Moment Of Truth

Joan’s hand slowly dropped from her throat. The vulnerability disappeared from her eyes, and her face took on a closed, blank look. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering, is all. When I met with Spence last night he mentioned that you’re a widow. That you have a child and you live here.”

Her eyes were now as cool as her tone. “Why were you and the district attorney talking about me?”

“No real reason.” He lifted a shoulder. “Your name came up in the conversation.”

“What about you, Hart?”

“What about me?” he asked, aware that she had changed the subject before answering his question.

“Is there a Mrs. O’Brien waiting in Chicago for you to come home? Some little O’Briens?”

“No. Getting married and having kids is still on my to-do list.”

“I see.”

His gaze flicked to the small brass name tag above her left breast. He replayed Spence’s explanation of why she still used her maiden name. Which, now that Hart thought about it, was odd since old man Cooper had endowed a wing at the hospital in his dead son-in-law’s name. Wouldn’t she want to be linked to something like that?

“Does your daughter go by Cooper, too?” he asked, just as an elevator chimed its arrival.

Something flickered in Joan’s face, then was gone. “Yes.” Very deliberately she turned and reached for one side of the double doors that slid apart, braced it open with her palm, then turned to face him. “I take it by the way you’re dressed you’re going jogging?” A thin smile accompanied the question.

“You’ve got a good grasp of the obvious.”

She inclined her head in the opposite direction from the one they’d come. “If you take the flight of stairs at the end of the hallway to the ground level, the door you’ll come to leads right out to the jogging trail.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Her blatant desire not to share an elevator with him had him taking a perverse step past her into the cab. “I’ll ride down with you, if you don’t mind,” he said, trying to ignore the punch in the gut that came with a whiff of the warm, subtle scent of Chanel No. 5. He leaned against the wall opposite her, wishing to God she didn’t look so beautiful, that just her presence didn’t play so perfectly on his senses.

She hesitated before using a pink polished nail to press the button for the ground floor. “Of course I don’t mind. You’re a guest here, Hart. You can use whatever elevator you like.”

“I’m also a cop, Texas.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Using a polite tone doesn’t make it any easier to get a lie past me.”

She turned to face him. “I wouldn’t think for one minute that lying to a police officer would be easy.”

“It’s not. And it generally doesn’t get you anywhere but into trouble, so you can drop the polite act.” His mouth took on a sardonic curve as the door slid shut, closing them in. “The truth is, you mind like hell sharing this elevator with me.”

He saw a muscle tighten in her jaw. “All right, Hart, since you won’t let the matter alone, I’ll forget my customer service training for a moment. You’re right, I would rather not share this, or any other elevator with you. Does that make you happy?”

Her cool, even stare had the nasty mood he’d climbed out of bed with heat his temper all over again. “Yeah, it always makes me really happy when someone tells me the truth.”

Turning toward the control panel, she restabbed the button for the ground floor. “In fact, since we’re being honest with each other, why don’t we take this a step further? Let’s agree that we simply prefer to avoid each other.” Looking back at him, she raised her chin. “Perhaps your stay at the Lone Star will be more pleasant for both of us if we have as little contact as possible.”

With a faint hydraulic hum, the elevator reached the ground floor. The small chandelier that hung overhead tinkled with the movement.

Hart set his teeth. They had avoided each other for a decade, yet she still had the power to make him lose sleep. Make his blood stir while she stood only inches from him, looking as distant as the stars. She wanted space, he would give it to her. And while he was at it, he would somehow, some way sever those last connecting threads to her that had haunted him for so long.

Stepping toward the door, he halted inches from her, but didn’t touch her.

“Now that you mention it, Texas, our having no contact sounds damn good to me.”

Running into Hart that morning had, among other things, cut into Joan’s schedule, causing her to reach the spa only moments before the wife of a Texas state senator arrived. After introducing the client to Britta, the six-foot, blond Swedish therapist, Joan held a meeting with several senior staff members, took calls from two European wholesalers who supplied the exclusive beauty products the spa carried, then welcomed a second new client who had flown in that morning on her private Lear jet for a week-long herbal detoxifying program. Joan had sandwiched in a goodbye kiss for Helena who had dashed into the spa before leaving to catch her ride to school.

Now, three hours into her workday, Joan paused in Body Perfect’s opulent reception area, telling herself it was time to turn her attention to the paperwork in her office. A dozen pieces of correspondence sat on her desk awaiting her attention, as did several phone messages.

Still, she hesitated. She knew if she closed herself in her office that her mind would roam to Hart.

“Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Cooper?”

Joan turned toward the receptionist’s sleek console, with its top-grade computer and phone system. Sonji Dunaway, blond and buxom, gave Joan an expectant look while soft, soothing music played around them, harmonizing with a small splashing fountain.

Joan shifted her gaze to the small gold clock on the console beside a crystal vase of yellow roses, their light scent perfuming the air. “I was wondering if Mrs. Zink had arrived yet for her shiatsu massage.”

Sonji nodded. “She got here about ten minutes ago. I settled her into the therapy room with a cup of ginger-honey tea, then let Mariko know her client was waiting.”

“Good. Let me know when Mrs. Zink’s session is over. I have the information about the exercise regimen she asked me to put together.”

The receptionist sent Joan the bright smile that had endeared her to the staff and clients. “Will do, Ms. Cooper. Anything else?”

“No.” Joan gave the capable young woman an appreciative smile. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office dealing with paperwork before my meeting with Miss Delarue.”

Joan’s heels sank into the thick carpet as she headed down the central corridor with spacious offices and therapy rooms opening to either side. Her own office was roomy and elegant, decorated in the same soothing pale-pink and cream tones as the reception area. Sonji had left a thermal carafe of tea on the mahogany desk that sat in the center of an Oriental rug. To one side of the carafe was a stack of the spa’s signature-pink file folders. Documents awaiting Joan’s attention were set squarely in front of her chair, arranged in order of priority.

Joan had just pulled off the jacket of her turquoise suit and settled behind her desk when the intercom line rang. “Yes, Sonji?”

“Miss Delarue is here.”

Joan let out a breath. She and Maddie Delarue had scheduled the meeting to discuss the upcoming Pasta by the Pool dance. Yet, the Lone Star’s event coordinator was also Joan’s best friend and she knew the conversation she had put off having with Maddie would wind up squarely on Hart. “Send her in.”

“Tell me there’s more than one man in the world named Hart O’Brien,” Maddie stated when she swept through the office door. “Tell me that the Chicago bomb tech who arrived here yesterday isn’t the Hart O’Brien.”

Joan pursed her mouth. She had hoped they could get their business out of the way first. “I take it you don’t want to start out talking about Pasta by the Pool?”

“Hardly.”

Joan leaned back in her chair. “I didn’t think you would have heard yet about Hart being here.”

“So, it is him? Him?”

“Yes, it’s him.”

“I was afraid of that.” A few years Joan’s senior—red-haired where Joan was dark; petite where Joan was willowy—Maddie dropped into one of the visitor chairs in front of Joan’s desk. Dressed in a silk designer trouser suit in soft olive gray that complemented her voluptuous figure, Maddie looked her usual blue-blooded gorgeous. “I had breakfast this morning with Bonnie to get the ball rolling on the mystery night gala that the club’s sponsoring at the end of the summer. When she mentioned the bomb tech’s name I just about choked on my omelette. Why didn’t you call and tell me that the Hart O’Brien had shown up?”

“I planned to.” Maddie’s and Joan’s families had been lifelong members of the Lone Star and a close friendship had developed between the girls early on. Now with Joan’s mother dead and her father’s memory destroyed by Alzheimer’s, Maddie was the only other person who knew that Hart was Helena’s father.

“Maddie, I had no idea Hart was the bomb tech Bonnie told us about in the staff meeting until I ran into him in the lobby yesterday afternoon. When I saw him I felt like I’d fallen into a black hole. Maybe I thought if I didn’t call and tell you about seeing him that I would wake up this morning and discover it had all been a bad dream.”

“I guess that didn’t happen.”