Facets. Part 38

"He wasn't crying. Cutter doesn't cry. He survives. He did it when he was a kid. He did it when you left him for dead. And he'll do it again, if need be, because that's the way he is. He's far stronger, far more of a man, than you'll ever be."

Without thinking, John lunged. He had no idea what he intended. Red fury drove him on. A flash of silver stopped him before he reached her, though. It was a long, wide kitchen knife. A butcher's knife. And it was in her hand, pointed at him.

"Don't you touch me," she warned.

He straightened, but he didn't back off. She wouldn't use the knife. At least he didn't think so. "Relax, Pam."

"And don't tell me what to do."

"You're getting upset."

"As well I should! I saw his back! I saw what you did! It was horrible!"

"So it turned you off? That's good, at least."

"It didn't turn me off. I kissed every one of those scars, but they didn't go away. So I'll kiss every one of them the next time I see him, and each time after that. You're an animal, John."

He would have gone at her again if it hadn't been for the knife. But she was holding it like she meant business. "Put it down."

"No way."

"Put it down, Pam."

"When you leave."

"You don't . . .?need . . .?a knife."

"I'll be the judge of that. Give me the slightest excuse, and I'll scar you like you scarred Cutter." She upped the angle of the knife. "Only I'll go for the face."

He half-believed she'd do it. "Look who's the animal," he said, but he wasn't about to take chances. He didn't want to be cut. Whether she scarred him or not, there would be talk, possibly even a scandal, and he'd come too far to chance that. So he took a step back.

That didn't mean he accepted defeat. "You can't have him, y'know."

"Why not? What would be so terrible? I've been asking myself that for a good long while. Cutter is a 'someone' now. He has money. He has friends. What would be so terrible if he and I were together?"

"He's nothing but a miner."

"He's sophisticated, and he's successful."

"He'll be back at the bottom of the heap someday."

"He will not."

"He's a flash in the pan. He won't last."

"That's what you're praying. You were so jealous that Daddy took to him-"

"I wasn't jealous-"

"But that was years ago. You can't still be harboring a grudge."

"There's no grudge."

"There's pure hatred. It's irrational. Sick. You're a successful man, John. Why is Cutter such a threat to you?"

John had had as much as he could take. When it came to Cutter-maybe even when it came to Pam-his feelings were irrational. He didn't have to make excuses or discuss them with anyone.

"Cutter Reid," he stated with force, "will never be part of this family." He came forward again, angry enough to dare it. "And if you so much as scratch my skin with that knife, you'll regret it."

She sighed. "More threats? They're getting tiresome."

"Then I haven't used the right ones. Try this one on for size. You scratch me with that knife-you carry on with Cutter Reid so the press gets wind of it-so that anyone gets wind of it and it comes back to me-and I'll destroy your mother."

"That's a joke. She's been paralyzed from the waist down, confined in a mental hospital for ten years, and you're going to destroy her? What more could you do?"

"Plenty."

"Like what?"

"Like tell the world why she became catatonic after the accident."

"She was overcome with grief."

"She was overcome with guilt."

"Because she wasn't the one to die. Any woman who loved her husband the way my mother did my father would feel the same."

John shook his head. "There was more to her guilt than that. She was responsible for that accident."

Now he had her attention. "Are you saying that she was the one driving after all?"

"No. She was the one who upset Eugene so much that he drove through that light."

"They never knew whether he drove through the light or skidded."

"Either way, he was driving recklessly, and it was because of what she'd done."

"But she was in the car with him. If she'd done something so awful, he'd have taken off alone."

"She followed him into the car to calm him down."

Pam continued to hold the knife like a spike rising from her chest, but its tip wavered. "They had their fights, but it was never so bad that Daddy would have raced off into an accident."

"It was this time."

"Why? What had she done?"

"She slept with another man."

"You lie! She wouldn't have done that!"

"She did. He found them together."

"You lie."

He stared at her, waiting for her to make the connection. He knew she would. She wasn't dumb.

The tip of the knife came up at the very same time as a look of loathing so intense as to be palatable came to her eyes.

"Get out," she whispered.

Given the excuse, he straightened his shoulders and backed away from the knife. He kept his voice low. "I'll spread the word, Pam, and I'll let it be known that she was the seducer. Then I'll tell her what I've done. Think she can bear up under that kind of shame?"

"Can you?"

"I have a solid image. I also have a PR department that can make me come out smelling like a rose. I'm not fragile. Your mother is."

"Get out."

"I'm going," he said. She was upset. He had made his point. From the kitchen door, he turned and said, "So if you want what little is left of your mother's mental health salvaged, I'd watch it with Cutter. I'll go public, Pam. I'll destroy her and then get permanent control over her stock."

"Over my dead body."

"If it comes to that, fine. I don't have any more use for you than I do for her."

"Get out," she said again, coming slowly toward him this time. "And don't you ever set foot in this apartment again. Your presence soils it."

"I mean every word I say."

"Your word isn't worth a thing. I know better than to trust it."

"Stay away from Cutter, or I'll destroy Patricia."

"Destroy Patricia, and I'll marry Cutter so quick you won't know what hit you. Then we'll both fight you."

"Fat chance you'll have of winning."

"Try us."

"There won't be any need for that as long as we have an agreement."

"Get out."

He opened the door, then turned back to her and winked. "See you at work, hon." When she slammed the door in his face, he grinned.

Chapter 22.

New York, late June 1990 JOHN WASN'T GRINNING WHEN Hillary opened the door. Still she felt the same rise of excitement she always felt, a conditioned reflex deep inside, whenever she laid eyes on him. Three months had pa.s.sed since his engagement announcement. She should still be angry. She was still angry. But the excitement was there, even when he strode in without a word of greeting and turned to glare at her.

"What in the h.e.l.l are you up to?" He was wearing a dark summer suit and would have looked perfectly civilized had it not been for his eyes, which were dark and feral.

"Me?" Her heart was beating fast. That, too, always happened when he was close.

"You've been in Timiny Cove."

She struggled to think straight. He wanted an explanation. "I come from Timiny Cove. My dad still lives there. I go up to visit him sometimes. You know that."

"You've been visiting other people. You've been asking questions about me. What's up, Hillary?"

She didn't have to ask who had told on her. Half of the townsfolk were beneficiaries of John's charity. Over the years he had helped this one with housing, that one with medical bills, the other one with education expenses. The repayment came in the form of loyalty-in this case, intelligence.

Given that he'd probably been in touch with more than one source, she saw no point in denying what he'd heard. "I've been thinking of doing a piece on you. My questions were by way of preliminary research."

"Make them final. Dump the project."

She felt a spark of annoyance. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Any special reason?"

"I don't want you writing about me."

"Why not? You're important. There have been articles written in the past. There'll be more in the future. Why shouldn't mine be one of them?"

"Because I say no."

She stared at him. Not even the pleasure of seeing him again blunted her frustration. She couldn't believe that he had the gall to barge in and demand that she act simply on his wishes, particularly after the last few months.

"Don't do it, Hillary. You know things no one else knows. I won't be betrayed that way."

"You won't be betrayed?" she burst out. "What about me? After I've been here for you all these years, you turn around and make plans to marry someone else!"

"I never promised you a thing. I thought you understood that."

"Oh, I understood it. But I'm not made of steel. What you're doing hurts."

He said nothing for a minute. Then his eyes fell to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She felt their touch, saw the spark in their depths, and felt some satisfaction in knowing that she still turned him on.

He came toward her. "Is it revenge, then?" he asked in a soft voice.

She couldn't help but be caught up by his grace, the smooth way he walked, his s.e.xy darkness. At fifty, he was as tall and good-looking as he'd been at thirty. She knew she ought to turn and run, particularly given all she'd learned about him in the past weeks, but her heart was the only thing that moved. It beat faster than ever.