Intimate Betrayal (7 page)

Maxwell's smile matched hers. “Things like what?” he challenged.

Reese opened her mouth to respond, when a shadow and the scent of Chanel No. 5 floated across their table. They both looked up simultaneously. Reese was instantly alert to the mixture of shock, anger, and something she couldn't place on Maxwell's face.

“Victoria,” he said, his voice laden with memories.

The striking woman moved closer, her startling green eyes zeroing in on Maxwell. She reached for him, her long, slender
hand the color of suntanned porcelain, clasped his, the one that had moments ago held Reese's.

“It's so good to see you again, Max.” Her voice was light, almost musical in its quality, Reese noted with annoyance. Who was this woman and why in the devil did she have to show up now?

Victoria bent, daintily at the knee until she was eye-level with Maxwell. “How long will you be in town?”

He ignored her question, knowing that he'd answered it when they'd spoken on the phone. He eased his hand from her grasp and indicated Reese.

“Reese Delaware, this is Victoria Davenport.” Reese spotted the telltale tightening of his jaw.

Slowly Victoria rose and Reese had the unsettling sensation that she knew this woman with the silky strawberry blond hair and green eyes. A dull pounding began in her temple. She winced.

Victoria summoned all of her self-control to quell the rage that bubbled to the surface like hot lava. So this was her. In the flesh. Her half sister. She swallowed her pride, and recalled her promise to her mother on her deathbed. Her smile never reached her uncanny eyes. “Nice to meet you. How did you two meet?” she asked in a sugar-based voice.

Maxwell leaned back in his seat. “Ms. Delaware is a journalist from
Visions Magazine.
”

“Oh, yes,” she said brightly. “I believe you did mention that on the phone.”

Inwardly Reese cringed. So they'd spoken on the phone—recently. “Where are you from?” Reese queried, in her get-on-the-good-side interviewer's voice. “That's definitely not a California accent I hear.” Her smile was full of encouragement, laced with venom.

Victoria tossed her mid-back-length hair over her shoulder
with a toss of her head—an affectation that Maxwell, at one time, thought was sexy. Now it annoyed him.

Victoria's smile was slow in coming. “Norfolk, Virginia. And you?”

“I grew up in Arlington, Virginia,” Reese said slowly, as though searching for her thoughts.

Victoria felt a tightness in her chest. Her heart began to race. They'd practically been neighbors—all those years, she thought, the blood boiling in her veins with a surge of jealousy. “What a small world.” She forced a smile.

Maxwell watched the exchange with growing interest. The two women were like night and day in personality and in looks. Reese with her dark beauty and Victoria with her lighter than air looks. How curious, he mused, that he had been, and now was, attracted to such opposites.

“Well,” Victoria said on a long breath. “I must be going. I have some business clients waiting for me. Nice meeting you, Reese.” She turned her attention toward Maxwell. “And I hope we can…get together before you head off to Tokyo.”

“I don't see where I'll have time.” He hesitated. “But maybe I'll give you a call.”

She dug in her purse, pulled out a business card and jotted down a number. She handed the card to Maxwell. “Try,” she softly urged. “That's the number where I'll be staying.” She nodded in Reese's direction and glided away.

“So how long were you two involved?” Reese boldly asked.

“It's not anything I care to discuss,” he replied succinctly, shutting down any further discussion on the subject of Victoria Davenport.

But even though Victoria was no longer in their midst, they were unable to recapture that brief moment of intimacy.

They ate their meal of steamed mussels and garnished
spaghetti in relative silence, punctuated by brief comments about the city of Los Angeles and places they'd traveled.

“I always envisioned Japan as an extremely exotic and mystical place,” Reese said, as Maxwell drove toward the hotel.

He chuckled. “A lot of that is pure hype. For the most part, it's just like any other bustling metropolis, only more crowded.”

“Humph. A lot of fun you are,” she scoffed. “You've completely ruined my fantasy.”

Maxwell sobered and slanted his eyes in her direction. “Seems like a few things got ruined tonight.”

“We did seem to get sidetracked. But it isn't anything that can't be fixed.” She turned in her seat to face his profile and waited.

Maxwell cut the engine of the Corvette. For a split second before he turned to her, he pursed his lips as if debating the inevitable. Catlike he turned toward her, his dark exotic eyes skimming across her face. His gaze seemed to hold her breath captive in her chest, and she began to feel the drumming of her pulse in her ears.

By infinitesimal degrees he leaned closer, his eyes never leaving her face. Just as his mouth was a whisper away from her, Reese's eyes fluttered closed in anticipation.

In a heady whisper, he commanded, “Look at me.”

Reese slowly opened her eyes and was instantly drawn downward into the twin pools of midnight. His lips captured hers, his mouth hot, hard and moist. Unbidden, a sigh rose from deep in her throat when his tongue ran across her parted lips, before conquering the depths of her waiting mouth.

Fingers of steel clasped her head, pulling her closer, deeper into the kiss, while Reese clung to his shirt as if afraid of drowning in the tidal wave of the coupling.

A moan tore from Maxwell's throat as he pulled slowly
away. Gingerly he rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. He hadn't expected a simple kiss to affect him the way Reese's kisses did. Each time that his lips met hers, he lost another part of himself. He felt consumed by the roar in his heart. It would be so easy to let himself go with this woman—to give himself up to her and make her his.

Reese tenderly caressed the hard line of his jaw. She felt shaken, and lightheaded. Certainly she'd been kissed before more times than she could count. But never before had she experienced the awesomeness of a simple kiss. Max had transported her to a place she'd never been and her body, on fire, was screaming for more of the sweet torture.

Maxwell inhaled deeply then spoke in one long breath. “I think you ought to be getting upstairs. We have a busy day tomorrow,” he added softly.

“Max, I…”

His dark eyes swirled, reflecting the raging storm that brewed in his spirit. But his voice masked the turmoil within. “It's really late Reese. I'll have a car pick you up at seven forty-five,” he continued, now all business.

She'd never felt so humiliated. But she'd never give him the satisfaction of seeing her break down. “You're right. And I did want to get some writing done before I went to bed.” She turned away from him and flipped the lock on the door. “Good night, Max, and thank you for a lovely evening.”

Before he had a chance to respond, she was out of the car and pushing through the revolving doors of the hotel.

Maxwell pressed his head against the steering column. “You idiot,” he bellowed, slamming his fists against the dashboard.

 

Reese walked blindly through the lobby, propelled by instinct. Each step she took she fought down the tears that
scorched her eyes. She would not cry, she vowed. The headache that had begun at the restaurant built to a crescendo.

By the time she reached her room, she was weak with the pain. Stumbling to the bathroom, she snatched her medication from the cabinet. Downing two tablets without benefit of water, she virtually crawled out of the bathroom to her bed.

Collapsing on top of the quilts, she squeezed her eyes shut against the torrent of pain, and then the nightmares bloomed with terrifying might.

J
ames Knight sat erect, waiting to be called in by his superiors. He knew what the questions would be. He was prepared.

“Colonel Knight.”

James looked up, then stood at attention.

“The general will see you now.”

James followed the secretary down the long corridor to the main conference room. Nothing good ever came out of meetings in this room, he reflected morosely. He'd attended enough of them to know.

 

Moments later, James was sequestered in the conference room full of secret service and high-ranking military staffers. He recognized several of the faces as Special Forces personnel as well.

“I'll get right to the point of this meeting Colonel Knight,” General Murphy began. “It's been brought to our attention
that your son,” he paused and glanced at his notes, “Maxwell, is being interviewed by
Visions Magazine.
”

“Yes, sir, he is.”

General Murphy closed the folder and stared at James over the top of his glasses. “How much does he know, Colonel? And what are the chances of this reporter digging far enough back to uncover your activities?”

James cleared his throat and straightened in his seat. “My son knows absolutely nothing about what went on that morning, sir. He was only seventeen years old. As for the reporter, sir, I can't say what he or she will find out.”

General Murphy pursed his lips, then clasped his hands in front of him. “That, unfortunately, is not good enough, Colonel Knight. We cannot allow even the slightest hint of wrongdoing to be linked to the military.”

“I understand that, General. I…”

“No. I don't think you do understand, Colonel. We have a situation here. It's up to you to ensure that your son in no way points this reporter in our direction. Are you aware that the reporter is Hamilton Delaware's daughter?”

“Yes, sir.” He swallowed back the memories. “She hasn't remembered anything, sir, or we would have known.”

Murphy waved away his comment. “Do what you must, and we will do the same. Keep me posted.” The general looked down at the files on the table. “You're dismissed, Colonel.”

James stood at attention and saluted, turned on his heels and strode out. His son was in danger, he realized, the panic building with every step he took down the long, winding corridor. The general's message was shrouded, but clear. General Murphy would do whatever was necessary to cover the activities under his command. He'd done it once. He'd do it again and again. The Special Forces unit of the Air Force,
of which James was still a part, would not be implicated, even if Murphy had to remove everyone with any knowledge of what they'd done.

 

James returned home feeling as if ten years had been added to his age. He knew what he had to do. Closing the door behind him, he walked into the kitchen, picked up the phone, and dialed his best friend Larry Templeton.

 

Victoria paced the carpeted living area of her hotel room. It was pure chance that she'd run into Max last night. Her intention was to arrive unannounced at his office. The fact that he'd taken Reese to what had once been their favorite restaurant in L.A. only fueled her anger. She only had three days in L.A. There was no way she could justify her absence from Washington any longer than that. She'd used her business contacts as an excuse for the trip, insisting that she'd be able to get the software manufacturers to mass-produce the new program she'd developed. She knew she had to go back with something. But her mind was on anything but business.

Whether Maxwell took her back or not, she would not sit idly by and let Reese get her privileged little claws into him. She faced herself in the mirror. She'd have to think of something.

 

Celeste awoke with the sun as she had for most of her adult life. She sat up in her queen-size bed, then sighed heavily. There was no reason to rush. She had nowhere to go and no one to rush to.

Until a year ago, she'd been a practicing RN doing private duty for the Air Force, until her growing illness made even that impossible. At least the money she still received helped. Two thousand dollars arrived in her account like clockwork. It's funny how twisted life becomes, she lamented. Twenty-
eight years ago, she'd been paid to keep a secret. She'd felt outrage, humiliation. But she took it to survive. Thirteen years later, the stakes increased and the secret took on devastating proportions. She'd lived well, but lonely as a result. Now, once again, it was her means of survival.

She turned toward her nightstand to the framed photo of Hamilton Delaware, her one and only love.

With effort she pushed herself up from the bed. “Things could have been so different if you'd only given us a chance. My sister never loved you the way I did. Damn you Hamilton Delaware,” she railed, hot tears of regret streaming down her smooth face of cinnamon. “Damn you for all you've done and God help me, I still love you.”

She slipped to her knees and buried her face in the sheets of her bed, her body shaken by the force of her sobs.

 

The shrill ringing of the phone jarred Reese out of her troubled sleep. For several moments, she thought the sound was only part of the never-ending nightmare that had tortured her throughout the night.

The phone rang again. This time she opened her eyes but quickly shut them against the onslaught of the brilliant sun. With one hand over her eyes, she groped for the phone with the other.

“H-ello?”

“Hey, girl. It's me Lynnette. I'm at O'Hare on the next flight to L.A. I should be arriving at 5:00 p.m. your time.”

“O-kay,” she mumbled, struggling to get her thoughts to focus.

“Reese,” Lynnette said, suddenly alert to Reese's disoriented tone. “What's wrong? Are you sick? I tried calling you all evening.”

“No,” she mumbled. “Really, I'm fine.”

“Don't lie to me, Reese. It's the headaches again, isn't it? Tell me.”

“Yes,” she cried, burying her face in her hands. “And I don't know why. I was fine—until—I left Chicago.”

“Something is triggering them. We need to just figure out what it is. What about the nightmares?” She held her breath.

“Those, too,” she admitted in a ragged voice.

“Hang in there, girl. I'll see you in a few hours.”

“Thank you, Lynn.”

“It's gonna be cool. Gotta go, they're calling my flight.” Lynnette hung up and dashed across the terminal, all the while thinking of her friend who was more like her sister. Growing up as teens, Lynnette had watched in fear, shock, and hurt when Reese would literally collapse under the force of the pain in her head. She'd spent nights with her when out of the blue, Reese would toss and turn, scream unintelligible sounds and practically leap from the bed, eyes wide and unseeing in a cold sweat. Yet she could remember nothing of the dreams.

Lynnette fastened her seatbelt and leaned back. It had been three years since the nightmares had stopped completely. The headaches were manageable. Lynnette closed her eyes. Why now? she wondered.