Reckless Encounter Read online

  The nurse gave a defeated sigh, realizing she’d already revealed more than she was supposed to. “He is doing fine.” She lowered her voice. “He isn’t in danger. He’s in severe pain but the operation went well. He is in recovery now.” The nurse shook her arm free from Elena’s grasp and hurried down the corridor, the muted tap of footsteps marking her trail.

  Weak with relief, Elena collapsed back on the vinyl bench. She sat still, her arms huddled around her, and waited. Hours later, she spotted a familiar lean figure with sandy hair at the entrance to the waiting room.

  “Joe!” Elena sprang up to her feet.

  “Elena? What are you doing here?” Grooves of exhaustion lined Joe’s narrow face.

  “I want to see him.” She rushed over to him, came to an abrupt halt in front of him and gave him a pleading look. “Please. I have to know he’s going to be all right.”

  Joe refused to meet her eyes. “Max has made it clear that he doesn’t want to…” Joe hesitated, then continued bluntly. “He’s refusing see you, Elena. I can’t go against his wishes. Not in his condition. I can’t risk jeopardizing his recovery by unsettling him.”

  Elena inhaled a deep breath to steady herself. “Is Vanessa with him?”

  “Vanessa?” Joe’s brows snapped together. “Why do you think she’d be here?”

  “Max is hurt. Of course she would rush out to be with him.”

  Joe gave a baffled shake of his head. “It’s not like that between them. Their friendship goes way back, but they aren’t that close any more. I’ve only seen Vanessa with Max once in the last year.” Joe hesitated. “Actually, I thought it would be you for the boss. I’ve never seen him so rattled before. First he was like a grizzly bear shot in the backside, and then, after your trip to San Francisco, he was almost glowing with good humor.”

  Hope soared in Elena. If only she could see Max and convince him that she would never betray him. “He is wrong about me, Joe,” she said with emphasis. “I didn’t leak those stories to the press. And what’s more, I can prove it.”

  Joe’s shoulders shifted in an uncertain shrug. “Sometimes the truth comes out too late. The damage is already done, and the scars will never heal.”

  “Please.” Elena reached out to curl her fingers around the lapels of Joe’s coat. The leather felt cold and smooth to her skin, its lifeless texture making her shudder. “Ask Max to talk to Tony Harris,” she said in a voice that quivered with strain. “If he talks to Tony and still refuses to see me, I’ll accept his decision, but at least he’ll know that I didn’t try to ruin him.”

  Joe covered her hands with his and gently pried her fingers loose from his coat. “I’ll try, but if Max won’t listen, there’s nothing I can do. He possesses a will of iron. He won’t bend just because you beg him to.”

  “I know.” Elena took a step back, her arms hanging down her sides. “But I have to try. What else can I do?”

  Hesitation flickered in Joe’s eyes. “I don’t know if I should tell you this…” He shifted awkwardly on his feet, took a deep breath. “The boss bought a ring after you’d been to San Francisco for the second time. An engagement ring.”

  Elena gasped in surprise. “You mean…for me?”

  Joe nodded. “He asked me to go along to help him choose. He thought that as we’d been looking at the store layouts together, I might have some idea of your taste. We picked a square-cut diamond in a plain yellow gold setting. I’ve noticed that you don’t like ornate designs.”

  The pounding of her heart echoed in her ears. “What happened to the ring?” she asked, as if the fate of that material token of commitment could somehow provide the answers people were refusing to give her.

  Joe looked away. “Max handed it to me, told me to give it to my wife for Christmas. I’ve arranged to return it to the store and get him a refund.” Joe adjusted the collar on his coat and turned to go. “I’ll tell Max that you’re here, but I can’t promise anything more.” With a brief nod of farewell, he whirled around and disappeared out of sight.

  ****

  The clock on the wall ticked the hours away while Elena dozed on the hard vinyl bench of the hospital waiting room. One of the nurses took pity on her and brought her a hot meal on a plastic tray. She wondered if Joe had ordered the food for her, or if the nurses were concerned that she’d collapse and create extra work for them. She didn’t ask.

  She ate mechanically, grateful that it was pasta which took little effort to chew, for anxiety had drained her energy, leaving her listless. After she’d finished eating, Elena propped the tray on the floor and curled down on the bench to sleep.

  She woke to find Joe shaking her shoulder. He crouched down in front of her, his face level with hers. “Max will see you now.” His voice carried a tight edge, and new lines of worry etched his features. “You may be shocked by what he has to tell you. Don’t judge him too harshly. He thought that his actions were justified.”

  Elena came awake slowly. “He didn’t give me a chance to explain,” she said as she struggled to sit up. “He believed that I was capable of deceit, and that I was willing to betray him.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.” Joe’s shoulders stiffened under the leather coat. “Go inside,” he said. “Max is in a lot of pain, but he wanted to be clear-headed when he talks to you, so he’s cut off the sedative. Don’t keep him waiting.” Joe straightened on his feet. “You’ll certainly have a chance now to prove that you truly meant it, when you blurted out that you love him.” Joe whirled on his heels and stalked away, as if he could no longer tolerate the hospital surroundings.

  Elena rubbed her face with both hands. She’d worn the same clothes for two days and nights. Her hair hung in a tangle. A sour taste filled her mouth. She hadn’t thought to pack any clothes or toiletries when she rushed out to the hospital, and she hadn’t wanted to go down to the gift shop, in case Max asked for her.

  She stood up, unsteady on her feet after being cooped up on the bench, and crossed the room to the water cooler, where she drank three cupfuls, rinsing her mouth before swallowing. Around her, people slumped on the vinyl seating—a forlorn looking old man, a fair-haired woman with red-rimmed eyes, and a young couple huddled together. Beyond the waiting area, nurses never stopped rushing up and down the corridor.

  Elena made her way to room seventeen and entered without knocking. Her heart lurched as she saw Max stretched out on the bed, a plastic tube taped into his arm. The lower half of his body was suspended inside a metal frame.

  “It’s all right.” Max turned to look at her. “The drip is for the painkiller. I’ve got a button I can press to adjust the dose.”

  “Joe said you haven’t been taking any.”

  “I’ll take some in a minute.”

  Such mundane words, when what she really wanted was to blurt out the feelings that soared inside her. She edged closer to the bed. Max looked deathly pale, the dark eyes like pieces of flint against the whiteness of his skin. Deep lines furrowed his face, but his expression spoke of defeat more than of pain.

  “How are you doing?” Elena asked. She controlled the urge to bury her face against his chest and wrap her arms around him. Instead, she kept her expression calm as she perched on the flimsy plastic chair beside the hospital bed.

  “I’ll walk again, but going through security at airports is going to be a nightmare with all the metal they used to piece my bones together.”

  It sounded awful. The pain must be unbearable. She wanted to know more about it, wanted to understand every cut and bruise and fracture, but it would have to wait. Right now, it would be better for Max not to dwell on his condition. She reached out to take his hand. Relief and joy swept over her when Max didn’t brush her away, but curled his fingers around hers.

  “I owe you an apology,” he told her gruffly.

  Elena studied his expression. “Did you speak to Tony Harris?”

  Max nodded, his head moving over the pillow. “But that’s not the point. I should have lis
tened to you, had faith in you. If you truly love someone, you ought to believe in them, even when the evidence points to the contrary. Trust should accompany love.”

  A new tension knotted inside Elena. Her pulse thudded at the veiled declaration of love. She hesitated, wondering if she would regret forcing the question into the open in such a blunt manner, but she plunged on regardless.

  “Do you mean that you don’t love me?”

  “No.” Max’s fingers tightened around hers in a crushing grip. “I ought to have believed in you, but I was blinded by my own guilt. I stormed into your house and accused you of leaking confidential information because I had something to hide, and that made me paranoid, eager to find fault in others.”

  “You had something to hide?” Elena frowned at him. A second later her eyes widened as the only meaning she could attach to the words penetrated her mind.

  “Oh my God.” She sucked in a sharp breath, then slowly expelled the air from her lungs. She recalled how doubts had crept through her mind earlier, when she had wondered about the coincidence of Max asking her what would happen if a fire damaged a store, and then, a short time later, the store with a problem lease had burned down in an arson attack.

  She’d buried her suspicions then. But now she knew.

  “Oh Max!” She shook her head in stunned defeat, and then a fighting spirit soared inside her. She released his hand, got to her feet and set to pace the room. “I don’t care,” she told him firmly. “I’m not a litigation lawyer, but I’ll learn. If McKenzie and Harris won’t defend you, I’ll find someone else who will. If you go to prison, I’ll rent a place nearby, so I can visit.” She strode back to his bedside. “I’m not going to shrink away from you, whatever you have done. You said that trust goes with love. So does loyalty, and forgiveness. I love you, and I forgive you.”

  Elena watched expressions chase each other on Max’s face. First confusion, then a harsh flash of anger, and finally amusement that eased the tired lines around his mouth. “So, you’d come and visit me in prison, huh?” he said.

  Elena sank back down to the rickety chair. “This is not a laughing matter, Max. A security guard was injured, although I’m sure it wasn’t your intention.” She reached for his hand again and began to twine his fingers between hers, like objects she was worrying with to soothe her nerves.

  “Elena,” Max said gently. “I’m touched by your willingness to stand by me, but I didn’t torch the place.”

  “What do you mean?” She stared down at him. “Joe said you had something to confess, and you’ve just told me that you were driven by your own guilt when you blamed me for leaking the arson suspicions to the press.”

  Max exhaled a heavy sigh and pressed his head deeper into the pillows. “Anonymous letters had arrived at the store, addressed to me, marked private and confidential. The store manager forwarded them to me. Someone was threatening to blow up the place. I didn’t show the letters to anyone. I doubled up the security, hoping it was just empty threats. I didn’t go to the police. I knew that if the news leaked, customers would desert FoodMax in droves, and the business would fold. I employed a private security company to track down any former employees who might hold a grudge against me. I wasn’t going to involve the authorities until I knew who was sending the letters.”

  He turned to Elena, regret burning in his eyes. “It was the wrong call. I put financial considerations first, and as a result one of my employees almost lost his life. I’ll have to learn to live with the fact that I failed in my duty of care toward the people who work for me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Elena murmured. “I thought…” She drew another deep breath, thoughts whirling around her head, facts rearranging themselves and settling into a different pattern. Slowly, she went on, “…the way you asked me to check out the store leases and the insurance policies.”

  “I wanted to know what would happen if someone made good on the threats.” Max stared at the wall in a strained silence for a moment. Then he spoke in a low voice. “It’s possible that the insurance company may refuse to pay, since I suppressed the threatening letters. I’m facing financial ruin.”

  Elena bit her lip. She yearned to ease his mood, to draw his thoughts away from the worry. “I guess we are even now,” she said, striving for a light-hearted tone. “You thought I’d leaked your secrets to Ken Eastman at the Echo, and I thought you were an arsonist.”

  “We are not even,” Max said with emphasis. “Suspecting someone of arson is a heck of a lot worse than thinking they’ve been shooting off their mouth to the wrong people.”

  “I apologize for thinking that you are a criminal.”

  Max turned to her. A grim smile hovered around his lips. “Not good enough. You’ll need to make amends.”

  “And how do I do that?” Elena asked, frowning at his curt tone.

  “I need a housekeeper. You’ll have to do the job without pay for the next fifty years.”

  Elena felt as if she’d stepped from gloomy shadows into the bright sunlight, but she suppressed the burst of emotion. “That sounds a little unreasonable,” she said carefully.

  Max grunted and said, “Perfectly reasonable. I’ve got a reasonable nature.”

  Laughter welled up inside her, but Elena kept her expression solemn. “Of course,” she said. “You are very understanding and always amenable to compromise.”

  “There’s another thing.” Max said, looking like a thundercloud, but humor lurked behind his stern eyes. “I’ll want to make love to you every night, but as I’m about to go bust, I can’t afford you. What would you suggest?”

  “Well.” Elena drawled out the word. “I could drop my rates, of course.” She paused with a pondering look on her face. “Or, we could get married. Marriage is like buying instead of renting. I’ll belong to you, and you’ll no longer have to pay, except perhaps contributing toward the maintenance costs.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” Her voice vibrated with laughter. “When a couple says with my body, I thee worship it becomes obligatory to do your duty in the bedroom.” She hesitated a second, then added, “And it works both ways. Applies to you, too, and I have high expectations.”

  Max broke into a grin, but a moment later his serious expression returned. “I know that I can’t offer you much. My business may take a long time to recover, and I have two crushed legs. I may walk with a limp for the rest of my life.”

  “But do you love me?” Elena asked him softly.

  Max turned his head on the pillow and scrutinized her face. “Yes,” he said after a long moment. “I love you.”

  “In that case, you can give me everything I need.” Elena rose to her feet and gingerly leaned down to hug him. When Max wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, the injustices of the past year faded away. They had been nothing but a step along her path to him.

  Epilogue

  Elena clutched her hands around the flat parcel covered in bubble-wrap beneath the gold and crimson paper. She wondered for the thousandth time if she was doing the right thing. On the dining table, candlelight flickered over the crystal goblets and fine china. She breathed in the spicy aroma that drifted out from the kitchen. Another fifteen minutes, and then it would be time to turn off the oven and pour the wine.

  She heard the front door slam and the thud of footsteps through the hall.

  “Happy Birthday, Max,” she said when he appeared in the doorway. The suit hung on his angular frame. He hadn’t yet built up the muscle he’d lost during the weeks of recuperation while his broken legs were healing.

  Three months had passed since the fire at the store. Bill Clinton had been voted in for a second term. Thanksgiving and Christmas had flown by. There never seemed to be enough time as Elena divided her attention between her new job at a San Francisco law firm, helping Max with his business, and bullying him through the painful rounds of physical therapy.

  Max glanced at the table, then at her. “How did you know?”

  “I dealt
with the hospital bills. Your date of birth is on your medical insurance.”

  A shadow passed over Max’s face. “I haven’t celebrated my birthday since I was eight years old.”

  “High time you started again, then.” Elena forced cheerful tone into her voice as a fresh wave of doubt over what she had done eroded her courage. “I have a present for you.” The diamond ring on her finger caught the light as she held the gold and crimson package up for him. “Two of them, in fact.”

  “A painting?” Max lowered his briefcase to the floor and took the parcel from her, but made no effort to remove the wrapping.

  “A painting—and a name.” Elena hesitated, her voice low. “Your name is Maximilian Dushkov. You died of smallpox in August 1957. You were buried at sea.” She stared at Max through the haze of tears that glinted in her eyes.

  He stood in front of her, his body rigid, his hands clasping the oblong package. “How do you know?”

  “You told me that you were two and a half years old when you were found at the orphanage. I knew your birthday. That narrowed down the timeframe. I got a Russian law firm to make enquiries. It was easy. There were three Soviet vessels docked in San Francisco around that time. The Soviet Union was building up a commercial fleet and vastly undercutting shipping rates offered by western companies, so there was a fair amount of Soviet traffic in and out of San Francisco. It was all in the log of a vessel called Alexander Pushkin. You mother was the medical officer. You fell ill. She identified smallpox and isolated you from the crew. When you died, no one was allowed to see your body. Although smallpox was virtually eradicated in the west, it was a threat in India, and your mother put forward a theory that one of the other sailors, who’d had the disease as a child and was now immune, had brought the infection onto the ship. There had been a spike in smallpox cases in the west in that year, and the medical authorities were concerned. No questions were asked when she kept you in quarantine and had your body thrown overboard in deep waters, weighed down with a load of scrap iron.”