Wonders Never Cease (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 22

  It unnerved him that she could read his feelings. Nobody could do that. Except Czar. “What does it matter? I’ve seen hundreds of people just like that pair. They used their daughter as a steady paycheck to support their worthless lifestyle. Then one day she woke up and said, Screw this, and left. Do I feel sorry for them? Hell, no. I feel sorry for your friend. She was their victim.”

  Jill tilted her head, studying him. When she spoke, her voice was calm and flat—the way his usually was. “Dorry could have left at any time, Ben. She chose to stay because it was safe. Better to support a known evil than risk exposure to the unknown. Especially if the unknown might prove beyond a reasonable doubt that love doesn’t prevail and dreams don’t come true.”

  Ben took a minute to digest her words.

  “Why do you hate them, Ben?” Jill asked.

  Stymied, Ben looked at her. “I don’t hate those people. I barely know them.”

  She brushed the backs of her fingers across his bare forearm. “I mean your parents.”

  He gulped as though he’d been punched in the stomach. She hastily scooted closer and put her hand on the steering wheel. The right tires howled as they hit the shoulder.

  Ben brushed her hand aside and made the correction that put the Blazer safely back on the road. He knew she was waiting for his answer. His gut churned but he decided to get this little talk over with. She deserved to know the truth.

  He pulled into the empty parking lot of a propane dealer and turned off the engine. “I don’t hate my parents, Jill, I just don’t like them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they were never there for me growing up.” Ben used a phrase he’d heard on some talk show.

  “How do you mean?”

  He rolled his eyes. He should have known a journalist would want to probe deeper. “My father was an abusive drunk,” Ben blurted out. “He hit my mother and threatened me and my sister—until I got bigger than him. Then he kicked me out.”

  Jill nodded, as if his story made sense. “And seeing the Fishbanks, I mean Patens, brought back all those bad memories.”

  Ben grappled for patience. “No. My parents would never live like that. They were big on appearances. Everything had to look good on the outside, even if it was rotten on the inside.”

  “Are they still together? Your mother and father?”

  Ben couldn’t prevent the bitter snicker. “Of course. She’d never leave him—what would people say? He sobered up a few years ago and is now a model citizen. Or so I’ve been told.”

  Her eyebrow rose at his snide tone. “But you don’t hate them.”

  He smacked the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. “How could I? I haven’t seen them in years.”

  “Does your sister see them?”

  Ben frowned, recalling Joely’s call about their father’s health. “She made up with them after Jenny was born. That was her choice. I don’t have any reason to have anything to do with them.”

  “That’s too bad,” Jill said softly. Then, to his surprise, she changed the subject. “Could we stop at the Sentinel on the way home? I’d like to check my mail. Maybe Dorry sent me a card, too.”

  Ben stifled a sigh of relief. “Hopefully a treasure map telling you where to find the missing county-office files.” He and Amos had tried to reconstruct Jill’s investigation into the allegedly damaging water reports, but had discovered an entire block of years missing from the archives.

  His attempt at levity failed. Ben hoped her preoccupied frown didn’t have anything to do with him. His past was an open-and-shut case. History. If she were to be part of his life, she’d need to accept that.

  JILL TRIED to stay focused on the list of e-mails on her screen, but it wasn’t easy with everyone stopping by to give hugs of encouragement and support. A huge Welcome Back, Jill banner occupied the wall closest to the photo lab. Ben still lingered over the dozen photos of her tacked to the bulletin board along with some of her early articles.

  She wished she could accept all the goodwill but something nagged at the back of her consciousness. A threat. A clue. She wasn’t sure.

  “Hello, Jill, good to see you,” a deep voice said.

  Dorry’s itinerary, which Jill had just scanned into the system, slid to the floor. “Hi, Will,” she said hastily, bending down to pick it up.

  Will beat her to it. Their heads almost touched and Jill felt a sudden rush of vertigo. His cologne, something expensive and dramatic, made her slightly nauseous. She rocked back, and her temperamental chair buckled, nearly spilling her backward.

  A strong hand on her shoulder steadied her. “That chair’s worse than mine. I thought reporters had it better than civil servants.” Ben’s solid presence grounded her. She took a deep breath and brushed aside her foolish flight of fancy. Will was a friend, a colleague. She had no reason to feel skittish when he was near.

  “What’s this?” Will asked, scanning the page. Ben had agreed to let her forward a copy to her mother since Mattie knew people on almost every cruise line.

  “Loose ends,” Ben said, snatching the paper from Will’s fingers. “Have we met?”

  Jill made the introductions. She sensed Ben’s watchful appraisal. She wondered if he was jealous. The idea made her smile.

  Will snapped his fingers. The toothpick in the corner of his mouth wiggled like a snake’s tongue. “I just had an epiphany. As long as you’re both here, we could get someone to interview you. Victim with hero. Nice little PR package for both the paper and the police department. What do you say?”

  He looked at Ben, obviously confident Jill would agree.

  “No,” Jill said.

  Both men looked at her.

  “I beg your pardon,” Will said coolly.

  Jill fought back a shiver. “We can’t do it now. We’re missing one of the key players—Czar,” she said, thinking fast. She couldn’t explain why but she felt a very strong need to leave. “I’d love to do the story as soon as he’s back on his feet.”

  Ben nodded. “Good point. He’s the real hero here. Not me.”

  Will shrugged. “Well, at least, let me get your statement, Ben, about the investigation. Believe me, it hasn’t been pleasant having to admit publicly that we let a stalker get that close to Jill without any of us acting on his threats.” He frowned and looked at Jill. “You don’t know how guilty I feel about not reporting what happened that day in the parking lot.”

  Ben demanded an explanation without saying a word.

  Will motioned for Ben to join him at a nearby desk and the two men sat down. Jill e-mailed an attachment of Dorry’s itinerary to Mattie. Hopefully, her father would check his mail while they were still in Los Angeles. Jill knew her mother would be thrilled to put her expertise to work.

  As she opened a few other letters, Jill tried to tune out Will’s version of her encounter with Bobby. Will’s telling made it sound worse than it actually had been. “I warned Jill,” he said sagely. “That guy’s a born loser. He wouldn’t take no for an answer when she tried to tell him she couldn’t do anything more to help him.”

  Ben’s gaze traveled to Jill. Although he spoke softly, she could hear his words. “Doesn’t it strike you as counterproductive to nearly kill the one person you believe could help you?”

  Will didn’t answer right away. His eyes narrowed shrewdly—his reporter’s nose no doubt sensing a scoop. “Are you suggesting Bobby Goetz didn’t do it?”

  Ben stiffened. “Not at all. Evidence looks pretty conclusive. I was just wondering about his motivation.”

  Will removed his toothpick and snapped it in two. “Most druggies aren’t profound thinkers,” he said. His smile seemed more like a sneer to Jill, who quickly looked away. She deleted a large block of old messages. In the background, she heard Will add, “Besides, who else is there? Bullion isn’t exactly the crime capital of the world.”

  “Does Jill have any enemies that you know of? Disgruntled co-workers? Someone she might have slighted in print? She mentio
ned some unexplained changes to her stories.”

  Jill highlighted an e-mail dated the Monday after her attack. It had no message ID. In the line marked Sender, a string of numerals preceded AOL.com. While pretending to read, she listened to Will’s answer. “If you mean that piece she wrote on you and your dog, I suspect that someone might have been asked by our publisher, Everett Davenport, to edit all Jill’s work liberally.” He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “You probably don’t know this, but Jill is persona non grata around here. When Clarice Martin, Jill’s ex’s new wife, worked here, she and Everett were very close, if you get my meaning.”

  Jill swallowed a gasp. Clarice had been Everett’s mistress? Good heavens, why didn’t anyone tell me?

  Will went on. “It bothers Everett to see Jill—a constant reminder, if you get my drift. And there are plenty of sycophants who will do the head honcho’s calling for the right incentive.”

  Jill sneaked a peek at Ben; his lips were compressed in a serious scowl. “I’d call that harassment.”

  Will snorted skeptically. “Welcome to the world of publishing.” His cynicism made her skin crawl. She impulsively printed the e-mail message then erased the entire file. She grabbed her copy from the printer beside her desk and rose. Her vision swam, but Ben suddenly appeared at her side.

  “Dizzy?”

  “I got up too fast. I am feeling kinda pooped all of a sudden. Would you mind taking me home?” She nodded at Will. “Amazing, isn’t it? The man not only saves my life, he plays taxi, too.”

  Ignoring Ben’s puzzled look, she took his arm and tugged him toward the door. “Bye, everyone,” she called. “See you soon.”

  Once outside, Jill took a deep breath. It was almost five. The sports crew would be coming in soon. Editorial would be calling it a day. She shivered. “Can we go?”

  He looped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. “Your place or mine?” he asked, his lips brushing her crown.

  She hadn’t expected the offer. “Yours. Please.”

  BEN FIXED FOOD. It seemed a lot safer than taking her to bed. From the minute they’d walked into his house, Ben had wanted to pull her into his arms. Dog hair and all.

  Czar’s enthusiastic welcome had left her coated with hair.

  “He’s shedding worse than usual,” Ben had explained. “I think he had an allergic reaction to something. Maybe the antibiotics.”

  Jill had looked ready to collapse. Ben had helped her to the couch in his sparsely furnished family room so he could keep an eye on her while he cooked. Czar had immediately flopped down beside her.

  Ben dumped a box of spaghetti into a kettle of boiling water; he’d already doctored up a jar of store-bought pasta sauce and prepared a salad. Two heads of oven-roasted garlic drizzled in olive oil filled his kitchen with a mouthwatering aroma. The French bread was keeping warm in the oven until Jill woke up from her nap.

  “Just about ready to eat?” he asked, noticing her sleepy blink.

  She raised up on one elbow to look around. Czar responded with eager licks and rapid tail wagging.

  Ben knew he should intercede, but he hadn’t been able to deny Czar anything since that last, harrowing episode when the dog had collapsed on the hospital floor. Torn between the two souls he cared most for in the world, Ben hadn’t known how to help either one.

  Fortunately, he told himself, they were both on the mend.

  “Something smells yummy,” Jill said. “Kentucky fried chicken?”

  Ben snickered. Her teasing tone made him want to scoop her up in his arms. Instead, he played along. “That’s right. I picked up a three-piece meal for you. Czar and I are having Caesar salad, pasta and garlic bread. Right, boy?”

  Czar barked.

  “You feed him people food?”

  Ben smiled sheepishly. Ever since the gunshot incident, Czar had spurned dog food—even top-of-the-line canned stuff. He’d sit at the table and beg until Ben broke down and shared his meal with him. “It’s a long story. Suffice to say, I’m cooking for three tonight.”

  She sat up, brushing the hair from her fingers. “I’m starved. If you don’t mind, I’d like to clean up first.”

  “You know the way.”

  Instead of following her, Czar joined Ben in the kitchen. He looked at Ben with his soulful brown eyes and seemed to be conveying some deep thought. Ben dropped to a squat. “Whatcha need, boy?”

  Ben tried to hear his friend’s message, but the only thing that came to mind was Jill. And the memory of the kiss they’d shared in the hot tub. Ben had the oddest sense of standing outside his body—looking at them from Czar’s point of view. We look like a couple in love.

  “What can I do?” Jill asked, stepping around the counter.

  Ben blinked to refocus. His heart gave a funny little skip. He gave Czar a quick hug then rose. “Eat,” he said, pointing to the table. “You’re going to need your strength.”

  Her eyes grew big. “Oh, really. Why is that?”

  Ben grabbed a pot holder and removed the foil-wrapped bread from the oven. “Because if I decide to ravish you later, I want to give you a chance to fight off my advances.”

  Her musical giggle made him smile. “What if I told you I’d surrender without a fight?”

  Motioning her to sit down, he carried the bread and garlic to the table. “You? Feisty Jill Martin?” he teased, dropping a kiss on her nose.

  “Feisty?” She touched her nose—as if remembering something that puzzled her.

  “That’s what Amos called you when I expressed my concern about putting you in the bite suit.”

  “How funny!” she said, tearing off a hunk of bread. “Penny’s always called me a pushover. She said I was a wimp for not taking Peter to the cleaners when we split up.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Ben asked, returning with the pasta and sauce. He turned off the kitchen light and sat down.

  “It takes two to make a marriage work, and I’d quit trying long before the bitter end. We were headed in different directions and neither of us wanted to compromise. Why punish Peter for something I wanted?” She smeared a clove of soft, fragrant garlic on the bread. “My problem came when I found out about Clarice. My ego couldn’t handle the idea that he’d found someone to replace me so quickly.”

  Her honesty touched him. Ben had known a lot of divorced couples—police work was brutal on marriages, but he couldn’t name a single person as self-aware as Jill.

  “Do you want to get married?” she asked right before taking a bite.

  “Pardon?” Ben sputtered, nearly choking on his mouthful of salad.

  She chewed and swallowed then smiled impishly. “Someday. Do you ever plan to marry? Or are you a confirmed bachelor? Married to your job.”

  Ben took his time answering. He glanced at Czar for guidance. “I never thought of myself as marriage material. My parents were pretty lousy role models.”

  Jill sampled the spaghetti. The unruly strands refused to stay on the fork and she wound up slurping noodles and sauce like a character in a cartoon. Twin pink dots appeared on her cheeks. “Sorry,” she said, looking down. “Go on.”

  Ben’s heart expanded in his chest. He knew he’d never felt this close to anyone before in his life. If the feeling had a name, it had to be love. Impulsively, he said, “I’d like to get married. What about you?”

  She took a drink of water then sat back, as if digesting his question. “I liked being married at first.” Ben couldn’t prevent a tickle of jealousy, but it faded when she added, “But I’m afraid, too. What if the divorce was all my fault? Maybe I’m a jinx.”

  Ben reached out and took her hand. “I doubt that.”

  “You wouldn’t be afraid to marry me?”

  There was just enough mischievous twinkle in her eyes to let him know she wasn’t truly agonizing over the prospect of being single the rest of her life.

  “Scared spitless, but I’d do it.” He brushed his lips across her knuckles. “In a heartbeat.”

>   Their gazes met. And while things that could have been said remained unspoken, Ben knew that something important—something life altering—had been decided with a smile.

  “We could hang out and watch videos after dinner,” Ben said, feeling an enormous sense of peace. “Or do you want me to take you home?”

  Jill squeezed his hand and said with a smile, “For some reason, I feel like I am home.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BEN REMINDED HIMSELF that the best of intentions were only as good as the end result. He’d promised himself a couple of kisses. A little innocent petting. Making love would wait until Jill was completely well.

  “Jill, honey,” Ben said, extricating himself from the hold she had around his neck. “This is a bad idea.”

  He wasn’t about to jeopardize Jill’s health for the sake of a romp in the hay—no matter how much his body wanted it.

  The video An American President played in the background, but Ben hadn’t seen a single scene for the past ten minutes. He’d been too busy memorizing the taste and texture of Jill’s lips.

  “No, it isn’t,” she whispered huskily. “How can you say that? It’s a great idea. Make love with me, Ben. Please.”

  He pulled her to his chest and tightened his arms. His couch was wide enough for them to lie side by side, the overstuffed pillows of nubby, nut-brown tweed creating a cushioned haven. “I’d like nothing better than to make love with you. You can feel how much, can’t you?”

  She moved her hips against the evidence of his need. Her lips curved upward. “You think too much.”

  Ben’s willpower was taking a beating. The strain showed in his voice when he said, “Jill, honey, I should take you home. What will Frank think? He might freak out if you leave him alone too long.”

  She nuzzled the neckline of his shirt, deftly unbuttoning the top button. “Frank will understand. We can check on him in the morning.” She undid two more and pushed aside the material to expose his nipple. She lifted her head and looked at him. Desire made her eyes stormy and mysterious. “Is licking allowed in such circumstances?”