Beyond Innocence Read online

  The hostess shrugged and led them to a table. She headed off toward the back, and within two minutes drinks had been delivered to their table—a white wine for Marnie, and a ginger ale for Don—courtesy of the management.

  The choice of drinks made it obvious he knew they were there, but he made them wait. Almost ten minutes passed before Marnie caught a glimpse of him across the room, clad in skin-tight jeans and a revealing muscle shirt.

  Her heart crashed against her chest and her stomach clenched. Her immediate reaction to seeing him after a week of separation was unsettling to say the least. She wondered if he would feel the same way or whether he could really have put all that behind him.

  When he finally approached their table, however, she saw the wall that he had erected. His eyes were hard and distant. The only evidence of any tension was the muscles that bunched in his shoulders.

  He sauntered over and stopped a scant few inches from their table. His grin was sardonic and knowing. It wasn’t the unguarded smile she had come to know and love. “Well, looky here,” he purred. “Back for more punishment, Marnie? Or did you bring your big brother to beat up on me?” Tate eyed Don. “He’s actually in pretty good shape. But I’ve been fighting on the street since I was a kid. I doubt he could take me.”

  Don set his jaw, but she calmed him with a hand on his forearm. “We’re not here to fight, Tate.” She still said that name with difficulty.

  “You finally got the name right. That’s a start.”

  “I just wanted to see where you lived, and maybe talk to you.”

  “Well, you’ve seen it and we’re talkin’. Now, you don’t fit in here. You two stick out like daisies in a manure pile. I suggest you haul your little heinie back home and forget about me, like I told you before.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me so easy. Like I told you before, I’m not giving you up without a fight.”

  He glared at her. His gaze locked with hers and something passed behind his eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was anger or desperation. But he seemed to come to a decision. He held up his arms and snapped his fingers. As if by magic two women appeared and plastered themselves to his sides. One was blonde, and the other a redhead. They both boasted abundant cleavage and savvy smiles. They had legs that started at their throats and lips that were full and ripe.

  Tate wrapped his arms around them and they snuggled in as if they had taken root there. “I’d like you to meet two of my favorites. This is Casey and Sheila. They’re on sabbatical right now. All my girls are on a rotation. At certain times of the month they rotate into waitressing. They get a little change in scenery, and their clients get a little hornier.” His grin turned evil. “A little teasing is always good for business.”

  Marnie was having difficulty restraining herself from attacking the two women who were draped over Tate like snakes on a tree limb. She had visions of clawing out their eyes, and then turning deadly nails on him. But she retained her composure and let him do his worst.

  He openly fondled Casey’s breast, and her eyes rolled back in her head in pleasure.

  “Shocking me won’t make me go away, Tate. I know it’s an act. I know—”

  The words halted on her tongue as Casey lifted her face to Tate, and Marnie watched them share a voracious, open-mouthed kiss that seemed to drag on into infinity. She blinked back tears and turned her face away.

  When Tate finally regained the use of his tongue she didn’t look at him as he spoke. “You can believe it’s an act if you want, Marnie. But the truth is I can have any woman I want, any time I want. Why would I want to be saddled with a boring little nerd like you?”

  “You son of a bitch!”

  Don’s curse drew her attention back to Tate very quickly. By the time she looked up, the two babes had been sent sprawling, and Don’s hands were embedded in the fabric of Tate’s muscle shirt.

  Marnie had never seen Don like this, and she had certainly never heard him use such language. Shocked into silence, she watched the events unfold as if from another dimension.

  Don’s eyes were fierce, but, by contrast, Tate’s face was eerily calm, as if he faced such threats on a daily basis, as if he half-expected a fist to land on his jaw, and as if he didn’t give a shit.

  “You can rattle off all the crap you want,” Don growled. “You can do your damnedest to convince her that you’re a slug. You can curse, strip naked, and cavort around like an idiot—” A hulking brute appeared beside Tate but Tate waved him away. Don ignored the bouncer and continued. “But I will not stand by and let you belittle and insult her. She deserves better from you, Barton. The least she deserves is respect.”

  “Okay,” soothed Tate. “I got it.” He looked down at Don’s hands, which were still gripping him like a vise. “Do you mind? You got a few curlies in there.”

  Grudgingly, Don let go. Tate turned to the brute, who had allowed the events to transpire but had remained nearby and watched with guarded interest. Marnie had no doubt that had there been a real threat to Tate, Don would have found himself scraping his skin off the pavement outside the front door. “Take off, Brian. I’m fine.”

  Casey and Sheila hovered nearby, and he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. They left sulkily, but without a word or a protest.

  When they were alone at last—or as alone as was possible in that setting—Tate motioned for Don to slide back into the booth. Tate hitched a hip on the edge of the bench, beside Don, across from Marnie. He addressed himself to Don. “You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry about that. But I’m just trying to get it through her thick head that I’m not worth the trouble. The guy she fell for is long gone, and she has no place in this shit hole.”

  Marnie tapped the table to draw his eye. “That’s a lovely way for you to talk about your place and your employees.”

  He smiled crookedly. “Most of them would wholeheartedly agree. If you want a nice place you go to The Palace.”

  “But you hang out here.”

  “I don’t fit in at The Palace. I’ve got a good manager over there. He only steals a little now and then.”

  Marnie studied him in silence. “No matter what you say I won’t believe that you belong here. You’re just as much a part of the mountains and the rivers as you were a week ago.”

  “So poetic,” he mocked. “That was a nice vacation. I belong here. I—”

  “Tate!” A deep baritone bellowed across the room, easily conquering the music and the murmur of the crowd.

  “Perfect,” muttered Tate.

  Marnie spotted a mountain of a man striding toward them. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea parting for Moses. At first she thought he was a bouncer, but it soon became obvious that he had far surpassed the age range of most bouncers. The gray hair and shiny cranium were inconsistent with the barrel chest and arms as thick as tree limbs.

  He reached them and clapped a massive hand on Tate’s shoulder. “Who’s the visitors? Susan said they asked for ya.”

  “You be nice to ‘em, Dad.” Tate smiled, but Marnie knew from experience that it wasn’t altogether genuine. For whatever reason, he was uncomfortable with introducing Marnie to his father. “This is Marnie. She’s the one I told you about that took care of me up in Calgary. And this is her brother, Don.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” His father nodded approval.

  “Marnie, this is my father, Jeremiah Barton.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she ventured. She had the odd feeling that if she got too close to Jeremiah she’d get sucked in like a piece of flotsam gets sucked into the gravity well of a gas giant.

  Her extended hand was swallowed up by Jeremiah’s substantial grip. He let go and she felt a wash of relief.

  “Gotta thank you for bringing Tate here back from the brink of hell. I thought he was a goner for sure.”

  “It was no trouble. I enjoyed getting to know him…” she gave Tate a knowing look and was pleased to see a flicker of discomfort in his eyes, “very much.”

  Jeremiah s
norted in laughter. “Yeah, I’ll bet you did.” He leaned toward Don. “You gotta hang around for the next show. Carol Ann has the most amazing—”

  “Dad!”

  Annoyed, Jeremiah turned to his son. “What?”

  “Would you mind? This is kind of personal.”

  “Fine.” Jeremiah was obviously put out by the request but he leaned in to Marnie and whispered, “Guy’s always on a power trip around here. Just because he owns the joint.” Jeremiah winked and Marnie was completely baffled by Jeremiah Barton. He was just as much of an enigma as his son.

  She watched him saunter away. “Your father?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You remember those old scars you found all over my body?”

  Marnie was confused. “Yes.”

  “Courtesy of…” he hitched his thumb in Jeremiah’s direction, “dear old dad. Mom caught the brunt of it though. She killed herself to get away from him.”

  “Oh God!” whispered Marnie.

  “Me, I finally figured him out, and we came to a sort of…understanding.”

  Marnie was at a loss for words, and her face must have been a window to her thoughts because Tate scowled at her with derision. “I didn’t tell you that to get your sympathy. I just wanted to show you how different we are.”

  “That doesn’t mean a thing,” she croaked past the lump in her throat.

  “The hell it doesn’t.”

  She was just trying to get her thoughts in order when she heard Tate ask Don, “Would you mind if I talked to her alone for a minute?”

  Don glanced at Marnie, who nodded her tacit agreement. He slid out of the booth but whispered a final warning to Tate that Marnie couldn’t hear. He made his way to the bar, and Marnie smiled at the swarm of waitresses who immediately besieged his position. They were in for a hefty disappointment.

  Tate rested his hands on the table. “Your brother’s got more balls than I gave him credit for.”

  “He cares about me. A lot.”

  Tate sighed his agreement. “Look, forget my dad and the fact that my mom took the easy way out. Forget how I grew up and what I was before we met. Just look at me now. If you just look at who I am and what I do, you can’t possibly want to be with me.”

  “Nothing’s impossible.”

  He laced his fingers together and she saw the tightness of his grip. “What do I have to say to get through to you? I’ve been a shit, Marnie. I thought it would be easier if you hated me.”

  “I don’t hate so easily.”

  “Easily?” His laughter was touched with scorn. “What do I have to do to make it tough?”

  On an impulse she reached across the table and draped her hands over his. He recoiled as if he had been stung. She took a strange pleasure in that.

  He swallowed and raked a hand through his hair, obviously as unsettled by the contact as she had been. “Look,” he hissed at last. “It’s simple. You don’t belong here, and I don’t belong there. Therefore, we don’t belong together. Our feelings can’t change that.”

  “So, you admit you still have feelings for me.”

  He stood up abruptly. “This conversation is over. You’re paying customers, so I can’t have you thrown out, but I can keep you out of my office and out of my house.”

  “You’re trying to exile me, your majesty?” she sneered.

  “You’re beating your head against a brick wall, Marnie. Go home and leave me alone. I may have feelings for you, but that doesn’t mean I want you.”

  “You’re a liar, Tate.”

  He made a pistol with his thumb and forefinger and shot her in the forehead. “Now you’re getting the picture.” He whirled and walked away. One of the waitresses immediately came to his side and he wrapped an arm around her waist. They were whispering as they disappeared into the back where his elusive office was obviously located.

  She dragged herself out of the booth and joined Don at the bar. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Don took her hand but frowned with concern. “No luck?”

  She shook her head as she led him from the bar. “But I’m not giving up. Not yet. He’s got a lot of baggage to overcome, more than I ever would have guessed. It’s going to take more than ten minutes to strip all that away and get down to the core of the man I knew in Calgary.”

  They stepped outside and Don wrapped a strong arm about her shoulders. “That’s my girl.”

  “I’ve never heard you swear before, Don. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “Believe it or not, Dad could blister the paint off the walls when he was cornered. I learned from him, but I also learned how to keep a lid on it. I only slip up when I’m really pissed.”

  Marnie laughed and slipped her arm around his waist. “Should we call a cab?”

  But Don didn’t get a chance to answer because they were immediately approached by two familiar men in jackets and jeans.

  “Miss Grant?” Pete and Kyle had slipped out of the shadows as if they had been waiting specifically for Marnie and Don.

  “Yes, Detectives?” She liked the two of them and had found them to be very helpful with her search. But, still, she was wary. They saw Tate in a completely different light than she did and they had a very different agenda where he was concerned.

  “Did you have any luck turning him away from ‘The Dark Side?’” asked Pete wryly.

  Marnie gritted her teeth. “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Sergeant. It may be hard for you to believe, but I still care for him a great deal and I refuse to listen to you insult him.”

  One corner of Pete’s mouth tilted up. “But I’m so darn good at it.”

  Marnie thought she should have appreciated the humor, but she just couldn’t find the energy. “I’m sorry, but was there something you wanted?” She couldn’t conceal the impatience she felt, and regretted that it wasn’t really directed at the detectives.

  “Actually, yes. We were hoping for a chance to talk to you.”

  Marnie regarded them suspiciously. “Why?”

  “Honestly? Because, thanks to the partner I just buried, I’ve spent the last several years of my life trying to figure out what makes Tate Barton tick. I was just starting to think maybe I had a handle on him when he threw me another curve ball.” Pete cast a glance at his partner as if they shared a secret. But, then again, considering what they did, they probably shared quite a few. “You’ve been with him and seen a side of him that nobody else has. I was hoping you might be able to help us figure out his motivations.”

  “Motivations for what?”

  “If you talk to us, we’ll tell you.”

  She glanced up at Don but he merely shrugged. This was her territory, her decision. “I won’t help you convict him of prostitution, or whatever it is that you think he does with those girls in there.”

  Pete’s eyebrows lifted a notch. “Really? I didn’t ask about that, did I? Did you learn something interesting?”

  Marnie quelled the momentary rush of panic. She had to watch her step, or she’d get Tate in trouble and alienate him even further. She didn’t approve of what he did, but neither did she believe he deserved to go to prison. He had the potential in him for so much more. Prison would be a stupid waste and would serve no purpose. “No,” she said at last. “Of course not. But I know what you suspect him of, and I just wanted you to know that even if I knew anything—which I don’t—I wouldn’t tell you.”

  Pete smiled knowingly. “Right. Whatever. Now, will you talk to us? Just whatever you’re comfortable with. We won’t push and you can end the discussion whenever you want.”

  She chewed on her lower lip. “You’re not trying to hurt him, are you?”

  “Actually, we’re trying to protect him. But we’ll explain all that.”

  “Okay. On one condition.”

  “Yes?”

  “You have to answer some of my questions as well. Whatever you know about him, I want to know, too.” She threw back her sho
ulders to display a self-assurance she didn’t feel. “Deal?”

  Pete motioned them toward a car that was sitting by the curb. “You drive a hard bargain, but you got a deal.”

  * * * * *

  Tate slammed his file drawer shut and wished for the umpteenth time that he still enjoyed smoking. He wanted something to do with his hands and he craved the calming effects of the nicotine. Actually, what he really craved was a cool mountain breeze and the gentle touch of those hands that had zinged a bolt of electricity into his soul just a few minutes ago.

  It had taken him a full ten minutes to compose himself enough to face her. But even that hadn’t prepared him for the ache in his chest and the pressure in his throat that had come with seeing her again.

  He paced around his desk aimlessly, trying to purge her face from his mind. He leaned stiffened arms on the battered wood and relived the disappointment in her eyes. That disillusionment should have fed his resolve. It was exactly what he was striving for. But, instead, it only left him feeling hollow—as hollow as the empty whiskey bottle on his desk.

  He had shared that bottle with Jeremiah. The two of them had drained it as if it were soda pop, all the while boasting of made-up sexual conquests and dreaming of riches that would never come. Jeremiah didn’t know that, but Tate did. Tate would never accumulate hundreds of thousands of dollars because he didn’t deserve it, and because that money was intended for other purposes. He actually chuckled as he pictured the look that must have passed over Calvin’s face when he saw the balance in that account. That was one aspect of the business Tate had never shared with him. Because he knew—

  He felt delicate hands caress his shoulders. “Tate?”

  Surprised and annoyed he whirled around. “Casey! What the hell are you doing here?” He had been so engrossed in his own misery that he hadn’t heard the office door open.

  She blinked back tears and he immediately regretted the outburst. Casey might look like a tigress, but she had the gentle nature of a fawn. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  He sighed and leaned back against the desk. “No, I’m sorry. What is it?”