Within Striking Distance (21 page)

“There were plenty of reasons I enlisted.”

“Sure, but the main one was you were looking for a place to belong and for people who needed you. You loved your time in the army, didn’t you?”

“I was good at what I did.”

“Of course you would be. And you loved Heather, too. But then after your accident, you lost both. You were so hurt you gave up trying. That’s why you don’t let anyone get close to you. It’s safer that way.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“You’re wrong. It
is
simple. You’re the one who’s making it complicated. You’re a warm and caring person with a huge capacity to love, but you channel all your feelings into protectiveness because that’s safe. That lets you keep your distance. It
makes
you keep your distance because it lets you ensure your relationships are temporary.”

He pressed his lips together and eased her backward, breaking the contact of their bodies. “You’re only focusing on me because your dream of being a Grosso didn’t turn out the way you wanted.”

She flung up her hands. “There you go again. You just proved my point. You’re making excuses to protect yourself. First it was your age, then because we were working together, and now you’re hiding behind this excuse of nobility.”

“I should leave.”

“And then what? I told you, I don’t want to find my birth parents anymore. Your job is over. I don’t need a detective or a bodyguard.” She dropped her arms to her sides and stepped back. “I don’t want you to be my protector. I want you to be my lover.”

He regarded her in silence, his hands curling into fists. He clenched his jaw so hard, the tendons stood out on his neck. “There’s nothing I’d like more, Becky,” he said finally. His voice dropped to a low rasp. “I’ve tried, but I can’t stop myself from touching you. I keep imagining how well we’d fit together. I fantasize about feeling the heat of your skin against mine, and I dream about you so vividly it surprises me when I wake up alone.”

“Then why don’t you stay with me?”

“Because you would want more than sex.”

He was right. She wouldn’t want just a night with him; she wanted a future, a lifetime, the very things that he’d claimed he didn’t want.

But she hadn’t believed him when he’d first told her that, and she still didn’t. The yearning on his face spoke more powerfully than his words. “You want more, too, Jake. I can see it in your eyes. I feel it each time you kiss me. You might think we’re different but deep inside we’re the same.” She swayed toward him. “You want to be loved as much as I do. That’s why we recognized each other when we met. It’s a bond we share that has nothing to do with our circumstances.”

He closed his eyes and tipped back his head, his chest heaving.

“You can go on keeping your heart safe forever if you like,” Becky whispered. “But why bother saving it if it never gets used?”

Jake turned to the door. Had she pushed him too hard? Becky pressed her knuckle to her mouth to keep from calling him back, but then she saw that he wasn’t reaching for the knob.

Instead, he reached for the chain and slid it closed.

T
HE
P
ETERS GIRL
was as common as her mother, Cynthia thought, peering through the windshield. McMasters had stayed in her room all night. But then, many men had a weakness for tramps. Even Hank hadn’t been immune.

She scowled at the gun on the seat beside her, clearly visible now that it was morning. It had been dark when she’d pulled into the parking lot. She hadn’t anticipated needing to stay this long. Now that she was so close to finishing, the delay was frustrating.

It had taken hours to discover which motel they were registered at. She’d gone through the phone book until the desk
clerk at this one had offered to connect her to McMasters’s room. When Cynthia learned that Peters had her own room, she’d formed a foolproof plan. She would wait until the girl was alone before she approached her. Then she could take her someplace where no one would find the body and she could put this entire episode behind her.

That’s what she should have done the last time, but she hadn’t been thinking straight. She had been too eager to get back to Hank. But it had worked out anyway. No one had questioned her. No one had even suspected her role in the death. And this time the weapon she used would be far less clumsy.

Cynthia ran a fingertip along the barrel of the gun, then picked it up and slipped it into her handbag. She was getting tired of waiting. People were beginning to stir—she could see curtains pulled open at several of the windows and a few guests had already gotten in their cars and driven away. She couldn’t remain parked here indefinitely. Perhaps she should simply break into the motel room and kill both McMasters and the girl…

Motion at the top of the staircase to the second story caught her eye. A tall, slim woman ran gracefully down the steps. She looked a mess. Baggy cargo pants flapped loosely against her long legs, a T-shirt with numbers on the front stretched over her chest and her streaked blond hair was a mass of tousled curls. In spite of the early hour, her face was radiant and a smile played around the corners of her mouth. She appeared as if she had just arisen from her lover’s bed.

The Peters girl’s resemblance to her mother was stronger than ever.

Cynthia was energized by a shaft of pure hatred. She clutched her handbag and got out of the car.

“I’
D LIKE
two honey-glazed and two chocolate-dipped, please.” Becky did another scan of the shallow baskets that
lined the wall behind the counter. “Oh, and two of the ones with the powdered sugar.”

The teenage clerk yawned, displaying a mouthful of braces. “Raspberry or lemon?”

“What the heck, make it two of each.”

He packed the doughnuts into a box and set it beside the cash register. “Anything else?”

“A bottle of orange juice and a large coffee.”

“What kind of coffee?”

“Um, the eye-wobbler kind?”

He laughed and took one of the carafes from a hot plate. “Guess you have as much trouble waking up in the morning as I do.”

Becky’s cheeks burned as she thought of exactly how she’d woken up today. Daylight had barely begun to seep through the curtains when Jake had swept back her hair and kissed her neck. At the first touch of his lips she’d been wide awake, even though they couldn’t have slept more than a few hours.

She had known Jake was in excellent physical shape, and he was mature enough to have the patience to take his time when he wanted something, but his skills as a lover surpassed anything she could have imagined. The night had flown past. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Then again, she’d never been in love before.

Did Jake return her feelings? She suspected he did. The kind of passion he’d shown her had to spring from a source that was deeper than merely a physical attraction. She’d been right when she’d told him he had a great capacity to love. He might not have said the words, but he showed her how he felt in other, extremely delightful ways.

Now all she had to do was convince him it would last. Get him to drop the defensive caution of a lifetime. Show him his heart would be safe with her and she wouldn’t change her feelings the way his fiancée had…

The euphoria she’d awoken with began to fade. As wonderful as the night had been, she and Jake still had a long way to go. He had trusted her enough to show her his scars, both the ones she could see and the ones she couldn’t. She knew they weren’t going to heal overnight.

“Ma’am?”

Becky started at the clerk’s voice. A line had already formed behind her. She paid for the breakfast and left the coffee shop.

Her mind was on Jake as she walked back to the motel. He’d been in the shower when she’d left, and she was looking forward to surprising him with the doughnuts. She remembered how he’d brought breakfast the morning they’d met in Mrs. Krazowski’s garage loft. Was that when she’d started to fall in love with him? Maybe. It was hard to choose one moment in particular since her feelings hadn’t begun all at once. It had been more of a gradual accumulation.

She hoped it had been the same for Jake. The problems they’d already faced together added more layers to their relationship. They functioned well together, whatever they were doing. It was also a good sign that they could disagree without losing sight of the big picture.

Or was she only seeing what she wanted to see? What if Jake really didn’t want her? What if he’d been feeling sorry for her, and had spent the night out of pity?

No. She couldn’t let herself consider that. She knew what she’d felt when they’d made love. They’d made
love.

“Miss Peters?”

Becky whipped her head around, shock leaving her momentarily speechless. She recognized the voice instantly, and it had the same effect on her this morning as it had yesterday afternoon. In spite of the warmth from the rising sun, she felt a chill across her shoulders.

Cynthia Shillington Brown was standing at the entrance
to the motel parking lot, looking much as she had the day before. As a matter of fact, she was still wearing her pearls and the same silk suit. But deep creases marred the front of her skirt and some of her hair had pulled loose from her French twist. As unlikely as it seemed, she appeared to have spent the night in her clothes.

Becky clutched the bag from the coffee shop against her chest as if it could offer her some protection, before she realized how silly it must look. She had no rational reason to dislike this woman, apart from connecting her to the loss of her dream of being Gina Grosso. “Mrs. Brown,” she said. “What a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I was looking for you, Miss Peters.” She looped the handles of a large handbag over her arm and gestured toward the parking lot. “Please, come with me.”

“Why?”

“I told Daddy about your visit after you left. He does indeed remember your father and has agreed to see you.”

Becky glanced around the parking lot. It was almost full. “Do you mean he’s here?”

“No, Daddy’s health wouldn’t permit it. He’s waiting for you at the house.”

This didn’t sound right. Would Gerald Shillington have sent out his daughter at dawn simply to convey a message? And why had she been waiting at the edge of the parking lot instead of contacting them by phone? Jake had left his card with her. His cell phone number was on it.

More than that, Cynthia’s tone was flat, almost mechanical, but her eyes were too bright, as if she were running a fever. Becky’s uneasiness grew. She started across the lot, heading for the staircase that led to her room. “That’s great,” she said. “I’ll get Mr. McMasters.”

Cynthia’s heels clicked against the pavement as she kept pace beside her. “No, Daddy wants to see you alone, Miss
Peters. Just you. What he wants to tell you is confidential. It concerns your adoption.”

Becky slowed her pace. So Jake and her father had been right. The Shillingtons did know about her adoption. What if Gerald really did want to see her? For all she knew, he might be eccentric enough to insist his daughter approach her this way. Another thought struck her. If Cynthia was actually her mother, as Jake had suggested, that might explain her demeanor. The prospect of exposure would be rattling her.

“He wants to tell you about your birth parents, Miss Peters.”

She hesitated at the foot of the staircase. Why now, when she’d already decided to give up the search? She glanced at the bag in her hands, then looked up the stairs. She could see the window of her room from here. The urge to run to Jake was almost overwhelming.

Yet this could be her only chance to learn the truth of who she was. Where was the courage that Jake thought she had? So what if it did turn out that she was a Shillington? It would be better to know than to keep on wondering.

She looked at Cynthia. “All right. Please, tell your father I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m sure Mr. McMasters will be happy to drive me.”

“You misunderstood. You must come with me now.” She opened the clasp on her handbag, drew out a gun and pressed the muzzle to Becky’s side beneath her ribs. “My car is the black sedan in the far corner beside the tree. I would like you to drive.”

The bag from the doughnut shop dropped from Becky’s fingers and split open on the bottom step, spraying coffee and powdered sugar on her pants. She barely noticed. She looked at the gun that was digging into her side. The fear she’d almost talked herself out of surged over her, freezing her in place.

This was crazy. It was broad daylight. The motel was booked to capacity because of today’s race. There were dozens of potential witnesses. No sane person would think she was going to get away with this.

She looked once more at Cynthia’s wrinkled clothes and her straggling hair, then focused on her face. The woman must be having a mental breakdown. There was no telling what she might do. “You’re not well,” Becky said. “Please, put the gun away.”

“Don’t be tiresome.” Cynthia used the gun to nudge her backward. “I only want to talk to you. Come with me now and no one will need to get hurt.”

“Mrs. Brown! This is a surprise.”

At Jake’s voice, Becky snapped up her head. He was standing at the top of the staircase, his feet bare beneath the hem of his jeans. His shirt hung open over his chest and his hair stuck out from his head in wet tufts. And he looked so good, so sane, in a world gone crazy that her knees buckled in relief.