From This Moment On (18 page)

Why hadn’t she told him? Was it because she’d known all along she was going to go back to Luis? Did she love the guy? Is that why she’d made such a point of warning Trace not to get serious?

His cell rang. Nikki’s tone. He could have answered the call, but he was too damn angry. So angry, he’d pulled over on the side of the road not too far out of town. Listening to her voice mail telling him she wanted to explain made him ache with disappointment and embarrassment all over again, and he wanted to throw the damn cell out the window. She’d had the chance to explain when he was standing next to her in front of everyone.

Trace sat in the dark, trying to make sense of things. Was that guy still at the bar? She clearly hadn’t wanted him there. Dammit. How was Trace supposed to run off in his righteous fury if Nikki needed him?

Maybe he was the biggest fool in Montana but he couldn’t just leave. She hadn’t wanted Luis there, and no matter what, Trace wasn’t about to drive off without knowing she was okay. For all he knew, Luis had abused her, and that’s why she’d left him.

“Well, shit.” Trace slammed his hand against the wheel. That was another possible angle. But she still should’ve told him. Trusted him with the truth.

He turned the ignition again, and made a U-turn to get himself back to the bar. To Nikki. It would be hell walking into the Watering Hole, but there was more at stake than his pride.

He needed to make sure she was safe.

* * *

“D
ON
’
T
YOU
GET
IT
?
I’m not like that anymore. I worked all these years—”

“Luis, look, I’m happy for you,” she said, as she stared down the street, hoping to spot Trace’s truck. She didn’t see it, but at least they weren’t having this conversation in front of half the town. She turned back to Luis. “And I’m proud. You’ve done everything you said you would. But it’s been a long time.”

He snorted and curled his hands into fists. “You think it was easy getting out of that life?”

“I know it wasn’t. It hasn’t been easy for me, either. And I wasn’t—”

“Using. Or in the gang.”

She nodded. “Listen, what you did took courage. And you’ll do great at the body shop. But not with me.”

Luis exhaled sharply. “I suppose it was too much to hope for. But I had to try.”

“It wouldn’t work anymore. I’m not that girl.”

He reached up and touched the side of her face before he turned and walked down the street. She watched him climb into his Chevy, then pulled out her cell phone and hit Trace’s speed dial, still not sure what to say. Of course, it went to voice mail just as it had five minutes ago. She wouldn’t leave another message. She’d already asked him to come back so she could explain.

Why hadn’t she just said right then that Luis was lying? No, she should have told Trace the whole story. She’d been dreaming when she thought she could really have a new life, that all of her sins were in the past. She’d dared to think she didn’t have to live and die in the same three square miles of her childhood. But she’d let her guilt, her shame, get the best of her.

She had to find him, to tell him the truth and to admit she’d been a fool for not telling him everything. She wasn’t nearly as brave as he thought she was. The truth was, she’d been a coward, running from her past. Maybe she should keep on running. She’d take Wallace’s money and start a whole new life, somewhere no one knew her. Now she knew better than to fall for a pair of green eyes and a broad chest. Love was for other people. Not for the likes of her.

Tears welled, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand.
Wallace, you win.

Nikki’s breath caught at the terrible thought. No. He wasn’t right about her, dammit. She was better than that. Stronger. She’d made mistakes, and this one might just kill her, but this time she wouldn’t be running from her mistake—the real mistake would be to run and leave the most amazing man she’d ever met.

The only thing she could do now was to own up to everything. To be the woman Trace thought she was. She’d stay, finish her night at work, knowing everyone in there would be staring and talking about her. But that didn’t matter. She’d come too far to let the old Nikki have her way. The brave Nikki was going to walk back into that bar with her head up.

* * *

T
RACE
STOOD
OUTSIDE
the door to the Watering Hole, dreading the spectacle. Nothing a bunch of drunk cowboys liked more than a free show, and they’d already gotten the first act. He thought about waiting for the place to close, but screw that. His pride had cost him too much already. Now that he’d seen her truck was still there, he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from walking inside and seeing for himself that Nikki wasn’t in trouble.

As he pulled the door open, the music hit him like a wave, but just his luck, the goddamn song ended. Every eye was on him.

His gaze went to the bar, and there she was. She hadn’t seen him yet, but the sudden silence made her turn. Her look of uncertainty and fear made the rest of the world disappear. He made it across the floor without feeling a step. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “I was sixteen. I was hurting after Garret. I was an ass. I’m so sorry.”

“So he was telling the truth?”

Her cringe made him ache. “No. Well, not exactly. We went over the border and got married. My mother had it annulled by the end of the week.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me? I thought you trusted me.”

She let out a small whimper. “I do, but I was ashamed. I’d already told you some things about my past, but I was afraid to admit how crazy it had gotten. I’m not the girl next door.”

The crack of a pool rack breaking apart split the quiet, and someone coughed, but Trace didn’t care. “I know that,” he said. “I don’t want the girl next door. I want you, just the way you are.”

“You don’t, though. You don’t know—”

“We sat in this very bar back in February, and you told me all I needed to hear about who you were. I was hooked. Still am. You’re not the only one who’s been holding back. I should have told you before tonight.” He leaned over and caught her hand. It was ice-cold and felt so fragile. “Rachel told me a long time ago that when I finally fell, I’d fall hard. I hate to admit it, but she was spot-on. I love you, Nikki. I kept telling myself I was too young to say those words, but not saying the words doesn’t make it less true.”

* * *

N
IKKI
OPENED
HER
MOUTH
, but nothing came out. She was still too shocked. “Are you sure?”

“Well, hell, honey, just ask anyone here. You’ve got a lot of witnesses.”

“Oh, God.” Her hand covered her mouth as she realized where they were. They might as well have been standing in the middle of the street in broad daylight. No, this was worse. Jerry and Eli had turned their chairs away from their table to get a better view. Sadie at least pretended she wasn’t listening. Nikki closed her eyes, wishing everyone but Trace would disappear.

“You gonna leave me hanging out here in the wind?”

Snapping her eyes open, she leaned forward, but she couldn’t reach more than his hand over the bar. “What? No. Oh, no. Me, too. I mean, I’m pretty sure. That I love you.”

He smiled. “I’ll take it. I’m just glad you weren’t halfway to Houston. I would have hated making that long drive to go get you. I shouldn’t have stormed off.”

“Oh, I knew you’d be back.”

“How?”

“Something your mom said. Of all three boys, you’re the most like your dad. You definitely have the McAllister pride, but you also have the McAllister honor.” Nikki walked around the bar until she stood right in front of him. “I didn’t know how it would turn out, but I knew you’d let me explain.”

“My mom said that?” He looked stunned, a little emotional. “I’m like my dad?”

Nikki nodded. “She did.”

“That’s a hell of a thing to hear. Thank you. But I didn’t come back because of honor, sweetheart.” He pulled her close until she was pressed right up against him and he was looking straight into her eyes. “I came back because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

She pressed her lips together, trying hard not to cry. The only man who made a difference thought she was just fine the way she was. He loved her. He’d even said it in front of everybody.

When he kissed her, the whole place burst into applause, but she could still hear Sadie’s gravelly voice saying, “It’s about damn time.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt of
Lying in Bed
by Jo Leigh!

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1

S
PECIAL
A
GENT
R
YAN
V
AIL
tossed the brochure on the bed. The amazingly comfortable-looking bed, which was a far cry from most of the rat holes he'd been stuck with on various FBI stings and stakeouts. The Color Canyon Resort and Spa was a decadent oasis in the middle of the Las Vegas desert built for people with cash to spend and a yen for excitement and being pampered.

Ryan settled against the headboard, the puffy comforter billowing around him. Straight ahead was a forty-two-inch flat-screen TV. There was a wing chair, a leather love seat, an extravagantly stocked minibar and, if he turned his head to the right, beyond the private patio was a view of a nice little courtyard with a pool and spa pool all in the shadow of the Spring Mountains. It might be February in the rest of the world, but in the Vegas desert it was a balmy seventy-two degrees with copious sunshine on the docket for the rest of the week.

He grinned, pulled out his cell phone and went right to speed dial text.

You're gonna die when you see the bathtub.

He hit Send, adjusted the pillow behind him and checked out his work stuff. Another email update on Delilah Bridges, one of the cotherapists in charge of this barbecue. Four people ran the Intimate At Last retreat weekends, all suspects in a major blackmail scheme. Unfortunately for them, they'd unwittingly targeted a friend of James Leonard, the Deputy Director of the FBI.

Ryan's phone rang, and he knew it was his partner without even looking. “Jeannie Foster. How's my favorite witness for the State?”

“Shut up, you bastard,” she said, her voice echoey, as if she were speaking in a vast hall. Or a toilet stall.

Of course, he'd taken a picture of the big-enough-for-a-party whirlpool tub, which he promptly sent her. A moment later, the mother of two cursed him with her usual flair.

“I hate court. I hate lawyers. I hate judges. And don't even get me started on juries. Get me the hell out of here, Ryan.”

“It should be over soon, right?”

“Probably around the time of the next ice age. Jesus, they love to hear themselves talk.”

“In a few hours you'll forget all about them. This place is something else. If I'm going to be forced to sleep with you, I'm glad it's in this beauty of a bed. Which is actually more comfortable than mine at home.”

Jeannie laughed. “It's not the bed, honey, it's all your extracurricular activity. I think you'd have to find a titanium mattress to keep up.”

“You're hilarious.”

“Nothing is hilarious today,” she said. “You get the new updates on Delilah?”

“Yeah.”

Her sigh was long and filled with frustration. “Interesting about her father and his criminal record, but dammit, still nothing usable. With all the data we've collected, you'd think we'd have uncovered something more viable.”

“Everyone makes mistakes. But,” he added, “I'm going to be such a perfect mark, they're gonna wet themselves waiting to get to me. We'll be out of here in a few days.”

“I thought you said the accommodations were super deluxe?”

He grinned. This is why he liked his partner, despite the fact that she could be a stick in the mud, what with being married and a mom. She was quick...and needed a vacation as badly as he did after the intensity of the past two months preparing for this sting. “Right. Maybe it'll take the whole week.”

“There we go. I have to get back to the torture chamber. I hear they're planning on using the rack next.”

“Hey, I'm gonna sign off on this phone, but Ryan Ebsen's cell and laptop haven't finished charging. If there's a God, I should be asleep when you arrive, so don't wake me.”

“Coming off another late night, Romeo?”

“None of your business. Go be a witness.”

“I'll talk to you in the morning,” she said, and then she was gone, and he was faced with the prospect of what to do with the rest of the afternoon.

It would be more fun to play craps or hang out in one of the casino bars, but from the moment he'd checked in, FBI Special Agent Ryan Vail was locked in a vault for the duration of his stay, replaced by the fictitious Ryan Ebsen. Husband of the equally fictitious Jeannie Ebsen. Son of Felicia and Bob from Reseda, California.

Ryan sifted through the file, studying the cover story he already knew inside and out. But when you pretended to be someone else, there was no such thing as too much prep. Ebsen was a regional manager for a business software firm. His lovely bride of nineteen months didn't work because she didn't need to. Not because he brought in enough money to live their extravagant life, but because she had a trust fund. A very hefty trust fund.

But Mrs. Ebsen had been spending a little too much time at the club lately with a very handsome tennis coach, which made Ryan itchy. He doubted they were sleeping together, but there was always a risk that if she started to feel as if the honeymoon was over, she could find solace in the tennis pro's arms. It had been Ryan Ebsen's idea to attend this couple's retreat week, where they would “Learn how to transition to the deeper, more meaningful stage of a committed relationship.”

Mr. Ebsen, the scoundrel, really, really wanted to make the marriage work. He'd grown attached to their Brentwood home, the Manhattan pied-à-terre, his Ferrari, the first-class travel. He'd even decided to break things off with Roxanne, the gorgeous receptionist at his office. He was nothing if not serious about this intimacy crap.

He continued to read the email from his team in White Collar Crimes back in L.A. The first report of blackmail had come shortly after a weekend Intimate At Last retreat in Los Angeles, and since it dealt with some historic artwork and blackmail, the L.A. team had taken point on the investigation and now this sting operation. The Vegas office was up to speed, of course. No one wanted a turf war, but there was a time limit on this gig, because in a matter of weeks, the suspects were moving their base of operation to Cancún, Mexico.

So he was on the clock. Since the missus wasn't here, he'd unpack, take a swim, order room service, charge his equipment and himself. Far from the carnal night Jeannie imagined, he'd been up till dawn talking the Long Beach P.D. out of putting his old man in jail. The stubborn idiot had been drunk off his ass again, trying to pick a fight with a half-dozen marines. It was like dealing with a rebellious teenager, only his father was in his fifties.

So sleep tonight, and tomorrow, he and Jeannie would be the very picture of a cookie-cutter couple: powdered sugar on the outside, but filled with lots and lots to lose if a certain trust-fund wife found out about her philandering hubby.

After he'd checked out the room service menu, and thank God there was an expense account because, Jesus, the prices, he opened up his suitcase while he found the sports channel on the TV. His thoughts weren't on the scoreboards, however, but on the reason he needed this operation to succeed beyond all expectations. Deputy Director Leonard was looking to fill a staff position in his Washington, D.C., office. Ryan was a contender in a very narrow pool of candidates. And now that he was in the spotlight, he was going to make damn sure he was a shining star.

* * *

A
NGIE
W
OLF
SIGHED
WHEN
SHE
heard the voices of the rest of the White Collar Crimes team coming in from their break on the outdoor patio. Damn, it seemed as if they'd left two minutes ago, not nearly enough time for her to breathe let alone hear herself think.

They were a great bunch: competent, dedicated and generally nice people with whom she got along well considering work colleagues were always a crapshoot. But the past two months had been brutal. She'd spent way too many hours in the office and right now she'd give anything to be alone, preferably on a ten-mile run with nothing more to worry about than beating her last record.

Even as she heard them close in on the bullpen, she stayed just as she was, legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed, one heel on her desk, leaning back in her chair as far as she could. The fresh air would've been nice, but two of the team members smoked and that she could do without.

“Hey, how come you didn't come out for the lifting of the Red Bulls?”

Angie smiled at Paula, another Special Agent who'd been in charge of the artwork aspect of the operation. The painting in question was a Reubens, stolen during World War II and recovered in the late 1990s. It was worth millions, and had been “gifted” to a New Mexico art gallery, which had then sold it to an anonymous private collector.

The transaction had been legal on the surface, but the granddaughter of the original owner was certain her grandfather had been blackmailed into giving away the family treasure. The Deputy Director of the FBI had been friends with the family since birth.

And now, if Angie's White Collar Crimes team had done their jobs right, the task force was days away from zeroing in on the blackmailers.

Angie realized Paula was still waiting for an answer. Break time was definitely over. “Haven't we spent enough quality time together? Two months of eighty- and ninety-hour weeks? I mean, come on.”

Paula flopped into her chair and turned it so she faced Angie. “You can take a break when you're dead. Or tonight, when we go out for drinks. That one, you're not getting out of. We'll use force if necessary.”

“You and what army?”

“Me, for one.” It was Brad Pollinger, Angie's partner in the field. He was followed into the room by several other members of the group, all of whom cheerfully let her know that they weren't above using every dirty trick in the book to get her to join them.

“Fine. But I'm having exactly one beer.” The bullpen was pretty full now, with only Fred MIA, but he was perennially late.

“Don't you have any fun?” Paula eyed Angie's sturdy low-heeled pumps propped on the desk. Comfort won over fashion every time for Angie. “Ever?”

“I have plenty,” she said, although her definition of fun leaned more heavily toward achievement than clubbing. Whether it was cutting a few seconds off her morning run or working on side projects that could get her to the next stage of her ten-year plan, she wasn't much of a party gal.

She'd always been a big believer in setting short-term goals that fed directly into long-term strategies. Even though she'd stopped being a competitive runner, she still kept up the discipline and used the skills she'd picked up as a kid to keep herself on task.

From the beginning of this assignment, she'd realized the potential. With her computer programming skills and familiarity with investigation protocols she could make a significant contribution. And she had.

Angie's new program had led to the revelation about Delilah Bridges's father, that he'd been arrested under an alias for robbery on four separate occasions. It wasn't much as far as real leads went, but it was still a piece of an ever-expanding puzzle. The broader the picture, the more likely the pieces that didn't appear to connect would suddenly come together.

She'd worked damn hard on coding that sucker, a search engine with such a sexy algorithm it had given the guys in Cyber Crimes nerdgasms.

It had also been noteworthy enough to put her in the running for the position with the Deputy Director in Washington D.C. She wanted that job, badly. It would be a huge feather in her cap, the kind of promotion that would set her apart from the crowd. And it would put her squarely in the arena of real power, where she intended to not just stay, but thrive.

“Jeannie's the one having all the fun,” came a voice from three desks down. “Can you imagine pretending to be Ryan Vail's wife all week?”

Angie stared at Sally Singer, a normally sedate forensic accountant, checking to see if she was serious.

“Um, yeah, I think Jeannie wins this round,” Paula said, laughing, and God, looking a little envious.

Were they crazy? Ryan Vail was a hell of an agent, but he was a player of epic proportions. Everyone knew about his exploits. And while he kept his personal life separate from his work life, he hadn't even tried to keep his reputation from spreading. Legend had it that he'd “entertained” four different Victoria's Secret models, although no one was clear if that had been at the same time or not.

She had to give it to him. His technique was subtle and effective. To her own mortification, his charm had almost worked on her. Admittedly it had been at a party and they'd both had too much to drink, but it still embarrassed her to think about it. Nothing would have come of it, though, because the last thing she wanted was to be another notch on Vail's belt.

“I think you guys are nuts. This week isn't going to be easy for either of them,” Brad said as he rolled a quarter over the backs of his fingers in what he called a dexterity exercise, but was in truth his way of coping without cigarettes. “Sharing a bed? Intimacy exercises? I mean, what the hell would intimacy exercises even be?”

“Oh, brother. If you have to ask I feel sorry for your wife,” Angie said, and the rest of the crew laughed.

God, she hoped that cut the conversation short because she knew exactly what the exercises would entail. Lots of touching, kissing, maybe even getting naked and she absolutely could not think about Ryan in that context. At least not at work.

“I should have been the one to go undercover with him,” Paula said. “Seriously. I would've appreciated the experience so much more than Jeannie.”

Brad's laugh was more about disbelief than amusement. “You have a boyfriend.”

Paula gave them an innocent smile. “It's not cheating if you're doing it for a case. That's like vacation sex but you still get paid.”

“Like hell it's not cheating,” he said to more laughter, which said more about their long hours and how punchy they all were than it did about the quality of the humor. “Angie should've been the one to go undercover with Vail. No offense to Jeannie but you two would've looked more like the Ebsens.”