Eye of the Beholder

education to finance his doomed private ferry scheme."
    Alexa realized that the chilling blame in Trask's gaze was not directed at the memory of his father. It was aimed at himself.
    "I used up all of my logic and reason that night, and then I lost my temper," Trask continued softly. "I told him that he was going to bankrupt us again. I pleaded with him to ditch the Avalon project. I told him to think about Nathan's future. Dad was furious. He said I had no vision. He slammed down the phone and so did I."
    "That night?" A terrible sympathy flashed through Alexa. "You quarreled that night, didn't you? The night your father was killed in the accident."
    Trask's eyes were hooded now. She knew that he had said far more than he had intended.
    "Three hours after I put down the phone I got the call from the Avalon cops telling me my father had driven his car off Avalon Point."
    "Oh, Trask." Not knowing what else to do, she reached out to touch his shoulder. "No wonder you've been obsessed with finding answers. Deep down you're afraid that you might have been the one who was responsible for your father's death, aren't you?"
    His eyes gleamed with sudden fury. "What the hell are you talking about? I told you, Dad was murdered, and I'm going to prove it."
    "You're afraid that what really happened after that last quarrel was that he got into his car and drove off without being in full control of himself. You think you were a contributing factor in his death, don't you?"
    "That is pure, undiluted bullshit."
    "Yes, it is," Alexa said. "But deep down inside, you're worried that it's the truth. You've come back to Avalon because you have to know if you've been right to blame yourself all these years for what happened that night."
    He said nothing.
    Alexa gripped his shoulder. "Listen to me, you were not responsible for your father's death. But that does not automatically imply that someone else is."
    "I'm going to find out what happened that night," he said very steadily.
    "Trask, listen to me. I know what it's like to get that kind of call in the middle of the night. I know what it's like not to have had a chance to say goodbye."
    "Alexa—"
    She tightened her hand. "I know how it feels to wonder if, just maybe, I'd been prettier or more clever , or, better yet, if I'd been a son, if maybe my father would have spent more time at home. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten bored and traveled halfway around the world to risk his neck taking pictures of other people's wars. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten himself shot by some anonymous sniper who probably never even knew his name—"
    She broke off abruptly, shocked by the rush of words. She had never said those things aloud, not even to Dr. Ormiston .
    Trask watched her with an unblinking gaze. "I'm sorry."
    Alexa fought a short, ferocious battle to pull herself together.
    "Sometimes there are no answers," she said.
    "Sometimes there are answers. I'm going to get them."
    "I never thought I'd say this," she whispered. "But I wish you luck. I think you're going to need it."
    On impulse she stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth lightly across his. He did not respond.
    She took her hand off his shoulder and turned away toward the exit.
    "Alexa."
    She paused and looked back. "What is it?"
    "I don't want or need your sympathy. Do you understand?"
    She could feel the tension in him, a live wire dancing with dangerous electricity. "Got it. No sympathy."
    "And the next time you kiss me, by God, make sure it's for real. I don't need little butterfly pecks to make me feel better. I'm not some kid with a skinned knee."
    She braced herself. "What do you need, Trask?"
    Without warning, he took two steps toward her and pulled her into his arms. "This is what I need."
    His mouth came down on hers, fierce, hot, demanding . The kiss exploded through her senses, pulling her deep into the vortex of sensation that had opened at her feet.
    She discovered in a sudden rush of heat and lightning that she did not want to give him another little butterfly caress. She did not want to brush her mouth across his in a misguided attempt to communicate her understanding of what he had gone through all those years ago.
    She wanted to crush herself against him so that she could feel the kiss all the way to her bones.
    She wrapped her arms around his neck and sank deeper into the whirlpool of sensual energy.

14

    Her response swept away everything else that should have mattered to him tonight, everything that should have