скачать книгу бесплатно
Her gaze shot to his face, and he saw some of the old fire in her eyes. “What would you call threatening a baby?”
“What?” She’d startled it out of him this time.
She started to pace the office, and when she spoke it came out as if rehearsed. Or as if she’d been thinking what she would say to him for a very long time.
“It wasn’t enough for your parents to tell me I was ruining your life, that I had no place in it, that I would never, ever be good enough to be a Colton. I already knew that anyway. And I knew you knew that, and you wanted me anyway.”
“I never thought that.” The words came out sharply, because they were true. He’d known that because of her past Jolie carried around some pretty strong feelings of worthlessness. He’d had it all figured out, how he would help her get past that, that one day she would really, truly believe how crazy in love with her he was. But she vanished before he ever had the chance.
She kept pacing, the words coming out in a rush. “I’m not talking about what you believed. I’m talking about what I believed. And deep down I believed every word they said was true. But I still said no. I told them I loved you, and I was staying.”
He drew back slightly. “You did?”
“Yes.” Her mouth tightened. She stopped, turned, looked at him. “That’s when your mother brought out the big guns.”
“She has them,” he said neutrally, although it was difficult under the steady gaze of those gray eyes. But he knew well enough, his mother used her weapons on him often enough, imperiously wielding her power as the Colton matriarch to get her way.
“She told me if I stayed, she would make my life a living hell. With a few potent examples.”
He hadn’t actually thought about that. He’d known his mother didn’t approve, didn’t think Jolie was good enough—although he’d never been certain if she’d meant good enough for him, or good enough to be a Colton—but he hadn’t thought it through to how she might express that disapproval had Jolie stayed. He knew too much of his mother’s ways to take that lightly now.
“And then,” Jolie said, stopping in front of him, a mere two feet away, meeting his gaze levelly, “she promised to do the same to Emma. To make her life hell, to make sure she always knew she didn’t belong, she wasn’t welcome, she was unworthy and despised.”
T.C. went very still.
“And to top it all off, she dropped some very pointed hints about children having accidents on ranches all the time.”
He couldn’t imagine even his mother threatening that. Emma had been a baby, helpless, innocent.
And your father’s a frail old man, and you’re wondering if she killed him.
“She wouldn’t have done it,” he said, but there was enough uncertainty in him to make the words less than convincing.
“I couldn’t take that risk. Not with Emma.”
He was shaken, he couldn’t deny that. Told this way, what his parents had done seemed much more nefarious. And the threat to Emma, then only months old, was more than a little disturbing. And made him wonder again, just how far would his mother go to get what she wanted?
“And the money?” Jolie said, her voice fierce now. “I took it so Emma would have chances I never did. It’s in a trust fund, for her. I’ve never touched a penny of it, and I never will.”
T.C. stared at her, a little awed at that ferocity, of the depth of her love for her daughter. He’d known it before, or thought he had, but at this moment she took his breath away.
But then Jolie Peters had always taken his breath away.
His own reaction, the swiftness of his response to her, as if the last four years had never happened, unsettled him. And that made his voice sharp when he grasped at something—anything—as distraction. “Why are you here now?”
Something flashed in her eyes, and her expression went from fierce to frightened in the space of a split second. He saw her take in a deep breath, as if she needed it to steady herself.
“Someone’s trying to kill Emma.”
Chapter 5 (#ulink_c118ff58-b195-5a37-a250-2bdb5c32819c)
She’d never put it in words until this moment. And now that she had, Jolie felt an icy chill go down to her bones.
Someone was trying to kill her precious girl.
And, she realized as T.C. stared at her, he didn’t believe her. As easily as if they’d never been apart, she read him. “Have I ever been prone to hysteria?”
“You weren’t, no.” The implication that things could have changed in the past four years was clear.
“Still not.” She took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “Emma witnessed a murder.”
She saw his eyes widen. Those vivid green eyes that had melted her with a glance.
“I think you’d better sit down,” he said after a moment, gesturing toward the leather couch in the sitting area of his office. It had changed, she realized belatedly. The entire office had been redone since she was last here. Even the desk had been replaced. She wondered at that; he’d always cared little about the trappings, it seemed unlike him to just redecorate on a whim.
“New couch,” she said as she sat, wondering if it sounded as inane to him as it did to her. “Among other things.”
He didn’t sit beside her. He sat in the big, matching chair positioned at a right angle to the couch. The chair was a subtle statement of who had the right to private real estate in this setting, the reminder of who was in charge in this domain. As if anyone could ever forget.
But he’d never done it to her before, in the few times she’d been here.
He stared at her, his expression almost grim. It hit her then, a memory so hot and strong it nearly sucked the air out of her lungs; the day she’d tried to tease him out of here, to get him to take a break from preparing for some upcoming high-powered negotiation with an Angus breeder in Kansas. They’d ended up making love on his desk, urgently, and then again on the couch, long and slow and sweet.
No wonder he’d gutted the place.
And she guessed she knew now how he’d handled her abrupt departure.
“Talk,” he commanded.
She didn’t quibble over his tone, or the sharp order. He had every right. It took her a moment to get started, although she’d thought of nothing but how she would explain all the way here; it had helped keep her mind off the terrifying knowledge that someone had actually tried to grab Emma. But once she had begun, it came pouring out in a rush.
And rather confused. But he didn’t stop her, or ask questions, and she knew he was more than capable of taking her rather scattered account and putting it in order. It was one of the things that made him so good at what he did, better even than his half brother Fowler, who was the more famous—and infamous—Colton of the two. As president of Colton Inc., Fowler loved all the trappings and used them to aid in his wheeling and dealing, while executive vice president Thomas simply did what needed to be done to keep things rolling. She had little doubt which of them Colton Inc. would miss more.
“She tried to do a sketch with the police artist,” she said when the story was finally out, “but she’s only four. She couldn’t describe much more than her eyes. Then last night it was dark and she was terrified.” Her fingers were knotted together and resting on her knees, the only way she could stop them from shaking. “But it was a woman. It has to be the killer.”
He just looked at her, in that quiet, assessing way he had. She made herself go on.
“I know it’s crazy, asking you for help. But with you, at the ranch, is the only place I’ve ever felt completely safe. And I know you loved Emma, once. So when the police asked me if there was someplace safe I could take her...”
He still said nothing as her voice trailed off. She steeled herself, and sat up a little straighter. She saw something flicker in his eyes then, as if something had shifted in his clever brain. But still he said nothing. And even knowing it was a tactic, knowing he used silence as a tool, she felt compelled to fill it. And to give him the acknowledgment he deserved.
“I know you hate me, and you have every right. Nothing, not even your mother’s threats, can change the fact that from your point of view, I took money to leave. But this is for Emma—as was that, not that it makes any difference to you—and I’d do a lot more than beg to keep her safe.”
“Would you.”
It wasn’t a question, and Jolie belatedly realized how her last words could be interpreted. She felt her cheeks heat but told herself at least he’d finally spoken. But then she had a sudden vision of him demanding sex in return for his help, of him taking out whatever anger at her remained, ruining forever the sweet memories that were all she had left of that brief, too-brief time in her life when she’d thought she’d truly found her place.
“So you really think I’d do that,” he said, his voice harsh.
She looked at him, realized she’d forgotten he read her as easily as she read him, and that he’d guessed what she’d been thinking. The sex part, anyway; she doubted he could guess at how much those memories tormented her. She made herself hold his gaze, and it was one of the hardest things she’d done since the night she’d left him.
“No. You would never use that to punish, even if you wanted to.” Her mouth twisted. “Besides, you can’t want me anymore.”
“Oh, I want you,” he said, his voice so harsh now it made the admission more a threat than anything. “But, lady, I can’t afford you.”
The words she doubted had ever been spoken by a Texas Colton in decades echoed in the space between them. But she knew how he meant it. And for the first time she had an inkling of what her departure had cost him emotionally.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, meaning it fiercely. “Sorrier than you can ever know. But I couldn’t make her live like that, under your mother’s hatred. I took the only chance I would ever have to make sure Emma would never grow up like I had to.”
“So you made your little deal with the devil.”
She blinked. “These are your parents we’re talking about.”
“Exactly.”
Her brow furrowed. He’d never been blind to his parents’ quirks, but he’d never been this critical. It struck her as especially odd now, with his father missing. But she didn’t want to go there, so she said nothing.
“Where have you been?”
He sounded as if he’d fought asking, so she considered her answer carefully. “Here.”
“You never left Dallas?”
“Only for a while. I went to school. Came back. Had a couple of jobs, worked my way to where I am now.”
He looked at her over steepled fingers. “Which is?”
She gave him a sideways look. “I work at a hotel.” She decided not to tell him at the moment that her hotel could be seen through the big windows of this office. Or that she’d hesitated taking the job for that very reason.
“Doing?”
“Sous-chef. Mainly I work in one of the restaurants, although I’m on the banquet staff, too.”
She waited, thinking silence could work in both directions, and that she could do it, now that she was a little calmer. And if answering these questions would get him to help her keep Emma safe, the cost would be little enough.
“Stayed in the kitchen, then.”
He didn’t say it the way some did, his mother in particular, who had a way of using the phrase “kitchen help” that had set her teeth on edge.
“It was what I knew.”
“Use us as a reference?”
That cut, and she knew he’d meant it to. He would never belittle her job, he respected honest work. But what she’d done...
She pulled herself together inwardly. She’d done what she’d done, she’d thought it her only option at the time, and she couldn’t change it. She’d apologized, both for coming here and for what had happened four years ago. He deserved that. And she would beg, if she had to, for Emma. But she wouldn’t grovel at his feet. She would find another way.
“If I’d been braver, and smarter—and less scared for my daughter—at the time, I would have demanded a glowing reference as part of the deal.” She got to her feet. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Colton.”
“Leaving so soon?” He didn’t even react to the formality. She realized she was getting a taste of what negotiating with him must be like.
“This was obviously a mistake.” She grimaced. “I thought I was past making them this big, but obviously I was too scared by last night to think straight.”
His jaw tightened. She wondered if it was in outrage that she’d had the nerve to even begin to think he might help her. She wouldn’t blame him if it was.
“I can’t change what happened, but I am glad to have had the chance to apologize and explain. I know it makes no difference to you, but it does to me.”
She turned and walked toward the door. Her heart was sinking, and she felt panic hovering anew. Mrs. Amaro, she thought desperately. Perhaps she would watch Emma tonight while Jolie went back to the apartment and gathered some things. She didn’t want the girl to go back there, wondered if she would ever feel safe there again, even if the killer was found.
And then they would go...somewhere. She didn’t know where, but somewhere safe. She would think of something.
She had to.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_cbf46e47-365c-5f28-9bd8-32939e63a141)
T.C. watched her go. He was so angry at himself he said nothing. Well, angry at his body, anyway, for the instant, fierce response to her. If he’d had half that response to anyone else, he’d likely be married and have produced the precious grandkids his father kept nagging him about.
Had kept nagging him about.
And that unwelcome thought made him realize that after that first moment, he’d never once thought of Fowler’s accusations.
“Jolie.”
She stopped, half turned back to look at him. He steeled himself and ignored the flash of hope he saw in her eyes.
“Have you seen my father?”
Her brow furrowed. She seemed genuinely bewildered by the question. “Of course not. I would have told you, first thing. And the police. I wouldn’t have forgotten that, no matter what that woman did last night.”
Out of what he told himself was idle curiosity, he asked, “I thought it was too dark to see?”
“It was. That’s why I can’t say for sure she was blond. It could have been the light.”
“Then how are you so sure it was a woman at all?”
“I could tell when I tackled her.”
He drew back slightly. “Tackled her? You tackled an armed assailant?”
“Of course,” she said with a frown. “She had my little girl.”
And a knife, T.C. thought. Jolie might not have had the strength of will to stand up to his mother and father four years ago, but as a mother, she was clearly a tigress.
He wondered, only briefly because the images the thought caused were beyond disturbing, if the would-be abductor was indeed this killer, why she hadn’t simply killed the child—the witness—in her bed? Why try to take her? Had she intended to just kill the girl, but panicked when she was caught in the act? Had Jolie interrupted a murder?
And why was he even wondering, when he was not involved? He was so not involved, he insisted to himself.
When he said nothing more, she turned back and opened the door to the outer office.
