MacKenzie's Lady (12 page)

❧

The first week in July was hot, so hot that at times even thinking seemed like too much of an effort. Holly brushed the hair up from the back of her neck and considered the advantages of having her head shaved. Even her short, casual curls felt heavy and uncomfortable. She pulled the last of the clothes out of the dryer and carried the basket into the bedroom.

At least the bedroom was cooler. Dumping the laundry onto the bed, she sat down with her back to the cool draft coming from the air conditioner and lifted the hair off her neck. Pleasant goose bumps came up on her arms as the cold air blew across hot, damp skin. The halter top and shorts she was wearing were designed to cover as little as she could legally get away with, and it still felt like too much.

With a sigh she dropped her hair and reached out to pick up a pair of Mac's jeans. Her thoughts wandered as she sorted and folded clothes. She picked up a shirt and her smile deepened as she remembered that Mac had been wearing it the night they had gone on that disastrous double date with Ken and Maryann. Funny, how two people that she liked so much could take such an instant dislike to each other. She would have thought that they'd have a lot in common. They each faced life with a similar air of genial skepticism.

Holly flushed as she realized that she was rubbing the shirt against her cheek, and then she laughed softly. She was pretty far gone when she started mooning over Mac's clothes. She tossed the shirt onto the pile of things to be hung up and picked up the next item. Any doubts she might have had about the state of her feelings disappeared when she realized that she was actually enjoying keeping house.

Whether she planned it or not, she seemed to be living with the man. In the past month she hadn't been back to the apartment she shared with Maryann for anything but to pick up more clothes. She wouldn't want to cook and clean house forever, but it was a novelty for now and she intended to savor it until it grew old. Besides, Mac was so gratifyingly appreciative of her efforts.

Holly picked up his swimming trunks and flushed lightly, remembering the episode by the pool the day before. Her fingers lingered over the smooth fabric and her eyes grew dreamy. He loved her. She didn't doubt it, though he had yet to say the words. But the words weren't vital, not when she could read the emotion in his eyes.

She set the trunks down and touched her fingers lightly to her stomach. There hadn't been a chance to use the diaphragm the day before but she was rather sure it didn't matter. She hadn't had the tests yet, but she didn't have any real doubts. She knew she was carrying Mac's child and a doctor's confirmation could wait.

Her smile wavered. Would Mac be happy? Would he understand that she hadn't done it deliberately but that she was thrilled by the thought of having his child? She was going to have to tell him sooner or later. But not quite yet. She wanted a little more time with him.

Holly shivered as she got off the bed and began putting things away in drawers and closets. There was something a little frightening about being so happy, about having so much to lose. She shook off the dark thought. There was no sense in being superstitious.

A few minutes later, everything was on hangers or in drawers except a stack of her lingerie and soft cotton tops. She glared at them for a moment and then sighed. She had rearranged the one drawer Mac had cleared for her more times than she could remember, and that stuff was simply not going to fit. She hesitated, then knelt next to the dresser. Mac had told her to clear out whatever space she needed. The bottom drawer was probably the one he would miss least.

The drawer was full of sweaters. He certainly wasn't going to need these for the next few months. She lifted things out and carefully set them on the floor. The last garment didn't lift out easily and Holly didn't tug too hard because if the fabric was caught, she didn't want to snag it. She reached into the drawer and felt along its bottom until she found where the sweater was caught. Her tongue stuck out slightly as she worked gently to loosen the soft wool, and then she gave a sigh of pleasure as she lifted the sweater out. The garment was obviously old and well cared for—it would be just her luck to ruin some precious memento from Mac's past.

The sweater was unharmed and she put it neatly with the others before returning her attention to the drawer. If there was a loose splinter of wood, she didn't want to put her things on top of it. She pulled the drawer out as far as possible and ran her fingers lightly along the bottom. Her fingertips caught on a raised edge and she frowned slightly. It felt as if an entire board was loose. She tugged experimentally and then gasped in shock as the entire bottom of the drawer came up with it. It was so unexpected that she fell back on the carpeting with enough force to draw a wince from her.

Holly scrambled onto her knees, staring at the dresser in consternation. She lifted the drawer bottom, thinking that maybe it would settle neatly back where it belonged, but then stopped, staring down into the drawer.

It wasn't broken at all. It was a false bottom! Beneath the visible drawer there was a shallow compartment the same width as the drawer that lay above. Neat stacks of paper sat in one corner of the area. Next to it lay a small gun and a sheathed knife. Why would Mac keep a gun in the drawer? There were two other handguns that she was aware of and he kept them in the study. And what were the papers?

She forced down her curiosity. It must have something to do with Mac's work, and he wasn't likely to be terribly pleased if he realized she'd found out about this hiding place. She could debate the merits of telling him that she'd found it at a later date. Right now, all she wanted to do was cover it back up again. She felt chilled by this reminder of the kind of work he did. It made her realize how easily she could lose him.

"Holly A. Reynolds." The name seemed to leap off the paper at her as she lifted the false bottom and started to slide it into place. She stared at it for a long moment without moving. A premonitory chill ran up her spine. Her face was totally blank as she set aside the drawer bottom and lifted the folder with her name out of its hiding place. She was unsurprised to find that her fingers were trembling slightly as she got to her feet and carried the folder over to the chair by the window.

❧

Mac shut the front door behind him and tossed his suit jacket onto the sofa as he entered the living room. Wearing a suit in one-hundred-degree heat was not his idea of fun and comfort. But Mr. Reginald C. Naveroff's financial consultant would certainly never consider wearing anything less. He tugged on the knot of his tie and sent it to join the coat. He shook his head. Watching Ken put on the persona of a newly rich poor boy from Louisiana, who'd struck it rich in oil and now wanted sophisticated artwork to complete the picture, had at least been good for a laugh.

In his role as financial adviser, he'd had to do nothing more than look pained at some of his client's more blatant gaffes and shuffle financial statements in his briefcase. He had to admit that Ken really got into his role. The owners of the gallery where they'd gone to check out the paintings might have winced at Ken's faux pas—or "fox passes," as "Reg" called them—but they had stumbled all over themselves to show him their offerings. Unfortunately, as far as the two agents could tell, they didn't have anything they shouldn't have—no lost works by any of the great masters.

Mac stretched as he entered the kitchen and got a beer out of the refrigerator. Twisting the top off the bottle, he tilted his head slightly. The house was quiet, but Holly's car was in the driveway. He took a long swallow of icy beer as he headed for the bedroom. She was probably out by the pool. His eyes darkened with memory. Maybe he could go out and interrupt her sunbathing as he had done yesterday.

The warmth left his face abruptly as he stepped into the bedroom. The lowest drawer of the dresser was open; his sweaters lay to the side and the false bottom leaned carelessly up against the chest. Someone had searched the house. His left hand tightened on the neck of the beer bottle and his right reached automatically for the shoulder holster he wasn't wearing.

The movement was halted before it was half begun as his eyes found Holly. She was seated in a chair across from him, a file folder open on her knees. She hadn't heard him come in and, for the moment, her attention was on the folder. He set the bottle down with a faint thump, and she looked up slowly, as if unsurprised to find him there.

Mac's heart twisted in pain. He wanted to run across the room and snatch the folder away. He wanted to wipe the stunned look from her face and tell her that it was all a mistake, that he didn't know anything about the information contained in the file. Instead, he slid his hands in his pockets and looked at her without saying a word, waiting for her to make the first move.

Holly stared at him, trying to make her dazed mind accept the fact that he really was there. He was real. All six feet four inches of him, dressed in a pale-blue silk shirt, unbuttoned at the top, and gray linen slacks. What had he done with the tie? she wondered. That morning before he left, she had tugged on that tie, using it to pull his head down so she could kiss him. She had laughed and said that she'd never realized how handy a leash could be.

That morning. A million years ago. Before she had opened that damned drawer. Her fingers tightened on the manila folder. A slow rage began to build inside her, replacing the numb agony that had swallowed up every other emotion.

"Who are you?" Her voice shook with the words and she swallowed, trying to subdue the anger that threatened to fly out of control. "Just who the hell are you?"

"Holly..."

"You're not a cop, are you? Are you? Answer me, dammit!"

"I'm not a cop. At least not in the sense you mean."

"Not in the sense I mean? Now that's a clever piece of weasel wording. You mean not in the sense you led me to believe. Who do you work for?"

"I'm with the FBI." His expression was blank, a perfect blank that added to her anger. How could he stand there looking so unmoved when her world lay in splintered pieces at her feet?

"FBI? You've been spying on me for God knows how long, taking notes as if I were a laboratory specimen. What are you looking for?"

"Holly..."

She gestured sharply, cutting him off. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. You're a damn spook and that's the most important piece of information." She flicked her fingers against the crumpled pages in the folder. "It's got something to do with James. I can figure that much out. You got to know me to see what you could get out of me about my brother. Damn you!" She came to her feet, throwing the folder across the room, papers scattering onto the carpet like dry leaves. "Damn you! You've been using me to try to hang my brother."

"Holly, we're not trying to hang James. We're trying to prove his guilt or his innocence. Nobody's out to get him."

"Guilt or innocence of what? What is he supposed to have done?"

Then she hadn't read the file on her brother. The agent in him breathed a sigh of relief. The case might still be salvaged. But that was the only thing that was likely to be salvaged, he acknowledged, looking into her furious face.

"I can't tell you that."

"You can't tell me a lot of things today, can you?" She spun on her heel and started for the dresser. "Maybe I'll just have to check in the magic drawer and see if it can tell me all these things that you can't talk about."

His hand closed around her upper arm with gentle but implacable strength. "I can't let you do that. I'm sorry you found the damned drawer, but I can't let you look at any more." His agony was audible in the roughness of his voice, but Holly was too wrapped in pain to hear it.

"You're trying to destroy my brother and you've used me to help you and all you're sorry about is the fact that I found out about it." She didn't try to throw off his light hold and she didn't turn to look at him. "Was it all a setup? Even in Tijuana? Was that planned, too?"

"No. Holly, when I saw you in that bar, you were like a bright flower in the middle of a dump. After you went home, I couldn't get you out of my mind. I started trying to find you, and then the case came up and I didn't have any choice but to take the assignment." "You could have turned it down." "If I'd turned it down, someone else would have been assigned to it. I couldn't bear the thought of that."

"No, I don't imagine you could. After all, then someone else would have been getting what you wanted. A nice gullible schoolteacher who's good for a quick roll in the hay." She felt a vague satisfaction when his fingers tightened around her arm.

"You were never that to me."

"Let go of me," she ordered flatly. "It makes me sick to feel your hands on me."

Instead of releasing her, Mac turned her to face him, trying to penetrate the wall of pain.

"Holly, we can get through this. You said you loved me. Are you going to throw that away?"

Her hand came up and connected with his cheek. The crack of sound echoed in the suddenly quiet room. Mac's fingers didn't leave her arm and he didn't lift his free hand to explore the handprint that was beginning to show red on his cheek. His eyes were steady on hers. "I love you."

Her breath sucked in audibly. "You don't know the meaning of the word. It's interesting that it only occurs to you to say it now that your damned case is in danger of blowing up in your face."

She closed her eyes, her breathing rapid as she struggled to regain control. "Let go of me." The flat tone got her the desired response and his fingers slowly left her arm.

"Holly, you have to listen to me. I do love you. I didn't say the words before because I knew this whole mess was still between us. We can work through this."

She drew a deep, shaking breath. She had to get out. She couldn't take much more without falling to pieces, and she was damned if she was going to let him see how badly he had destroyed her. She had to put an end to it now.

"You're right. We probably could work through it if we tried. The thing is, it isn't worth trying. You were using me and I was using you. We'll just call it a draw and leave it alone."

Mac stiffened. "What do you mean you were using me?"

She forced her voice to be level, almost casual, hiding the pain that was tearing her to pieces. "Remember I told you that I'd sworn to have a child or be pregnant by the time I'm thirty? Well, thirty is creeping up on me and artificial insemination is so impersonal."

"Shut up, Holly." She felt a twinge of vicious satisfaction at the hoarse sound of his words. Good. She wanted him to feel at least a fraction of the pain she was feeling.

"Actually, when you look at it logically, Mac, you're perfect material for fathering a child. You're healthy, intelligent, the right age. What more could I ask for? I liked you and you're a dynamite lover, which was a nice side benefit." She suppressed a twinge of remorse as she took in his dazed expression and looked around for her purse. It was lying on the foot of the bed. Lord, she had to get out right away.

"But you told me you were protected," he muttered hoarsely. "I asked you and you told me you were safe."

"I lied. I guess that makes us even. I lied to you and you lied to me." She took one step toward her purse. All she wanted was to put this scene behind her. She gasped, her eyes widening as he grabbed her arm, spinning her back to face him, his hands clasping her shoulders in an unbreakable grip.

His eyes burned with blue flame as he drew her up on her toes, his fingers digging into her flesh. She felt dizzy with a mixture of anger, fear and pain. She wanted to put her head on his shoulder and beg him to make things right again. She wanted to pass out and wake up to find this had all been some terrible nightmare. And she wanted him to hurt as terribly as she did.

"Let go of me. I can't stand to have you touching me." Her voice rose and she could feel her control slipping.

"Are you pregnant?" He ground the words out, barely moving his lips.

She lied instinctively, giving him the only answer that would make him let her go. "No. I guess we're even there, too. I didn't get what I wanted and you didn't get enough to ruin my brother. Now let go of me."

His fingers loosened slowly and he stared at her as if he wasn't quite sure who she was and how she came to be there. Holly backed away from him, groping behind her on the bed until she found the strap of her shoulder bag. Her hand knotted until the leather bit into her palm.

"I'll send someone to get my things." She edged toward the door. There was a quality in his stillness that frightened her, and she remembered Ken's words about not wanting to see Mac lose control. "Just stay away from me. I don't ever want to see you again."

Mac didn't turn as she left the room. He didn't move even when he heard the front door slam and then the distant sound of the Fiat starting. His chest hurt with the effort of breathing. No. It couldn't happen this way.

"No!" The echoes of the word died in the room. Pain lanced up his arm to his shoulder and he looked at his hand, vaguely surprised to see that he'd put his fist through the wall. He pulled his hand away, unaware of the shattered plaster that fell in a powdery dust. The false drawer panel caught his eye, and in an instant it was hurled across the room.

Fifteen minutes later he sank onto the bed and buried his face in his hands, his huge shoulders shaking. Around him the room was in shambles. Blood oozed from his torn knuckles, trickling down to stain the cuff of his shirt. He didn't feel the pain; he was oblivious to the destruction he had wrought.

All he knew was the desolating sense of emptiness. He was alone as he had never been before.