If You Come Back To Me (Mills & Boon Spice) Page 8

  “Marc and I were involved years ago, before the crash. Maybe you didn’t know that. Listen, Eric. I’m thrilled that you think you’ve found someone for the manager position. But I’m not feeling very well. You’ll have to excuse me at the moment. I’m sorry.”

  “Mari, wait. Are you okay?”

  She felt intensely guilty about treating a friend in such a fashion, but Mari couldn’t seem to stop herself. Eric’s question went unanswered. She hurried up the front steps and into the darkened house. Without pausing to set her bag down, she rushed into the downstairs powder room and—much to her shock—threw up.

  A moment later, she flushed the toilet and brushed her teeth. Leaning against the bathroom sink, she stared at herself in the mirror. A cold sweat had broken out all over her skin, and her face had gone pale beneath her tan. She started when she saw Eric’s face appear behind her in the mirror.

  “Mari?” he asked tensely.

  “It’s okay,” she said shakily, noting his worried expression. She turned on the tap and filled her palm with cool water, then pressed it against her cheek. “I…I guess that bug is still bothering me.”

  “Seems like an awfully strange bug to me. I’m going to make an appointment for you with an internist I know at Harbor Town Memorial.”

  “No, Eric, that’s not necessary.”

  “It is, Mari,” Eric countered.

  A trickle of unease went through her when she noticed how sober his expression was.

  Chapter Six

  Mari felt so good the next morning that she had herself convinced her illness last night had been the result of strong, conflicted emotion. Eric was kind enough to have arranged a lunch for her and Allison Trainor, the nurse he thought well-suited for the manager position of The Family Center. It had turned so hot and humid outside that they opted to eat indoors in the air-conditioning versus the sun-soaked terrace of the Captain and Crew Restaurant downtown.

  “Your qualifications are exceptional,” Mari mused as she perused Allison’s resume for the tenth time.

  Allison possessed both social work and nursing degrees and had significant managerial experience in hospitals and substance abuse rehab programs. Even better, Allison was not only warm and kind, but confident and down-to-earth.

  Mari looked up as the waitress cleared the remains of their lunch. “Eric says he knows of your work. So, as far as I’m concerned, the job is yours if you want it.”

  Allison looked pleased. “I accept. When Dr. Reyes told me about your plans for The Family Center, I was hooked. I like the idea of a treatment facility for people struggling with substance abuse combined with a place where family members can get education, understanding and support. What you plan puts a positive spin on a topic most people would rather ignore.”

  “I really want the emphasis to be on education for the community—clubs, workplaces, schools. Substance abuse is a community problem as well as an individual one. The stigma attached to it keeps us from seeing that.”

  “Agreed.” Allison leaned back and gave a sigh of relief. “I wish all job interviews could be this easy.”

  Mari laughed. “Having people you trust make recommendations makes a big difference. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you have any recommendations for a clinician—someone to run educational, support groups and do individual therapy? He or she would also need to be comfortable giving public presentations.”

  “I do know someone. I don’t know if she’ll take the job, but she’d be perfect. Her name is Colleen Sinclair and she lives here in town.”

  “Colleen?”

  “You know her?”

  “Yes. We were friends…once,” Mari said thoughtfully. “I wonder if she’d consider it.”

  “I can speak to her about it, if you like,” Allison offered.

  Mari remembered Colleen calling out to her at Jake’s Place the other night. What had occurred next out in the parking lot had thrown a damper on any hope she’d had that she and Colleen might possibly resume their friendship.

  Still… Mari thought the opportunity seemed too good to pass up without at least exploring the possibility. She wanted the best people working at The Family Center, and Colleen not only had the right credentials, she had the personal experience of dealing with the ramifications of substance abuse. Colleen was a survivor.

  “I’d like to talk to her about it myself, actually. I happen to know she’s busy with her son’s birthday party today, but I’ll try and contact her tomorrow.”

  Allison had needed to hurry to get back to her current job at the hospital, so Mari was alone when she exited the bustling restaurant. The bright sun blinded her as she stepped from the dim interior.

  A petite woman plowed into her. Both fumbled to stop a plastic container from falling on the sidewalk.

  “It’s all right. I’ve got—” The older woman stopped talking when she glanced up at Mari.

  “Brigit.” Mari blinked. She hadn’t stood this close to her in years. Marc’s mother had aged extremely well. Mari’s tongue felt numb with shock. “I’m sorry. The sun blinded me there for a moment.”

  Mari nodded nervously at the container. “That must be Brendan’s birthday cake. He and his sister came to visit me yesterday. They’re such lovely children—”

  Abruptly, Brigit stepped around her and marched away without another word, her spine ramrod straight.

  Ice poured into Mari’s veins. She stood there on sunny, muggy Main Street, her skin tingling and her limbs starting to tremble. The unexpected encounter with Brigit Kavanaugh had a profound effect. She’d dreaded running into her, and now she had…in the literal sense.

  In Mari’s younger years, Brigit had always been so warm toward her, so welcoming. Neither of Brigit’s daughters had been interested in her hobby of wildflower collection, but Mari had come to share Brigit’s passion. They had gone on several jaunts together in the local meadows, searching for elusive flowers they’d earmarked in Brigit’s Wildflower Field Guide.

  Now, Brigit refused to speak with her and apparently loathed her, Mari thought as she recalled the cold, furious expression on Brigit’s face. Having someone look at you with something akin to concentrated hatred wasn’t an experience Mari was used to having.

  Especially when that someone had once been a friend.

  She sat down on one of the chairs outside Kate’s Ice Cream Parlor for a moment until she regained her composure to walk back home. All the while, one thought kept circling in her mind.

  Marc wanted me to attend that family party.

  She stood and crossed Sutter Park. Children shouted gaily from the playground.

  She should focus on what she needed to accomplish in Harbor Town. She should finish her mission and get out of here. It all made perfect sense.

  Or at least she’d thought it did, until she climbed the steps to her house and made her habitual glance up Sycamore Avenue to the Kavanaugh house. The vision of Marc staring down at her as she awoke rose in her mind’s eye.

  I was thinking about all the nights I missed watching you while you slept.

  Longing tore through her, so sharp it stole her breath.

  Marc and Liam were the only two people remaining that evening after Colleen and Brigit took a horde of Brendan’s friends and Jenny to Kate’s Ice Cream Parlor on Main Street. They sat at the kitchen table, covered with half a dozen pizza boxes, plastic cups, a half-eaten birthday cake, soda bottles and an array of toys and party favors. They’d volunteered to clean up, but neither brother seemed too anxious to get started.

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something,” Marc said. “You’ve lost weight. You look like crap.”

  Liam scowled and scraped his fingers through his mussed, shoulder-length hair. “I’ve been too busy to work out lately. Or get a haircut. Not all of us have the leisurely schedule of a gentleman lawyer.”

  “I’m a government employee, not a fat cat. But that’s not my point. You’re working undercover again, aren’t you?”

 
Liam’s mouth turned hard. “Can’t keep much from you, can I, counselor?”

  Connecting the dots and not particularly liking the resulting picture, Marc just studied his brother for a moment.

  “It’s that corrupt cop investigation, isn’t it?” Marc asked.

  Liam raised his brows and slouched insouciantly in his chair, and Marc had his answer.

  As the county’s top prosecutor, Marc lived and breathed the same air as Chicago cops. He knew when something was up; he sensed when cops were jumpy.

  “That inner ring of dirty cops is dangerous, Liam.”

  Blue eyes flashed. “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Just be careful. You’d put Mom in a grave if something happened to you. She’s worried enough about Deidre.”

  “You have some nerve, accusing Deidre and me of being martyrs. Who do you think we learned it from, Mr. Defender of Victim’s Rights?” Liam accused.

  Marc didn’t fall for the bait, just continued to hold Liam’s stare until his brother sighed and glanced away.

  “You sound like Mom. I told her I’d think about quitting the force when I’m done with this assignment, but not before. So the only thing I can do is tell you I’ll be as careful as I always am. I don’t have a death wish.”

  You sure as hell act like you do sometimes.

  Marc bit his tongue to keep from saying the words out loud. He’d said enough for now. It wouldn’t help things to start a fight with Liam.

  Liam grimaced when he lifted his elbow off the table and saw that a miniature plastic hockey puck was stuck to his skin. “I guess we better start cleaning up,” he mumbled.

  “Right,” Marc agreed unenthusiastically.

  “They say we’re in for a hell of a storm later on tonight,” Liam said as he stood. He picked up the empty bag of cherry tarts Mari had donated for the party. “Hey…weird about you and Mari being back in town at the same time, huh?” Liam asked with affected casualness.

  “Yeah,” Marc replied shortly. He carried a stack of pizza boxes to the garbage.

  “Marc.”

  He turned, something in Liam’s tone making him cautious.

  “I…I never told anyone. About the night of the accident. About Mari being at the house with you.”

  Marc narrowed his eyelids as memories of that fateful summer night assaulted him.

  Liam’s panicked shouts from downstairs had interrupted an intensely private moment between Mari and Marc fifteen years ago. In fact, they’d been about to make love for the first time as a storm brewed on the horizon. The news of the wreck had put a stop to that.

  The crash had jolted Mari and him onto complete different life paths.

  He was more than a little shocked at hearing Liam speak aloud about a topic that had been forbidden between them through some unspoken fraternal oath. Maybe it was Mari’s presence in town, or maybe it was the threat of a storm in the thick air—the still, oppressive atmosphere not unlike that of the night of the crash—that had made Liam break the silence.

  “It must have been rough, being with Mari that night,” Liam said, his voice gruff, cautious.

  Marc didn’t reply, just resumed clearing the table.

  Liam always had possessed a talent for bald understatement.

  Mari kept herself busy that day by meeting the furniture deliverymen at The Family Center and arranging what items she could on her own. She’d dropped in on Natalie Reyes’s accounting practice and spoken to Natalie about the status of the center’s operating license and some other financial matters. They’d ended up chatting for hours. Natalie was one her favorite people—so quiet and reserved, yet so warm and giving once she accepted you into her private world. Mari knew Natalie rarely went out in public, self-conscious about the scarring on one side of her face. Mari had hoped her involvement in The Family Center would bring her out of her self-imposed confinement somewhat, but, so far, her friend remained shrouded.

  Afterward, she returned to Sycamore Avenue where she spent the better part of the evening practicing her cello.

  When she played, she entered a familiar, focused trance where she lost all sense of place and time. But, suddenly becoming aware of how hot it was, she paused to wipe sweat off her brow, change into a button-up, thin sundress, and open up a window in the bedroom, not that it helped to alleviate the stifling atmosphere. She resumed practice.

  Isn’t the air conditioner working? she wondered a little while later. She set her cello and bow aside and went downstairs to the thermostat. “Do not tell me,” she whispered in disbelief when the air conditioner didn’t respond. In the distance, she heard thunder rumble ominously. She hadn’t noticed a storm was approaching. With her air conditioner apparently on the fritz, she welcomed the prospect of relief from the oppressive heat and humidity.

  She glanced at a clock. It was just past midnight. A feeling of sadness went through her. Now that the day was over, she realized that part of her had hoped Marc would seek her out following their bitter parting last night.

  She walked out on the front porch. A warm wind swirled, causing the porch swing to jerk and sway. Some leaves skittered down the dark, deserted street, the sound striking her as hushed and furtive. She perched on the swing. Lightning flashed over Sycamore Avenue.

  The weather reminded her of the night her parents had been killed. Funny how the realization didn’t bring back the horror of rushing to the hospital and hearing her mother and father had been dead upon arrival. Instead, another memory flashed vividly into her mind: the hot, wondrous expression on Marc Kavanaugh’s face when he’d looked down at her in his bed. She’d been naked and overwhelmed by desire.

  Mari clenched her burning eyelids tight. Grief had wormed its way into that memory over the years, transforming it from a girl’s gilded dream into a woman’s tarnished regrets.

  Tonight, the wonder of that moment had returned. She was so caught up in the poignant memory that she thought she’d imagined it when she heard Marc’s voice.

  “Mari.”

  She opened her eyes and spotted his shadowed form standing at the bottom of the stairs to the porch. The longing she’d experienced earlier that day swelled in her chest, making breathing difficult. For some reason, the fine hair on her arms and the back of her neck rose.

  “Couldn’t sleep, huh?” she asked quietly.

  “Who could, on a night like this?”

  Neither of them spoke as he came up the steps and sat several inches away from her on the swing.

  “Hell of a storm brewing,” he murmured as lightning lit up the street clear as day for a brief moment.

  “Yeah,” Mari replied shakily, wondering if he, too, thought of the similarity between this storm and that one so long ago. Thunder rumbled in the distance. “I’m glad about it. The air conditioner just went out. Hopefully the storm will break this humidity.” She swallowed when he didn’t reply. Was this what they’d stooped to? Talking about the weather? “How was Brendan’s party?”

  “He had a great time. He said to thank you for the tarts, by the way. He’d only share them with his best friend, Brian, much to Jenny’s dismay.”

  She heard the smile in his voice and laughed. “I should have gotten a bag for her.”

  “I think she’ll manage to survive on a week’s worth of cake and ice cream,” Marc said. “Are you interested in Eric Reyes?”

  Mari started. She’d been lulled by his low, light tone. The switch in topic took her by surprise.

  “Interested?”

  “Yeah. Are you seeing him?”

  “No…he’s just a friend. A good friend.”

  She could only make out his shadow, but she saw him slowly nod his head.

  “Ryan introduced me to him, years back. We’ve kept in contact, mostly by email over the years,” Mari explained.

  “Ryan must have met him during the lawsuit hearings.”

  “Yeah.” A gust of wind caused the porch swing to shudder, despite Marc’s firmly planted feet. She inhaled for courage. “I
saw your mother downtown today.”

  “You did?”

  “She didn’t mention it?”

  “No, she didn’t. How did it go?”

  “Not well,” Mari replied with a mirthless chuckle. “When she realized it was me who’d bumped into her, she gave me the cold shoulder. Walked away without a word.”

  Marc cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said.

  He didn’t speak for a moment. Mari almost felt him examining her in the darkness.

  “Is this your way of saying I told you so?” he finally asked with grim amusement.

  She sighed and wiped the perspiration off her brow. “Maybe,” she conceded. She fervently hoped to avoid another confrontation with him on the subject, but she wasn’t going to apologize for what she’d said last night, either.

  “Do you want me to take a look at the air conditioning?”

  “Do you think you could actually fix it?” she asked, sitting up straighter.

  “I’m not guaranteeing anything, but I can have a look. Let’s start with the furnace, since it’s inside, and it’s about to start pouring. It might be the blower or a belt.”

  A thought struck Mari as she flipped on the hall light and led Marc to the closed doorway on the right.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked from behind her.

  She glanced down at her skimpy dress and folded her arms over her breasts. In the darkness, she’d forgotten to think about how thin the fabric was. She turned her head warily. Her heart bumped against her breastbone at the vision of Marc in full light. He was wearing his customary beachwear—long cargo shorts that showed off his muscular, tanned calves and a blue T-shirt that picked up the color of his eyes. His dark blond hair had been sexily mussed by the whipping wind.

  “Nothing is wrong.” She waved at the shut door down the hallway. “The furnace is in the basement.”

  Her gaze shot away when she saw something flicker in Marc’s eyes.

  “Yeah. I remember that, strangely.” His mouth quirked. “Lead the way.”