INTIMATE STRANGER

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

  Epilogue

  © 2000

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  1

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  Standing alone in the dark on the hotel's pier, the salty tang of the Atlantic misting like ghosts around him, the surf roaring like demons, Trev Montgomery balled his fist around the wedding band he'd just removed. The circle of gold dug painfully into his work-hardened palm.

  The ring hadn't left his finger in seven years.

  The time had come.

  With bleak determination, he drew back his hand and pitched the ring as far as he could. The wind and the sea and the darkness blinded him, deafened him, but he clearly envisioned the glint of gold arcing into the stark black water beyond the whitecaps. Imagined the splash. Felt the cold descent into endlessness.

  No sense of liberation rewarded him. No sense of closure. The grief, the anger, the loneliness still rode heavy in his gut.

  But the time had come, and he would put the past behind him. As of today, he was no longer a married man. He was, officially, a widower. The court had declared Diana dead. A seven-year-long nightmare had drawn to a close. At least, in a legal sense.

  It was up to him to draw it to a close in every other sense. He swore to do just that. He would slam the door on the questions that had gnawed relentlessly at him—what had happened to her; how and why she had disappeared without a trace. Logically, he knew she must have been taken and probably killed. Otherwise, she would have come back to him. Emotionally, though, he hadn't been able to give up hope of her return, or cut himself free of their marriage.

  He was bone-tired of fruitless hope. He would do whatever it took to turn the page, to begin a new chapter in his life.

  Staring blindly into the chill night wind, he told himself that he'd made a good start. He'd left his hometown in southern California—the little suburban valley where he'd met and married Diana. Where they'd lived and loved for four golden months. Where she had disappeared.

  This morning, directly after the court had declared Diana dead, he'd left that place of broken dreams, flown to the opposite coast and closed a real-estate deal for the land where he would build the homes he'd designed. He would make his fortune, as well as open his mind and his heart to new people. Eventually, he would heal.

  His family and friends back home had been urging him to get on with his life for years now. A few of his female acquaintances had done more than simply urge; they'd insinuated themselves into his personal space with clear intentions of filling the void. He felt an overwhelming compulsion to get away from them, his family and his hometown.

  He needed something new. Someone new. The time had finally come for his new beginning.

  He'd been thinking about building homes in Sunrise, Georgia, from the first time he'd seen it. The scenic lay of the land and the cozy feel of the community would complement his dream homes perfectly. So what if he'd discovered the town when he'd been with Diana, on their honeymoon?

  Although the place had retained its beauty and small-town ambience, it had also changed drastically. The luxury hotel where he was now staying hadn't been here then. Exclusive subdivisions were now tucked discreetly into the lush foliage along the rural highways. He'd barely recognized the beach where they'd strolled, now bordered by a golf course rather than wilderness. The seafood shack where they'd stopped for lunch had been replaced by a fashion boutique.

  No, the memory of Diana would not haunt him here.

  Sliding his ringless left hand—a hand that felt naked and bereft—into the pocket of his jeans, he pivoted away from the ocean and strode along the pier toward Sunrise's only high-rise hotel.

  Diana was gone. Forever. Ruthlessly, he quelled the grief that always accompanied that thought.

  He would begin his new life tonight, without thoughts of her.

  The courts had declared her dead. And now he had, too.

  Jennifer Hannah was breaking one of her own rules—and breaking any rule made her nervous. Don't socialize with coworkers. Other than the requisite holiday parties, she'd staunchly kept to that principle for the entire seven years she'd been in Sunrise. In fact, she rarely socialized at all. Her social life consisted of noonday friendships with women in her aerobics class, online chats with faceless pals and volunteer work with deaf children.

  Her job as an account representative for a small but growing company, and her volunteer work, kept her busy enough. Or so she told herself.

  But her co-workers had persuaded her to stop by the lounge of the new hotel for a Friday-after-work drink to celebrate the goal they had reached. All the company's temporary workers were placed in offices on long-term secretarial assignments, a fresh crop of promising talent had recently applied, and Jennifer had solicited accounts from businesses in Sunrise, Savannah and Brunswick to keep those new applicants working. Helping Hand Staffing Services was growing by leaps and bounds.

  How could she refuse to celebrate the fruits of their teamwork?

  As she pushed through the revolving glass doors at the main entrance of the swank hotel, she admitted to herself that she was looking forward to an evening away from her apartment. An evening in the company of friends—or, at least, acquaintances. As busy as she tried to stay, the loneliness always dogged her, especially on Friday and Saturday evenings.

  But she wouldn't dwell on her loneliness … or remember the days that had been filled with real friends, genuine laughter and the most heart-thrilling love.

  Love. No, she certainly couldn't think about that. Love had been a part of a different life, and someday, when she was strong enough, she would cherish her memories of it. But that time hadn't come yet. The memories only tormented her. Devastated her.

  She stopped inside the entrance of the plush lobby to clear her mind, her heart, of the grief pressing in on all sides. Don't think about a lifetime away from Trev. The pain of that prospect was still strong enough to destroy her. Take one moment at a time. Just one moment. Then the next. She'd gotten through seven years of moments.

  Loneliness was, after all, a small price to pay for survival—hers, and possibly his, too.

  Collecting herself, she cut through the crowd of people bustling every which way in the massive hotel lobby. Her high heels clicked against the marble floor as she passed by elaborate fountains, tropical foliage, gilded cages with exotic birds, aquariums with colorful fish, glass-bubble elevators that soared upward thirty stories to the top of the domed center. The thought of such cosmopolitan luxury in Sunrise was bittersweet. The hotel afforded the town new employment opportunities. She herself had placed a number of their temps in the offices here. But the hotel also meant commercial growth.

  She hated to see Sunrise spoiled by too much "progress." She'd found this quaint little fishing village during her real life, and had shared it for a few brief hours with Trev. Couldn't something from her past remain the same?

  Resolutely quelling the thought, Jennifer headed for the lounge. But then a sign caught her eye: Welcome Montgomery Builders.

  Montgomery Builders. How ironic that she'd been thinking of Trev, and then saw a sign bearing his company's name.

  That thought stopped her dead in her tracks, and her heart gave a painful little jolt. Montgomery Builders—surely that couldn't be Trev's business! No. He worked in California, on the other side of the continent. Not Georgia. He had no reason to come to Georgia. And Montgomery was a fairly common name. There were bound to be dozens of builders in the world with that name.

  But the possibility that it could be Trev shook her to her soul. What if he was here? What if she actually ran into him? Powerful emotions clashed within her—fear that he would somehow recognize her
, and hope—the most blinding, thrilling hope—that she might see him again. Just see him.

  No!

  That would be breaking the most important rule of all. If "Montgomery Builders" referred to Trev Montgomery, she had to leave, immediately. She couldn't take the chance that she might meet him and that he might see through the changes in her appearance.

  But how could he recognize me? And why would he be here?

  He had liked the town, she remembered. They'd taken pictures of its scenic spots, and they'd even chosen a site along the beach where they'd build their dream house, if they ever had the money to build it or the desire to leave California. But they'd only been dreaming. Playing. Talking nonsense, as they so often had.

  Trev probably didn't remember their leisurely stop for lunch during their honeymoon road trip down the east coast. Even if he did, he would never work this far away from his home and family.

  Paranoia, she told herself. This was just an attack of paranoia, as her relocation inspector had predicted she'd suffer. He'd been right. At the start of her new life, she'd taken a fright more than once, and for less reason than a sign welcoming Montgomery Builders. Paranoia was to be expected when a person was hiding from everyone she'd ever known. In fact, paranoia was one of the most plaguing problems for the surprising number of people in her position.

  But what if this wasn't paranoia?

  Glancing around at the strangers strolling by her in the massive lobby, Jennifer struggled to think rationally. She would ask the concierge about Montgomery Builders. She needed to know if Trev had come to Sunrise.

  If so, she'd have to move away from this town. She'd have to pack up her belongings, find a new home, start all over. She wasn't sure she could do it again. She'd "started over" so many times in her life.

  But, oh … to see him again! Even from a distance. Just a glimpse. She'd yearned for so long to see his face, hear his voice. She'd fought the temptation to dial his phone number, just to listen to him say "hello." She never had, of course. She couldn't allow herself even that much leeway.

  Her old life could never intersect with her new.

  Diana was dead, and Jennifer Hannah knew nothing of Trev Montgomery, or his warm, loving family … or the stirring kisses and passionate lovemaking that still simmered in her blood, in her heart, in the middle of the loneliest nights—

  A sudden commotion disrupted her doleful reverie.

  "Oh," she cried, throwing out her arms to keep her balance. A leather leash tangled around her ankles, nearly tripping her, as a yapping little Pomeranian darted around her.

  "Stop that this instant, Duchess," warbled a prim, white-haired lady who held on to two leashes. "And you, too, Countess. You promised to behave." An identical little dog on an identical leash pranced in the opposite direction, until Jennifer's ankles were wrapped by the two leashes and the dogs scampered in merry circles around her.

  The bellman hurried over to tell the woman that pets weren't allowed in the hotel, to which she sharply retorted that these were not her pets, but her children. While the two argued, the antics of the frisky little pups and the difficulty of extricating herself from their leashes forced a laugh from Jennifer. When Jennifer had worked her way free of the tangle, the woman apologized to her for "the children's" high spirits—excitement over their vacation, she explained—then snatched the dogs up and stalked out of the hotel under the watchful eye of the irate bellman.

  Brushing a few strands of dog hair from her black wool skirt and gray sweater, Jennifer turned toward the concierge desk, still smiling from the misadventure.

  And her gaze locked with that of a man who stood across the lobby from her. A tall, tawny-haired man with impressive shoulders beneath a forest-green Henley sweater and a familiar slant to his wide, firm mouth.

  The smile froze on Jennifer's lips. The blood drained from her face. Her heart seemed to stop. Trev.

  It was him! In the flesh. Her husband, her lover. Her past. He stared at her with questioning intensity, as if thunderstruck by the sight of her, yet unsure of what he saw. A fierce desire rose in her to cry out his name. Go to him. Throw herself into his arms.

  Clusters of people crossed between them, breaking the gaze that had held them both captive. Cold realization then flooded her. She couldn't go to him. She had to get away!

  He started toward her.

  Panic set in, and she did the most foolish thing imaginable. She ran. Blindly. Madly. Through the crowd, down a side hallway, into a maze of back corridors.

  "Diana!"

  The gruff, frenzied call from a short distance behind her only added to her adrenaline rush. She skidded around a sharp corner, then bolted down a straight-of-way, as fast as she could run in her narrow skirt and high heels.

  "Diana, stop!"

  How could he have recognized her? Her hair was blond now instead of brown; her eyes were blue instead of green; her nose, chin, mouth and eyelids had been surgically altered. She was twenty-seven, not twenty. She'd gained weight. Grown older. He couldn't possibly recognize her.

  But he had.

  She turned another corner and saw an obscure exit tucked between vacant conference rooms. Dashing for it, she slammed her hip against the bar that opened the heavy door and pushed through, only to find herself in a gray, concrete stairwell with steps leading both up and down. Seeing only darkness below, she opted for above, hoping to lose him on one of the upper floors rather than brave whatever lay in the dark.

  She hurried up the stairs, as the door was flung open behind her.

  "Diana!" The shout echoed off the walls, and footsteps clamored behind her.

  She reached the door on the next level and shoved against its bar to open it. The door, however, was locked.

  Strong hands gripped her shoulders. "What in the hell…?" he growled, whirling her around and pinning her against the smooth, concrete wall. "What in the holy hell—?" His angry words broke off and he stared at her, his face only inches from hers—Trev Montgomery, the only man she'd ever loved, the man whose life she could so easily destroy.

  His gaze ravaged her face in searing paths, from feature to feature and back again.

  She'd forgotten how big he was. How powerfully virile—all strength and sureness and well-honed sinew. His face, deeply tanned from years of outdoor work, had taken on a leaner, harder look, with the angles of his jaw and cheekbones more pronounced. The faint new lines fanning out from the corners of his whiskey-brown eyes and the deepened grooves bracketing his mouth somehow added to his rugged allure. Dangerous allure … at least, for her.

  "You—you've mistaken me for someone else," she said between ragged breaths, her words nearly inaudible above the thudding of her heart. Careful to speak in the bland, dialect-free voice she had worked so hard to cultivate, she added, "My name's not Diana."

  Bewilderment etched a frown across his face. She forced herself to hold her gaze steady, to keep her expression impersonal—not easy when chaotic emotion churned through her. She hadn't expected to ever feel his hands on her again, or inhale his scent, or exchange as much as a single word with him.

  Disappointment, bleak and terrible, slowly seeped into his gaze. "You're not her," he whispered. "You're not—" He shut his eyes, and his lips tightened into a thin, white line. The muscles in his strong throat worked slow and hard.

  But he didn't let her go or move away from her. It seemed he'd forgotten that he held her—a stranger—pinned against a wall in the stairwell of a hotel. Clearly, he fought a battle within himself, and an ache grew in her chest as she watched him.

  She wanted so much to touch him, hold him Be what he wanted her to be. Who he wanted her to be. But she never had been. Not really. And the option of pretending no longer existed.

  She should break away from him now, before he had the chance to look more closely, or ask questions. But she couldn't leave him yet. Not quite yet. His pain was so apparent … and she was hurting as much as he.

  This would be the last time she'd ever stand
this close, or feel his touch. The last time she'd ever see him. Anguish wrung her heart.

  "I'm sorry," he finally rasped, opening the golden-brown eyes that had mesmerized her from the very first time they'd connected with hers. "I thought you were … my wife."

  His wife. Not ex-wife. Her heart gave a gratified pang, even as she wondered at his oversight.

  Blinking as if realization of their present circumstances had just dawned, he released his hard grip on her shoulders and eased away. "I didn't mean to scare you. You … you just look so much like her."

  "I do?" Surprise had forced the words out of her. She'd taken such pains to change her appearance. How had he detected a similarity?

  "And your laugh. That's what first caught my attention. When I heard it, I—" He bit off his words, looking thoroughly disgusted with himself, although his gaze continued to linger on her face. He couldn't seem to help it. "She's been missing for several years."

  Missing. What an odd way to put it.

  He let out a harsh breath, plowed back a thick lock of his hair with long, tanned fingers and turned away from her, toward the door. More to himself than to her, he said, "I guess I just can't stop looking for her."

  A horrifying suspicion gripped her. Hadn't he gotten her letter? She'd explained in it that she wasn't what he'd thought; that their relationship couldn't work; that she would never come back. She'd expected him to divorce her.

  The secretary of the U.S. Marshal who had been assigned to her case had sworn to send that letter. Jennifer hadn't been permitted to send it herself. All mail had to go through secured channels. Had the most important letter of her life not been sent?

  "What—what happened to your wife?" she asked, knowing she shouldn't converse with him at all.

  He stopped near the door and looked back at her, as if debating whether to answer. "I don't know. She left home for an out-of-town writers' conference. Never showed up for it. Never came back."