French Silk(82)

Slowly, so as not to reveal her relief, she exhaled a pent-up breath. "I could have told you they wouldn't, but you wouldn't have believed me."

"Wait."

"Ah, there's more," she said. "The bad news."

His eyes seemed to pierce straight through her skull. "The fiber samples from your car's carpet match some that were vacuumed out of Jackson Wilde's hotel room. The tests were conclusive. You've been lying to me, Claire. Damn you, you were there!"

* * *

Josh tapped on the bathroom door. "Ariel, are you all right?" The sound of her retching had summoned him from his adjoining hotel room in Tulsa. "Ariel," he called, knocking sharply. "Open the door."

He heard the commode flush. Seconds later Ariel unlocked the door and pulled it open. "God knows I've got precious little privacy, Josh. I would appreciate some while I'm in my own bathroom."

Even though he'd watched her deteriorate over the last several weeks, he was shocked by her appearance. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles that he was afraid weren't makeup. Her cheeks were sunken, making her face look cadaverous. When she turned her back on him, he noticed her shoulder blades poking out the fabric of her dress.

"You're making yourself sick." He followed her to her closet, where she began rifling through the clothes, obviously trying to decide what to wear for the two local television news shows and the newspaper interview that were scheduled for later that day.

"I'm fine except for a headache, which your lecturing is only making worse."

"Eating a well-rounded meal would help your headache."

"I ate like a pig last night."

"And then came in and threw it up."

She shot him an angry glance as she removed a dress from the closet and tossed it onto the bed.

"Ariel, eat something," he pleaded. "You need the nourishment. You've got a hectic day planned."

"Stop nagging me."

"You need to eat."

"I ate!"

She flung her hand toward the room-service tray. He inspected it. The salad lunch was intact except for the coffee. "Coffee isn't a meal."

"I'd like to change now," she said impatiently. "As you said, this afternoon's schedule is hectic."

"Cancel it."

She gaped at him as though he'd sprouted horns. "What?"

"Call off the schedule and spend the remainder of the day in bed."

"Are you crazy? I can't do that."

"You mean you won't."

"All right, I won't. I want that auditorium filled to capacity tonight. I want people outside clamoring to get in so they can pray with us."

Josh swore under his breath. "Ariel, this is insane. We've been on the road for ten days. Interviews during the day, followed by prayer meetings that last for hours. Traveling all night to the next city so it can start again the following day. You're running yourself ragged."

"This trip is getting results."

"It's physically exhausting us."

"If you can't stand the heat—"

"This has nothing to do with that mess in New Orleans, does it? You're not staging these silly prayer meeting to spur the police into action. You're conducting them for your self-image. This isn't a holy mission we're on. This is an ego trip. Your ego trip, Ariel."

"So what if it is?" she shouted. "Aren't you reaping the benefits too? I don't see you complaining whenever the TV cameras focus on you playing the piano. Would your piddling talent get that kind of media exposure if it weren't for me and my ingenuity? Huh? Answer me."

"I've got more than 'piddling talent'."

She snorted unflatteringly. "Is that so? That wasn't Jackson's opinion. I felt sorry for you whenever he'd start in on his no-talent son. Now I'm beginning to believe he was right."

"What do you mean?"

She turned away. "We'll be late."

"What do you mean?" he shouted.

Her face turned ugly with malice. "Only that your daddy was embarrassed to have you on the stage with us. I couldn't count the times he told me that the only reason he kept you up there was because you're his only son. What else could he do, fire you and hire someone with more flash and charisma like he wanted to do? He always told me that you were virtually worthless to him. You didn't have a head for business, you weren't a riveting speaker, and you had no leadership qualities. He was glad you'd taught yourself how to play a few songs on the piano so you wouldn't have to sack groceries at the Piggly Wiggly for a living."

Before he realized what he was doing, his hands were closing around her skinny throat. "You lying bitch. You're a goddamn liar." He shook her hard while pressing his thumbs against her larynx.

Ariel reached up and clawed at his hands, but his long, strong fingers didn't relax. "Daddy knew I had talent and it scared him. He thought that if I pursued my dreams, I might become greater, more famous, than he was."

"Let—me—go," she choked.

Suddenly Josh's vision cleared and he saw his stepmother's eyes bulging from their darkly ringed sockets. He released her so abruptly that she reeled against the dresser before catching her balance. Coughing and gasping, she stared at him contemptuously. "You're insane."