Chapter 11
“Just pull over here,” said Becky. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
The cabbie met her eyes in the rearview. “I come with you.”
She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Look, I don’t want him to see you. You’ll get your money.”
“So they always say, but I do not always get it. I come with you.”
How could I be so dumb?
She got all the way to the bus terminal forty minutes from here before she realized she left her wallet in the bedroom and couldn’t pay for the cab ride, no less a bus ticket out of this god-forsaken town. “Suit yourself.”
She glanced at the clock. Surely Rowan was awake by now, and she felt her stomach knot even tighter. She felt like a wayward teenager being returned home from the big city by the small town sheriff. Which was totally stupid, because she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Leave your things in the car,” said the driver.
“Oh, don’t worry, I will. I’m sure as hell not staying here.”
She got out and took the front steps two at a time. Rowan opened the door when she reached for it, and her stomach fell when her eyes met his.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked. “I’ve been worried sick. I thought you left.”
She pushed past him. “I did.”
“You did?”
“Yep.” She made a beeline for the stairs. “Just forgot my wallet.” She retrieved it from the nightstand and turned to head back down, but Rowan blocked her bedroom door.
“What the hell, Becky?”
He looked mad, and her palms began to sweat. “What the hell, yourself. I wanted to leave, so I left. I’m a big girl. I’m allowed to do that. You got your computer.”
He nodded. “You’re leaving because of what happened last night.”
“What?”
“Is that why you left?” He narrowed his eyes. “Because of what happened in the hallway?”
She scrunched up her face. The man was obtuse. “No.”
He took a step toward her. “Then why?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She moved to step around him. “I’ve got a cab waiting outside.”
“Then tell him to leave.”
“No.”
“Why?”
She was panicking. She didn’t want to stay here in this house with him. Didn’t trust herself if she did. This house…
“Whose house is this, Rowan?” She advanced on him.
“I told you. It belongs to a friend.”
“That’s a lie. Tell me the truth.” She gestured to the cab outside. “Or I’m hopping in that cab and leaving right now.”
He swallowed and stared at her intently.
“See you later.”
He grabbed her arm when she tried to turn away. “I can’t tell you, Becky. Please don’t ask me.”
She was suddenly furious. She’d had enough of these games, enough of the lies. “What does that mean, you can’t? What the hell’s the matter with you that you find a simple answer so incredibly complex? Is it an FBI safe house? Are you an FBI agent?”
“I would tell you if I could.” He put his hands in his pockets. “I should have stuck to the freakin’ moose story.”
“I wasn’t buying it.”
“Now here we are.”
They stared at each other, sizing one another up. It was Rowan who moved first, stepping close to her and closing the distance between them. “Trust me, Becky. I know that’s a lot to ask, but I need you to trust me. I’m the good guy here.”
I’m the good guy here.
Her gut told her it was true, but suddenly it was all too much.
He was married, but if you listened to him, he wasn’t really married.
He was totally lying about this house and who it belonged to and who did the grocery shopping and hunting freakin’ moose and about Marco and about God knows what else, but don’t worry, he’s not really lying.
Trust me.
“I don’t want to trust you. I want a straight answer.”
“I can’t do that.” He reached up and threaded his fingers through her hair, his short nails on her scalp giving her goose bumps, and she leaned into his hand.
Why am I letting him touch me?
Because it feels so good…
She could feel herself falling in, like a diver on a board falls into the water. Wasn’t there some reason she didn’t want to do this?
He’s been lying.
The thought failed to get a reaction from her as Rowan’s lips grazed hers, his teeth nibbling on her bottom lip.
Her mind went into overdrive, trying to focus on her reasons for turning tail just hours before.
Tamra! The scent of him thick in the room, the blanket slung low on his hips.
The cab driver honked his horn and Becky pulled back. She screamed toward the street, “Just a minute!” then turned back to Rowan and shook her finger. “If I stay here, we need to be able to drive a truck between the two of us. Do you understand? No touching, no kissing, no stares across the room.”
He licked his lip. “Okay.”
“You’d agree to anything right now.”
“Maybe.”
She nodded and took a deep breath. “I’ll stay.”
Becky expertly sliced two green peppers into thin long strips and added them to the bowl full of onions. Rowan was sifting through Tamra’s computer files and there wasn’t much Becky could do to help, so she figured she’d make herself useful.
She tried to remember the last time she made a meal for another human being.
Christmas? Maybe Easter. Surely it was a holiday and she was related to everyone at the table.
Now that Julie had moved away, Becky didn’t have anyone in her life she was close enough to sauté for.
The thought made her sad, and she dropped the knife to search for a big frying pan.
My life is full. I have a career. I date. I have fun.
Her defenses echoed in her head without finding purchase. She put the pan on the stove and turned the heat on high, a quieter voice now responding. It had always been enough, the life she had deliberately chosen, eyes wide open. But she now knew it would never be the same.
I want a family. A husband. I want a baby.
“Whoa, big fella,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head.
Where the hell did that come from? She was a woman of black and white with little tolerance for the variances in between.
Two days ago she’d been completely content with her life, and now she was utterly unhappy with it. All because of him.
She stole a glance at Rowan in the next room.
He was totally focused on his work, unaware of her stare, and she took the opportunity to observe him unnoticed.
Was it any wonder she had a hard time keeping her hands off him?
He was like a giant piece of man candy with a big red bow that said, “FOR BECKY”.
Walking back to the stove, she added a small amount of oil and watched as it spread in a wavy circle. She threw in the vegetables, which hissed and popped.
Maybe once all this was over, she and Rowan could start from square one.
Go to dinner and a movie without worrying about his missing wife, son, and marriage in general.
What would it be like to be with Rowan, unencumbered?
Would he still be interested in her months down the line?
More important, if he lied to her now, would he continue to lie to her once their lives returned to normal?
She scraped the bottom of the pan with the spatula to unstick the onions, pungent steam rising into her face as a frown turned down one corner of her mouth.
No matter how much time passed, she would still be interested in Rowan.
Of that she was sure. Hell, he could probably stay married to Tamra for ten or twelve years, have a few more kids who really were his, then show up unannounced and she’d be all over him.
I’m such a loser.
Grabbing a red potholder, she opened the oven and withdrew a cookie sheet full of sizzling chicken nuggets and tater tots.
Maybe she’d find someone else, and fall head-over-heels gaga for him, forgetting all about Rowan in the process.
She tried to imagine what this new man would look like, but all she could see what Rowan’s handsome face, mocking her imagination.
The food was ready and she should call him in, but she found she had lost the desire to share. Let him go hungry for a while, then his wife can make him a sandwich.
She was halfway through her fajita when Rowan walked in the kitchen and she looked up, cheeks full like a chipmunk.
“I found a strange email.”
She spoke with her mouth full. “I thought you were looking at forgers.”
“I did. I can’t find anything similar anywhere. So I started going through her personal files.” He got out a plate and began helping himself to the food, her eyes following him. “She wrote someone two weeks ago to confirm a meeting in Manchester, Vermont for tomorrow afternoon.”
“So?”
“So, she was supposed to go back to Italy with me yesterday.”
Becky stopped chewing. Rowan continued, “Unless she totally got her dates messed up. I mean, Manchester’s not that far from Boston.”
She forced herself to swallow, her mind well ahead of her voice. “But what if she didn’t mess up the date?”
He turned to look at her.
“What if she had every intention of making that meeting, and no intention of going back to Italy with you.” She could see the moment her meaning hit home.
“Anthony’s father.”
She nodded.
“You think she might be meeting Gianni, and leaving me.”
“It’s possible.”
He sat down across from her, his features slack. “If you’re right, you know what this means.”
“Tamra wasn’t kidnapped.”
He checked his watch. “I need to call Enzo.”