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She used to be, Talia thought, recalling how envious she had been of the other woman.
Regardless, Jeannie greeted her first. She thanked Talia for coming, and they gazed at each other in a moment of silence.
Then Jim appeared at his wife’s side, and Talia realized how hard he must have worked to fit in, to be accepted as Danny’s stepfather.
To Talia, it didn’t seem worth it. Especially when she met Aaron’s family. The scowling woman wasn’t his mother. She was his disapproving aunt. His mother was more reserved, offering a proper hello. By no means was she rude. But she didn’t make Talia feel welcome, either.
Her name was Roberta, and she looked about sixty, with mildly graying hair, strong features and pale lipstick. At thirty-nine, Aaron was an only child. He’d given Roberta a grandson she adored, but he hadn’t been a good husband to the boy’s mother. Talia could tell that Roberta wasn’t pleased about that. She’d wanted Aaron and Jeannie to stay together forever.
A short while later, Roberta and her sister engaged in a conversation in their Native tongue, and Talia assumed this was commonplace. That most of the people at the party spoke some sort of Indian language.
Aaron sat closer to Talia than he should have. His shoulder kept bumping hers, and she wanted to push him away. He was bandying around Native words, too. Something she’d never heard him do before.
By the time all of the entrées were served by Jeannie and the women in her family, the kids had been rounded up to eat. Aaron led the group in a blessing of thanks, and Talia remained still. Why hadn’t he ever prayed in front of her before? Why hadn’t he ever blessed the food just the two of them had shared?
Talia picked up her fork. The meal was a combination of Mexican and Native dishes. She ate tamales and enchiladas, with beans and rice on the side. She was curious to try the Native food, but she decided not to indulge, not with Aaron sitting so deliberately close, the heat from his body radiating next to hers.
Finally, Thunder and Carrie arrived. He held his pregnant fiancée’s hand and apologized for being late. Then he greeted everyone individually, hugging his relatives and scooping the birthday boy into his arms.
Danny laughed, and Thunder winked at Carrie. They looked incredible together, Talia thought. It didn’t matter that she was Anglo. Thunder had always dated non-Native women. But his side of the family was open to mixed relationships. His parents, who lived in Arizona, loved Carrie as if she were their own. Of course, Carrie had a miniscule amount of Cherokee blood. But she wasn’t registered with the tribe, so to most Indians, that made her white.
Thunder and Carrie sat at the same table as Aaron and Talia, for which Talia was grateful. Carrie was her ally, a newfound friend. They’d gotten close while the other woman had been struggling to reunite with Thunder.
“It’s good to see you,” Carrie said, her highlighted hair blowing softly around her face.
“You, too.” Talia tried not to let down her guard, to make everyone aware of how much Carrie’s presence meant to her. But she sensed that Carrie knew. They’d confided in each other about the men they loved.
Or used to love, Talia corrected in regard to herself. She wouldn’t dare feel that way about Aaron again.
After the meal, the gathering turned traditional. Talia was right; the blanketed object was a drum. Aaron uncovered it, and he and a group of men sat in a circle around it and burned a fragrant herb.
A burning bundle of the same herb was passed among the guests, too. “It’s sage,” Carrie whispered to her. “You can purify yourself with it. Or you can choose not to. No one will be offended.”
“Because I’m not one of them?” she whispered back.
Carrie gave her a sympathetic look, and when the sage came Talia’s way, she didn’t fan the smoke over herself the way everyone else did. She was too uncomfortable to try to fit in, so she passed the small, yarn-wrapped bundle to the person beside her without participating. Aaron chose that moment to glance up at her. Talia held his gaze for as long as she could. And then he blinked and looked away, as though he shouldn’t have been watching her from his sacred spot at the drum.
Soon the men were singing. They started with “Happy Birthday,” honoring Aaron’s young son with a thumping beat. He grinned like the sweet child he was.
Talia’s heart reacted with a maternal ache. She used to imagine having children with Aaron. Danny, with his silky dark hair and warm brown eyes, should have been their little boy.
The songs that followed sounded like chants. Most of the partygoers danced, moving in a rhythmic circle. Thunder and Carrie offered to teach Talia the steps, but she declined, concerned about drawing attention to herself.
When the singers took a break, the cake was served and Danny opened his gifts, with friends and family gathered around him. He thanked everyone, going from guest to guest, doling out hugs. When he embraced Talia, she wanted to cry. But she forced a smile instead, keeping her ache deep inside.
After the singers, including Aaron, returned to the drum, Talia decided it was time for her to leave. She said goodbye to Thunder, Carrie and Danny, then she thanked Jeannie and Jim for their hospitality. They were gracious, and their kindness made the ache inside her grow even deeper.
When she walked away, she wondered if Aaron was watching her again. She wasn’t about to turn around and find out.
Talia left without looking back, even though the sound of his voice and the tribal song he was singing stayed with her.
Long after she went to bed that night.
Aaron didn’t bother to knock. On Monday morning, he walked straight into Talia’s office, knowing he would tick her off.
With the phone pressed to her ear, she looked up and glared at him. He ignored her polarized expression and sat in a chair that faced her desk. Her office wasn’t as upscale as his, but she’d added feminine touches. Pretty dust collectors, he supposed. He’d always been aroused by the ladylike things she kept around. The gun she carried, a pearl-handled pistol, turned him on but good. Not that it should. The snub-nosed .38 was a weapon she would probably like to use on him.
Aaron cringed at the thought, imagining her aiming it at his fly.
She finished her call, and he slid a paper plate covered in aluminum foil toward her.
“What’s that?”
“Open it and find out.”
“Fine.” She lifted a corner of the foil. “Indian food?”
“Fry bread left over from the party.”
“If I didn’t eat it there, why would I want it now?”
He tore off a chunk and tried to feed it to her. The powdered sugar had caramelized. “Because it’s greasy and good.”
She waved him away. “Knock it off.”
“And you wonder why I didn’t marry you. My aunt thought you were a bitch.”
“Really?” That got her goat. “Well, I thought she was a bitch, too.”
Sometimes she was, but he kept that thought to himself. He ate the piece of fry bread Talia had refused, and she shifted in her chair.
“What did your mother think of me?” she asked.
“She didn’t trust you. You’re too La Femme Nikita for her tastes.”
She flipped her hair. “I try.”
“Don’t I know.” He wanted to make breathless love to her. Today she was wearing a blouse that rivaled the cobalt color of her eyes, and her skirt exposed just the right amount of thigh.
“Why did you invite me, Aaron?”
“To the party?” He caught a glimpse of lacy camisole beneath her blouse. “Because you complained about not meeting my family.”
“And now I have.”
“Yes, you have.” He covered the fry bread. “And it didn’t make a difference, did it?”
“Which means what? That you’re off the hook for hurting me? Nice try, but life doesn’t work that way.”
He smiled, keeping it thin and sharp. “You’re not over me, Tai.”
Her skin almost paled. “You wish.”
He argued his point. “If you didn’t care about me, you wouldn’t be holding a grudge.” He picked up a glass figurine from her desk. It was shaped like a butterfly. He traced each fragile wing, memories assaulting his mind. Talia had a tattoo of a butterfly on her bikini line. He’d been with her when she’d gotten it.
“Put that down,” she told him.
“Why?”
“So you don’t break it.”
“I’m being careful.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word.”
Part of him wanted to shatter the butterfly. Talia hadn’t made the slightest effort at the party. She hadn’t even tried to make a favorable impression.
He set down the figurine. If he didn’t, he would break it, snap its delicate wings in half. “Where’s the Gamblers Anonymous list?”
She opened a file on her computer. “I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what? Change the subject without warning you? Would you rather talk about how not-over-me you are?”
“Go to hell.”
As if he hadn’t been there already. After Talia walked out on him, he’d saddled up with Satan too many times to count.
She activated her printer and handed him a copy of the Nevada GA list she’d compiled. “Happy?”
“Are you?” he shot back.
“Ecstatic,” she droned. “I can’t wait to become your phony wife.”
“We’re going to sleep in the same room.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged.”
“How? Are you going to contract Julia and Miriam’s hit man to do me in?”
“If only I could. We don’t even know who he is.” Suddenly he thought about the person who’d asked them to help the FBI find Julia and Miriam. Thunder’s brother, Dylan, was the concerned party. Dylan had inadvertently rescued Julia from a kidnapping just days before she and her mother had disappeared, and now he was tangled up in their lives. Dylan even felt guilty about the assassin, but that was a long story.
“I don’t need to hire someone to take you out,” Talia said. “I could do it myself.”
“Go ahead and try,” he retorted. “Better yet, you can do it while we’re sharing a room.”
“I’m serious about that, Aaron.”
“So am I. It’s part of our cover.”
“Bull.”
“If we’re going to pull this off, if we’re going to become a married couple, then we have to behave accordingly, to get into character, to make our cover believable.” He glanced at the fragile butterfly, itching to touch it again, to threaten to break it. “We’re not going to blow this, Talia. We’re not going to put our lives on the line.”
She gave him a cynical look. “No matter how much we want to waste each other?”
Touché, Aaron thought, recalling her pearl-handled gun. “We’re going to pose as a couple on vacation in Nevada. I’ve been working on the details.” He paused, explained further. “I’ve got a makeup man on the payroll who will teach us how to change the way we look, just to be sure that the assassin doesn’t recognize us. We don’t know who he is, but he might know who we are.”
“I don’t mind changing my appearance.”
He took an unabashed gander at her. “I’m still deciding on the color of your hair.”
“Red,” she told him.
“We’ll see.” He wanted to tug her head back, to use her hair to rein her in. “SPEC will provide us with new identities, but I’ll make sure the feds approve them.”
“How long will we be gone?”
“Two weeks. Three if we need more time. I’ll make the travel arrangements.”
“I’ll be there with wedding bells on.” She fluttered her lashes, then mocked him with a breathy seduction. “I can’t wait to shack up with my husband.”
He didn’t appreciate her rotten-tempered wit. He stood and left her office, wanting to choke himself with his tie, right before he strangled her with it.
There was nothing funny about how badly he wanted to check into a hotel with her.
Nothing at all.
Three
Less than a week later, Talia sat next to Aaron on a flight that took them to Reno. Silent, she sipped apple juice and picked at the snack the flight attendant had distributed.
As specified, Aaron had created their cover, right down to her auburn wig. The chin-length hairstyle he’d chosen for her was straight and sleek. The designer clothes he’d suggested were from last season’s collection. He’d told her that she was going to play an elegant thirtysomething wife who stood by the man she’d married. Or that was the impression she gave. In truth, she was struggling to hold her emotions together, to remain loyal to a gambler who maxed out their credit cards, drove a car that was beyond his means and insisted on the finest foods and best hotels.
A pretentious Californian, she thought.
The trip to Nevada was the husband’s idea. He wanted to hit Reno, Carson City, Las Vegas and Laughlin, sightseeing in between. But his wife had other ideas. Once their vacation was under way, she was going to threaten him with divorce if he didn’t get some help.
According to Aaron, they loved each other. Deeply, desperately. So her threat was going to work. But not without a struggle. He didn’t want to lose his wife, but he didn’t want to admit that he was a compulsive gambler. That he was ill. That his actions were destroying their lives.
Talia glanced at Aaron. He’d changed his appearance, too. He’d added threads of gray to his hair, making him seem a bit older than he was. He’d changed the color of his eyes with greenish-gold contacts and dusted his skin with an amber-hued bronzer, softening the deep, dark tone. Like Talia, his features had been altered with carefully applied prosthetics. Although he still carried an ethnic flair, his heritage wasn’t easy to define. To her, he looked like a suntanned American with European roots.
He toasted her with his cocktail, and Talia wished that his non-Native genetics were real. If his culture hadn’t been an issue, he would have married her all those years ago. Their relationship would have worked.
After their plane touched down in Reno, Aaron rented a luxury car, which they would use on the remainder of their trip.
His new name was Andy Torres, and hers was Tina. They lived in Los Angeles, and he was a real estate agent who gambled away most of his commissions, chasing his dream to win big and maintain the lifestyle he craved. She ran a successful Internet business, but his losses were cutting into her hard-earned endeavors and putting them deeper in debt.
