There was truth in his words, a truth she'd never heard before but had known all along. "It doesn't matter. Forget it. None of this has any purpose. It's over and done with."
"It's not though."
"The book and Emily's death have nothing to do with us. We both know we were broken up before she died. We just hadn't formalized it."
"Natalie—" He stopped as his cell phone interrupted their conversation. Checking the number, he swore. "This is not what I need right now."
"Who is it?"
"My father." He shook his head. "I have to answer it. Hello, Dad."
Natalie could hear Cole's father yelling into the phone. He was definitely upset about something.
"I know. I was going to tell you tomorrow night when you got home, but I wanted to get more information," Cole said. "I'm looking into it right now." He listened for a moment. "If you do that, we're going to get more publicity. Let me investigate this on my own. Yes, I know. She didn't do it. I understand, but I still don't think you—" Cole paused. "Dad?" He glared at the phone. "Dammit, he hung up on me."
"What was that about?" Natalie asked. "Or shouldn't I ask?"
Cole slipped the phone back into his pocket. "My father heard about the book. He's still in Europe, but he'll be home tomorrow. In the meantime, he wants me to call the Santa Cruz Police Department and ask them to reopen the case."
That was the last thing she wanted to hear. "Why?"
"He wants them to find Emily's murderer. He wants them to find you."
"Why didn't you tell him you'd already found me?" Natalie asked.
Cole hesitated, then shook his head. "I didn't want to get into it over the phone."
"Do you think the police will reopen the case based on a piece of fiction? Don't they need more evidence than speculation and innuendo?"
"My family has a lot of connections," Cole replied tersely. "I'm sure my father can lean on someone to get something done."
"Great. That's just great. Maybe that's what Malone wanted all along, to get the police re-involved. He couldn't pin the crime on me himself, but he could get everyone talking about it. Let's go to the radio station, Cole. I want to be waiting for him when he comes in. I want to rip that wig off his head and scrape that makeup off his face. I want to know who he is, and I want to know now."
"Just when I think you're down, you get up swinging," Cole murmured, admiration in his voice. "You're amazing, Natalie."
"I'm pissed off."
"True. And I don't think we should let all that passion go to waste."
Before she could ask him what he meant, his mouth was on hers, hot, demanding, insisting on a response, and her body gave it willingly. Anger mixed with desire, and all the emotions she'd been trying to control exploded in one colossal, spectacular kiss that completely swept her away. She gave herself up to the moment, to the need that told her she'd always wanted this man, and she probably always would.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him even closer, and when his hands cupped her breasts, she moaned into his mouth. She wanted his hands on her. She wanted to take off her clothes, and then take off his. She wanted nothing between them ... not even a memory. Her mind started to drift, and she yanked it back, thrusting her tongue into Cole's mouth, taking him by surprise this time. His tongue danced with hers as they battled for the lead. He wouldn't give it up willingly. Neither would she. She wanted him, but she couldn't lose herself in him. That would be disastrous.
"Damn, you can kiss," he muttered against her mouth a moment later, as they both took a badly needed breath.
"Don't stop," she murmured, the words bursting from her mouth.
"I sure as hell don't want to. There must be something about you and me and cars. I can't seem to keep my hands off of you."
Those hands ran through her hair now. He held her head in place as he pulled back to look at her. His eyes were dark with desire, his mouth full, tinged with the shade of her lipstick. She loved that small mark of possession. Maybe this man would never be hers entirely, but for a few seconds she'd had him right where she wanted him.
"You don't know how much I want to climb into the backseat with you. Just like we did before," he said.
She felt a wave of heat flood her cheeks, and she closed her eyes. But it didn't matter. She still saw him in her mind. He'd been wearing a tuxedo that night. She'd had on a short red cocktail dress that had cost her a fortune. They'd started kissing on the way to the family Christmas party at the Fairmont Hotel. They'd made out at every stoplight, stolen kisses at every stop sign. And when they'd pulled into a parking space a block away from the hotel, they'd scrambled over the backseat like two teenagers at a drive-in movie.
It had been awkward and clumsy. They'd laughed until they'd kissed and then the sparks between them had burst into passion. It had been unbelievably intense. But that was Cole. His energy, his fire had always made her want to break the rules, throw off the restraints of her life, be someone wild and free, so different from the usually careful and cautious person that she was. She, Natalie Bishop, had given it up in the backseat of Cole's father's Mercedes. And she didn't care. Being with Cole had felt perfectly right. She'd been waiting for him her whole life, and that night she hadn't wanted to wait one second more.
Her breath stuck in her chest as she tried to breathe through the idea that she could have it all again, that passion, that intensity, that fire. She could be that young, reckless girl again.
"Look at me," Cole said.
She didn't want to look, didn't want to be dragged back to reality, but finally she opened her eyes and saw that he, too, remembered.
"It was good," he murmured.
"It was spectacular."
"We finally agree on something. That's a start."
"A start to what?"
Cole hesitated a second too long, a second that revealed more than he could ever say.
"Forget it," she said quickly, anticipating another rejection. "This is a pointless conversation. We can't go back and we can't start over. We're different people now. And what we had is gone."
"It didn't feel gone a moment ago," he muttered.
She pulled away from him, smoothing down her wrinkled blouse, as if she could erase the memory of his hands on her breasts. But in truth they were still tingling, just as her lips were still burning and her stomach still churning with desire and need. Not that she'd tell him that.
Cole sat back in his seat, his hands resting now on the steering wheel, but he made no attempt to start the car. "It meant a lot to me, Natalie, that night in the car, that Christmas, and the other times, too. It was never just sex with you. I want you to know that."
She drew in a sharp breath, feeling dangerously close to losing it. "We should go, right now, and you should stop talking before you say something you regret."
He turned his head to look at her. "I wasn't honest with you before, Natalie."
"Cole, I don't want to get into it now."
"We have to. Dylan said something to me yesterday at the club, about how I'd made it clear to you that it was over between us and how you wouldn't let go. That wasn't the way it was." He paused. "I know now that I was sending you mixed signals back then. I had too many balls up in the air. I was lying to my father about my career plans, trying to set up that job overseas so I could present it to him as a done deal. I was lying to my mother about getting an apartment in San Francisco, and I was avoiding Em, so she wouldn't see how much lying I was doing. Worse, I was lying to myself, pretending that you and I were just a casual thing, because if I let myself believe it was more, maybe I wouldn't want to go on with my plans. Maybe you'd somehow suck me into a life I didn't want."
"I guess my telling you I loved you didn't help," she said, suddenly understanding so much more.
"Love has so many strings, Natalie. I was afraid I'd get tangled up in those strings and never find my way out."
"So you cut them."
"I wish I had cut them, but we both know I just kept giving you more and more slack, confusing you with my intentions."
"Hoping I'd eventually let go. But I can be as persistent as you when I want something, and I wanted you," she said. "I couldn't see past that. I wish you'd told me this before. I thought I was doing something wrong." And she'd driven herself crazy trying to second-guess Cole, trying to figure out how she'd screwed up the best thing in her life.
"You weren't doing anything wrong. I was a stupid kid back then. I didn't know how to break up with a woman. I didn't know how to call a halt, slow things down, so I just avoided it."
She thought about that for a moment and had to ask. "Have you really changed, Cole? For a newsman, you're remarkably unskilled in the art of communication."
He gave her a self-condemning smile as he nodded his head in agreement. "You're right. I still don't like to make the breakup speech. It's awkward and uncomfortable."
"And it's not awkward to stay with someone you don't care about?"
"I keep busy," he said with a shrug. "Something else you and I have in common, Natalie. And I don't recall you making the big breakup speech with me, either. What happened to equal rights?"
"I didn't want to break up with you, you stupid man," she said in exasperation. "I was madly in love with you, although God knows why. You were impatient, short-tempered, and annoying."
"Come on, tell me what you really think," he said with a laugh that was irresistibly contagious. After a long, pointed glare, Natalie found herself smiling, then chuckling, finally laughing right along with him. It was a welcome release to the emotional tension of the day, and something they both needed.
"I'm glad we cleared the air," he said as he started the car. "I guess it's time to move on."
"I guess it is." She took one last look at her childhood house and knew she would never come back. One ghost had been laid to rest. It was time to get rid of the rest of them.
Malone was not at the radio station. Upon their arrival, they discovered that he'd canceled his appearance due to illness. Natalie didn't believe it for a second. Neither did Cole.
"This is so damn frustrating," Natalie said as they walked back out to the car. "He's always one step ahead of us."
"I think he's running now. I doubt he'll be appearing anywhere in public anytime soon."
"Then how will we find him?"
"I'm sure my investigators will be able to track him down."
"They haven't so far," she said, feeling grumpy. "Give me your cell phone."
"Why?" he asked, handing her the phone.
"I want to call Malone's publicist. You have her number on the phone, don't you?"
"Under Malone," he said. "What are you going to say?"
"What I should have said as soon as I heard about this book," she replied. The phone rang twice before a woman answered.
"Burke Promotions," she said. "This is Tracey."
"Hi, Tracey. This is Natalie Bishop."
There was a brief, telling silence on the other end of the phone; then Tracey said, "I'm sorry, should I know who you are?"
"You absolutely should, but since you claim that you don't, I'll tell you. I'm the woman known as Nancy in Garrett Malone's book."
"Mr. Malone's book is purely fiction."
"Yeah, you can keep telling yourself that, but that's not going to make it true. Where is he, Miss Burke? We're here at the radio station in Los Angeles, and Malone is nowhere to be found."
"He's ill," Tracey said quickly. "He had to cancel."
"I'll bet he's ill. Well, you can give Mr. Malone a message from me. I'm going to sue his sorry ass for libel, and he's going to wish he never heard of me, much less decided to call me a murderer." She heard the publicist gasp. "Got that? And if I were you, I'd start looking for another job. When I get done with Mr. Malone there won't be anything left of him to publicize." She ended the call on that satisfying note.
"Feel better?" Cole asked as she handed him back the phone.
"As a matter of fact, I do. I know we wanted to take him by surprise, but as you said earlier, he's probably running now anyway, avoiding any chance of a confrontation." She paused, a sudden thought occurring to her. "You know, I can understand why he wants to avoid me, but I don't get why he's avoiding you. His book is about avenging Emily's death. And you're her brother. You want the same thing. You should be on the same side."
"That's true, but I wouldn't have gone this route. He could have called me and told me his suspicions anytime in the last ten years." Cole shook his head. "If this was really about avenging Emily's death, punishing her murderer, he would have done that. There has to be something else going on."
"Something more subtle," she agreed.
"You call this novel subtle?"
"In a way. I don't think Malone could have necessarily predicted the public reaction to the book. It was more like he decided to write a book about Emily in such a way that only a few people would know it was really her."
"It's turning out to be more than a few."
"Yes, it is." She put voice to another thought going through her head. "Instead of focusing on someone who doesn't care for me, I think we should consider the possibility that Malone is someone who really liked Emily, someone she was involved with."
"He's in his forties, Natalie."
"He wants us to think he's in his forties. Don't forget the makeup and the wig." She paused. "What we really need to figure out is who Emily was seeing in the weeks before her death. Madison said she was thinking of having sex with someone. We better find out who that someone was."
"How do you suggest we do that?"
"I sure would love to find Emily's journal."
Cole nodded. "My parents get home tomorrow. Tonight would be the perfect time to take a look through Emily's room. I have to warn you, Natalie, it's a little disturbing."
Emily's room was more than a little disturbing, it was shocking. After flying back from L.A., they'd come directly to the Parish house. Now, as Natalie stood on the threshold, she felt like she was stepping into a time warp. Everything was exactly the way she remembered it—the canopy bed with the sheer curtains tied back in satin ribbons and the variety of stuffed tigers strewn across the pillows. The carpet was a thick, luscious white. An overstuffed chair with an ottoman and soft throw pillows sat near the window, next to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of books and across from the television set, the stereo, and the ten-year-old computer on the desk. Pictures of friends and poster pullouts from teen magazines were still posted to the cork-board that spread halfway across one wall. And there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere.
Natalie swallowed hard, suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. Emily was never going to set foot in this room again. She wasn't going to come bouncing in, her brown eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of some grand new idea. She wasn't going to sleep in the bed, read the books, hold the stuffed animals in her arms. She was gone, and she wasn't coming back, even though this room looked like it was waiting for her to do just that.
She turned and walked straight into Cole's arms. He held her tight, pressing her head against his chest.
"I know," he murmured. "I feel the same way."
She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall and tried to let the steady beat of Cole's heart calm her shattered nerves. In the past ten years she'd seen some people die right in front of her. She'd watched families embrace and comfort each other. She'd seen immeasurable tragedy, but she'd never felt so sad as she did right now. "I loved her," she said. "I loved her so much. She was more than a friend. She was a sister. And I don't mean a sorority sister. I mean someone who could hear what was in my heart." She lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Cole. I'm so sorry she's gone. You must miss her so much."
"I do," he said huskily, his eyes suspiciously moist. "That's why I never come in here."
"Who does? Who keeps it this way? Your mom?"
He nodded. "She used to sit in here every night. Sometimes she'd lay on Em's bed, holding those tigers and crying. I could hear her sobbing in my room down the hall. It was ... horrible." He tightened his arms around Natalie.
"You couldn't let them see how sad you were, could you?" she asked. "You had to be the strong one."
"Someone had to be. I just couldn't understand how it had happened. One minute Emily was there, and the next she was gone. She had so much to offer the world. She had so much life to live. She never got to get married or have children. She never got to build a career for herself, have her own apartment, travel to Europe. She died too young. It wasn't right. If anyone in our family was supposed to die, it should have been me. I'd already seen twice as much as Em."
Natalie could hear his heart breaking in every word he spoke. Life wasn't fair. People died too young every day. But knowing that didn't make it any easier. She reached up and pressed her lips against his mouth in a tender kiss. Cole grabbed on to the kiss as if it were a life preserver and he was a drowning man. She took pleasure in giving him what comfort she could, because she needed it too, this connection to Cole, to love, to life.
When Cole lifted his head, his expression was somber but grateful. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. We better look for the journal. Unless you'd rather not. I don't want to mess up anything in here."
"We'll be careful. We owe it to Emily to find out the truth."
Natalie stepped away from him, drawing in a deep breath as she did so. "Where should we start?"
"The closet. I think my mother put Em's college things in boxes in there."
Natalie was relieved to hear that. Emily's walk-in closet did not hold nearly as many memories as the rest of the room. She opened the door and found four boxes on the floor of the closet, which was still lined with Emily's clothes from a decade ago. "I can't believe your mom hasn't given away these clothes."
"She says it's all she has left of Emily. I know it's kind of sick. She's been better in the last few years though. Dad takes her on a lot of trips, and she keeps busy with charity work. But she can't seem to bring herself to do anything about this room. I can't really blame her, can I?"
Natalie put her hand on his arm in reassurance. "Of course you can't blame her. She's your mother, and she's dealing with her grief the only way she knows how. It's not like this room is hurting anyone. You don't still live here, do you?" she asked, suddenly realizing she had no idea if he did or not.
"God, no! I moved into my own apartment years ago."
"That's good." Natalie kneeled down and opened the first box. Cole moved in beside her and opened the second one. For several minutes they dug through the remnants of Emily's college life. Natalie remembered so many of the items. She could picture them in her dorm room and later in the room they'd shared at the sorority house.
"Here's something," Cole said suddenly, pulling out a stack of three books held together by string.
Natalie felt a rush of excitement at the possibility of finally finding some answers. But that excitement quickly faded as she saw the dates on the books. "Those are all before college," she said with disappointment. "I remember Emily said she'd brought them with her because she didn't want your mom to find them. I guess she wrote some things in there that were private."
"Let's keep looking then."
They dug through the rest of the boxes but came up empty. The journal Emily had written in at school was nowhere to be found. "He must have it," Natalie said.
Cole stretched out on the floor of the closet, his back against the wall. "Malone?"
"Who else?"
"Madison or Laura?"
"I don't think so." She paused, thinking back to all they had learned. "What about Drew? Madison said Drew went to Emily's room that night to talk to her. Maybe he took the journal."
"When did she say that?" he asked sharply.
"Oh, didn't I tell you? We had dinner last night, the three of us."
"No, you didn't tell me," he said with annoyance.
"Relax. Nothing earth-shattering came out of it. Except that little bit about Drew. But why he'd take Emily's journal is beyond me."
"Unless she wrote something in it about him, something he didn't want anyone else to know. You said before that everyone knew she wrote in it, that you all joked about her using it for blackmail someday."
Natalie thought about that. "True."
"If Em's journal is floating around somewhere, we can't overlook Laura's house."
"I'll call her when I get home," Natalie agreed. "I'll ask her to look for the journal. It might be the perfect time. Didn't Drew say he was going out of town?"
"He did," Cole muttered, a gleam coming into his eyes. "While you're talking to Laura, I'll ask my investigator to check on Drew. It might be interesting to find out where he went on his business trip."
"Dylan is out of town?" Madison asked in dismay. She sat down on a bar stool, feeling decidedly put out. She'd come to Dylan's club right after work, deciding she'd already given him a twenty-four-hour breather and it was time to make her next move. Dylan being out of town was not part of the plan.
"Will I do?" a man asked. He slid onto the stool next to her with a wide grin. "I couldn't help overhearing. I'm not Dylan, but I'm the next best thing."
She knew exactly who he was: Josh Somerville, Dylan's twin brother. As before, it still amazed her that two men could be complete opposites in looks and personalities and still share the same genes. Josh was all sunshine and sparkle, golden blond hair, flashing blue eyes, pearly white teeth, and a smile that said, "Come on in, the water's fine." There was no hint of Dylan's dark, dangerous, "don't mess with me" look. But for some reason she just wasn't turned on by the "golden boy," which was really a pity. She hadn't been with anyone in far too long. Some people would be surprised by that, but she was a lot more discriminating these days.
"Hello, Josh," she said. "Long time no see."
"You're looking good, Madison. What brings you to Club V?"
"I was hoping to catch a magic act."
"Really? I thought you were looking for my brother." He signaled to the bartender to bring him a beer. "Can I buy you a drink?"
"I'd like a martini, thanks."
"That's a sophisticated drink."
"I'm a sophisticated girl. I don't suppose you know where Dylan is."
"I think he's in L.A. I'm not really sure. He travels around a lot these days."
"Doing what? I would think he'd keep busy running this club."
Josh shrugged. "I have no idea. He doesn't tell me much. And that ESP thing that's supposed to exist between twins—not between us."
"That might be a blessing. I can't imagine what the inside of Dylan's brain looks like." She paused as the bartender set down their drinks. "He doesn't like me much, never has. But I'm thinking about changing that."
"He's stubborn once he makes up his mind about someone. It makes him a loyal friend and a bad enemy."
She popped the olive in her mouth, considering that. "What was he to Emily?" she asked, wondering how much Josh knew.
Josh's smile dimmed a bit at that question. "They were good friends."
"Were they more than friends?" Her question made him glance away, and she had a feeling she had her answer. "Were they, Josh? Do you know what I know?"
"What do you know?" he asked sharply, turning back to her.
"I know that Dylan had a raging crush on her. He was mad about her. They spent a lot of time together, a lot of time alone together."
"Emily wasn't that kind of girl."
Madison shook her head, amazed by his naivete. "What kind of girl is that? A girl who wants love and sex and passion? Because Emily was just like every other girl in that regard. She wasn't a saint. She was a woman."
"She was the girl next door, our friend," Josh said, a raw edge to his voice. "Dylan and Emily had a special relationship from way back."