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Chapter Seven

R omano swore until he ran out of breath, then he inhaled and started over.

There was an exit ramp and he took it, crossing three lanes in the process and causing other drivers to spike their brakes and shake their fists.

Then he came to a stop on the shoulder in a cloud of dust. “How the hell can there not be a safe-deposit box, Lexi?”

She met his eyes, showing her backbone again. Until recently, he hadn’t seen a sign of it. But she’d been playing him.

“There was one once. Just like I said, in New York. I didn’t see any point in keeping it open when I had no plans to ever go back there.”

The question that sprang to the tip of his tongue was why not.

But he bit it back. It didn’t matter what her reasons were.

He didn’t give a damn why a talented young doctor would want to hide herself away in the mountains alone and never emerge into the daylight again.

All that mattered was finding this damned formula before White did. And then killing the bastard.

So why was it so hard to keep from asking the question?

He clamped his jaw and put the car into motion again, braking for a light at the end of the ramp, then turning right, having no idea where the hell he was going, just driving. “Go on, tell me the rest.”

She looked at him with wary eyes. Half afraid of him, half hating his guts, as best he could figure. “We’re on the same side, Lexi.”

“No, we’re not. My father is dead. I’m the only one left to protect his legacy.”

Questions were burning in Romano’s mind again. Questions that had nothing to do with this case. Questions about her and why she was so determined to protect a dead man who, from what he’d gleaned, hadn’t been very nice to her while he’d been alive.

He forcibly resisted the urge to ask, to delve into her psyche, to search for the source of all the pain he sometimes saw in her eyes. He took the next left. “So what did you do with the contents of the box?”

“I had everything sent to my father’s lawyer in Pine Lake.”

“Pine Lake? That little village near your log mansion?”

She nodded. “I just wasn’t up to going through any more of Father’s things at the time. Jim stored everything for me, said it would be there whenever I was ready.”

“You’re telling me that the notes I’ve been searching for were up there in Pine Lake all along?”

“I’m telling you whatever my father had in that safe deposit box has been up there in Pine Lake all along, yes.”

Romano rolled his eyes and sighed through clenched teeth. “And the key?”

“That was just my old PO box key. A prop.”

He swore some more, pulled the car to a stop on the shoulder of the road so he could watch her face while she spoke.

“So I was supposed to trot my ass all the way to New York on this wild-goose chase you set up, and then what? While I sat around trying to figure it out, you were gonna give me the slip, right? Head back up to your precious mountain retreat and grab your father’s notes from that lawyer on your way? ”

“And my cat.”

“And then what, Lexi?”

“I don’t know. All I know is my father didn’t do what you think he did.”

“Yeah, and I’m Santa Claus.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so angry.”

He turned toward her, gripped her shoulders in his hands, and stared right into her eyes.

“Because this plan of yours could have worked! You could have pulled this off, and if you had, I’d have been completely stumped.

Pine Lake would be the last place I’d have looked for you.

And dammit, you’d have probably ended up dead! ”

She shook her head slowly, her eyes probing his, confusion clouding their liquid brown depths.

“Dead, Lexi. Cold and stiff in the ground. No more talking or laughing or flashing those big brown eyes. Nothing. One minute you’re fine, and the next … it’s just all over. It’s all freaking over.”

His hands had tightened on her shoulders. “Over,” he said, his voice lowering, growing harsher and rougher than it should. “For you, anyway. Not for me. I’d have more blood on my hands, one more innocent person dead because of me. And one more is more than I can take.”

Her eyes slowly came into focus through the haze that had been clouding his vision.

Her eyes, so damned intense they could see things no normal eyes could see.

He knew it. He had the feeling she was reading his scarred soul just then as easily as reading a book.

He gave his head a shake and he released her.

But he knew it wasn’t soon enough. She’d managed to shake him right out of his coldness, right out of his mannequin state, and she’d copped yet another peek at the hell that lived inside him. She’d seen way too much.

He looked away, lowering his hands from her shoulders.

He steadied his breathing, but he could feel her eyes on him.

And when he glanced back at her, he saw the way they darted rapidly over his face.

Hesitantly, she lifted her hand, as if to press it to his cheek, but stopped in midair, maybe because of the look in his eyes.

“You’re in so much pain.” It wasn’t a question, the way she said it. More like an observation. One that made his heart bleed. Romano didn’t want her sympathy. He could handle just about anything but that.

“You’re changing the subject. We were talking about you.”

“No. I don’t think we were.”

When traffic cleared, he pulled a U-turn and headed back the way they’d come.

“She was beautiful, your wife.”

He only nodded, trying to focus on driving, trying to work out his next step. Revenge. Justice. The blood and pain and death he was going to inflict on White. Those should be the only things on his mind. Ugliness, blackness, violence.

“Tell me about her,” Lexi said softly, and her voice was like a whisper of music, a soothing melody that played through the noise of hate and rage in his heart. “What was her name?”

“Wendy.” He said it automatically, without stopping to think about it first. Then he bit his lip, knowing he shouldn’t have answered. He didn’t talk about Wendy and the boys. Not to anyone.

She was silent for a moment, and Romano thought maybe she’d decided to grant him a reprieve.

“And what about your little boys?”

You don’t talk about them to anyone. You don’t talk about your family to anyone. You don’t talk ? —

His thoughts were interrupted by his own raspy voice. “Justin and Jackson.” Why was he talking to her? Why was he compelled to answer her gentle questions? Why didn’t he just tell her to shut up and mind her own damned business?

“How old?”

“Justin was four. Jack was only two.”

“No.” Her hand rose to her lips and moisture filled her eyes. Then she touched him. There was no stopping her this time. Her hand covered his white-knuckled one on the steering wheel.

His foot hit the brake without his permission.

The car jerked to a stop in the middle of the narrow road, and the pickup behind him blasted its horn before going around.

He barely noticed. Grief blinded him, and the lump in his throat had swelled to encompass his entire chest. It was suffocating him, choking him.

His hands on the wheel clenched tighter and he closed his eyes, shook his head. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” she whispered, just as if she knew exactly what he was talking about, even when he wasn’t even sure he knew himself. “It’s all right. Come here.”

And he did. Damn him, he did. He turned toward her and let her pull him into her arms. She cradled his head on her shoulder, massaging the back of his neck with one hand, rubbing his back with the other.

And it felt good, dammit. It felt good. So good that he put his arms around her waist and squeezed her closer.

So good that he didn’t pull away when she turned her head and pressed her soft lips to his cheek.

He felt the moisture, the warmth between his face and hers, and he wasn’t sure whose tears dampened his skin.

It didn’t matter. He was sinking in a stagnant sea of guilt and fury and pain.

And she was suddenly there, buoyant and light, just when he’d been about to drown.

Her goodness washed over him like a cleansing, fragrant wave.

Somewhere inside a voice whispered, Cling to her and save yourself, Romano. She’s your only hope.

And for one, insane moment, he did. He turned his face to her and slid his mouth over the satiny skin of her cheek and her jaw, and finally covered her lips.

He felt them tremble and then part in gentle invitation.

And it was an invitation he couldn’t turn down.

He tasted and drank from her. She was sweetness and light, innocence and fire, and he’d been without those things for so damned long they were drugging to him.

Addictive. All he wanted was more of her, more of her, more of her.

Because to let her go would be to return to the bleakness of reality.

It was her whispery sigh that snapped him back to sanity. And as he returned to himself, he knew what he’d done. He couldn’t go on with this. It wouldn’t be fair to use her that way.

Clenching his jaw, he straightened away from her. He was ashamed and embarrassed by the emotions that had swamped him. His cheeks were still wet.

So were hers. And her eyes, round and wet with glycerin tears. Her swollen lips remained parted, and he wanted them again when he looked at them. So he looked away.

He was supposed to be tough, strong. He was supposed to be in charge, protecting her from White and his thugs.

Not turning to her for comfort like one of her patients.

Not punishing her by letting his pain become passion and spending all of it on her.

She didn’t deserve that. What the hell was wrong with him?

How did she manage to dig so deeply into his soul with those eyes, extracting his most painful secrets with no more than a word, a look?