The Lives Between Us (19 page)

He nodded. “If you change your mind—”

“I won’t. But, thanks.”

Mark swirled the ice cubes in his glass, then took another sip of his drink. Mark wasn’t what Skye would consider a drinker, and drinking in the middle of the day—even if on vacation seemed out of character. “So you’re on vacation. Where’re you off to?”

“Snowmass, Aspen. Skiing.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Skye saw Molly approach with an order. She excused herself and went back to work. She poured a Coke, popped the top on a Bud Light, and placed them on Molly’s tray before giving the bar a quick swipe and facing Mark. Skye swallowed her disappointment that Mark would be gone for the holidays. “Going to be home for Christmas?”

Mark pursed his lips. “No. I’m sorry I won’t be able to spend Christmas with you. These plans were made months ago. I can’t back out now.”

Skye waved a hand. “Don’t be silly. I understand.”

Mark lowered his voice. “I’d rather be with you.”

Skye felt heat rushing her cheeks. How embarrassing; he felt sorry for her. “It’s okay. We’re having a quiet celebration in Faith’s room.” Christmas in the hospital, without Niki. She was dreading it.

Mark took a long sip of his drink, emptying half the glass. “How’s your sister?”

“Better. She’s out of ICU. She has some residual dizziness, and her right side is pretty weak, but they expect her to improve quickly with therapy.”

“And the twins?”

“They’re...” What could she say that wouldn’t make her look uncaring? She’d tried to see them, but the dang NICU just freaked her out. “They’re coming along.”

Mark nodded and drained his drink, before smacking it down. “Good to hear.”

Skye scooted the other bowl of pretzel mix over a few feet, next to Mark’s glass just in case he hadn’t had lunch. Drinking on an empty stomach wasn’t a good idea.

Mark swirled the ice in his drink and fished out the olives. Bringing the toothpick to his mouth, he held the olives while pulling them off the toothpick, like hundreds of people had done in front of her every night she worked. It shouldn’t have mesmerized her, yet Skye couldn’t have turned away if the place had been on fire. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed her staring.

Mark raised his empty glass and eyebrows in a gesture asking for a refill.

His third double in a half an hour? That’s a lot. “Do you want to see a menu or are you having a liquid lunch today?”

“I’m fine with this.” Mark pulled the snack mix closer.

“So you already ate?” With her back to him, Skye splashed some water in to dilute his gin.

“Had a late brunch meeting.” Mark popped some pretzel mix into his mouth. She put his fresh drink before him. Quickly chewing, he swallowed and beckoned her near as if to share a secret. When she leaned into the bar, he quickly kissed her lips. “Thank you.”

Skye fell back, chuckling at his silliness. “You’re welcome.”

Mark lifted his glass for a brief taste, before cocking an eyebrow at her. “One of these days, you’re not going to laugh when I kiss you.” He hunched over his glass and gave her a sage exaggerated nod.

“Is that so?” Skye rested her back against the bar and smiled. She’d never seen Mark tipsy.

“It is.” His head bobbed again. “So, do you like working here?”

“You know? I do,” she said, sounding rather surprised at the revelation.

“Thought you didn’t like people.”

“I don’t. These people don’t count—they’re transient. They don’t stick around long enough to irritate me.”

Mark popped a pretzel in his mouth and chewed it as quick as her squirrel pal at the cemetery. “So when do you get off work?”

Was he going to ask her out? For the first time since starting at the bar, she regretted her lack of free time. “One a.m.—I’m closing tonight.”

“Makes for a long shift.”

“I get a couple of hours’ break before the dinner crowd.”

Mark looked at his watch, gulped his drink, and plopped it on the bar with a loud
clunk
. Reaching behind him for his leather bomber jacket, he said, “How’d you like to meet Senator Hastings?”

“What?”

“Drive me to the airport. I’ll introduce you to Ed.”

Meet Hastings today? Skye glanced down at her jeans. She wasn’t prepared. She wouldn’t know what to say or how to act. “Now?”

Mark shrugged into the coat and adjusted the collar with great care before answering. “Now.”

“You want me to drive you to the airport to meet Edward Hastings?” Now or beginning of March? Skye would be so embarrassed to meet the senator, but it’d have to happen sooner or later.

Mark took some bills from his wallet and threw it on the bar top. “It’s only fair, after all, you’re the one who got me drunk, making it unsafe for me to drive.”

“I did
not
get you drunk.”

“I don’t know; I’m feeling pret-ty buzzed.” He rocked back on his heels and looked down at her through hooded eyes.

“I did my job. Besides, I tried to feed you.”

Mark moved down the length of the long wood counter. “Whatever. You coming?”

“And if I don’t?” She ducked under the bar and took off the apron covering her jeans.

“I’ll catch a cab.”

A cab to Metro would cost a small fortune. “How will you get your car back?”

He waited by the door. “You’ll have to pick me up.”

“You must be drunk. You’re giving me your car for a week?”

Mark took her leather jacket from the hook at the side of the bar and held it out for her to thread her arms into. “Why not?”

This was crazy. Turning behind her Skye called out, “I’m leaving, Molly. Be back in a couple of hours.”

Without waiting for her boss’s response, Mark stretched his arm around her shoulders, and bumped into her as they walked through the door. Skye burrowed in his grasp, enjoying nestling close.

Outside, the cold hit her, and she pulled her coat tighter. Mark’s coat flapped wide open. “Aren’t you cold?”

Skye gasped as Mark spun her around and pinned her against a brick wall. His body pressed against every inch of hers, one leg thrust boldly between her legs. Skye felt warmth radiating through his jeans. His heart pounded a staccato beat under her hand, resting on his chest — he wasn’t cold.

“You keep me warm.” Mark lowered his head and took her lips in a hard kiss. The arm at her back clamped down, pulling her closer as he eased away from the wall. She’d never liked rough sex play, but Mark’s sudden aggressiveness intrigued her.

As suddenly as Mark had seized her, his arms dropped away. A waft of cold air replaced the heat of his body, confusing Skye and leaving her feeling curiously bereft. Grabbing Skye’s hand, Mark began whistling an odd tune and led her over to his dark blue Audi. He clicked the lock and opened the car door for her with a flourish, then closed it behind her. He rounded the car and got in the passenger’s side.

Wow. Skye certainly wasn’t laughing now. He blew that Mr. Nice guy image right out the window. Would the real Mark Dutton please stand up? If this was the result of his being drunk, she just might keep him inebriated forever.

Mark ignored her and fiddled with the radio, finally settling on a jazz station before reclining his seat a little. Laying his head back, he closed his eyes as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Skye adjusted the mirrors, turned the car on, and pulled out of the parking lot. It was just like a man to kiss a girl like that and leave town—the tease. Suddenly this all seemed so farfetched.

“How exactly is it that you know the senator?”

Mark pointed at the next light. “Turn right on Connor.”

Skye got into the right-hand lane.

“We were roommates at Michigan.”

“Roommates? He’s got to be at least five years older than you.” Skye drove onto the overpass and into the left lane, ready to get on I-94.

“Keep going. We’re going to Coleman Young—the old City Airport. He was in law school, and I was a sophomore.”

“Coleman Young?” Skye glanced to her right, and pulled out and around the semi in front of her. “So the senator flies private.”

“It’s not as extravagant as it sounds. It’s a small plane. Very small,” he muttered.

“Okay. You’ll have to direct me.”

“Just keep going until you run by it.”

Skye steered the car around potholes riddling the cracked streets and through quiet, neat neighborhoods composed of rows of small homes. “So when do you need to be picked up?”

“Sunday. I’ll get a ride home with Ed, but I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“Okay.” Skye drove past huge buildings on the left, surrounded by a chain-link razor-topped fence. The beige brick buildings held walls of small, dark rectangular windows. She wondered what factory this was. A Ford subsidiary?

Then they came upon a low one-story building boasting a Detroit Coleman Young International Airport sign. As they neared, Skye shifted in her seat. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. Hastings probably hated her; she’d embarrassed him. Insulted him.
He deserved it
. “Which way?”

“Turn around. You passed it. Go in back there to the gate with the guard.”

Skye pulled into the main entrance of the airport and made a U-turn, driving back the way they’d come. They passed a sign directing passengers to Parking lots A, C, and D.

“The executive terminal.”

Skye turned into the large lot outside the executive terminal—which was the building she’d thought was a factory. She pulled up next to the little gray guard booth. They both needed to show ID before the guard would raise the cross arm. Once inside the gate, Mark gestured for her to park straight ahead.

Skye waited for Mark to retrieve his suitcase from the trunk before leaving the security of the car. He was springing her on Edward Hastings—who likely wouldn’t be happy about this surprise.

How would he react? Should she apologize right off? God, she wanted to be any place but there right then. And why was Mark acting so weird?

Throwing back his shoulders, Mark exhaled deeply. He glared at the little jet before slamming the trunk close. Grabbing Skye’s hand, Mark marched her forward.

The royal blue tail stretched out with a long racing stripe zipping to the needle-nose cockpit—an impressive, sleek-looking machine. The plane was larger than the little crop duster Skye envisioned them flying in, but nowhere near the size of a commercial jet she was used to. It was a beautiful machine.

Mark’s pace slowed as they neared and his grip tightened, almost painfully, on her hand. They stopped a hundred feet away from the plane. Mark set down his suitcase and stared at it. Skye glanced at his pale face. Were the drinks finally getting to him or was Mark afraid of flying?

A man jogged down the few stairs to greet them with a broad smile. Wow. TV, newspapers, and magazine photos didn’t do Senator Hastings justice. Or maybe on vacation he was more carefree and relaxed, because the man positively oozed sex appeal.

Skye schooled her features so none of her distrust or nervousness would show. She was about to come face-to-face with the man who contributed to Niki’s death—albeit indirectly. She had to act cool. Judging by the senator’s smile, he obviously had seen her and decided to be polite. She’d be nice too—even if it killed her. Mark deserved the effort.

Moving toward them in an easy, rolling gait, Edward looked at his watch. “You’re late.”

“I’m here,” Mark said in a belligerent tone. He let go of Skye’s hand to grip her shoulder and move her forward as if using her as a shield against the plane. “Ed, I don’t think you’ve been formally introduced to my friend, Skylar Kendall. Skye, Edward Hastings.”

The crinkles fanning out from the corner of his eyes eased as Edward’s smile faded. “Skylar, it’s nice to meet you in person.” Reaching forward, he sandwiched her hand between both of his in a warm handshake.

Disarmed by his gracious greeting, Skye had to stifle the urge to apologize to him for her months of harassment.

Forget the phony warm front, Skylar. Remember what he did to Niki.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Senator.” They smiled stiffly, sizing each other up for several long seconds. “And here I thought this might be awkward,” she muttered.

He nodded as if approving her forthrightness. “I work hard to keep my private life and public life separate. I’m on vacation now, and I’m eager to get to know the woman foolish enough to hang around with this clown.”

“Hey,” Mark protested.

“Mark’s been quiet about you. Probably worried I’d scare you off,” Edward said.

Skye smiled at Mark before facing Edward. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, Senator.”

He chuckled. “Somehow I don’t have a problem believing that. And, please, call me Edward.”

“I’ve been telling Skye what a great guy you are.”

“Always good to have someone singing my praises.”

Skye had to give the senator points for not responding with a sarcastic comment like, “Save your breath; she hates me.”

“Skye’s interested in interviewing you,” Mark announced.

Skye gave Mark a sharp look. Why would he say that? Was he trying to cause trouble?

Edward’s eyebrows rose. “About what? Not stem cells, I hope. When it comes to that topic, I’m afraid we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

“I’m sure we can think of something else to talk about. There has to be more to you than your stem cell stance.”

“I like to think so.” Edward reached in his back pocket and withdrew his wallet, then handed her a business card. “We really need to get going, but call my office and see if we can set up a time soon.”

A dark-haired boy stood in the doorway. “Dad. We gotta go.”

Skye stared at the kid. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“Why don’t I introduce you to my family while Mark stows his stuff?”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“No intrusion. Mark’s family. We want to get to know you—even if you are a reporter.” He grinned. “Just kidding.”

No, he wasn’t kidding. “If you’re sure.”

Edward took Skye’s arm in a gentle grasp and moved her toward the plane. “My wife would kill me if I didn’t.”