What She Doesn't Know (3 page)

“Bill called while you were in the hospital after hearing about your accident. He told me he’s tried to get back with you over the last year, but you keep putting him off.”

“He’s not my type.”

“He’s exactly your type, that sweet, Bill Pullman kind of guy who calls to check on a woman who ditched him a year ago.” Marty lowered her voice. “He told me about your nosebleed when he tried to kiss you.”

“So I got a nosebleed. Big deal.”

“If it’s no big deal, why are you pulverizing that doughnut?”

“Shh!” Rita tossed the mashed doughnut in the garbage.

Marty followed Rita back to her office, whispering, “You’re just too embarrassed to admit you need help. It’s all right for those schooled in the mind to ask for help. Heck, I think most therapists need counseling even after their early training. This has something to do with the fact that you haven’t had a real boyfriend since I’ve known you, doesn’t it?”

Rita closed her office door behind them and walked to her desk, wanting to feel in control again. “It’s just a little problem relating to men. Nothing for you to worry about.” Marty wanted to understand…to know her deepest, darkest place where she hid the girl whose father had only one lesson to teach her: men were removed and aloof, mysterious and alien.

“I think you have a phobia about people worrying about you,” Marty said, crossing her arms. “Why is that?”

Barbara, the receptionist, tapped on the door and poked her head in. “Oh, excuse me, I didn’t know you were busy.”

“We’re done,” Rita said.

“Done!” Marty threw her hands up. “She’s hardly opened up at all.”

Rita kept smiling at Barbara, wishing she could kick Marty under the desk.

“There’s a gentleman here to see you, Rita. Christopher LaPorte.” She raised her eyebrows and waited for a reaction.
 

“I don’t have anyone else scheduled for today.”

“Oh, I thought you knew him.” Barb’s brown eyes twinkled. “Thought maybe he was your new gig. I was going to applaud your outstanding taste. He said he didn’t have an appointment, but he acted like it was pretty important that he speak with you.”
 

“Barb, can you tell him that I only counsel female patients?” How could Rita help men figure out their problems when she had problems figuring out men?
 

A few minutes later, Barb was back. “He’s not leaving until he speaks with you. He says it’s personal.”
 

“Personal,” Rita repeated, pulling herself to her feet. How could she have personal business with someone she’d never heard of?
 

“Wish he had personal business with me,” Barb muttered, backing out of the door and heading to the ladies’ room.

Rita’s heartbeat jumped.
Wait a minute. LaPorte? Is that what Barb had said his last name was? Brian’s last name. But not Brian. A mispronunciation then? Coincidence?

He was standing with his back to the hallway, reading the positive messages hanging on the walls about self-esteem, love, and friendship. His dark, short hair looked wet from the snow. He had a backside that belonged in one of those Chippendale calendars and a well-built chest encased in a black sweater. A wrinkled winter coat was slung over his shoulder. Not Brian, who said he had blond hair and was only 5’10.
 

“Can I help you?”
 

He turned around, and he may as well have punched her in the stomach.

It was
him
, the man she’d seen in the gray place. The intense dark blue eyes and that mouth with the built-in pout. Her knees went soft.

“You’re Rita Brooks?” he asked in a voice flavored with a hint of Southern Comfort, like Brian’s voice.

Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t utter a sound. She just kept staring at his eyes.
 

“Yes, she is.” Marty stepped in to save her. “What can we do for you?”

He acknowledged Marty’s protective stance but trained his eyes on Rita as he took a step closer. With him came the aroma of grapes mixed with the subtle spice of deodorant. His face was dry and red, as though he’d hastily shaved in a gas station restroom on his way here. He had the handsome, angular kind of face she’d seen in advertisements for shaving cream.
 

“Do you know my brother, Brian LaPorte?”

Brian, he was Brian’s brother, and he was here, which meant something was wrong with Brian, and that’s why she hadn’t heard from him. As her mind clamped around those facts, Christopher’s similarity to the man she’d seen during her coma still confused her. “Excuse us for a moment,” she mouthed to Marty as she led Christopher to the front corner of the lobby. “What’s wrong with Brian?”

He seemed to gauge her, though she wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Maybe he saw the tension on her face, because he finally answered. “Brian jumped off the rooftop deck of his house. He’s in a coma.”

Her mind spun. Jumped? Coma? “Oh, my God. When?”

“January first. I’m trying to…”

His words faded beneath the buzz in her head. January first. She’d gone into a coma January second. That meant they were in a coma at the same time, for four overlapping days. The man who had urgently sought her out…
it was Brian.
Her analytical side wanted to deny it, but she knew it in the deepest recess of her soul. Brian had come to her.
 

Christopher was still talking, and finally his words broke through the buzz. “If you broke his heart, and he tried to take his life, it’s not your fault. I just need to know where his head was.”

“Wait a minute. You’re saying he tried to kill himself.”

He was trying to find out if she had anything to do with Brian’s fall. By the hard look in his eyes, he had already made that assumption.
 

“How did you find me?” she asked, trying to ground herself in concrete facts.

“From your email to him.”

“I didn’t put my full name and address in that email. I didn’t put my work address in it.” She was starting to feel suspicious, too. She slid a glance to Marty, who was surreptitiously hanging around Barb’s desk.
 

“That’s not important. What’s important is finding out what drove a man who had everything to live for to try to kill himself. I think you know why.”

Important. There was something important. Brian found you. Why? She put her hand over her mouth, sorting through the improbability of it all, and yet she could see the man clearly, holding onto her shoulders, staring into her eyes as though willing her to do something—

Christopher’s hand on her shoulder jarred her out of those thoughts. “Tell me what was going on between you two.”

Conflicting emotions bombarded her, and to her horror, she felt the tingling that preceded her nosebleeds.
This cannot be happening.
 

He crowded her personal zone to intimidate her. “What is it that you’re hiding?”

She felt the first trickle of blood and pressed her finger against the side of her nose. Something was very wrong. “I can’t believe he tried to take his own life. Are you sure it wasn’t an accidental fall?” Her voice hardly sounded convincing, all nasally like Fran Drescher in
The Nanny
.
 

Christopher looked at her the way a tiger moving in on something that’s caught its eye would, with interest and suspicion. “I’m sure.” Besides, he’d probably read their emails. The thought of that made anger even out the strange sense of panic for a moment.

Rita inched toward the receptionist’s desk just as Barb walked back in. He watched her, the muscles in his jaw working as he chewed what must be grape gum. Rita found the Kleenex and covered her nose with a wad of it. “I’m fine,” she assured Marty, who obviously didn’t believe her. Before she could ask any questions, Rita returned to Christopher.
Control, control.
“How is Brian? Do the doctors think he’ll come out?”

“I’ll answer your questions when you answer mine.”

“I did answer yours.”

“Look, Rita Brooks, I know you’re hiding something. I can see it in your eyes, in your body language. Spill it.”

She
was
hiding something, but she couldn’t spill that she believed Brian had come to her during her coma. She needed time to sort it out. The revelation totally knocked her off balance, and Christopher’s presence wasn’t helping. “If I knew something, I’d tell you. I had nothing to do with a suicide attempt. I can’t even believe he would do something like that.”
 

“What’s wrong with your nose?”

“I have a cold,” she said, pitifully aware of how it sounded.

Marty, however, had to be more helpful. “Rita, you’re bleeding!” She stalked over and turned an outraged glare to Christopher. “Did he
hit
you? Barb, call security.”

He looked calm, despite his obvious impatience and the accusation. “I didn’t hit her. I only—”

“He didn’t hit me. I can handle this,” Rita interjected, wanting no more to be said.

“Well, you’re not handling it.” Marty turned to Christopher. “Look, you’re upsetting her. Why don’t you leave?”

Yes, he should leave. Rita pulled the Kleenex away from her nose and saw the spot of bright red blood. Why was this happening? Her nose only bled in one situation. “I really don’t know anything, and if you won’t answer my questions about Brian’s condition, you should leave.” Dammit, she wouldn’t be able to find out on her own, though.
 

He stood there chewing his gum as though contemplating throwing her over his shoulder and hauling her off for further interrogation. Despite her nosebleed, that thought sparked something primal inside her. She squelched it and turned away.

“Rita.”

The way his voice wrapped around her name shivered down her spine. She didn’t want to turn and face him again, but she did anyway. He handed her a business card.

“I’ll be at the address and phone number on the back. In New Orleans.” He paused, his narrowed eyes telling her he knew she was holding something back. “If you decide you want to talk, call me.” His voice softened, thick as honey. “You’re the key to this mystery, Rita Brooks. I feel it in my gut. And I will find out the truth.”

He seemed to weigh whether to say more, but her friends must have swayed him. He left, without a scuffle, without Barb having to call security as she was poised to do. His words, soft though they were, pounded through Rita’s system louder than her heartbeat.
 

“What was that all about?” Barb asked.

“Just a misunderstanding,” Rita said, waving it off as she walked to her office.

Marty wouldn’t be so easy to deal with. “Spill,” she said as soon as Rita closed the door to her office. “And don’t tell me it’s just a coincidence that the name of his brother is the same as the one you said in your sleep. I saw the look on your face when you saw Christopher LaPorte. You were spooked—enough to get a nosebleed.”

 
Rita slumped in her chair, still trying to get a handle on it all. Marty was waiting, and by the way she tapped her fingers against her crossed arms, she wasn’t going to wait patiently.

She told Marty about meeting Brian through her eBay auction and their developing relationship. “It was nothing kinky. In fact, it was rather sweet. Romantic. He talks like a hero from a historical romance novel. He lives in New Orleans and manages a hotel. Marty, he made me feel so good. About myself, life, my future. I told him things I haven’t told anyone else. The fact that we were talking on the phone helped a lot. It was part of the appeal, I’m sure. But it was him, too. We were friends with a touch of something else. I was so sure he was going to change my life. I could feel it.” She could see Marty’s expression fall with each word. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d either warn me about all the crazies out there or think I was desperate. For the first time, I was being adventurous, and I liked it. I didn’t want you to talk sense into me.”

“You
were
desperate. And I would have warned you. There are a lot of crazies out there. Why would you have a relationship with someone you’d never even met?”

“It was Brian. And the physical distance made it easier somehow.” Easier to get past her fear of intimacy. “For the first time in my twenty-eight years, I felt ready to embark on an actual romantic relationship. Brian was the only man who has ever given me a sensual charge and made me feel safe at the same time. He bolstered my confidence and made me wonder if I could get over my little problem.” She dabbed at her nose and was relieved to see no blood on the tissue. “I was ready to fall in love with him before my accident. A little scared, but ready.”

“And you never told me, you little bugger. I share all my idiosyncrasies with you, and you hold back something like this. We’re supposed to be best friends, equally sharing our dreams, pain, and secrets.”

“I know.” It wasn’t fair, she knew that. “I would have told you once we met.” Rita felt that ache she’d been feeling whenever she thought of Brian lately, only now it was two-fold. “He wanted to meet, even invited me to New Orleans or offered to come here. I kept putting him off, but I was about to invite him here. When I didn’t hear from him, I thought he’d changed his mind or found someone else. Then Christopher LaPorte shows up. Yeah, I was spooked. He looks so much like Brian. It was just a shock, that and the news about Brian’s suicide attempt. It was too much to handle at once.”
That must be why I had the nosebleed.
“I can’t believe he tried to kill himself. I mean it doesn’t feel right. We talked on New Year’s Eve. He called me from the hotel. He sounded happy.”

Marty seemed to accept everything. That was only because Rita had left out the important parts: the man she’d seen in the gray place…and the fact that she’d never seen Brian LaPorte.
 

CHAPTER 3

Plain out, the woman was holding something back. Christopher slid into his winter coat as he walked to his car. Her reaction to Brian’s name screamed guilt and then shock when he dropped the news about the coma, and finally concern that went deeper than a casual, perfunctory interest.