Certified Male (19 page)

“I didn't mean it to happen like that.”

“Oh, yeah? Exactly how did you mean it?” She slammed her passkey into the lock and shoved the door open.

“Look,” he said, following her into the room. “I proposed that story before I knew about your grandfather, before I knew about much of anything except that stamps worth a lot of money were missing and someone had stolen them. I wasn't even sure that they weren't stolen property to start with.”

She threw down her key and turned to face him. “I told you they were ours. I told you I had proof.”

“And you'd told me your name was Nina. I barely knew you at the time.”

“I thought maybe you'd believe me.”

“You'd just told me you'd been jerking me around for days, when you'd been swearing the whole time that there
was nothing going on. What was I supposed to believe? Everything I knew about you in the beginning I found out on the Internet. You didn't give me any information.”

“Obviously you had enough to pitch a story, though, didn't you?”

“It was stupid, okay? I admit it. I did it without thinking during a phone interview with the city editor.”

“A phone interview?”

“For a news job I thought I wanted.”

Her gaze was filled with disgust. “Of course. That's what really matters, right? Whether you get the job, no matter who else pays. So you pitched the story.”

“And I unpitched it.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Yesterday morning I told the editor that I wasn't going to do it, that there wasn't enough meat to it. Why do you think Kellar's sniffing around now? He's hungry and he wants to dig something up.”

Her eyes blazed. “So it doesn't really matter that you've gotten off the story—thanks to your little discussion with them, it'll still be in the paper.”

“It would have been in the paper anyway, the minute you turned Jerry over to the cops.”

“What is this, a way to make yourself feel better? I keep telling you I want to keep the police out of it.”

“You mean, as long as you got back the stamps, you were planning to let Jerry walk?”

“I don't know,” she burst out. “I thought I'd get the stamps first and then I'd figure it out. Of course, that was before you blew the whole thing out of the water. Goddammit,” she said furiously, rounding on him, “I
trusted
you.”

“Did you, now,” he said, equally angry. “When was that? When you were telling me you were Nina? When you wouldn't tell me why you didn't want to call the cops?
When you wouldn't show me proof of ownership or even tell me where the stamps came from? You wouldn't even tell me who they were stolen from. Just when did you start opening up to me?” His voice dripped with frustration. “You've been playing a game with me from the beginning, pretending to be someone you weren't, telling me whatever was convenient at the time. You've been showing me the flop but holding on to your pocket cards. Well, this isn't poker, Gwen, this is life. It's supposed to be real.”

“I haven't been pretending to be someone else.”

“Oh, no? You think I haven't noticed every time you've put on your game face, every time you were doing Nina for me?”

“Doing Nina for you? Nina's the one you wanted. Nina's the one you're hung up on.”

“I'm the one who's hung up on Nina? Sorry, that would be you.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded, two spots of color burning high on her cheeks.

“You're the one who's in love with Nina because she lets you do the things Gwen doesn't have the nerve to do. You don't trust Gwen for the important stuff. I see little flashes of her come through when you're not acting, and she's pretty gutsy. I like her. A lot. But you don't let her out often. You keep her inside, give all the flashy stuff to Nina when Gwen's the one who really gets it done.”

“Maybe Nina's not just some role I'm playing. Maybe Nina's a part of who I am.”

“I don't know who you are, do you? I'm not into hidden pictures, Gwen. That was what happened with my ex-wife. I don't want that. I can't do that again. I don't want to always be wondering who you really are.”

“Then I guess you don't want me,” she said softly.

I
T WAS THE NIGHT HOURS THAT
were the hardest. Gwen tossed restlessly, searching for oblivion that never came. Instead the awful scene with Del played itself over and over in her head. Her dreams, when she dozed, were dark and chaotic, full of faceless threats chasing her down shadowy passages. And in that dawn moment when the veil of sleep thinned to consciousness, loss crouched there waiting for her.

There was no point in searching again for the sleep that would not come. Lying in bed only gave her more time to think. Instead she rose, beaten with exhaustion yet unbearably present. In the shower she turned up the heat as high as she could tolerate, standing under the pulsating spray. After she got out, she concentrated on the little things: drying her hair, rubbing lotion into her skin, applying her makeup. She wished she had Roxy's skill with makeup; then again, it was unlikely that any cosmetics would entirely disguise what she'd been through in the previous twenty-four hours.

Activity,
she told herself, doggedly getting out her computer and working. Finally it was late enough that she could legitimately call Stewart. It took tracking him down by his cell phone, but eventually she reached him. “Stewart, Gwen.” She wasted no time on pleasantries. She had none.

“Gwennie?” Concern sharpened his voice. “What's going on?”

“You said for me to call if I needed your help.”

“You've got it. What's up?”

“Can you get out to Vegas by this afternoon?”

He answered without hesitation. “Of course.”

“It's not strictly legal,” she warned him. “In fact, I don't think it's legal at all.”

“Does it have to do with getting Hugh's stamps back?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don't think it matters.”

“Two wrongs don't make a right.” The reminder was as much to herself as to him.

“I don't really give a damn,” he said pleasantly. “You need help, I'm there. It's seven o'clock right now? I'll see you at one.”

“Good.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Watch my back.”

 

L
IKE THE SHOWER, THE POOL
drew her with the lure of oblivion. The water sluiced over her in a mind-numbing rush. As though she were a machine, she scythed her arms through the water in a rhythmic stroke, pulling herself along, concentrating on the feel of the water in her hands, the slide of it against her body, the number of laps.

Concentrating on anything but Del.

How painfully ironic that she'd feared he cared only for Nina, when apparently just the opposite had been happening. Only when he'd walked out had she realized just how much she'd let him into her heart.

Only then had she realized she was in love with him.

She'd been so preoccupied with the stamps, the tournament, the chase, that Del had snuck up on her blind side. In a terrifyingly short time he'd become necessary to her.

And he'd betrayed her. The things he'd said about how
concerned he was, how frightened for her, how much she'd meant to him, had been so much talk. Maybe she meant something to him, but his career meant more, obviously. He'd backed off on the story? Maybe. And maybe not. She had only his word to go by and right now his word didn't mean very much.

But that wasn't what tore at her deep down. What tore at her was that he couldn't accept her for who she was, couldn't understand that she could be both Gwen and Nina, that she didn't have to be one or the other. He'd fallen for Nina, he'd wanted Nina, he'd seen Nina and yet he'd castigated her for being Nina.
You're the one who's in love with Nina.
It wasn't true. She wasn't turning into Nina. She'd realized, perhaps, that Nina was one part of her—a part she'd always denied. Did that make it wrong? And why, when Nina was the one who'd attracted him, was he now using Nina as his excuse to walk away from her?

She couldn't bear it, Gwen thought.

She had to.

Suddenly she noticed the legs of a person standing directly in her lane. To avoid running over them, Gwen stopped abruptly. Treading water, she popped her head above the surface and blinked.

It was Roxy. “Hey, enough already. You know you've been swimming for almost an hour and a half? You're going to kill yourself.”

An hour and a half? Had it been that long? Now that she'd stopped, Gwen felt almost dizzy. “I was just…I was…” Her arms and legs suddenly leaden, she gave up, wading the last few steps to the side of the pool through chest-high water. It was all she could do to get out of the pool and collapse on her chaise.

“So, what's going on?” Roxy settled on the chaise next
to her. “You suddenly decide to start training for the Olympics? You were like maniac woman there.”

“I was just thinking.”

“That must have been some thinking,” Roxy said flippantly. “What's on your mind, the final?”

“What?”

“
What,
she says. You know, the final? That pesky game that could win you a couple million dollars?”

Gwen shook her head wanly. “Aw, hell, Roxy, I don't care about the tournament,” she said, folding her arms over her face. It seemed like the least important thing in her life just then. It seemed like a part of another life. And she'd have to see Del again at the final.

She'd have to face Del.

“You know,” Roxy said conversationally, “if I didn't know better, I'd say this smelled like man trouble. Of course, you being smart enough to not get involved, it probably couldn't be that.”

“I broke things off with Del last night,” Gwen said in a small voice, staring very hard at the brilliant, cloudless blue of the sky overhead.

“Aw, hell, hon.” There was a wealth of sympathy in the three words. “Was he an asshole? They usually are, you know. Kind of goes with the DNA. 'Course, he didn't really seem like the type,” she added thoughtfully.

An asshole? No, Gwen couldn't say that. He'd betrayed her, though by his lights what he was doing was right. The problem was that he didn't want her. It didn't make him an asshole. It just made everything impossible.

“Why don't you tell me about it? You'll feel better.”

She wanted to, more than anything she wanted to just spill it out. And yet, hadn't she had a very clear object lesson what happened when she let information go? “I can't.”

Gwen could feel Roxy staring at her. “What do you mean, you can't?”

“It's complicated. There's…something going on.”

“Obviously.”

“I'd tell you if I could. It's just that I told Del and now everything's a mess.”

Roxy looked at her for a moment. “Yeah, sure,” she said finally. “I understand.” But Gwen swore she saw a spark of hurt in her eyes. “Well, if we can't do talking therapy, we'll have to do therapy of another kind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Retail therapy,” she said briskly. “Come on.”

 

H
ER CHARGE CARDS—AND POSSIBLY
her feet—would never be the same. Gwen walked into the lobby of the Versailles with her hands loaded with shopping bags. Shoes, makeup, resort wear, lingerie—they'd done it all. Somewhere in the mad shuffle of going from store to store, stopping for drinks and coffee, listening to Roxy's jokes, Gwen had actually found her mood lifting just a bit. She didn't need Del Redmond. She didn't need any man who could worm his way into her life that easily, who could abuse her trust, using what she'd told him in privacy to damage those close to her. She didn't need Del Redmond at all.

Except with every breath she took.

The man ahead of her walked along slowly, bent over slightly. She started to skirt her way around him and head to the elevators, then she caught sight of his face. “Stewart?”

“Gwennie?” He stared at her, incredulous.

“You're here.” She wrapped her arms around him, bags and all. When he grunted, she stepped back. “Is something wrong?”

He winced. “I tripped on the trails while I was running this weekend and dinged up my ribs.”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure. It's nothing serious, just a few bruises. Takes a little while to get over. I'm just not as young as I used to be, you know.”

It was true, she saw. The two years that he'd been gone from San Francisco had added a lot more gray to his hair and a network of lines to his face. A subtle tension hung around him, or maybe it was just the stiffness, she couldn't tell. “Jeez, be more careful when you're running. Being too healthy can kill you, you know.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” He studied her. “So, is this the new you?”

She shrugged. “It's the me for now.”

“It suits you.” He hesitated. “I wish I could say that you look a hundred percent great, but you're looking a little rough around the edges. This whole stamp thing getting to you?”

She shrugged. “I've had better weeks. Where's your stuff?”

“I checked in already. Figured I'd come on up. So what's the deal?”

“The good news is that I think I know where the stamps are. The problem is getting into Jerry's room when he's not around. He's up on the concierge level, so it's a little tricky.”

“I'd say the problem is getting in, period.”

“Not exactly.” She held up the key.

“How'd you get your hands on that?”

“I have my ways. Now, the only place I can guarantee he'll be will be the final round of the tournament tonight.”

“You want me to search while you're playing?”

She shook her head. “I'm going to bail out of the tournament as early as I can without making it obvious. I'll meet you up here. The passkey will get the elevator up to the concierge level and get us into the room.”

“They won't notice anything?”

“I'm Jerry's buddy. I was just upstairs partying with him after the last round. They won't think a thing.”

“Remind me never to get in your way,” he said admiringly.

“Save it until we've got the stamps back. They're showing the tournament on the closed-circuit TV system, so we can keep an eye on him at all times, make sure he's at the table where he belongs.”

“It could work.”

She fought back nerves. “I'm pretty sure I know where the stamps are, but it's not easy to get to. I'll need your help.”

“You've got it.”

“Great.” She took a long breath. “Well, play starts in half an hour. I'm just going to drop this stuff in my room and I'll be back down to meet you.”

“I'll be waiting.”