Uncensored Passion (Men of Passion) (28 page)

“…Tremendous tragedy caused, it is believed, by the stormy weather. It is just conjecture at this point in time, but it’s a possibility that the fully loaded plane was struck by lightning. But there is no confirmation on that as yet. There will, of course, be a full investigation. I’ll bring you more details as they are released. As of now, the only thing we know for certain is that miraculously there were ten survivors, all of them critical.”

“Man, that’s awful,” Jerry said. “The news hounds sure get to any bloody tragedy fast. I don’t think they should show that, knowing people who have lost loved ones will be watching.”

“I agree. Anything for the shock value and to get ratings. Planes shouldn’t take off in weather that bad,” Trey remarked.

For some reason, Trey felt a cold chill skitter down his spine and wondered,
what was that?

CHAPTER 27

Eight months later—Monday, 10:00 a.m.—San Antonio

Trey was in his office, thinking about how drastically things had changed. Four months prior, he and Jerry had finally managed to open their own combination private investigation/personal security agency. They had been joined by two others of their Special Forces team, one of whom had already completed the necessary requirements for becoming a private investigator before his Army stint, the other content to use his Forces training and computer savvy in the personal security end of things. They called the firm FSF, Inc.

Their only advertisement, other than word of mouth, was one five-minute spot on TV that played intermittently for two weeks just after their opening. It flashed pictures of all four of them, stating they were a former Special Forces team, all highly qualified—two as private investigators and two as personal security experts—thus the name of their firm—Former Special Forces, Inc., or FSF, Inc. No bells and whistles, just an announcer stating the four had served their country with a determination they were bringing to solving cases and/or protecting those in need of their specific services and always with an eye to complete discretion. And the phones had started ringing almost immediately.

During this time, it surprised Trey that there hadn’t been any more backlash from Johnson. The threat to get his license revoked never materialized—probably due to the other partners’ wish to avoid bad publicity. He concluded that either the man had finally accepted the truth of what had happened to his niece or he’d decided it was time to let the vendetta go. The latter didn’t seem as plausible as the first to Trey, but he was just thankful their ongoing war was finally over. And an even bigger surprise was that there hadn’t been any more repercussions from J.J.’s father. Trey attributed that to the fact that J.J. had finally come around and was back home, and if not completely himself, at least now seemed to be accepting the reality of life as a Romero once again. Of course, that was only the filtered news of events that Trey had gotten from the one reporter who had latched onto the story of the Romeros, writing articles obviously slanted toward enhancing the reputation of the noted doctor, calling the Romero family a “pillar of community” in San Antonio.

Trey suspected Dr. Romero had that reporter in his pocket and had a hand in painting that kind of picture, in order to repair whatever damage he believed J.J. had done to the Romero name by his suicide attempt.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Trey shook off that line of negative thinking, turning his thoughts back to the business. He had a lot to be thankful for and on the top of that list was Sarah. The bouncy, perennially young Sarah was like a client magnet, bringing in people—as she had predicted she would—who had applied for help at M. J. and L. and been turned down, usually because they couldn’t afford the fees. Since she had joined them their second month in business, first as secretary and now as office manager, things had been popping.

Some of those cases Trey had decided to take pro bono. That decision had proven to be invaluable, because FSF’s successes provided word-of-mouth endorsements that were worth more than a ton of paid advertising.

Shaking his head in wonder, Trey sat musing over it all, satisfied with how far he had come, at least so far as his career choice was concerned. His stagnant personal life was another thing. That thought brought a scowl to his face.

Closing his eyes, he rocked back in his chair and envisioned Kayla, as he so often did. The heated conversations they had had when he first returned to San Antonio and for at least two months afterward, when he had swallowed his pride and called several times trying to persuade her to rethink her lifestyle choice and their getting together, floated through his mind, deepening his frown.

Emitting an expletive, Trey got up and went to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view from his corner office of the impressive Tower of the Americas building was amazing, but he wasn’t seeing it. He was lost in memories—Kayla’s lips on his—Kayla with her head back as she rode him—Kayla licking chocolate off his body.

Son-of-a-bitch, why can’t I stop thinking about her? If I could just forget her! Always, the one question that eats at me like a cancer is, why the hell does she need all those men? Why can’t I be enough for her? I’ll never understand that.

Although he had gotten the feeling the last time they spoke that something had changed, but the kicker was, she couldn’t and wouldn’t let go of her polyandry lifestyle. Trey gritted his teeth, suddenly remembering how he had always told himself his ideal woman would be beautiful, determined, and independent.

Careful what you wish for,
he thought ironically.
Kayla is all those things, but that stubborn independent spirit has been the steel door dropping like an immovable barrier between us.

With a sigh, Trey recalled the last conversation they had had and how, at the end of yet another furious standoff, as much as it twisted the knife in his heart, he had finally admitted defeat. He had stated that, telling her he would accept her decision and wouldn’t bother her anymore. He had thought for a split second that she would relent, but she hadn’t.

Shaking off the lethargy, Trey forced his attention back to the business at hand. Because they were booked solid with cases, both investigative and personal security demands, he was hiring two other qualified detectives. One of those two interviews was scheduled for today, the other tomorrow.

Glancing at his watch, Trey chastised himself.
Okay, get your mind in gear. Your candidate should be arriving soon.

He picked up the folder containing the particulars of the interviewee for the P.I. position. And as if on cue, Delia, the new receptionist, announced via the intercom that the applicant, Manifred Arocho had arrived.

“Show him in.”

She showed in a tall, olive-skinned, dark-haired man in his early 30s.

Half an hour later, after an incisive interview session, Trey had made his decision.

He shook Arocho’s hand. “All right then. Consider yourself hired. Sarah, our office manager, will fill you in on the particulars and get you settled in an office.”

Trey buzzed for Sarah, told her Manny was hired and asked her to show him where his office would be and get him started on the paperwork. As the door closed behind the two of them, Trey settled behind the desk. There was a lot about the new hire that reminded him of J.J. Trey’s thoughts turned to J.J. then and, as always, went right back to Kayla’s other partners.

Pushing up from the desk, Trey went to the windows, his hands clasped behind his back, silently berating himself.

Enough of the past, dammit! I need to concentrate on making FSF, Inc., tops in the business, and we are definitely on that fast track.

* * *

An hour later Sarah buzzed him on the intercom, “Hey, boss man, handsome Mr. Arocho is settling in the office down the hall, completing paperwork and ready to roll. If I didn’t have Jerry in my life, and was at least ten years younger, I might set my cap for that goodlookin’ fella.”

Trey laughed, “Sarah, behave yourself, or I’ll tell Jerry on you.”

Still chuckling, he switched off the intercom and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head and thinking,
we’re so lucky to have Sarah. She’s doing a great job, right down to hiring the most efficient Delia as receptionist. And we couldn’t get a better goodwill ambassador.

Recognizing her many attributes and contributions to their profit margin by constantly touting them wherever she went, he had even managed to give her an attractive raise.

Certainly not what she was making at M. J. and L., but enough to make Sarah happy. Mostly though, I think Sarah’s happy because she’s working close to Jerry.

The two had become quite the item. And watching them together was a mixed bag for Trey. He was glad for them, but every time he saw them exchange a knowing, heated glance or touch each other’s hands with that silent promise of “later,” he felt almost smothered by regret. That always spiraled his thoughts back to Kayla, who was never far from his mind. She still haunted his dreams at night.

Even though he had told them both he wasn’t lonely and didn’t need someone in his life right then, Jerry and Sarah kept trying to fix him up with dates. None ever worked out because no other woman interested him. He knew no other woman was ever going to fill the void left by Kayla.

Delia interrupted Trey’s depressing thoughts with her brisk, official, over-the-intercom, office voice. “Mr. Cameron, there is someone here to see you. A Mr. Harmon Pranston.”

Trey heard a brief verbal exchange before she clarified, “Ah—he said you would know him as Harm.”

Shocked, Trey said, “Send him in.”

Delia showed him in and closed the door as she exited.

Harm stood staring at him, his dislike evident in his narrowed glare. By the way his lean jaw was twitching, it was obvious that he was clenching his teeth. Trey returned the stare, assessing him as he knew he was being assessed, with a goodly mixture of animosity and curiosity of his own.

With a wave of his hand, indicating the chair before his desk, Trey said, “Have a seat, Harm. What can I do for you?”

Harm settled in the chair, his rigid posture an indication of how uncomfortable and angry he really was as he said, “It’s more what I can do for you, I think.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Why don’t we both stop pussy footing around, Cameron, and cut to the chase?”

Trey shrugged. “Okay. This has to be about Kayla. How is she?”

“Not good.”

Those words slashed beneath Trey’s false external composure and he flinched. “What do you mean? Has something happened to her? Did she send you here?”

“Hell, no! She doesn’t know I’m here. She’d probably be inclined to wring my neck if she did know. And yes, a lot has happened to her, but not in the way you mean.”

Trey almost snapped,
how the hell do you know what I mean?
But instead he just said, “Tell me,” leaning forward intently though he was unaware he had even moved.

His electric blue eyes held Harm’s cold, accusing ones. For some reason the man seemed hesitant to speak, as if he was struggling to find the words.

“How are the other guys?” Trey asked, to break the awkward silence, not remembering their names but wanting to get the fact across that he did remember there were others in Kayla’s strange life.

A shadow seemed to cross Harm’s face, as he shifted on the chair, shaking his head, “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Lee and Luke were in that plane crash about seven and a half months ago. They had been in Memphis for a St. Jude benefit telethon. Lee was one of the speakers and Luke performed an original song. They were returning to Nashville. They survived but were both severely injured. Lee was paralyzed and has since become something of a recluse. He wouldn’t come back to Kayla’s afterward; he decided to be on his own and not be a burden to her, as he put it, even though we wanted him back with us. And Luke was in a coma for two months. He sustained memory loss; he doesn’t even know who we are, and the doctors say he probably never will. Thank God he still remembered his love for music and writing. The only good thing to come out of that tragedy is the fact that Luke was offered a record deal when he recovered and now is busy pursuing his music career. So despite his injuries, he came out pretty okay. Anyway, they’re both out of Kayla’s life now, so that leaves only me.”

Saying all that out loud, Harm felt the words scraping his soul, reopening raw wounds as he remembered how happy they had all once been and how different it was now.

“No, I didn’t know. I remember watching the news coverage of that crash on TV. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. They were both great guys. Well, hell, they still are, but lost to Kayla and to me. I considered them my best friends. Always thought we could weather anything together, but I can’t get through to them anymore.”

Harm cleared his throat, fought back a surge of emotion before he declared, “But that isn’t why I’m here.”

“Why are you here, Harm?”

“I want to know what happened between you and Kayla, why you just walked away from her and broke her heart.”

Trey straightened, immediately on the defensive, almost telling him to go to hell and that it was none of his business. What stopped him was the fact that there was something compelling in the way Harm was studying him now, searching his face in avid anticipation of the answer, his emotions barely contained. He knew the man wasn’t just wanting to satisfy a morbid curiosity.

“That’s water under the bridge, Harm. Why bring it up now?”

“Tell me the truth. Did you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still love her?”

Trey didn’t hesitate to declare the truth. It was always there with him, buried just below the surface, simmering like molten lava waiting to explode, beneath the pain.

“Yes. But I couldn’t embrace her lifestyle—
your
lifestyle—then, and I still can’t. And she didn’t want to let that go, wouldn’t let any of you go.”