Searching for Cate (17 page)

S
lowly, like someone coming out of a half dream, Cate became conscious of her surroundings. Of the rug beneath her back. Of the slight press of weight hovering just above her body.

She realized that Christian was balancing himself on his elbows, mindful of her even at the most intimate, most crucial of moments. And then he shifted. He lay beside her, their union dissolved.

The earth and sky came rushing back to her much too quickly.

Oh, God, what had just happened here? What had she done? Pinpricks of panic jabbed her skin like icicles in a macabre dance. She felt naked, exposed.

He felt her stiffen beside him. Could almost feel the warmth draining away from her. Was regret burrowing
in, creating a space between them so quickly? And was that his regret or hers?

Part of him wished that she would leave. Just disappear. Taking all traces of what just happened with her. But that wasn't possible. And even if it were, he wasn't completely convinced that he truly
did
want that. Because just for a moment back there, he'd felt alive again. More alive than he had in a long time.

Christian had to admit, being alive was far better than the alternative. The feeling was also seductive.

Cate moved. He could swear that she was trying to withdraw into herself.

“Cold?” he asked.

He glanced at the blanket draped over the back of his sofa and contemplated getting it for her. The brightly woven fabric depicted a history of the Navajo people. His mother had made the blanket for him when he came out here to live, so that he would never forget where he came from. As if that was ever possible.

Cate pressed her lips together. No, she wasn't cold. If anything, the opposite was true. Heat emanated from her every pore. He'd brought her body temperature up so high, she could probably warm a small Third World village for a year.

“Not cold. Bewildered,” she finally said.

He looked at her thoughtfully. “I don't know if I have a blanket for that.”

Her mouth twitched as a hint of a smile surfaced, then faded.

Lying flat, Cate stared at the ceiling, her mind going at the speed of light. She tried to harness her thoughts. She admitted she'd wanted this to happen. Wanted to
stop feeling this paralysis, this overwhelming malaise when it came to her personal life.

Wanted to feel alive.

But right now, she felt guilt and fear. Guilt because she'd betrayed Gabe's memory. And fear was taking on a life of its own within her. She never, ever wanted to feel so bereaved as she had that September morning.

There was no danger of that, she reminded herself. Christian had indicated that he didn't want anything to come of this. And in a strange way, that was comforting to her. Because it meant no risks were involved. She had all the benefits of a campfire without needing to know how to tend it. Without the fear of accidentally burning the campgrounds down.

But she still had to deal with the impression she had probably made. This might have been a one-time thing, but she worked with his sister-in-law. Because of that, they were bound to run into each other again. She didn't want him getting the wrong idea.

Clearing her throat, Cate turned her head, forcing herself to look at him. He was too close. Her thoughts scrambled a little. So much for remaining cool under fire. “I just want you to know that despite modern mores, I, um, don't do this kind of thing.”

Humor shone in his eyes as he regarded her. He went from solemn to incredibly appealing. She could feel her pulse accelerating. Cate pinned the blame to the lack of proper attire.

“For a novice—” his eyes were skimming over her “—you have a hell of a natural talent.”

She found it difficult not to respond to Christian, to keep her body from flowing into his again. She did her
best. “No,” she tried again, “I mean that I don't sleep around.”

His smile deepened. He had been struggling with his own conscience, but Cate's apparent dilemma had pushed that into the background. “We weren't sleeping.”

Was it her imagination or were his eyes teasing her?

She took a deep breath and became alarmed as her breasts brushed against his arm. “I don't make love with someone I don't know, either,” she replied tersely.

He appeared to take in what she was saying, but at the last moment, his serious demeanor failed him. “If that's the case, then whatever they slipped me in that restaurant, I am definitely going back for seconds.”

For a moment, she said nothing. The quiet stretched between them, allowing small sounds to make their way in. The ticking of his wristwatch close to her head. The sound of his breathing.

Finally, drawing in a deep breath, she tried to explain. “I had a fiancé.”

“Had?”

Cate pressed her lips together, afraid that a sob might betray her. But when she spoke, her voice was incredibly calm given the turmoil she felt inside. “He died in Tower Number Two.”

No more of an explanation than that was needed. The tragedy had captured an entire nation, holding them transfixed before their television sets for hours, for days. Trembling in anger and disbelief that this had happened to them.

“I'm sorry.”

She nodded, accepting the words that had echoed
within her own soul so often since that day. Summoning her courage, she turned her face toward Christian again. Something quickened inside of her as it reached out to him.

“And I haven't been with anyone since.” She wasn't even sure why she was telling him this and what, if anything, it actually meant. To him. To her. She couldn't sort it out now. Her mouth was dry. “I just wanted you to know,” she repeated.

This was where he told her about Alma, Christian thought. It was the perfect opening. He either told her about his wife's suicide, or he said something flippant and distanced himself.

Bonded or retreated.

He did neither.

Instead, he chose a third path. Sympathy. He slipped his arm around her and drew her closer to him. Not to make love with her, but to hold her. And to offer her whatever mute comfort he could.

She dealt very well, very efficiently with anger, both her own and what was aimed at her. Kindness was another matter. Kindness undid her. Cate could feel tears forming again. She blinked hard, trying to push them back, to erase them. This wasn't fair. She'd expected him to say some trivial thing, or even suggest that perhaps she'd want to leave. All the ingredients for an awkward moment were there, to intensify her regret over what she'd done with him.

That he just held her, that he gave her mute solace in memory of her grief, was almost too much for her to bear. She wanted to pull away from him.

Instead, this pulled her to him.

Cupping his cheek, Cate kissed him. In gratitude and in need.

The single kiss built, until it flowered into another. And another. Growing until the passion that they both had thought had been quenched suddenly rose up again, full-bodied and demanding. They had no choice but to give in to it and each other. And found themselves being swept out further into the night.

 

Dawn dragged itself in at six-fifteen. Rays of light probed the corners of his bedroom. They had ended up here last night, after making love one more time in the living room. He'd sensed she'd wanted to leave, but he hadn't wanted her to go. It took almost nothing on his part to get her to change her mind.

As he watched her fall asleep against him, he remembered thinking that some of the jagged edges had come off the pieces of his life. He'd fallen asleep with his arm around her. His arm was empty now as he pulled consciousness tightly to him.

She was gone.

Lying flat on his back, Christian dragged his hands over his face, as if wiping away the last traces of sleep. He strained to hear a sound, something to indicate that she was still here, roaming through another room in the apartment.

There was nothing. He was alone.

In a way, he was relieved. If she was gone, he could simply blot out last night as if it had never happened. But it had. In truth, he wasn't sure exactly what it was that he
had
experienced. Maybe it was just a combination of physical needs and—

And what?

He'd never been a player. For some reason, he'd never gone through that rampaging hormonal stage that afflicted almost every adolescent male to a greater or lesser degree. Sex for sex's sake had never interested him. He placed a higher value on male-female interaction than that. His friends had mercilessly kidded him about his values.

Throwing back the sheet that clung to his body, he sat up, moving his shoulders and stretching. Last night had been a workout all its own.

He realized that her scent was still lingering on his skin. He needed coffee and a shower. And something to do.

As if in response, his pager went off. The small blue item vibrated along the nightstand, coming close to the edge. He picked it up before it fell, looking at the numbers that were displayed.

Christian smiled to himself. It looked like Mrs. Scalli was finally ready to have her twins. It couldn't have happened at a more opportune time. Drawing the phone over to him on the bed, he dialed the number on the pager. A minute later, he was assuring a very distraught Mr. Scalli that he was already on his way to the hospital.

 

The summer she had turned seven, as a special treat her mother had taken her to a local production of
Peter Pan.
It was her first play. She could remember sitting in the audience, completely enthralled as she watched Peter fly around the stage.

But what had really stuck out in her mind over the years was one of the musical numbers: Peter, postur
ing and singing “I Won't Grow Up.” The tune went through her head now as Cate sat in her car, parked across the street from a sprawling, custom-made house. Except that in this case, the words were “I Won't Get Involved.” But even as the refrain repeated itself over and over again in her head, Cate knew she was in danger of doing just that. Of getting involved.

Last night she and Christian had had hot, cleansing, teeth-jarring sex. And she wasn't the type to do that casually. Not even with a gorgeous, full-blooded Navajo doctor.

Cate sighed, shaking her head. Ever since she'd found out she wasn't who she thought she was, nothing made sense to her anymore.

She'd left his bed early, wanting to avoid any conversation. Wanting to avoid the disappointment she felt certain to come. So she'd quickly gathered up her things, dressed hurriedly in the bathroom—so hurriedly that she didn't realized she'd left behind her thong underwear until she was halfway home—and left. Rushing toward sanctuary.

Finding none.

Once in her apartment, she'd showered, changed and faced the dawn with a cup of poorly made coffee and so many questions ricocheting inside of her, she didn't know where to start. So she hadn't.

She didn't need this extra complication in her life. So she did what she always did when she didn't want to be alone with her thoughts. She got busy.

A call to the hospital had told her that “Jane” was still unresponsive, still unconscious. She decided to go into the office despite the fact that it was Saturday.
But somewhere between getting into her car and arriving at the Santa Ana building, she'd turned her vehicle to the more exclusive region of Bedford.

Specifically toward the development called Spy Glass Hill. It was an older community, secure in its affluence amid a city known for its rich citizens.

It was where Joan Cunningham lived with her family.

Spy Glass Hill was aptly named since the developer had placed his lots on a hilly region that allowed for a breathtaking view of the surrounding area and the ocean that lay just beyond. It was said that on a clear day, the island of Catalina could be seen sunning itself like a contented, tame whale.

Cate drove up the hills slowly, looking at the signs, searching for where she needed to make turns. She took a wrong street once and had to go down the entire length before she could backtrack. She tried to enjoy the scenery and unique buildings, but in her present frame of mind, it wasn't possible. There was too much going on in her head.

Joan's house was almost at the top of one of the hills. The white-columned residence looked as if the architect had had it lifted straight out of the history books. Or a movie.

She half expected Scarlett O'Hara to come racing out the front door, holding her skirt high and laughing as she flirted her way through innocence.

Cate turned off the ignition and settled back to wait for someone to come out of the house. She needed to catch a glimpse of her mother's family. More than that, she needed something to tie her to an existence other than the one she had.

T
he minutes moved slowly, pulled along on a wagon with square wheels. Eventually, an hour passed, drunkenly meandering its way into the second one.

Cate could feel every one of those minutes as they catatonically inched by. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd told herself to start the car again and leave.

Something made her stay.

The morning sun had risen and begun to warm the interior of the car, forcing her to first crack, then roll down the window on her side. Monotony hovered over her like an oppressive cloud. She didn't dare play the radio for fear of calling attention to herself. Like a sneak thief casing his next job, she remained enshrouded in silence.

What was she doing here? Cate demanded of herself impatiently. Had she gone completely off the deep
end? She was behaving irrationally. Last night certainly proved that. Making love with a stranger. And all this nonsense about searching for her identity was just that. Nonsense.

Annoyance mounted as she shifted in the car, trying to keep her legs from cramping up. She knew who she was, damn it, and it wasn't some shrinking violet, jumping at her own shadow. She was Big Ted Kowalski's daughter—his daughter of choice, she underscored—and it was about time she started acting like that again.

What would he think if he saw her here, skulking around, waiting to catch a glimpse of a woman who wouldn't give her the time of day? She remembered what disappointment looked like when it spread itself over his broad face. She'd never seen it directed at her, but if he were alive…

She was out of here, Cate decided abruptly.

As she reached to turn the key in the ignition, a movement across the street caught her eye. Her fingers on the key, she looked in the direction of the house.

The front door was opening.

Her hand retreated from the key.

Instead of only one person, as she'd hoped, five emerged from the house. Moving in single file, they regrouped on the front step. She'd already met the older of Joan's two sons and she knew what Ron Cunningham looked like thanks to the records that Jeremy had forwarded to her. She hadn't been very impressed by Cunningham's picture. He'd looked austere. In person, Ronald Cunningham cut a far more dynamic figure. Tall, sturdy-looking, he had a thick head of hair that was just beginning to turn silver from its natural chestnut brown.

The son she hadn't met, William, looked like a younger version of his father. The daughter, Rebecca, was the youngest of the trio. She appeared to be a composite of both her parents, dark-haired like her father, thin like her mother.

She was also the apple of her father's eye.

It was easy to recognize the signs. Ron Cunningham had his arm around his daughter's shoulders and they were talking like friends. It made her miss her father. Joan followed behind the duo, flanked by her sons. Alex walked a little ahead, as if he wanted to get this over with. He seemed impatient.

Like me,
Cate thought.

All five were dressed in subdued colors, blacks and navies. Wherever they were going, it was formal.

A funeral? Whose?

Cate made a mental note to try to check the recent obituaries just as she heard Rebecca laugh. Cate's attention was drawn back to the girl and Ron Cunningham. Again nostalgia shimmered through her as she recalled similar moments she had shared with the man she'd thought was her father.

She would have given anything to have that comfortable frame of mind restored, to think of Ted and Julia as her parents and nothing else. But it was too late. She knew better, she thought as she watched the five people get into the silver-gray Mercedes sedan. Joan got in the front beside Ron. Her children sat in the back. Rebecca took the seat directly behind her father. Alex sat behind his mother, with William in the middle.

Odd person out?

That makes two of us, William.

A wistfulness swirled through her as she watched.
That would have been my family. If she'd kept me.

But even as the thought occurred to her, doubt followed.

Maybe not. Maybe if she'd kept me, she would have never met Ron Cunningham, never married him.

Maybe Joan would have had to take another path as a young single mother. She might have had to drop out of school and go to work to support the two of them. She knew nothing about Joan's parents, but she did know that not everyone was lucky enough to have their families stand behind them. All she had to do was look to her current case to know that.

And if her birth mother had kept her, she would have never known Big Ted and Julia. Never felt the sheer power of their love, never known the pride she'd experienced at being the daughter of a man who was not only well respected, but also well loved in his wide circle of friends.

Shock was responsible for taking her on this odyssey, Cate thought. The shock of losing her mother, of having her world shaken not just by death but by the discovery that what she'd thought was the truth, wasn't. With her very foundations knocked out from beneath her feet, she'd wanted desperately to connect to something, even if only for the sake of connecting.

And maybe she still would, but whether or not she did, that didn't diminish what she'd had up to this point, Cate told herself with newfound conviction. A happy childhood. Because two people had loved her more than anything in this world.

Maybe instead of anger, she owed Joan a vote of thanks. It was something to think about.

Four doors slammed, almost in unison. The Mercedes, still waiting to receive its official license plates, rumbled to life. The next moment, the sleek vehicle was backing down the driveway. Once parallel to the garage, the car took to the street.

She doubted if any of its occupants even noticed her car, or her. Why should they? She wasn't even a speck on their radar. And maybe, her conscience whispered, it should stay that way.

But the stubbornness she now realized she had learned rather than inherited from Big Ted and Julia made her want her due. She wanted to be recognized by Joan. At least privately.

Cate sat in her car for a long moment, thinking, her conviction vacillating. Leaning toward talking to Joan one more time. She supposed there was no question about it, she was stubborn. And added to that, she didn't like the idea of facing life alone.

That was both her strong point and her failing. She needed to be part of something. Independent, she still needed to know there were links she could turn to, links that joined her to something greater than herself. Links to family, to the bureau.

And to Christian?

The second the thought came to her, she pushed it away. Her mouth hardened as she finally turned the key in her ignition.

No, not to Christian. Definitely not to Christian.

That had just been a vulnerable episode, nothing
more. She'd stumbled last night, but she was on her feet again and she was going to remain that way.

She realized that her hands were clutching the steering wheel tightly and she forced herself to loosen her grip.

Okay, so she was human, but that was all last night had been about, Cate reasoned. Being human. She'd enjoyed a healthy physical relationship with Gabe. Since his death, she hadn't been with a man, hadn't even gone out on a date. It was only natural for her body to yearn to experience that same sort of wondrous release she'd enjoyed with Gabe. Especially when confronted with temptation. And Christian Graywolf was nothing if not extremely attractive in every sense of the word. She'd been attracted to him from the first.

There was nothing more to it than that.

Cate sighed, willing the tension to leave her body. It was time she made herself useful. With renewed determination, she guided her vehicle along the winding path down to the outskirts of the development. Once outside, she took the road that would lead her to Santa Ana.

 

Mrs. Scalli had an amazingly short time of it, especially given that this was her first pregnancy.

Of course, Mrs. Scalli probably didn't think so, Christian mused as he drove his car toward the private landing field of John Wayne Airport.

His ears were still ringing with her screams. For a small woman, Lorraine Scalli had a lusty set of lungs. As did the twin boys she'd given birth to after only three and a half hours of labor.

It seemed to him that everyone on the floor, especially her husband David, was relieved that her labor had only lasted as long as it did. It wasn't uncommon for first timers to take almost a day, if not more.

Christian grinned. Everyone would have been deaf by then.

As soon as she was in the recovery room and he was certain everything was all right, he'd left Mrs. Scalli and her new family in good hands. Namely Simon Neubert's. Over the last two years, he and Simon took turns covering for each other.

When he'd called the obstetrician at his home, Simon had reluctantly agreed to step in. Simon's reluctance no doubt stemmed from the fact that he didn't want to leave the owner of the female voice he'd heard in the background. He could just about make out that the woman was pouting over Simon's pending departure. For as long as he'd known him, Simon had hardly ever been without female companionship. The man had incredible stamina.

Christian figured the man could do with a break.

As could he, he reasoned. At least mentally.

He didn't usually travel to the reservation this late into the weekend. Normally, he took a commuter flight Friday evening so he could spend two full days at the clinic.

But he needed to get away. Needed to touch base with his roots. The need had been building all day and it was now at almost critical mass.

Because she wouldn't get out of his head.

The shower he'd taken this morning hadn't helped. It hadn't eradicated her scent. He swore that it was still
there, clinging to his skin if not his clothes. Clinging to his mind. There seemed to be nowhere he could go to escape it.

Or her image, which kept popping up in his head at the most inopportune times.

Christian told himself that it was just because she'd been the first woman he'd slept with since Alma. He wasn't exactly treadworn and experienced in the way so many of the men he knew were. There had only been a couple of girls before he'd dedicated himself completely to Alma. In light of that, it was only natural that making love with Cate would linger like this on his mind. After all, only a few hours had actually passed.

And the woman made love with the vigor of a Viking princess.

They'd both made love with a passion he'd never ascribed to the act before. Alma, because of what she'd endured when she was younger, was reticent when she made love. Holding back, as if she was afraid of someone no matter how gentle he was.

Cate had been fearless.

There had been a frantic element in her lovemaking and it had brought out the same in kind from him. They'd made love as if it was their last chance. As if they were both fleeing from something.

Or was that
to
something?

No, he decided as his plane took off. In his case, he hadn't been searching for anything, except perhaps for respite. A time-out from the demons that haunted him. Oblivion.

He sighed, never comfortable with lies, even his own. There was more to his own reaction than that. He might
have gone into the evening looking to be numbed, but making love with Cate had had the opposite effect. Rather than become numbed, he'd caught on fire. And become aware of sensations for the first time in three years.

Become aware, too, that in so doing, in making love with Cate, he'd betrayed the memory of a woman who had regarded him as her one true salvation.

He tried to convince himself the evening had been a mistake. A little detective work on his part had gotten him Cate's address. He'd sent flowers to her apartment to silently convey his thanks and his apology.

And now he was going back to the reservation, to the cemetery, to say he was sorry to Alma. Sorry that he had failed her. Failed her in so many ways.