Notorious Page 24

  "What did you want to talk to me about?" Hayley asks.

  I have to clear my throat twice to speak past the lump in it. "Ty Holloway," I finally manage to say.

  The small, half-smile disappears from Hayley's face and her clear hazel eyes go cold and flat. "I don’t want to talk about that bastard."

  "I just wanted to let you know I took care of him for you. You do not have to worry about him ever again."

  "Well, that is very thoughtful of you," Hayley replies flatly. "But what did you do, escort him to the airport and personally put him on a plane out of town?"

  "No, uh…"

  "Because you’ll have to excuse me if I don't derive a lot of comfort from the thought. It’s a free country, after all, and there isn’t a damn thing we can do to prevent that asshole from coming back to wreak more havoc in my life if he wants to."

  "He will never bother you again, Hayley."

  "So you say." She slides off the hood. "Listen, I appreciate your efforts. You’ve been real sweet—"

  I can feel my spine lengthening and growing erect. Now I will finally hear those innermost thoughts from which I have thus far been excluded.

  "But I have to take off. I need to talk to Kurstin before I go to work."

  What? So unprepared am I for a betrayal of such magnitude, I can only mouth the word. And as usual Hayley is not paying me the least bit of attention as she rounds the Pontiac, opens the driver's door and slides behind the wheel without another word of explanation. I cannot believe it. Hayley is leaving me here to cool my jets while she hares off to her goddamn precious Kurstin?

  That bitch! That fucking bitch!

  "Listen, I will talk to you real soon," Hayley promises, starting the engine. "Maybe we can go bow-and-arrow shooting again one of these days."

  And practically before I know what’s what, my old friend puts the car into reverse and backs out onto the lake road. With a casual wave of her hand, she shifts into drive and roars off down the road.

  I call her a couple filthy female-anatomy-centric words as I pace back and forth in front of my car. God, I am a fool. Worse, a sap. I realized the moment I saw Hayley exit Jon-Michael's building that Holloway was right about that much at least. I had proof Hayley is whoring around with Jon-Michael, a man she professed to despise, and still I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

  Well, it is time I face facts. Hayley does not give two hoots about our friendship, and she is never going to confide in me. She probably would not even notice—let alone care—if I never got in touch again.

  Hell, she probably would not notice if I dropped dead.

  This is wrong. I gave her everything and got zip-all in return. What is so damn special about her that she can treat me this way? Nothing, that’s what. There is not one special thing about her at all.

  You stupid, unnatural girl.

  I freeze mid-stride. Then hug myself. Oh, God. Maybe that is it. Maybe Hayley, too, thinks I am stupid. Maybe all those times she said we were friends were nothing but a big pack of lies.

  Well, screw her! I explode into action, whirling toward my car and yanking the door open. I climb in and slam it closed behind me. Who the hell needs her? Jerking the safety shoulder harness across my body, I snap it into place. I am going straight home to dissemble that stupid closet-shrine I erected to my so-called good and great friend. Then I will go drag my husband back home, because I am tired of his shit, too.

  And fuck Hayley Granger Prescott!

  Nineteen

  It was blacker than the bowels of a West Virginia mine shaft, except for an infinitesimal red-hot core. Not that Ty could actually see that core. But damned if he questioned its existence. It pulsated somewhere just beyond his line of vision and he felt it for what it was: epicenter to the agony abrading his nerve ends like broken glass with every sluggish beat of his heart.

  Instinctively he understood it held the potential for his destruction. Breathing was sheer agony and a debilitating weight threatened to crush his chest, his face, his legs. He shifted his body with the utmost caution.

  The walls pressing down around him rumbled a warning and the canvas that covered his face parted. Dirt trickled into his eyes, his nose, his mouth. It slithered down his open collar. He immediately stilled.

  Oh Christ, oh Christ! He was buried alive. There must have been a cave-in. It was every miner's nightmare.

  Except—

  He wasn't a miner, was he? He had only been down in the mines two or three times in his life. Just enough to know he would do anything, anything at all, to avoid following his father's footsteps into that employment hell. But if he wasn’t a miner, he didn't get it. How the hell had he come to be trapped in a cave-in?

  Once again he pushed against the weight pinning him down and more dirt slid through the canvas to trickle over his face. Panicking, he kicked and bucked frantically in an attempt to fight his way free.

  The red pinprick at the nucleus of his blackout exploded in a crimson blaze of agony, rapidly expanding to the size of the sun. Ty froze, his body rigid, his teeth clenched to bite back an anguished scream.

  What happened? What the hell had happened to him?

  Kurstin's face flashed into his mind. Then Hayley Prescott's. Almost immediately both were superseded by Patsy Beal's.

  Holy shit, the crazy bitch shot him! She had shot him with a fucking bow and arrow, and the arrow must still be in him. Then she had...what? Buried him alive? She must have.

  Oh, God. Was he buried shallow? Buried deep? It could not be too deep, could it? Surely he would have noticed an open grave if one had been dug in the vicinity.

  A small sound of derision escaped his lungs. Yeah, right. He being such an observant guy and all so far.

  He took as deep a breath as his messed up chest would allow and determinedly pushed upward with his hands.

  It hurt. Jesus, God, it hurt, and the canvas he appeared to be wrapped in gaped wider with each successive struggle, allowing more dirt to dribble in. Pretty damn sure he was going to suffocate before he reached the surface, he started hyperventilating.

  Then his right hand suddenly broke through the earth and was bathed in warm air. His left hand and arm were weak, but gritting his teeth, he forced strength into them. What seemed like a lifetime, but was likely mere moments later, he was sitting up in a shallow grave, dirt and bits of the forest floor scattered around him.

  Greedily, he sucked in lungsful of pure, sweet air.

  Jon-Michael tossed his key ring into the abalone shell on the Stickley table. Two days ago he would have sung out at the top of his lungs, "Lucy, I'm hooome," ala Desi Arnez. Then again, two days ago everybody's lives had not been turned inside out. He held his silence and took the stairs to the loft two at a time.

  "Petunia?" he said softly, cresting the top stair. "I'm back."

  The room was empty.

  "Hayley?" Anxiety clutched at the pit of his stomach. It was too quiet; he knew without checking further she wasn’t here.

  Swearing softly, he strode to the closet. Ripping the door open, he stood listening to his own breath saw in and out of his lungs as he stared in numb surprise at her clothing. He had expected the rod to be empty, but her stuff was right where it had been this afternoon.

  He found her panties and the T-shirt of his she’d worn for the past two days in the bathroom hamper. Her make-up was still scattered across the counter. He sank down onto the closed toilet seat and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. Okay, good. She wasn’t gone forever. She had merely gone out for a while.

  He blew out a breath. She’d be back. If not by the time he had to go to work, then surely by the time he got home again.

  When Hayley found Kurstin's car in the garage but no Kurstin in the mansion, she walked down to the lake. She saw her friend, still in her upscale work clothes, sitting on the end of the dock.

  Hayley stepped onto the boards then stopped, staring uncertainly at her friend's back. Overwhelmed by a barrage of turbulent emotion, she stood fo
r a moment trying to figure out how to deal with them. Nothing helpful sprang to mind and conceding defeat, she pressed two fingers to her throat and softly cleared it.

  Kurstin's head snapped around. Seeing Hayley, she scrambled to her feet. "Uh, hi," she said, then hummed a kind of non-word. It made her feel like an ass and self-consciously she tucked her blouse into the waistband of her linen skirt, smoothed out the wrinkles creasing the fabric over her lap. Unable to sustain eye contact, she looked away to gaze blindly out at the lake. She felt disheveled and—for the first time in her life—awkward in Hayley's presence. She bent to pluck her suit jacket off the dock, but after straightening once again she simply folded it over her arm and hugged it to her stomach. She took a deep breath, softly expelled it and stiffened her spine. Then turned back to face her best friend once again.

  For a moment they simply looked at each other. Then Hayley gestured awkwardly toward the mansion. "Um, no one was home up there."

  "No," Kurstin agreed. "Ruth left for the day and Dad—well, who knows where he is?"

  “I am so mad at you," Hayley said in a rush, her voice low and fierce.

  She nodded. "I know."

  "I don’t have the first idea how to deal with all this fury. It wasn't supposed to be like this. You’re the one person I thought I could count on forever and you...dammit, you—"

  "Betrayed you."

  "Yes." Hayley held herself so rigidly she looked like a stiff breeze could snap her up and sent her scudding across the lake. "You turned my innermost insecurities into a public spectacle. I’m open game now, Kurstie, vulture bait. I cannot sneeze without someone wanting to report it on the news. God, how could you do that to me?"

  "I don't know. I—" Kurstin looked at her friend standing in front of her with her fists clenched and anguish in her eyes. Tears welled in her own but she blinked them back. "It just happened, Hayley—I didn't plan it. If I could take those few minutes back, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I swear I would."

  "I think I knew that all along." Hayley blew out an obviously frustrated breath but lost a little of the rigidity keeping her spine rebar-straight. She subjected Kurstin to an intense once-over. "And I truly am sorry about Ty. What he did to you... Well, that just stinks."

  Dammit! Kurstin could deal with Hayley's anger. It might break her heart but she could handle it. Her friend's sympathy, however, just did her in. Forcing composure in her voice, she said, "Yes, well, shit happens."

  To her dismay her control failed her in the middle of the last word and her voice cracked like a thirteen-year-old boy's. The tears she had been holding back by will alone rose in a rush, cresting her eyelids and overflowing. She whirled away, presenting Hayley with her back.

  "Oh, sweetie." Hayley's warm hands turned her back around and pulled her into a hug. "Don't go thinking this means my mad-on at you is over," she warned gruffly. But she hugged Kurstin tightly and stroked her hair with a gentle hand. "Still, the guy is an idiot," she growled. "You deserve so much better."

  Kurstin sobs grew audible. "I don't want better," she protested disconsolately. "I w-want Ty." She stiffened. "No! I do not mean that," she protested, pulling out of Hayley's arms. She sniffed inelegantly and knuckled her eyes. Her chin went up, wobbly but proud. "I wouldn't take him back on a bet."

  "Uh-huh. Who are you hoping to convince here, Blondie, me or you? If Patsy hadn't gotten Bigmouth Holloway out of town, you’d probably take him back in a heartbeat."

  Kurstin's heart clenched in anguish at the knowledge that he was well and truly gone, but she nevertheless protested, "I really wouldn’t. I have more pride than that."

  Hayley made a rude noise. She dug a folded tissue out of her jeans pocket and handed it over. "Here. Blow your nose. And face facts, Kurst. Life isn’t a Ranch romance where the spunky heroine gets to do the cool thing that brings the hero to his knees. We are idiots for men. I hate to say it, but it's true. They make our lives a misery, but do we boot their sorry butts to the curb?"

  Kurstin was pretty sure the despondency on her face said she couldn’t disagree, but Hayley went on as if she had. "No, we do not. Admit it. We welcome them back with open arms so the misery can live on. I think the best we can hope for is to make 'em pay a little first." She kicked off her sandals, unsnapped her jeans, and slid down the zipper.

  "Look at you!" she fussed, kicking off her pants. "You look like Bernice the Bag Lady. Slide out of those nylons, girl. There must be a half dozen runs in them. Hasn’t anyone told you pantyhose are passé?"

  “Dad insists I wear them at the office,” she mumbled.

  “And since when have you taken Richard’s fashion advice? Rip ‘em off. You have a certain image for elegance in this little backwater burg, which, I gotta tell you, at the moment you’re doing a piss poor job of upholding.”

  Hayley sat down on the edge of the dock and dangled her bare legs over the side, lazily swishing her feet back and forth in the cool water of the lake. When a moment passed without activity from her friend, she glanced over her shoulder. "Well, come on, hop to it," she said briskly. "Jeesh. You’d think nobody ever taught you to change out of your good clothes before going outside to play."

  Kurstin ripped off her pantyhose, hiked up her skirt, and sat down next to Hayley on the end of the dock. She swiped both cheeks with her hands, wiping away her tears. "Why are you being so nice to me? I thought you were supposed to be furious."

  "Yeah, well, I am. I didn’t say all is forgiven, Kurstin Elise, so don't go believing it is. But it occurred to me that if I write you off totally as my very best friend, that leaves me with...Patsy."

  An involuntary snort of laughter escaped Kurstin. It was the first spark of amusement she had felt in what seemed like a dog year. "Put like that," she said, "I guess you truly are stuck with me. Warts, bad judgment, and all. At least I have a sense of humor."

  "Not to mention how difficult it is to get Patsy across the trestle."

  Kurstin sighed and tilted her head to rest against Hayley's shoulder. "I truly am so very, very sorry. I screwed up majestically."

  "Yes, you did." Hayley slipped her arm around her waist and gave her a comforting squeeze. "But I wasn’t much of a friend to you, either. I’m not proud that when you needed my support the most, all I could think of were my own problems."

  Kurstin’s lips formed a moue as she expelled an exasperated breath. "You always were a perfectionist."

  "Yeah, and you're conceited. You don't just screw up like the rest of us peons, you screw up…how did you put it… magnificently?"

  "Majestically."

  "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Hayley nudged her shoulder into Kurstin’s. "Let's just agree everything wrong in the world truly is all your fault and leave it at that."

  Leaning against each other, they lazily swished their feet back and forth in the cool water and stared out over the lake for several silent moments. Then Kurstin nodded.

  "Good plan,” she agreed with a tiny smile. “I believe it’s a healthy thing, giving credit where credit is due.”

  I park in the lot at the Royal Inn, but make no move to climb out. A light wind ruffles the leaves of the birch trees, dappling the motel’s stucco exterior with shifting shade patterns. I watch three crows hop through the finely ground beauty bark beneath the rhododendrons. And draw a deep, cleansing breath for luck.

  Expelling it, I climb from the car and lock up. Staring at the building, I straighten my suit jacket. Brush nonexistent lint from my skirt. Then I square my shoulders and head for the building.

  Outside room 203 I pause for yet another calming breath. I have no idea why. It is not as if I am actually nervous or anything. I simply have not seen Joe for a while and want a moment to collect myself. Nothing more.

  I knock on the door.

  The volume on the television inside the room lowers and a moment later the door opens. Joe's face registers surprise when he sees me on his doorstep. "Oh...hey, Pats," he says and shifts awkwardly.

  "Hello, Joe. May I come in?"r />
  "Huh? Oh! Sure. Come on in." He steps back to allow me entrance. "Uh, sorry about the mess." He sweeps some Jockey shorts and dirty socks off the carpet and tosses them in the closet. Then he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. "I wasn't expecting company."

  The room is not at all the neatly kept space I demanded and came to expect when he lived at home. I perch on the edge of a chair and gingerly push aside several dirty glasses and fast food containers on the table next to me to clear a place for my purse.

  "Can I get you a glass of water? A soft drink, maybe?"

  "No, thank you. I will come directly to the point. I want you to come home."

  He stilled. "Uh-huh. Patsy—"

  "Before you say anything, please hear me out," I interrupt, sitting straighter on the edge of my seat. Is that pity on his face? I cannot abide pity—there is absolutely nothing pitiful about me. Stupid, ungrateful girl, mother's voice whispers in my brain. You will never amount to anything.

  "Dammit, Mama, shut up!" I mutter.

  Joe does an odd double take. "What?"

  "Hmm?"

  "What did you say?"

  "Nothing. It was not important. A slip of the tongue." I shake off the specter of my mother. "I dismantled the closet," I inform him a bit stiffly when he continues to stare at me as if I said something freakish. For heaven's sake, what was the matter with him? "I threw away all my clippings and tapes of Hayley. You were right, Joe, it was a dumb thing to have collected. She is not the friend I believed her to be and certainly not worth jeopardizing our marriage over."

  "Pats—"

  "Come home where you belong."

  He sits on the edge of the bed facing me. Leaning forward he plucks my hands from my lap and chafes them between his own. "That's not going to happen, Patsy," he says gently.