Shameless (13 page)

“Whatever it is, it's time we face it…together,” he said, tightening his hand over hers as the men stared at Celeste.

She licked her tongue over her dry lips and kept her wet lashes lowered.

“You two want something?” Phillip asked sharply. “I don't remember asking you to sit down.”

“Yeah, we do…something from your lady friend…if you could call her a lady. You been hidin' out, using him to protect you?”

Celeste winced.

Using him?
“Go to the ladies' room, Celeste,” Phillip ordered in his Marine-issue drawl.

“They're my problem, not yours.” Her guilt-stricken tone was jerky. Her hand was shaking in his.

“No arguments, Celeste.”

She pushed back her chair.

“Hey, now, you ain't gonna run off from The Pope here, without giving him a little kiss for old times' sake?” jeered the pale reptile with the pimples and glasses.

“Go, Celeste!” Phillip's lips barely moved. “Now!”

“Hey, wait a minute, buster. We got business with Stella here.” No sooner had the man with the pitted
olive skin and big nose spoken than he lunged for Celeste.

Faster than lightning Phillip sprang between them.

“Whatever it is you're after, you're dealing with me from now on. Understand?”

Celeste swallowed a sharp, convulsive sob as Phillip pushed her away. “Go,” he repeated.

“Phillip, please, please, please…let me stay and explain….” Her breathing was labored, and her beautiful blue eyes were luminous. “I didn't know how or where to begin before, but—”

He shook his head. “You're a little late.”

She stared at him, as if to memorize his frozen features. “Oh, Phillip—”

The two men beside him began to fidget. They were getting restless. Celeste's eyes grew huge as she waited for them to tell Phillip about her.

Was it really so terrible? Why couldn't she have opened up to him before? If only she had trusted him enough to tell him whatever it was, dealing with these lowlifes would have been child's play.

But she hadn't. Just as she hadn't told him about her secret correspondence with Furman. His home had been a hiding place, a rest stop, a brief interval in a journey she'd intended to take alone to stardom.

Celeste's yellow hair gleamed. Why did she have to look like an angel even in her flashy red dress? She was very pale, scared to death and yet gorgeous. So gorgeous. A natural-born star.

Suddenly she seemed so far away…unreachable, like a star, heaven bound while he would always be an earthling. As he looked at her, he could feel his heart hardening, his body shutting down as it always did before a battle.

She seemed to sense the change in him, sense the total coldness. After a long time her breathing came under control and she raced toward the back of the bar.

Because of Celeste Phillip was about to cross a line he'd never crossed before. He was going to pay off these thugs or do whatever it took to get them off Celeste's back forever. He didn't care what she'd done, even if it was murder.

“How much?” he said angrily to the two men.

A
hand with long black fingernails curled over the top of the metal door to Celeste's toilet stall. “Celeste, you in there?”

Celeste had put paper on the toilet seat and was sitting down with her shoulders hunched forward. Elbows in her red silk lap, her head was in her hands. When she didn't answer, the door jiggled.

“Go away,” Celeste pleaded.

“Your big guy's right outside. He wants to talk to you somethin' awful. Says your friends from Vegas are gone and won't be back to bother you ever again.”

“Not right now—”

A door banged open. “Man in the ladies' room!” Phillip shouted.

“Oh, my,” the woman on the other side of Celeste's stall said. “Do you want me to call security?”

“No,” Phillip said. “I want you to get the hell out of here.”

“You're rude. That's my purse you're throwing….” The woman screamed and ran out the door after her purse.

A door lock clicked. Then a large brown hand jimmied her stall door.

“Celeste, damn it, do you think that flimsy door is really going to keep me out—”

She opened it. “I can explain—”

“Nero and your friend The Pope saved you the trouble.”

“What…”

“Let's just say, I agreed to pay them a great deal of money. You're free to follow your big dream.”

“But what if I don't want—”

“You came here to hide from those goons. True or false?”

“It's complicated.”

“True or false?”

“True.”

“You used me.”

“No… I just wanted to hide. I needed a job.”

“You seduced me so I'd protect you from them and pay them off so you'd be free to go on your merry little way.”

“No…”

“Well, now you're free. Everything, the pretty smiles, the sex…. It's all been an act. Lies. You never wanted me. You wanted to be Stella Lamour, and you used me to make that happen.”

“I love you.”

“You knew they'd come.”

“I didn't owe them anything. You shouldn't have paid…”

“They said they'd kill you if I didn't. They threatened me, too.”

She blinked nervously. “They were after Johnny. He set them on me. I didn't tell you…because I couldn't bear for you to think badly of me. I didn't do any of those things they probably said I did. I'm not some—”

“I know exactly what you are—a woman I paid a great deal to sleep with. You let me use your body, but you gave me nothing else.”

The room seemed to spin. His dark face was at the center of whirling white tiles and mirrors and fluorescent lights. Somebody was pounding on the door outside.

“Security!” a man shouted.

“Don't worry,” Phillip said. “You were worth every penny. You've got Furman's card. And this, too.” He pulled out a wad of cash and stuffed it into her red purse. “That's way more than you'll need to get to Nashville. Give your friend Johnny a call—”

“He's not my manager. He used their money to gamble and told them he gave it to me. Why won't you listen—”

“Maybe because you never trusted me enough to talk. Get the hell out of my life. A girl with your talents should go far.”

“You said you loved me.”

“Love.” He laughed shortly. “There's no such thing. Not between us. You taught me that lesson—twice. We had sex. We used each other. You were scared and needed a soft landing. I was bored and needed a diversion in between wars. It was fun while it lasted, honey. But now it's goodbye. If we're smart, we won't pretend it was more than it was.”

“You asked me to marry you.”

“That's before I knew who and what you were. Why would I marry a shameless woman I've bought and paid for?”

“Shameless… How dare… Oh… You big, stupid lunk! You were a fool to pay them money I didn't even owe. You… I hate you. You're heartless…. You won't listen.”

“Oh, so this is all my fault. I saved your life, and it's my fault?”

“You asked me why I wouldn't talk to you. Well, it was because I knew you wouldn't listen. You didn't before. You're arrogant and pigheaded. I knew you'd think the worst of me just like everybody else did when I was a kid. And you do. I just wanted a few more days with you…and a few more nights. I was that starved for love, that pitiful.”

“Shut the hell up!”

“No wonder you're all alone in the middle of nowhere—”

She flung open the door and raced past a short, fat man in a brown uniform.

“Miss—”

Phillip leaped after her, forgetting that she had the keys to his truck.

She was inside his truck and backing out before he caught up with her. Lunging at her door, he pounded on her window. She floored it, and roared out of the parking lot, her tires shooting gravel at him just like the chopper had in Mezcaya. All he could do was step back and cough in the dust. Another truck roared to life and raced out of the lot after her.

Hell. She was in no condition to drive. He stumbled
after the trucks. His booted toe hit a thick root in the drive, and he nearly fell.

Hell. He wasn't any more fit to drive than she.

“Celeste! Come back!”

His stomach went hollow when her red taillights disappeared into the gloom. Then the thick humid night wrapped him. Anything could happen to her out there.

“Damn it!”

He couldn't allow himself to feel protective or to worry about her. She didn't want him—period. Now that she was gone, now that he knew why she'd come and stayed, he felt gut-sick, rejected. He was alone. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it…except drink.

 

Tears clogged Celeste's throat and blurred her vision. She was driving so fast the truck was weaving from side to side, but she was too upset and irrational to think about slowing down.

So, Phillip thought she was low and cheap, did he? The weeks they'd lived together, all the lovemaking, everything they'd said to each other and shared, meant nothing to him. He believed every sordid word The Pope and Nero had told him.

She'd been right not to talk to him. Dead right. Well, at least she had her memories. She sniffed. They would have to hold her for a lifetime.

The straight black road was like an inky river under the stars through the wild, wide-open brush country. Why was she crying over a pigheaded hunk? She had what she wanted. She'd saved her paychecks, Phillip had paid off those devils and even given her more money. Furman wanted to cut an album.

Stardom had never seemed so close. So why were tears streaming down her cheeks?

High beams flared in her rearview mirror, blinding her. She'd noticed another truck had left the lot at the same time she had, but she hadn't really thought much about it. The driver flashed his brights and caught up to her. She slowed down and moved onto the shoulder so he could pass her.

Instead, he rear-ended her bumper so hard she could barely keep the truck on the road. Oh, dear! He hit her again. Whoever it was, was trying to flip her or hijack her.

She gasped. Nero and The Pope! They must've gone outside to wait for her. She should have known the money hadn't been enough. Then she remembered the dead cows and the threatening notes. Could these thugs be from Mezcaya? Whoever they were, they wanted to hurt her.

When she stomped down hard on the gas pedal, the goons behind her did the same.

Where could she go? Not back to the ranch. Not without Phillip there. No, somehow she had to find a wide place and turn around. She had to get back to The Saddlebag and Phillip.

Oh, Phillip. She loved him so much. Now she realized she'd been so afraid of losing his admiration she'd kept the bad things in her life to herself. But love had to be about sharing, even the bad things. This time she would explain, and she would make him tell her everything about Mezcaya. She wasn't going anywhere until she made him listen. She wasn't leaving him until she was sure he knew how much she loved him.

The truck rammed her again. Even as she struggled to hold on to the wheel, her truck veered off the road,
bumping over rocks and cacti, thrashing through tall grasses.

Her heart was hammering when she fought to turn the wheel and get back on the road. No matter what happened, she had to make it back onto the highway, turn around and get back to Phillip. When she was on asphalt again, she risked a glance at the speedometer. She was doing more than ninety-five.

So were the devils behind her, flashing their lights.

Phillip… Just when she saw yellow signs that indicated a rest area up ahead where she might turn around, the truck hit her again so hard she skidded out of control.

The truck was flying straight at a tangled clump of oak trees.

“Oh, dear…”

She slammed her foot on the brake and screamed for Phillip, but the truck was like a roller-coaster car out of control.

The dense black trees with their spreading branches loomed like a wall in front of her. She screamed again right before she hit them. After that everything seemed all right.

She was back home in bed with Phillip. They were laughing and kissing, and he was caressing her hair and telling her he loved her.

He understood. He loved her.

Everything was all right.

She wasn't dying. She couldn't be.

She was going to cut an album in Nashville, and Phillip was beaming proudly, begging her to marry him. She had Phillip and her music. He was right. Life and love and woman's dreams weren't an “either or” proposition. She could have it all.

A young thug with a permanent tan and a cigarette danging from his pretty mouth leaned close to her.

“Help me,” she whispered. “Phillip…”

He laughed and began to scribble something on a piece of paper. His handsome face blurred. Then she heard voices in a foreign language.

The next time she opened her eyes, the pretty thug and his friends were gone.

Everything was all right.

Time ticked by slowly. Then a light shone in her face, blinding her. She tried to move and a hot pain stabbed her in the right thigh.

“Phillip—” Her voice cracked in agony.

“Don't try to move,” Sheriff Wainwright warned gently. “We're gonna have to get the Jaws of Life and cut you out of there.”

“Phillip… I want Phillip… I love Phillip.” Her voice broke. Nothing mattered nearly so much as Phillip.

T
he beer bottles he'd lined up like soldiers on his table blurred. Phillip blinked but, in the dimly lit corner of The Saddlebag where he sat sprawled, that only made bottles bob like swimmers. He whirled around, grinning drunkenly as he held up two fingers, signaling to the bartender that he wanted a couple more.

The door opened and a tall, dark man stalked inside and looked around. Not that Phillip noticed Ricky Mercado at first. All his attention was focused on the bartender, who was scrubbing dirty glasses and seemed to be deliberately ignoring him. Even when Phillip heard his friend's heavy tread behind him, he paid no attention. Instead he picked up a bottle and began to beat his table like a drum. The maddening bartender looked up and scowled at him.

“It's about time,” Phillip rumbled, swallowing a string of curse words.

“Enough, old buddy,” came Ricky's deep voice behind him.

“Leave me the hell alone, Mercado.”

With a charming smile Mercado pulled up a chair and sat.

“You deaf?”

“There's an old raccoon that hisses and spits at me every time I walk out my back door. He radiates more charm than you, old buddy.”

“Did you come here to insult me—”

“I came here to warn you and Celeste. Wainwright and Yardley grilled me about Mezcaya all afternoon. They think I'm to blame for your dead cows. I did some checking, and I'm pretty sure that crazy thug, Xavier Gonzalez, is in the neighborhood gunning for you.”

Oh, God. “How the hell would you know that unless—” Phillip began in a hard, ugly tone as he nastily swung around on Mercado.
Unless you had secret dealings with the arms dealers?
Even in his inebriated state, he wasn't ready to accuse Mercado.

Still, Mercado's voice got icy, too. “My source is very reliable. He knew all about the cows and the threatening notes— If the feds didn't know something, that A.T.F. agent, Cole Yardley, wouldn't be here trying to sniff out Gonzalez's little gun-smuggling ring. Yardley keeps showing up at my place, suggesting I'm involved with running guns to Mezcaya. No matter what I say, he won't believe I quit the family.”

“Go away and leave me alone. I've got worse things to deal with than Xavier Gonzalez or your personal problems.”

“Do you? If Xavier's hell-bent on murder?”

“Get out!”

“So where's Celeste?”

“Where's my damn beer?” Westin spun his chair around. “Bartender—”

“So she's gone. For good this time?”

“Get the hell out of my face,” Phillip muttered between his gritted teeth. Then he slouched back against the wall.

When Mercado leaned forward to say something else, Phillip whipped out of his seat so fast, the chair fell over. The cozily lit room swirled. Phillip's gut wrenched queasily and he felt himself swaying. Mercado shot to his feet and grabbed his arm to steady him.

“I don't need your help. I don't need anybody's help.” He bent and swiped at the beer bottles, laughing when they fell like bowling pins and rolled off the table.

The phone rang, and the bartender rushed up to them and said something fast to Mercado.

Pushing his friend, who suddenly looked dazed out of his way, Phillip stumbled toward the door, blearily amazed at how heavy his feet were and how damned hard it was to walk in a straight line.

Mercado caught up with him and lunged at the massive door beneath the exit sign, barring his way. He was holding a cordless phone against his broad chest with one hand.

“You're in no condition to drive.” Mercado's expression was strange, scarily strange. His dark eyes held pity and compassion and something else—was it fear?

Mercado said something—maybe Phillip's name, but the words ran together in a jumble.

“Celeste,” Mercado said in a low, shaken voice. Then he held out the cordless phone. “It's Wainwright, the sheriff…. They've made headway on their investigation. But there's been an accident. Celeste… They think Xavier or his thugs—”

“Celeste?”
Oh, God.

Phillip took a sharp, painful breath and then he grabbed the phone. But he was so clumsy, he knocked it out of Mercado's hand onto the floor. Then he toppled to his knees, scrambling for it like a madman. By the time he picked it up, it was dead.

“She's in the Mission Creek Memorial Hospital,” Mercado said.

“She's alive?”

“Somebody ran her off the road.”

“Deliberately?”

Mercado nodded. “The bastards left another note. Celeste gave them a description of Xavier Gonzalez.”

“Xavier?”
Oh, God.
He'd find Gonzalez and make him pay.

He shouldn't have been so rough on her. She'd been too upset to drive. If she died, it would be his fault—

“An ambulance took her to the hospital. That's all I know.”

“She could be dead already.”

Just the thought caused a blackness to close around his soul. He was a rejected little boy again with no place to call home.

What a bleak, dead place the world would be if anything happened to Celeste. He imagined her face still and white in a coffin. He had to get a grip, to shut down. Only he couldn't.

Terror that she was gone and it was too late for them wrenched him out of his self-indulgent abyss of idiotic self-torment into a totally different kind of hell, a hell that didn't allow him to shut down, a scary hell he had to face.

“I have to see her. I have to make sure they're taking
good care of her. You can't trust hospitals. Terrible things happen in hospitals. People die.”

“I'll drive you,” Mercado said. “But first, I'm getting a cup of coffee down you—”

“Just get me to the damn hospital.”

 

On the way over, all Phillip could think about was Celeste. Who'd hurt her? Xavier's men?

She'd been driving his truck. Xavier's men could have gone after her just because she'd been in his truck. He'd get to the bottom of this mystery, but first he had to make sure Celeste was okay.

If she wasn't all right, he'd die, too. Maybe not physically, but without her, his life would be flat and empty like before. Only worse.

He remembered the seven years after she'd left him. Seven years of fighting other men's wars. He hadn't cared whether he'd lived or died. When he'd been home rumbling around the empty ranch house without her, he'd seen her in every room. He'd tried dating other women, but nobody had ever come close to filling the void.

When he'd gotten home from the Middle East and found her gone, he'd been so hurt and furious that when she'd invited him to Vegas or offered to come back for a visit, all he'd said was, “Follow your dream. You don't want me.”

What if she had? Maybe it was his fault she'd gotten into so much trouble. Maybe she could have found a way to be a singer and a wife. Maybe he should have supported her instead of demanding her on his terms. He thought of how she'd smiled when her fans had praised her tonight. Her music and the thrill of singing to an audience was part of her. Her voice thrilled him, too. It
was why he'd fallen in love with her. She was a natural star. He'd been a selfish bastard to even try to take all that away from her the first time. He just hadn't realized back then how much her music mattered to her. And to him. To hold her, he had to give her her freedom.

As for Xavier… Phillip shouldn't have left Mezcaya with him alive.

He buried his face in his hands. The fear that gripped him was worse than anything he'd ever experienced in combat. He was helpless and scared, and his macho, tough guy act wasn't going to work this time. He couldn't shut down. The pain and the fear were inescapable. Never in his whole life had he felt so vulnerable and exposed.

“Celeste. Please, God, or whoever's listening up there… Please don't let her die.”

 

“Phillip. I want Phillip….”

Celeste was in the hospital. Her broken leg was in a cast. Tubes were attached to her arms.

The door to her hospital room opened.

“Phillip…”

But it wasn't Phillip. It was a redheaded nurse with a syringe in her hand.

“I don't want a shot. I want…”

“You need your rest.”

Even as she shook her head, Celeste felt the faintest prick in her arm and sweet fire tingling in her vein.

“Do you remember crashing your truck?”

She swallowed. “There's a weird taste in my mouth.”

“Here, sip some water.”

When she tried, she could barely lift her head or swallow. Within minutes her eyes felt heavy and her mind was drifting. “Phillip…” But Phillip wasn't coming. He
didn't want her. He'd made that clear. She wasn't worthy.

Sick at heart, she shut her eyes.

Hours later she woke up and Phillip was there. Only this time she didn't believe he really was. It was a dream, like the one she'd had after the accident. Oh, the heartache when she realized her mind was playing another cruel trick.

“Go away,” she whispered. “You don't really love me. You don't…” She shut her eyes, willing him to vanish.

“Celeste,” he drawled in that velvet tone he used when they made love. “I'm sorry. I don't care what you did. I love you. You're the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. I love you.”

“Hello,” she said softly, opening her eyes.

He smiled.

“Hold my hand,” she murmured. “Touch me so I'll know you're real.”

He smoothed her hair out of her eyes. “I'm real.”

“I'm okay,” she said. “I have a broken leg. A minor fracture…”

“The doctor told me.”

His hand stroked her cheek lovingly.

“Your truck's totaled, though. I—I was driving too fast when that other truck…”

“I don't care about my truck or even about who did this, just as long as you're…” His voice broke. He crumpled a piece of paper viciously in his hand.

“What's that you're holding?” she whispered.

“Just a note somebody left… Nothing.”

“Did somebody kill another cow and leave you a note?”

“It's not important.”

For a second or two her tough Marine stared past her out the window. He was too choked up to talk.

“Another warning?”

He pressed his lips together and nodded. “You're all that matters,” he whispered. “You have to believe me.”

She squeezed his hand. “So are you. I won't go to Nashville. I'll give it all up for you. I wanted to be somebody because I thought I was nothing. But you make me feel…special. Our life together, our future, is everything. I want children. Your children. Oh, Phillip, I was such a fool.”

“You don't have to give anything up for me. You have a big dream and you tried to make it come true. You wouldn't be you without your dreams. I want to help you make them come true.”

“You're my big dream. I just didn't know it. I was on a path. I had tunnel vision. You're everything.”

“We'll work it out. Your music is a part of you. If fame and fortune ever threatens to overpower us, we'll deal with that, too. Together. If you want to sing, I want you to. We'll hire a housekeeper.”

“Oh, Phillip I don't know. We'll have to see. Right now just knowing you love me is enough. But you'll let me sing if I feel I have to? You love me that much?”

He rained gentle kisses along her brow. “Now that I'm sure of you, I'm not intimidated by your music.”

“Maybe I have a broken leg, but I feel so wonderful, so cherished. I—I didn't want to discuss my past life…because I was ashamed of it, or my dreams because I thought they threatened you.”

“You don't have to explain anything. I was a jerk…. Pigheaded…I believe you said.”

“No. You took me in when first came here with nothing even though I'd hurt you terribly.”

“We hurt each other. You're a wonderful woman.”

“I—I was so ashamed…when I got here. So ashamed of being such a miserable failure. I was afraid those guys might show up, and you'd think the worst.”

“Which I did—”

“I—I wanted you to think well of me—”

“I do, in spite of how I acted tonight. Forgive me for that momentary lapse of sanity. I was jealous. It drove me crazy that you refused my ring and that you didn't trust me enough…”

“I do trust you. I was crazy not to before. Nobody's ever been so good to me before.”

“That's all that matters.” He cupped her face with his hands. “You made a mistake. You didn't do anything really wrong.”

“Johnny gambled and didn't pay the money back he lost. When I gave him some money because he was desperate and I felt sorry for him, the goons after him came after me.”

“No good deed goes unpunished.” Grimly, Phillip thought of Xavier and what he'd nearly done to Celeste.

Phillip forced a hollow laugh. Then her eyes welled with unshed tears.

“Let's forget them…and concentrate on each other,” Phillip said, leaning forward to kiss her as he stuffed Xavier's note into his pocket.

“What about the dead cows?”

“I'm almost certain a creep named Xavier Gonzalez from Mezcaya killed them and did this to you. He will pay. Apparently, he's got a nasty little operation running guns from Texas to Mezcaya, and he sees me as a personal threat to his business. Nobody knows where Gonzalez is right now, but I swear we'll catch him. So, your focus is to get well. Mine is to keep you safe.”

She ran her hands through his hair and sighed.

“The mystery is all but solved. The bad guys will be brought to justice,” he promised as he traced her cheek with a rough fingertip. “You have nothing to be afraid of. Nothing—”

“Nothing…to be afraid of…because I have you to protect me.” She smiled at him with joy and love in her eyes. “I was right to come home to you.” She felt completely happy, maybe for the first time in her life.