Hideaway (2 page)

“How do you determine an office’s personality?”

“I work from an executive’s professional dossier.”

“How do you feel about awards and personal photographs?”

“A profusion of family photographs may transmit too much intimacy; however a wall full of diplomas and awards signals insecurity to more people than it impresses.”

Martin was impressed with Parris and her intelligence.

“How did you get your job?”

“I was recruited after I graduated. One of my professors worked for the architectural and design firm, so I suppose you can say that I had an in.”

“Where do you see yourself in relation to the firm in another ten years?” It was a question he asked the many applicants who applied to ColeDiz for even fewer coveted positions in his family-owned company.

Parris reached for a water goblet and took a sip of water. She placed the goblet down beside the glass of wine. She knew where she wanted to be in ten years, and it was not in Florida.

“I’d like to live abroad. I want to decorate international offices, restored châteux, villas, and castles.”

“I take it the company you work for has an overseas branch?”

She nodded the affirmative, giving him the name of the firm, and he whistled softly. Parris worked for the most prestigious architectural and design firm in the country.

“I think you’d better eat your filet mignon before the waiters serve the next course,” she suggested in a low throaty tone.

She spent the next three-quarters of an hour exchanging pleasantries with both Martin and the man on her right. The silent, efficient waiters cleared the tables once again before coffee and dessert were offered. Cordials and liqueurs were passed around, and again she refused their offer.

She and the other guests sighed and murmured approval as Brittany opened boxes and cards. Most of the gifts were purchased from Nieman Marcus where Brittany was listed with their bridal registry.

Everyone’s attention was directed to Martin after Brittany opened an envelope and read the printed card. He had offered to pay all of the expenses for Jon’s and Brittany’s honeymoon anywhere in the world.

Parris watched as Martin’s expression never changed. He merely nodded his thanks, his dark eyes moving from Brittany’s to Jon’s smiling faces.

Glancing down at her watch, Parris noted the time. She had to leave. It was almost eight-thirty. The car service was scheduled to pick her up in ten minutes.

Placing her napkin on the table beside her plate, she whispered
a “nice meeting you” to the dining partners flanking her and walked out of the room.

The restaurant’s lobby overflowed with elegant men and women in formal dress. The precious stones hanging from scented pampered necks and wrists competed with the many shimmering lights on the massive overhead chandeliers.

Parris saw him before he saw her, but still she could not escape. Standing by the entrance to the restaurant was Owen Lawson, her ex-husband. There was no way she could get past him without him seeing her.

Then without warning, he turned away and she walked quickly through the door and out to the restaurant’s parking lot.

Her heart pounded uncontrollably as she paced back and forth in the lot, smiling nervously at the young men who wore the short red bolero jackets of the valet parking staff.

Glancing down at her watch, Parris prayed silently for her driver to appear. She did not want a confrontation with Owen. Her trying to secure an annulment to their short-lived marriage had been too stressful and their last face-to-face confrontation too volatile to risk another encounter with him.

She felt the fingers snake around her upper arm before she heard the voice.

“Do you need a ride?”

“Don’t scream, Parris,” he warned. “And please don’t make a scene.”

She ignored the runaway pumping of her heart in her chest as she faced down Owen Lawson. “What the hell do you want?” she spat out.

“You still have a tongue that cuts like a whip.” He managed a smile but it looked more like a sneer. “Roll it up, Parris.”

“Let go of me.”

“Not yet. Not until we talk.”

She stared up at the man she thought she had loved beyond reason. The tall gaunt man with the most beautiful ebony-colored skin she had ever seen. The man whose intense dark eyes had
had the power to read her thoughts. The man she loved until she married him.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Owen.” She wanted to scream at him whatever they’d shared had died. There was truly nothing left to discuss.

Owen’s dark eyes behind the lenses of his equally dark glasses swept over his ex-wife’s face and body. She was more beautiful than when she left him. It was as if she had grown up in only a year.

“Just this last time, then I’ll walk away from you and never bother you again. I promise.”

“I’m waiting for my driver.”

“I’ll take you home,” he insisted.

She tried pulling away from him. “We’ll talk another time. I’ll call you…”

Owen tightened his grip. “Let’s go.”

Parris winced at the punishing hold on her upper arm. This was an Owen she had never seen before. They had exchanged heated words, but he never attempted to hurt her.

“Don’t fight with me,” he hissed near her face, his gaze brimming with white-hot rage and resentment.

Owen glared at his beautiful wife. Parris Simmons had walked out on him. She left him while mockingly issuing a threat which continued to haunt his every moment of wakefulness, and it was only now that the threat attacked him even as he slept. He had tried to forget her but he couldn’t. Parris was too indelibly imprinted on his brain to forget. She was a witch who had cursed him, and he wanted to be freed from her wicked spell.

He signaled a valet who rushed to bring his car to the front of the lot. The young man thanked the man in formal dress profusely while silently admiring the woman whom he held possessively to his side.

Owen settled Parris into his low-slung Miata, then walked around to the driver’s side. He started up the car, switched on the headlights, then roared out of the parking lot. The setting sun
was a large ball of orange fire as he drove toward the beach, unaware that a sleek black Jaguar purred quietly behind him, keeping a respectable distance.

O
wen pulled into a parking area less than three hundred feet from the ocean. He came around the car, extended his hand and helped Parris out.

They walked together in silence under the full moon, hand-in-hand, until the dampness of salt water seeped into their shoes. Owen glanced up and down the beach, smiling. There was no one else in sight.

He tightened his hold on Parris’s hand, making her his prisoner. “You’re not going to leave me again.”

She fought against his cruel grip. “Wrong, Owen. Because I
left
you.”

He pulled her to his chest. “Wrong, Parris. You’re not going to leave me because I’m taking you with me.”

She panicked as Owen dragged her toward the incoming tide. “Stop! You’re mad!”

“If I’m mad it was you who made me mad, Parris Lawson. I wanted you and needed you so much that I went just a little crazy. But you never wanted me. You never loved me.”

Sheer black fright swept through Parris when she realized Owen wanted to drown her. “No,” she gasped, panting in terror.

“It’s too late for pleading, Mrs. Lawson,” he intoned. “It’s too late for me. Too late for us.”

Panic rioted within her and she fought him with every ounce of strength in her body. Her free hand pounded his face.

Owen cursed savagely under his breath and he knew he had to end the nightmare quickly. Half-carrying and half-dragging Parris, he pulled her into the water as angry waves swelled, breaking over his knees.

His sunglasses fell and he cursed louder when the lenses cracked under the heel of his shoe. He looked down into the blackness of the swirling water his grip on Parris slacking.

Her right hand swung again, connecting with his left eye. He howled in pain, heat and bright lights sending him to his knees. She went down with him while struggling vainly to escape.

He pulled her back with a jerk of her hair. His right arm swung up in a curve and came down once, his fist connecting with the left side of her face.

Parris heard the snap of bones, the searing fire, then blessed blackness.

Owen stared down at her motionless body, tears filling his eyes. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He loved her too much to hurt her. Picking Parris up gently, he rose to his feet and faced the Atlantic Ocean once again. Balancing her limp body, he cradled her to his chest.

“I love you, Parris. I love you,” he murmured over and over as he walked out into the pounding waves.

The swirling dangerous undertow pulled him down and he dropped Parris. Struggling to regain his footing, he searched the water for his wife.

Whispering a small prayer of thanks, he caught the back of her dress and lifted her from what would have become a watery grave. He didn’t want her to go without him. They would go together.

He lifted her higher as the waves assaulted his chest, ignoring the sting of salt water and the iciness beading his flesh. Soon both of them would be warm. Warm and asleep together.

Owen never heard the footsteps spewing sand, the raspy heavy breathing and the shouting over the roar of the waves. His gaze was fixed on the cold wet blackness beckoning him. But he did
feel the numbing pain at the back of his neck which seemed to sever his spinal cord. He also felt the next blow which spun him around and closed an eye within seconds. The third blow fell, but it was lost on the unconscious man who sank down to the water in slow motion, relinquishing the woman in his arms to the ocean.

Martin swept Parris from the water and stumbled back to the sand. His fingers searched for a pulse. It throbbed weakly under his touch. She was alive.

Breathing easier for the first time since he stood on the beach watching the man carry Parris into the ocean, Martin stood up and raced back to the water. A cold knot formed in his stomach when he couldn’t find the fallen body. He looked around frantically until his foot hit a solid form. Hooking his hands under Owen’s shoulders, he lifted him easily over his own shoulder and retraced his steps back to the beach.

Owen lay on the sand, moaning and crying at the same time. He tried standing, but collapsed face-down. His whimpers sounded like those of an injured animal.

Martin ignored the man as he swept Parris up in his arms and carried her to his car. Her skin was cold—too cold. He had to take care of her.

Placing her unconscious body on the rear leather seats, he searched the trunk of the car and found a blanket. Quickly and methodically he wrapped the blanket around her body. She hadn’t moved or made a sound. The Jaguar’s dome light revealed the damage to her jaw, and Martin nearly lost his composure as he stared down at the quickly swelling mass of bruised flesh that had been a delicate cheek.

Reaching for his car phone, he dialed a number and smiled when he heard the break in the connection. His voice revealed none of his anxiety as he asked that Luis Lopez meet him at his house.

Parris felt the rocking motion and came awake. Glancing around, she saw the pale color of leather seats. She was in a car not the ocean. She was safe. Owen decided not to drown her.

Her breath came out in a ragged shudder as she tried sitting up. The motion intensified the fire along the left side of her face, and when she tried opening her mouth that side of her face seemed to collapse. Streaks of fire shot to her temple and she sank down to the seat, mewling like a kitten.

After what seemed like hours the car stopped. Parris was chilled to the bone and every time she clenched her jaw she experienced another spasm of pain.

The back door opened and she was lifted gently into a pair of strong arms. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the warm body cradling hers.

“How is she?” she heard a male voice ask.

“She’s in pain, Luis. A great deal of pain.”

Parris’s eyes opened when she recognized the second voice. Her mouth couldn’t form the words but her head screamed his name. Martin Cole had saved her life!

“Put her on a table,” Dr. Luis Lopez ordered, as he unlocked the front door to Martin’s town house.

Overhead lighting in the large modern kitchen highlighted the ravages of Martin’s battle with the ocean to rescue the woman with the severely bruised face. His thick black hair was plastered to his scalp and coated with salt.

“Why don’t you clean yourself up while I examine her,” Luis suggested. “She’ll be all right, Martin,” he assured him when he didn’t move.

It was with a great deal of reluctance that Martin left Parris to Luis’s professional medical ministration. Walking up the staircase to his bedroom and into an adjoining bath, he removed his watersoaked shoes, socks, shirt and slacks, leaving them on the tiled floor. He headed for the shower stall and stood under the warm spray of the shower until he felt clean.

Flexing his right hand, he stared at his bruised knuckles. A violent shudder rippled through his body as he recalled the rage taking him beyond himself when he’d hit the man trying to drown Parris.

He had never assaulted another human being in all of his life,
but he had experienced perverse pleasure in beating the man. At that moment he had wanted to kill him. Bracing his back against the cool tiles along the stall, he closed his eyes reliving the frightening scene.

He’d called himself the king of fools when he decided to follow Parris because she was not receptive to his advances, not knowing he would have to rescue her from a madman.

A wry smile softened his sensual mouth by the time he reached for a bottle of shampoo. He washed his hair, soaped and rinsed his body twice before he felt cleansed. The water washed away his guilt for injuring another person and it also redeemed him. He had saved a life.

Dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans, a white golf shirt and a pair of running shoes, Martin walked into the kitchen.

“How is she?” he asked, speaking in Spanish and hoping Parris didn’t understand the language.

“She can’t hear you,” Luis said. “I’ve put her under.”

Martin moved closer to the table, trying not to stare at Parris’s face.

“You were right, Martin, her jaw is shattered. She should be in a hospital. Her jaw needs to be immobilized so the bones can heal properly.”

“Can’t you do it here?”

“Martin, I’m not a miracle worker. Your kitchen is not a mobile hospital.”

He knew what he was asking Luis to do was not only unprofessional, but unethical. He had asked Luis to treat Parris at his home instead of at a hospital. But what Luis didn’t know was that he couldn’t risk exposing Parris to further danger. He didn’t know who the man was who tried to kill her, and he had no way of knowing if there was someone else who wanted her dead.

“Luis, please. Put her face back together for me.” There was a faint tremor in his voice.

Martin’s voice was low, the words pleading, and for the first time since Luis Lopez had come to know Martin he recognized humility
in the man. He didn’t know who the woman was who lay on the table in the dining area, but he knew she had to be special.

Against his better judgment, Luis ordered, “Get a couple of sheets and spread one out on the countertop. I’ll use the other one to cover her body.” He mumbled under his breath about not operating under sterile conditions, but he mumbled to himself. Martin had left to do his bidding.

Parris woke the following afternoon and stared up at the nut-brown face belonging to a smiling figure dressed in a white uniform. She couldn’t return the friendly smile so she nodded instead.

“Well, gal,” the nurse said, “Ruby Johnson is going to take good care of you.” She placed a cool hand on her forehead. “It looks like Dr. Lopez did a fine job of taking care of your jaw. A real fine job indeed.” She smoothed down a lightweight blanket, folding it back to the foot of the large bed.

“You’re real lucky, gal,” Ruby continued. “You managed to get yourself one of the best surgeons in the state and one of the best-looking men on the planet for a fiancé.”

Parris sat up but Ruby moved quickly, pushing her gently down to the pillows cradling her shoulders. “Stay put or you’ll pull the IV out of your hand.” Ruby’s friendly smile faded. “You’re not allowed out of bed. I’ll let you know when you can get out.”

Closing her eyes, Parris wanted to scream that she didn’t have a fiancé.

“Mr. Cole said he would cook for you once Dr. Lopez orders the removal of the IV. But you know of course everything will have to be pureed and ingested through a straw. And you’ll probably lose some weight before you’re able to chew solid foods. Not that you can afford to lose an ounce. You’re nothing but skin and bones already.”

Ruby Johnson, with more than thirty-five years of experience as a hospital staff nurse, relished her second career in private duty nursing. She worked when she wanted to, was offered a choice of cases and the per diem rate of pay was excellent.

Parris listened and watched Ruby moving around the
bedroom. Turning her head slowly, she examined the space, her uninjured eye registering sliding doors leading to a balcony. She heard the distant roar of rushing water through the screen before realizing the increasing roar was within her own head.

She closed her eyes, suffering in silence as the dull throbbing pain in her face intensified. She needed something for the pain. Tears, she couldn’t control, leaked from under her lids, over her cheeks and into her hairline. The pillow beneath her head was dotted with moisture when Martin walked into the room to look in on her.

“What’s the matter, Parris?”

She opened her eyes and saw Martin by the bed. Her lower lip trembled uncontrollably as her chest rose and fell under the cover of a sheet.

His face loomed closer. “Are you in pain?” he asked perceptively. She nodded once. He disappeared. He reappeared almost as quickly with Ruby at his side.

Parris felt the sharp prick of the syringe in her hip, and within minutes everything around her disappeared.

She floated in and out of consciousness for the next twenty-four hours, feeling full even though she hadn’t eaten, not remembering who came and went in the bedroom, nor the day or the time.

But the first face she saw when she woke up, clear-eyed and clear-headed, was Martin’s. He sat on a chair beside the bed, reading a newspaper. She remembered him wearing a black silk shirt not a white T-shirt. She also remembered his long hair floating down around his shoulders not queued at the nape of his neck with an elastic band. His long hair seemed more appropriate for an artist or musician than a corporate executive. She moaned softly and Martin rose to his feet, smiling. He placed the newspaper on a side table.

“Welcome back.”

How long have I been gone?
she mused, trying valiantly to return his smile. Her jaw had been wired so tightly that it was almost impossible for her to part her lips.

Moving closer to the bed, Martin took her hand in his, examining the purpling bruises from the IV feedings. Luis had ordered removal of the IV earlier that morning. He wanted his patient ambulatory as quickly as possible.

“I suppose you’re wondering what day it is?” he questioned, reading her mind. She nodded. “It’s Monday.”

Monday! How did she lose two days? Her eyes widened. She was supposed to be in Santa Fe.

Martin noted her agonized expression. “Is there someone you want me to call to let them know where you are?”

She nodded, trying to communicate. She pantomimed writing. He released her hand and opened a drawer to the table and withdrew a pad and pen.

Parris pulled her body up in a sitting position, supporting her back against two pillows. The sheet fell down to her waist, revealing an oversized T-shirt. She was certain the shirt was Martin’s.

She took the pad and pen from him, writing,
Please call office and let them know that I had an accident
. Her head came up and she saw Martin watching her.

“Don’t worry, Parris. I won’t give them any details.”

Closing her eyes briefly, she nodded.

“I recovered your purse,” Martin informed her. “I took it off the front seat of Owen Lawson’s car after…” He didn’t finish the statement. What he didn’t say was that he had taken it because he didn’t want Parris linked to the police investigation which had ensued after the man’s body was discovered early Sunday morning by an elderly man who strolled the beach every morning, rain or shine, since his retirement.