A Woman Without Lies Read online

  Then back to the cold, transparent sky, back to circling and gliding and waiting for that flash of vulnerability far below, the instant when adrenaline raced and the chase began, making Hawk alive again.

  Years ago Hawk had stopped believing that he would ever capture a woman who had no lies. He didn’t even know he was looking for one.

  He only knew the hunt, and the kill.

  Impassively Hawk caught up to Angel as she raced through the kitchen and family room to the enormous, cantilevered cedar deck that flared like bronzed wings over the rocks and sea.

  Derry was stretched out on a chaise lounge. From his left thigh to his big toe there was a swath of bright white plaster, immobilizing his normally active body.

  Angel caught her breath at the paleness of Derry’s skin, the purple smudges beneath his eyes, the full mouth drawn thin and bracketed by pain. Soundlessly she went to her knees beside him, cradling his head against her breasts. When she spoke, her voice was low, crooning, as though he were a sleepless baby.

  “Take the pills, Derry,” she murmured.

  She threaded her fingers through his blond curls, kneading neck and scalp muscles that had knotted against the agony that spread through him in waves with each incautious movement.

  “Pain has nothing new to teach you,” Angel said gently. “Take the pills for a few days. Just until you can move without feeling as though a knife is turning in your ankle.”

  Derry said nothing.

  Angel leaned back, searching Derry’s blue eyes.

  “Promise me?” she asked in a husky voice.

  “Hey,” said Derry, his supple tenor voice at odds with the muscular breadth of his shoulders and chest. “I’m all right, Angie. Really.”

  “The only thing you really are is pale,” retorted Angel.

  Derry smiled and hugged her close.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Or I will be as soon as my back teeth stop floating.”

  Angel smiled despite her worry. “That bad, is it?”

  “Worse.”

  She looked around for Derry’s crutches. She spotted them, grabbed them, and put her arm around Derry, helping him into a sitting position.

  “Come on, ox,” Angel muttered. “Use those muscles for something besides impressing the pretty tourists.”

  Belatedly Hawk understood that Angel was trying to help Derry to his feet. She looked absurdly fragile next to Derry’s bulk.

  Yet before Hawk could object, she began levering Derry to his feet.

  Instantly Hawk moved closer, taking Derry’s weight from Angel’s slim shoulders.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hawk demanded.

  “Helping Derry to the bathroom,” said Angel.

  She was surprised by the harshness of Hawk’s voice, and by his strength. He had literally lifted Derry off the chaise.

  “Thanks,” she added, smiling at Hawk. “Getting up is the hard part. The rest is just awkward.”

  Angel positioned Derry’s crutches for him.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “I was ready hours ago,” Derry said sheepishly. “I just didn’t feel like struggling to get up.”

  “You should have called me sooner.”

  “Oh, hell, Angie. I can take care of myself. And I didn’t want to take you away from the opening.”

  Derry looked at Hawk, then back at Angel.

  “I still don’t think I should have,” Derry said. “I know what your art means to you.” “There will be other shows,” Angel said, firmly tucking the crutches under Derry’s arms. “There’s only one you.”

  Hawk watched Angel with grudging admiration.

  She has it all down, he thought ruefully. All the caring little gestures, the worried glances, the determined smile, the words.

  A flawless performance of love.

  Hawk might have begun to believe it himself, if Angel hadn’t softened and flowed over him like honey at his first touch in a smoky bar. Angel didn’t love Derry or anyone else.

  She could play the role, though.

  And so could Hawk.

  It was a necessary part of the chase, of the hunt. Hawk could appear to be whatever the prey wanted him to be, until it no longer mattered.

  Angel paced alongside Derry as he lurched forward, not touching him despite her need to reassure herself that he was all right.

  Derry moved awkwardly at first, then with more confidence.

  “You haven’t been on these crutches much, have you?” she asked.

  Derry shook his head, not wanting to talk. He knew that the pain that was sweeping up in waves from his ankle would change the quality of his voice, telling Angel just how much his ankle hurt.

  “Where are the pain pills,” Angel said flatly.

  Derry drew a deep breath.

  “You didn’t take them three years ago,” he said.

  “I did at first,” Angel retorted. “Too many and too often. This is different, Derry. You’re different than I was. Try one pill. Please. I’ll stay right by you. If you get groggy and forget which year it is, I’ll be there.”

  Angel looked up at Derry with wide, haunted eyes. He started to protest, then sagged against the crutches, unable to argue with the dark memories in her eyes.

  “How did you know what I was afraid of?” Derry asked.

  “I’ve been there,” Angel said simply.

  She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Derry closed his eyes and smiled.

  “It’s good to have you home again,” he said softly. “The pills are on the kitchen counter.”

  “Do you need any help in the bathroom?” asked Angel as she turned away to get the pills.

  “If I get stuck, I’ll holler for you,” said Derry, grinning crookedly. “Almost like old times, huh?”

  Angel laughed sadly and shook her head.

  “Some homecoming,” she said.

  Smiling, Derry swung his body between the crutches, heading for the downstairs bathroom.

  “Watch the loose tile in the hall,” Angel called after him.

  “I know, I know. I’ve lived here longer than you, remember?”

  Hawk walked closer as Angel went to the kitchen cupboard and got a glass. She filled it with water and turned around.

  Hawk was so close that he startled her.

  “You live with Derry?” Hawk asked, his voice bland.

  “Only in the summers,” said Angel.

  She set aside the glass in order to wrestle with the cap on the pill bottle.

  “The rest of the year I live in Seattle,” she continued. “I come up whenever I can, though. Especially on Christmas.”

  Angel’s hands paused as she remembered the first Christmas without her family. Without Grant. Christmas was the worst time for memories and regret and rage.

  She and Derry spent the Christmas season together, knowing that the other would understand if tears rather than smiles came in response to carols and presents.

  But Angel wouldn’t think about that now. Tears couldn’t bring back the dead.

  Beneath Angel’s white-knuckled grip, the cap popped off the bottle and fell to the floor.

  Hawk retrieved the cap with a smooth, rapid motion. He had seen both the sadness and the . . . courage . . . in Angel’s face. He wondered what thoughts had caused her such deep unhappiness.

  Or is Angel simply pretending to feel sadness and determination? Hawk asked himself. Has she found my Achilles heel where other women have failed?

  Has she somehow sensed that there is nothing on earth I respect except the guts it takes to climb out of the deep holes life drops you into?

  “Thank you,” said Angel, her voice tight as she took the cap from Hawk’s lean fingers.

  “Have you lived with Derry long?” he asked.

  “Three years,” Angel said.

  She shook a pill out into her palm.

  “During summers and holidays,” Hawk said, his tone almost neutral.

  Something in the tone of Hawk’s voice brou
ght up Angel’s head sharply. Drifts of pale, soft hair curled around her breasts in sensual contrast to black silk.

  “Didn’t Derry tell you?” Angel asked. “We were all but raised together.”

  “Yes, he told me. Very convenient.”

  Angel shrugged. “Our families lived next door to each other during the summers, and our fathers were brothers in all but blood.”

  “Yet you live in Seattle most of the time?”

  “I’m a U.S. citizen.”

  “When you marry him, that will change.”

  “Marry who?” asked Angel, startled.

  “Derry,” said Hawk, watching her with cold brown eyes.

  Angel’s response was just what Hawk had expected, a denial of involvement with Derry.

  As Angel moved her head in a reflexive, negative gesture, a subtle fragrance drifted up from her hair to Hawk’s nostrils. They flared, drinking her scent. Desire ripped through him, but Hawk did not show it. A man who showed need to a woman was a fool.

  Hawk hadn’t been a fool since his eighteenth birthday.

  “I’m like a sister to Derry,” said Angel.

  “In all but blood,” Hawk added blandly, repeating Angel’s previous words, not believing her.

  “Exactly,” agreed Angel. “Derry and I are family.”

  She turned away and set the pain pill next to the glass of water on the counter. Uneasily, she turned and glanced up the hallway.

  “He’s all right,” Hawk said. “Besides, how much trouble can he get into in the bathroom?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Angel smiled wryly at the memory of her own clumsiness three years ago, when she had first asserted her independence and hobbled into the bathroom on crutches. In the end, Derry had to come in and untangle her.

  She had always been grateful that it was concern rather than laughter that showed on Derry’s face when he had found her and her crutches wrapped around the toilet and wash-basin. Fortunately nothing had been hurt but her pride, and Derry had salved even that by his matter-of-fact help.

  Hawk saw Angel’s small, private smile and wondered how many times she and Derry had played in the shower or the bathtub. Yes, there are lots of amusing ways to get into trouble in the bathroom, Hawk thought.

  But thinking about it would make his desire obvious, so Hawk turned his thoughts elsewhere with the same discipline that had once made him a top race car driver and now made him a ruthless businessman.

  “Want me to check on Derry?” asked Hawk, his voice casual, his eyes so dark they were almost black.

  Angel hesitated.

  “Would you mind?” she asked softly. “Crutches can be the very devil to use the first few times out.”

  Hawk turned and went down the hall, silently agreeing with Angel about crutches. He’d been forced to use them twice, after each major racing crash. Once it had been only for a few days. The second time, though, it had been nineteen weeks.

  Except for the months following his eighteenth birthday, Hawk couldn’t think of a more unpleasant period in his life than the time he had spent on crutches.

  Hawk met Derry coming up the hall. The younger man looked surprised, then resigned.

  “Did I take that long?” Derry asked.

  “Not for me. Angel was a bit nervous, though.”

  “Angel? Oh, Angie.” Derry looked uncertain, then said quietly, “She doesn’t like being called Angel.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why—”

  “She’ll get used to it,” Hawk said, turning his back on Derry, “just like I got used to Hawk.”

  4

  In silence Hawk and Derry went back to the kitchen where Angel waited. When Derry appeared, relief was clear on Angel’s face. She held out the pill and the glass of water.

  “Bottoms up,” she said.

  Derry grimaced but took the pill.

  “Have you eaten?” asked Angel.

  “Sure. I’m not exactly helpless, you know.” She put her slim fingers against Derry’s cheek. As fair as her skin was, it was darker than Derry’s right now.

  “You’re so pale,” she whispered.

  Derry pressed his cheek lightly against Angel’s hand.

  “I’m fine, Angie. Really.”

  “You’ll do better lying down,” Hawk said in a curt voice.

  It was more an order than a suggestion.

  She’s really got her talons into his young hide, Hawk thought grimly. I came along just in time.

  Hawk followed Derry back to the lounge and waited while the younger man lowered himself down. Other than taking the crutches, Hawk didn’t help in any way. When Angel reached to help, Hawk restrained her.

  “He isn’t an invalid,” Hawk said coolly.

  “But—” Angel began.

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those frustrated mother types,” interrupted Hawk, his voice teasing and his eyes hard as cut crystal. “Fussing and fidgeting around men, trying to reduce them to the status of babies. Or does Derry like being babied?”

  Anger thinned Angel’s mouth, but before she could tell Hawk what she thought of his sharp tongue and lack of feeling, she heard Derry laughing.

  “Mr. Hawkins,” said Derry, struggling to straighten a pillow behind his head, “you don’t know—”

  “Call me Hawk. I’m told the name suits me.”

  As Hawk spoke he moved over and shifted the pillow so that it would be centered beneath Derry’s head. The gesture was so swift that it almost passed unnoticed.

  “It does, you know,” Derry said, sighing. “Suit you, that is. Except I’ve never known a hawk with a sense of humor.”

  Derry smiled and settled back onto the pillow.

  “But you’ll never meet anyone less likely to fuss and fidget than Angie,” Derry added. “She’s the most serene person I know.”

  Hawk lifted one black eyebrow and looked at Angel as though he’d never seen her before.

  “Really?” Hawk asked softly.

  “Really,” Derry said. “She should be the one studying to be a surgeon, not me. Nothing, but nothing, flaps Angie anymore.”

  Angel tried to look serene under Hawk’s skeptical regard. It was hard. She knew that he was remembering her flush of response to him, her temper, and her fear for Derry.

  “I’m afraid I flapped but good when Hawk told me that you’d been hurt,” Angel said. “And then I took it out on Hawk.” She smiled slightly. “So much for serenity and angels.”

  Hawk’s dark gaze lingered over Angel’s lips, the grace of her neck rising out of black silk, and the soft tendrils of hair curling around her breasts.

  Angel felt her breath shorten in a combination of surprise and sensual response to Hawk’s look.

  I wish I’d never sensed the vulnerability beneath this man’s hard surface, Angel thought unhappily. I wish that Hawk were as unfeeling as he seems to be.

  Then I simply could ignore him, letting his hungry glances and touches slide off the serenity I’ve worked so hard to have.

  Yet Angel kept sensing flashes of warmth and gentleness in Hawk, like the simple straightening of the pillow beneath Derry’s head. The contrasts and complexities that made up Hawk both fascinated and unnerved her, keeping her off-balance.

  Serene? Angel thought wryly. Hardly. Not so long as Hawk is in sight.

  Angel stepped around Hawk and smoothed back the curls from Derry’s forehead.

  “Ready to sleep yet?” she asked. Derry shook his head, sighed, and silently asked to be stroked some more.

  “That feels good,” he said.

  Angel smiled and resumed stroking Derry’s hair.

  Derry returned the smile, then looked up at the tall, dark man whose quick intelligence and blunt manner had drawn Derry from their first meeting several weeks ago.

  “You have a point, Hawk,” Derry said. “Some men just love to be babied.”

  “Shall I hire you a nanny?” Hawk asked.

  “Only if she’s young and pretty,” r
etorted Derry.

  “They don’t call them nannies if they’re young and pretty,” Hawk pointed out. “They call them—”

  “Never mind,” interrupted Derry quickly. “I couldn’t do much about it anyway, not until I’m out of these concrete overalls.”

  He shifted uneasily, trying to get comfortable.

  Hawk went to one of the cushioned patio chairs, took a pillow, and came back to the lounge. With a few swift, careful motions, he had the cushion tucked under Derry’s cast, relieving the strain on his back.

  Derry sighed. “Thanks. Damn thing weighs as much as I do.”

  Angel glanced up at Hawk, surprised again by the contrast between his unsympathetic words and his caring actions.

  Hawk looked back at her coolly.

  “Go ahead and pet him,” Hawk said. “It will keep his mind off his ankle.”

  Derry laughed aloud, his blue eyes dark with pleasure.

  “That’s what I like about you,” Derry said. “Everyone else tiptoes around being nice and you don’t. As a doctor-to-be, I believe there’s a place in this world for astringents.”

  “Yes,” Angel agreed curtly. “In bottles. Tightly capped.”

  For an instant Derry looked shocked. Then he gave way to laughter again. Lines of strain melted away from his face, making him look barely eighteen instead of the twenty-one he was. He took Angel’s hand, squeezed it, and put it back on his forehead.

  “Pet me,” Derry said complacently. “You’re good for me. Both of you. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself before you came.”

  Angel’s irritation disappeared at Derry’s words. She resumed stroking his forehead, smoothing away tension. And with every stroke she sensed Hawk’s dark, enigmatic glance on her.

  Closing his eyes, Derry sighed deeply, relaxing beneath her touch.

  “Your hands are like you, Angie,” he murmured. “Kind. Generous. Calm. Will you help me?”

  “Of course,” she said quietly.

  “Are you sure? I know how busy you are.”

  “It’s summer,” Angel said simply. “During the summer all I do is absorb the patterns of color and sunlight.”

  Derry’s eyes opened. Relief showed clearly in their blue depths.