Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [122]
“Who knows what happened to her,” he said between sessions in the gym with which he was affiliated. They stood at a broad bank of windows looking toward the Denver skyline, where bright sunlight was reflecting on the steel-and-glass towers and the snow was melting as the temperature climbed.
The clank of bodybuilding machines echoed as weights were hoisted and dropped. Muted music was barely audible over the hum of stationary bikes, stair machines, and treadmills.
To his credit, Laslo actually sweated, and he wore a jogging suit over his well-honed body, a white towel draped around his neck. “With Marquise, you could never tell what was going on. One minute she was on a serious health kick taking vitamins, living on lean meat, vegetables, and fruits; the next thing you knew she was poisoning herself with liquor and drugs.” His nose wrinkled in disdain. “The trouble with Marquise is that she doesn’t have any dedication, no loyalty to her body or the ability to stick to any kind of regimen.” He lifted his broad shoulders. “But she’s not alone. It’s a problem in this country.”
“She ever talk about takin’ off?”
“All the time.” Laslo dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead with the end of his towel. “She had dreams, thought she’d end up in New York or back in L.A. doing something in television. That seemed to change week to week—all those problems at the station. Her cohost is a real prick, always out to get her. If you ask me, she was confused and pressured. Either work or, well…personal issues.” His mouth pursed, as if he’d said far too much. “Maybe I shouldn’t be talking to you,” he said. “After all, the way Marquise told it, you were a major part of the problem.”
The muscles in the back of Thane’s neck tightened. “What did she tell you?”
Laslo hedged. “You know, Walker, half the time I thought she still held a torch for you.”
“And the other half?”
“The other half tells me that she was afraid of you. That you were the only person that frightened the bejeezus out of her. Why’s that?”
“Hell if I know,” Thane replied, though that wasn’t exactly the truth. Mary Theresa had half a dozen reasons to distrust him—all of them valid. “You know what they say about ex-husbands.”
“The only good ones are dead ones.”
Thane grinned. “I’ve heard that before.”
“Kind of like ex-wives, I suppose,” Laslo said, his eyes drilling into Thane’s as an announcement for the next step class was broadcast. “Look, I’ve got to go. My next appointment’s here.”
A short woman, decked out in expensive workout gear and jewelry, beamed at the sight of the much younger man. Laslo rained a smile on her, and the slightly pudgy woman melted.
Thane got the hell out of there. The gym with its weight machines, rowing machines, ever-moving steps, and sweating bodies all staring at televisions mounted high on the walls or instructors with bodies most of the soft-bellies who walked through the door wanted to duplicate, made him uncomfortable. He believed in staying in shape by simple hard work. Physical labor.
He unlocked his truck, noticed that the Jeep that had followed him here was gone, and felt a bit of relief. But as he drove out of the parking lot, he spied a Plymouth four-door pull away from the curb, and he knew Henderson was still watching him. Adjusting his rearview mirror, Thane nosed his truck toward the heart of Denver again and wondered how Maggie was doing.
Being away from her made him restless and edgy. Though he told himself it was insane to worry—she was a grown woman, for God’s sake—he couldn’t help the frisson of concern that cut into his brain when he thought of her walking in her irresponsible twin’s shoes.
Like she’s safe with you. Guilt burrowed deep in his soul. He was using Maggie. Plain and simple. And she didn’t know it.
“You’re a miserable son of a bitch,” he growled at himself, but it didn’t do