Aching for Always (33 page)

Despite a careful scan of the street, she found no signs of Hugh. It was foolish to let this worry her, she thought. He hadn't said he'd meet her here. Hell, they'd barely had time to say anything. Nonetheless, she'd spent the night thinking he had stayed close. She had to admit she'd taken some comfort in this fact. She remembered the feeling of his hands
on her back as he wrote, and a charge went through her.

Her phone rang. It was Di.

“Jeez, isn't it a little early?” Joss said. “How did things go in Vegas?”

“Yes, but women in their thirty-sixth week never sleep, and things went great. I saved your sorry ass. The deal's a go.”

“Yay! You're wonderful. I knew I could count on you. Thank you for being able to go at the last minute.”

Di had been the last call Joss made before she returned to the alley a day and a half ago with the pills in her pocket.

“Omigod, I was thrilled. Two nights away from the kids? I would have happily paid
you.
And you know David's mother: she was glad to help out—as long as I promised I was coming back, that is. The only trick was sneaking onto the plane. Say, do you think if I have the baby here I can parlay it into some windfall—you know, like offer to name it Steve Wynn or Bellagio or something?”

“I thought Peter was counting on Storm Trooper.”

“For a middle name. And nothing says, ‘I'm a force to be reckoned with' like Bellagio Storm Trooper. But speaking of your sorry ass, how sorry
is
your ass today?”

Joss knew this was going to be a tough conversation. “Pretty sorry, actually, but not for the reason you'd expect.”

“Uh-oh.”

“I, um, delayed the wedding.”

“What?”

“Look, nothing's happened with Hugh.”
Make that: Nothing's happened with Hugh I could possibly explain, even to myself.
“I just think I'm not ready.”

“Joss, c'mon. What happened? You disappeared for two days. Were you with Hugh?”

“Yes.” Joss found herself examining the heads of the pedestrians in front of her, hoping she'd spot Hugh's dark hair and instantly recognizable shoulders. She also found herself checking out the sidewalks as she walked, looking for pools of blood.

“And?”

“I told you, nothing happened.”

“Joss, you do not spend two days with a man and then cancel your wedding if nothing happened. Something
had
to have happened.”

She thought about Di's words. She wished she'd had more experience with men. Rogan was it, except for a couple casual boyfriends in college.

“Listen to me, Joss. Are you going to see Hugh today?”

“Yes.” She sure hoped she would.

“Find out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, find out what your feelings are. For Rogan's sake. For your own. If you'd been married ten years, I'd say you were bored. But, Joss, to feel this way when you've been dating only three months . . . Something's up. You have to find out.”

“Mr. Mistake, huh?”

“No, Joss. Mr. Save-You-From-Mr.-Mistake. Find out.”

Hugh counted to thirty after Joss had passed him on Fourth, then emerged from the shadows. Rogan had not hurt her, but that didn't mean he wouldn't follow her, and the last
thing Hugh wanted was for Rogan to find his fiancée with the man he wanted to kill. Hugh waited until she'd reached the end of the block and was just about to step into the street when he saw Reynolds exit the house. Wealth, happiness, power—every aspect of the man's carriage inflamed Hugh's hunger for revenge, and he felt his hand once again closing over the timepiece in his pocket. Hugh returned to his hiding place, but Rogan headed quickly east on Fourth, not west as Joss had. Hugh considered his options, then began to make his way in the direction of the rising sun.

Joss exited the coffee shop, listening to Di describe the terms necessary to close the deal in Las Vegas, when she spotted Rogan walking down Grant, away from his office and the USX Tower.

Joss paused, a sickening sort of feeling rising in her gut. He couldn't possibly be heading toward Hugh and the tailor shop, could he? His path seemed to be taking him right toward the alley.

She covered the phone. “Rogan?”

He turned, and when he saw her he stopped, concerned.

Joss put the phone back up to her ear. “I need to call you back.”

Hugh saw Reynolds turn. Then he spotted Joss. She ran up to her fiancé and touched his arm. The gesture sent a jab of pain through Hugh's heart, and he realized that after last night's shared intrigue, he'd assumed her feelings for Reynolds had changed. It had been a foolish
assumption, clouded by hope rather than informed by facts. There had just been something about the way she closed the door to the house that morning that made Hugh think she'd closed the door on Reynolds as well.

Joss's interaction with Reynolds appeared cordial, if restrained. Each seemed to be watching the area around them to ensure no passerby could overhear. A moment later Joss pulled Reynolds away from the people walking past, as if what she had to say were for his ears only. She tilted her head toward the alley. He shook his head. She nodded more forcibly. The conversation appeared to be ending. He touched her sleeve and let his hand drift down to hers. She squeezed it, and when he leaned in to kiss her, Hugh had to turn away.

It was exactly as it should be, he reminded himself. They were affianced. She'd never led him to believe anything else.

When he turned back, Joss was crossing Grant in the direction of the USX Tower, and Reynolds was watching her. Hugh didn't know which hurt him more—the way Reynolds looked at Joss as if his world were tied up in every step she took, or the way he himself watched Reynolds, praying that one day he might feel the same connection to Joss.

She disappeared into the tower, and Hugh expected Reynolds to continue his walk along Grant. But Reynolds stuffed his hands into his pockets and sauntered down the alley. Hugh trotted to the corner and watched until he reached the tailor shop. Reynolds looked both ways, tried the door of the shop, then lifted his foot and broke the lock.

Hugh felt as if he'd been kicked himself. Rogan's act did not surprise him, but coming on the heels of that short, intimate conversation, it forced Hugh to ask himself exactly what secret Joss had just whispered in her fiancé's ear.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-SIX
 

Joss stepped off the elevator feeling like a jerk. When she'd spotted Rogan heading across the street toward the alley, and all she could think of was the vision she'd had at the edge of the dome. She'd called to him, expecting, well, she wasn't sure what, and all he'd done was look happy to see her and say that he understood if she was confused and that he'd wait for her as long as it took. With a wave of guilt big enough to surf on, she'd thanked him and sent him on his way, toward a meeting on the other side of town.

That's where lying to your boyfriend gets you.

She waved to the weekend guard when the doors opened, started down the empty halls of Brand O'Malley and punched up Di's number again.

“Yep, sorry. Where were we?”

“What happened?”

“Oh . . . Rogan.”

“Is he mad?”

“No, he's perfectly supportive. God, I feel awful.”

“But it's better you take the time now to figure this out rather than later. Believe me.”

“I guess.”

“Happily, I will get to lighten your awfulness as I lie here, dropping fresh strawberries into my mouth and reveling in the fact that there is absolutely no one in this king-size bed with me. The guy in Vegas wants to look at the inventory to see if they can move any of the old stuff. Was that old scanning project ever restarted?”

Joss stopped. She had totally forgotten about the scanning project. It was one her mother had started right before she fell ill, a catalog of company assets. Her father had insisted she pull the plug on it in a series of cost-cutting moves, and now it sat unfinished, on some ancient hard drive somewhere, waiting for a time when Brand O'Malley had the funds and/or interest to start it up again.

“No,” Joss said, her mind going in a thousand directions. “You'll have to get someone to pull what they need, one at a time, from the warehouse. Say, can I call you back?”

“Again? Is it Rogan?”

“No.”

“Hugh?”

“Maybe both. Unlike your bed, mine seems a little
too
full.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-SEVEN
 

Joss jogged down the steps outside the USX Tower, feeling something odd in the air. She hitched her orange tote over her shoulder, lifting her gaze automatically to the beacon at the top of the Gulf Tower. No falling sparks. Not today. Nor, she thought, looking around at the sparsely populated plaza outside the building, any sign of Hugh. Her anxiety, tempered by the concentration the task upstairs had required, now began to grow unchecked. She had something she wanted to show him, thinking of the paper rolled up in the tube in her tote, but mostly, she just wanted to make sure he was alive and breathing.

She debated whether she should head to the tailor shop or back to the house, where she'd last seen him, and decided the house was the more likely candidate, which immediately made her flush, bringing to mind Rogan and the unjust suspicions that had made their last conversation so awkward. She supposed there would be a fair number of awkward conversations before she figured things out.

She trotted across Grant and walked south. She'd gotten nearly to Fourth when the back of her neck prickled.
She turned around, but the sidewalk was empty. She went a few more steps and swung around again. Hugh stepped behind a bus shelter, but he knew he'd been spotted and he stepped out. Her relief at seeing him was lessened by the obscure irritation she felt at him hiding while she worried, and by the odd, guarded look on his face.

She waited as he jogged across Grant's wide, empty lanes.

“Were you following me?” she said. “I was looking for you.”

“Aye. I have reason to believe someone might wish you harm.”

It was a lie. She had no doubt. His manner was almost cold—completely different from that of the man who'd run up the stairs to save her the night before.

“I'm fine,” she said. “Though I feel bad we had to do what we did behind Rogan's back.”

“I'm certain you do.” The gray in his eyes was as hard as iron and the scar in his brow seemed to pulse red. “Why were you looking for me?”

“I-I wanted to see if you were well, for one thing.”

He began to walk. “Tired—but well enough, aye.”

Another lie, she thought as she followed. He looked like hell. She decided not to ask if he was taking his pills.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“Well, I—” She stopped herself. If that's the way he was going to be, he could stuff the tube she had for him right up his annoying British backside. “Yep, that was it.”

“What about the Trojan Horse?

“What about it?”

“Did you look at the excerpt? Was it the same?”

“Yes,” she said hotly. “It was the same. What you wrote and what I remember seeing matches the text exactly.”

He gazed briefly into the distance, digesting this. “And what do you think it means?”

“I guess it means we should watch out for Greeks bearing gifts.”

He growled but said nothing.

She turned down Fourth and he followed her in silence. When she reached Smithfield, she found a construction crew blocking the sidewalk. Joss remembered they were preparing a building here for demolition. One man worked a jackhammer, another a torch. When the jackhammer started again, and she crossed to the far side with Hugh on her heels.

“Where are you going?” he asked over the sound.

It seemed more like an accusation than a question. “Back to the house.”

“Not the tailor shop?”