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“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ed must have heard the pain and weariness in her voice because he instantly fell silent, an unusual state for her father. “I don’t want to go into it right now, but you’re going to have to trust me on this one. Things have gotten pretty bad around here.”
When he remained silent, Lara knew exactly what he was thinking. He’d told her more than once it’d almost killed him when her mother had left him. She’d been the only woman he’d truly loved, and it was Lara’s theory he’d been searching ever since for the same feeling.
After a moment, he asked quietly, “Is it another man, baby? Are you in love with someone—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I’m not in love with anyone else. It…it just isn’t working, Ed, and hasn’t been for years. That’s all I can say for now.” The vehicle’s heater suddenly kicked in and sent a blast of feverish warmth toward her face. “I’ll call you from the hospital as soon as I know something.” She reached over and switched off the phone, then did the same with the heater.
After fifteen more minutes of fighting the snow and wind, she pulled under the overhang at the Red Feather hospital.
THE HOSPITAL WAS like hospitals everywhere. Cold, stark and sterile. Lara shivered as she raced down the corridor toward the emergency room. He had to be okay, she told herself. Theresa hadn’t seemed too upset and God knew how competent she was. On the other hand, that was part of the problem. The world could be exploding and Theresa Marchante probably wouldn’t react.
A flashing red light above one of the doors caught Lara’s eye and she hurried toward its blinking beacon, the crimson letters ER standing out against the white of everything else. Her throat was tight and clogged as she pushed open the door and rushed inside.
In contrast to her own turmoil, the room inside was peaceful and quiet. It was too early for the skiers who’d be brought in later, and the drunk drivers from the night before were all long gone. The only people in the waiting area were a mother and father, a small child cradled between them who looked lethargic and stuffy.
Lara quickly crossed to the desk that lined one wall. “I’m Lara Harrison,” she said, leaning over a high Formica barrier. “My husband, Conley was brought in a little while ago. I think it was a car accident—”
The woman behind the counter wore a brightly colored nurse’s smock, her hair tied back in a no-nonsense fashion. She tilted her head in a puzzled way. “You’re Mrs. Harrison? I thought…” She shook her head then finished her sentence. “There’s a woman with him. I got the impression she was Mrs. Harrison.”
A cold chill rippled over Lara before she understood, relief hitting her hard when she did. “You must be thinking of Theresa. She’s his attorney. She found him.”
A chagrined expression crossed the nurse’s features. “I’m so sorry…I just thought…” She broke off her words. “Please go on back. He’s in cubicle number one. I believe the doctor’s with him right now.”
Lara followed the woman’s wave toward a door on one side. Stepping into a long corridor sectioned off by curtains, she quickly located the first one. She pushed aside the dark-blue fabric and her heart stuttered to a stop.
Conley sat on a metal examining table. Theresa Marchante stood close beside him, patting his bare shoulder in a comforting way. She nodded at Lara, touched Conley one more time, then dropped her hand as Lara stared at Conley in distress. It was obvious someone had cleaned him up, but just as obvious he was hurting. A huge bruise on his temple was already turning black, the edges of it ragged and painful looking. His right pant leg had been sliced from his hip to his ankle, an angry swelling distorting the calf, a long, nasty cut on the side. His eyes were what stopped her, though. They were full of something Lara had never seen before. She ran to his side, Theresa stepping away slowly.
“My God…Conley…are you…are you all right?” Lara touched his jaw and then his arm, her horrified eyes taking in a litany of minor wounds she hadn’t seen from the doorway.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
From across the cubicle, an older man with his back to her spoke before Conley could, his voice deep and reassuring. He turned, a syringe in hand, a stethoscope around his neck. A name tag on his smock identified him as Dr. Sorelli.
“His injuries appear severe, but they’re mostly insignificant. Landing in the snowdrift saved his bacon, big time. You’re Mrs. Harrison, I presume?” The man’s manner was forthright, almost crusty and Lara suddenly realized why his name sounded familiar. He was well-known in town, having been in the emergency room for almost two decades.
Lara nodded, but her eyes stayed on her husband’s face. “Conley, I can’t believe this happened. Good grief—”
“I’m fine, Lara.” His words were brusque and curt, and somehow that made her feel better. He didn’t look like himself, but he sounded like himself. “It was a stupid accident, that’s all. I wasn’t paying attention when I crossed the street in front of the office. A car came out of nowhere and clipped me as I stepped up on the curb.”
Lara’s knees went weak. She gripped the edge of the bed and held on, fighting nausea as well. “A car hit you?” She turned to Theresa then sent her horrified gaze back to Conley’s face. “I thought you were in the Suburban…I thought there’d been a wreck, not this!”
The doctor came to where she stood. “If you’re going to faint, do it outside. I need to give him this shot and we can’t handle you, too.”
Pulling herself together, Lara nodded numbly then watched Conley wince as the needle went in. The doctor stepped back to the counter, dropped the syringe into a red jug then he started to wash his hands.
Lara had more questions, but Sorelli grabbed a towel and turned around, speaking before she could. “I want to keep you for a couple of hours, Mr. Harrison. For observation. Sometimes nasty things develop that we can’t see at first. After that you’ll need to take it easy for a day or two—”
“I can’t do that.” Conley shook his head then grimaced. “I don’t have time to be here as it is. I’ve got a flight to Baku tomorrow and work to do before I leave.”
The doctor crossed his arms. “You’re not going anywhere tomorrow. You’ll be lucky if you can make it from the bed to the bathroom without these little white pills I’m going to give you.”
“But I feel fine—”
“No, you don’t,” the doctor said, “and you definitely won’t tomorrow. Especially after I sew up that leg. It’s going to be stiff for at least a week.”
Conley’s mouth went into a familiar line of stubbornness and Lara stepped closer to the table. “You need to listen to him, Con.”
“She’s right.” Theresa spoke up from the side of the room. “You were lucky out there, Conley. Don’t be a fool. Stay home and take care of yourself.”
“And Baku?” he asked.
“Matthew could go,” Lara suggested.
Conley answered her, impatience heating his voice. “No, he can’t. Matthew designs the damn chips but I can’t let him near the clients, you know that. His people skills are nonexistent. We’d lose the account and then—”
“I can handle Baku.” Lara and Conley both turned to Theresa when she spoke.
“You don’t know the first thing about that account, Theresa.”
“You’re absolutely right,” she agreed, “but I can handle it. I’ll pick up the phone and tell them you’ve been delayed. If they don’t like it, that’s too bad.”
He seemed to hesitate for just a second, and Lara held her breath. She felt a tug of anger that he’d consider Theresa’s suggestion and not her own, but on the other hand, whatever worked, worked.
Reaching for the suture equipment he’d laid out on the counter, the doctor spoke again. “You’ll have to talk to the police, too, you know. We’ve already called them.”
Conley shot Lara a look, his gaze skimming hers in an unfamiliar way, something quick and fathomless shimmering there then swimming away before she could catch it. He turned to the doctor who was threading the needle. “That wasn’t necessary,” he protested. “It was a simple accident. All my fault, really. The car couldn’t have avoided me—”
“It was a hit and run, Mr. Harrison. The police have been called.” The doctor’s words were blunt but his touch was swift and professional. Within seconds, he had Conley’s wound closed with almost invisible stitches. He stepped back and appraised his work, then nodded, clearly pleased.
Snapping off his gloves he washed his hands once more and looked at his patient. “We’ll find you a bed and let you settle in. If you’re okay after a while, you can go home.” Smiling at Lara, he spoke a final time. “Good luck keeping him quiet, Mrs. Harrison. Something tells me you’re going to need it.”
CHAPTER THREE
CONLEY HAD NO intention of sleeping, but as soon as his head hit the starched white pillowcase, he found he didn’t have a choice. When he woke hours later, it was early evening. He was stiff and sore and felt as if…he’d been run over in the middle of the street.
Without moving, he opened his eyes. Lara sat in a padded chair on the other side of the bed, holding a magazine. She wasn’t reading it, just holding it. The look on her face broke what was left of his heart. A deep sadness darkened her gaze and there were lines of weariness around her mouth. Lavender shadows colored the hollows of her cheeks and made circles underneath her eyes.
He let his lids flutter down and cursed himself. She looked like that because of him. There was no other reason and he knew it.
His mind skipped back to the moments before the car had come down the street. It had been a car, he was sure. A coupe. He struggled to recall more details but none came. Almost with relief, he knew that was all he could tell the police. He had absolutely no proof that it’d been anything but an accident. Maybe the driver had kept going because he hadn’t even known he’d hit something.
The argument sounded hollow, even to Conley’s doped-up senses.
He kept his eyes closed but the shot the doctor had given him was working well and all the thoughts Con usually managed to control now refused to stay buried. The problems he’d managed to suppress for months eddied around him like the snow outside.
It had all started with the notes.
They’d been arriving for several months, some by regular mail, some by computer, one right after another. At first he’d been amused, then as they’d continued, he’d become annoyed. His answer had been to ignore them, but lately even that had become impossible. Whoever had been harassing him had decided it was time to turn up the heat.
But harassing wasn’t really the right word, he thought groggily. Harassing implied something different, something angry and abusive. The neatly typed letters and multiply-routed e-mails—all completely untraceable—were of a unique nature. They’d been full of admiration for him, full of praise for his accomplishments, for his successful business. Then they’d turned personal. Comments about his looks, remarks about his body. The author knew him well, so well Conley had become increasingly uncomfortable, even though the tone of the notes had never been threatening. Storing the letters in a safe at the office, he’d copied the e-mails to a file at home and passworded it so Lara couldn’t read it.
The phone calls had started after that. There was never anyone on the line. As bizarre as it sounded, it seemed as if whoever called just wanted to hear his voice. He’d say hello over and over, then the caller would quietly hang up. Finally the flowers had started; red roses sent to him every Monday.
The last straw had come when his coat had been stolen during a business lunch. He’d dismissed the problem as inconsequential, telling Lara he’d misplaced it, but the keys to his office had been in the pocket. He’d immediately had all the locks changed, but it didn’t seem to matter. A week later, someone got inside. Nothing had been taken, but he was positive someone had been there. Small things in his desk drawer had been rearranged and his chair had been left at a different angle. Worse, his computer had been accessed.
At that point, the problem took on a whole new meaning. Conley went to incredible lengths to maintain Harrison’s proprietary secrets. Was someone trying to breech that wall? Knowing Matthew would die before he’d tell anyone, Conley had enlisted his help. Together he and his engineer had added extra security to their entire system, but for a couple of weeks afterward, Conley had made it a point to spend one night a week at the office, varying the nights. He’d set up camp in the room next to his own and waited, but no one had shown up. Finally he’d given up and picked up the phone to call the police.
Then he’d put it back down.
Harrison’s was Conley Harrison. His investors were a nervous group and any hint, however remote, that something was amiss would send them flying faster than a covey of quails spooked by a retriever. Stalker, casual thief, corporate spy…they didn’t care.
If this “accident” was in any way connected to the notes and his moneymen found out, Harrison’s would be history, no matter how successful the company was. The fortune he’d made, the success he’d become…all of it would disappear. He’d be yesterday’s news, another bad businessman who wasn’t smart enough to hang on to what he’d made, his childhood poverty a mocking ghost that threatened to return.
Without the drugs swirling in his body, Conley knew he wouldn’t have even allowed himself to think about any of this. He opened his eyes and looked at his wife. The horrific problems at work faded as he remembered her words that morning.
He’d known they were coming to this crisis but seemed incapable of stopping it. The long, cold silences, the angry accusations, the way she looked at him when she thought he didn’t know. Everything had turned to shit and he didn’t know how to avoid the inevitable. Conley let his eyes close again, the lids too heavy to hold up, his thoughts too onerous to consider anymore.
With Lara’s pronouncement that morning, his future loomed before him. No career. No capital. No wife.
No life.
LARA SLIPPED BACK into the hospital room, the door closing behind her with a whisper. She hadn’t wanted to leave, but with Conley asleep, she’d decided to run home and get him some clothes and give Ed a quick call to tell him what was going on. He’d been apoplectic when she’d refused his demands to bring Conley to Boulder, but Lara had persevered. “They’re keeping an eye on him for a while. Basically, he’s fine.”
And he was. The doctor had already signed his release form. Despite being covered with bumps and bruises, some pretty nasty, Conley seemed all right.
But not exactly.
Placing the extra clothes she’d brought him in the bathroom, Lara came back and sat down, her eyes going to his still form. He appeared to be sleeping comfortably now, but before she’d left, he’d been turning restlessly, moaning from time to time. Lara had been shocked; Conley was the heaviest sleeper she knew. Was it pain that was bothering him or something more? She thought back to the look he’d sent her when Dr. Sorelli had said he’d called the police. What had that been all about? She’d wanted to ask, but in the end she’d said nothing because Conley wouldn’t have answered her, anyway. He’d have to give answers to the two cops who’d already come by, though. Explaining that he was sleeping, Lara had asked them to return later and they’d agreed.
Too jittery to sit still, Lara opened the door and stepped into the corridor. She was halfway to the coffeepot at the nurse’s station when Bess MacDougal came out of the elevator. The older woman was clutching the stethoscope around her neck, her face wreathed in concern. Her gray hair was piled on top of her head in a haphazard bun, jeans and sneakers peeking out from beneath her white coat.
“Lara! I’ve been doing rounds and I just now picked up my messages and got yours! Is Conley all right? What happened?”
Just seeing Bess made Lara instantly feel better. Ed’s third wife and the only one closer to his age than Lara’s, Bess was a pediatrician and Lara’s surrogate mother. She confided in Bess in a way she couldn’t with Sandy, even as close as they were. Sandy was a good friend, but Bess was…something more.
“Your office told me where you were,” Lara said. “I knew you’d come when you could.”
“How is he?”
“He’s fine,” Lara answered, “at least physically…” They sat down on a nearby couch and Lara gave Bess the details. “He seems awfully nervous, though. I don’t understand it.”
“Well, good grief, child, he just got hit by a car. You’d be a tad nervous yourself!”
Lara nodded. “You’re right. Things were so crazy this morning before he left I’m not thinking straight, I suppose….” She gave the older woman the rest of the story.
Without comment, Bess listened until Lara ran out of words. “Sandy thinks I’m an idiot,” she concluded. With a troubled frown, she looked up at Bess. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
“Oh, Lord, Lara…I don’t know.” Bess reached into her pocket and pulled out an orange sucker. She offered it to Lara then stuck it in her mouth when Lara turned it down. “Relationships aren’t exactly my strong point, you know. Ask your father if you don’t believe me….”
Something more than her usual self-depreciating humor echoed in Bess’s voice. Any other time Lara would have asked the other woman about it, but right now, her concern about Conley overrode everything else.
“I just don’t know what to do,” Lara said. “The last time we got to this point, I let him talk me out of it. When things slipped back into the same old routine, the pain was twice as bad.”
Bess patted her on the knee. “It always is the second time around.”
“I can’t go through that again. And I’m tired of trying. I have to protect myself.”
“Well, you’ve already made your decision, honey, so stick with it and see what happens. That’s all any of us can do. Young or old—” She started to say more, then her beeper went off. Grabbing the device and looking at it, Bess jumped up. “Oh, Lord, I’ve got to run! I’ve got a sweetie on the fourth floor who needs me. A bad case of flu—” She gave Lara a quick hug then flew down the hall toward the stairs. Wishing they could have talked more, Lara watched her leave. Bess would have been good for Ed, Lara thought for the ten millionth time. If they’d stuck together, he’d be a different man.
Turning around, Lara headed back to Conley’s room, her emotions more tangled than ever. When she cracked open the door, her confusion only grew.
Conley was sitting up in bed.
With his rumpled hair and unshaven jaw, he looked vulnerable, defenseless…and sexy, Lara realized with a pang. Conley had always been one of the most handsome men she’d ever known, but he’d gotten more so as he’d aged. His eyes, forever dark and intense, now held shadows in them that drew her even closer. The few threads of silver that gleamed in the hair at his temples only added to his attraction. In one of those strange twists that couldn’t be explained, the further apart they’d grown, the more appealing he’d become.
He lifted a hand to his forehead and touched his bandage. Then he threw off the sheets and started to get out of bed. Moving his right leg too quickly, he paled immediately, a sharp curse following the movement as he fell back against the pillows with a groan and pulled up the covers once more.
Lara couldn’t help herself; she hurried into the room and to the side of the bed. “Are you all right? Do you want me to call the nurse?”
Before he could answer, the door squeaked open again. Lara and Conley both turned at the sound, but under his sheets, Conley immediately tensed, his whole body going taut and rigid. She glanced down at him in surprise then faced the two men who stood in the doorway. The two cops who’d stopped by earlier looked back at her.
“So you finally woke up, eh, Mr. Harrison?” The taller of the two, Officer Margulies, Lara recalled, walked to Conley’s bed and held out his hand. He introduced himself and then turned to the shorter man beside him. The other one, Officer Fields, nodded at Conley.
“We came by earlier, but you were asleep. Your wife suggested we come back later.”
Conley’s mouth went tight. “She didn’t tell me you had come.”
“I didn’t have a chance yet.” Lara sent an apologetic smile to the officers, then a puzzled look to Conley. He was always short with his words, but he was rarely downright rude. “I was going to—”
“Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter,” Margulies dismissed her apology with a breezy wave of his hand. “We just wanted to talk to you about what happened, see if we can’t track down the son of a gun who put you here, that’s all.” His smile was friendly enough, but behind his demeanor, Lara caught an edge of determination. He pulled out a notebook and pen as a wave of tension rose from Conley’s bed. Lara was pretty sure the cops couldn’t tell, but she could. If he’d been able, Conley would have sprung from the bed and raced down the hall to get away from the men.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. “I’m sure it was an accident. The guy just didn’t see me—”
“So it was a male driver?”
Conley tightened his mouth. “I couldn’t tell for sure. I just meant the driver. Whoever he—or she—was, they couldn’t see me. The snow was too bad and I was crossing the street against the light.”
The cop wrote something. “Car, van, truck?”
“It was a car,” Conley said, almost grudgingly. “A coupe, I think.”
Margulies looked up. “Didn’t get a plate number by any chance, did you?”
Conley shook his head.
“Color?”
“I don’t know.”
