The Chase: A Novel (54 page)

Jean-Léon nodded. Someone coughed from behind them.

Claire turned and became rigid. The mere act of stiffening caused more pain to course through her chest. The back wound had been only a graze.

Ian stood on the threshold of her room.

Their gazes locked.

“Get out,” Jean-Léon cried, on his feet. “Haven’t you done enough damage? Get out before I have security throw you out.”

For another heartbeat, Ian stared at Claire. She felt anguish and sorrow, anger and despair.

“I need to speak with Claire alone, Ducasse,” Ian said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making a terrible mistake.”

“An apology will not do,” Jean-Léon said stiffly.

“Dad!” Claire cried, surprising herself with her protest.

“It will not do,” Jean-Léon reiterated.

Claire swallowed. A part of her mind told her to let Jean-Léon chase Ian away. Another part cried out for her to forgive and forget and do anything not to lose this man. “I need to speak with Ian,” Claire whispered. “Alone.”

Jean-Léon was incredulous. After a curt nod, he left.

Ian approached. “Thank God you are okay.”

Claire did not reply.

“Claire?”

She swallowed a sob. “How is William holding up?”

“Not well. He’s at home, sedated. He loved Elizabeth very much.” Ian’s gaze was somber.

“He didn’t know, did he? He did not have a clue.”

“No, he did not. He’s in shock, Claire. I imagine he will be for a while.” His gaze was searching.

“William Duke is my biological father,” she said. “He told me this morning in the park.”

His eyes widened. “What! What—when—how did this happen?”

“He had an affair with my mother. Apparently she was very unhappy in her marriage.”

“I don’t know what to say. Are you okay with this?”

“I’ve always loved him. He’s always been the one to put the Band-Aid on my knee and the smile on my face. Now I know why he was always around.”

“And Jean-Léon?”

“He’s pretending not to know. I’ll go along with that.” She felt a tear slip free. “It could be worse. I’ve got two fathers now.” Her gaze felt belligerent. “And they’re both innocent.”

“I made a mistake, Claire. I’m only human. But I can defend myself until kingdom come, can’t I, and you will never forgive me.”

“You made me trap my father.”

“No. I asked you to help.
You
agreed.
You
did what you thought to be right at the time.”

Claire knew that. She didn’t respond. What point was there? He had wanted her to bait the trap, and yes, she had, and it was over now. It was done. In fact, everything was over.

“Don’t look at me that way,” he whispered.

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t take it. Not from you.” He tried a smile and failed. “C’mon, Red. Where’s that famous smile of yours?”

Claire was silent. A question was burning within her. Had he ever loved her? Or had he only used her?

“We need to talk, Claire,” Ian said roughly. “But not this way. We’re both adults. We need to sit down and communicate.”

“We are talking. We’re communicating.”

“No, we’re not. I’m talking, begging, actually, and you’re staring at me sullenly with accusation in your eyes and your mind made up. Why are you pushing me away? Don’t do this, Claire.”

Briefly, Claire closed her eyes. “I have been through hell,” she said. “And I am really tired.”

His eyes widened. “So now you want me to leave?”

“I think that would be best.”

“You’re a fool,” he said angrily. Then he turned and raked his hair before facing her again. “When are they releasing you?”

“Tomorrow or the next day.”

“And when are you going home?”

“We’re going to stay at the St. Regis until I am a bit stronger. I’d like to be off the painkillers before I travel—and I want to be around William,” she said.

He absorbed that. “I’ll come by later, before visiting hours are over.”

She shook her head.

“Claire!”

“What’s the point? I still love you, and even if I forgave you, it wouldn’t solve anything.”

“Why the hell not?” he ground out, ashen.

“Because I can’t trust you,” Claire said.

He stared.

“And I never will.”

A long, tense moment passed. Claire said, “I’m tired.” What she meant was,
Please go
.

His jaw flexed. His eyes were dark now with anger. He turned and strode for the door. But once there, he paused to look at her. “I told you I loved you and I meant it. But I guess in your book, that doesn’t mean very much—it must have all been a lie on your part.”

The door slammed behind him.

It was just past nine in the evening, California time, when she got out of a taxi in front of her rental home in Mill Valley. Two weeks had gone by. She looked around at the shaded street, the other houses, the woods, feeling bewildered. This wasn’t home. She hadn’t spent even a single night in her rental house. Maybe she should have gone to Tiburon with Jean-Léon.

Jilly, her poodle, started to bark wildly, frantically. Various personnel from the Humane Society had been taking care of her while Claire was away, but the dog had been dropped off a few hours ago in anticipation of Claire’s return. Her furniture had also been moved in while she was away. Claire dashed up the stone walk to her front door, forgetting her bags on the street.

She thrust open the door and the dog jumped on her, tail wagging, panting hysterically, happily. Claire got down on her knees, hugging her hard. But all she could think about was New York.

Ian hadn’t tried to see her again.

She had not lifted the phone, not even once, to open up a new dialogue with him.

She had known the moment that the big Boeing 747 had lifted off that running away was not the right thing.

Claire closed her eyes and tried to think while holding Jilly. Images of New York City danced in her mind. The Bay Area had lost its allure. A lifetime ago, it had been the perfect place for her and David. Now she felt lost, homeless.

Ian probably hated her now. Claire felt like she hated herself. “Oh God, Jill, what have I done?” Never had she felt so desolate, regretful, and confused.

Jilly wagged her short tail at her.

Claire stood almost blindly. She had to go back to New York. She had to see Ian, begin the conversation he had wanted to have two weeks ago. But she was scared. What if he had washed his hands of her? What if too much stood between them now? What if she couldn’t trust him, no matter how hard she tried?

What if she could?

The answer was so breathtakingly clear.

“You left these out on the street. Not to mention your front door wide open,” he said.

Claire blinked, whirling around.

And Ian was standing uncertainly in the doorway, holding her two bags. He was
not
a figment of her wishful thinking.

“What are you doing here?” she gasped.

“I knew that you were leaving New York. William has been kind enough to keep me up to speed these past two weeks.” He shrugged. “I just couldn’t let you leave. I meant to let you go, Claire. I really did. And then, damn it, an hour before your flight left, I found myself racing to the airport, intending to stop you. I got a bit nervous about the scene I might make and picked up a seat on standby instead.” His gaze never left hers.

Claire ran to him, amazed—exultant.

Eyes wide, he dropped her bag so he could catch her and wrap her in his arms. Claire held on to his neck and shoulders. Her plan was to never let go. “I take it this means you’ve had a chance to come to your senses?” he asked.

Claire nodded speechlessly against his neck.

He slowly let her slide down his body to the floor. He gazed down at her; she gazed up at him. “You scared me, Claire.”

“I scared myself,” she whispered. “I’m still scared.”

“So am I. So now we’re in this together, right?”

She gazed into his eyes and nodded. “Yeah.” And she meant it, oh yes, she did.

He dipped his head and Claire leaned up. Their mouths melded, melted, fused.

When they came up for air, she said, “Make love to me, Ian. Right now.”

“Now? Here?” He was incredulous.

She nodded, already unbuttoning his shirt. She had never wanted him more.

His slight smile vanished. Transfixed, he watched her opening his shirt, his belt, his fly. Claire took him in her hands.

“What are you doing?” he managed. “You know.” She bent over him, smiling. A few moments later she was on her back, completely naked, and he was sliding deeply into her. Claire held him, closing her eyes, as he carried her into another universe. Afterward, they held each other as he stroked her hair.

Claire smiled.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, propping on one elbow.

“I’m just wondering how I could have been so stupid to walk away from you. You make me happy, Ian.”

“You make me happy, too, Red.”

Claire rolled onto her side so they were facing each other. “If I paint my toes taupe, are you going to call me Taupe?”

“No, I’ll call you Greige.”

“Smart guy,” Claire whispered. “Smart and sexy and resolute. I’m a lucky lady.”

“Claire. How can I make everything up to you?”

“Marry me,” she said with a smile, and then she realized what she’d said and her cheeks turned blazing hot.

He grinned at her.

She was aghast, appalled, horrified. “I don’t know how that popped out!”

He laughed. “You opened your mouth, Red. And spoke your heart’s desire.”

“That is not my heart’s desire,” she cried, still mortified and lying through her teeth.

“No? So what is?”

“A hot fudge sundae, with those silly red cherries on top,” she scrambled.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not funny. Stop laughing at me! I didn’t mean it. I don’t know where those words came from,” she cried, stumbling over her sentences.

“But it can be arranged. Set a date,” he said.

“What?” She sat up.

“You heard.”

She became watchful. “September. September, oh, fifteenth.”

He nodded. “Smart girl. Four and a half months. You might be able to pull it off. Big wedding or small?”

“Small. Romantic. Old-fashioned.” She could hardly breathe.

He nodded again. “Here or there? And please, no Beijing.”

“I hate Beijing. There. I’m becoming very fond of the Big Apple.”

He smiled. So did she.

“So it’s settled?”

“Yep.” Claire could hardly believe it. Were they really getting married? In four and a half months? “Shake.” She held out her hand.

He sobered. “What—don’t trust me?”

She met his eyes. “I am going to try very hard. Just give me some time.”

He nodded and slipped his hand over hers. “Time is something I have, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. That was almost as good as Red. “I’m starved.” She stood up and slipped on his shirt. “Let’s order two large pizzas. One for you, and one for me.”

He sat up, superbly naked and as immodest. “Two large pizzas?”

“Yeah, two. I am ravenous,” Claire said happily, buttoning his shirt. But instead of reaching for the phone, she turned from where she was standing in the foyer and looked at the hall closet.

Ian was smiling a cat’s I-Just-Ate-the-Cream grin, apparently enjoying watching her. “What?”

She gave him a look. Claire went to the closet and pulled out the large Courbet painting. “We need to sell this,” she said. “You know that I’m moving to New York, don’t you?”

“I assumed we’d live together once we’re married,” he said wryly.

Claire propped the nineteenth-century oil up on the wall and stared at it.

Ian slowly stood.

She looked at him—then did a double take. “Boxers, anyone?”

His expression was strange. “Yeah, sure,” he said, as if he’d forgotten he was naked. He stepped into his shorts and came to stand beside her.

“You don’t like this painting, do you?” Claire said, studying him, not the painting.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “And I happen to like Courbet.”

“I don’t want to keep it.”

“I understand.” He seemed mesmerized. “This painting bothers me,” he said abruptly. “It bothered me the first time I saw it at your house in the city, and it bothers me now.”

“What do you mean?” Claire asked very quietly.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know. It draws me like a magnet.” He hesitated.

Claire waited.

“Don’t laugh.” He glanced at her.

“I won’t.”

“I can almost feel Eddy standing behind my shoulder. I felt it at David’s birthday, too. It’s like he’s here, beside me, telling me something. I can
hear
him, Claire. I just can’t hear what he’s saying.”

“Wow, you’re a romantic. Romantics believe in ghosts,” Claire said, more than fascinated. She was tingling all over.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Ian said flatly. “Never have and never will. It’s my imagination, obviously. Maybe it has something to do with repressed feelings about his death and my father’s.”

“Okay,” Claire said. She liked the ghost theory better. “You never heard his voice anyway,” she pointed out.

“But the feeling is so damn strong,” Ian said, walking over to the painting. He began running his hands over the surface.

“Ian, don’t. It’s old. You’ll damage it.”

He didn’t seem to hear her, stroking the gilded wood frame.

“Ian?”

He squatted to run his hands over the bottom of the frame. And then he froze.

“What is it?”

“Bubbles.” His tone was tense. He went to his trousers and pulled a small penlight out of a pocket “You don’t happen to have a magnifying glass, do you?”

“Only God knows where. Nothing’s unpacked,” she said, turning on the rest of the lights in the hall. “What is it? What have you found?”

“Holy God,” Ian cried. “Claire, there are two tiny dots here—and if I don’t miss my guess, they are microdots.” He turned to look at her with wide, excited eyes.

Claire stared, stunned. Her mind raced. “Ian? Maybe you’ve found the photos Eddy claimed he took!”

He stood. “That is exactly what I am thinking. I’ve got to call Lisa to get the experts to take care of this.” He tripped over his words in his excitement. He was already at the phone.