Twelve weeks earlier
Saturday morning was hell.
Angela peered at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Puffy, bloodshot eyes revealed pain and disappointment. The relationship with Jake was over, and she cared that it was.
Would she never learn? Men were after only one thing. Why had she thought Jake would be different? For Christ’s sake, she’d interrupted him having sex the first time they’d met. If she’d held on to her first impression that he was a jerk, she wouldn’t be in pain now. Jake was charming, but she should have been strong enough to withstand those charms. Jake was complex, but she should have known that beneath all those intriguing layers was still the same hideous male core.
She needed to escape. Fresh air. Fresh start.
Chelsea barked insistently as Angela clipped the leash to the dog’s collar before strolling to Tidelands Park. San Diego Bay stretched out toward downtown and the Coronado Bay Bridge rose like a graceful ribbon of concrete, but she was oblivious to the beautiful setting. She hardly noticed Chelsea tugging at the leash, trying to run to the solitary man sitting several benches away. The entire time, she could only think about how much she missed Jake.
Despite the walk with her dog, she still couldn’t stop the downward spiral of her emotions. Desperate for a distraction, she tried to finish some work at her shop and thoroughly cleaned the condo. But by evening, the walls were closing in on her. Without looking for the movie schedule, she drove across the bridge into downtown to the Horton Plaza mall.
Once ensconced in the sparsely occupied theater, she wondered what in the world she was doing. Did she have a subconscious need not to be alone? When the lights dimmed, her agony swelled. Would the pain ever stop? It had been four years, but there were moments when she suffered as if it were yesterday. Moments like the morning she’d fainted in Jake’s bedroom. Moments like the night she’d suffered a panic attack at his house. Moments like last night when he broke up with her.
No one understood—not the police, the shrinks, or the support groups. How could she ever have an intimate relationship with a normal man, a real boyfriend, or a faithful husband, if she wasn’t a complete woman? Didn’t want to be a woman? Was afraid to be a woman?
She hadn’t allowed herself to cry all day, and she’d worn sunglasses so no one could see her pain. Now she stuffed them in her purse. Staring straight ahead at a movie screen she didn’t see, she let the tears come. First a single teardrop, then another. Soon, salty wetness glazed her cheeks, but she didn’t care. Her sobs were stifled, caught in her throat and trapped in her ears.
“Is this seat taken?” a man whispered.
Cocooned in misery, she almost didn’t hear him speak to her. She ignored him and stared blindly toward the screen.
“May I—”
“No. I’m saving it for my boyfriend,” she snapped without looking at him. Go away. Don’t even think about bothering me.
Even in the dark theater, Angela sensed the man sitting down next to her. Despite the tears on her cheeks, she turned to confront him for his rudeness.
“Hello, Angela,” he said.
“Jake?” She blinked rapidly as if seeing a ghost.
“Do I still qualify as your boyfriend?”
The lump in her throat refused to budge. “I don’t know. Do you?”
“I’d like to.” He lifted her hand from the armrest, raised it to his lips, and kissed it gently. “We need to talk.”
“How did you find me?” Reason was returning.
“PI, remember?”
“You’ve been spying on me?”
“Let’s call it surveillance.”
“Ssshhh,” a voice in the darkness scolded.
He kissed her hand again and grasped it firmly. “Let’s grab a drink or cup of coffee and talk.”
He stood and pulled her up with him. She allowed him to lead her down the row of seats and into the aisle. As she exited the theater with Jake’s hand on the small of her back, Angela struggled to regain her composure. She swiped the remaining wetness from her cheeks and brushed her hair back from her face. She avoided looking directly at him until they were in the parking garage.
He turned her toward him and bracketed her shoulders with his hands. “Where do you want to go?”
“Home.”
Jake frowned. “Hmmm. I thought… Never mind. Am I invited?”
Angela pressed trembling fingers against her mouth and closed her eyes. She wanted him to come home with her so badly, but why prolong the inevitable breakup? She was almost through Day One of rehabilitation. Why put it off and have to start over again later?
Why? Because she wanted this man more than she’d wanted anyone in a long time.
* * *
Angela’s white BMW pulled out of the Horton Plaza parking garage just ahead of him. He hung back in his black Corvette, shaking his head at the ironic symbolism: her in white, him in black. Crap.
The irony wasn’t the only thing bothering him.
Last night’s passionate kiss had backfired.
To Angela, the kiss had apparently signaled the end of the relationship, and frankly, her reaction stunned him. Their dates had been very enjoyable, but the lack of sex or even sexual attraction on her part had convinced him Angela didn’t consider the relationship serious. There was always a certain distance, a slight aloofness in her manner that kept him at arm’s length. But today, not knowing he was watching, she’d let down her guard. Without her shield of detachment, Angela had exposed the depth of her emotional attachment.
So why didn’t Jake feel smug about his discovery? He grimaced. Because the damn kiss had backfired by having an unintentional effect on him.
Shit. His fingers threaded through his hair as he watched the BMW’s turn signal blinking rapidly. Last night, his heart had raced just as fast during the kiss. It had taken all his willpower to pull his lips away from her warm, sweet mouth. Her whimper of surrender had sparked a sudden hot desire inside him. Simple lust. Lust for the unattainable, for the prize he couldn’t have.
He shook his head miserably. What was he trying to prove? He should never have gone without sex this long. At Filippi’s, he’d lied when he suggested he’d been screwing other women. In fact, he had canceled his masseuse appointments and hadn’t been with another woman since meeting Angela.
He didn’t believe in celibacy. Why the hell was he practicing it?
As he drove across the bridge, the scene distracted him for a moment. Hundreds of reflections from downtown lights danced on the black velvet bay while thousands of stars twinkled in the black satin sky. Peaceful. Beautiful.
Wrong. Jake’s expression hardened. Peaceful and beautiful didn’t exist for him. He was a killer with a job to do. But he was also a human being. And he knew in his soul that killing Angela Reardon was wrong.
Despite his best efforts to uncover anything about the government secrets she’d stolen and sold, he had failed. Her only connection to the State Department was her father, who appeared to be nothing more than a lackluster diplomat. The countries where Randall Reardon had served were not hotbeds of terrorism or even old Cold War enemies. Jake struggled to imagine what possible national security-compromising information had tempted Angela and led to her downfall.
She wasn’t an angel, but she was damn close. She certainly didn’t deserve to die.
What had she done to piss off someone at the CIA enough to want her murdered? Jake couldn’t fathom a single possibility. God, it would help if he knew.
* * *
Angela busied herself with switching on the lamps in the cozy family room of her condo while she waited apprehensively for Jake to arrive. She’d left the garage door open, and when she heard it close, she straightened and drew a deep, cleansing breath. I can do this.
Jake appeared in the doorway, his expression serious.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“No. I’ll fix drinks.” He headed for the wet bar in the living room.
Angela’s gaze followed him, his rugged attractiveness registering for the millionth time. If only— She pushed the wistful thought away and focused on choosing a seat. Not the couch where they usually sat together. Instead, she chose the chair farthest from the couch. She settled into it, slipped off her shoes, and pulled her feet up under her. Casual. Relaxed.
A façade.
Jake returned with two glasses filled with Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. His eyes shifted between the couch and Angela’s chair.
“Have you already forgotten I don’t drink whiskey?”
He ignored the jab. Handing her a glass, he smiled. “I think this talk will go better if you have a real drink.”
“That bad, huh?” She sipped, choked, and coughed. “Can’t be any worse than this stuff.” But she drank again, carefully.
She peered at him defiantly while he swallowed a long drag and kept his eyes locked on her.
“I apologize again for my behavior at Filippi’s. I don’t like being accused of something I’m not guilty of. You blindsided me. I have no idea where the whole idea of breaking up came from. It certainly wasn’t on my mind.”
She sipped the whiskey and grimaced. “Then I should apologize for jumping the gun. But thinking about it today, it’s probably better to get it over with sooner than later.”
“You want to break up?”
Angela stared at the amber liquid before raising it to her mouth and then said, “It’s probably the right thing to do.”
He studied her with darkening eyes. “Well, speaking for myself, I was enjoying our relationship. I guess I was the only one.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Do I? I like you, Angela. I’m attracted to you. But I don’t get a similar vibe in return.”
She rested her head back against the chair and raised her gaze to the ceiling. “It’s not your fault.”
“Look at me, damn it. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel anything for me.”
His harsh tone slapped away her protective façade. Suddenly, she felt naked. A familiar tightness in her chest warned her to be careful. “You don’t understand, Jake.”
“Try me.”
“If you insist. But I spelled it out last night. I know how things go with men. No sex—no relationship. Been there, done that. You want to sleep with me. That’s the truth, isn’t it?” She squirmed under the increasing intensity of his gaze.
Jake’s eyes never left hers as he downed the remainder of his drink. He slammed the glass on the coffee table, causing her to jump.
“Yeah, that’s the truth. Damn right, I want to sleep with you. You’re a beautiful, sexy woman, although you work very hard not to be. And I’m a normal, horny guy. You turn me on big time.” He shrugged. “Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard if I hadn’t gone without sex since I met you and—”
Angela started. “But you said—”
“I lied. I was mad. I wanted to hurt you.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”
“Your masseuse?”
He shook his head. “No, not even her. Now help me out here. Why are you so down on sex?”
She drained her glass. Jake grabbed his tumbler and reached for hers. She hesitated before allowing him to take it.
He returned a few minutes later with both refilled. Angela deliberately set hers on the end table as she watched Jake drink deeply before dropping back onto the couch.
His gaze caught hers and held. “Have you come up with an answer yet?”
“I don’t think I need to repeat what I told you about my moral objection to premarital sex.”
“I agree. Please don’t repeat that bullshit. Tell me the truth.”
“You think I’m lying?”
“That or you’ve told the lie so often you’ve started believing it yourself. But I don’t think that’s the case.”
The tightness in her chest morphed into a burning ball in her stomach. She pulled her gaze away from his, snatched her drink from the end table, and downed two large swallows. She coughed and licked a drip off her lower lip. Her gaze rose to find Jake’s eyes glued on her mouth. Her pulse accelerated, panic bubbling just below the surface. Carefully, she set down the glass and stood up. Escape.
“This isn’t going to work, Jake. You should leave,” she said.
The thin line of his lips, the firm set of his jaw, and the smoldering anger in his eyes were his answer.
Angela swallowed hard and stood her ground. “Please go.” She coughed on a ragged breath. I can’t last much longer.
His expression softened slightly, and he looked down at his hands before rising. With three long strides, he towered in front of her. His face revealed a hint of uncertainty, but he wasn’t surrendering or leaving.
She took an involuntary step backward when he reached for her shoulders, but his strong hands caught her anyway.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth.”
She looked past him. Her words came in staccato bursts. “I-told-you. I’m-morally-opposed—”
“Cut the crap! Moral opposition doesn’t make you pass out or trigger a panic attack.”
“You knew?” Her voice trembled.
“Not at first. Your hypoglycemia excuse was a crock, although I bought it that morning. But when you fled in panic the next night, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize something more serious was going on.”
Suddenly, her knees buckled. Jake’s arms slipped around her and pulled her to him. She went rigid, her heart thundering.
“Talk to me, Angela. Did you date an abusive bastard?”
She buried her face in his shoulder but didn’t respond. Volcanic pressure was building inside.
“I haven’t hurt you. Don’t punish me for another guy’s sins.”
“Stop, Jake.”
His lips touched her ear as he whispered, “Don’t sacrifice our relationship because of some asshole’s bad behavior. Tell me—”
“No. Stop. Leave me alone.” Her fists shoved at his chest.
“Damn it. Tell me.”
“No!”
The volcano erupted. Her hands flew into his face, clawing, scratching. He handcuffed both her wrists in one strong hand. Her knee launched toward his groin, but he blocked it with his thigh.
“Easy, babe, easy,” he said firmly.
“No!”
She jerked her body around violently, elbows flailing. He released her wrists and held her against him in a bear hug.
“Stop, Angela. Talk to me.”
“I can’t!”
Her entire body was lava. Don’t make me say the word. I can’t say it. God, help me. She twisted. Bucked. Kicked.
“Tell me what happened!” he yelled.
An anguished scream burst from her soul. She threw her head back with such force she almost ripped herself from his arms. “Raped! I was…raped,” she gasped before collapsing in his arms.
Jake stiffened. “Raped,” he breathed, and then growled, “Son of a bitch.”
Limp, motionless, she clung to him for a long minute, fighting the panic. Her secret. She had revealed her vile secret. If their relationship wasn’t already over, it surely was now.
She cringed when Jake’s arm reached under her knees and lifted her. He carried her to the couch, sitting down with her on his lap. Still they didn’t speak. He leaned back and cradled her against him. His heat radiated to warm her, comfort her.
“God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. Forgive me?”
She nodded and closed her eyes against the sting of tears. Be strong.
“How many years did the bastard get?” he asked with obvious bitterness.
Angela burrowed closer, shaking her head.
“What? Hasn’t it gone to trial yet?”
She shuddered.
“No? Why the hell not?” Anger vibrated in his voice.
“I can’t…remember. Event…amnesia.”
“Amnesia? Shit.”
She could almost hear his brain piecing the puzzle together. She didn’t have to explain there had been no trial because she—the victim—couldn’t identify the rapist or describe what had happened.
Jake could understand that. But he would never understand how not remembering made it even harder to heal. That she might never heal.