Within Striking Distance (16 page)

“I’m not telling you this to upset you, Becky. It’s for your protection. Regardless of who Bocci is working for, you need to be aware there could be some risk in continuing the course we’ve set.”

“What are you saying? Do you want me to give up?”

He didn’t reply right away. “Technically, I’m employed by the Grossos so it would be their call, but I don’t think giving up would make you any safer. The only real solution is to get indisputable proof of who you are. Or who you aren’t.”

“Another DNA test.”

“Yes. I’ve contacted Kent. He’s willing to provide another sample later this week.”

“Great. I’ll do the same.”

“We’ll have to use a different lab. Len’s going to arrange
it through police department channels, and this time we’ll make sure there’s no paper trail to follow.”

She chewed her lip while she tried to process what he’d said. Finding her birth family had been her dream. Getting close to the truth should have made her happy. Instead, the whole affair was turning into a nightmare. She shoved herself off the couch and paced to the living-room window.

“Becky, are you all right?”

She looked blindly at the moonlit yard. “I just can’t believe the man who raised me, the man I called father for my entire life, would do anything to hurt me.”

“Not intentionally, no. But your father has a strong motive to keep the truth buried. Ralph Bocci is bad news. He’s got an arrest record that stretches back to his teens and he might not follow instructions all that well.”

“Someone else could have hired Bocci.”

“True. There’s a definite possibility another party is involved.” He paused. “But it’s also true that sometimes the people we love don’t deserve our trust. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

There was something in his voice that caught her attention. A hint of sadness. She shifted her focus so she could see his reflection in the glass. “Who are you talking about, Jake?”

“What do you mean? We were talking about Floyd.”

“I’m not so sure.” She lowered the blind over the window and turned to face him. “You sounded as if you were thinking of someone else. Who let you down? Who didn’t deserve your trust?”

“This has nothing to do with me.”

“I think it does. I know you’ve got a problem with trust. You can’t understand how I can trust my father, but you said you get along with your family.” She narrowed her eyes. “This has to be about your engagement.”

“That’s old history.”

“Is it?”

Jake lifted his hand impatiently. “We’ve already established the fact that you and I are wired differently when it comes to risk. Let’s leave it at that.”

“No, I’d like to know,” she persisted. “Did your fiancée let you down? Did she cheat on you? Is that why you’re so averse to the idea of love and trust? Because she hurt you?”

“You’re only asking this because you’re upset and trying to change the subject by turning it on me.”

“That may be, but your personality colors everything you do, and it’s skewing your view of the facts.”

“I can say the same about you.”

“You already have. You’re making me question my faith in my father. You’re ripping apart my life. Don’t you think I have a right to know about yours?”

He pressed his lips together, as if he were trying to restrain himself from responding. Then he moved around the couch, placed both hands on the head of his cane and leaned toward her. “You’re right about one thing, Becky. My personal feelings have been getting in the way of my judgment when it comes to this case. And it’s true, I don’t put much faith in love, and I do have a problem with trust.” His voice roughened. “But you’re wrong about my fiancée. Heather didn’t cheat on me. It would have been simpler if she had.”

“But she did hurt you.”

“I can’t tell you whether she did or not, because the day she left I was still in the hospital and too doped up with painkillers to feel much of anything.”

She took an involuntary step backward, grasping the windowsill to steady herself. In spite of what he claimed, she could see the shadow of remembered pain in his eyes. “What happened, Jake?”

“We had postponed our wedding because of Desert Storm. I’d wanted to have a quick ceremony before I was
deployed, but she’d been planning it ever since we’d been in high school. I didn’t want to disappoint her, so we were going to get married when I got back. Then this happened,” he said, whacking his cane into his bad leg.

He didn’t appear to feel the blow, but Becky flinched at the violence of his gesture.

“The doctors said I’d never walk again,” he continued. “Heather didn’t want to be tied for life to a cripple. I’d always been the one to take care of her, and she couldn’t conceive of having our roles reversed so she left.”

“My God,” Becky muttered. Any anger she might have been feeling toward Jake transformed to outrage on his behalf. She’d thought Jake’s accident and his broken engagement had both contributed to his cautious nature. She’d never guessed the two events had been related. This was worse than she could have imagined. He’d said he’d been on painkillers, but no medication in the world would have dulled that suffering. “How could she have deserted you when you needed her most?”

“I was no longer the same man she’d agreed to marry. Obviously, she wasn’t the woman I’d thought I’d known, either. She probably saved both of us from a lifetime of misery.”

She moved away from the window and curled her hands around his where he gripped his cane. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

“Don’t be. Heather did me a favor. If it hadn’t been for her, I might not have been so damned determined to prove the doctors wrong.”

“But she was wrong. You were still the same man you’d always been. It was just the outside that had changed.”

He shook his head. “No, Becky. I did change. I got smarter.”

“You mean you got cynical.”

“Take it from me. It’s always better to discover the truth about someone sooner rather than later.”

She lifted her hands from his and cradled his face in her
palms. The truth? It continued to develop before her eyes. In a few terse sentences, Jake had revealed a betrayal that must have sliced him to his soul. The more she learned about him, the more she realized there were other facets she had yet to discover. She’d once been impressed by the strength he’d needed to overcome the injury to his leg. That paled in comparison to the strength of character he’d needed to heal his heart.

Then again, his heart couldn’t have healed entirely. That was why he was so adamant about not taking another chance with love or marriage. Heather’s betrayal had left deep scars. Was it any wonder he was unwilling to lay himself open to that kind of pain again?

He clenched his jaw. “I don’t want your pity, Becky.”

“I don’t pity you, Jake. I…” She caught her breath on the word she was about to say. She slid her hands to Jake’s neck and stretched up to kiss him.

He held himself stiffly, not responding.

Becky pulled back to look at his face. “I don’t pity you,” she repeated. “I just want to kiss you.”

“Why?”

She grasped the front of his shirt. “Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“I need to touch you, Jake.” She pressed her lips to the base of his throat and spoke against his skin. “I want to feel your arms around me and taste your scent on my tongue because it makes me feel like home.” She nuzzled her nose beneath his chin. “And to be completely honest, it’s late, we’re tired and I think we’ve both said more than enough for tonight. I don’t really want to talk anymore, do you?”

His chest rose and fell with a shuddering breath, then he clamped one arm behind her waist to lift her feet from the floor, walked to the front of the couch and pulled her down to the cushions on top of him. Even though she could feel
the weariness in his body, he proceeded to give her a kiss that scorched her clear down to the soles of her feet.

For what had to be the hundredth time, Becky tried to remind herself that her feelings for Jake could be a result of the situation. Her emotions were confused. These were exceptional circumstances.

But one of these days, she was going to run out of excuses and have to put a name to what she felt.

C
YNTHIA WAITED
until the servant had left the dining room before she set her teacup in its saucer and pressed the phone to her ear. That fool Bocci. She’d given him a simple job and he’d managed to foul it up. “Where are you now?”

“That’s not important.”

“The police are looking for you. They’ve been to the plant.”

There was a faint sucking noise as he drew on his cigarette. “I need money.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Maybe you should worry about that, Mrs. Brown. I might turn myself in and cut a deal.”

She rose from the table and walked to the French doors that overlooked the terrace. The grounds stretched to the fence in a pleasing progression of well-tended flower beds. Early morning dew sparkled from petals and leaves. It promised to be a lovely day. Everything seemed so ordinary. How could this be happening? “That would be unwise. You have nothing to bargain with, Mr. Bocci.”

“Wrong. I’ll bet the cops would be real interested to hear how you want to know about the Becky Peters case. To tell you the truth, I wondered about that myself. Is she Gina Grosso or not?”

Pain gripped Cynthia’s chest. She muffled the receiver against her shoulder as she hissed for air. When the ache had receded, she lifted her chin and spoke. “What an outrageous
story. You’ve undoubtedly fabricated this as an attempt to coerce me into letting you keep your position with us.”

“What?”

“I suppose this is what we deserve for giving a criminal a second chance,” she said. She mentally reviewed the words she’d already spoken. What if Bocci was recording this? It was a possibility she should have considered earlier, although she doubted whether he had the brains to arrange it. “I should have had you fired the moment plant security caught you trying to leave the grounds with company property.”

He coughed. “We both know why you kept me around.”

“I’m afraid I have a soft heart when it comes to my employees, just like my father. I donate to numerous charities. My reputation in the community is beyond reproach. No one could possibly believe I would have any reason—”

“Cut the crap, lady. You might think I’m stupid but I remember what I read in that detective’s files. Becky Peters’s father used to work for Gerald. There’s gotta be a connection.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I’ve never heard of these Peters people.”

“It’s kinda late to play dumb. You’re in this as deep as I am.”

“Mr. Bocci—”

“Why’d you foist the kid on Peters? Did you figure he’d take the fall if anyone found out?”

Her legs started to tremble. She clutched the curtains beside the doors.

“But if you didn’t want it, why did you snatch the kid in the first place, huh?” Bocci continued. “That’s what I can’t figure out.”

She swallowed hard. “You are obviously delusional. I’m not going to listen to this any further.”

“Then I’ll make it short. I want fifty grand, cash, or I go to the cops. I’ll call tomorrow and tell you where to bring it.”

The connection was severed. Cynthia waited until her hands stopped shaking, then closed the phone and slipped it into the pocket of her suit. She continued to focus on the gardens. They were peaceful and orderly, just how she liked things. She needed to suppress her panic and put her thoughts in order, too.

Would Bocci make good on his threat? Fifty thousand dollars might make him disappear, but it wouldn’t solve her problem. What would Bocci be willing to do for five times that amount? That was an avenue worth pursuing. Men like him had no scruples. Enough money could very well bury the secret for good. It’s what her father should have done in the first place. She could afford it. To keep the life she had, no price would be too high.

“Hello, Cynthia.”

Hank’s voice broke into her thoughts. She took a moment to compose herself, then turned to watch her husband move into the room.

He was wearing the black shorts and frayed white T-shirt he insisted on using as his exercise clothes. Instead of coming to greet her properly, he crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

“Good morning, darling,” she said, moving toward the table. She decided he probably hadn’t wanted to kiss her because he hadn’t yet showered. “I missed you at breakfast.”

“I was in the gym.” Hank tipped back his head to empty the glass of juice, then set it down on the silver tray with a click. “I needed a workout. It helps me think.”

She let her gaze roam over him greedily. “I don’t know why you drive yourself so hard. You’re in wonderful shape.”

He fisted his hands on the ends of the towel that hung around his neck. “You know I don’t care how I look.”

She pressed her lips together. Oh, yes, she knew. Hank didn’t appreciate how gifted he’d been with respect to his
appearance. If not for her guidance, he would likely let himself get slovenly. She smoothed her hands over her skirt. “I’m glad you found me before I left for the office.”

“Your maid told me you were in here. We need to talk.”

Your
maid. Even after almost thirty-one years, Hank still hadn’t become comfortable with the concept that the household staff were here to wait on him. “Of course, darling,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”

“I keep waiting for the right time, hoping things will change, but they don’t. I can’t put it off any longer.” He turned to face her squarely. “This isn’t working, Cynthia.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us. We can’t go on this way. I want a divorce.”

She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest. The pain was worse than what she’d felt when she’d spoken with Bocci, even though the source wasn’t physical this time. Why now? Why today? Hadn’t she been given enough to deal with? “Hank, darling…”

“You must have realized this was coming, Cynthia.”

“I have noticed you’ve been showing some tension lately. You’re just overworked. Isn’t the assistant I hired for you easing your load? I’ll fire him and get another.”

“You know it isn’t about the company, it’s about our marriage. You must feel the same way, since you stopped going to counseling.”

The panic she’d managed to suppress only minutes ago was pushing its way back to the surface. This wasn’t fair. How could he bring this up now? “Counseling wasn’t necessary. We’re simply having a rough patch. I realize I’ve been under some strain lately, and I apologize for that.”

“Then why won’t you share your problems with me?”

“Darling, I love you. I would never want to burden you with my problems.”

“But that’s what marriage should be about. Two people
share their lives as equal partners. You’ve been treating me the way your father treated you, indulging me and smothering me, all in the name of love.”

“If I spoil you it’s because I love you. We’re fine, Hank.”

“No, we’re not, and we haven’t been for a long time. I feel like a pet instead of a husband. We don’t even share a room anymore, Cynthia.”

“That’s for your sake, Hank. With Daddy’s health the way it is, I’m often called to his room in the night.” She rounded the table and held out her hands. “He’s ninety-one. He won’t be around forever, and then the situation will change. Surely you can be patient.”

Hank tightened his jaw. He took her hands and squeezed them briefly, then stepped back. “You know I love Gerald like a father. He’s been good to me.”

“He loves you, too, darling. He would be devastated to know you’re not happy. He was your staunchest defender, even after you quit his team and left him high and dry.”

A spasm of pain flickered across Hank’s handsome features.

Cynthia felt a moment’s guilt for causing it, but her husband was hers. She would use any means to keep him, even if it meant reminding him what he owed her. She stroked her fingertip down his arm. “I supported you, Hank, during the worst years of your life. I never gave up on you. Surely you’re not saying you want to give up on us.”

He looked at her. “I haven’t forgotten you were there for me after Amy died. I know I fell apart. I lost heart for everything I had loved, and if it weren’t for you and your father, I never would have gotten over my grief. My loyalty to both of you is what made me stick it out and try for as long as I have, but any debt I owed you was paid long ago. Our marriage is one-sided, Cynthia. You always claim you love me but I don’t think you even know who I am anymore.”

No,
no!
Hank was her husband. He couldn’t be slipping
away. Not now when the nightmare was almost over. Whatever it took, whatever the cost, she wasn’t going to stand by and watch her world fall apart. If Bocci wouldn’t help her, she’d hire someone else who would.

She grasped Hank’s forearms. She didn’t realize how hard she was gripping until she saw him flinch. Her nails had sunk into his flesh. She tempered her grip and slid her hand to his cheek. “That’s not true. You mean everything to me, Hank. Please, let me prove it to you. We’ll take a vacation together. Daddy won’t mind. Just wait until I settle the latest crisis at the plant. Will you do that?”

“What crisis?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about.” She smoothed his hair into place. “Once I transfer some funds and dispose of a few minor assets, I’ll have it all under control.”

I
T WAS ODD
to see Zack Matheson’s No. 548 car at rest. Its smooth contours and ground-hugging stance appeared made to be in motion, yet for the past two hours it had been parked on the pit road of the Halesboro track. Not because it needed repairs. No, it didn’t have a scratch. The electric-blue finish gleamed like a mirror in the early morning sunlight. The coveralled pit crew that would normally be servicing it were puttering around the garage or lounging at a nearby picnic table. They had been temporarily replaced by a photographer, his assistant, makeup and wardrobe people and a guy in a pink shirt who called himself an art director.

Jake angled his baseball cap to shade his eyes, folded his arms over his chest and leaned one shoulder against the wall of the garage. Becky was modeling Matheson Racing’s new Zack Matheson merchandise. Currently, she was wearing a snug-waisted windbreaker in the same electric-blue color as the car. The art director had positioned her half in and half
out of the driver’s-door window, as if she were in the process of pulling herself out. It was an eye-catching pose. Her glorious hair was caught by the breeze, framing her face in a tumble of honey-streaked curls. She turned her face toward the corner where Jake stood and flashed a smile. Even though the smile had been for the camera, it still made Jake’s pulse speed up.

He didn’t think he would ever get used to her beauty. At times like this, part of him continued to marvel how a woman who looked like Becky would want to be seen with a guy who looked like him. She genuinely didn’t care about his appearance. She was a woman in a million.

He tore his gaze away from her and did a scan of the area. He’d been acting as her bodyguard for almost a week now. So far, he hadn’t spotted any trouble, but he couldn’t afford to relax his vigilance. It was an ongoing challenge to remain focused when guarding Becky was so enjoyable.

With the exception of their taste in food, they were discovering a surprising number of things they had in common. They were both architecture junkies, they both loved old Peter Sellers movies, and neither of them could care less about politics, though Becky didn’t hesitate to voice her opinions on what she read in the news. He admired the way she was fearless when she felt passionately about something. And then there was the way she kissed.

Oh, yeah. That was a big part of why the past week had gone by so enjoyably. Becky could stir him up with just a smile or a look. Sometimes merely the sound of her voice made him ache to have her in his arms. So far he’d managed to restrain himself from taking advantage of their situation and spending the nights in her bed, but it was costing him. He’d gone home to so many cold showers he was surprised he hadn’t come down with pneumonia.

It was getting tougher and tougher to remember they
were no longer merely dating. The reason he was spending so much time with her was to protect her. That had to remain his primary concern, no matter what his libido was telling him. Clearly, she was emotionally vulnerable, and she’d latched on to him because she needed someone to help her through a difficult time. The second set of DNA samples had been taken from Becky and Kent the previous week. Once the test result came through—whatever it proved—she was bound to reassess their relationship.

Jake had seen the pattern before. It was similar to what had happened with Heather. When situations changed, feelings did, too. He’d be smart to remember that before he got his own emotions involved any deeper.

“That’s some show they’re putting on there. But kind of slow for my taste.”

Jake glanced at the older man who had moved to stand beside him. It was Doug Dalhousie, one of the mechanics Earl Buckley had told him about who had worked with Becky’s father on the Shillington team. Jake had spoken with Doug the previous month in New Hampshire but he hadn’t learned anything about Peters that Earl hadn’t already covered. “‘Morning, Doug. How are things going?”