Seducing His Heart (15 page)

Days when he would return home to face a
meal of lukewarm, canned ravioli and frozen green beans thrown
together by his clueless father or big brother, the reality of his
situation slapped him in the face. He’d disappear into his room
afterward, lie on his bed, and dream that he was Mike’s long lost
brother. He’d picture moving in, sharing a room with Mike, and
being cared for by his doting mother.

This had been his favorite fantasy, and it
had soothed him to sleep more nights than he cared to remember.

Bess’s place had the same homey feel, and
even more mouth-watering scents emanating from the kitchen. Her
easy, unassuming ways made him comfortable. He’d moved a toothbrush
and razor into her bathroom. He uncorked the wine, cleared the
table, and helped with the clean-up—a task he had loathed as a
child, but didn’t mind now.

Whit was too smart to take her warmth and
generosity for granted. He took her out to tony restaurants at
least once a week, brought flowers, always brought wine, and
complimented her on the dishes he enjoyed. He liked almost
everything she made, so it was easy. He chuckled, remembering the
one time she had struck out. “No one can make lima beans taste
good,” he said.

The makeup lady looked at him. “Excuse
me?”

“
Nothing,” he said waving
his hand. Within these few weeks, Whit found himself at her place
more than his own. He and Homer had a standing invitation, though
Whit always called before showing up.

As a kid, he had developed good social
skills. He had figured out that being anything but totally polite
was sure to dry up dinner invitations quickly. The meaning of the
word gratitude was something he had learned early. His reward had
been the warm welcome he had received from parents’ of friends.

“
Whit, how nice to see
you. You’re always welcome at our house.”

“
Daniel, why can’t you be
more well-mannered like your friend, Whit?”

As a boy, he had assumed that no one knew
how bad things were in his house. Thought he’d covered it up well.
Truth was, everyone had known, especially the parents. They had
taken pity on him. His excellent behavior had only made it easier
for them to do “the right thing” and invite one of those “poor Bass
boys” to their house for a decent meal.

When he was fourteen and a star on the
junior high football team, he had overheard parents of his friends
at the game. He had bent down at the water fountain and gotten more
than expected when he overheard a conversation.

“
Isn’t it amazing
Whitfield Bass isn’t a criminal? Growing up without a proper home.
Look at him, quarterback of our team.”

“
It’s a miracle he got so
big. We’d have him to dinner couple times a week so he could get a
square meal. Poor boy with no mama to look after him.”

“
Oh, his dad did the best
he could. But traveling all the time…it’s a wonder they ate
anything at all.”

Whit’s face had flamed.
The desire to throw their words in their faces warred with the wish
to simply slink away.
Not their fault I
had no family. Couldn’t be mad at them. Sure appreciated those
meals.
Whit had done neither. He had stood
up and wiped water off his lips with the back of his
hand.

When Mike’s mother had spotted him, she had
gasped and drew her hand to her mouth. Whit had smiled at her.
“Nice to see you, Mrs. Brown. Thanks for coming to the game,” he
had said and loped back out onto the field.

There were no childhood illusions left. No
rose-colored memories of his family. He had been a realist from
that day on. Whit had known he’d have to take care of himself
without the help of others if he didn’t ever want to hear a repeat
of that conversation. So, he had manned up. By then, Jeff had
already married and moved to Baltimore. Whit and his brother,
Robbie, were still at home.

Jeff had invited him to visit whenever the
boy could scrape together the train fare. Jeff had become as
important to Whit as their father, and far more accessible. But he
had a wife and his own little family. Whit hadn’t intruded often,
but holidays were hard to resist. One Thanksgiving, at sixteen, he
had told Robbie off and deserted his father for Jeff’s house.

He had ridden the crowded train, his nerves
raw from the emotional battle at home. He had been embarrassed,
barging in on Jeff’s cozy life. But when he had arrived, they had
been waiting on the platform—Jeff, Janice, her parents, and her
sister carrying a sign. It had read “Welcome, Whit.” At the time,
he had burst into tears. Even now when he recalled the scene, his
eyes misted.

When the makeup was finished, he pushed to
his feet, tore off the bib, and rolled down his sleeves. He smiled,
thanked the artist, and returned to his desk.

Sam rushed over. “This just in. Undercover
cop killed in car bombing,” she said, thrusting papers into his
hands. “It’s our lead.”

“
Who is it?” His pulse
kicked up.
Couldn’t be.

“
I dunno? It’s in there,
somewhere. Mc somebody. You’ve got twenty minutes. Get familiar
with this.”

“
Not McNeil?”

“
Yeah! That’s it. You know
him?”

“
Terrance
McNeil?”

“
Yeah, yeah.”

Whit sank down into his chair, only half
listening to his producer.

“
You’re the perfect person
to do this lead, since you knew him. Make it poignant,
Whit.”

“
You can’t…you can’t run
this. Not yet. I’ve got to…talk to someone…call
someone…”

“
Bullshit! Whad’ar you
crazy? We haven’t had a juicy lead like this in weeks. Of course,
we’re going with it. Make it good, pretty boy.”

Bess!
For a moment, Whit didn’t know what to do. Bess always
watched his broadcast. She turned it on while she was cooking.
Then, he opened his cell and dialed.

“
Rory! Whit. Get over to
Bess’ now. Right away. Yeah. Don’t let her watch the news. Please.
Whatever you do, distract her. But don’t let her watch the news. A
story. I’ll tell her later, in person. Of course, it’s bad! Please,
please.” He closed the phone.
Rory’s on
her way.

Whit began to sweat. The hour grew nearer.
He took his seat.

The makeup lady showed up with powder and
puff. “What the hell? You’re drenched. Who turned up the heat in
here?”

* * * *

Crash buzzed then let Rory and her pug,
Baxter, into the building.

“
Bess, grab Dumpling, and
let’s go for a walk.”

“
News is coming on in a
few. Can you wait a half hour?”

“
Baxter needs to go.”
Homer greeted Rory and sniffed Baxter.

“
I’ve got Homer,
too.”

“
Whit leaves him here with
you every day?”

“
Not every day. Most days.
Dumpling has grown used to him. They still don’t eat together, but
otherwise, it’s peaceful.”

“
Come on, let’s go.” Rory
tossed the two harnesses to Bess.

“
But Whit. He knows I’m
watching. Always asks me for a critique…”

“
Tell him you got waylaid
this time.” Rory tugged on Bess’ sleeve.

“
I’ll record
it.”

“
No!” Rory
screamed.

Bess jumped. “Okay. What’s that about?”

“
I’m afraid Baxter is
gonna pee on your floor. Come on.”

Bess leashed the dogs and
joined her friend. They walked in the park and talked.
Rory seems nervous.
“Everything okay with you and Hack?”

“
Great. Why do you
ask?”

“
You’re usually so
relaxed, but tonight, you’re edgy.”

“
Oh, yeah. Right. Got some
bad news about a friend.”

“
Want to talk about
it?”

“
What are your plans for
Thanksgiving?”

She keeps changing the
subject. What’s going on?
“Rory, are you
okay?” Bess put her hand on her friend’s arm.

“
Of course. Why do you
ask?”

“
You’re not yourself.
You’re jumpy and keep changing the subject.”

“
I’ve got some things on
my mind I’d like to forget.”

“
Oh, okay. Nothing too
Earth-shattering?”

“
I hope not,” Rory
mumbled.

The two women walked and talked for forty
minutes.

“
I’m cold. Let’s go
inside.” The women guided the dogs back to the building.

“
Coffee?” Bess
asked.

“
You having
some?”

“
I’m freezing.
Yeah.”

“
Count me in.”

Bess made coffee and put out two pieces of
coffee cake from a new recipe she’d created.

“
Pistachio coffee
cake?”

“
Yeah. Not my best idea,
but I don’t want to throw it out.”

Rory laughed. “So, you feed it to me. Makes
sense.” Rory took a bite. “I actually like it.”

“
Good. Want to take the
rest home to Hack?”

Rory put up her hands in protest as the
buzzer sounded.

“
Must be Whit. Crap. He’ll
be upset I missed the news.”

“
Not this time,” Rory
muttered. Bess stared at her friend as she went to the door.
Dumpling and Homer, barking up a storm, followed her. Rory leashed
Baxter.

When Bess opened the door, Whit rushed in.
Homer jumped on his leg, trying to reach his master’s face to lick
a greeting. The broadcaster’s brow was furrowed. He petted Homer
then eased him away, worry gathered in his eyes.

“
Sorry, I missed your
broadcast.” She stretched up to kiss him. “Rory stopped over, and
we had to take the dogs out…”

He put his hand on her arm. “That’s okay. No
problem.”

Rory and Baxter came to the door. “Time for
me to go,” Rory said.

“
Thank you.” Whit nodded
to Rory.

“
No problem.”

Before Bess could form a question, her
friend and Baxter were gone. Whit closed the door behind him. He
went to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of brandy, took
down two glasses, and filled them.

“
What’s going on?” Her
pulse began to race.
Something’s up. And
it isn’t good.

“
Sit down, Bess,” Whit
said, carrying the drinks to the sofa.

“
What’s happened?
Something…something bad has happened?” Her breath hitched in her
chest.

“
Sit.” He put one glass on
the coffee table and took a swig from the other.

“
Oh my God. What is it?”
Chills ran up her arms, and tears clouded her eyes. “It’s bad,
isn’t it?”

“
Bess…I…”

“
Spit it out,” she said,
squeezing his arm.

“
There was a car bomb, an
explosion, today. Someone was killed…”

“
Who? Who?”

He held up his hand. “A cop.”

She gasped, taking in a huge amount of air.
“No, no, not Terry? Not Terry. Tell me, tell me, Whit, tell me it
wasn’t Terry.”

“
I can’t.”

Through the tears, she saw the pain on his
face. “Please, God, tell me it wasn’t Terry!”

“
It was. It was Terry. He
was killed.”

“
Oh my God! No, no, no,
no, no, no…” She got up and paced back and forth in front of the
window, shaking her head and repeating the word ‘no’ over and over
again.

Whit cut her off, grasping her arms with his
hands. “Stop, stop. It’s true. I’m so sorry, Bess, so sorry.” His
soft words broke into her consciousness. Emotion erupted through
her like lava through a volcano. Adrenaline pumped, and she could
hardly breathe. Looking into his eyes, she knew the truth.

Bess fell against his chest, sobbing, her
knees buckling. He tightened his arms around her, holding her up
and letting her cry. Her throat closed and tears streamed down her
face, onto his suit jacket. Nausea hit her stomach as she gulped
for air. She pushed away from him and ran to the bathroom, where
she threw up three times.

“
Are you all right? Bess?
Open up.”

She hugged the cold, porcelain bowl,
propping herself up. Her head rested on her wrist. She cooled her
forehead on the rim. As soon as her breathing became regular, she
pushed up on shaky legs.

“
Bess! Answer me!” Whit
called in.

“
I’m okay,” her weak voice
replied. She splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth, and
rinsed her mouth. Then, she closed the toilet and sank down,
waiting until the strength to stand returned to her
legs.

“
Please, open
up.”

She looked at the door, her eyes focused on
the lock. She leaned forward and clicked it open. Whit entered. She
gazed up at him with puffy, swollen eyes.

“
Oh, baby,” he said
softly. He lifted her by her arms and walked her back to the living
room. Easing her down on the sofa next to him, he held her and
stroked her hair.

Strength had bled out of her body. She could
barely lift her arm.

“
Drink this.” Whit held
the snifter to her lips.

She took a sip and choked at first then it
went down nice and smooth, warming her inside. “What happened?” she
asked.