Still my number-one woman. Where are my car keys?”

She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking when she reached inside the purse to get the keys.

“You didn’t screw around too much with it, did you?”

“No.”

“No smashed headlights this time? No getting chased by the cops?”

“Look, I’ve said a thousand times, I’m sorry about the other night. But I couldn’t let them catch me with the girl in the car.” She gave him the pathetic look that he always bought. “It won’t happen again. If you want, I’ll go back to calling cabs again.”

“Nah.” He flashed her a handsome smile. “One of these days, Cherie, you’ll have limos dropping off and picking up these babes.”

She caught the motel room key that he flipped at her. She waited by the stairs, until he’d sped out of the lot. Pressing her hand to her throat, she stayed there a few more minutes to compose herself before going up.

Cherie slipped the key into the lock and went in, quickly closing the door and latching it behind her. Every light inside the dingy motel room was lit, including those in the bathroom. On the battered television set, a black-and-white version of King Kong was playing. She’d seen this movie a million times. It was the part where he was fighting with the snake on the cliff. Cherie always hated that part. She turned off the set.

Doing a quick survey of the room as she pulled on plastic gloves, she saw the girl lying curled up in a ball at the head of the bed, a sheet pulled up to cover herself. Cherie went right to work. She didn’t want to spend all day here.

“Hey, you are really something, baby. Real fine!” She reached inside her purse, took out a folded plastic garbage bag and shook it loose. “In fact, you did so good that we are doing serious shopping today, you and me.”

She picked the nearly empty bottle of Scotch off the floor and dropped it into her own garbage bag, then dumped a half-eaten package of chips in, as well.

“What do you say we buy those leather boots you were eying yesterday? You sure earned them, baby. You sure did.” Cherie picked up two used condoms by the foot of the bed and put them in her garbage bag, too. Grabbing the open box of them by the bed, she counted what was left. Two more missing.

She walked to the bathroom and checked the trash can. Finding none there, she closed the drain in the tub and turned on the water, walking back into the room.

“I’m running a bath for you, baby. That’ll make everything feel good.”

When she pulled the sheet off the girl, young knees were drawn up in defense. But Cherie would have none of it. She took the girl’s chin and moved her face from side to side, ignoring the dried tears. No bruises. Good enough.

“He treated you okay, didn’t he, baby?”

She peeled the girl’s hands off large firm breasts and frowned at the blackening marks left from his fingers. At the redness between the breasts.

“Well, that man is a sucker for you greenhorns with big tits. No changing him.” She ignored the spatters of blood on the sheets. “But I’ll take care of you, baby. We’ll take care of each other. That’s what friends do.”

The teenage girl whimpered a little, but allowed Cherie to roll her toward the edge of the bed. The condoms were all she was looking for. She found both of them, under the girl.

The sharp knock on the door stopped Cherie in her tracks. She glanced at the naked girl folded over her own legs and rocking on the edge of the bed. She gave a quick look in the direction of the bathroom where she could hear the water running in the bath.

There was another knock. She threw the top sheet over the girl’s shoulders and went to peek out from the closed curtains.

A scruffy-looking guy was standing with his hand on the door, ready to knock again. In the lot below, she could see the roof light of a taxi.

“Shit.” She silently cursed her client. How quick did he think she was?

She opened the door a crack. “Look, I don’t need a cab, now. Why don’t you come back—?”

The door slammed open in her face. Instantly the scruffy man was shoving her face into the rug. Out of nowhere, cops were piling into the room. A female cop moved past her to the girl on the bed.

“Shit,” she muttered again as handcuffs were snapped on. She could hear some goon reading her rights.

So much for frigging limos.

 

~~~~

 

There were so few units in his building that Owen was already familiar with the cars that usually parked in the lot. So the appearance of the blue sedan parked there drew his attention. He frowned, getting out of his own car, but saw no one else as he walked toward the front entry of the converted mansion. No suspicious characters lurking in the bushes or in the great hall of the building. No one anywhere, in fact. Of course, early Saturday morning was not a time when his neighbors were generally bustling about.

Sliding his key into the lock of his door, he realized he was bone-weary. As an actor, he knew very well the demands of working long and strange hours. But the constant anxiety of the past few days was now wearing on him. He couldn’t let himself get sloppy. Not now. A mistake could mean another death. His own. Or Sarah’s. For an insane moment the worries that had been eating away at him about leaving her alone flooded him with caution. Forcing himself to focus, he pushed the door open.

The first things he saw as he walked in and closed the door behind him were the two suitcases and the laptop lined up beside the wall. The next thing he saw was Sarah, dressed in a dark green suit sitting on his sofa. She lowered some newspapers that she was reading onto her lap and watched him walk in. She looked very professional—like the lawyer that she way, on her way to court or a meeting with a client.

She was definitely on her way out.

The new hair color didn’t do much to make her look different from the dozens of photographs that had appeared in every newspaper on the East Coast over the past two weeks. But it was the tough, no-nonsense expression on her face that reminded Owen more pointedly of those headshots. Something had gone wrong since he’d left her few short hours ago.

“What’s this all about?” He pointed to the suitcases by the door before dropping his keys on an end table.

She folded the newspapers neatly and put them on the coffee table before rising to her feet. “Now that you’re home, if you don’t mind I’d like to use your phone to call for a cab.”

Owen’s eyes narrowed as he watched the coldness chisel itself on the perfect planes of her face. He could see how this transformation would be a key to her survival in the tough profession she’d chosen.

“You don’t need a cab. I’m taking you. But aren’t you a little overdressed for a quick stop at the office?”

She didn’t smile. Instead, she went around the sofa and reached for the phone on his desk. “Thanks. But a taxi will do.”

A couple of long strides and he was at her side. He took the phone out of her hand and put it back on its cradle. “What’s going on?”

She tried to reach for the phone again, but he held it out of her reach.

“What’s going on, Sarah?” he repeated more sharply.

“Fine!” She turned away, ignoring his question. “I only stayed because I thought I owed you that courtesy. But if you won’t let me use your phone, I’ll just walk.”

“Like hell you will.” He growled, taking hold of her elbow. “Why won’t you come out and say what the problem is?”

Her eyes were spitting fire when she spun around. Her tone, however, was tightly controlled. “Believe me, it was only because of your decency over the past couple of days, because of Andrew Warner, that I—”

“Cut the bullshit, Sarah! Talk to me.”

“Unlike you, I don’t like scenes.” She glared at him.

“Well, you aren’t going anywhere until you tell me why you’re acting like this.”

“The hell I’m not!” Sarah pushed him, trying to get around the barrier he made.

Owen took a hold of her arm and turned her around until she faced him again. “What has happened to you?”

“I am the same person I’ve always been. Let go of my arm.”

“I will.” He leaned toward her until their faces were a couple of inches apart. “When you tell me why you’re suddenly shutting me out.”

The temper blazing in her face heated Owen’s own blood. But his train of thought started running in a different direction. Uncontrollably, his hands tightened on her arm, and his gaze fell on her lips.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that after what I found out about you tonight.” Her tone—and the look of disgust on her face—had the effect of a hard slap.

“What are you talking about?”

She didn’t answer, simply turning her face.

“What the hell kind of a lawyer are you?” he snapped. “How the hell am I supposed to defend myself when you won’t even give me a clue of what I’ve done wrong?”

“You want to know what you’ve done wrong?” She jerked her arm free and marched toward his desk. “Do you really want to know?”

“Of course, I do.” He followed.

“This.” She jabbed an envelope into his chest. “How can you defend yourself against this?”

Blocking her path, he tore the open envelope and took out a letter. Something else in the envelope fell to the ground, but he ignored it. She was quick to lean down and pick it up, slapping it into his hand. “This, damn it. Not the letter. This!”

Owen glanced down at the photograph for a moment and then looked up.

“This is what has you so royally pissed off?” He laughed mirthlessly. “Well, I’m sorry to tell you this, honey, but I’m a fucking actor.”

“Brilliant choice of words, I’d say.”

“I mean I act. I’m not having sex with that woman. But there are more than a few shots like this from movies I did eons ago still floating around. Acting…do you understand the word?”

“Yes, I understand the word.”

“Then why would a frigging photo from a scene that never even made it into a movie get you so riled up? A photo sent in the mail by some two-bit criminal?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Sarah snapped the picture out of his hand and pointed at the naked woman in it. “Do you know who this is?”

He gave it a cursory glance. “Of course I do. Tori Douglas. Psycho woman. She had a bit part in this movie that, by the way, was made over ten years ago. She’s a working actress, but I only know that because for the past couple of years, she’s been following me around. Harassing me. Showing up on sets of the show and being generally a pain in the ass. She is obsessed. Lately, she’s even gone out of her way to show up and be disruptive whenever I’m doing an appearance. Just at the beginning of this summer, my lawyers had to threaten her with a restraining order if she didn’t stop stalking me. What else you want me to tell you about her? I could probably tell you her goddam social security number if you give me a minute.”

She took a step back, bumping against the desk.

“Come on, Sarah. Talk to me.”

Sudden tears stood in her eyes, and she tried to turn her face away. Owen frowned and took her chin gently in his hand, and looking into her face.

“What is this all about?”

“Didn’t you pick up a wallet in my car? You handed it to me.”

He thought back. “Yeah…so?”

“But you looked inside of it, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t. Andrew showed up then. But actually, I was thinking more about the damage to the car, the broken glass, how lucky you were to be alive.”

Tears ran down her face, and in an instant he had his arms around her. She first tried to push him back, but not very hard. So he held her, and a moment later her arms slipped around him, a sob catching in her throat.

“Tori…Tori Douglas was my friend from California. The one who stayed in my apartment. I thought you knew, but decided to not tell me anything. I trusted you and I thought…I thought you were lying to me like everyone else.”

“No,” Owen whispered.

She raised her face, and he was kissing her mouth, her eyes. Kissing the tears from her cheeks. Her words had penetrated deeply. When had anyone ever cared for him so much to be hurt like this? When had he ever cared for anyone so much in return? He drew away, frowning fiercely.

“I never made the connection that this was Tori Douglas. I never put the two together. How could I?”

When Sarah looked up into his face, he only wanted to soothe the hunted look that he saw there.

“Let’s not do this ever again,” he whispered. “I’m no expert, but when a person trusts another person, don’t they give each other a chance to explain?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes, brushing her hot forehead against his lips. “I feel as if the rest of the world is out there, and then it’s only the two of us, here, inside. I was so hurt, scared, more than hurt as I felt these things here inside of me. Things about you that I can’t explain. Hal used to call me the ice queen because he thought that I don’t feel. That I can’t love. I don’t get angry or retaliate, as if I don’t have emotions.”

Sarah pulled back until she was looking into his face.

“But you make me feel all those things. I’ve never been so angry, so destroyed as I was when I saw that photograph of you and Tori. It was like something one might see in a movie or read in a book. My claws were coming out. I had fangs. I wanted to take out Tori’s eyes…but she was dead.”

“So I was the next victim?” He pushed her arms higher around his neck, molding their bodies together.

“It was ridiculous. I have no claim on you, which made me even angrier. I had no right to feel the way I was.”

He cut her words short with another kiss.

They were both breathless when he broke it off. “If we didn’t have to get you in and out of that office before things get busy downtown, I’d carry you into that bedroom and give you the opportunity to establish whatever claim you want.”

“I’m sick…sick…sick,” she said with a broken laugh. “Everyone is dying out there and all that’s running through my mind is…” A blush was already spreading into her cheeks again.

“What?” He moved his hand inside the jacket, feeling the curves of her body through the blouse. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

“I can’t wait until we make love.”

Owen kissed her again. This time she drew back, pressing her fingers against his lips.

“It’s getting very late, and I should change into something inconspicuous.”

“I can help you change.”

“No chance.” She gave him a smile that went straight to his heart, setting his body on fire at the same time. “But I’ll be needing a lot of help after we get back.”