Extreme Measures Read online

  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

  © 2004

  Chapter 1

  Colin MacIver was back and Nikki Gordon was probably the only person in all of Fairweather, Pennsylvania, who wasn't thrilled about the return of the hometown hero. Of course, no one else had the questionable privilege of being his ex-wife.

  Why was he back?

  She crossed the parking lot of the sports' injuries clinic, scanning the article in the local newspaper she'd swiped from the staff room.

  Why now?

  "Hello, Nicole."

  She stopped in her tracks, her eyes still fixed on the paper in her hand although the tiny black letters blurred together. She knew that voice. It didn't matter that she hadn't heard it in over five years, she'd recognize it anywhere—that deep, warm tone with the underlying sensuality that still caused tingles of anticipation to dance over her skin.

  But even if she hadn't recognized the voice, she would still have known it was him. He was the only person who ever called her Nicole, and just the sound of her name on his lips was enough to bring the memories flooding back. Memories she'd tried for so long to forget.

  Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, but she glanced up with forced nonchalance into familiar deep green eyes. His dark hair was cut short, his square jaw freshly shaven, his lips tipped up at the corners. His shoulders looked as broad as she remembered, the cotton shirt he wore stretched over his powerful muscles. His waist was still trim, his denim-clad legs long and lean.

  He bore the usual scars of an athlete. The slightly crooked nose that had been broken three times, the small scar that slashed through one thick eyebrow, and the barely noticeable chip in his front tooth. Yet he was still the most devastatingly handsome man she'd ever met.

  It had been more than five years since she'd seen him, and she hadn't forgotten a single detail.

  "Hello, Colin."

  He smiled at her, a slow, curving of the lips that caused her pulse to trip, then race.

  "You look good," he said, his eyes skimming over her. "You've cut your hair."

  Nikki laughed and self-consciously tucked an errant strand behind her ear. She'd had hair that fell to her waist when she and Colin were married, and he'd loved to comb his fingers through it, spread it out over the pillow—

  She thrust the painfully sweet memory aside. "A long time ago."

  He tilted his head. "I like it."

  "What are you doing here, Colin?"

  "Here—in Fairweather? Or here—here?"

  "Both."

  "I'm here—" he indicated the physical space beside her parked car "—because I wanted to let you know I was back."

  Knowing how anxious he'd been to flee the confines of the town—and their marriage—she was more than a little surprised by his return. And completely unnerved by his sudden and unexpected appearance here. It was one thing to know he was in Fairweather, and quite another to be face-to-face with him again. "Thanks for the warning, but the press beat you to it."

  He took the newspaper she held out, winced as he scanned the headline. "'Hometown Hero,' huh? I guess nothing much has changed around here if this is what passes for news."

  "What did you expect?"

  He studied her for a long moment. Nikki refused to shift her feet or cross her arms. She didn't want to appear annoyed or impatient, just disinterested. Anything else might suggest she had some residual feelings for Colin, and nothing could be further from the truth. There had been a time when she'd loved him more than she'd ever thought possible, but that time was long past.

  "I don't know what I expected," he said at last.

  She forced a polite smile. "Do you plan on staying long?"

  He shrugged. "A few days, anyway."

  A few days. She exhaled slowly. Whatever the reason for his return, he'd be gone in a few days and her life would settle back to normal again. Still, his presence here now made her uneasy. "Well, it was nice seeing you. Enjoy your stay."

  She started past him, halting abruptly when he reached out to put a restraining hand on her arm. The touch burned her skin, and she pulled away as if he had branded her with a hot iron.

  "I need to talk to you, Nicole."

  She forced herself to swallow the fear that lodged in her throat. Why was he doing this? After more than five years of silence, why did he suddenly want to talk? Had he somehow found out—

  No. She trampled that thought before it had completely formed. Whatever his reasons for coming back now, they were undoubtedly as selfish and self-centered as the reasons for everything else he'd ever done.

  "I know I owe you an explanation," he said.

  She shook her head again. "Five years ago, I might have agreed. But too much time has passed for it to matter anymore."

  "Do you expect me to believe that you never think about what we meant to each other?"

  "I don't care what you believe, but I don't spend my days reminiscing about our short-lived marriage." She didn't have time to think about what they'd once had or what might have been. She was too busy dealing with the reality of what was.

  "I think about it," he said. "A lot."

  The intensity in his eyes made her heart stutter. She steeled her resolve. "Is there a point to this, Colin?"

  "I don't want you to think that I didn't care."

  "Why would I think that? Because you petitioned for divorce before our first anniversary? Or maybe because you made love to me the night before you walked out on me forever?"

  She thought she saw a flicker of something in the depths of his green eyes. Hurt? Regret? She dismissed the thought.

  "I had my reasons."

  "I'm sure you did." She couldn't quite mask the pain and bitterness that tinged her words. He had shattered her heart when he'd walked out on their marriage, and she couldn't pretend otherwise. "I imagine it was quite inconvenient to be legally tied to a woman who lived halfway across the country."

  "Dammit, Nicole. I'm not going to let you believe our marriage was an inconvenience."

  She shrugged, as if it didn't matter. As if this conversation didn't bother her. As if his easy disregard of their marriage vows didn't still hurt.

  "All I'm asking for is a little of your time. Half an hour."

  The last thing she needed—or wanted—was to spend a single minute more with him, never mind thirty of them.

  "Please, Nicole."

  She closed her eyes, willed herself not to respond to the quiet plea in his voice. She wanted to say no—firmly and finally—and walk away. But she couldn't deny that there was a part of her that was curious to know why he'd tracked her down. After five years, there was still so much that she didn't know. So much that he didn't know.

  "Half an hour," she relented.

  His quick smile did crazy things to her pulse again.

  "Why don't we go somewhere to grab a coffee?" he suggested.

  "There's a little café across the street," Nikki told him. "I'll meet you there after I make a quick phone call."

  Colin hesitated, then nodded.

  Nikki waited until he was out of earshot before digging her cell phone out of her purse. She exhaled a sigh of relief when a familiar voice answered at the other end.

  "Arden, I need a favor…"

  It was only as he reached for the door of the restaurant that Colin realized he still held Nikki's newspaper in his hand. He glanced at the headline again.

  "Get out of town for a while," Detective Brock had advised. "Go somewhere quiet. Keep a low profile."

  Good advice, but how the hell was he supposed to keep a low profile when the local media still believed he was some kind of superstar?

  Colin knew better. The reality was that he'd failed at everything t
hat had ever mattered. He'd failed as a player and a coach, and he'd failed to be the kind of husband Nikki deserved.

  He shoved the paper into the garbage can and headed toward the counter, wondering if his careful planning had been compromised by that seemingly harmless headline.

  He'd put his plan into action forty-eight hours earlier. The first step was a flight from Texas to Maryland, where he'd reserved a room in his own name at the Baltimore Courtland Hotel. He'd taken a cab from the airport to the hotel and checked into his room, with explicit instructions that he did not want housekeeping services. After unpacking some clothing and toiletries, he'd taken another cab to the bus terminal and paid cash for a ticket to Washington, D.C.

  In Washington, he'd picked up the rental car his agent, Ian Edwards, had reserved for him. Then he'd found a small roadside motel, paid cash for the room and crashed for a few hours before driving through to Fairweather yesterday morning, where he'd checked into another Courtland hotel under Ian's name.

  He wasn't convinced the circuitous route and subterfuge were necessary, but after what had happened in Austin he didn't want to take any chances. If someone was looking for him, trying to track his moves, they'd be concentrating on the Baltimore area.

  Unless they happened to pick up a copy of the Fairweather Gazette.

  He'd told no one of his plan to return to Fairweather. It was just his bad luck that he'd run into Traci Harper as soon as he'd arrived in town yesterday afternoon. Traci was an old high-school friend, now a reporter with the

  Gazette. He should have anticipated that she would somehow turn a chance encounter into a news item.

  His only consolation was that it was unlikely anyone outside of this smack-in-the-middle-of-nowhere town read the local rag. Few of his associates even knew he'd grown up in Fairweather, which made it the obvious place for him to find solitude and anonymity.

  Or maybe what he'd really wanted to find was Nikki.

  He took the two steaming mugs to a vacant table near the window, where he could see her.

  He hadn't let himself think about her until he was on the plane; he hadn't been able to think about anything else since. After more than five years, he wouldn't have expected that she'd figure so prominently in his thoughts.

  Maybe it was the realization that he could have been killed, the stark reminder of his own mortality. Whatever the reason, he'd suddenly felt a compelling need to see her again—to explain something he still wasn't sure he understood himself.

  He watched as she disconnected her call, tucked the phone back into her purse. As she crossed the street, her short blond hair bobbed with each step.

  She was dressed in casual work attire: short-sleeved sweater in a misty shade of blue, tailored pants a few shades darker, white running shoes. It wasn't a seductive outfit by any stretch of the imagination, but he felt the familiar tug of desire, anyway. Just like the first time he'd seen her.

  He'd fought it at first, refused to believe it. The coolly reserved, completely professional physiotherapist wasn't anything at all like the women he was usually attracted to. But something inside him had recognized her as his mate.

  He'd pursued her relentlessly, and when he'd finally broken through her barriers, he'd found an incredibly passionate woman—a woman who'd touched him on levels he hadn't known existed before he met her. Whatever else might have gone wrong between them, the sex had always been phenomenal.

  He shifted in his seat, cursing his body for choosing to remember that now.

  "Thirty minutes," she reminded him, sliding into the chair across from him.

  He pushed one of the mugs toward her. "A little bit of cream, a half a teaspoon of sugar." He'd remembered her preference, as he'd remembered everything about her.

  She wrapped her hands around the mug, a wry smile curving her lips. "It's been five years. A lot of things have, changed in that time."

  "Some things never do," he countered.

  "Are you going to tell me the real reason you came back to Fairweather now?"

  "You always did cut right to the chase." It was one of the things he'd admired about her from the start. She'd been the first therapist assigned to work with him after the injury that had prematurely ended his career, and he'd always appreciated her straightforward approach—even when she was telling him things he didn't want to hear.

  "So why are you here?"

  "I was ready for a vacation?" he suggested.

  "And you chose Fairweather?" Her eyes narrowed speculatively. "Or is your sudden reappearance somehow linked to the explosion in your apartment?"

  Talk about cutting to the chase. "How did you know about that?"

  "It was on the news."

  Colin had caught mention of it himself during the previous evening's sports highlights. The commentary was brief, mentioning only that police were investigating a suspected bombing at the residence of Tornadoes' head coach Colin MacIver. There was no mention of Maria Vasquez, the forty-seven-year-old mother of five, who'd been cleaning his apartment at the time and who was still fighting for her life in ICU.

  "Was it a gas leak?" Nikki asked.

  He only wished the explanation was something so innocuous. "The cause is still being investigated."

  "Is that why you're here?"

  "My apartment needs a little work," he said, deliberately downplaying the situation. "But that's only part of the reason that I decided to come back now."

  "And the other part?"

  "To see you."

  She stared intently into her cup for a long moment before lifting her gaze. "Why?"

  "Because I've spent some time in the past few weeks reevaluating my life, facing my mistakes, acknowledging my regrets."

  Her smile was sad. "Where do I fit in? A mistake? Or a regret?"

  He reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. "The mistake was in letting you go."

  "You say that as if I wanted out of our marriage, but you were the one who left. You were the one who wanted the divorce."

  "I was too screwed up to know what I wanted. After my father died…" He shrugged.

  "I know his death was hard on you," she said gently. "I know you wished you'd had a chance to bridge the distance between the two of you."

  "I tried. I guess I just didn't try hard enough." The sense of regret, of guilt, still gnawed at him. "Did I ever tell you about the last conversation I had with him?"

  She shook her head. "What happened?"

  "We argued." He smiled wryly. "It seemed like we were always arguing about something. This time it was about you."

  "Me?"

  "He wanted—no, he demanded—that I give up coaching. He said it was past time for me to quit chasing a dream, to get a real job, to be the kind of husband you deserved."

  Richard MacIver had berated Colin for even considering the coaching job, insisting that a woman like Nikki needed security and stability, not the kind of nomad existence his career would entail.

  But without his career, Colin had nothing to offer his wife. So he'd taken the job, she'd stayed in Fairweather, and their marriage had become a casualty of geographical distance.

  And his father had died as he'd lived: angry with and disappointed in his youngest son.

  "I'm sorry, Colin."

  "So am I," he said. "About so many things."

  He rubbed his thumb over her third finger, where his ring had once sat. "I thought you would have married again."

  She tugged her hand, but he didn't release his hold.

  "And I thought 'till death do us part' meant something longer than ten months."

  He winced at the direct hit. "I guess I deserved that."

  "What do you want me to say, Colin? Do you want me to tell you that there's no one else in my life because I haven't been able to forget about you? Well, I haven't. I haven't forgotten how devastated I was when you walked out on me, and I won't ever risk going through that again."

  "I am sorry."

  She shrugged off his apology, glan
ced at her watch. "Your half hour's almost up."

  Colin pushed back his chair and rose to his feet with her. He knew he should be grateful she'd even been willing to sit down and have a conversation with him. After five years, it was more than he'd had a right to expect. But it wasn't nearly enough.

  He walked with her across the street back to the clinic parking lot. She stopped beside her car, turned to face him. "Thanks for the coffee."

  So this was it then—the brush-off. He'd expected it, but he wasn't prepared for it. He couldn't—wouldn't—believe that there was nothing left for them.

  Testing her, maybe testing himself, he lifted his hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear and allowed his fingers to graze her cheek as he pulled back. He heard her sharp intake of breath, knew the casual contact had sparked something inside her. It had sure as hell stoked the fire that burned inside him.

  "Is it really so easy to walk away?" he asked.

  The warmth in her eyes cooled considerably. "You tell me."

  "No." He dropped his hands to her slender waist, struggled against the impulse to pull her tight against his body. Events of the past few days had shown Colin how short life could be, and he didn't want to waste any more time. He also knew if he moved too fast, he'd scare her off. "Leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done."

  "But you did it."

  "I thought it was the best thing for both of us." He stroked his hands down over her hips slowly, then back to her waist, his thumbs skimming her ribs. "Now I know I was wrong. Because even after five years, I can't forget the way it was between us."

  "That was a long time ago, Colin."

  "It could be like that again."

  She started to shake her head.

  He didn't want to hear the protest he knew was coming, so he silenced her the most effective way he knew—with his mouth.

  He felt her stiffen, but she didn't pull away. In fact, her eyelids had just started to lower when the shrill ring of his cell phone intruded.

  Later that evening, as Nikki sat alone on the front porch of her home, she would admit—if only to herself—that she'd never experienced with another man the kind of desire she'd felt just being held by Colin. The simple anticipation of his kiss had heated her blood more quickly and completely than any other man's kisses ever had.