The Backup Plan (20 page)

She grinned at his interpretation. “Yes, that.”

“I may mind in fifty or sixty years,” he said, that lazy, smug look firmly in place. “I'll let you know.”

Dinah laughed. “You do that,” she said, but underneath the laughter she felt a tiny little shiver of panic at the implication in his words, the unspoken promise of an enduring love. That alarm told her as nothing else might have that she was a long way from being able to let herself risk loving someone again.

L
ong after Dinah had fallen asleep in his arms, Cord lay awake in bed thinking about the unmistakable flicker of fear in her eyes when he'd casually tossed out a comment suggesting they'd be together a few decades from now. He'd let it pass at the time, but it made him wonder just how she saw things between them.

Throughout his adult life, he'd never been interested in much more than the occasional fling, but it was different with Dinah. There was no question that he was in love with her, probably had been all of his life. He'd fought it because of Bobby, ignored it because it didn't make a lick of sense, but now that it seemed possible, he knew it was going to break his heart if she went off and left him.

Which meant he had to figure out some way to make her want to stay. It wouldn't be enough just to persuade her and he surely didn't want her to do it because she had no other options, the way she'd been willing to settle for his brother. No, she had to want to stay in Charleston with him, because it was what was right for her. He wasn't smug enough to think that mind-altering sex was going to do it.

And there was also that nagging little matter of trust.
If she discovered that he'd stood squarely between her and Bobby once again, she was going to be furious and whatever they were building now could blow right up in his face. He needed to figure out a way to keep her and his brother from ever finding out the role he'd played in keeping them separated.

First things first, though. He had to get her to want to stay. He thought about what had taken her away from Charleston in the first place. Ambition, in a word. A career. He couldn't offer her a war zone, but he could surely point her in the direction of a job.

But did he dare? Especially now that she was seeing that shrink and struggling with whatever demons she'd brought home with her? No, he concluded reluctantly, now was not the time. She had to work through her problems first. Once she had, she might be receptive to a gentle nudge or two.

He turned his head and gazed at her, still not quite believing that she was here with him. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a tangle of curls, but she looked at peace for a change.

Almost as if his thoughts had touched her, she stirred restlessly, moaning a little. Her hand, resting against his chest, clenched.

“No,” she murmured, a tear leaking out and running down her cheek. “No!”

Cord brushed away the tear. “Sssh!” he soothed. “Everything's okay. You're right here with me. You're safe, Dinah. I'll keep you safe.”

His words must have reached her, because she sighed and snuggled closer. Her hand relaxed.

“What happened to you?” he whispered, his heart aching.

More important, what was it going to take to make her whole again?

 

Dinah was starting to like Warren Blake more and more with each visit. He pushed, but only so far. He seemed to know instinctively when she was getting close to the breaking point. And no matter how well or how badly a session went, he regarded her with approval, never with disdain or disappointment. Oddly, that reaction from a virtual stranger reassured her. Perhaps no one else in her life, especially those who loved her, would be disappointed when they learned the truth about what had sent her fleeing from Afghanistan.

“Are you married?” she asked Warren out of the blue as her third session in a week drew to a close on Friday.

He gave her a chiding look. “I thought we'd agreed that I get to ask the questions.”

“We're off the clock now, doc. I'm on my way out.”

His gaze narrowed then. “Are you asking for yourself? A lot of people tend to develop an attachment to their psychologist. It's normal, since the things we're dealing with are so intense.”

It sounded very practiced, as if he'd had to deliver the same gentle rebuke a hundred times before. Dinah smiled. “I'm not asking for myself.”

He looked thoroughly flustered by that. “Oh.”

“I was thinking about Maggie,” she admitted. “But then you already know her, so I'd probably be wasting my time pushing you in her direction. I mean you're both adults who are capable of getting together if you're interested, right? You don't need me interfering.”

He laughed. “We don't. In fact, knowing Maggie's stubborn independence, I have to wonder if she would appreciate you meddling in her love life.”

“Actually she doesn't get a say,” Dinah said, turning aside the scolding. “She was happy enough to meddle in mine.”

“I see.” He assumed his perfectly bland, shrink face again. “How do you feel about that?”

Amused, Dinah tapped her watch. “Time's up. Gotta run before you charge me for another hour.” She stood up and started for the door. She had her hand on the knob, when she realized he was studying her with a long, thoughtful look.

“Actually I held the next hour open, in case you wanted to keep going today,” he said quietly.

She regarded him with surprise. “Why?”

“Because we keep appointment right up to the real breakthrough and just when we get close, you go dashing out the door. I'm beginning to think you've got the timing down pat.”

“In my business, timing is critical,” Dinah said, unable to keep the defensive note from her voice, because he was exactly right. “If a piece was slotted for three minutes, it had better be three minutes down to the second.”

“I'm not talking about your business now,” he said coolly. “I think you know that. So, what's it going to be, Dinah? Are you staying so we can make some real progress? Or are you going to run away to avoid the same thing?”

She certainly wanted to run. There was something unrelenting in the psychologist's eyes today, as if he'd tired of her evasions, not for his sake, but for hers. She
really wasn't sure she wanted to do this, not just today, but ever.

She hesitated, debating with herself. Then her pride kicked in and she stepped back into the room. “I'll stay.”

“Good.” He waited until she finally sat back down before suggesting bluntly, “Tell me some more about Peter.”

It was the first time he'd brought Peter's name up on his own and hearing it casually mentioned startled her even though she'd known when she made the decision to stay that this was the conversation they were going to have.

“He was one of the greatest cameramen I've ever known,” she said neutrally. “He'd won every major award.” She sounded like a biographer rather than his lover.

“What was he like as a man?”

That answer took longer, not because she couldn't find the right adjectives to describe him, but because remembering his best traits made her unbearably sad. “Warm, irreverent, dependable.”

“Until he went and died on you,” Warren said.

Dinah flashed him a look of pure hatred. “Yes, until he died,” she snapped. “But he didn't let me down, if that's what you're implying. Far from it.”

“Then you tell me. How did it happen, Dinah?”

She saw the scene again in her mind—their capture that night, the driver walking away and leaving them with an impossible choice to make, Peter insisting that she let him cover her escape. But that's where the images stopped, in the back of the car, with Peter still very much alive. She wouldn't allow the reel to play on. She couldn't. She didn't want to see it or hear it or experi
ence it again, much less describe it to a man who was, after all, a virtual stranger.

“Dinah?” he coaxed. “Don't stop now. Tell me what happened.”

When she continued to remain silent, he asked, “Were you there?”

She nodded, feeling numb.

“Tell me,” he encouraged. “Take your time and describe what happened.”

“I can't,” she whispered.

“You can,” he said, his tone unrelenting. “You must. No evasions this time, Dinah. It's time to let it out. You're safe here. It's over. You survived.”

She remembered dimly hearing Cord's whisper in the night. “You're safe,” he'd said. And she had relaxed. She had believed it.

Yet now she felt as terrified as she had on that deserted highway. There was nothing safe about remembering or talking about that night. The only safety was in stuffing it down deep inside where she wouldn't have to face the guilt that came with knowing she'd survived and Peter hadn't.

Even she could see the illogic of that. She knew Peter was dead. She knew she'd lived.

Even so, panic welled up and overwhelmed her. Her heart began to race. She broke out in a cold sweat. Her breath snagged in her throat. She glanced around the room wildly, needing air, certain that all of the oxygen had been sucked right out of her.

Realizing the windows were sealed and overcome by a choking fear, she bolted for the door, then down the seven flights of stairs, not pausing until she was outside, gasping in air, leaning against the wall of the building, her heart still pounding in an out-of-control rhythm.

The door opened again and Warren Blake appeared beside her, his eyes filled with kindness and regret. He put a hand on her shoulder and waited until she finally began to relax, the panic slowly releasing its grip on her.

“How often do you have these panic attacks?” he asked.

She leaned back against the wall of the building, her eyes closed. “Not so much lately,” she said eventually. “They only come when I…you know.”

“Start to think about what happened,” he guessed.

She nodded. “Or when something happens that reminds me,” she said, recalling the clap of thunder that had sent her diving into the dirt at Cord's at the beginning of the summer.

His gaze narrowed. “Something like what?”

“Thunder,” she said, then realized how telling that probably was, after all.

“Any loud noise?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Did Peter die in a car-bomb explosion?”

Hearing the words spoken so calmly, so matter-offactly filled her with an odd sense of relief. It was only three little words—car-bomb explosion—she thought with amazement. Why hadn't she been able to make her self utter them?

Because with those words came images too horrifying to express, she realized, as they began to creep in. Images of the charred metal of the car, the rising smoke, and then, worst of all, Peter's shattered body.

“Oh, God,” she whispered with a barely muffled sob. She covered her eyes as if that could keep away the fresh pictures that were winding through her head in a horrifying, never-ending loop.

Each image was more appalling than the one before. And with each she let out another sob, and then another, until she was bent over, clutching her stomach, the tears streaming down her face.

Warren Blake remained beside her, steady as a rock, his hand on her shoulder reassuring, as she cried her heart out. For Peter. For herself. For a world gone mad with hatred.

For once, Dinah didn't try to stop the tears from flowing. She let them come, feeling the cleansing that came with them, the letting go of the anguish that had been eating her alive, that had kept her from moving on.

These tears felt different from all the others she'd shed. Was it because she was finally able to acknowledge why she was crying and for whom? Were these the first honest tears she'd shed?

Slowly, the sobs eased and the tears dried up, all on their own, she realized with surprise. It seemed there wasn't an endless supply of them after all. How astonishing!

When she stood up at last, Warren handed her a box of tissues. The gesture made her lips twitch with an unexpected smile.

“Are you always prepared for anything?”

“Pretty much, but I saw this coming,” he said. “You did good, Dinah.”

She frowned at the praise. “Do you get some sort of weird thrill out of watching a woman unravel before your eyes?”

“No, what thrills me is seeing someone finally face their demons.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “You're in no condition to drive right
now and you need someone with you. Who would you like me to call?”

Her mother would be soothing. Maggie would be comforting. But it was Cord's name she instinctively gave him. She needed to feel his arms around her, though if she kept bombarding him with her neediness, he was going to wind up losing his job.

“I'll call,” she said, accepting the phone and dialing. “It's me,” she said when Cord answered. “Can you come get me?”

“Where are you?” he asked at once, not even hesitating.

She gave him the address for the office building. “I'll be in the café off the lobby.”

“Twenty minutes, sugar. Will you be okay till then?” he asked, his voice threaded with worry. “Maggie's closer.”

“No,” she said. “I'll wait for you. I want you, Cord.”

“You've got me. I'm on my way.”

She held tight to his words as she handed the phone back to Warren. “He's on his way.”

“I'll come in and wait with you,” he said.

“You don't need to do that,” she insisted.

“Yes, I do.”

She frowned at his determination. “Do you think I'm going to fall apart again?”

His brows rose. “Do you?”

“I hadn't planned on it.”

“Well, then, neither will I,” he retorted mildly.

Inside, he bought two cups of coffee and set one in front of her. Dinah clung to it, just to have something to do with her hands. Now that the whole scene was over, she was swamped with embarrassment.

“There's nothing for you to be embarrassed about,” Warren said.

She scowled at him. “Are you reading my mind now?”

“No need to,” he said. “I know how this stuff works. People have a breakthrough and instead of appointment in the streets, they get all twisted up and uncomfortable about creating a scene.”

“How do you stand it?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Stand it?” he repeated with amazement. “It's what I live for. What just happened with you means you're finally on the road to recovery. You're getting in touch with your emotions again, instead of blocking them out. How could I not be happy about that?”