Never Again Good-Bye (2 page)

“Then I don’t suppose you have any more reason to hold me?” she asked.

The officer shrugged. “You can go now. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Laney stood up, fighting dizziness in the wake of such emotional havoc. Her hands still trembled, and her face was even paler than it had been earlier.

Neither expecting nor wanting an apology, she looked back at Wes and recognized the self-defeated glimmer in his eyes. “That’s all right. I can understand the scare. Next time I’ll be more careful.” For a moment she kept her eyes on the man who had frightened her. The man who now knew her name and her face and would notice her the next time she went near Amy. The man who had ended her plans, shattered her hopes, and made it impossible for her to end the torment she’d suffered for seven years.
Amy’s father
, she thought with a shiver.
Amy’s father
.

Laney left quickly and was just outside the station when Wes Grayson caught up to her. He caught her arm to stop her, and she jerked free. “I’m getting tired of you grabbing me that way!”

He raised his hand in innocence and took a step back. “I just wanted to—”

“To what?” she asked. “To find some other unsolved crime to pin on me? This day has turned out bad enough. Can’t you just leave me alone?”

Wes set his jaw. “Look, you’re the one who was sneaking around in the bushes. I just followed my instincts.”

“Great instincts,” she retorted.

“You’re not too easy to apologize to, are you?”

Laney laughed dryly. “Apologize? Was that an apology?”

“Yeah,” he said, indignant.

Laney shook her head and started to her car. “You, Mr. Grayson, are a real jerk!” Her braid swayed viciously across her hips as she walked.

“What are you so hot about?” he asked, catching up to her again. “They didn’t even book you.”

Laney reached her car, the foreign sports car that the policeman had been so anxious to drive to the station for her, and searched through her purse for her keys. “They didn’t have to book me. They humiliated me in a public park and dragged me in like some common criminal.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“No, you didn’t!”

They stood glaring at each other for an electric moment, searing green eyes against furious black ones. Finally, Wes straightened and thrust out his chin.

“If you can’t accept an apology, it’s not my fault,” he mumbled, starting to his own car. Then, under his breath, he added, “And I’m not a jerk.”

Laney ignored him as she got into her car and slammed the door.

Y
es, he was a jerk, Wes told himself that night. A big, stupid, paranoid jerk!

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and gave a low chuckle. If he hadn’t been so caught up in his Clint Eastwood routine, he would have realized he’d been strongly attracted to Laney Fields. That was why he had noticed her suspicious behavior in the first place. The first woman he’d been attracted to in a year, and what did he do? Instead of asking her out, he’d had her arrested!

He looked at his reflection in the window and raised his soup can in a toast. “Nice going, Grayson,” he said with a wry grin. He chuckled, keeping his voice quiet so as not to wake Amy. “A real Casanova. A little more of that charm, and you would have had her on her knees.” He shook his head. At least he could laugh about it now. He only wished
she
could. Maybe then he could start over and actually walk up to her and say, “Hi, do you come here often?” or whatever it was men said to women these days.

Of course, he could always start with an apology. Maybe he could even get her to smile if he admitted to being a jerk. It might give her a new idea for a story. “Paranoid Father Chokes on Apology” would be infinitely more interesting than the one on Louisiana youth.

What could it hurt, after all? Now that he knew she was no criminal, he could admit that he was overwhelmingly attracted to her … even though she was several years younger than he.

He reluctantly dragged his mind back to the apology. If nothing else, it would give him an excuse to see her again. He raised his can for another toast. “To second chances,” he said with a smile. His reflection gave him a deprecating smirk. He only hoped Laney Fields had a soft spot in her heart for self-admitted jerks who learned humility very quickly.

Chapter Two

L
aney stood in the red haze cast by the safelight in her makeshift darkroom and watched with enchanted eyes as the child’s face emerged from memory to reality in the space of a few moments. Black pigtails appeared … dark, wondrous eyes that beheld the beauties and mysteries of the world … and a missing front tooth. They were all there, all parts of the child that, until now, had seemed no more than a longing dreamed up by a lonely young woman.

They named her Amy, she thought as she set her mouth in a compressed line to keep it from trembling. Amy Grayson.

Drawing a controlled breath, she pulled out the photograph and hung it on the line above her, next to others like it. Even more littered the dining room table. She held her eyes wide to keep the tears at bay, arched her brows in pained perusal, and stepped back to study the prints again.

“She’s so beautiful,” she whispered, her words laced with the despair of one who sees but cannot touch.

Now she couldn’t even see her. Laney couldn’t watch her soccer games, couldn’t attend the ballet recitals and school plays, couldn’t blend in at the park, as she had planned when she’d moved back to Shreveport. They knew her now, and she would be too conspicuous. It was over. All over.

The tears found their way out, and she fled from the room. She wouldn’t need the darkness anymore—she had more within her than she’d ever escape. And she had enough pictures. Enough mementos. Enough reminders that life was never fair. Laney dropped into a chair and covered her quivering mouth. It was useless to have returned to Shreveport, and yet she’d had no other choice. She was a woman driven by regret and injustice and the vivid memories that had driven her away. And she had the desperate need to know that her decisions had been for the best.

But she couldn’t change the situation now, not when she saw the bright smile in the child’s glimmering eyes. Despite the twists and schemes of fate, life seemed to have turned out well for Amy.

L
ife had been good to Laney Fields, Wes Grayson thought as he stood at the door of the Tudor-style house the next day. He wondered if he’d written down the right address. He had gotten it from the police report, but he hadn’t expected more than a two-bedroom apartment. She looked too young to own an upper-middle-class home of her own … and certainly she couldn’t afford it on the pay of a freelance photographer. When she had declined to call anyone from the police station the day before, he had assumed she wasn’t married. He hoped he was right. It wasn’t like him to show up unexpectedly at the home of someone he’d met under bizarre circumstances, but her phone number hadn’t been listed. Giving a bewildered shrug, he pushed the doorbell and smiled at the eight-note Westminster sequence that followed. It was certainly more attractive than the old tried-and-true “ding-dong,” but he wondered if it would get anyone’s attention inside.

He glanced toward the three-car garage and saw her white sports car. She was probably in the back, he thought. No one stayed inside on a beautiful Saturday.

He followed the path that led to the back of the house, to the pool with its water rippling in the breeze. He saw her then on her knees pulling weeds out of a garden that was overgrown. Her knees and hands were covered with dirt, and her long black hair was tied back with a shoestring.

For a moment he stood back and quietly watched her, wondering how on earth he could have found her so threatening yesterday. She looked so small, so fragile, and he couldn’t help feeling ashamed of himself. Suddenly he was nervous and wondered at the wisdom of his coming here. He thought of leaving before she noticed he was here, and took a step backward. But he didn’t want to go.

So he stood there quietly for a moment, waiting for the right time to make his presence known.

T
he gravelly sound of a man clearing his throat startled Laney, and she jumped and swung around, her eyes widening at the sight of him. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was going to,” he said quickly.

Her cheeks reddened as she got to her feet, and she wiped her dirty hands on her jeans.

“I … I thought I should come by and say … uh … about yesterday …”

She was covered with dirt and perspiration, and suddenly self-conscious, she started toward the door. “I have to change. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s hot,” he said. “Do you mind if I wait inside?”

Laney straightened and glanced through the glass door to the den. The archway leading to the dining room was open, and she’d left photos of Amy scattered on the table. But if she let him in, he’d probably just sit down and wait. He’d have no reason to wander into the dining room. And if she hurried …

Reluctantly, she led him in, but he didn’t sit down. His standing made her nervous.

“What brings you here, Mr. Grayson?” she asked, deciding to get the conversation over with as soon as possible while trying to look as dignified as she could with filthy hands and knees. “Did you think of some new way to send me up the creek?”

“River,” Wes said with a smile.

“What?”

“It’s up the river. And, no, that’s not what I came for.” He glanced out the bay window that looked out over the pool, and his amusement gave way to a serious expression that looked more at home on his face. His thumb scratched over the T-shirt with the words “Bound for Glory” printed across the chest.

He was a Christian, then. The realization made her feel nervous, exposed, as though he stood in judgment of all the darkness in her life.

“I came because I owe you an apology,” he said. “A real one. You were right. I was a jerk yesterday.”

Laney looked down at the floor, praying that he’d sit down so she could go change.
Just accept his apology and he’ll leave
, she told herself. “We were both under a lot of stress in a very unusual set of circumstances.”

“Yeah, but I could have handled it a lot better.”

“Possibly,” she agreed. “But it’s over now. It’s not good to dwell on things. Just sit down and—”

“I hoped you’d let me make it up to you,” he cut in. His eyes moved back to hers, and their intensity startled her.

“Please, Mr. Grayson—”

“Wes. Call me Wes. I mean … I’m not
that
much older than you. How old are you, anyway?”

She sighed with frustration. “I’m twenty-five.”

“See?” he asked with a weak smile. “I’m only eight years older. Not old enough to call Mister.”

“Whatever.” Unable to use his first name, she struggled back to her original thought. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“You mean you don’t care that I won’t be able to sleep until I redeem myself?”

“Not in the least.”

His smile came easily this time. “Come on; I just want to clear my conscience.”

Crossing her dirty arms, she sighed. “How did you want to redeem yourself? Paint the house; clean out the pool?”

His grin broadened, and he rubbed his chin. “I had something less physical in mind.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe buying you lunch.”

“A hamburger for a criminal record?” She gave an exaggerated shrug. “Sounds fair.”

“Ah, come on,” he said on a laugh. “That won’t go on your record. And I was thinking more along the lines of pizza. Amy’s at a birthday party, so I have some free time today.”

Laney’s face darkened at the child’s name, and sadness found its way into her black eyes again. Her head moved slowly from side to side. “I can’t go for pizza with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

He nodded to her hallway and planted his feet firmly, as if he had no intention of settling for that answer. “Go ahead and change clothes. We can talk about it when you’re more comfortable.”

She studied him for a moment, like a wide-eyed doe preparing to dart away. Would he stay there, or was he the kind to walk around while he waited? Could she change fast enough to be back before he lost interest in the view of the backyard? “All right,” she said finally, realizing she had to chance it. “I’ll just be a minute.” She dashed down the hall and into her bedroom.

“Nice house,” Wes called to her after she left. She heard the couch squeak as he got up, his footsteps as he ambled across the room. Was he looking at the family pictures on her wall? She tried to move faster. “Do you live here alone?” he called.

Laney searched her closet, pulled out a pair of jeans and a white pullover shirt. “It was my father’s,” she called back breathlessly. “He died a year ago. I just decided to move back.”

“So you’re from here originally?”

Laney pulled the jeans on. It was good to keep him talking. Maybe he’d stay in the den. “Yes. I’ve been living in Houston for the past several years. I left home when I was pretty young.”

“Did you go to college in Houston?”

“Yes,” she said.

“So did you—” His question was cut off abruptly.

“What?” she asked. There was no answer, and the silence seemed more eloquent than a million words. Suddenly she knew what had silenced him, what had stunned him. Her heart stopped, and she grabbed hold of her dresser. Holding her breath, she listened in frozen terror then forced herself to move. Her voice cracked, “Mr. Grayson?”

No answer.

Bracing herself, Laney walked out of the bedroom, looked across the den, and saw that he stood in the archway of the dining room. His back was rigid as he glared at hundreds of photos of his daughter, pictures she had taken over the last three days.

Dizzying fear coursed through her as he turned to confront her, and the murderous anger in his eyes made her back away.

“You have five seconds to tell me who you are and what in the name of heaven you’re up to.”

“I told you,” she said on a thin rush of breath. “I’m working on a—”

“I’m warning you,” he hissed, his eyes assaulting her. His anger was a tangible thing, hardening his face. “Don’t give me that Louisiana youth stuff again because I don’t buy it. You’ve been following Amy.” His hand trembling with rage, he snatched up two of the snapshots. “She wore that dress three days ago. And this one … she had that on the other night. Have you just been stalking her everywhere, waiting to grab her when you had the chance?”

“No!” she said, daring to reach for the pictures he held.

He jerked them away, and she flinched, expecting him to strike her on the downswing.

When his coiled hand only dropped to his side, she said, “I didn’t mean any harm. I just …” Her words trailed off. He wouldn’t accept another lie, Laney realized, and she could not tell him the truth. Bracing herself for his justifiable attack, she dropped her head in defeat.

“What do you have to gain?” he asked in a quiet voice that was infinitely more intimidating than a full-fledged yell. “I have a small, struggling construction company that I may not be able to keep above water much longer. Even if I sold everything I own, I still couldn’t come up with much ransom.”

Laney was outraged. “I don’t want your money!”

“Then why? Is stalking helpless children just a sickness?”

“Stop using that word! I wasn’t stalking her. I wasn’t even going to touch her,” she said, despair quivering in her voice. “I just wanted pictures. Something of her that I could keep. Is that so wrong?”

“Yes, it’s wrong!” he cried, the words lashing across her. “You should be locked up.” He slammed a fist into her wall, startling her, and she felt the impact of it vibrate through to her soul. “Why Amy? Why not one of those other children?”

Tears burned Laney’s eyes, spilled down her cheeks, and her trembling hand rose to cover her mouth.

“Answer me! I want to know before I have you taken away!”

She took a step back and found herself against the wall. Wes moved dangerously closer and grabbed Laney’s chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Answer me!”

She closed her eyes tightly, fighting the words that waited to be spoken. Tears escaped, and her knees threatened to fold beneath her.

“Answer me!” he rasped, his breath hot against her face, snapping her last tenets of control.

“Because she’s my daughter!” she blurted. “She’s my little girl.”