A Woman Without Lies

Chapter 3

Perched on the edge of a slate-gray cliff, the Ramsey house faced east, toward the Inside Passage and its many islands. Between the indigo mainland and Vancouver Island itself, the ocean was a smooth, burning gold, a molten contrast to the nearly black, ragged rise of tiny islands.

Small boats circled favored islands, dancing on the choppy sea while fishermen trolled in search of elusive silver salmon.

To the right of the house lay the small city of Campbell River. The town’s boundaries were determined by salt water and a jade-green river rolling powerfully to the sea. The late afternoon air was clear, almost surreal, as though diamond dust hung suspended in the sky, quivering with light.

Angel barely spared a glance for the magnificent view. The closer she got to the Ramsey house, the more she was afraid that Hawk hadn’t told her the truth about the extent of Derry’s injuries. It had taken all of her discipline not to question Hawk during the flight and the short drive from the Island Taxi terminus on Vancouver Island.

She had kept her silence, though. Some instinct warned Angel that she had already revealed too much of herself to Hawk.

The instant Hawk’s powerful BMW stopped in front of the house, Angel was out of the car and running to the front door. She went into the house without calling out or knocking.

She and Derry had shared the house for three years. Initially the arrangement had been necessary; she hadn’t been able to care for herself in those first months after the accident. Later she and Derry had continued to share the house during the summer, for she had sold her own family’s Campbell River vacation home in order to help Derry pay the inheritance taxes on Eagle Head.

Technically, one quarter of this house and the surrounding twelve hundred acres belonged to Angel. It was something she rarely thought about. So far as she was concerned, the Ramsey house and Eagle Head still belonged entirely to the surviving Ramsey – Derry.

“Derry?” called Angel, moving quickly through the entry and living room, searching for him. “Derry, where are you?”

“Back here,” called Derry.

Hawk came in the front door just in time to see Angel run toward the back of the house, her pale blond hair rippling and lifting with each step. He stood without moving for an instant, riveted by her grace and the smooth curves of her legs.

He wondered how it would feel when she wrapped those long legs around him, holding him tightly within her.

With an impatient curse at his own thoughts, Hawk shut the door and stalked across the living room. The fair-haired Angel was getting under his skin. Hawk knew of only one way to exorcise that type of obsession.

In bed.

That was where the lies always showed for what they were, no matter how beautiful the lips that uttered them. Practiced passions and movements choreographed by lies rather than love. Using and taking and discarding with a check and a casual wave.

Then back to the cold, transparent sky, back to circling and gliding and waiting for that flash of vulnerability far below, the instant when adrenaline raced and the chase began, making Hawk alive again.

Years ago Hawk had stopped believing that he would ever capture a woman who had no lies. He didn’t even know he was looking for one.

He only knew the hunt, and the kill.

Impassively Hawk caught up to Angel as she raced through the kitchen and family room to the enormous, cantilevered cedar deck that flared like bronzed wings over the rocks and sea.

Derry was stretched out on a chaise lounge. From his left thigh to his big toe there was a swath of bright white plaster, immobilizing his normally active body.

Angel caught her breath at the paleness of Derry’s skin, the purple smudges beneath his eyes, the full mouth drawn thin and bracketed by pain. Soundlessly she went to her knees beside him, cradling his head against her breasts. When she spoke, her voice was low, crooning, as though he were a sleepless baby.

“Take the pills, Derry,” she murmured.

She threaded her fingers through his blond curls, kneading neck and scalp muscles that had knotted against the agony that spread through him in waves with each incautious movement.

“Pain has nothing new to teach you,” Angel said gently. “Take the pills for a few days. Just until you can move without feeling as though a knife is turning in your ankle.”

Derry said nothing.

Angel leaned back, searching Derry’s blue eyes.

“Promise me?” she asked in a husky voice.

“Hey,” said Derry, his supple tenor voice at odds with the muscular breadth of his shoulders and chest. “I’m all right, Angie. Really.”

“The only thing you really are is pale,” retorted Angel.

Derry smiled and hugged her close.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Or I will be as soon as my back teeth stop floating.”

Angel smiled despite her worry. “That bad, is it?”

“Worse.”

She looked around for Derry’s crutches. She spotted them, grabbed them, and put her arm around Derry, helping him into a sitting position.

“Come on, ox,” Angel muttered. “Use those muscles for something besides impressing the pretty tourists.”

Belatedly Hawk understood that Angel was trying to help Derry to his feet. She looked absurdly fragile next to Derry’s bulk.

Yet before Hawk could object, she began levering Derry to his feet.

Instantly Hawk moved closer, taking Derry’s weight from Angel’s slim shoulders.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hawk demanded.

“Helping Derry to the bathroom,” said Angel.

She was surprised by the harshness of Hawk’s voice, and by his strength. He had literally lifted Derry off the chaise.

“Thanks,” she added, smiling at Hawk. “Getting up is the hard part. The rest is just awkward.”

Angel positioned Derry’s crutches for him.

“Ready?” she asked.

“I was ready hours ago,” Derry said sheepishly. “I just didn’t feel like struggling to get up.”

“You should have called me sooner.”

“Oh, hell, Angie. I can take care of myself. And I didn’t want to take you away from the opening.”

Derry looked at Hawk, then back at Angel.

“I still don’t think I should have,” Derry said. “I know what your art means to you.” “There will be other shows,” Angel said, firmly tucking the crutches under Derry’s arms. “There’s only one you.”

Hawk watched Angel with grudging admiration.

She has it all down, he thought ruefully. All the caring little gestures, the worried glances, the determined smile, the words.

A flawless performance of love.

Hawk might have begun to believe it himself, if Angel hadn’t softened and flowed over him like honey at his first touch in a smoky bar. Angel didn’t love Derry or anyone else.

She could play the role, though.

And so could Hawk.

It was a necessary part of the chase, of the hunt. Hawk could appear to be whatever the prey wanted him to be, until it no longer mattered.

Angel paced alongside Derry as he lurched forward, not touching him despite her need to reassure herself that he was all right.

Derry moved awkwardly at first, then with more confidence.

“You haven’t been on these crutches much, have you?” she asked.

Derry shook his head, not wanting to talk. He knew that the pain that was sweeping up in waves from his ankle would change the quality of his voice, telling Angel just how much his ankle hurt.

“Where are the pain pills,” Angel said flatly.

Derry drew a deep breath.

“You didn’t take them three years ago,” he said.

“I did at first,” Angel retorted. “Too many and too often. This is different, Derry. You’re different than I was. Try one pill. Please. I’ll stay right by you. If you get groggy and forget which year it is, I’ll be there.”

Angel looked up at Derry with wide, haunted eyes. He started to protest, then sagged against the crutches, unable to argue with the dark memories in her eyes.

“How did you know what I was afraid of?” Derry asked.

“I’ve been there,” Angel said simply.

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Derry closed his eyes and smiled.

“It’s good to have you home again,” he said softly. “The pills are on the kitchen counter.”

“Do you need any help in the bathroom?” asked Angel as she turned away to get the pills.

“If I get stuck, I’ll holler for you,” said Derry, grinning crookedly. “Almost like old times, huh?”

Angel laughed sadly and shook her head.

“Some homecoming,” she said.

Smiling, Derry swung his body between the crutches, heading for the downstairs bathroom.

“Watch the loose tile in the hall,” Angel called after him.

“I know, I know. I’ve lived here longer than you, remember?”

Hawk walked closer as Angel went to the kitchen cupboard and got a glass. She filled it with water and turned around.

Hawk was so close that he startled her.

“You live with Derry?” Hawk asked, his voice bland.

“Only in the summers,” said Angel.

She set aside the glass in order to wrestle with the cap on the pill bottle.

“The rest of the year I live in Seattle,” she continued. “I come up whenever I can, though. Especially on Christmas.”

Angel’s hands paused as she remembered the first Christmas without her family. Without Grant. Christmas was the worst time for memories and regret and rage.

She and Derry spent the Christmas season together, knowing that the other would understand if tears rather than smiles came in response to carols and presents.

But Angel wouldn’t think about that now. Tears couldn’t bring back the dead.

Beneath Angel’s white-knuckled grip, the cap popped off the bottle and fell to the floor.

Hawk retrieved the cap with a smooth, rapid motion. He had seen both the sadness and the… courage… in Angel’s face. He wondered what thoughts had caused her such deep unhappiness.

Or is Angel simply pretending to feel sadness and determination? Hawk asked himself. Has she found my Achilles heel where other women have failed?

Has she somehow sensed that there is nothing on earth I respect except the guts it takes to climb out of the deep holes life drops you into?

“Thank you,” said Angel, her voice tight as she took the cap from Hawk’s lean fingers.

“Have you lived with Derry long?” he asked.

“Three years,” Angel said.

She shook a pill out into her palm.

“During summers and holidays,” Hawk said, his tone almost neutral.

Something in the tone of Hawk’s voice brought up Angel’s head sharply. Drifts of pale, soft hair curled around her breasts in sensual contrast to black silk.

“Didn’t Derry tell you?” Angel asked. “We were all but raised together.”

“Yes, he told me. Very convenient.”

Angel shrugged. “Our families lived next door to each other during the summers, and our fathers were brothers in all but blood.”

“Yet you live in Seattle most of the time?”

“I’m a U.S. citizen.”

“When you marry him, that will change.”

“Marry who?” asked Angel, startled.

“Derry,” said Hawk, watching her with cold brown eyes.

Angel’s response was just what Hawk had expected, a denial of involvement with Derry.

As Angel moved her head in a reflexive, negative gesture, a subtle fragrance drifted up from her hair to Hawk’s nostrils. They flared, drinking her scent. Desire ripped through him, but Hawk did not show it. A man who showed need to a woman was a fool.

Hawk hadn’t been a fool since his eighteenth birthday.

“I’m like a sister to Derry,” said Angel.

“In all but blood,” Hawk added blandly, repeating Angel’s previous words, not believing her.

“Exactly,” agreed Angel. “Derry and I are family.”

She turned away and set the pain pill next to the glass of water on the counter. Uneasily, she turned and glanced up the hallway.

“He’s all right,” Hawk said. “Besides, how much trouble can he get into in the bathroom?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Angel smiled wryly at the memory of her own clumsiness three years ago, when she had first asserted her independence and hobbled into the bathroom on crutches. In the end, Derry had to come in and untangle her.

She had always been grateful that it was concern rather than laughter that showed on Derry’s face when he had found her and her crutches wrapped around the toilet and wash-basin. Fortunately nothing had been hurt but her pride, and Derry had salved even that by his matter-of-fact help.

Hawk saw Angel’s small, private smile and wondered how many times she and Derry had played in the shower or the bathtub. Yes, there are lots of amusing ways to get into trouble in the bathroom, Hawk thought.

But thinking about it would make his desire obvious, so Hawk turned his thoughts elsewhere with the same discipline that had once made him a top race car driver and now made him a ruthless businessman.

“Want me to check on Derry?” asked Hawk, his voice casual, his eyes so dark they were almost black.

Angel hesitated.

“Would you mind?” she asked softly. “Crutches can be the very devil to use the first few times out.”

Hawk turned and went down the hall, silently agreeing with Angel about crutches. He’d been forced to use them twice, after each major racing crash. Once it had been only for a few days. The second time, though, it had been nineteen weeks.

Except for the months following his eighteenth birthday, Hawk couldn’t think of a more unpleasant period in his life than the time he had spent on crutches.

Hawk met Derry coming up the hall. The younger man looked surprised, then resigned.

“Did I take that long?” Derry asked.

“Not for me. Angel was a bit nervous, though.”

“Angel? Oh, Angie.” Derry looked uncertain, then said quietly, “She doesn’t like being called Angel.”

“I know.”

“Then why – ”

“She’ll get used to it,” Hawk said, turning his back on Derry, “just like I got used to Hawk.”