Jill Shalvis - The Street Where She Lives

Encompassed in his warmth, she closed her eyes when his hands lingered over her shoulders, gently squeezing and massaging the tightness of her muscles there.

“Rach…” His mouth was by her ear so that she could feel his warm breath against her sensitive skin. If she hadn’t learned the truth, she’d probably have melted back against him, let herself get lost in what he was so silently offering, lost in a way she hadn’t allowed herself since…him.

Damn it. Straightening away, she grabbed her fork.

“All right.” He pulled away with a low chuckle. “I can take a hint.”

“If I’d been hinting, I’d have picked up the knife.”

He smiled and served them both. Lifting the crystal water glass, he toasted her. “To our ingenious daughter.”

“Should we really toast her antics?”

His eyes were warm and laughing, and yet behind that was something else, something that took her breath with its heat and intensity. “Oh, yeah,” he murmured. “And here’s to something else, Rach. Here’s to us.”

“While you’re here.”

“While I’m here,” he agreed.

She ignored the hitch in her heart and nodded lightly. “Okay. Then here’s to us not killing each other for the duration.”

He grinned.

Suddenly starving, she leaned into the table to eat. In the breast pocket of Ben’s shirt a paper crinkled, poking her through the material. Thinking her daughter had been meddling even further, she pulled out the folded paper, opened it and read what was on it. “Dear Ben, Do you think you’ve paid? Don’t stop watching, waiting…I surely won’t.”

Ben came out of his chair the moment he saw what Rachel had, but it was too late.

She lifted her head and pierced him with horror-filled eyes. “What is this?”

Cursing himself would do no good, lying to her even less, though Ben considered both. Would have done either if he could have gotten away with it, but Rachel would have seen right through him.

Still, he might have tried if it wasn’t for one thing.

He owed her the truth, probably should have given it to her long ago. Carefully he took Asada’s letter back, folded it again and put it in the pocket of his jeans.

“Ben.” Her voice shook. “Are you in trouble?”

He scratched his jaw and considered that. “Aren’t I usually?”

“Ben.”

“Yeah. I’m, uh, thinking about how to start.”

“From the beginning,” she suggested, her voice a little thin. “Who wrote that letter? My God, is someone stalking you? Are you in danger? Could you be hurt?”

He stared at her, stunned by the realizations that she was shaking, pale, terrified…for him. She thought he was in danger…

Planting her cane, she went to rise out of her chair, but he stopped her, and went to his knees before her so that their faces were level. “I’m sorry you found out like this.”

“Just tell me,” she begged. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Yeah, okay.” He put his hand on her casted arm, imagined himself being struck by the car that had hit her. Imagined the pain, the fear, the subsequent nightmare of the long hospital stay. Imagined all she’d been through since, and tried to figure out how to tell her that the true hell could be just beginning. Oh, and that it was his fault.

“About six months ago,” he started. “I was looking for a new story.”

When she nodded, silently urging him on, clearly still worried about him, he felt sick. “I found an American retreat based in Brazil, where the so-called minister raised money there for what he called his missions of hope. He solicited unsuspecting, generous patrons from all around the world, raising millions.”

“I read that piece,” she said. “Instead of building and feeding villages with all that money, he pocketed everything, right?”

She’d read it. She’d followed his work. Probably not the smartest time for him to be both blown away and flattered by that.

“You exposed the international scam,” she continued. “And the guy went to prison.”

“Manuel Asada, and yes, once in prison, he lost everything. His people, his empire, everything. He…” Ben drew a deep breath. “He vowed revenge on me for destroying his world.”

Her eyes were huge on his. “And…?”

“And during his extradition to the States, where he would have stood trial for bilking a bunch of rich Americans out of their spending cash, he escaped.”

“And…?”

He smiled grimly. Emily hadn’t been just randomly blessed with brains, she’d gotten them from this woman sitting before him, her eyes sharp on his. “And now he’s vanished.”

“And wanting your head on a platter.”

“Not mine exactly…just those I care about.”

She went utterly still. “My God, Ben…” She stared at him for another breath, then pushed to her feet with her cane. When he tried to help her, she shoved his hands away, stared at him some more, then paced away from him the best she could. Thinking. Putting it all together.

When she whipped back, he thought he was ready.

“So you didn’t come here to South Village for me, for this…” She gestured to her casts and cane. “You came out of some misguided notion you had to protect Emily.”

“And you.”

“But why would Asada think you cared about me?”

“Because I do,” he said tightly.

Again she froze. Stared at him with numbed horror. “The accident.”

“Yeah. Only I don’t think it was much of an accident at all. God, Rach…” How to convey the guilt, the sorrow, the regret? The murderous rage swimming inside him without an outlet? He went to her, took her shoulders in his hands, felt her trembling. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I’m so sorry.” She let out a sort of choked sob that stabbed at him. “If it could have been me instead,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I’d do it in a heartbeat. Anything, anything, to have kept you safe.”

Her eyes filled and she covered her mouth. “It could have been Emily. Our baby-”

Unable to hold back in the face of that, he slid his arms around her, holding her close. For a moment, she clung to him, and he lost himself in the familiar feel of her, her scent and shape beneath his hands feeling so overwhelmingly like…home.

Then with shocking strength she once again shoved free. “I thought you were home because…that you…” She let out an embarrassed sound and covered her face. “I want you to go,” she said from behind her fingers.

“I can’t.”

“Won’t, you mean.”

“Damn right. I’m not budging until Asada is found.”

She dropped her hand from her face and stared at him with those big, expressive, hurting eyes, making him hate himself all over again as he watched emotion after emotion chase across her face. “I knew there had to be something tying you here,” she said quietly. “Something more than us.”

He hadn’t imagined he could hurt more than he did, but her words twisted the knife. “I’m sorry,” he said again, the words pathetically inadequate.

She turned away. “So am I. Just promise me something.”

“Anything,” he said rashly.

“The minute it’s safe, you’re gone.”

He stared at her slim spine and all the courage and strength shimmering around her like a beacon, and closed his eyes. Then he gave her the words that would seal their fate, words he’d wanted to utter more than anything, so he had no idea why they stuck in his throat. “I promise. Soon as it’s safe, I’m gone.”

IN BRAZIL, night came suddenly, viciously, without warning. One moment the birds were singing, the bees humming, then the next-utter and complete black silence.

Manuel had always loved that, but now he dreaded the shifting of the clock, hated when the sun fell out of the sky, because it left him hiding out like a mole until morning’s light.

There was so little left for him here. Only a few people hustling around to do his bidding, securing the compound. Just a few minions who had nowhere else to go otherwise he was quite certain he’d be completely alone.

Reduced to this, hiding out, depending on others for everything, was slowly driving him mad. Night or day, he had nothing to do but think and torture himself with what-ifs.

What if he’d killed Ben Asher before his story had hit?

What if he hadn’t been caught unaware and jailed before he could stash away his assets? What if he hadn’t had to spend so much to bribe his way back through the jungle to his compound?

What if, what if…

The need for revenge was a burning hunger that drove him to live each day. He would rebuild. He’d once again have people eating out of the palm of his hand and paying for the privilege. And he would have his empire back. He’d be even bigger this time, and no one would get the best of him ever again.

No one.

BEN STOOD on the balcony watching the night go by. He’d figured that this would be preferable to being in bed where all he’d been able to do was stare at the ceiling.

But being out here turned out to be no different because watching the people winding their way through the streets, all he could really see was Rachel’s face as the truth had sunk in about why he’d come back.

He wondered if, when he’d been in the Brazilian jungle taking pictures of Asada’s compound, had he known what havoc his article would wreak, would he still have done it? Would he still have snapped those pictures and written down all the facts for the world to see?

Rachel’s silent and strong grief tonight had nearly brought him to his knees. Watching her piece together the puzzle, seeing her understand what danger he’d put her and Emily in had been nothing short of torture.

Grimacing, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, but nothing changed. He was still scum. He’d still brought an element of his world to his daughter and the woman who’d once brought him more joy than anyone else ever had.