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“You’re a late bloomer. You’ll find your niche,” her mother used to console her. And in college she had bloomed. The angles softened, her braces came off and her skin glowed. After a couple of false starts, she’d chosen a radio/TV major and by the time she’d finished her second year of college, she’d begun to shine. After graduation, she’d spent a couple of years at a small TV station, then landed a spot with KIND News. By age twenty-seven, she was their rising star.
Thinking of that, and of how abruptly the glitter had faded, Elyssa went upstairs, took off her makeup, shed her costume and slipped into a robe. No wonder she’d resurrected Lulu, she thought. She needed her alter ego to feel special again.
“How was the hospital?” Cassie called as Elyssa started down the stairs.
“Okay.” Tying the sash on her robe, she returned to the living room.
Cassie appeared, carrying two glasses of iced tea. She frowned. “Just okay?”
“Mmm.” Elyssa forced a brighter tone. “Trace really participated. He wanted to know about different kinds of clown costumes. I had to tell him the whole history of clowning.”
“And how’s Dr. Dreamboat? Still saving the world?”
“Working on it, I guess.”
Cassie handed Elyssa a glass and sat on the chair across from her. “You’ve been having coffee in the cafeteria with him for a month now. When are you going to let him take you out?”
Elyssa picked at a loose thread on her robe. “I told him not to ask me again.”
“Elyssa! You didn’t.”
“Yes, I did. It’s wasted effort.” Chin thrust out, she glared at her cousin. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Why not give the guy a break? Give yourself one, too.”
“It’s useless, Cass. The first day I met him, he said he’d seen me on the news. He expects me to look like Elyssa Jarmon of two years ago.” Automatically, her hand went to her cheek and traced the scar. “And even after plastic surgery, I don’t.”
“Close enough.”
“It wasn’t close enough for Derek.”
Cassie’s generous, usually smiling mouth, turned grim. “Derek,” she muttered. “If I could, I’d strangle him with my bare hands.” She leaned forward and grabbed Elyssa’s hand. “Don’t judge every man by Derek. He’s a scumbag. He didn’t appreciate what he had in you.”
Elyssa opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word, Cassie continued, eyes flashing. “You had a rough time after the accident, but you’ve put your life back together. You’ve never been a quitter. Why now?”
“You don’t understand—”
“No, I don’t. You’re not disfigured, are you? You have a few scars, so your face isn’t as perfect as it used to be. I’ll grant you it’s enough to keep you off the air—”
Elyssa’s chin shot up again. “I handled that.”
Cassie nodded. “And very well, too. But we’re talking about your personal life. You can’t stop living. There’s a man somewhere—maybe the man you just brushed off—who won’t give a damn about your face. Listen to me. You can’t avoid having Brett see you, not forever. And why should you? He isn’t Derek.”
Derek hadn’t been the only one who’d reacted badly to her less-than-perfect face, but she hadn’t told anyone, not even Cassie, about the others. And she didn’t intend to.
Cassie slammed her hand on the coffee table. “Dammit, give the guy a chance.”
A chance to hurt her? “I can’t. I told you, he has expectations.”
“How do you know that?” Cassie countered. “Does he walk around with a sign tattooed on his forehead that reads, I Have Expectations?”
Elyssa grinned at the image, then sobered. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s—”
They both started as the doorbell rang. “I’m not expecting anyone,” Elyssa said, frowning.
“Sit. I’ll get it,” Cassie said. She opened the door and poked her head out, exchanged a few words with someone, then turned, holding out a flower arrangement.
Two white orchids.
“What in the world? The deliveryman must have the wrong address,” Elyssa said. “Call him back.”
“Card says Elyssa Jarmon.”
Cassie set the vase on the coffee table, and Elyssa reached for the card. As she read, her cheeks heated, her heart began to thud. “They’re from Brett.”
“Well, well,” Cassie said, grinning. “Dr. Cameron’s a guy with class.” She leaned over Elyssa’s shoulder. “What’s the card say?”
“His name.” She slid her fingers over the rest of the message: “I’ll keep waiting for a yes.”
“Now you’ll have to go out with him,” Cassie said.
“No, I won’t.” Elyssa brushed a finger over the dark-green leaves, then yanked her hand away. “Brett’s an ambitious man, the kind of man who needs a gorgeous wife who gives elegant dinner parties and chairs benefits for the symphony.”
“Wife!” Cassie shuddered. “We’re talking about a simple dinner in a restaurant, not a lifetime commitment. Gawd, matrimony,” she said in her Lauren Bacall voice and sighed dramatically. “What a crock.”
Elyssa chuckled. Her cousin—independent, outspoken and in the rest of the family’s opinion, outrageous—could always make her laugh.
“You know my philosophy on marriage,” Cassie added.
Elyssa knew it well. Love affairs were acceptable, but Cassie believed that marriage and a career could not mix; hence, marriage had to go. Elyssa had never agreed with her cousin, but now… “My head’s too muddled to think about this.”
“I don’t blame you.” Cassie rolled her eyes. “Talking about marriage gives me heartburn. Nevertheless, you should consider dating this man. White orchids, oh my.”
They sat admiring the flowers, then Cassie checked her watch, frowned and shook her arm. “Stopped. What time is it?”
“Six-thirty.”
Cassie jumped up. “Omigosh, I’m due at rehearsal at seven.”
“Rehearsal! You got a part.”
Cassie grinned. “Nope, I’m the assistant to the assistant stage manager.” She turned her purse upside down on the coffee table and began pawing through the mess that spilled from it. “But I will get a part, one of these days. Aha!” She grabbed her car keys, waved them triumphantly and shoved everything else back into her bag. “See you.” She headed for the door. Over her shoulder, she added, “If Dean calls, tell him I’m on my way.”
Dean called. So did Dave…and Mario. Despite her views on matrimony, Cassie attracted men like honeysuckle attracted bees. How did she keep them all straight?
Shaking her head, Elyssa picked up the iced-tea glasses and carried them to the dishwasher. She’d always been a one-man woman. Of course, now she was a no-man woman.
She was glad she hadn’t thrown Brett’s card away. She’d intended to, but something had made her tuck it into the pocket of her costume, then into her robe. She took it out and called his home number. She’d be stern with him, she decided as his machine came on. “The orchids are beautiful, but I haven’t changed my mind. Let’s keep on being friends.”
Oh, Lord! She sat down hard on the chair by the phone. She’d been in broadcasting long enough to know what she’d just done. Her words had said one thing, but her voice—her soft, husky tone—had said something totally different.
Disgusted with herself, she marched upstairs to the bathroom, yanked off her robe and tossed her underwear in the hamper. She turned on the cold water in the shower but didn’t get in. Instead, she stared at her nude body in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
Her figure was the same as before the accident, maybe a little thinner. The gash on her thigh had healed and the scar was beginning to fade. It was pink now, perhaps as light as it would ever be. Her nose looked almost straight. Even the scars on her cheek had dimmed a little. But without the clown makeup, the marks were still visible, clear reminders of that night she could never quite recapture.
What would Brett Cameron think if he saw her as she really was? A picture of him flashed in her mind—tall and tanned with a killer smile and a gentleness that almost brought tears to her eyes. A longing so sharp it nearly buckled her knees rushed though her. She knew just how his lips would taste, how his body would feel against hers.
He was a doctor, used to scars. And, compared to most, hers were minor. Maybe…maybe he wouldn’t care.
But maybe he would.
She wouldn’t risk a rejection from him. She’d insist she meant what she said on the phone. They’d just be friends. With a last look at her reflection, she got into the shower.
But later she took the orchids into her room and set them on the nightstand by the bed. So lovely, so romantic… The man had her on the verge of tumbling into a situation that would only cause her grief. She had to think of something else.
She reached for the book by David Brinkley that Jenny had given her. Stretching out on her bed, she opened it and flipped through the pages, reading snippets here and there. Her attention was caught by doodles and notes scribbled at the end of a chapter: “The committee, 5, 1066, March 2.” Beneath them was a drawing of a skull and crossbones.
Elyssa shivered. March 2 was the day before their accident.
For a moment she could only stare at the cryptic notes, then she sat up abruptly and grabbed the phone. With shaking fingers, she punched in Jenny’s number in Knoxville.
“H’lo,” Jenny said sleepily.
“Jen, did Randy usually make notes in his books?”
Jenny yawned. “Elyssa?”
“Yes. Did he?”
“No, he was very careful with books.” More alert now, she asked, “Why?”
Quickly Elyssa explained what she’d found. “Does it make sense to you?”
“No, but the date—”
“I know. Jenny,” she said slowly, “maybe this is important. I’ll check and get back to you.”
“Be careful, Elyssa. Be really careful.”
“I will.” She hung up and paged through the rest of the book. No more notes. What she’d found could be meaningless doodles…or it could explain what Randy had been frightened of.
As much as she hated the idea, she knew Derek Graves was the person to ask. She didn’t have to look up his phone number; she knew it by heart.
Her former lover. The man who’d dumped her after the accident, when her self-esteem was at its lowest ebb. The man who, in his professional capacity as news director at the TV station, had coolly informed her that she was being offered a spot at KIND-FM, Channel 9’s sister radio station. Still reporting, he’d hastened to say. He hadn’t needed to add “off camera.” After all, a news reporter with a ruined face would hardly contribute to a TV station’s ratings. Elyssa had taken all of thirty seconds to turn down the move. She’d resigned from her job and hadn’t seen Derek since.
The thought of hearing his voice again brought a sour taste to her mouth. But she had to find out what Randy’s notes meant. And if Derek could help, she’d swallow her pride and call him.
Reaching for the phone, she dialed his home number.
For the first time in seventeen months, Elyssa pulled into the parking lot of the television station that had been the center of her life for three years. Here she’d been part of the frenetic scramble to get the news out. Here she’d pinned her hopes of making a name for herself in her career. And here she’d found camaraderie, friendship and love. Or what had passed for love at the time.
She glanced at the names posted at assigned parking spaces as she crossed the lot. Arthur Nixon. The chief meteorologist still drove his beloved Ford pickup. Susan Dalrimple had her own space now. She’d snagged the six o’clock anchor position that had been destined for Elyssa. And here was Derek’s space. He’d moved up, too. A shiny BMW had taken the place of his Honda Accord. He must have gotten a whopping raise.
Elyssa entered the building and approached the reception desk. Lindsay Cramer, the receptionist, looked up. Surprise widened her brown eyes. “Elyssa!”
“I have an appointment with Derek.”
Lindsay called him on the intercom, relayed the message. “He says to come on back. Great to see you, Elyssa.”
“Thanks.” As Elyssa started down the hall, she glanced back and saw Lindsay punch in another number, saw her lips moving and the excited sparkle in her eyes. Spreading the news, Elyssa thought. Probably thinks I’m here to ask Derek for my old job back. Or maybe Lindsay thought she’d come to get Derek back. Nope, Lindsay, I’m not that dumb. Elyssa missed a lot of things about this place but Derek wasn’t on the list.
She reached his office, knocked and opened the door. Looking wary, he rose to greet her. She hadn’t told him why she was coming. Let him sweat a little longer. She shook his hand, then took her time settling in her chair and arranging her skirt.
“Well,” he said a little too heartily, “it’s been a while.”
“Mmm, yes,” she murmured, though she was tempted to ask if he couldn’t do better than that for an opener. But she didn’t want to antagonize him. Derek was easily provoked.
She studied him dispassionately as he sat behind his desk. He’d gained some weight since she’d last seen him, but he carried it well. Most of it had turned to muscle, she supposed; Derek was fanatic about his daily workout. His blond hair was precisely cut and combed. His jacket—the style just right, not too conservative, not too flashy—fitted perfectly across his broad shoulders. He wore a light-blue shirt with a crisp collar and a red-and-navy tie. Funny, those fashion touches she’d once found attractive now seemed fake. Derek, she decided, was a cubic zirconium trying to pass as a diamond.
“I hear Channel 9’s news at six is number one in its time period,” Elyssa said.
“I’ll take credit for that,” he said, preening a little.
“You deserve it, I’m sure.” Nothing like a compliment to soften Derek up. “Susan Dalrimple is a sharp gal.”
Derek, who had started to relax, stiffened. Probably afraid she’d remind him that the six o’clock anchor spot was once supposed to go to her instead of Susan. She wondered if he thought she was here to threaten him. With a lawsuit perhaps? For discrimination against the facially challenged?
She decided to end his misery. “I came for some information about Randy Barber.”
Relief showed in his eyes. “Ask and it’s yours.”
“You told Jenny that Randy covered a school board dispute over new buses before he died.”
“Right.” Comfortable now, Derek leaned back in his chair and smiled expansively. “It wasn’t a big story. In fact, it never developed into much of anything.”
“What about his next assignment?”
Derek shrugged. “I don’t remember. You know, a year and a half is like a century in the life of a news director.”
Did he think she didn’t know that? That she’d forgotten that news focused on today? “Jenny thinks he was working on something big.”
Derek chuckled. “Yes, she told me that herself. I didn’t want to disabuse Jenny of her illusions, but Randy was a novice. He wasn’t experienced enough for the, quote, big story.”
Didn’t want to “disabuse” her? Pretentious jerk. Derek knew damn well that Randy had been a good newsman, even for a rookie, but he obviously felt he could get away with saying that now. Who, after all, would Elyssa tell? Certainly not Jenny. “Whatever Randy was working on made him nervous. Jenny says he thought he was being followed.”
“Really, Elyssa, Jenny is being paranoid. Or Randy was. School buses are not the stuff of diabolic plots. Besides,” he added slyly, “if anyone would know, you would. You were with Randy when he died.”
Elyssa shut her eyes. “I still can’t remember anything after we got in the car. Maybe I never will.”
Derek leaned across his desk and patted her hand. “I’m sorry. I know how tough this is for you.” His voice softened. “Jenny was thoughtless to put you through this.”
Elyssa fixed the carefully manicured hand covering hers with a hard stare until Derek removed it. The fact that she’d once welcomed his hands on her body made her want to shudder. “Jenny didn’t put me through anything,” she said. “I came on my own.”
“Don’t tell me you’re becoming paranoid, too.”
With an effort Elyssa controlled the urge to walk around the desk and slap the condescending smile off Derek’s face. “I found some notes dated the day before Randy’s death. I thought you might know what they mean.” She took out the paper on which she’d copied Randy’s scribbles and handed it to Derek.
He glanced at it, then gave it back. “Looks like a kid’s secret code,” he said in an amused tone. “Where did you find it—buried in Randy’s backyard?”
Something told Elyssa he wasn’t as amused as he tried to appear. “Does it mean anything to you?”
Derek shook his head.
“Could it be related to a news story?”
“It could be related to something, but I don’t know what. What is all this, sweetheart? Have you taken up a new career? Elyssa Jarmon, girl detective?”
This time her temper did flare. “Don’t patronize me, Derek. And don’t—don’t ever—call me sweetheart.” She rose from her chair. “Thanks for your time.”
Elyssa took a deep breath as she walked into the hall. She shouldn’t have lost her temper, but damn! Derek was such a slime. She glanced over her shoulder. Through the half-open door she could see him staring after her, a troubled expression on his face.
Elyssa spent two fruitless hours in the library, hunting for the meaning of Randy’s note. She left with barely time to hurry home and get into costume for her Tuesday-afternoon clown class.
She clamped down on her anger and shut out thoughts of Derek as she worked with the children. She’d given each of her students a magic trick to learn and perform today for the others.
Trace was last. He looked good today, Elyssa thought, with a hint of color in his usually sallow cheeks. He hung back after the other children left the conference room. “Dr. Cameron says I might get to go home pretty soon.”
“Really! That’s great news.” She hunkered down beside his wheelchair. “I’ll miss you, though.”
“I thought maybe I could get my grandma to bring me by on Tuesdays if…if I could still be in the class.”
Elyssa swallowed. “Of course you can. In fact,” she added, smiling at the youngster, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t come back. You’re good at magic.”
“You think so?” His eyes brightened. “Maybe I could do some shows if I go back to school. One year I played soccer, but…but it’s too late to try out for fall leagues.”
She tried to imagine Trace on a soccer field, with his stick-like legs that barely supported him for walking, and winced. “Magic would be a great hobby for you,” she said. “Next week I’ll bring some information about the Junior Magicians.”
“Cool.” His smile seemed to take up his whole face. He gave her a thumbs-up and guided his chair out the door.
Would he get well? Get another chance to play soccer, go to school with his friends? Would he grow up, have a girlfriend, an after-school job? Elyssa prayed he would. She knew she shouldn’t get emotionally involved with these kids, but Trace had touched her heart.
She made herself a note to look up the information on Junior Magicians, then packed her equipment and headed for Brett’s office. Her heart, dammit, fluttered in her chest.
Jean Torry, the receptionist, looked up when she came in. “Dr. Cameron’s not available.”
“Oh.” She’d told him not to ask her out again, hadn’t she? Apparently, he wasn’t interested in settling for half a loaf. Trying to conceal her disappointment, she backed toward the door.
“He had an emergency up on three,” Jean continued. “He said to tell you he doesn’t know when he’ll be back.”
She shouldn’t have felt relief at the explanation, but she did. “Tell him I’m sorry I missed him.”
Since Brett wasn’t there, she’d go back to the library, she decided. Maybe she’d overlooked something. But she had to get out of her costume. Should she change here? Risk running into Brett? Jean said he’d be upstairs a long time. She headed for the ladies’ room.
Inside the rest room, she discarded her wig and false eyelashes, creamed her face and removed the makeup, then changed into navy slacks and a rose-colored blouse.
She brushed her hair and pulled it into a pony tail, applied lip gloss and stepped back, still thinking about her visit with Derek. She’d always had a good instinct for interviews. Derek hadn’t told her everything. This wasn’t the first time he’d acted that way. It was just like him to hold back, the jerk.
She supposed he could be stonewalling because someone at the station had recently gotten a tip about Randy’s death and was checking it out. That was unlikely, but if it had happened, Derek wouldn’t want to hand over a sensational story to her and ruin Channel 9’s chance for a scoop. Tough! To the station, Randy’s death would be one story out of hundreds; to her it was the most important story of her life.
Bundling her costume into her case, she slammed it shut and stepped back into the hall. She passed the small lounge area and the staff elevator. Its doors slid open and two doctors in green scrubs stepped out.
One of them was Brett.
Her heart dropped to her toes. She couldn’t let him see her.
She quickened her steps. He wouldn’t notice her, she told herself. He hadn’t seen her since the accident without her wig and makeup. Why should he recognize her? Besides, he was deep in conversation with the other doctor. Just keep walking.
“Elyssa.”
If she didn’t stop, he’d think he made a mistake. A few more steps and she’d be around the corner.
“Elyssa, wait.”
His voice was closer now. A hand touched her shoulder.
She stopped, felt every muscle from her neck down freeze. Rooted to the spot, she heard Cassie’s words playing in her mind: You can’t avoid having him see you, not forever.
No, she couldn’t. Dreading what she’d see in his eyes, she turned and faced him.
Chapter 4
Elyssa’s grip tightened on the handle of her cart. When he hurt her—as she knew he would—she wouldn’t let him see it.
Warily she searched his face for revulsion…but saw only pleasure. His expression was as warm and admiring as ever.
He pressed the elevator button and when it opened, beckoned her forward. Dazed, she stepped inside. The door slid shut, and he pressed the Stop button. “Why were you running away?”
“I wasn’t. I—”
“Elyssa.” His voice was quiet, firm.
All right, no use to pretend any longer, no use to deny. She looked past him, focusing on the panel of buttons by the door. “I didn’t want you to see me.”
“Because of this?” he asked softly, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. A gaze that was so tender, Elyssa felt a lump rise in her throat. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Brett shook his head, then slowly, gently, he brushed his finger over her scarred cheek, touching her as if her skin were the finest silk.
Wide-eyed, Elyssa stared at him. His touch was whisper soft, but it meant so much. No one had touched her there since the accident.
He stepped closer. “How could you think the scars would matter?”
“I…”
“They don’t.” His gaze was steady. “Don’t run away from me again,” he murmured. “Please.”
“Okay,” she breathed.
“Good.” He smiled now, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Would you join a starving man for dinner?”
“I would.” A laugh bubbled up. And she felt the first crack in her frozen heart.
He released the elevator. “I’ll wind up things here and come by for you in an hour. Give me your address.”
She scribbled it on the slip of paper he pulled from his pocket and stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor. As she walked down the hall, she found herself smiling at everyone she passed. On the way home she didn’t notice the heat, only the brightness of the sun. The raucous honking of horns on the busy streets sounded cheerful. Even her next-door neighbor’s basset hound, who usually eyed her with suspicion, seemed almost friendly today.
She parked in her garage, hurried inside and called Cassie. Her cousin’s machine picked up. “Cassie here. Leave your number and message and I’ll ring you back.” The accent, which changed weekly, was presently British upper crust—Eliza Doolittle after Professor Higgins transformed her from a guttersnipe to an English lady.