The One Who Got Away (17 page)

“God dammit, Steve. Just tell me you're not going to keel over at the ceremony, okay? That I don't have to put 9-1-1 on speed dial.”

“It's not like that. Trust me.”

“You're not making it easy.”

“I know. But you gotta just chill. Don't make this more than it is. I'll talk to Lisa, I swear.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Ben shook his head. “Not even close.”

“All right. Tonight.”

“Fine. Now let's go find them. Tell them what a great ride it was.”

“Great, yeah.”

Ben punched his friend in the arm. “Hey, you love her, don't you?”

“Lisa? Yeah.”

“I mean, really love her.”

Steve stopped. “What did you think? I'm not marrying her because of her comic book collection.”

“She has a comic book collection?”

Steve slugged him back.

“Ow. Okay, okay. So I'm being a jerk. But jeez, Steve, Kansas?”

“Kansas isn't so bad.”

“Not if you're corn.”

Steve stopped. “I'm not giving up the fleet, man. I'm just changing directions. I'm doing what I should do. What I want to do. And I want to do it with Lisa.”

Ben almost argued, but he didn't. He looked at
Steve's face and he saw something he'd never seen before. Whether it was maturity, determination or just a commitment to his course, the man wasn't kidding. “Hey.”

“What?”

Ben held out his hand. “Best friend. Best man. Beside you all the way.”

Steve took it. “I know you're concerned, but don't be. Just take care of yourself, okay?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Steve's hand gripped his tighter. “I see what's happening between you and Taylor.”

“And what's that?”

Steve laughed. “Are you kidding?”

Ben pulled his hand back. “This isn't funny, man.”

“Oh, I think it's really funny. Talk about pots calling kettles.”

“You're out of your mind. Those pills are for psychosis right? Hallucinations?”

“Yeah, that's it. I'm the one that's nuts. Boy, are you in for a surprise.”

“Look, there they are.” Ben pointed to the girls, sitting on the bench. They look hot. And I mean that both ways.”

“Fine. Have it your own way, but don't say I didn't warn you.”

“Steve, my man, you're out of your friggin' mind.”

“Tell you what,” Steve said, pulling him to a stop. “Give me that notebook you hide in your pocket.”

Ben didn't like it, but he took out the small pad he
used for notes and emergencies. Steve had his own pen. He wrote for a few seconds, hiding his hand so Ben couldn't see what was there. Then he tore out the page, folded it, and handed it to Ben along with the pen. “Initial it.”

“What's it say?”

“None of your damn business. Just initial it. In your very best handwriting.”

Ben did. But only because he couldn't figure out a way to get out of it.

Steve took it back, and with great fanfare, put it in his wallet. “We'll take a look at this baby just before we go home. And then, my man, if you can't call me a liar, then you owe me a beer.”

“I'm not an idiot. And I can already call you a liar. It's not gonna happen.”

“Don't say any more. Just wait.”

“Steve, I like your sister a lot. But I'm not in love with her. I'm not going to be in love with her. This is a week. It's going to end. No big deal.”

Steve nodded, then his grin faded sharply. Ben spun around, but he already knew what was behind him.

Taylor. Lisa. And they both looked as if their whole worlds had come crashing down around them.

L
ISA WAS THE FIRST
to speak. “Steve?” Her voice sounded small, scared. “Honey, is there something wrong with you?”

Steve gave Taylor a scorching glare, then took his sweetheart to stand in the line for the elevator down. His arm went around her shoulders and he whispered earnestly while Lisa leaned against him.

Taylor, feeling crappy in all kinds of ways, turned to Ben. “So, did you have a fun ride?”

“Yeah. It was great. Scary as hell.”

“Did you throw up?”

“No.”

“Bummer,” she said, then she headed toward the elevator herself, careful not to stand too close to her brother. Ben hadn't said a thing she didn't know, but his conviction had taken her about ten steps back.

She was no big deal.

Golly, she could have gone the rest of her life without hearing that. Because to her, Ben was a big deal. One of the biggest. Growing bigger by the second.

She'd thought the guys were talking about the ride. Kidding around. Certainly not discussing her. When she'd overheard his vehement denial, all her defenses had risen. The nights they'd shared, her own confes
sion to him, she'd thought they meant something. Certainly more than he did.

“Taylor?”

“Yeah?” she said, not looking back to see him right behind her. She sure as hell felt him though. Felt his heat, his pull on her. Why? Why did she give him so much power when he obviously didn't want anything more than the boink-a-thon she'd promised him?

“Hey, I didn't mean anything by that stuff, you know. It was Steve. He was trying to deflect the conversation away from him and Lisa.”

Ben slipped in front of her, not giving her a chance to escape or even turn. His hands held her arms steady, directly facing him. But she wouldn't meet his gaze.

“Hey, come on. You know you mean a lot to me.”

She raised her eyes enough to see he was trying to tell the truth. “I know. And don't worry, my panties aren't in a twist or anything. I'm just tired.”

He nodded, but his concerned expression told her he wasn't buying it. “Let me take you to lunch, and then—”

“No, that's okay. I'm just going to go back to my room to get some rest. We have that dinner tonight, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Tomorrow is the big day.”

She nodded for him to step along with the line. They should be next to get in the elevator. “So what happened with you and Steve?”

By the time he'd filled her in, they were off the elevator, waiting in another line for a cab. When she'd
given her own blow-by-blow of her conversation with Lisa, they were back at the Hard Rock.

“Let me take you to the Pink Taco,” Ben said.

“Thanks, but no.”

They walked in silence into the hotel, past the registration desk. As always, the casino was hopping, the music was rocking, and everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives. All she wanted was to crawl into a cave. Her bed would do, the bathtub would be better, and figure out what the hell she was doing to herself. This was nuts.

Sure, Ben had been a presence all her life, but she'd never realized how deeply he'd affected her. What was all the more disturbing was what she'd made him out to be. He'd become a symbol, a reason, an excuse, all without his permission.

It was time to get real about Ben. About her life. Today, not tomorrow. She leaned over and kissed Ben briefly on the mouth. “I'm going,” she said. “I want some time alone. You go have fun, and I'll see you tonight, okay?”

He didn't look happy about it, but he nodded.

She headed straight to the elevator. Alone.

Ben watched her disappear, kicking himself for his own stupidity. Not simply because he'd said that crock of nonsense to Steve, but because he hadn't been able to get out of it with any grace or dignity. He didn't care what kind of a fool he made of himself, but the last thing on earth he wanted to do was hurt Taylor.

How true that was had become increasingly apparent as they'd taken the journey back to the Hard
Rock. He gave a considerable damn what Taylor thought of him, and cared even more that he make her happy.

Which scared the hell out of him.

He'd wanted his ex to be happy, sure. But it hadn't felt like this. Nothing had ever felt like this. Symptoms? An overwhelming desire to touch, to caress, to make love. The inability to stop thinking about her. The completely odd sensation of caring more about her happiness than his own.

He didn't want to go to his room. Too many opportunities to think up there. But he also didn't feel like gambling. Sightseeing?

He tried to think what was real close. Everything. Including the New York, New York. Which had an excellent arcade, or so he'd read.

Yes. He'd buy himself some tokens and go kill dinosaurs or zombies, or throw baskets or darts. He had several hours until dinner, and an arcade was just the ticket.

 

S
HE MIXED HER BATH
with jasmine oil and when it was all hot and steamy and smelling gorgeous she slowly sank into the water, two candles lit nearby sitting next to a bottle of minibar wine and a chocolate bar.

Thoughts of Ben, what he meant to her, what was real and imagined, what was pretense and what was in her heart, spun in her head. So many years, so much thought, but how much of it was about the real Ben versus the Ben she'd made up?

Back then, when she'd been eighteen, she'd
thought him to be the perfect man. Aside from the whole looks thing, there was more to love about him than anyone she'd ever met. His kindness to her, and to most people. She remembered this one kid that was in her brother's class, who was slightly autistic. Shunned by almost everyone, Ben had befriended the boy—Alec, his name was—and they'd played chess together. Alec had worshipped Ben, and Ben had accepted him completely. Then others had behaved better toward Alec because Ben was also the coolest of the high school jocks.

And not just a jock. He'd been smart, a leader even though he never sought out the role. People naturally had followed him, that's all, because even at that age he was so thoroughly his own man.

Later, in his senior year, he'd driven himself to excel even in areas he'd found difficult. She remembered him struggling through chemistry, hiring a tutor. She'd never forget that because the tutor had been this buxom redhead who was more interested in their personal chemistry than what was in the texts, and Taylor had been swamped by jealousy.

Ben had always asked about her. Sent her these weird postcards from wherever he'd happened to be. Most of them said, “Wish you were here,” and she'd believed the cards, if not him. She still had them all, in a small shoebox in her armoire.

He'd been so good for Steven. Encouraging, tough when necessary. And how he made her brother laugh.

When she'd found out Ben had gotten married, she'd been miserable for way too long. Months and months. As if he'd jilted her, even though that wasn't
the case at all. She'd felt as if something had been ripped from her heart, and frankly, the feeling had never totally gone away.

Ben belonged to her. That was the bottom line. She'd believed that since the age of ten, and no distance between them or time lapsed could change it.

She let her head loll back and closed her eyes. A life without Ben was incomprehensible. A life with Ben, real Ben, close, together, gliding through days of ups and downs, through the mundane and the spectacular, was quite simply the most perfect idea ever.

Her eyes came open and her breathing stopped.
Oh, God.
Ben hadn't been her excuse. Well, he had, but not for the reasons she'd thought. He'd been her excuse because she was in love with him. Had been in love with him forever. Would be in love with him until the end of her days.

No wonder no other man had had a chance.

No wonder Ben was never far from her thoughts.

No wonder this week was doomed to fail from the start.

Okay. So she knew. She couldn't deny it, couldn't alter it, couldn't forget it.

Now what?

 

T
HE FIRST THREE ZOMBIES
died from a single gunshot wound to the center of the forehead. The fourth got it right in the heart. And Ben was using his left hand.

He switched to his right, and zombies dropped like flies. The graphics on the game were quite good. Fast-moving, nice mobility, cool dimensionality. Better than the cop game he'd finished a few minutes ago.
Unfortunately, the zombie game was one of the most popular, and he was surrounded by a gang of middle-school kids, impressed by his shooting skills, but all wanting their turn.

He finished the game, toting up an impressive score, then headed toward the fairway games. Tossing a basketball felt about his speed. And he could be relatively alone, as most all the crowd wanted higher-tech thrills.

Taylor.

He put the money in the slot, and the basketballs rolled down. His first throw tanked, but the second was all air.

Taylor.

What the hell? He continued to throw, but paid little attention to the results. What was it about her? And what was it that Steve had seen? That he liked his sister? Sure, yeah, he did. A lot. More than he had anyone in a long, long time. Being with her was exciting, excellent. He didn't want the week to end. So what?

So what.

He put more money in the machine. Started back throwing. Moving his legs a bit, getting fancy. Missing. He went back to a straight free throw.

Back home, he had a full plate. Joe Panzer, the Stigler case, estate hunting for an old woman who lived like she didn't have a dime, but in fact was worth in excess of four million bucks. A psychology course at NYU. Lots of stuff. Fun, fun, fun.

Alone, alone, alone.

He threw the ball so damn hard it bounced out of
its protected netting, hitting a teenager wearing huge jeans and a Kid Rock T-shirt.

“Sorry, man.”

“Cool it, dude,” the boy said, shaking it off.

“Yeah. Okay.” He took the ball, put it back on the rack. Headed toward the escalator.

At the casino level, Ben walked aimlessly, admiring the Art Deco decor, the brilliant colors. He had no desire to play any of the machines and no wish to visit the bar. But there was a hell of a nice big leather chair in the lobby with no one around.

He sank into the overstuffed cushion, and it made him think of home. He'd gotten his neighbor, Mrs. Pershing, to feed his fish and take in his mail. Collect his newspapers.

But when he got back, he knew just what he'd find. The same old same old. Life, or at least his own version of life. Making a big deal out of his morning coffee. Reading the
Times
like it mattered. Following up on his leads, wrapping up cases, getting new cases, giving up on the hopeless cases.

Going to bed alone. Or worse, going to a bar, meeting someone he didn't want to know just to have a little human contact.

Was this what he'd signed up for? What he'd dreamed of as a kid? He'd wanted to make a difference back then, and he hadn't been kidding. So what had happened?

He'd learned, early on, to keep his emotions to himself. To guard against caring. People lie. People do bad things. It didn't pay to trust.

And then, with Alyson, there had been moments.
Infrequent at best. They'd had the occasional meal. They'd talked about her day, his day, but there had always been a distance between them. Sex had been okay for him, an act for her.

Nothing remotely like being with Taylor.

He closed his eyes, his head running a movie he'd never seen before. Him, having his morning coffee, only this time, Taylor had his
Far Side
cup, while he had his
Get Fuzzy
mug. Her, laughing. Asking him where he'd be, when he'd be home. Could he stop at the market and pick up some milk. Him, going through his cases, only this time, he'd stop at one and make a quick phone call. “Hey, Taylor, how's it going, honey? You got that tort done? Fantastic. See you tonight.”

Thinking of her again at four, at the station. In the cells that smelled of all the bad things you can think of, but he had a scent in his head that he could pull on, run with. Her scent.

Stopping at the little grocery on the corner, getting the milk and picking up some fresh flowers because Taylor was crazy about mums. Unlocking his door, a smile on his face instead of the steady numbness. Not even thinking about the tube, or if he'd run out of clean socks.

Taylor, greeting him with a smile and a hug, and her warmth and her love and her passion and her humor. Taylor, giving a damn about his day. Telling him stuff that he wouldn't have cared about except that it had happened to her, and she was his, and everything mattered. Every detail. All the mundane crap, the sirens, the crime rate, the screaming downstairs neigh
bors, the dentist, all of it meaning something because it was her. Taking care of himself not because he needed to outrun the bad guys but because he wanted to be healthy for as long as possible because life wasn't something to wait out, but something precious.

Taylor.

She could change everything. She could mean everything. But what about her end of the bargain? What would she get?

Him.

Not fair. Not in the least fair.

 

D
INNER WAS AT
B
ARABAS
. Amazingly, it wasn't the fanciest or the noisiest restaurant on the strip. It was a cozy Italian place with a decent wine list and the scent of parmesan cheese and tomatoes in the air. The table was large enough to accommodate the whole gang, Lisa, Steve, Pauline, Mimi and then, of course, her and Ben.

He looked so gorgeous. Black jeans, crisp white shirt, bolo tie, black jacket. Hair pushed back, cheekbones for days, his eyes full of signs and wonders.

“You look stunning,” he whispered as he pulled the big chair out for her. She adored the simple courtesy of him behind her chair, loved that he didn't use any kind of cologne.