Beyond Innocence Read online

  Marnie stood gaping as he rushed past her. In that instant she could see that his complexion had turned pale and waxy.

  Heedless of the indignant cries from the woman on her stoop, Marnie locked the door and hurried back in pursuit of Luke. To her great distress she found him on his hands and knees in the middle of the floor.

  “Oh God,” he muttered. “Oh Christ!”

  “Luke?” She knelt beside him and touched his shoulder. Sweat had beaded on his face and his breath came in deep, heaving gasps. “Luke, what is it?”

  “Her…her perfume. It—” He wretched and heaved dryly, sending Marnie spiraling into a pit of worry and helplessness.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Let me help you.”

  He crawled away from her, still breathing heavily and dripping sweat on the carpet. “Jesus Christ! That goddamn lying bitch!”

  Marnie was instantly on alert. She’d never heard him swear like that before. She hadn’t believed it was in him.

  “And Sam!” he barely croaked out the word. He wrapped an arm around his middle and doubled over as if in agony. “Oh God! Sam!”

  “Luke?” she pleaded.

  He reached the chair and dragged himself up to sit down. He cradled his head in his hands and took a few deep breaths. He raked shaky fingers through his unruly mane. At last he looked at her, and her heart sank.

  Luke was gone.

  * * * * *

  Tate looked at the woman who had been the center of his world for the past seven weeks. She was just as beautiful as she had been that morning. Maybe more so. She was a fresh breeze that swept away the stench of rotting garbage. She didn’t deserve this. And he didn’t deserve her.

  He looked away toward the window and the blue sky that had been so clear and inviting over the last week. He had fallen in love with that infinite sky and the rugged, untouched beauty of the mountains. He had felt at home here. Like he had a place. But it had been a lie. It seemed like his whole life was one big lie. “You can stop calling me that.”

  She knelt in front of him and laid a hand on his knee. “You’ve remembered.”

  He eased his leg out from beneath her hand and stood. He walked to the couch and sat down there. He needed to put some space between them. Being close to her now would be emotional suicide. “Yeah. I remember. The wall exploded and it came back so fast I couldn’t breathe. I remembered every goddamn thing.”

  “So what should I call you?” The agony in her face was killing him so he chose not to look at it.

  “Tate Barton. That’s my name.”

  “And who is Tate Barton?”

  Now he looked at her, but more out of incredulity than affection. “Didn’t you hear them? I run sleazy bars and strip clubs. I exploit women on a daily basis. And I’m a pimp for some of the best, high-priced ass available in the metropolis of Philadelphia. I find ‘em and they fuck ‘em. That’s my motto. Three hundred bucks’ll get ya anything ya want from a horny French maid to a nymphomaniac nun.”

  She was obviously shocked by his language and by the image he was painting. He had watched the wall go up and her eyes fill with disappointment. Good. She needed to be shocked. She needed to be disappointed. She needed to hate him, despise him, scorn him. She needed to see him for what he was so that he could walk out that door and she would bid him good riddance. He couldn’t have her pining for him, or trailing after him. He couldn’t afford strings. Especially now. He had things to do. They weren’t pretty things but they were necessary. And Marnie could have no part in them.

  “You’re hurting, Luke. You want to lash out. That’s okay. I love you. I can take it.”

  “It’s Tate! Luke was a figment of your imagination.”

  “No! He exists. Don’t insult me and try to tell me he never did.”

  “All right. He existed. But he just dissolved like sugar in strong black coffee. And you can lay off the psychobabble crap. I don’t have the mentality of a twelve-year-old anymore. I just grew up, real fast.”

  She dragged herself into the chair he had just vacated. She laced her fingers together and rested her hands on her lap. When she spoke her voice was thin, and on the edge of tears. “Why are you angry at me? Did I do something wrong?”

  Those simple questions just about melted his self-control. She was so goddamn vulnerable, so damned innocent. She had no idea of the ugliness in his world. Just look at where she lived. Look at how she had been raised. Look at how far she had to fall. He couldn’t let that happen. Just like always he had to cut his losses, and in so doing maybe cut hers as well. “No,” he said gently. “I’m not angry with you. And you didn’t do anything wrong. But I’m not who I was this morning. You love Luke. Tate is not someone you want to associate with.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  He gritted his teeth and tried to come up with something that would get through to her—something ugly enough to turn her stomach and make her see him for what he was.

  She took advantage of his silence. “You can’t tell me that Luke just evaporated like a puff of smoke. He’s still a part of you. You’re just choosing to ignore him.”

  “I can’t afford to let him be a part of me. I have a life in Philadelphia and Luke would get eaten alive down there. I have whores who count on me for a living and to keep them safe.” She cringed at the reference but he plunged on. “I have commitments. I have things I need to do.”

  “Your son?”

  Tanner. Goddammit! The thought of him alone with that harpy Tate used to call a wife just about set off a nuclear meltdown in his soul. “Yeah. Among other things.”

  “Your wife? Did you love her?”

  The absolute ludicrousness of that statement hit him so hard it made him giddy. He laughed aloud. “Love her? God, no! I married her because I knocked her up and because I felt sorry for her.” He felt a dark satisfaction at the disillusionment on her face. He pointed a rigid finger at her. “Believe me, it was done in a moment of weakness and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

  “Except that union resulted in a son. You care for him. That much is obvious.”

  “Yeah. Except for that.”

  “He could come here to live. With you.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I want to understand. Help me to understand!”

  He stood and rammed his hands in his pockets. “All you need to know is that I’m leaving. I have to go back. You’re better off without me. Get over it.”

  “I thought you loved me.”

  “I was wrong about a lot of things.”

  “You weren’t wrong about that. I don’t care what you say, you’ll never convince me otherwise. You promised me that nothing could change how you felt, and what we have.” Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over into his soul. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to not hold her and kiss her, tell her he was sorry, and make love to her until the dawn.

  “I lied. I’m good at it. I’ve had lots of practice.”

  “Luke—”

  “Tate, Goddammit! Don’t you get it? I’m scum! S-C-U-M. I was raised as scum and I’ll die as scum. That’s just the way of things, and there’s no point in trying to change it.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” She vaulted from her chair and shot the words at him like a hail of bullets. “Don’t you remember what you said just a few days ago?”

  “No. I try not to. Most of what I say is pure bullshit.”

  She set her jaw and glared at him, her eyes drilling into his soul like lances. “Let me refresh your memory. You said that you shouldn’t try to be what someone else expects you to be. You said that would be a lie.” She blinked and an enormous tear squeezed out of her eye. “You’re not lying to me, Luke. You’re lying to yourself.”

  “No, you’ve got it backwards. The last two months were the lie. I’m just facing the truth and I’m trying to make you face it too. Now let me go or you’re going to get hurt.”

  “I’m already hurt.” She
clutched at her chest as if clawing at an invisible dagger. “I’ve never hurt this much in my life.”

  He closed himself off to her pain. “Not like this.”

  “Are you saying you could physically hurt me?”

  “Yes.” He paused and glared at her, concentrating every ounce of evil he possessed into that moment. “I don’t want to but I could. I’m perfectly capable of that, and do you know how I know?” He didn’t give her time to answer. “Because I’ve done it before. I almost killed Faye once and I don’t regret it. I’d do it again. In fact—” He stopped himself and turned toward the door.

  “What?” she whispered in anguish. “In fact what?”

  “Nothing. I have to go.” He trudged down the hall.

  “Tate.” Hearing her whisper that name halted him in his tracks. She had followed him down the hall toward the front door. “Don’t do this. I need you so much. I don’t know how—”

  “You’ll get over it. There’s only one person who didn’t get over losing me, and he died bloody. There’s a lesson in that.”

  “Sam? That cop? You were friends.”

  “We were a hell of a lot more than that.” He grabbed the doorknob so hard the metal branded his skin. “I’ll send you a check for the time I stayed here.”

  “Don’t you dare insult me.” She clenched her fists at her sides and her eyes shot fire. “I deserve better than that.”

  He closed his eyes and jerked the door open. “Yeah. You deserve a lot better than what I can give you.” He stepped outside into the late afternoon sunshine and allowed himself one final glance back at the only woman who had ever truly loved him. The only woman who had ever made him feel like he mattered. “Your family was right about me, you know.”

  “Am I supposed to take some kind of comfort in that?”

  He shrugged. “Just be glad you have a family who cares.”

  “Didn’t you?” Her voice dropped back into sympathy mode and he regretted that slip. He never talked about his family. Not with anyone. “How did you grow up? Who were your parents. Tell me! Let me be your friend.”

  “I wouldn’t want to give you nightmares.” He managed a sad, crooked smile. “I’ve had enough for both of us.” He turned and walked away. He ignored the words she called after him.

  “You don’t have any money! Where will you go? Damn you, Tate or Luke, or whoever the hell you are!” A heart-wrenching sob reached his ears but he kept walking. “Damn you! Damn you for making me love you.”

  Oh, he was damned all right. As if there had ever been any doubt.

  * * * * *

  The closet door slammed so hard the hotel room shook.

  “Will you stop banging around here like an elephant?” Kyle looked back down at the paperback he had been reading.

  “What the hell are you reading, anyway?” stormed Pete. He walked over and ripped the book out of Kyle’s hands. “Julius Caesar,” he read. “Shakespeare? You read fucking Shakespeare?”

  “No, I read William Shakespeare.”

  “Smart ass.” He handed the book back.

  “Actually, you can learn a lot from him. This one’s about a ruler who was betrayed by his friends. Literally stabbed in the back. Ain’t that a bitch?”

  As if the air had burst from Pete’s balloon, he deflated and dropped into the overstuffed hotel chair. “Sam.”

  “Yeah. I know that’s what’s on your mind. When does Elsie’s flight come in?”

  “Nine.” Against all arguments and pleading and begging, Elsie had insisted on coming to Calgary to accompany her ex-husband’s body home.

  “You didn’t want me to come, did you? I figured I’d pack while you guys were out.”

  Pete shook his head. “No. This is for us.” Suddenly, he slammed a heavy fist into his palm. “Dammit! We need Tate. We need his testimony. And Faye was so screwed up on drugs, I want to know what really happened on that mountain.”

  “I wouldn’t mind hearing what he knows about how he and Sam are connected, either.”

  “Yeah. And that.” There were so many questions. Even after they got hold of Calvin and stuck him behind bars. Even if he got life—or even better, death—even that kind of justice couldn’t heal all the wounds. Pete and Elsie and Scott—all of them needed closure. And Pete had a feeling Tate Barton was the only one who could give it to them. But he couldn’t if he didn’t remember. “I need a drink. I’ve got an hour before I meet Elsie’s flight. Wanna slug back a beer in the hotel bar?”

  “What about Faye?”

  “She’s got her goons.” The local police had been kind enough to provide security for their potential fugitive.

  “Sure.” Kyle flung the book to the bed. “Marc Antony is in the middle of his ‘Lend me your ears’ speech. I’ve read it a thousand times.”

  “Huh?”

  Kyle chuckled. “Forget it.”

  Pete thought Kyle was one of the strangest, most complicated cops he’d ever known. “You’re okay, Johnson.”

  “Gee, thanks. That’s high praise from someone of your caliber.”

  “Damn right.” They reached the door. Pete tugged it open and stopped in his tracks.

  The man on the other side looked at him, and a slow, sly smile spread across his face. “Pete. Long time no see.”

  Immediately suspicious, Pete narrowed his eyes. “Tate?”

  “That’s me. How could you forget somebody like me, Gruber? I certainly couldn’t forget someone like you.”

  “Son of a bitch,” breathed Pete. “It was all an act.”

  Tate shook his head and pushed past them into the room. Pete let the door click closed and turned around to watch his old nemesis settle into the overstuffed chair he had just vacated. Tate fiddled with the diamond studs in his ear. “Act? Hmm. I don’t suppose you’ll ever know, will you? For our purposes, all that matters now is that I remember.”

  Pete sat on the bed, leaving Kyle to stand back in the shadows and let the old duo duke it out. “Everything? Do you remember the day they tried to kill you?”

  “Everything. Every…fucking…thing.”

  “Okay, then, let’s have it!”

  “Hang on there a minute, cowboy.”

  Pete rolled his eyes. “You been in Calgary too long.” He dropped his gaze to the cowboy boots on Tate’s long, narrow feet. “You’ve gone native.”

  “For once in your life, Pete, will you just shut up and listen? I’ll tell you the whole story. I’ll sit on a damn witness stand and trash Calvin and that lying, conniving bitch I used to sleep with. I’ll answer any questions you throw at me. I’ll do whatever you ask, but you have to do something for me first.”

  “I don’t know, Tate. You’re not exactly known for being a man of your word. And what’s the condition?”

  “You have to give me a week to play it my way. I wanna come home and I have some things to look after. But I need to look after them my way, without interference. And, with a little luck, maybe that’ll solve another problem as well.”

  “What?” Pete stood and paced to the wall. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “If you give me a cigarette I’ll explain.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. You kicked the habit. ‘Sides, I smoked the last one an hour ago. I’m fresh out.”

  “Fine,” growled the man who had tormented Sam and, by all rights, should have died in his stead. “But first tell me one thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “How are my girls?”

  “Just fine,” purred Kyle from the shadows. “Damn fine.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Through swollen eyes and murky sunshine, Marnie glanced at the clock beside her bed. 10:30. She never slept that late. But, of course, that was in the days when she slept.

  The last two nights she had spent staring at the ceiling, alternately crying for and then cursing the man who had abandoned her. She pined for the warmth of another body. She had already gotten used to that. She had gotten used to snuggling with him into the wee h
ours, listening to the comfortable rhythm of his breathing, feeling his heartbeat against her back, and waking up with an arm draped across her waist at dawn. Of course, in the last week, even when they had wakened at dawn they hadn’t actually gotten out of bed. They had talked and stroked and explored, shared and made love until the sun’s rays that fell through the window onto their bed grew strong and warm.

  Their bed. She rolled over and buried her face in the soft warmth of her pillow again. They hadn’t even been sleeping together a week and already it felt like a lifetime. It felt like their lives had been intertwined forever. The bed at her house in the Kananaskis had belonged to the two of them. In fact, the whole house had felt that way. It had quickly become their private sanctuary in the middle of mountains and rivers and trees.

  They had spent the entire week riding and hiking, gazing at the stars and swimming in the frigid river. They had cooked together and laughed together. They had lounged in front of the fireplace and soaked in the tub. It had been a week straight out of a fairy tale. But in the end the monster had devoured the prince and left the princess to fend for herself in a sea of disappointment and grief.

  When the clock’s LED display hit 10:45, she finally dragged herself from the bed, wrapped a terry robe about her, and plodded from the room. She walked past Luke’s door without acknowledging its existence. She’d have to clean it out eventually, but for now the pain felt too fresh. She refused to acknowledge the nagging, pathetic hope that maybe he would come back and occupy it again.

  Luke wasn’t coming back. She had to accept that. He was gone, swallowed up by the entity that was Tate Barton. She had been living a dream and the awakening had been rude indeed.

  She reached the kitchen and pulled out the coffeepot. She had no appetite, but coffee and a slice of toast seemed like a viable alternative to real food. Nothing like the elaborate breakfasts she and Luke had shared…

  She slammed a drawer shut, and shut her mind off to those thoughts.

  The coffeemaker had just settled into a nice, sputtering rhythm and she had just thawed the bread she had left in the freezer during their holiday when the doorbell interrupted her private pity session.