"If it changes who you are."
"Maybe it only changes who you want me to be."
With the lights off, Kalyna could hardly see her sister, but she concentrated all her hatred on that dark amorphous shape. "You're not better than I am. You never wil be."
Throwing off the sheet, Tati sat against the headboard and drew her knees to her chest. "I never said I was. You're purposely misinterpreting everything I say. We're adults now, Kalyna. I want to decide who I am. I don't want you to decide for me. Not anymore."
Kalyna propped her hands on her hips. "I don't know why I'm even bothering to talk to you. You're just like he is."
"He? Who's he?"
"Never mind." So what if her sister no longer admired her? Luke was the only person Kalyna cared about. And she'd have him. One way or another, he'd be the father of her children.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, remembering, hoping. "Do you have a pregnancy test?" she asked.
"A what?" Obviously taken aback by the sudden shift in topic, Tati gaped at her.
"You heard me."
Scooting down, her sister curled up on her side. "Of course not. I haven't even slept with a man yet," she grumbled.
"How pathetic! And you think there's something wrong with me? "
"It's my choice, Kalyna. I'm saving myself for marriage, and I don't want to hear what you have to say about it."
"Oh, good grief!" Kalyna felt like slapping her sister. "You've seen too many Disney movies. Life isn't a fairy tale, Tati. If you're waiting for a knight in shining armor to come and rescue you from this dump of a mortuary, you might as well embalm yourself because you'll wind up rotting here, just like the corpses in the cemetery down the street. That's all that'l happen."
"I'l take my chances," Tati said.
"Oh, yeah? Well, I'm not taking any chances. I'm going to get what I want."
"And how are you going to do that?"
"Any way I can!" she snapped.
"That's what scares me," Tati muttered, and pulled the covers over her head.
Luke continued to pace long after Kalyna hung up. He wanted to call his attorney, but he didn't have an after-hours number. Instead, he made circuit after circuit of the room, struggling to come to grips with his anger. If only he'd gotten hold of Ava Bixby. If only she could've heard what a terrible liar Kalyna Harter really was.
He was tempted to call Ava back, hoping she'd pick up so he could tell her about it, even though he couldn't provide proof. He hated waiting for the legal process to unfold, and longed to help himself. But he was afraid he'd come across like some kind of madman, phoning Ava in the middle of the night without a more pressing reason than his panic and impatience.
He spent several minutes arguing with himself but finally realized there was nothing to do but wait until morning. He decided to watch TV, hoping it would distract him enough so he could stop fuming.
It didn't work. He was just as angry when the sun began to lighten the sky.
At exactly eight o'clock, he called in sick. Then he called McCreedy, Eisner and Goran, but he wasn't able to speak to his attorney. McCreedy was already on his way to court, he was told. He should be back after one.
Luke watched the clock for most of the day, but his attorney never called. At three, the law firm's secretary informed him that McCreedy had left for the Fourth of July weekend directly from the courthouse and would have to call him on Monday.
"Of course!" he snapped as he slammed down the phone. And that was when he decided he couldn't sit back and bide his time anymore. He was going to effect some change. He was going to fight back.
He was going to call The Last Stand to see if he could meet with Ava Bixby before she left for the weekend, too.
The Last Stand wasn't located in a high-crime area, but because of the kind of work they did, and the kind of people it angered, Ava, Skye and Sheridan kept the offices locked at all times. Meetings were always by appointment. So Ava was a little surprised when someone rang the buzzer just before five o'clock on Friday afternoon. She was the only one working late--in the summer they closed at four on Fridays--and she wasn't expecting anyone.
Assuming it was a volunteer returning to pick up the box of envelopes he'd forgotten thirty minutes earlier, she skirted her desk, grabbed the work Greg Hoffman had left behind and hurried to the front. But it wasn't Greg standing on the other side of the glass door.
Although the glare of the sun made it difficult to see her visitor's face clearly, she saw his body. He was at least six-three--and definitely a man.
His broad, powerful-looking shoulders, pectoral muscles and biceps fil ed out a plain white T-shirt that appeared to have been ironed. Judging by the contours of his wel -worn jeans, which had a slight crease as if they, too, had been ironed, his long legs were just as muscular as his upper body.
Whoever he might be, he was obviously in excellent physical shape....
When Ava drew closer, his head blocked the sun and she caught sight of his face. It was Captain Luke Trussell. She identified him from that photograph Jonathan had brought her. But his skin was a lot more tanned than it'd been in that snapshot, and the bony ridge above his eyes was slightly more pronounced. As a matter of fact, every feature seemed more rough-hewn--from his long straight nose that flared slightly at the nostrils, to his strong jaw and stubborn chin, to his high forehead and well-defined cheekbones.
"Wow," she muttered to herself. He was handsome, al right. Just as Kalyna had said. But he also looked as if he could tear her in two with his bare hands.
Wishing she was holding the can of mace she kept in her top drawer instead of a box of envelopes, she hesitated in indecision--and he removed his sunglasses, revealing a pair of troubled blue-green eyes.
Slowly, she lowered the box into a nearby chair. She'd told Kalyna that ra**sts come in all shapes and sizes, and it was true. Maybe she'd never seen one this perfect, but she wasn't about to let a flash of straight white teeth and an intense but hopeful expression dazzle her into being stupid.
"I'm sorry, we closed at four," she called through the door. "You'l have to make an appointment."
A V formed between those dark eyebrows. "I phoned for your hours before coming," he called back. "A man named Greg told me you were open weekdays from nine to five. And--" he consulted his cell phone "--it's not quite five." He turned it to show her.
Ava sighed. Because they worked by appointment and often stayed late, sometimes well into the night, Greg hadn't noticed the change in their official hours.