Marriage To A Stranger

“He won’t like it,” Sandy said.

“Yep. He told me when I got married to make it last. I guess I haven’t followed his advice.”

Sandy snorted. “He’s a big one to be giving advice about marriage.”

Ed had been to the altar four times. Lara’s mother, his first wife, had deserted him when Lara was five. Unable to stand his overbearing ways and need to control, Alicia Bentley had fled, leaving her baby daughter behind. She’d died shortly after that in a skiing accident. And Ed had been with a number of women since.

“You’re right,” Lara conceded. “But I’m sure Ed would tell you he loved every one of them.”

“Well, he can be charming.” Sandy grinned. “But there’s that other side of him…”

“You mean the side I’ll see when I tell him about the divorce?” Lara gripped the steering wheel. “He likes Conley. He’ll believe this is all my fault.”

The silence stretched out, then Sandy reached across the seat and put her hand on Lara’s right arm. Her expression held a wistful note. Married longer than Lara and Conley, Sandy and Matthew had never had a perfect relationship but since the pregnancy, things had gotten more tense. Sandy had always idealized Lara’s marriage, mainly because she idealized Conley.

“Are you sure about this, Lara? I mean, really, really sure? Conley’s the kind of man every woman dreams about….”

Lara stared through the windshield. She’d asked herself that very same question a thousand times the past few weeks, and each time, her answer had been the same. Yes. Absolutely. Positively. Without a doubt. She wanted a divorce.

She wanted it because things weren’t working out, but for other reasons as well. Lara had vowed a long time ago that she would never be like the women her father had always married. Except for one—Bess MacDougal—they had been helpless and insecure, women who didn’t know who they were without a man. When Ed’s interest flagged, Lara had read the desperation in their eyes; she’d be damned before she’d see it in hers.

A few years ago, she and Conley had reached this same point and had almost separated. They’d decided to give the marriage another try, but after a while, a very painful while, it was clear to Lara nothing had really changed. The agony of that realization was something she never intended to experience again.

To top it all off, there was the Other Problem. She couldn’t bring herself to use the actual term because then the situation would become too real for her so she always thought of it as the Other Problem.

She turned to her friend and spoke. “Yes,” she said. “I’m absolutely sure. I don’t love Conley anymore. It’s time to move on.”

WHEN SHE CAME BACK through the kitchen door, Lara’s phone was ringing. It was probably Ed, she decided, wondering why she wasn’t yet in the office. She loved her job, but sometimes she found herself wishing someone other than her father owned the company. He was a hard boss and it was a hard job. Bodyguards to night patrols, employee checkouts to prenuptial investigations, Mesa Security offered very discreet services to very wealthy clients. The firm kept a low profile—so much so it was known only in certain circles. But it was the best, and when someone needed help with a delicate situation, they called Mesa. Mainly responsible for the day-to-day operations, Lara left the heavy-duty bodyguard service to the fleet of freelancers Ed managed. A few years back, personal security was all she’d done, but she’d put that part of the business behind her.

She’d had to.

The phone rang again and with a moan, she shrugged out of her coat and grabbed the receiver off the wall. But the person at the other end wasn’t Ed.

“Lara? This is Theresa. Did I…catch you at a bad time? You sound out of breath.”

“I just came in the door. I had to run Sandy home. She’d stopped by.”

Catching her reflection in the window over the sink, Lara pushed her hair out of her face and tried to imagine Theresa Marchante, Conley’s attorney, appearing as Lara did right now. Sweats, no makeup, in need of a shower. The woman had to exercise—she was too svelte and attractive not to—but somehow Lara couldn’t picture the lawyer bedraggled and mussed. Theresa always looked wonderful, her suits tailored and in flawless taste, her red hair shining and pulled back. Normally such perfection would have made Lara dislike Theresa immediately, but because of the attorney’s attitude that was impossible. Conley valued her opinion in all his legal matters. Theresa was a hard worker and loyal to her clients—she’d been Conley’s counsel for several years now.

“I’m sorry to have to bother you, but…” She paused and seemed to hesitate.

A rush of coldness swept over Lara, shaking her to her toes. Theresa Marchante didn’t flounder over anything. God, had Conley already contacted her? Had he already told her to start the paperwork for the divorce?

Lara dropped her coat on a nearby kitchen chair then gripped the phone with both hands. “It’s okay, Theresa. What can I do for you?”

“I…I have some bad news, Lara.”

Lara’s chest went tight. He had told her! Conley had gone directly to his office and called his attorney! Damn, he might have even called her from the Suburban. Lara’s initial feeling of dismay, even though she’d been the one to bring it all up, morphed illogically into anger. His little act of rage this morning had been just that—an act. He couldn’t wait to be free of her, could he?

“I know what you’re going to say, Theresa.” She forced herself to speak. “I’m just surprised he told you this fast. Did he…ask you to start the paperwork already?”

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing, Lara. In fact, I know we aren’t. I’m calling about Conley—”

“I don’t know what he told you this morning, but the divorce is my idea, okay? I was the one who brought it up and I’m the one who—”

“Lara, look, I don’t know anything about a divorce.” In a voice uncharacteristically shaky, Theresa broke in, halting Lara’s explanation. “I’m calling because Conley’s been in an accident. I’m at the hospital right now. He asked me to phone and let you know.”

“Wh-what? An accident?” She fumbled for the chair behind her and sat down, her coat falling to the floor. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure at this point. We were supposed to have a meeting early this morning. I was running late and when I got here, I found him in the street, right outside the building. He was shivering and banged up pretty good. He said something about a car hitting him, but I didn’t get all the details. I took him straight to the hospital. The doctor’s in with him right now.”

“Oh, my God…is he okay?”

“He doesn’t seem to be hurt too seriously, but he wanted you to know what was going on.”

Lara jumped up from the chair. “I’ll be right there, Theresa. I have to get dressed but it’ll only take a minute then I’ll—”

“Lara, don’t! The weather’s horrible and it’s getting worse. You’ll just cause another accident rushing over here.” Theresa’s voice returned to its usual firm and sensible tone. “It’s not necessary. I can bring him home when they finish. If they keep him longer, then you can come after lunch. It’s supposed to be better later this afternoon.”

Lara jogged down the hall toward her bedroom. “No,” she said firmly. “I want to see him. I have to see him. I’ll throw on something and be there in twenty minutes.”

Theresa was still talking as Lara clicked off the phone and tossed the cordless unit to her bed. The attorney meant well, but she didn’t understand. When Conley got upset or worried, his mind was like a train on a single track. Lara yanked off her sweatshirt and Lycra pants. He’d been concentrating on their angry words; he’d never seen the car or whatever had hit him and she was to blame.

Pulling a pair of gray slacks from the closet and a black turtleneck, she dressed in record time, guilt fueling her every step. Five seconds later she had her hair slicked back and lipstick slapped on. Running through the kitchen, she grabbed her purse and cell phone and headed out the door, a missed shard crunching beneath her right boot.

She didn’t stop to wonder why her heart was lodged in her throat.

“I DON’T KNOW the details. That’s all I can tell you right now.” Lara gripped the steering wheel of her truck and maneuvered out the driveway. The overhead speaker of her cell phone crackled in response.

“I don’t care if he just has a hangnail, he’s better off in Denver.” Her father’s gravelly voice boomed across the line. “That Podunk hospital in Red Feather is a disaster waiting to happen. He should be down here in Boulder, at the very least.”

Before Lara could answer, she heard her father bark instructions to someone in his office, probably Larry, her stepbrother. “Get me International Helo Service outta Denver! Earl Stanley runs ’em and I want him on the phone—”

“Ed, Ed! Hold off.” Lara spoke loudly, trying to get his attention back. “I want to check things out at the hospital before you start taking over the situation. I’ll call you from there.”

“But I can have a chopper at Red Feather in no time! We’ll airlift him to Denver then Houston if we need to—”

“Let me see him first, okay? I promise I’ll call you after I get a handle on things, then we can decide what to do.”

Something in her voice must have registered. He spoke again, this time slower. “Are you sure, sweetheart? I can—”

“I know you ‘can’ anything, okay?” Lara reached the corner, the snowbound street before her virtually deserted, a blanket of white swirling down over the trees and parked cars. Another six inches of snow had fallen since she’d taken Sandy home. “But let me see what’s going on before you go into action. The way Theresa talked, I don’t think he’s hurt that badly.”

Silence was her only answer and Lara cursed to herself. He had his faults, but the old coot could read her like a well-worn book.

“If that’s what you think, how come you’re so upset?”

Lara tightened her hands, her leather gloves squeaking inside the still freezing cabin of the truck. “What makes you think I’m upset?”

“I can hear it in your voice, dammit. What kinda imbecile do you think I am? I’ve been your father for thirty-three years! You don’t think—”

“Okay, okay…enough already!” She gunned the engine and turned the corner, fighting the skidding tires. She didn’t want to explain but telling him this way did have its advantages; she could confess what was going on, then hang up on him. He could rant and rave to Larry and his wife, Stephanie. Stephanie was the sweetest person Lara knew—she could actually calm Ed down sometimes.

“So what it is?” he demanded. “If you think Con’s okay what’s wrong?”

“We had a fight this morning.”

“Everyone fights. That’s what marriage is about.”

“Not us,” she answered grimly. “Conley doesn’t argue, you know that.”

He grunted his agreement and waited for her to continue.

“We fought because…because I told him I want a divorce.”

“A divorce! Are you nuts?” Her father’s wrathful voice filled the interior of the truck. “Have you lost your mind?”

“You don’t understand—”

“You’re damn right I don’t understand! Conley Harrison is the best thing in your life. The man’s a brick! He makes more money than you can ever spend, he obviously loves you—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ed must have heard the pain and weariness in her voice because he instantly fell silent, an unusual state for her father. “I don’t want to go into it right now, but you’re going to have to trust me on this one. Things have gotten pretty bad around here.”

When he remained silent, Lara knew exactly what he was thinking. He’d told her more than once it’d almost killed him when her mother had left him. She’d been the only woman he’d truly loved, and it was Lara’s theory he’d been searching ever since for the same feeling.

After a moment, he asked quietly, “Is it another man, baby? Are you in love with someone—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I’m not in love with anyone else. It…it just isn’t working, Ed, and hasn’t been for years. That’s all I can say for now.” The vehicle’s heater suddenly kicked in and sent a blast of feverish warmth toward her face. “I’ll call you from the hospital as soon as I know something.” She reached over and switched off the phone, then did the same with the heater.

After fifteen more minutes of fighting the snow and wind, she pulled under the overhang at the Red Feather hospital.

THE HOSPITAL WAS like hospitals everywhere. Cold, stark and sterile. Lara shivered as she raced down the corridor toward the emergency room. He had to be okay, she told herself. Theresa hadn’t seemed too upset and God knew how competent she was. On the other hand, that was part of the problem. The world could be exploding and Theresa Marchante probably wouldn’t react.

A flashing red light above one of the doors caught Lara’s eye and she hurried toward its blinking beacon, the crimson letters ER standing out against the white of everything else. Her throat was tight and clogged as she pushed open the door and rushed inside.

In contrast to her own turmoil, the room inside was peaceful and quiet. It was too early for the skiers who’d be brought in later, and the drunk drivers from the night before were all long gone. The only people in the waiting area were a mother and father, a small child cradled between them who looked lethargic and stuffy.

Lara quickly crossed to the desk that lined one wall. “I’m Lara Harrison,” she said, leaning over a high Formica barrier. “My husband, Conley was brought in a little while ago. I think it was a car accident—”

The woman behind the counter wore a brightly colored nurse’s smock, her hair tied back in a no-nonsense fashion. She tilted her head in a puzzled way. “You’re Mrs. Harrison? I thought…” She shook her head then finished her sentence. “There’s a woman with him. I got the impression she was Mrs. Harrison.”

A cold chill rippled over Lara before she understood, relief hitting her hard when she did. “You must be thinking of Theresa. She’s his attorney. She found him.”

A chagrined expression crossed the nurse’s features. “I’m so sorry…I just thought…” She broke off her words. “Please go on back. He’s in cubicle number one. I believe the doctor’s with him right now.”

Lara followed the woman’s wave toward a door on one side. Stepping into a long corridor sectioned off by curtains, she quickly located the first one. She pushed aside the dark-blue fabric and her heart stuttered to a stop.

Conley sat on a metal examining table. Theresa Marchante stood close beside him, patting his bare shoulder in a comforting way. She nodded at Lara, touched Conley one more time, then dropped her hand as Lara stared at Conley in distress. It was obvious someone had cleaned him up, but just as obvious he was hurting. A huge bruise on his temple was already turning black, the edges of it ragged and painful looking. His right pant leg had been sliced from his hip to his ankle, an angry swelling distorting the calf, a long, nasty cut on the side. His eyes were what stopped her, though. They were full of something Lara had never seen before. She ran to his side, Theresa stepping away slowly.

“My God…Conley…are you…are you all right?” Lara touched his jaw and then his arm, her horrified eyes taking in a litany of minor wounds she hadn’t seen from the doorway.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

From across the cubicle, an older man with his back to her spoke before Conley could, his voice deep and reassuring. He turned, a syringe in hand, a stethoscope around his neck. A name tag on his smock identified him as Dr. Sorelli.

“His injuries appear severe, but they’re mostly insignificant. Landing in the snowdrift saved his bacon, big time. You’re Mrs. Harrison, I presume?” The man’s manner was forthright, almost crusty and Lara suddenly realized why his name sounded familiar. He was well-known in town, having been in the emergency room for almost two decades.

Lara nodded, but her eyes stayed on her husband’s face. “Conley, I can’t believe this happened. Good grief—”

“I’m fine, Lara.” His words were brusque and curt, and somehow that made her feel better. He didn’t look like himself, but he sounded like himself. “It was a stupid accident, that’s all. I wasn’t paying attention when I crossed the street in front of the office. A car came out of nowhere and clipped me as I stepped up on the curb.”

Lara’s knees went weak. She gripped the edge of the bed and held on, fighting nausea as well. “A car hit you?” She turned to Theresa then sent her horrified gaze back to Conley’s face. “I thought you were in the Suburban…I thought there’d been a wreck, not this!”

The doctor came to where she stood. “If you’re going to faint, do it outside. I need to give him this shot and we can’t handle you, too.”

Pulling herself together, Lara nodded numbly then watched Conley wince as the needle went in. The doctor stepped back to the counter, dropped the syringe into a red jug then he started to wash his hands.

Lara had more questions, but Sorelli grabbed a towel and turned around, speaking before she could. “I want to keep you for a couple of hours, Mr. Harrison. For observation. Sometimes nasty things develop that we can’t see at first. After that you’ll need to take it easy for a day or two—”

“I can’t do that.” Conley shook his head then grimaced. “I don’t have time to be here as it is. I’ve got a flight to Baku tomorrow and work to do before I leave.”

The doctor crossed his arms. “You’re not going anywhere tomorrow. You’ll be lucky if you can make it from the bed to the bathroom without these little white pills I’m going to give you.”

“But I feel fine—”

“No, you don’t,” the doctor said, “and you definitely won’t tomorrow. Especially after I sew up that leg. It’s going to be stiff for at least a week.”

Conley’s mouth went into a familiar line of stubbornness and Lara stepped closer to the table. “You need to listen to him, Con.”

“She’s right.” Theresa spoke up from the side of the room. “You were lucky out there, Conley. Don’t be a fool. Stay home and take care of yourself.”

“And Baku?” he asked.

“Matthew could go,” Lara suggested.

Conley answered her, impatience heating his voice. “No, he can’t. Matthew designs the damn chips but I can’t let him near the clients, you know that. His people skills are nonexistent. We’d lose the account and then—”

“I can handle Baku.” Lara and Conley both turned to Theresa when she spoke.

“You don’t know the first thing about that account, Theresa.”

“You’re absolutely right,” she agreed, “but I can handle it. I’ll pick up the phone and tell them you’ve been delayed. If they don’t like it, that’s too bad.”

He seemed to hesitate for just a second, and Lara held her breath. She felt a tug of anger that he’d consider Theresa’s suggestion and not her own, but on the other hand, whatever worked, worked.

Reaching for the suture equipment he’d laid out on the counter, the doctor spoke again. “You’ll have to talk to the police, too, you know. We’ve already called them.”

Conley shot Lara a look, his gaze skimming hers in an unfamiliar way, something quick and fathomless shimmering there then swimming away before she could catch it. He turned to the doctor who was threading the needle. “That wasn’t necessary,” he protested. “It was a simple accident. All my fault, really. The car couldn’t have avoided me—”

“It was a hit and run, Mr. Harrison. The police have been called.” The doctor’s words were blunt but his touch was swift and professional. Within seconds, he had Conley’s wound closed with almost invisible stitches. He stepped back and appraised his work, then nodded, clearly pleased.

Snapping off his gloves he washed his hands once more and looked at his patient. “We’ll find you a bed and let you settle in. If you’re okay after a while, you can go home.” Smiling at Lara, he spoke a final time. “Good luck keeping him quiet, Mrs. Harrison. Something tells me you’re going to need it.”

CHAPTER THREE

CONLEY HAD NO intention of sleeping, but as soon as his head hit the starched white pillowcase, he found he didn’t have a choice. When he woke hours later, it was early evening. He was stiff and sore and felt as if…he’d been run over in the middle of the street.

Without moving, he opened his eyes. Lara sat in a padded chair on the other side of the bed, holding a magazine. She wasn’t reading it, just holding it. The look on her face broke what was left of his heart. A deep sadness darkened her gaze and there were lines of weariness around her mouth. Lavender shadows colored the hollows of her cheeks and made circles underneath her eyes.

He let his lids flutter down and cursed himself. She looked like that because of him. There was no other reason and he knew it.

His mind skipped back to the moments before the car had come down the street. It had been a car, he was sure. A coupe. He struggled to recall more details but none came. Almost with relief, he knew that was all he could tell the police. He had absolutely no proof that it’d been anything but an accident. Maybe the driver had kept going because he hadn’t even known he’d hit something.

The argument sounded hollow, even to Conley’s doped-up senses.

He kept his eyes closed but the shot the doctor had given him was working well and all the thoughts Con usually managed to control now refused to stay buried. The problems he’d managed to suppress for months eddied around him like the snow outside.

It had all started with the notes.

They’d been arriving for several months, some by regular mail, some by computer, one right after another. At first he’d been amused, then as they’d continued, he’d become annoyed. His answer had been to ignore them, but lately even that had become impossible. Whoever had been harassing him had decided it was time to turn up the heat.

But harassing wasn’t really the right word, he thought groggily. Harassing implied something different, something angry and abusive. The neatly typed letters and multiply-routed e-mails—all completely untraceable—were of a unique nature. They’d been full of admiration for him, full of praise for his accomplishments, for his successful business. Then they’d turned personal. Comments about his looks, remarks about his body. The author knew him well, so well Conley had become increasingly uncomfortable, even though the tone of the notes had never been threatening. Storing the letters in a safe at the office, he’d copied the e-mails to a file at home and passworded it so Lara couldn’t read it.

The phone calls had started after that. There was never anyone on the line. As bizarre as it sounded, it seemed as if whoever called just wanted to hear his voice. He’d say hello over and over, then the caller would quietly hang up. Finally the flowers had started; red roses sent to him every Monday.

The last straw had come when his coat had been stolen during a business lunch. He’d dismissed the problem as inconsequential, telling Lara he’d misplaced it, but the keys to his office had been in the pocket. He’d immediately had all the locks changed, but it didn’t seem to matter. A week later, someone got inside. Nothing had been taken, but he was positive someone had been there. Small things in his desk drawer had been rearranged and his chair had been left at a different angle. Worse, his computer had been accessed.

At that point, the problem took on a whole new meaning. Conley went to incredible lengths to maintain Harrison’s proprietary secrets. Was someone trying to breech that wall? Knowing Matthew would die before he’d tell anyone, Conley had enlisted his help. Together he and his engineer had added extra security to their entire system, but for a couple of weeks afterward, Conley had made it a point to spend one night a week at the office, varying the nights. He’d set up camp in the room next to his own and waited, but no one had shown up. Finally he’d given up and picked up the phone to call the police.