Dark Paradise (46 page)

thinning, pale eyes going cold.

"It's part of the game, Your Honor," he said softly. "You know what they

say. If you can't stand the heat. Or what's the version in cop vernacular?

If you can't do the time, don't do the crime."

Townsend's whole body began to quake visibly. The rims of his eyes went

red. Bryce half expected an alien creature to burst from the man's

chest. "If that tape falls into the wrong hands, my life is over!" His

voice was a raw whisper, as if unseen hands were choking him.

Bryce studied his fingernails, unconcerned. Nothing on the tape could be

linked to him. He always made certain of that. That was part of his

edge, one of the keys to his power. In his own mind, Townsend was

already written off as a loss.. The man was killing himself a thousand

times over a phantom. He was a coward. Cowards could be used only so

many times before there was nothing left of them.

"You should have thought of that, my friend," he said, glancing up to

meet Townsend's eyes, "before you pulled the trigger."

"You're sure you won't come out to the ranch?"

"I'll be fine," Samantha said.

Bryce sat behind the wheel of her old Camero, looking just as

comfortable as he did in his Mercedes, which trailed behind them with

Sharon driving. He shifted into neutral and left his hand on the knob as

they idled at New Eden's stoplight. His hands were bony and roped with

veins. An onyx ring with a gold crest rose up like a small mountain at

the base of his middle finger and gleamed richly in the dashboard

lights.

Rich. The word tasted like chocolate and made her think about the feel

of silk against her skin. She hefted her purse off her lap and set it on

the floor, mentally counting her tips. If she set some of her tip money

aside every day, she might be able to go into Latigo and buy herself

something nice - in a month or three.

"You'll be fine," he said, giving her a wry look. "What about me?
 
I'll

be awake all night worrying about you."

She smiled at him softly, sincerely, her heart suddenly brimming. "That

means a lot to me. It's nice to know someone cares."

It would have been nicer if that someone had been Will. Her gaze strayed

to the glow of lights at the Hell and Gone.

"Of course I care, Samantha." He put the car in gear and eased his foot

off the clutch as the light turned green. "I consider you a friend. How

many times do I have to tell you that before you start believing me?"

"I don't know," she admitted guilelessly. "It's hard for me to imagine

someone like you being friends with someone like me."

"Why wouldn't I want to be friends with a bright, beautiful young

woman?"

"I'm a cocktail waitress."

"That's what you do, not who you are. Never confuse the two, Samantha.

That kind of thinking only limits you."

They turned onto Jackson Street and he pulled the Camero up to the curb

in front of her house. The car's engine grumbled on for a moment after

he turned the ignition off, like a stomach with indigestion. Bryce noted

it and turned sideways on the vinyl bucket seat to face her. In the pale

glow of the streetlight his expression seemed earnest. He reached out

with one hand and brushed the tips of his fingers against her cheek,

pushing a stray strand of black hair back behind her ear.

"You should have no limits but the sky, Samantha," he said softly.

"Don't let anything in your life hold you back."

The Mercedes pulled in behind them and the glare of the headlights gave

Samantha an excuse to look away.

He didn't understand her life. He didn't know where she had come from or

what kinds of obstacles that had built into it. He was rich and

powerful. He was like a being from another world, a world she had no

access to, a world she could only look at and wish for in the most

frivolous of her fantasies.

"I once had a job cleaning grease, dirt, and dead cockroaches out of a

diner in Hell's Kitchen," he said. "I owned one pair of shoes and washed

my underwear in the sink of the communal bathroom in a rooming house I

shared with drug addicts and transients.

"We aren't always born to it, Samantha. Sometimes we have to have the

courage to take a leap into the life we want."

He handed her the keys and climbed out, coming around to open her door

for her. Samantha unfolded herself from the low-slung Camero. She kept

her head down, pretending to be concerned about which purse compartment

her keys went into. Bryce's words rolled around in her head like

marbles, tumbling through a wash of conflicting feelings that had been

building inside her for days - loneliness and dissatisfaction and longing

and hunger for something more than she had. What did she have?
 
A junket

car. A rented house that looked forlorn even by moonlight. A puppy. A

husband who ignored her. She thought of the party. The air of

excitement. The important people who had spoken with her. The sense of,

if not belonging, being included in something special.

Bryce went into the house ahead of her to check for intruders. It took

him all of three minutes to see every shabby room and look in every

closet. Embarrassment burned Samantha's cheeks. She left most of the

lights off, hoping he wouldn't notice her blush or the fact that

everything she owned was second-hand.

"Are there locks on these doors?" he asked as they stepped back out onto

the front porch.

She nodded, crossing her arms against the cool breeze and the onslaught

of loneliness. Rascal rubbed up against her legs like an overgrown cat,

then dropped at her feet and began gnawing on her shoestrings.

"Good. Use them. If only to give me an hour's sleep."

"I will. Thanks for seeing me home."

He gave her a look. "I'm glad to do it. Someone should be looking out

for you."

That the someone should be Will didn't need to be spoken. The censure

was there in Bryce's voice. Samantha felt guilt on Will's behalf, then

wondered if Will ever felt a shred of it himself. If she were attacked,

as Marilee Jennings had been, would he feel the least bit responsible

for abandoning her?

"Call me if you need anything," Bryce said. "Even if you just get tired

of playing it brave."

"Thanks," she whispered, fighting the threat of tears. "You're a good friend."

He nodded and hummed a note of agreement, but his mind was elsewhere. He

had a look about him as though he were considering whether or not to

tell her something important. In the end he just sighed, leaned forward,

and kissed her cheek. His hand lingered on her shoulder, and he squeezed

gently as he stepped back.

"Good night, sweetheart. Think about what I said."

Rascal dove off the porch and gave chase halfway across the yard as

Bryce headed for the Mercedes. Samantha called the dog back, patting a

hand against her thigh. The puppy wheeled around, charged back up the

steps and flung himself against his mistress as she lowered herself to

sit on the edge of the porch. Samantha cradled the wiggling dog against

her and stroked his head absently, avoiding his eager tongue by tipping

her head back to look up at the stars.

You should have no limits but the sky. It was a million miles away. She

could see it but never touch it. She tried to imagine what it might be

like to cut loose all the bonds that held her to this spot on earth and

soar up there among the stars. How free she would feel. How special.

The only times she had ever felt special in her life had been with Will,

when she believed that he loved her, when she believed they could have a

life and a family together. Small dreams. Sweet dreams. Dreams that now

seemed as distant as the diamond points of light in the sky. Broken

dreams that tied her to a life of emptiness.

Will sat in the cab of his pickup half a block down Third Avenue from

the corner of Jackson. He had a clear view of his house. There was

enough light from the streetlamp to see Sam sitting on the edge of the

porch with Rascal in her arms.

He'd been sitting there a long while. Long enough to put away the better

half of a pint of Jack and chase it down with half a dozen cans of

Coors. The cans lay discarded at his feet, rattling merrily every time

he shifted position. The sound reminded him of the cowbells on the

bucking bulls at the rodeo. Appropriate. He had asked Sam to marry him

at the rodeo in Gardiner . . . or was it Big Sky?
 
The detail was lost

in the murky slop that clouded his mind like pond water.

Crystal clear was the memory of Sam looking up at him after he'd asked

her. That memory was sharp as a Polaroid. Painfully bright. She looked

like a princess, radiant in the firelight. Dark, exotic eyes widening,

those soft, full lips parting slightly in surprise. Hair hanging over

one shoulder in a thick plait of black silk. He remembered clearly what

was in her eyes. Hope. Deliverance. Love. Excitement. She had looked at

him like a poor child finding Santa Claus. Like he was a hero. He'd

never felt so important in his life.

What a fraud you are, Willie-boy. That was all he had ever been, an

impostor, a con man. Prince Will, pretender to the throne of Rafferty.

Nobody's hero. Nobody's husband. He didn't do commitment. He specialized

in meaningless charm. The man with no substance. Style, guile, and a

pretty smile.

He had fooled her into loving him. Married her without a hint of

conscience. Hurt her with selfish intent, dealt heartache with a lavish

hand. Why would she ever take him back?
 
Any woman in her right mind

would sooner cut his black heart out with a rusty knife and feed it to

the coyotes.

Seeing Bryce kiss her had nearly spared her the trouble.

He had been as faithless as a tomcat, remorseless and smug. But seeing

that one kiss had turned it all right around on him and plunged the

blade straight into his chest.

What did you expect, Willie-boy?

Had he thought she would wait forever?
 
Had he expected her to pine away

for him the way his father had done over his mother's betrayal?
 
What

had he thought?

That the trouble of his marriage would just go away so he wouldn't have

to deal with it or take the blame or face the consequences.

What a bright, shining boy you are, Willie. Teflon Man, shirking liability

with a wink and a grin.

How you gonna get out of this one, smart boy?

What would J.D. do?

J.D. the hero. Man's man. Man of principles. Do the right thing. Do the

hard thing.

What would J.D. do if he caught Evan Bryce kissing his woman?
 
He'd kick

Evan Bryce's ass all over Montana. That was his right, his obligation

according to the code of the West. You didn't steal another man's horse,

you didn't kick another man's dog, you didn't touch another man's woman.

If Evan Bryce was going to live in Montana, he had a few lessons to

learn.

It felt good to transfer the anger. That was one thing Will knew he did

with the proficiency of a great magician. He slipped out from under the

weight of blame and dumped the load on Bryce's head. It was all Bryce's

fault.

Bryce was trying to steal his wife. Bryce was trying to steal his land.

Never mind that Will had claimed to want neither. All he wanted now was

a target for his anger that wasn't pinned to his own chest.

As Samantha got up and went into the house, he turned the key in the

ignition and flipped the headlights on. The truck roared to life.

Three-quarters of a ton of power and metal rumbled beneath him. His

temper growled in the core of him, fueled by Coors and the Jack.