Reconcilable Differences Page 5

  “Screw McDermott. How come you’re suddenly belting down shots of Scotch like they’re lemonade? You want to talk about it?”

  “I’ll get around to it sometime. I’m just not ready right now. Like I’ll ever be. Right now I’m so screwed up, I can’t even think straight.”

  “Well, when you are, you know my number.”

  For the next quarter hour they discussed whether the Packers would beat the Redskins on Sunday, then Mike finished his drink and stood up.

  “I’ve got to get going. This is Lamaze night.”

  Dave shook his head. “Who’d have ever believed it? You’re really eating up married life, aren’t you?”

  “You’ve got that right. Every bite of it, pal. Ann’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m one lucky bastard, Dave, and I know it.”

  “Do you ever miss it, Mike?”

  “Miss what?”

  “Missions. The rush.”

  “Hell, no! I was fed up with that life before I even met Ann. She’s shown me how good life can really be. It’s time you ought to think about settling down and starting a family.”

  “What is it about you married guys? Once you lose your freedom, you don’t rest until you take your friends down with you. Misery loves company, is that it?”

  Mike chuckled. “You’re right about one thing, Dave. Marriage is real misery—when I’m away from Ann. What gets me through the day most of the time is knowing she and Brandon will be at home waiting for me.”

  Mike finished his drink. “Speaking of sharing your life, pal, looks like you can have some company of your own tonight, if you’re interested. That blonde down there can’t keep her eyes off you.”

  Dave glanced at the attractive woman sitting alone at the end of the bar. She smiled at him.

  “I’ll leave you to finer pursuits.” Mike slapped him on the shoulder. “No time like the present. Go for it, pal. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  The bartender came over with the bottle of Scotch. “Ready for another, Dave?”

  He nodded. “What’s the lady drinking, Bernie?”

  “Chardonnay.”

  “Give her a refill.”

  He watched Bernie amble down to the other end of the bar and fill the woman’s glass. They exchanged a few words and then she nodded toward Dave, picked up the glass and smiled again at him.

  Dave stood up and reached for his glass. Nodding at the blonde, he raised it in a slight toast. Then he killed the Scotch, tossed some bills on the bar and left the barroom.

  He was in no mood to make a connection. Lord knows he needed one. Seeing Trish again had tied him in knots. Knots the blonde wouldn’t be able to free, any better than any other women had in the past six years. They’d all been nothing but a necessary physical release and emotion never entered into the act.

  When in hell would it end? It had been six years now. When would he be able to look at a woman and want her as much as he’d always wanted Trish every time he saw her? As much as he wanted her right now even knowing she was a married woman—knowing what she had become.

  Looking back now, he realized his dad had been the same way. Even though his mom had died young, his dad had never considered remarrying. Dave couldn’t recall his dad even dating another woman—much less bringing one home. What about his needs? Female companionship. Sex. Was it like this for him, too?

  The realization filled him with shame. He had never thought about his father’s needs while he was growing up. In fact, he and his sister had taken pride in knowing their dad had gone to his grave never loving any other woman but their mother. What selfish self-indulgence on their parts!

  “Forgive me, Dad. Guess I deserve what I’m getting. I understand now what you must have gone through, but it’s too late to tell you.”

  Pausing outside the bar, Dave took a deep breath. The fresh air felt good. The four drinks had begun to hit him, so he decided to hike the three miles to his apartment in the hope of walking off the effects of the alcohol.

  Dammit! Seeing Trish again—and what she had become—dredged up memories he’d rather forget. He had good cause to get drunk—and stay that way—but he’d be damned if he’d start falling into bed at night in a drunken stupor.

  He turned and strode down the block.

  Trish felt a stab of pain the instant she saw Dave coming down the block. She’d recognize the shape of his head anywhere, the broad outline of his shoulders and the easy grace with which he moved through any crowd.

  She’d been sitting in her car for the past hour waiting for him. Thank God he was alone. She would have driven away if he hadn’t been.

  Her gaze fixed lovingly on his tall figure as she watched him enter the building and pause at the bank of mailboxes.

  As he checked his mail, the firm features of his profile were spotlighted in the lobby’s brightness. Nothing appeared to have changed in six years. The same tanned face with its straight nose, sensual mouth and square jaw. He still wore his dark hair neatly clipped to his proud head. If anything, he was more handsome. Her heart ached looking at him. Would she ever get over this man?

  She waited as he disappeared through the inner door. Shortly after, a light went on in a front apartment on the second floor.

  Her courage began to falter again. What was she doing coming here? A dozen or more times in the past hour she had waged an inner struggle to turn on the ignition of her car and drive away as quickly as she could.

  Before she could lose her nerve again, Trish got out of the car and crossed the street. The building was not secure, and she entered the inner door and started to climb the stairs to the second floor. Each step she took was like plucking the petals off a daisy—Should I go? Should I stay? Recalling the loathing in his eyes made it hopeless to ponder “he loves me, he loves me not.” He loved her not! So what had possessed her to come here?

  She paused outside the door marked 2A.

  Dave had just tossed aside his suit jacket and loosened his tie when a knock sounded on the door. It had to be Mrs. Graham from across the hall. What was her problem now?

  Three years ago he had prevented her from being mugged and since then, whenever he was home, she had him doing odds-and-ends jobs, from loosening jar covers to taking care of her cat when she went out of town. Not only did he hate cats—their dander made him sneeze—but he was always on call. The squad could be sent out on an hour’s notice at all times.

  Besides, if he wanted the responsibility of a pet, he’d have his own. He loved dogs. The vision of Ayevol, the buff-colored cocker spaniel he and Trish had had when they were together, flashed through his mind in a painful memory. He sure missed that little hound.

  Nevertheless, as much a nuisance as Mrs. Graham could be, she was a sweet old lady and he never had the heart to turn her down. In addition, she kept him supplied with the best homemade chocolate chip cookies he’d ever tasted.

  Anticipating her holding a plate of them, he smiled and opened the door.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs.—” The words froze in his throat.

  Don’t do this to me, God.

  “Hello, Dave. May I come in? I have to talk to you.”

  “I don’t think that would be wise, Mrs. Manning. Besides, I can’t think of anything we have to say to each other.”

  “It’s very important, Dave.”

  He turned away. She followed him in and gently closed the door. Then she hesitated as if she was drawing strength from the feel of the solid wood.

  Dave folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. “So what’s so important, Mrs. Manning?”

  “Do you mind if I sit down?”

  “Does it matter? You usually do what you want anyway.”

  He could see she was trembling. He wasn’t in the best condition himself. The walk and night air had worked off most of the Scotch, but he still was in no condition for a face-off with her.

  “Sorry, I only have beer or Scotch to offer you. If I remember, your tastes run toward whi
te wine. Of course, that was six years ago. It would appear that many of your tastes have changed since then.”

  “I don’t want anything to drink. I need someone’s advice.”

  “Daddy out of town?”

  She flinched at the sarcasm. “Please, Dave, let’s not throw darts at each other.”

  So what if the remark was childish and spiteful? Thanks to her he had stored up six years of bitterness and resentment. It was about time he got some of it off his chest.

  “So what’s so important? Say what you came to say and get out of here.”

  She bolted to her feet and headed for the door. “I can see this was a mistake.” She paused at the door and looked back accusingly.

  “You used to be a nice guy, Dave. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She turned again to depart.

  “That’s the kettle calling the pot black.”

  She spun on her heel. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve got a short memory, lady. Have you forgotten we walked in on that ménage à trois you were about to enjoy. Or were you too drunk to remember?”

  “You don’t understand. That was happening against my will. I couldn’t stop them.”

  “Yeah, right. And you weren’t stinking drunk either. They drugged you. Right? Look, Mrs. Manning, whatever bedroom games you and your husband like to play is not my business.”

  “It’s true. They did drug me,” she cried out.

  “You said you had something important to tell me. Does it relate to Colin McDermott?”

  “I think Robert is mixed up in some kind of crooked operation with McDermott and bin Muzzar.”

  He snorted. “Gee, you don’t say.”

  “Forget it.”

  She opened the door to leave. He was being stupid. Letting his emotions cloud his common sense. Maybe she did know something that could help the Agency and it would be prudent for him to listen to her.

  “Okay. Okay. Relax. Let’s hear it.”

  She closed the door and came back and sat down. “If you don’t mind, I will have something to drink. A glass of water will be fine.”

  A half wall separated the living room from the kitchen. Trish watched him as he got an ice tray out of the freezer. She could envision the play of muscles across his shoulders as he worked at releasing the cubes and yearned to go up behind him and slip her arms around his waist, cuddle against him and lay her head against his back the way she had done so often when they were together.

  “How long have you lived here, Dave?”

  “Came back to D.C. about three years ago.”

  Three years. She’d still been single three years ago. If only she’d known. If only…

  He came back and handed her the glass of water. “You still living in that apartment we had?”

  “No. I moved back home shortly after I married Robert.”

  “When did you get married?”

  “Two years ago.”

  “Two years.” Remorse flickered in his eyes. For a long moment their gazes locked, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thoughts she was. Then he walked away and leaned against the wall again.

  “So what is it you came to say?”

  Trish took a drink of the water and then put the glass aside.

  “I don’t know if there’s anything to this. It very well could be entirely innocent, but nevertheless certainly unusual. I remembered Mr. McDermott saying something about diamonds to Robert and Ali.” She paused, waiting for him to absorb what she had just told him.

  “And…?”

  “It appeared he expected some kind of exchange for them. Robert implied he hadn’t had time to examine them yet. Thinking about it, I can’t imagine why Robert would even be interested in diamonds.”

  “I’m sure you’re in a better position to judge that than I am.”

  “Robert works for my father. He’s a banker, not a gem dealer.”

  “Did you mention this to the Agency?”

  “I’d forgotten about it until today. When I remembered, I thought it might be worth pursuing. Since I still had my key to the apartment, I went back there and waited until Robert left. Then I went inside and checked the contents in the safe. I discovered a pouch of uncut diamonds.”

  “Why would he put a pouch of diamonds in a place where you could discover them so easily?”

  “I told you why. I’m not living with him. I haven’t seen or talked to him since our return yesterday. We have nothing to do with each other. I moved in with my father more than a year and a half ago. We had signed divorce papers before we went to North Africa.”

  He didn’t even blink, but just continued to look at her with an inscrutable expression.

  “If that’s the case, why did you even go to North Africa with him?”

  “He refused to give me a divorce unless I did.”

  “So you’re implying he acquired the diamonds during the trip?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he did have them before. I’m only saying diamonds were mentioned in his conversation with McDermott. And Robert had a pouch of uncut diamonds in his safe. That sounds pretty coincidental to me.”

  “This should be bounced off Baker and Bishop. Why come to me?”

  “To get your advice. You work for them.”

  “But it’s not my field. I’m part of a special operations squad, Mrs. Manning. I don’t work at the Agency’s think tank. You need to take this information to those guys.”

  “Very well. I’ll contact them in the morning.” She got up and moved to the door. “Thank you for listening.”

  “I’ll call a cab for you.”

  “That’s not necessary. I drove here.”

  “Then I’ll walk you to your car.”

  As they left, a woman carrying a cat came out of the apartment across the hall from him.

  “Hello, David. I’m glad to see you’re back home.”

  “Glad to be back, Mrs. Graham,” he said. Her inquisitive look swept over Trish, but Dave did not introduce them.

  He was silent as they went downstairs, crossed the street and opened the car door.

  “I suggest you get in touch with Mike Bishop first thing in the morning.”

  Trish slid behind the wheel. “I will. Thank you, Dave. I’m sorry I bothered you with this.”

  “By the way, I’m not in the phone book. How did you know where to find me?”

  She should have expected the question, but it caught her off guard. “I…uh…don’t remember. I must have got it from the CIA.”

  “Like hell you did. They don’t give out agents’ addresses.”

  “Very well, if you must know, your sister told me.”

  “Women!” he grumbled, feeling betrayed. “You can’t trust any of them.”

  He slammed the car door and walked away. His head was pounding and his insides churning. Every inch of him throbbed from his need for her; his fingers still tingled from wanting to touch her; and the scent of her still teased his nostrils.

  Dammit! She had no right to show up here tonight. Her nearness, the sound of her voice, those beautiful blue eyes sheathed in anguish ripping at his guts.

  It was the damn Scotch he’d drunk that was doing this to him. Nothing was more pathetic than a self-pitying drunk crying the blues.

  He finished undressing and climbed into the shower in the hope of clearing his head.

  Dave closed his eyes and lifted his face toward the spray. If only the pelting water could cleanse the image of Trish from his mind. Instead each drop felt like a needle prick, a painful reminder of the last time they had showered together.

  He had the mother of all headaches. His head felt too heavy to hold up. He didn’t look forward to what lay ahead and was trying to figure out what to say when the shower door suddenly opened and Trish stood there wearing only a grin and a pixie gleam in those gorgeous blue eyes.

  “Hi, cowboy. Room for one more?”

  He opened his arms. “What do you think, angel?”

  She stepped into the stall
and slipped her arms around his neck. “So, how was your day?”

  It sure as hell would get worse with what he had to tell her; but at the moment, with the feel of her pressed against him, it was about to become a damn sight better.

  Her water-slickened body curved into his as he kissed her hungrily.

  She felt so good. Her skin was warm and wet. He moved his fingers across the sleek satin of her shoulders and down to the hollow of her spine. Grasping the rounded cheeks in his hands, he lifted her up and she curled her legs around his hips.

  She groaned with arousal, searching for his mouth. She found it and her tongue worked his as their moistened bodies adhered to each other, the taut nipples of her breasts a sweet piercing against his chest. He raised her higher until he could get his mouth on them, then he suckled.

  Moaning with ecstasy, she threw back her head. Blood pounded at his temples and his organ felt on fire. He had to climax or he’d implode.

  “Angel, I’m on the edge of blasting off. Please tell me you’re ready.”

  “I was ready before I came in here,” she murmured.

  It was the kind of remark from her that always sent his testosterone into overdrive. He drove into her and she tightened around him. The rapturous body rhythm began, escalating faster and faster. Intensifying as it sucked the breath out of both of them in the mindlessness that led to that final explosive release as she cried out his name.

  She always cried out his name when she climaxed. That was another thing about her that always turned him right back on.

  The spray continued to rain down on them. He made no attempt to pull out or let her down. She slumped her head against his chest and he held her as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

  Only then did he lower her, but she remained cuddled against him in the circle of his arms. Once again his mouth and hands sought the feel and taste of her. He pressed a light kiss to her shoulder, then ran his fingers down her back and played with her spine. He knew if he kept it up, it would lead to another arousal.

  She felt too good to stop.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  She raised her head and looked up at him. “How much I love you.”