Desperate Choices (8 page)

He finally knew everything. All her past, her pain.

Theresa had never wanted Max to find out what happened to her so long ago, to see the pity in his eyes. But she’d also seen a compassion she hadn’t expected. He’d been hurt, angry, but he also understood.

She remembered his anger when she told him about the assault, his immediate demand for names. He’d have gone straight out and hunted them down, she knew, if it were possible.

A smile fluttered around the corners of her lips, a touch of sadness filling her. Max seemed to think her will to survive was amazing. That she was a strong, worthwhile person. Maybe, just maybe, if enough time passed, she might be able to think so, too.

Theresa sat at the table situated in the center of her shop, her hands folded atop the multicolored scarves, and closed her eyes.

She focused, letting her subconscious self free, and concentrated on Tommy, sorting through the evidence gathered so far. There was just so little to go on.

Feeling a familiar pull, she watched the patterns and shapes evolving, searching them for clues. At first everything was gray. A rough-textured, porous-appearing mass. She sharpened the edges, feeling as though she were looking at blocks in a specific pattern.
Concentrate,
she thought.

“Cinderblocks?” Puzzled, she moved deeper, but all she saw was more gray, though slightly different in appearance. A shinier gray, with a smoother textured. It had more of a polished cast to it.
Maybe concrete or cement?

The gentle jingling bell sounded. Theresa looked up as Remy quietly closed the door behind him. Without a word, she went to him and was enfolded in a tight embrace.

“I’d give anything for you not to have relived that again.” As he spoke, Remy held her secure in his arms, his touch a comforting blanket spreading the warmth of his love and friendship through her.

“After all these years, it feels good it’s finally out. I think Max understands now why our relationship is so special. Why you’re special to me.”

She brushed her lips against Remy’s cheek, thankful and amazed this kind soul was such an integral part of her life.

“Let’s grab some coffee. I know you’ve got some made by now.” Taking her hand, Remy half-pulled and half-pushed her into the kitchen, and headed straight for the overhead cabinets where she kept her coffee mugs. He knew his way around almost as well as she did.

He grabbed two mismatched, brightly colored mugs and filled them to the brim with the coffee she brewed earlier. He added a dollop of cream and a teaspoon of sugar to hers, the way he knew she liked it. His was black with two sugars.

“Coffee should be like sin,” Remy said, grinning. “Black as your soul and temptingly sweet to make it worthwhile.”

He placed both mugs on the table and pulled the chair out for Theresa, before he swung the opposite chair around and straddled it. Picking up his coffee, she watched him inhale the rich aroma of the special chicory blend. He took a long swallow, a blissful expression crossing his face.

“Ah,
cherie,
you always make the best coffee. I swear I’m tempted to move in here, just so I can get it every morning.”

Theresa laughed. Remy said that every time. He loved her coffee and never failed to show his appreciation.

“Sorry. It’s only a one-bedroom place, and I don’t share well.”

Remy’s eyes squinted slightly at her words. “Yeah, I know. We’re both too independent to ever be able to live together. Wouldn’t last a week.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, doing a great Groucho Marx impersonation. “Would be kinda fun while it lasted, though, wouldn’t it?”

Theresa laughed.

“Max was really pissed by the time he got back to the house last night. Thought he might actually hit me for keeping things from him.”

Theresa lowered her head, her eyes not meeting Remy’s. She hoped he didn’t notice the dark circles beneath her eyes she’d seen in the bathroom mirror that morning. She had to deal with Max herself. Knowing that didn’t make things any easier, though.

Theresa raised her head up and brushed back her hair, letting it spill down her back. She blinked away the unshed tears.

“When are the two of you going to stop this? You fight so hard to keep him at a distance. Every time he tries to get close, you push him away.”

She hadn’t realized he knew.

Remy knelt in front of Theresa and took her hands in his. “What? Did you think you were hiding it from me?”

“Oh, God, Remy,” Theresa whispered, “there’s no chance of any kind of a relationship with us.” Tears flowed silently down her cheeks, her voice cracking on a broken sob.

“Honey, there’s always a chance. There’s been something brewing between the two of you for years. Trust me, he’s fighting this just as hard as you are.”

“You don’t understand. I’m in love with Max. But there’s no chance of a future with him. There’s no chance of a future with anyone.”

Theresa pulled her hands free from his and wiped at her tears. She looked into the eyes of her dearest friend, trying to quell the riotous emotions swirling inside her. Last night had been cathartic in its own way, but there were still things nobody knew, things she hadn’t even told Remy. Maybe now was the time. No more hiding.

“It seems like all I’m doing lately is crying. I’m stronger than this, dammit.” She straightened her shoulders, drawing on her inner strength. She paused for a moment as she gathered her fragile composure.

“I can’t be with a man physically. I’ve tried.” She watched his eyes widen, grateful when he remained silent.

“A few years after the assault, after I graduated from high school, I went away for a few months. I had that internship with a newspaper in Baton Rouge. My father was so excited, and so was I. It gave me a chance to get away. To be independent.”

Remy nodded. “I remember. I’d just finished my first year of college and was home for a break.”

“Yeah. I met somebody at the paper, a fellow intern. He was a year or two older than me. We got to know each other, went out a couple of times. I felt the time was right, that I was ready to have a deeper relationship. Shoot, I was ready to have sex. I was eighteen, and it’s not as if I was a virgin.”

Remy straightened as Theresa rose from her chair, walking around it and grasping its back. Her knuckles whitened with the strength of her hold.

“We went to his place after dinner one night. I had it all planned out. I even had condoms in my purse, to make sure everything was safe.”

She glanced at Remy but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. This was embarrassing. They’d talked about everything over the years, but the topic rarely turned to sex. It wasn’t taboo, they just seemed to avoid the subject.

“We talked for a bit, kissed. That part was nice. Okay, it was better than nice. We were having a wonderful time.” Theresa paused a moment, embarrassed. “I-I couldn’t do it.”

Remy interrupted, “Honey, it was probably still too fresh, too painful. You can’t let this scar your entire life.”

“It wasn’t just that one time, though. Remember John, the guy I dated a few years back?” Remy nodded, his lips pursed in a sour expression. Theresa knew he never really cared for John when they dated.

“I tried to be intimate with him, too. I thought we would be good together. We’d taken our time. I cared about him. Same thing happened.”

“Just because it happened then doesn’t mean it will happen with Max. You weren’t in love with those idiots. It’ll be different with him.”

“I’m not willing to take that chance. Not now, not ever. He deserves so much more than what I can give him.” Theresa choked back tears.
And I won’t get my heart broken by him again. I can’t.

“That’s just plain BS and you know it.” Remy turned an accusatory glare on her, and she flinched. “Don’t give up on Max. He’s not going to be happy without you.”

The vehemence in his tone surprised her.

“Don’t look so shocked. Max is fighting his feelings tooth and nail, but it’s a losing battle. He wants you. You want him. Go see a shrink, a priest, do something. Don’t give up on your future.”

The back door flung open, slamming against the opposite wall. Max stalked into the room, his sinewy muscles rippling beneath a tailored navy-blue shirt. Tight jeans encased muscular thighs. With each step closer, Theresa felt the invisible flames of lust flickering within her. Her desire for him never diminished, it grew stronger every day. He stared at them, a question in his eyes.

“Theresa.” Remy pulled her attention away from Max. “Remember what I said. If it’s what you want, fight for it.” With that, he sauntered through the back door, leaving her alone with Max.

“Did I interrupt something?” Max drawled out his question, scrutinizing her face. His lips curled upward slightly as he arched his brow, mildly amused. He knew he had interrupted and didn’t care.

“Not a thing. Remy stopped by for his morning coffee, just like he always does.” Theresa lifted the carafe. “Would you like a cup?”

“Sure,” he replied. “It’s been a long night. I could use it.”
One of the longest nights of my life,
Max thought. He’d replayed Theresa’s agonized confession over and over, the thunderstorm outside a fitting orchestration to accompany each painful word. Seeing her this morning, remembering what she had gone through and how he’d once treated her made him feel like the biggest jackass alive. Even knowing about her past and the devastating psychological toll it had taken on her, he still wanted her more than any other woman he’d ever met.

“Has something happened?” Theresa’s voice came out a bare whisper. She cleared her throat and waited for his response.

“I got a call from a friend who works just across the river in Mississippi. They raided a chop shop and broke up a stolen car ring. He said they found a Suzuki there, which they thought was unusual. They tracked the VIN number back to David Saunders. It might be Tommy’s bike. I’m on my way there now to check it out.”

He paused for a moment and took a sip of the coffee. “I wondered if you’d like to go with me. Maybe you can get something off it, if it is Tommy’s bike.”

“Really?”

The corner of Max’s lips curled at the surprise in her voice. “Yeah, really. You’ve been pretty accurate so far, it’s worth a shot. We have to leave pretty soon, if we want to get there and back today.”

“I think I can get Maggie to cover for me. Give me a couple of minutes to call her and we can be on the road.”

Max watched Theresa pick up the phone and dial her friend. He took in her gently rounded hips under the long loose folds of her skirt. Even the bagginess of her clothing couldn’t fully hide her distinctly feminine shape. As much as she tried, the shapeless clothing always seemed to encourage men to stare at her. He couldn’t blame them. She was a gorgeous woman.

“She’ll be here in just a couple minutes. I’ll go change and we can be on our way.” Turning, she made a mad dash up the stairs.

“Great.” Sounding rougher than he had meant, Max winced. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before. The events Theresa described scrolled through his mind like a movie, the images blurred and shady, but clear enough to give a detailed picture of the traumatic events she suffered at such a vulnerable time in her life.

He fought his attraction to her, too. The more he was around her, the more he wanted her. He’d finally admitted that much. Max found himself watching her whenever they were in the same room, especially when he thought no one could see. It was becoming a desperate obsession, his need to see her, to touch her. He knew he couldn’t. She didn’t feel that way about him, not anymore. Any romantic feelings she may have had toward him died nine months ago.

When Theresa came back into the kitchen, his eyes widened at her attire. Whenever he’d seen her recently, it was in or around her shop, wearing the loose, billowy skirts and blouses that complemented her New Age surroundings. Now, she was dressed in a light blue form-fitting
cardigan, the first few buttons undone, displaying a lace-edged camisole underneath. And jeans. Tight, molded-to-her-backside-like-a-second-skin blue jeans.

He swallowed, easing the lump in his throat. Sure, he’d seen her in jeans before, several times, but he didn’t remember them hugging her backside in quite that butt-cupping way. They molded to her curves, outlining them in just the right way to make him reconsider taking her along. His erection grew tighter, harder. He hoped he’d be able to walk out of her kitchen without her noticing.

“Let’s ride.” Max took her arm and led her out to his pickup.

***

Theresa dipped her head to hide her smile as she climbed into the cab of Max’s truck.
That worked well,
she thought. She debated all of two seconds on what to wear, Remy’s words echoing in her mind. She reached into her closet, pulled out the jeans and her brand-new cardigan and changed into them before she could talk herself out of it.

She knew she looked good in the jeans, and the blue sweater showed off her blond hair. Normally she would have pulled it back into a ponytail or a braid, but today she left it long and flowing. Max liked it loose, cascading in a cloud over her shoulders and down her back. It had been a long time since she’d done anything to it, other than a quick trim to keep it healthy, so the shiny length reached almost to her hips now.

Max glanced in her direction, taking in her appearance as they drove in silence, the low cadence of the radio the only noise in the truck’s cabin. She saw him look at her once again then quickly turn his eyes back to the highway.

“How long do you think it’ll take to get there?” She shifted in her seat, angling toward Max. He drove like he did everything else, competently yet with an impatient, reckless edge.

“Couple of hours, probably. Three tops. It’s a fairly rural town, so I’m surprised they made a connection to the case this fast.”

“What will it mean if it really is Tommy’s bike?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Theresa could see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he contemplated her question.

“If it was stolen, he’d have called his folks, or the police. If he was stranded someplace, he has an emergency credit card. He’s even got my number, he knows he can call me day or night and I’ll help him.” Max’s gaze met hers again, before reverting his attention to the road.

“He didn’t run away. He wouldn’t do that to his parents. Plus, he knows I’d find him.”

“In my vision, he got into that vehicle voluntarily. There was something wrong with his bike.” Theresa pondered that. “When the police found it at the chop shop, was there anything wrong with it?”

“Brad didn’t say. As soon as he noted the VIN number matched the one reported on the missing person data, he called it in.”

Max slowed his speed as the traffic became heavier and more congested on the outskirts of a town similar to numerous ones they had passed through since leaving New Orleans an hour earlier.

“Thanks for coming with me.” Max’s voice sounded strained.

“I want to help find him. I know how important he is to you.”

Max reached across the bench seat and grasped her hand, raising it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it. Theresa’s heart skittered at the surge of desire that raced through her, but said
nothing. She was more than happy to let Max hold her hand while he drove. Somehow it felt right.

***

Max and Theresa ran into some unexpected delays due to road construction, the bane of Louisiana traffic. It was close to two o’clock before they reached the rural Mississippi police station. Walking through the glass-fronted entrance and the obligatory metal detector, they were led back to meet with Max’s contact and friend, Sergeant Brad Cohen. Tall, lean-hipped and whipcord thin, he wore his blond hair long, as if he hadn’t had time for a haircut recently. Fine lines around his eyes, accented by dark circles, gave silent testimony to long hours on the job.

Brad stood to greet them when they were ushered into the interview room.

“Hey, Max, good to see you again. Ma’am.” Max made introductions, noting the way Brad’s gaze swept over Theresa in obvious appreciation, and his temper began to simmer.
Calm down. You haven’t got any right to feel possessive about her.

Once they were seated, Brad filled in the details of the arrest. As with everything else in this case, there weren’t enough facts to be of much help. “One of the perps arrested said he bought the bike from an old guy. The man told him the bike belonged to his son, who’d been killed. They don’t usually take motorbikes—too hard to fence—but he got it so cheap, he didn’t ask a lot of questions.”

“I want to talk to him,” Max growled.

“Sorry, man, no can do. He’s lawyered up just like the rest of the group, and won’t say another word.”

Max rose from his seat and prowled the available space, which in such a cramped room wasn’t much.

“Just a couple minutes. He can even have his lawyer present. I need
something,
maybe a description of the guy he got the bike from.”

“I’ve tried, Max. I talked to him and his lawyer. I explained about the missing kid. He won’t budge. He’s too afraid his ass is gonna fry for this mess. He’s been arrested so many times this may be the icing on the cake that gets him put away for a long time.”

Brad stood and braced his hands on Max’s shoulders, stopping his relentless pacing. “I’m sorry. I even had the chief lean on the lawyer, but it’s a no go. We can’t force him to talk.”

Max ran a hand through his hair, exhaled deeply and nodded. “I know. I figured that might be the case, but I had to try.”

He glanced over at Theresa and met her steady gaze before turning back to Brad. “Can I at least see the bike, man? I’d recognize it if I saw it.”

“Give me a couple minutes. I’ll see what I can do.” Brad walked out of the room, the door whooshing shut behind him. Theresa moved to stand in front of Max. She reached down and clasped his hand in hers firmly, without speaking.

He looked deep into her eyes. Pulling his hand free, he reached around and drew her close. A slight tremor in his hands betrayed his reaction to her touch. Her breasts brushed against his shirt, causing a spark of awareness to spring to life inside him. Max stilled, feeling her trembling response. He ran his fingers through the silky length of her hair and watched it slide down her back to where the glossy mass ended at her hips. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back, his look daring her to object.

She stroked the side of his cheek, her fingertips stopping at his lips. He lowered his head toward hers, his eyes open and aware of her every movement.

The opening door startled them apart, causing Theresa to nervously smooth down the front of her sweater, while Max retreated a step. Brad grinned at the scene but refrained from commenting. “Chief says you can take a look at the bike, but it stays in the evidence lockup. I’ll show you where it is.”

“Theresa goes with us.” Max’s tone brooked no argument.

Brad shrugged. “Come on, then, but we’ve gotta make it quick. This was a big bust for our town and the press is all over it.”

They followed Brad to the evidence lockup and filled out the multiple forms necessary to view the bike. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they were led to the Suzuki. Max knew right away it was Tommy’s, even without checking the VIN number. There was no license plate, but it really wasn’t necessary. His gut and the familiar scratch in the gleaming black paint by the headlamp told him it was Tommy’s bike.

“It’s his.” His head whipped around at Theresa’s quiet voice. She stood only inches away. She held a hand out, skimming over the surface, a hairsbreadth from the cool metallic sheen. His breath caught as she moved. She circled the bike, still not touching it, her hand hovering just above its frame.

She gave a broken laugh, her voice catching at the end. “I’m almost afraid to touch it. I want so badly to find him, but…I’m scared. Of what I might see.”

Her hand slid along the leather seat of the Suzuki, and Max felt as though her fingers were sliding along his skin. Her fingertips circled the handlebars. He watched her curl her hands around the leather grip, squeezing lightly. Her eyelids drifted closed, shielding her eyes from the light. Long moments passed as he waited, giving her time to read the bike.
Dear God,
he prayed,
let her see something.

***

Theresa waited for the familiar feeling to kick in. There was nothing. She placed both hands on the metal-covered engine. No psychic vibrations. No sense of Tommy.

She faced Max. He stood and watched her, his face expressionless. She knew he was afraid to hope.

She reached up and grasped the front tire and felt the sponginess, the rubber giving under her fingertips.
Flat tire.

Stepping back, she dropped her hands to her sides and closed her eyes. She focused her energy and attempted to pinpoint a focus—to help her psychometric gift flare to life. Nothing happened.

“I’m sorry, Max. I’m not getting anything.” She watched the glimmer of hope in his eyes die, leaving their gray depths bleak and empty.