The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)(60)

Chapter Nineteen




The trip to Blue Mountain Lake took longer than Alex had expected because the Norwich brothers had been psyched at the prospect of a partnership, and their excitement had been contagious. It was very possible that the three of them could work something out, and Alex was pumped from all the ideas spinning in his head. As the Honda sped south on the Northway, heading back toward Saranac Lake, he found it hard to remember why he couldn’t be a sailor and a builder.

Then he shifted his leg under the glove compartment and was even more convinced he could do both. As the pain he now took to be normal sat up and knocked on his nerve endings, the sting made him think about the future.

He couldn’t keep going in the sailing racket forever. A professional captain had a longer career horizon than other athletes, sure, but it was still a hard, rough life and his leg was going to be a permanent liability. No matter how much he rehabbed the damn thing, it was always going to be weak, and if he ever injured it again, he could lose the limb below the knee. All it would take was snapping that titanium rod out of place and he was done for.

Spike glanced at him. “You want to stop for eats somewhere on the way home?”

“Actually, I want to go directly to Gray’s.”

The grin that came back at him was all-knowing. “Am I going to get another one of those midnight calls again?”

Alex winced. “Yeah, about that, I hated dragging you out of bed.”

“Come on, Lex, I’m just busting on you for fun. It’s no biggie. I just don’t want to hear about my intimate apparel, you feel me?”

“They had light sabers on them, buddy.”

“So?”

“And R2D2.”

“Yeah, and you can kiss my Wookie, dig?”

Alex threw back his head and laughed.

Twenty minutes later they pulled up to Gray’s. The Range Rover wasn’t there, but a white Chevy Suburban was parked in front.

Alex frowned. “Hold up, Spike, will you?”

He went to the front door and drove the brass knocker home a couple of times. Libby answered. The words they exchanged were polite, friendly.

And killed him. Just laid him out flat until he thought he was bleeding.

He went back and got into the car, hoping he’d numb out soon, praying that shock would set in.

“Take me home, man,” he said roughly.

“What’s doing?”

“She’s gone. Back to New York. She’s left the project. Take me home.”

*

Cass opened the door to the Manhattan penthouse and breathed deeply. The place smelled as it always did: lemon wax and old wood. As she put her bag down, and heard the sound echo into the high ceiling of the marble foyer, she decided she was definitely going to sell the place. It was too big for her to live in alone and it had always been Reese’s somehow, even though they’d bought it and furnished it together.

Cass shut the door and felt the darkness around her as a tangible thing, like heavy cloth or a thick fog. Drawn by the ambient light ahead of her, she walked through the grand living room, passing by the phenomenal stretch of windows with their sweeping view of Central Park. As she wandered aimlessly, the antiques and the furniture were nothing more than shadows, the extravagant draperies like ghosts, the sound of her footfalls and sighing a muffled fugue.

Absurdly frightened, she turned on all the lights, and not just there, but in every one of the fifteen rooms. Even though she had spent all her nights alone in the place since Reese had died, now she felt unsettled and isolated. Very much alone.

Eventually, she calmed down and had a bite to eat out of the freezer. Before she retired to bed, she went around and turned off the lights. When she got to the library, she stared at the portrait of Reese that hung over the marble fireplace. The painting was a very good one, executed by a master, and the eyes followed you.

Which struck her as appropriate. Because she suddenly had a lot to say and wanted his full attention.

“I love him,” she told the portrait. “And, yes, it’s more than what I felt for you.”

Reese with his competitive nature would have wanted to know that, even if it had hurt him.

“I’ve finally figured out that I’m angry at you and frustrated with myself. And I’ve felt this way for a while.”

In the silence, she stared at his familiar face, studying the cheeks and the eyes and the forehead and the silver hair.

Then she looked at his left earlobe. Seeing the little gold hoop he’d worn triggered a memory of something that had happened in the beginning of their marriage.

Reese had decided on his fiftieth birthday to get his ear pierced. He’d wanted to get a tattoo, probably because Alex had one, but he’d been smart enough to admit that getting some ink was probably a little too hard-core for him.

The two of them had gone to a suburban mall, to a Claire’s boutique. He’d sat down on the stool, acting all macho and flirting with the woman who was going to do the deed. It was all kicks and giggles until she got out the piercing gun. One look at that thing and Reese broke out in a cold sweat. The excuses had started rolling, and before Cass had known what was happening, they were back out in the mall.

As they’d returned to Manhattan, he was unusually quiet in the car, and when they got home, he’d gone into his study. He’d come to bed very late and had woken her up, distraught. He’d wanted to try the piercing again. First thing in the morning.