Can't Stop Loving You Page 21

  Again, she felt a flicker of disappointment. Her flight wouldn’t be canceled because of weather. An hour from now, she would be on the plane, and there would be no turning back.

  Not that she wanted to turn back. This had been her idea.

  And it was the right idea.

  “There’s a cab,” Noah said, bolting out into the street with his arm raised, shouting, “Taxi!”

  He certainly was eager to be rid of her, she thought as she watched the yellow cab screech to a stop.

  “Come on, before the light changes,” he said, hurrying across Broadway as the DON’T WALK sign flashed its orange warning.

  On the opposite curb, the cab driver waited, having popped open the trunk of the car when he saw that Noah was carrying luggage. Noah put the bag into the trunk and spoke to the driver, who nodded and got behind the wheel.”

  “Okay, you’re all set,” Noah said, opening the back door for her.

  She felt as though somebody had snatched her breath and her voice away.

  This was it.

  She was leaving.

  “I’m sorry about the alarm,” he said again. “It’s too bad we had to be in such a rush this morning. You didn’t even get a chance to have coffee.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, thinking that it had probably been better this way. They had been too harried for awkward moments back at the apartment. Now, in the broad light of day, with traffic careening by and the sidewalk crammed with pedestrians, there was no opportunity for any last moment of intimacy.

  There was only time for a quick, public good-bye.

  “Have a safe trip,” Noah said, his eyes concealed behind sunglasses. When had he put them on?

  Mariel nodded, wishing she could hide her own eyes, afraid he would see that they were on the verge of swimming with tears.

  “Don’t forget your bag in the trunk,” Noah said. “If he drives off with it, you’ll never see it again.”

  “I’ll remember,” she managed to say, clinging to the top of the open car door for support, her knees feeling weak. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “I’ll call Henry Brando. If there’s any news, I’ll call you.”

  “You don’t have my number.”

  “How many Rowans are in Rockton? I’ll find you if I need to.”

  She nodded. He would find her—if he needed to.

  “If you hear from Amber again…” His words were hurried, yet tinged with concern. “Look, you have my number,” he said. “Please, if you hear anything, just let me know.”

  “I will. And you do the same.”

  So they would probably talk again, she thought, feeling a pinprick of irrational hope. Then she was furious with herself. What the hell was she doing? She had made her decision. She had to stick to it. This was what she had wanted. To leave.

  And she had better do it now, dammit.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said.

  He nodded, looking hesitant. Then he leaned toward her.

  She braced herself for one of his soul-searing kisses, knowing that it would be her undoing.

  It didn’t happen.

  His lips brushed her cheek softly, fleetingly, and he whispered, “Have a good life, Mariel.”

  A sob caught in her throat. She got into the cab, and he closed the door after her.

  The light had changed again. The cab immediately merged into traffic, swooping along Broadway as Mariel stared out the window unable to see, her eyes blinded by tears.

  Damn.

  Damn, he was crying.

  Noah swallowed hard, his throat aching with the effort of holding back the emotion that threatened to burst forward in a soul-encompassing flood. He swiped at a tear that had trickled down his cheek, past the protective barrier of his sunglasses, and sniffled.

  He felt in the pockets of his suit for a tissue and found none.

  He would go back upstairs, just to blow his nose and calm himself. He couldn’t get on the subway with tears streaming down his face.

  He crossed Broadway again and made his way up the stairs, amazed that only moments earlier, she had been here with him.

  Now she was gone, and she would never be here again.

  He would go off to work in a few minutes as though nothing had changed, when everything had changed. His world had been rocked these past few days, and it was impossible to digest all that had happened. Getting caught up in Mariel’s spell again had only been a part of it.

  His heart ached for the daughter who, for all he knew, had hitchhiked across the country to meet some pedophile she had met on the Internet. He longed for the news that Amber had returned safely to Valley Falls as deeply as he longed to get into a cab, chase Mariel to the airport, and beg her to stay.

  He had done practically that last night, and she had turned him down flat, he thought, reaching his floor and searching for his keys in his pocket.

  No, actually, he had offered to move to Rockton to be with her.

  Would it have made any difference if he had asked her to move to New York to be with him?

  Tired as he was of the hassles of living in the city, he knew he could survive here if she was with him. Last night had been almost magical, eating sweet, icy gelatto as they strolled along bustling Mulberry Street past the lively shops and restaurants, some of them lit by strings of white Christmas lights. It was a part of the city he rarely visited, and he had seen it appreciatively through her eyes. He imagined taking her on the ferry boat into the harbor to Ellis Island, or on the Roosevelt Island tram, with its open-air view of the skyline, or on a carriage ride through Central Park this fall, when the brilliant foliage turned the place into a Monet painting.

  No, it wouldn’t be so bad living here if she were with him.

  What if he had suggested that?

  It wouldn’t have made any difference. He knew it in his heart. She had left because she knew it couldn’t work between them.

  He walked into his apartment just as the phone rang, and he thought, with a complete lack of logic, that it might be her.

  He rushed to pick it up, and an unfamiliar female voice answered his hello. A wave of disappointment swept over him, and for a moment he couldn’t grasp who it was or what she was saying.

  Then he realized, and his blood ran cold.

  All thoughts of going to the office had left his brain. All he could think of was that he had to stop Mariel. He had to tell her.

  A minute later, he was out on the street, frantically trying to flag a cab.

  Miraculously, he got one. “La Guardia airport,” he shouted at the driver. “And step on it.”

  The cab lurched away from the curb, roaring through traffic, weaving wildly from lane to lane as it maneuvered toward the next corner. The driver swung around the turn on two wheels with a screech of tires, then raced to the entrance for the northbound FDR highway.

  Noah’s heart was pounding, his mind whirling with the incredible news he had just received. There had been no time to even stop and verify it. He had to catch Mariel before she got on that plane.

  It was rush hour. Traffic on the FDR crawled. Despite the driver’s best reckless efforts to skirt around the jam, it was taking far too long to get to the airport. Noah told himself that Mariel, too, had been stuck in this traffic. That she probably hadn’t made the flight.

  Finally, he was at La Guardia. Checking his watch, he shouldered his way through the crowd, racing to the nearest monitor that listed flight information. He frantically scanned the glowing blue lettering, searching for her flight, praying that it had been delayed.

  He found what he was looking for—and groaned in despair.

  The plane had just taken off.

  Mariel emerged from the ladies’ room into the terminal, her back aching from the weight of her luggage. When Noah had carried it, he had made it look effortless, as though it were filled with foam peanuts. But then, Noah was a man whose tall, lean stature belied the muscular upper body that lay beneath his cl
othes. Mariel felt an unsettling flurry of desire at the memory of how he had looked bare-chested, all rippling muscle and firm flesh.

  She firmly put the thought out of her mind and focused on the matter at hand, which was finding a flight out of La Guardia.

  Thanks to a savvy cab driver who knew his way through the streets of Queens and managed to avoid the rushhour traffic snarls on the main roadway, she had arrived at the airport in time to catch her plane. But when she made it through the line to the ticket counter to check in, the agent informed her that her seat had been given away.

  Apparently, passengers couldn’t assume that they would be able to pick up a connecting flight without taking the first leg of the journey. When a traveler didn’t board at the original starting point, this particular airline’s computer automatically canceled the rest of that trip.

  There was no other available flight to Mariel’s destination until later this evening. At least, not from La Guardia. The ticket agent had informed her that there were seats on a noon flight from Newark airport in New Jersey, which was only about two hours from here. She had advised Mariel to take a cab back to Manhattan, then take a bus from the Port Authority to Newark.

  What Mariel wanted to do was take a cab back to Manhattan, find Noah, and tell him that she should never have left—not without him.

  But that was out of the question. She would only be setting herself up for the potent brand of heartbreak that had nearly destroyed her once in her life.

  They weren’t meant to be.

  If they were meant to be, she would know it, without doubt, deep in her heart.

  But, she wondered, what if she was trying so hard not to allow herself to fall for him that she was ignoring what she really felt? If they weren’t meant to be, why was she so irrevocably drawn to him for the second time in her life?

  Was it because she was lonely? Or perhaps just starved for a physical relationship?

  She didn’t believe that. Yes, she was lonely—yes, she was a red-blooded woman with a woman’s needs—but there had been other men in her life since Noah. No one else had ever made her feel the way he did.

  Yet no one else had ever made her hurt the way he had.

  If only there were some way of knowing what fate held in store for her. If only she could be given a sign that they were meant to be. That, in accepting him into her life, she would be enriching her future and not jeopardizing everything she had worked so hard to create.

  With a sigh, Mariel shifted the weight of her bag to the other shoulder and made her way to the exit, following the signs for ground transportation.

  The airport was teeming with activity this morning, bustling and bright with sunlight that flooded through the skylights above. Mariel gazed at the businessmen and businesswomen who strode past wearing stylish suits, briefcases and laptops and carry-ons in tow. There were elderly retirees embarking on vacations, and college-aged students traveling in groups, and families with toddlers and babies and mountains of luggage.

  Everybody was in a hurry.

  Everybody except Mariel, she realized, as she approached the outdoor taxi stand. The line snaked along the curb and then made an about face and wove through a rope-defined path. At the head, a harried dispatcher blew his whistle and shouted at the cab drivers, lining them up and funneling the passengers into them. The pace and the commotion of steady departures was dizzying, and Mariel rested her bag on the sidewalk at her feet, watching the strangely orderly confusion in idle fascination as she advanced slowly through the line, her thoughts still centered on leaving Noah.

  Then, to her amazement, she heard her name on his lips.

  It had to be her imagination, she realized. She wanted so badly to be with him that she had conjured the sound of his voice.

  “Mariel?”

  Hearing it a second time, she froze. Then, realizing that it was real, she turned slowly and found herself face-to-face with him. He stood on the other side of the rope barrier, at the end of the line, yet directly beside her because of the way it doubled back on itself.

  She gasped. “Noah!”

  For a moment, all she could think was that she had wished for him, and somehow, he was here. Then she reached up and put her arms around him, pulling him close. “I don’t know what you’re doing here,” she said raggedly, “but I’ve never been so happy to see anyone.”

  “I was looking for you,” he said, his voice close to her ear as he held her.

  And in that instant, she knew it was meant to be. This was her sign. He had come to the airport looking for her, unwilling to let her go. She had been a fool not to believe they had a chance. He obviously believed it. Why shouldn’t she throw caution to the wind for the first time in more than a decade?

  “Your plane left,” he said, “and I was sure you were on it. Why weren’t you?”

  She saw the hope in his eyes, and she hesitated, wishing the truth were more romantic—that she could tell him what he so obviously wanted to hear: that she hadn’t taken the flight because she couldn’t bear to leave him behind.

  But it would be a lie.

  She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but before she could speak, he cut her off. “Mariel, I have to tell you what happened. Why I’m here. I stopped back in my apartment right after you left because I had, um, forgotten something, and I was just in time to answer my phone. It was Sherry—Amber’s friend.”

  She gaped at him as it dawned on her that he hadn’t come here because he wanted her to stay, after all. He had come because of a phone call.

  Then, dread mingling with hope at the realization that he must have some kind of news about their daughter, she asked, “What did she say?”

  “Excuse me,” a brash voice cut in. Somebody jostled her from behind. “The line is moving, and you’re not, lady.”

  Mariel turned, vaguely seeing the irked expression on the face of the man who had spoken. “Go ahead of me,” she said absently, stepping closer to the rope, and Noah, to let him pass.

  “Can I go ahead of you, too?” asked a peeved-looking businesswoman behind him. “I’ve got a ten o’clock meeting in midtown.”

  “Go ahead of me,” Mariel said impatiently, lifting the rope. “You can all go ahead of me, I don’t care.”

  She ducked under the rope to stand beside Noah, who held her arm to steady her, then bent and pulled her bag across the concrete to rest at their feet.

  “What did Sherry want?” she asked Noah.

  “She wanted to tell me that something had been bothering her ever since we spoke to her. She’s worried about Amber. At first, she had figured Amber wasn’t in danger, because she had run away, and she had said she was definitely coming back. She just had to take care of something. But Sherry realized that Amber had said she would be back within a few days, and now that she hasn’t shown up, something might be wrong.”

  A chill slid over Mariel.

  Noah had removed his sunglasses when they first came face-to-face. Now, looking up into his dark eyes, she saw the stark fear there, and felt the same emotion surge within her. Her first instincts, upon learning that their daughter was missing, had been correct. Amber was in danger, runaway or not.

  “Did Sherry know anything at all about where Amber might have gone, or what she had to take care of?” Mariel asked Noah.

  He nodded. “That’s why I had to stop you. I just—I can’t believe this is happening.”

  She stared at him uneasily. “What? What’s happening?”

  “Sherry said that she had come to New York, Mariel. She was looking for her birth father. She was looking for me.”

  Mariel’s jaw fell open. She tried to collect her thoughts. “She’s here? In New York? She’s looking for you?”

  He nodded grimly. “There’s more. And it’s not good.”

  “What is it, Noah? For God’s sake, tell me before I assume the worst.”

  “Sherry said that she had found her birth father and had been corresponding with him by e-mail for a few weeks before sh
e ran away. She said that Amber had planned to meet him in Manhattan.”

  “But you’re her birth father.” Perplexed, Mariel’s thoughts whirled.

  Again, he nodded. “Apparently, she made contact with my computer, Mariel. But not with me. Somebody else answered the e-mail she sent. And I have a sick feeling that I know who it was.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “What do we do first?” Mariel asked Noah as they entered his apartment forty-five minutes later.

  “We check the computer,” he said, depositing her bag on the floor just inside the hallway, then striding to the living room without bothering to close the door behind him.

  He heard Mariel close and lock it before she caught up with him just as he was sitting at his desk. He turned on the computer and waited for it to boot up, wondering why he hadn’t done this before dashing off to the airport when he first got Sherry’s call.

  Because his first thought, his first impulse, had been to stop Mariel.

  He needed her.

  Yes, he needed her in the long run—needed her in his life, needed her by his side, needed her in his arms.

  She had made it clear that wasn’t going to happen, and he had no choice other than to accept that.

  But, just as desperately, he needed her now, in the wake of this latest development. He needed her support as he sought to confirm his suspicions, and he needed her help in tracking down his bastard of a roommate if those suspicions proved to be correct.

  Which they should know any moment now.

  The desktop appeared, and he clicked on the Internet icon.

  “So you think that Alan actually snooped through your e-mail?” Mariel asked, watching over his shoulder as the computer rumbled into action.

  “I’m sure of it,” Noah said. “I’ve suspected him of snooping through my things in the past, and now that I think about it, there are messages I’ve never gotten from the answering machine, and magazines that I usually get in the mail that have never arrived—at least, not since he moved in.”

  “But how could he intercept your e-mail?” Mariel asked. “Wouldn’t he need a code word to sign on and check your mailbox?”