The Night In Question Read online

  She’d agreed to feed his dog. Heck, Julia thought, straightening up from the sink and rolling her shoulders tiredly, at that point she probably would have agreed to prepare a four-course gourmet dinner with candles and soft music for Boomer if she’d been asked.

  She knew he was putting his career on the line for her. What she didn’t know was why.

  “It’s not like I sweet-talked him into it, is it, boy?” she asked Boomer. He thumped his tail heavily on the floor in reply. “And the days of me getting a male to do what I want simply by batting my eyelashes at him are behind me, I’m afraid. So what makes him tick?”

  Panting a little, the old dog tried to get to his feet, but after a moment he gave up, wagging his tail at her as if in apology. Boomer himself was a clue, Julia thought, bending to give the soft ears a rub. She looked around the kitchen curiously. This room was a clue, from the frozen dinners in the freezer to the dripping faucet to the frilly curtains at the window.

  She walked into the living room, frowning. A woman had lived here once—Max’s wife, who’d been killed over a decade ago in a car accident. And nothing in this house had been changed since the last time that woman had walked out the door, never to return. That explained the Priscillas at the kitchen window. That was why the guest-room bed was outfitted with pastel-pink sheets, why the tissue box in the bathroom had a fussy knitted cosy covering it, why the glimpse she’d caught of Max’s own bedroom when she’d passed by his open door last night had revealed a beruffled coverlet and flowered wallpaper that she couldn’t imagine him choosing himself.

  She couldn’t imagine choosing them either, she thought uncomfortably. It wasn’t that anything was in poor taste, but taken all together the furnishings and decor seemed banal and lacking in individuality. It was as if the late Mrs. Ross, faced with the task of creating a home of her own and too young to be sure of herself, had panicked and ordered everything en masse from the pages of a catalog, right down to the pictures on the walls and the carpet underfoot.

  Only Boomer didn’t fit. Even as a puppy it must have been obvious he would be a sturdy dog, big enough to knock over a table lamp with that flag of a tail, rambunctious enough to track mud across the pale linoleum in the kitchen. Boomer didn’t fit, so Boomer, out of everything in this house, had been Max’s choice.

  He’d told her that with him, what she saw wasn’t necessarily who he was. He’d made the self-evaluation in an entirely different context, but that didn’t matter. She tamped down the tiny flicker of heat that had immediately uncurled inside her at the memory of that context, and tried to fit the pieces together.

  In this instance he was wrong. He had to be wrong. What she was seeing was his home, the place where he lived, alone with only an old dog for company. There was no reason for him to keep up any kind of facade here. This had to be who he was, if she could only understand what she was looking at.

  It wasn’t a shrine. There were no photographs of the woman he’d been married to scattered around, and although she was sure her guess had been correct and nothing of any importance had been changed since his wife’s death, she didn’t believe Max was preserving this house in order to keep his memory of her fresh. She doubted that he even saw these surroundings anymore.

  Dead man walking. The impression she’d gotten two days ago came back to her with jarring force. A small chill ran down her spine as she looked around her and finally saw the pattern.

  This wasn’t a shrine, it was a tomb.

  The sofa was behind her. Without looking, she sank down onto it, her knees suddenly weak.

  Once there’d been a man named Max Ross. But ten years ago that man had stopped living, and now he just existed. “Some people never had what it takes in the first place…” He’d said that this afternoon, and even at the time she’d known he held himself responsible for something that had happened in his past, something he’d never been able to forgive himself for. Now she knew what that something was.

  Max blamed himself for his wife’s death. And the sentence he’d imposed upon himself had been to wall himself away from all but the barest of human contact, immerse himself in his work and allow himself to fade into invisibility a little more with each day that went by.

  He’d put himself on death row. But her theory wasn’t quite right—the man he’d once been hadn’t been erased completely. The bars that shut him away could be unlocked with two keys, and one of those keys was the old dog she could hear right now in the kitchen, snuffling a little in his sleep as he chased a dream rabbit on dream legs that didn’t fail him.

  The other key that released Max was herself.

  The dog she could understand, Julia thought, getting up from the sofa and walking restlessly over to the too-heavily-carved-and-curlicued entertainment center. She glanced without interest at the small collection of videotaped movies displayed on a shelf above the television. Boomer was a link to Max’s past, a link to the wife he’d lost. But what was it about her that had the power to bring him to life, even if only temporarily?

  “Damned if I know,” she muttered almost angrily, pulling a tape out, looking at its cover, and almost immediately putting it back again. “I’m just a woman who screwed up her life in every way she could, and still didn’t know enough to give up. If there’s anything sexy about that, I’d sure like to hear what it is.”

  The tape next to the one she’d replaced didn’t even have a cardboard sleeve. She pulled it out anyway, not even glancing at its title, and shoved it into the VCR.

  Anything beat trying to figure out Max Ross.

  When the television remained black she started to get impatiently to her feet again, but without warning the screen was suddenly filled with an image. It was hard to make out what it was, the camera was focused so closely, but as the camera pulled away it was possible to see buttons marching down the front of a piece of flowered material. It pulled back farther, and the flowered material became a woman’s dress, the buttons obviously straining over a pregnant belly. A pair of woman’s hands came into view, resting almost gingerly on the swell of her stomach, and then pushing toward the camera in a nervously pleading gesture.

  There was still no sound.

  Julia got up from the sofa and started walking toward the television, but even as her thumb felt for the eject button on the remote she froze.

  The camera had finally pulled back to a normal distance. The pregnant woman, young and with silky dark hair cut in a Dutch bob, half turned away from whoever was filming her as if to hide the swelling of her figure. The expression on her face, as she looked back at the camera, held a curious mixture of reluctance and need that might have passed unnoticed in real life but that seemed oddly emphasized by being captured on film.

  But Julia’s gaze was fixed on the small black puppy at the woman’s feet and the crisply ironed Priscilla curtains at the window over the sink behind her.

  “…think I got the damn sound working now. C’mon Anne, turn around and smile for the camera.”

  It was Max’s voice. And the dark-haired young woman had to be his wife—his very pregnant wife. Still holding the remote in her hand, Julia sank to her knees on the carpet in front of the television, her eyes wide with incomprehension.

  Chapter Ten

  “Please, Max—I’m as big as a house. I look so ugly.” The woman’s protest came out in an upset wail. She was biting her lip, and even despite the mediocre quality of the old videotape it was possible to see the easy tears that filled her eyes.

  “Annie, we’ve been through this before.” Max’s voice was softer and more indulgent than Julia had ever heard it. “You’re beautiful. How could you not be when you’re carrying our child? Look, even Boomer thinks so.”

  The camera swung down again and Julia felt a shaky laugh bubble up inside her. The puppy was sitting on his haunches gazing up at his mistress, his tongue lolling out in a happy grin and his tail beating furiously on the braided oval rug. As if sitting still for even a minute was beyond him, he got unsteadily t
o his feet. Splaying his front paws out in front of him in mock ferocity, he grabbed the fluffy bobble on one of Anne’s slippers and gave it a playful tug.

  “Max! Get him off me, Max—he’s ruining my slipper!”

  There was a sound of snapping fingers, and the puppy immediately let go of the bobble and looked toward the camera. The next moment the angle swung wildly and then steadied, as if it had been set down on a level surface. A split-second later, Julia’s guess proved correct as a jeans-clad pair of legs moved into the frame, an arm reached down to one-handedly scoop the puppy up and Max suddenly appeared at his wife’s side.

  “He’s just a pup, hon.” With his free arm, Max pulled his wife close. “By the time the baby’s born he’ll have settled down some. Come on, now, how about we get the four of us in the picture here—you, me, Boomer and Ethan? What do you say, Annie?”

  He didn’t look much different physically from the Max of today, Julia thought, her throat tightening. But although on the screen in front of her his features were drawn with concern, there was still an air of desperate hope about him that had long since vanished. He turned a protesting Anne toward the camera, and as she reluctantly took the now-sleepy puppy from him he let his hand slide gently to the curve of her belly.

  “Sometimes you talk so crazy, Max.” The pretty brunette’s voice was softer than a moment before, and although tears still shimmered at the corners of her eyes she managed a tremulous smile. “Ethan’s not even born yet, so how can he be in the picture with us?”

  “He’s here. He’s part of us already.” Max’s hand stilled and his eyes widened. Then he gave an excited short laugh. “He kicked, Annie! Did you feel that? Jeez, we’ve got a regular little football player in there!”

  “I felt it. You’ve felt him kick before too, Max, so I don’t know what the big deal is. I just hope he doesn’t get much bigger before he gets born, for heaven’s sake. I’m going to look like a tub of lard when you take me out for our anniversary next week.” The peevish note was back in her voice, but Max didn’t appear to notice.

  “He and Boomer are going to grow up together. You hear that, buddy—I got you your very own dog, ready and waiting for you to play with.” Oblivious to his wife’s again-trembling lower lip, Max grinned and crouched low enough to bring his mouth only inches from the curve beneath his hand. “You hear that, Ethan? Your old man went out today and picked the very best pup he could find, and he’s all yours. So hurry up and get here, little guy. We’re all waiting for you.”

  The expression on his face, Julia thought, the tears streaming down her cheeks. It was pure love, undiluted joy, so unguarded that now she did feel as if she was intruding. He looked like a man fulfilled, she thought shakily. He looked like a father.

  She watched in silence as Anne handed the Boomer of so long ago back to her husband, watched as Max absently took the puppy from her, his other hand still pressed to her stomach and his mouth still curved into a small smile. She saw him whisper something, and automatically her finger pressed the remote’s volume control.

  “…love you, little guy.” His words were barely audible. He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to his wife’s belly. “I’m always going to be there for you, Ethan. I’m always going to keep you safe, son. I love you so much.”

  For a moment the screen was filled with the image—the man, his eyes closed and one strong hand splayed open to feel the movements of his unborn child, the small dog he’d bought for that child tucked into the crook of his arm. Boomer’s tiny muzzle stretched open in a yawn, and he sleepily closed his own eyes. Max hitched him closer. The screen went black.

  “He was never born.” Julia’s fist flew to her mouth. She stared at the blank screen, ignoring the tears that were falling, hot and wet, to her lap as she sat there. “He was killed with his mother in the accident, wasn’t he? Your Ethan was never born.”

  It would have happened only days after this video had been shot, she thought, fresh sorrow lancing through her. He’d said his wife had been killed before they’d been married a year, and Anne had been talking about their upcoming anniversary, so this would have been one of the last moments Max had shared with the son he’d loved so much. Shortly after this his world would have been smashed to pieces, never to be put back together again.

  He’d had a wife. She’d been carrying their child. Now it was ten years later, and a man lived alone here in this empty house, his only link to the past the old dog that had been meant as a companion to the child he’d lost.

  He’d told her she was wrong, that he’d never had a son. He’d lied—not to her, but to himself. He’d been lying to himself for ten years now, because that was the only way he could hold the pain at bay.

  “Oh, Max—don’t you see?” she whispered unsteadily. “You did have a son. He was alive, and he must have known that he had a father who loved him so very, very much. You told him that, Max. But for the last ten years you’ve pretended he never existed, and—and that’s wrong. You’ve shut him out of your heart, and he’s been waiting outside in the darkness all this time for you to let him back in. You’ve been waiting in the darkness too, Max. You’ll wait there in the dark forever if you don’t let him back in.”

  She heard the click of claws on the kitchen linoleum, and Boomer appeared in the doorway to the living room, his tail wagging in greeting as he saw her. Stiffly he walked over to her.

  “One of these days he’s going to have to let you go, old boy.” Julia stroked the velvety head with a hand that trembled. “He knows that but he just can’t bear the thought of it, because when you’re gone it’ll only be him who’s left. I think he looks at you and sees the puppy you used to be—big paws, floppy ears and a heart full of love for the little boy you were supposed to grow up with. He says he never had a son, but I think he looks at you and sees Ethan at your side. I think he looks at you and sees a little boy throwing sticks for you, a little boy coming home from school to give you a hug, a little boy falling asleep with you watching over him at night, keeping him safe from all harm. And maybe he’s right. Maybe when you’re lying there on your rug deep asleep, in your dreams you’re playing with that little boy he loved so much.”

  Throwing her arms around Boomer’s neck, she buried her face in his fur, her eyes squeezed shut and her shoulders bowed in sorrow. His actions made sense now. He would allow himself to go so far with her, she realized with reluctant insight, because he hadn’t been capable of sealing himself off totally. If she said the word he would give her the only part of him he had to give—the edgy, reckless Max Ross who was the dark side of the man she’d seen in the video. But that would be all she would ever get of him.

  That was all he would ever allow himself to give. The rest of him was locked away forever.

  She felt a moist tongue at the side of her face, and raised her head. Boomer was looking worriedly at her, his fur sleek with her tears. She gave him a crooked smile and felt her heart crack a little.

  “And that’s not enough, Boomer,” she whispered. “God help me, it’s not enough. I think I’ve gone and fallen in love with the man…and I want all of him.”

  IT HAD TAKEN LONGER than Max had thought. Not only had he pulled Olivia’s original statement, he’d reread every other report he’d been able to lay his hands on. He’d known even while he was doing it that his primary reason wasn’t to go over material he already knew almost by heart. He hadn’t wanted to go home.

  He pulled up in his driveway, and saw with relief that the house was dark. She’d left the small light on by the front door, presumably so he wouldn’t stumble on his way in, but it was obvious she’d gone to bed—which was what he’d been hoping for.

  The house was quiet, but it wasn’t an empty quiet, Max thought as he walked into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of milk to counteract the four—no, five, he remembered—cups of bad coffee he’d downed at the office. Taking it to the kitchen table, he pulled out a chair and sat down, loosening his tie as he did. He closed his eyes tire
dly, and finally faced the fact he’d been trying to avoid.

  This wasn’t going to work. Even the way he was acting right now was proof of what an insane idea it had been, thinking he could function with any kind of efficiency while he was slowly going out of his mind with wanting her. She didn’t seem to get it, he thought incredulously. He supposed that was one of those small mercies it was considered appropriate to give thanks for, but if so, it was too damned small, and he didn’t feel all that thankful anyway.

  He felt scared.

  But the fact remained that she didn’t seem to understand just being around her was dangerous for him. And he couldn’t understand that. When she talked about the woman she’d once been, she described that woman as beautiful—not arrogantly, not boastfully, but just as a statement of fact. And she saw it as a simple fact, not as a regret or a loss, that that beauty no longer existed. So she didn’t get it. She didn’t seem to understand how hard it was for him to keep his hands off her.

  “Somebody somewhere along the line sure did a freakin’ number on you, Jules,” Max muttered. He tossed back the last of the milk, which hadn’t done a damn thing to calm his nerves, and absently drummed his fingers on the table. The spare bedroom was past his, only a few feet away down the hall. Maybe he should check on her, just to make sure she was all right. He got to his feet, nearly stepping on Boomer as he did, and took three brisk steps before he stopped himself. He stood rigidly in the shadows of the hall, guilt washing over him.