Authors: Suzanne Brockmann
The phone was ringing as Marisala unlocked the door to Liam’s condo and let herself in. “I’ll get it,” she called, putting the bag of groceries on the long, glass tabletop that held the telephone and setting the puppy on the tile floor.
“Don’t—” Liam came thundering down the stairs as she picked up the telephone receiver.
“Hello?” she said. “Bartlett residence.”
“…answer that,” he said more quietly, swearing under his breath.
The puppy’s enormous feet slipped on the tile, and she skidded, falling onto her fluffy little bottom.
“My God, an actual human voice,” said the man on the other end of the line. “Bartlett must not have told you yet not to pick up the phone.”
Liam was shaking his head. “I’m not taking calls,” he mouthed nearly silently. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“I’m sorry,” Marisala asked into the phone. “Who is this?”
“Buddy Fisher. His agent? Of course, he probably doesn’t need an agent anymore, since he seems intent on celebrating the one-year anniversary of his book deadline by
still
not finishing the damned manuscript.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fisher.” Marisala watched as Liam walked in a slow circle around the puppy, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her inability to walk without slipping and sliding. “Liam’s unavailable.”
“Yeah, I
bet
he’s unavailable. Listen, honey, tell your new boyfriend that he’s got to deliver the book or cough up the advance money. The publisher’s breathing down my neck because Bartlett’s stopped answering his phone. Tell him all they want is proof that he’s still alive. All they want is his picture on the cover and his promise to make the rounds of the morning talk shows. Tell him I’ve been talking to a guy named Dave Furth who’s willing to ghostwrite the damn thing. Will you please tell him that? I’ve left Furth’s number on Bartlett’s machine more than once. If he wants it again, have him call me.”
“I’ll give him the message.”
“Just between you and me, honey, you might want to hang up the phone, give Bartlett the message, and walk out the door. He might be brilliant, handsome as sin, and charismatic as hell, but the man’s got some serious problems.”
The line was disconnected before Marisala could answer. She hung up the phone. “I think you better start looking for a new agent. When they start telling someone they think is your girlfriend to leave you, you’ve got to wonder if they’re working in your best interest.”
“There’s a dog in my house.”
“He recommended I give you this message and then walk out the door.”
“Ah. So he’s a
talking
dog.”
“The puppy’s a she. I’m referring to Buddy Fisher. Your
agent
? Or maybe you don’t remember him because you haven’t spoken to him in so long.”
Liam crouched on the floor. The puppy was looking at him as intently and as skeptically as he was looking at the puppy. “Why is there a dog in my house?”
“Why is your agent calling with the name and phone number of a
ghost
writer?”
Liam held out his finger for the puppy to sniff. “This has got to be the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”
Marisala sat down on the floor, and the puppy skittered over toward her, leaping into her lap. “She is
not
ugly. She’s gorgeous. Look at those big brown eyes. She’s just a little dirty.”
“You’re right. She’s beautiful. I just wanted to get you to stop talking about Fisher. Where’d you find her?”
The puppy’s soft baby fur was matted with mud and dirt. She’d clearly been living on the streets, on her own, for some time. “She followed me home from the Star Market.”
Liam’s eyes narrowed. “You went all the way up to Boylston Street? To the Star Market?”
Marisala narrowed her own eyes back at him. “I didn’t realize there’s a limit as to how far I can and cannot go while taking an evening walk, Warden Bartlett.”
Liam looked away, straightening up. “Sorry.”
“Liam, why is your agent trying to hook you up with a ghostwriter? And why would he say all those awful things about you? Are you really almost a year behind with your deadline?”
She could see the muscles working in the side of Liam’s jaw. He met her eyes only briefly before he focused all of his attention on the puppy in her lap. “Yes, I am. I’m eleven months, two weeks, and four days behind. And counting. I can tell you the minutes and seconds, too, if you want.”
She tried to keep her voice even. “What happened?”
He sat down on the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, rubbing his forehead with one hand. With his face tight and his smile nowhere in sight, he looked tired and haunted and impossibly unhappy.
“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, his forehead in the palm of his hand, elbow resting on his knee. “I started writing the damn thing almost four years ago. I wrote about fifteen pages, and then I stopped.”
When he opened his eyes, the sudden blueness was almost startling. “I don’t want to talk about this, do you mind?” He stood up. “Does the dog have any tags?”
“No.” Marisala gently pushed the puppy off her lap and stood up too. “Liam—”
“Don’t name her, Mara,” he said warningly. “Okay? Don’t get too attached. She looks like a purebred cocker spaniel. She’s got to belong to somebody, and they’re going to want her back. Besides, it’s going to be hard enough to find an apartment even if you
don’t
have a pet.”
He took the bag of groceries off the table and carried it into the kitchen. “Come on,” he continued. “She can spend the night in the kitchen. Tomorrow I’ll borrow an instant camera. We can take her picture and make flyers to post—let people know you found her.”
Marisala picked up the puppy. “The kitchen is going to be so lonely,” she said, rubbing her long floppy ears.
“You want to take her upstairs, take her upstairs,” Liam said, turning back to look at her. “But when she has an accident on the carpet,
you
get to clean it up.”
“That’s only fair.” She followed Liam, wishing he would tell her why he was having such trouble writing his book, wishing he would talk to her, wishing he would kiss her again.
He’d
kissed
her. Mother of God, she still couldn’t quite believe that Liam Bartlett had actually
kissed
her.
It had been wildly different from the way she’d imagined their first kiss would be, and she’d imagined it quite frequently since he’d first walked into her uncle’s house all those years ago. She’d always thought that he’d gaze into her eyes and slowly move closer, giving her plenty of time to anticipate. She’d pictured him lightly brushing her lips with his, pulling back to look at her again before he gently deepened the kiss.
She’d imagined a sweet, reverent joining of their lips.
Instead he’d possessed her with a fierceness that had melted her bones and infused her with a raging fire. She’d exploded, responding with years of pent-up longing. Saints help her, she’d damn near wrapped her leg around him in an attempt to pull him even closer.
He wanted her. She knew now that it was true. The unmistakable and impossibly quick response of his body as he pressed against her proved that without a doubt, didn’t it?
His blood burned for her, making him hot and hard as stone. No one—
no
one—could resist a passion that strong.
Not even Liam Bartlett, Patron Saint of San Salustiano.
“Is the dog hungry?” Liam asked as she set the puppy down on the kitchen floor.
“No,” Marisala told him. “I gave her some of the cold cuts I bought at the market.”
Liam laughed. “No wonder she followed you.”
“She followed me before that.”
“But no doubt the cold cuts cemented the deal. God, you are such a pushover when it comes to strays.” The newspaper was out and open to the apartment listings on the kitchen table. Liam took several of the pages from another section and handed them to Marisala. “You might try spreading this out on the floor of the bathroom that’s attached to your room. Here’s hoping she’s at least a little trained.”
Marisala leaned over the table, looking closely at the newspaper. “You’ve circled some of these listings.”
“There’s not a lot that were suitable. I marked only a few.”
“Here’s one that you didn’t mark that looks good. It’s in the price range we were talking about, and it says ‘near university.’”
“Where?” Liam leaned over Marisala’s shoulder.
“Here.” She pointed to the listing, reading aloud. “‘Near university. Studio with separate kitchen, utilities included. B-S-M-T of house.’ What’s B-S-M-T?”
She turned to look at him and their faces were suddenly only inches apart.
Liam quickly straightened up. “Basement,” he told her. “Believe me, you don’t want to live in a basement apartment.”
Marisala shrugged. “I’ve lived in far worse.” She turned again to face him and he jumped back, away from her, over to the other side of the kitchen. The puppy jumped too, startled.
“Is there a problem with the way I smell?” she asked, lifting one eyebrow. “Should I take a shower?”
Liam shot an exasperated glance at her. “I’m just…” He took a deep breath and started over as he began putting away the groceries she’d bought. “I just think it would be smarter if we kept our distance. From each other. You know.”
Marisala nodded. At least he was being honest. At least he wasn’t trying to pretend that they both didn’t know he was jumpy as hell because she was around. Because of that kiss. “Maybe we should talk about what happened today.”
“There’s nothing to say.” Liam folded the paper bag and slid it between the refrigerator and the wall. That done, he started to pace. Marisala was beginning to wonder if he ever stood still.
“I disagree.”
He pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingers as if he had a headache. “It’s late. Maybe we should just go to bed.”
“Well, that’s an interesting solution. Your room or mine?”
Liam spun to face her. “Mara!”
“I was making a joke. You’ve got to…what’s that expression you always used to use on me?
Lighten up
.”
He sat down at the table, but even then he didn’t stop moving. He touched the pepper mill and salt-shaker. He rearranged the napkins in the napkin holder. “Maybe we
should
talk.”
“Okay.” She sat down across from him and folded her hands demurely in front of her. “I’ll go first. I liked the way you kissed me.”
He closed his eyes. “God, how did I know you weren’t going to make this easy for me?”
“There’s nothing easy or hard about this,” she countered. “You kissed me. I kissed you. Either you liked it or you didn’t.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t.”
At first his words stung, but then she realized she could still see the fiery remnants of that same burning passion in his eyes.
So she lifted her chin and laughed. “You are
such
a liar. You liked it as much as I did. Maybe even more.”
Liam ran his hands down his face. “Okay, yeah. You’re right. I liked it, but I
didn’t
like it. As much as it made me feel good, it made me feel bad too.” He sighed noisily, briefly closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he stared down at the kitchen floor. “I don’t think of you as a woman, Mara. To me, you’ll always be a child. A little girl. A sister. Someone to protect, not take advantage of. Not someone to kiss.” He gazed across the table then, looking her squarely in the eye. “I love you dearly, kid, but not
that
way.”
He didn’t think of her as a woman. Marisala had been prepared to argue with Liam all night if necessary, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say to counter
that
.
“And I’m sorry if I led you to believe—”
She interrupted him, suddenly wanting nothing more than to have this conversation over with. “No. You didn’t. I mean, I didn’t. Believe
any
thing, really, I mean…” She took a deep breath and even managed to smile. “I guess I just thought it would be really special. You know, you and me.”
The look in his eyes was unreadable as he nodded. “We’ve already got something really special.”
Marisala nodded, pushing her chair out from the table. The puppy looked up at her expectantly, and she bent to scoop her up. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She tucked the extra sheets of newspaper under her arm.
“Oh, yeah, that reminds me.” He stood up too. “I’ve got some things to take care of downtown in the morning. Why don’t you sleep in, and we can check out some of these apartments after lunch?”
It was amazing. He was acting so casual and friendly, as if he hadn’t just smashed all of her blazing hopes into tiny, unrecognizable pieces. Marisala felt sick to her stomach, and
he
was making plans for tomorrow.
“That’s fine,” she murmured. “I’ll see you then.”
She went up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom, wondering at this odd queasiness that made her chest ache. If she didn’t know better, if she weren’t so sure that her feelings for Liam were based only on years of friendship and sheer physical attraction, she might’ve thought that once again he’d managed to break her heart.
FOUR
“T
HIS ISN’T THE
best neighborhood in the city.”
Marisala looked at Liam over the top of his car. “That’s what you said about the
last
apartment we looked at.”
“Yeah, that was a real dump too.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“The living-room window had a view of a brick wall. And it was three feet away. And the entryway door didn’t lock. Anyone could get in.”
“I lived in the jungle for nearly four years,” she reminded him. “Compared to some of the places I spent the night, that apartment was not bad.”
“I’d never sleep,” he told her as they walked toward the next address on her list. “I would be up until dawn, worrying about you. What’s the street number of this next place?”
“Five thirty-two. The landlord’s in Apartment Two.” Marisala glanced at the lines of fatigue on Liam’s face. As it was, he hadn’t slept much last night. She’d heard him moving around quite late and had gotten up to see the lights blazing throughout the rest of the condo.
She wondered if he had nightmares.
She
still did. She couldn’t imagine anyone living through what they had and
not
being haunted by it for the rest of their lives. But Liam had also survived all those months in prison, suffering God only knew what kind of mistreatment and abuse. She’d seen the scars on his back from the countless beatings. She could only guess what other scars he bore as well—both inside and out.
God knows she had her own scars.
Marisala caught sight of the crescent-shaped mark on her left cheekbone in the glimmering reflection from a newly washed car window. She’d always considered that scar a badge of her tremendous good luck. She had been struck by flying shrapnel. Had it hit her a few centimeters higher, she would have lost her eye. And if her head had been slightly turned, it could well have hit her in the temple, where even a glancing blow might have killed her.
But now, as she saw herself reflected in the car window, she saw the way the scar interrupted the smooth lines of her face. And while she had always scoffed at her uncle’s suggestion that a plastic surgeon might be able to make the scar smaller and less noticeable, Liam hadn’t seemed to think the idea was so far-fetched.
Maybe such a large scar on her face made Liam find her unattractive. Less womanly.
Marisala glanced at him as they climbed the stairs to the porch of a three-family house and rang the landlord’s bell. He was wearing a funky pair of mirrored sunglasses that hid his eyes and made his face unreadable.
“After this, I’m taking you to a realtor,” Liam told her. “They’ll find you a
real
apartment.”
“But I’ll have to pay a fee of a half month’s rent.”
“I’ll pay it,” he said shortly. “I’ll pay for the whole damn thing if I have to.”
Mother of God, he was eager to be rid of her. Marisala kept her face carefully expressionless, trying to conceal the anger and frustration that boiled inside of her. What had happened to their easygoing friendship? What had become of the man who had once trusted her enough to put his life in her hands? Who was this stiff stranger who stood in front of her now? “Well, it will be good to be settled. Classes start on Monday.” Her voice shook slightly, giving her away. He glanced at her, and she knew he could tell how badly his words hurt her.
Liam rang the bell again, and when he spoke, his voice was softer, as if he were trying to make up for sounding so hard. “Tonight we can look at your schedule, and I’ll take you around and show you where your classes are.”
“You don’t—”
“—have to do that, I know.” Liam managed a small, slightly crooked smile. “I got your refrain down cold, babe. But you should know mine by heart now as well.”
“You don’t have to do it, but you
want
to,” Marisala recited. She paused. “You don’t
look
like you want to do much besides go home and crawl into bed.”
“I had a rough night.”
Marisala’s frustration and anger eased with her empathy toward those flatly spoken words. She knew what it was to have a rough night. It was funny, some nights she could sleep like a baby. But others, the nightmares hovered on the fringes of her consciousness and she didn’t dare close her eyes until she was so exhausted she knew a dreamless sleep would come.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly.
He didn’t look at her, didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
The word came out flatly, almost rudely, but Marisala only felt more compassion. It was her experience that sometimes men had it worse. Some men found it terribly difficult to handle the fear and panic that the nightmares would bring. “I’m here if you ever change your mind.”
He didn’t get a chance to answer as the door opened and the landlord stepped onto the porch. “You’re here to see the apartment? The entrance is around this way.”
The unkempt-looking man led the way around to the side of the house. Marisala let Liam follow first as the man rattled off a list of rules about rent, utilities, parking unavailability, pets, and noise.
No pets. Of course, Liam was probably right about the puppy. She
had
to belong to someone. They’d stopped at the copy shop and posted some flyers in the local stores before embarking on today’s great apartment hunt. There was probably a message from the puppy’s owner on Liam’s answering machine right now.
The landlord stopped at a door in the side of the building and searched for the key. Unlocking the door, he opened it, gesturing for Liam to go in first. “There’s a light switch at the bottom of the stairs.”
But Liam stopped short, and Marisala nearly smashed her nose against his wide and very solid back.
“It’s a
basement
apartment,” he said.
“That’s what makes it affordable.” Marisala moved past him, going down into the darkness. The landlord had told her over the phone this morning that even though not much light came in through the narrow ceiling-high windows, the rooms were dry. They were cool in the summer and warm in the winter.
She found the light and switched it on.
It certainly was gloomy, a fact that could be helped by painting over the drab and dingy yellowish-beige walls with bright whites and festive colors. The floor was covered with impossibly ugly beige vinyl tiles and the ceilings were low. Liam would have to duck to keep from bumping his head when he came into the room.
“Marisala.” Liam was still standing outside the door. “You can’t live in a basement apartment.”
The place was small, but certainly in much better shape than the last few apartments they’d looked at. She could definitely live here, basement or not.
“It’s not bad,” she called up to him.
“Mara…”
“Kitchen’s in the back, bathroom’s off that.” The landlord pushed past Liam to come down the stairs. He opened a door. “Here’s your closet. The other door provides access to the oil burner. If there’s ever a problem, repairmen would need to get in there, so I’d have to ask you not to put any furniture in front of that doorway.”
Furniture. God, she was going to have to get furniture—at least a bed, and a table to use for studying and eating her meals.
Marisala wandered back into the kitchen.
“Mara,” Liam’s voice called after her. “Dammit!”
There was a window in the kitchen, too, but again, little light came through the glass. She looked at it closely, wondering if a good washing might help.
The landlord came in behind her and switched on the overhead light. Liam was right behind him. “Mara, let’s go. There’s no way you can live here. It’s too…small.”
It
was
small. The kitchen could barely hold the three of them.
“Hey, look. It’s got a microwave.” Marisala turned toward the landlord. “Does this come with the place?”
“Yeah, see, there’s no regular oven.”
“How does it work?”
“Just make sure the door’s latched, turn the dial to the time, and press start.”
Marisala pressed start, and the appliance hummed.
“Mara.” There was something, an added intensity or urgency in Liam’s voice that made her look over her shoulder as she went into the tiny bathroom and turned on the light. “It’s too
small
. Let’s
go
.”
The muscles were working in Liam’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. He was stony-faced and unsmiling, his cheekbones standing out in sharp relief. There were actually beads of sweat above his upper lip. That was odd. It wasn’t all that hot in here.
“Liam, are you all—”
The lights went out. With the sudden pop of a blown fuse, they were plunged into gloomy darkness.
The landlord cursed. “The microwave’s on the same current as the bathroom fan and the load’s too much for it. I’ve got to get that fixed. The box is up in my apartment. I’ll be right back.”
“Mara, I can’t stand it. We have to get out of here,” Liam said hoarsely. He was little more than a shadowy shape in the gloom. “
Right now
.”
She understood then. In a flash, it was absolutely clear. He’d spent close to eighteen months of his life in a cell, certainly underground, and probably in the dark. “Go,” she said. “Quickly.”
His voice was tight. “I can’t leave you here.”
“I’m right behind you,” she said, moving toward him.
She heard him bolt for the door, heard him stumble as he went up the stairs, heard the door slam open as he pushed his way outside.
Marisala followed as quickly as she could and found him leaning against his car, both hands braced on the hood, head down. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” His eyes were closed and he was still breathing hard. He was shaking, but when she reached for him, he pulled away. “Don’t. Just give me a minute, will you?”
He was ashamed. She saw the tinge of pink across his cheeks. She could almost feel his mortification.
He sat down, right there on the curb, trying hard to slow his breathing.
Marisala sat down next to him, careful not to touch him. “Why didn’t you just wait outside?”
He turned to look at her then, anger and shame still glistening in his eyes. “Because I didn’t want you alone in there with that guy. He gave me the creeps.”
He’d gone in there for her. He’d known what going down those stairs would do to him, and yet he’d done it anyway. For her. He’d done it because she was too stupid to figure out why exactly he was so adamant that she not rent a basement apartment.
How could she have been so insensitive? It didn’t take much to realize he’d spent nearly a year and a half underground. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Liam shook his head. “It’s no big deal. So I can’t handle basements. So what?”
They sat for a moment in silence.
“You never told me,” Marisala said finally, “about all those months you spent in the prison. You told your brother about it, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“You
did
talk to
some
one?…”
Liam shook his head. “I didn’t want to talk about it. I still don’t. I don’t want to
think
about it.”
“Mother of God, Liam, you just can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
“You wanna bet?”
“No,” she said, purposely taking him literally. “I don’t want to bet. I want you to find someone to talk to about this. If it’s still affecting you this way after all these years—”
He pushed himself to his feet. “Look, all I have to do is stay out of basements.”
“And elevators?” she guessed.
He shrugged, but the movement served only to emphasize the tension in his shoulders. “It’s no big deal.”
“And how about the nightmares?” she asked quietly. She knew from the look on his face that she’d guessed correctly. He slept badly—when he slept at all. “Or maybe you just figure it’s natural to sleep only two or three out of every seven nights.”
He turned away from her. “It’s not that bad. I sleep. Some of the time.”
Marisala stood up too. “What if it does get that bad? What then? Will you try to ignore that too?”
He dragged his hand through his hair. “Look, why don’t you wait until
after
you take freshman psychology before you start playing shrink?”
Her temper flared. “I was there in San Salustiano too,” she told him tightly. “Remember? I may not have been in the prison, but I know what it’s like to be afraid of it. I spent years wondering what would happen if I were taken prisoner—whether I’d be strong enough to survive.”
He backed down instantly. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you should be. I’m only trying to be your friend. And I’m going to
keep
trying. Unless you’ve decided that you don’t want to be friends with a
child
anymore.”
He looked at her then and smiled, but she knew it was just part of his disguise. Inside, he was not smiling. It was possible that he hadn’t really smiled in years. “Don’t get cute.”
“That’s my problem, remember? I don’t know how to be cute. That’s one of the things you’re going to have to teach me.”
Liam laughed, and for one heart-stopping moment, Marisala was certain he was going to pull her into his arms. But instead, he turned away. “Let’s go try to find you a
real
apartment.”
Liam woke up to the jarringly festive sound of salsa music.
He sat straight up, eyes instantly open but brain still befuddled. Where the hell was he? And what the hell was that music?
It didn’t take more than a few bleary blinks of his eyes for him to recognize his bedroom. And as for the music…
Marisala must’ve been in his room. She must’ve come in and changed the station on his clock radio and…
There was a long, dark strand of hair on one of his pillows. Liam had a sudden flash of memory of Marisala in his bed, minus her clothing, her lithe body smooth as silk beneath his eager fingers, her body arching upward as his mouth claimed one perfect, pebbled nipple.
Holy God, had she come into his room last night and climbed into his bed and?…
No. No, it had only been in his dreams that he and Marisala had made incredible, decadently erotic love.
He sank back against his pillows, closing his eyes, willing away the images that had made him instantly aroused. He didn’t know which was worse, dreaming about the prison, or dreaming about Marisala. Either way, he was destined to wake up gasping for air.