Speed Demons (23 page)

“You’re the sexy one. I don’t know how you do that. You ooze it. You’re just so effortlessly sensual.”

“Well, I don’t see it, of course. Makes sense that I see the same in you and you don’t. You only have to look at me a certain way, and I want to rip your clothes off and throw you onto the closest surface and have my way with you.”

“The closest surface?” Blythe looked up in mock suspicion. “You better choose comfortable surfaces. I’m no teenager you can fling over the hood of a car.” She blanched and then blushed.

“What? What’s going through that head of yours?”

“Eh, nothing. Really.” Blythe covered her eyes with her hand again. “I just had this image of you throwing me facedown across the hood of your Viper.”

“Mmm. Hot. Very hot.” She tugged Blythe’s hand away from her face. “Who knows? That might just happen one of these days.”

“I can’t wait.”

She turned off the light and they settled under the covers as the storm receded. Somewhere in the house an old clock pinged softly. She inhaled Blythe’s scent, mixed with her own, and the unmistakable scent of their lovemaking. Not sure why the sounds and the smells made her feel so safe and at ease, she wiped at unexpected tears.

“Evangeline, what’s the matter?” Blythe spoke with concern, then kissed her wet eyelashes. “Do you regret it?”

“Never. Never in a million years.” She didn’t know how to explain without sounding completely silly. “I’m just happy. Happy that we’re okay together.”

“I’d say we’re more than okay. We’re like fireworks together, wouldn’t you agree?” Blythe had a smile in her voice.

“Definitely. I don’t mean to sound sappy, but for me it’s like the world has been knocked back on its axis a little. I hate it when we misunderstand each other’s intentions.”

“Oh, so do I. I don’t know why, or how, but your happiness, and your safety, have become so important to me. I know it’s happened fast. Perhaps too fast.”

“Not really. Perhaps it feels quick because you’re such a fiercely private person.”

“What do you mean?” Blythe caressed her cheek.

“We’ve known each other for over a year. Even if we weren’t physically in the same place during my recovery, we’ve thought of each other, haven’t we?”

“I thought of you a lot. Every day. I didn’t think you gave me a second thought. You had enough on your plate, working on getting better, on recovering.”

“True, but you have to understand that you were among the last faces I saw before I participated in that race. I don’t know if it was a dream or real, but I saw you when I was on some gurney or something?” She had meant to ask this question many times, but never gotten around to it.

“No. You didn’t dream it. I was there. By then I was in some sort of shock and had stopped shooting. I was in the pit with your team when they carried you to the ambulance that took you to the helicopter. You were unconscious, or so I thought, and for a moment I was afraid you were dead. I had to touch you, to feel that you were still here, still with us.”

“So it wasn’t a dream. I did see you. Were you crying?”

“I thought you’d died. When I saw the pileup and how you plowed right into that burning debris, I thought I was documenting death—again.” Blythe wiped at her face.

She held Blythe closer. “And you’ve done that enough, haven’t you? You’ve been there too many times and witnessed young lives cut short.”

“Yes.”

She wanted to ask Blythe if she was afraid of history repeating itself when they went down to the Miami Speedway, but she didn’t dare, afraid if Blythe expressed such fears they would attach themselves to her and fester. Instead, she kissed Blythe’s trembling lips and deliberately used the immense attraction between them as a distraction. Running the tip of her tongue along Blythe’s jawline, she welcomed the tremors in both of them. “You feel it too. The connection.” It really was an extraordinary sensation. All she had to do was kiss or caress Blythe and her mind switched into full-steam-ahead passion.

“I do.” Blythe gasped and wrapped a leg around hers. “It’s great.”

“Yeah, it is.” She smiled into the darkness and relaxed again. It probably wouldn’t take much to make them both go again, but for now she was content to hold Blythe and sleep. “We have tomorrow off too. Good, huh?”

“Yes.” Blythe sounded sleepy. “And I think you’re right. I should take the opportunity to check on things. With my family and so on.”

Her eyes snapped open. Had she heard right? Afraid to make the wrong assumption, she merely said, “I’m with you no matter what you choose to do.”

“Thanks.” Blythe’s breathing grew even and deeper.

She held Blythe in her arms until it was obvious that she was deeply asleep. Only then could she relax enough to drift off.

Chapter Twenty-two

Blythe gripped the wheel of Evie’s car tight, gazing at the bungalow situated in a lush garden. Memories of hiding in the far corner, where she and her younger sister had built a playhouse of plywood boards, washed over her. The house looked smaller, as did the lot.

“Imagine living so many years in the same house.” Evie held her hand on Blythe’s thigh, caressing it gently. A week had gone by since the thunderstorm, and Evie’s touch was completely addictive and something on which she had come to rely. This in itself was a dangerous train of thought, since they hadn’t discussed any type of future, but nevertheless true.

“I figured out that we moved here when I was six. We lived closer to Raleigh before then. So what does that add up to? Thirty-six years.”

“Guess they like it here.”

She checked the time on the dashboard. It was time. “Let’s go.”

They stepped out of the car, and she had her jaw so clenched she was afraid she’d chip her teeth.

“Just remember I’m with you. You’ll be fine. You’re not the bullied teenager anymore.”

“Thanks.” She regarded the smiling Evie with gratitude. She doubted she would’ve even contemplated doing this on her own. Not like this, out of the blue. She’d called her mother two days ago, setting up this meeting, but kept it short over the phone.

The door opened when they were halfway up the flagstone path. A diminutive woman with reddish blond hair stood in the doorway, a hand clasped over her mouth.

“Blythe?” Her mother blinked at the thick tears flooding her eyes. “Oh, God.”

“Hello, Mom.” She pushed her hands into her pockets and stopped just below the porch.

“Come inside. Please.” Samantha Murphy stepped aside to let them in.

Evie greeted her mother. “Hello, Mrs. Murphy. I’m Evie.”

“Nice to meet a friend of Blythe’s.” Samantha was equally polite, but the deep frown line between her eyebrows spoke of her curiosity. As a teenager, Blythe had seen that wrinkle go increasingly deeper.

“Blythe!” A blond whirlwind flew through the living room door. She threw her arms around Blythe’s neck and hugged her hard. “Oh, Blythe, Blythe, I didn’t even believe Mama when she said you’d be coming home. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Susie. Hello.” Words eluded her, but she returned the embrace, keeping her eyes on Evie as she hugged her little sister.

“Oh, goodness, sis, where have you been? Why did you stay away so long? How come you never called?”

“Let’s go inside and sit down,” Samantha said, sounding oddly calm. She had clearly wiped her tears and now motioned them all to step inside the living room. It faced the garden, where a pool was the biggest difference compared to twenty-four years ago.

Two men rose as the women entered. Time hadn’t been kind to her father. He looked hunched over, his thin hair sandy gray. Trevor looked impossibly young and in good shape at the age of forty-three. His shock of hair was the same color blond as it had been at nineteen.

“Blythe.” Trevor appeared as moved as Susie did.

She glanced at her father. Carl looked in control, calm. Like long-lost daughters were commonplace and nothing to fret about. “Hello, Trevor. Dad.”

“This is Blythe’s friend. Evie, wasn’t it?” Samantha said, her wide smile not entirely happy.

“That’s right. Hello, everybody.”

“What’s she doing here, Blythe?” Carl asked, looking at his oldest daughter. “This is a family affair.”

“I wanted Evie to join me. She’s a friend.”

“And we’re your family.” Carl raised his voice a little. “That used to count for something.”

“Don’t be like that, Daddy,” Susie said. “Blythe is finally home again. We’ve all missed her.”

“Have you missed us, Blythe?” Carl asked, his voice as steely as ever. “One note saying ‘I’m alive and doing well’ every Christmas is hardly detailed enough. Not once did you ask about us, did you?”

“Carl. Please. Let the girl sit down, for heaven’s sake.” Samantha gestured toward the group of couches by the window. “Please. I’ve got coffee coming. You drink coffee, Evie?”

“Yes, I do. Want me to give you a hand, Samantha?”

Blythe wanted to hold on to Evie, make her stay.

“No, no. Susie will help me with the tray, won’t you, Susie?”

“Sure, Mama.” The two women seemed quite relieved to leave the room for a bit. Blythe didn’t blame them.

Trevor sat down on one side of her and Evie on the other. Feeling ridiculously grateful for their closeness, she looked unwaveringly at her father. “You were saying, Dad?”

“You never bothered to check on us.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Only what the private investigator in Raleigh reported every other year.” Blythe felt Evie flinch and realized she’d never told her about the PI.

Carl gaped. “You paid a private eye instead of picking up the goddamn phone?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me, Dad. Not after how we parted.”

“What are you going on about?” Carl looked confused, moving his gaze to Trevor. “You have any idea?”

“I haven’t talked to Blythe since she kept vigil at my side in the ICU.” Trevor put an arm around her shoulder. “Something tells me that I’ve wronged her quite a bit, taking everyone’s word for some stuff.”

She turned to Trevor. “What?”

“When I got home from the hospital, I learned that you had stolen money and left. When we didn’t hear anything for a while, and then started getting the notes, the folks were convinced that you’d disowned us. I tried looking you up online when the Internet became commonplace, but no Blythe Murphy—at least not our Blythe.”

“I go by Blythe Pierce these days.”

“That figures.” Trevor looked unhappy. “But if I’d put some effort into it, I still could’ve found you. I didn’t. I let time go by.”

“Trevor. We’ve all done things we regret. I’m sorry you got hurt. It was me they were after and you tried to protect me.”

“Hey, you were hardly taller than an elementary schoolgirl. They broke your camera. I’ll never forget it. I was so pissed, I was ready to kill them. How you slaved with chores and after-school jobs to save for that camera. Didn’t you sleep with it next to your pillow?”

“Yeah.” She stared tearfully at her brother. She had no idea he’d even known that. “Yeah. I did.”

“And I could only look at it if she was in the room.” Susie walked in with a tray of cookies and cinnamon rolls. “Mom’s been baking since you called.”

“Looks great.” She swallowed against the dryness of her mouth. How would she be able to eat at all?

“These are beautiful. You must’ve inherited some of your talent for art from your mother.” Evie looked angelic, admiring a cookie before biting into it. “And they taste even better.”

“You work with art?” Samantha asked, sitting down at the very edge of the two-seat couch.

“I’m a photographer.” Blythe wanted to leave it at that, but naturally, that wasn’t going to be enough.

“Any decent living in that?” Carl asked.

“I do all right.”

“She just won an award.” Evie didn’t even flinch when Blythe pinched her. “The National Photojournalist Award. It’s pretty awesome. I was there for the ceremony a while back. Lots of celebrities.”

Blythe wanted to groan and push Evie’s entire cookie into her mouth to stop her from saying anything else.

“I’ve heard of that award. That’s amazing.” Susie stared at her. “They only hand that out to real big shots.”

Evie nodded. “That’s Blythe for you. Big shot.”

“Evie.” She shook her head. “Not helping.”

“So you make a living as a photojournalist. Been abroad?” Carl asked.

“Yes.”

“Overseas?”

“Yes. To most continents, Dad.”

“I think I’ve seen your work about our boys and girls in Afghanistan. Suddenly I remember. Blythe Pierce. I thought of you when I read the byline.” Susie swallowed and put her coffee cup back on the tray. “So that was really you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you leave because you hated us?” Susie asked, her voice barely audible.

“No. I didn’t hate anyone.” She was grateful that the couch was small enough to make her sit close to Evie. She could feel her warmth. “I was upset that Trevor was hurt because of me. That was the main reason. Also, I knew Mom and Dad blamed me, and since I was legally an adult, I knew I could leave and that way make it so much easier for the rest of you to move on.”

“What are you talking about?” Samantha stared at her. “We didn’t blame you for what happened to Trevor.”

“Yes. You did. You and Dad. You said it didn’t make sense that anything like that would happen to him. He’d been popular throughout his years in school. So was Susie. Only I was bullied. Only I was taunted and mistreated. I should’ve been the concussed one in the hospital, if everything had been fair.” She drew a deep, trembling breath. Trevor put his arm around her shoulders. Was it just her or was he trembling just as badly?

“God, Carl. Did we, you or me, say anything so horrible to her?”

“Not to me. No. I overheard you and Dad yelling at each other in here that same night, before I went to see Trevor. I felt so bad for him already, and it had taken me quite a while to calm Susie down. So, I stole a hundred and fifty dollars from Dad and took the first bus out of here. I figured that would make it a whole lot easier on all of you. Evie has persuaded me that I’ve been wrong.” She gazed at Evie, who in turn looked from one person to the next, as if daring them to contradict her.