Needing Nicole (The Cantrelle Family Trilogy Book 2)

by Patricia Kay

  “No.” He laughed sheepishly. “I...I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice, that’s all.”

  “Jack...”

  He heard the wistful note and cursed himself for yielding to the weakness that had prompted his call. “I’m sorry, Nicole,” he said, “I shouldn’t have called. I won’t call again unless I have some news.”

  “Okay. See you at five.”

  He hung up. He’d barely turned away from the phone when it rang. He snatched up the receiver. “Hello,” he barked.

  “Jack?” Static accompanied the greeting.

  It was Paul O’Malley. “Paul? Where are you?”

  “On Interstate 10. Trailing Arnold. He’s on his way.” Jack looked at his watch. It was ten o’clock. “What time did he leave?”

  “About nine. I waited to make sure he was actually headed towards New Orleans. I’m still not completely sure, ’cause we’re just outside Beaumont. I mean, he could just be on a sales trip, but I gotta feelin’ he’s headin’ your way.”

  Jack’s stomach clenched. “That means he’ll probably hit town about three o’clock, maybe four, depending on whether he stops for lunch.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figure. Anyway, I’ll keep you posted. You gonna be at this number all day?”

  “Yes. I won’t budge until four-thirty, when it’s time to go pick up Nicole.”

  “You got the number to my car phone, don’cha?” O’Malley asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, call me if anything changes. Although it might be hard to reach me since you won’t know what area code I’m in.”

  “Why don’t you just check in with me a couple of times instead?”

  “Yeah, that might be better.”

  “And Paul?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t lose him.”

  “You can count on me.”

  When they’d hung up, Jack took a deep breath, and called the law firm once more.

  “Nicole,” he said when she answered, “Paul O’Malley just called. Derek Arnold is on his way.” He repeated everything O’Malley had told him, once again cautioning Nicole against leaving the office.

  “But Jack, there’s no reason for me to stay in at lunchtime. He couldn’t possibly get here by then if they’re near Beaumont now. Not unless he sprouts wings and grows a jet engine!”

  “Humor me, okay? I’ll just feel better knowing you’re inside.”

  He heard her sigh. “Okay. Okay. I promise.” She chuckled. “Honestly, you’re worse than my brothers!”

  “Nicole,” Jack said, “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.” Then, furious with himself for yielding to that damned weakness again, he added, “I’d feel guilty forever. I got you into this mess, and I aim to make damn sure you get out in one piece.”

  For the rest of the day he paced around. He couldn’t settle into anything. He tried to watch television, but the picture remained a blur in his mind. He tried to read. The words were meaningless. He tried to nap. His eyes remained wide open. Finally he gave up. He changed into workout clothes and did push-ups until the muscles in his arms ached. Then he did sit-ups until he was gasping for breath.

  Afterward he took a long hot bath, cleaned up the bathroom, put on fresh clothes and sat back down at the kitchen table. With notebook paper in front of him he began to write: The first time I saw her, she was stepping down from the streetcar. Her yellow rain slicker...

  As the afternoon wore on Jack got more and more tense. He kept looking at the clock. Two o’clock. They should be near the city, maybe close to Baton Rouge. Two-thirty. He kept waiting for the phone to ring. Three o’clock. He tapped his pen against the kitchen table.

  Why didn’t Paul O’Malley call? Jack had been sure the private investigator would call him once they hit the outskirts of New Orleans.

  He stood, stretched. Paced the length of the kitchen floor. Walked down the hall to the living room. Looked out the front window. He could just barely see the street from this angle. Nothing. Only bright sunshine, an occasional bird flitting from one branch to another. A large orange Queen butterfly sailed over a stubborn patch of periwinkle that had refused to die out for the winter.

  He looked at his watch again. Three-fourteen. Damn it. Why didn’t O’Malley call? Well, the hell with it. He’d try to call him. So Jack tried. With no success. He heard the phone ringing at the other end, but no one answered.

  It was now three twenty-three. Jack’s uneasiness grew. Why hadn’t O’Malley called him? Something must be wrong.

  He thought for a moment, made his decision. He called Nicole. “I want you to tell Julianne what’s going on and ask her if you can leave. Right now.”

  “But why, Jack?”

  “I can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling I have. You’ll have to trust me, Nicole.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  When he saw her emerge from the courtyard, he felt weak with relief. He wanted more than anything to gather her in his arms, but he also wanted to get her home as quickly as possible.

  He drove fast. Several times he reached over to touch her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, although who he was reassuring—himself or her—he wasn’t sure.

  At four-fifteen they pulled into the driveway. He didn’t even bother to put the car in the garage, just hurried her into the house. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to hold her close. He could feel her heart beating. He could feel her soft breasts pressed up against his chest. He didn’t kiss her. They didn’t talk. He just held her.

  Finally he let her go. Voice gruff, he said, “Go pack a few things. We’re going to a hotel.”

  “Jack,” Nicole protested, frown lines creasing her forehead.

  “Don’t argue with me, Nicole.”

  She opened her mouth to say something else, then closed it. Evidently she’d seen by his expression that his mind was made up. And it was. He might never be able to do anything about his feelings for Nicole, but dammit, he loved her. And he was through taking chances with her life.

  She disappeared toward her bedroom. Jack was just walking out of Aimee’s room, his own packed suitcase in his hand, when the phone shrilled. He darted into the hall, dropped the suitcase, grabbed the receiver.

  “Yes?”

  “Jack?”

  Jack expelled the air he’d been holding in. Relief washed over him. “Paul! Christ, man, I’ve been going nuts waiting for you to call. Where are you? What happened?”

  “Wait,” O’Malley said. His voice sounded strained. “Lemme talk, okay?”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “I lost him.”

  “What! How could you lose him! For God’s sake, Paul, you’re the best in the business! I trusted you!”

  “I’m sorry, Jack. I underestimated the bastard. I didn’t think he had a clue about me, so I guess I was careless. He must’a found me out, ’cause he stopped for gas just outside of Baton Rouge. Anyway, I pulled into the service station, too. And I had to get gas. I mean, it would’ve looked funny if I hadn’t. While I was waiting to pay for my gas, he pulled his car around to the back of the parking lot, near the vending machines and men’s room. I couldn’t go right after him ’cause I had to pay first. I didn’t want the attendant to get all worked up, thinkin’ I was tryin’ to get away without payin’. Anyway, by the time the guy in front of me got done—there was some mixup about his change—and I paid, several minutes had passed.

  “I got in my car, drove around back. I didn’t see Arnold anywhere. His car was there, though. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I figured he couldn’t go anywhere without his car. So I sat there and waited. I waited twenty minutes. Then I started to get nervous, tryin’ to think what had happened to him.

  “I got out of the car, walked around the building toward the men’s room. I figured that was the only place he could be, unless he was hidin’ in the woods, and why would he do that? I still didn’t think he knew I was followin’
him.

  “Anyway, I went to the men’s room, tried the doorknob. It was locked. I knocked. I figured if he was in there and I knocked, he’d just think it was someone wantin’ to get in and he’d come out. He yanked the door open, and the next thing I knew I woke up with a splittin’ headache and a knot on my head the size of a tennis ball. I was layin’ in the weeds, about twenty feet from the back of the service station, and my pockets were empty. No I.D. No wallet. No money. No car keys. Hell, he even took my car.”

  Jack’s heart thumped heavily, and his mind raced. “And this was when?”

  “Well, we stopped around two. It was close to two-thirty when that bastard creamed me. I woke up a little after three.”

  “Christ, Paul, it’s four-thirty. Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

  “It took me this long to convince the owner of the service station that I wasn’t some nut case... plus I couldn’t even remember your number.”

  Jack ran his hand through his hair. Arnold was probably already in New Orleans. Hell, he might even be outside this minute, watching the house. He might have even seen them come inside. Jack looked around, fear clutching at him. He could see the wide expanse of the picture window, and looking the other way, the windows overlooking the backyard. His throat felt dry, and his palms felt clammy.

  “Jack—”

  Just the way O’Malley said his name caused Jack’s breath to stop.

  “There’s something else.” O’Malley waited one heartbeat. “He took my gun.”

  The words reverberated over the wire. Stark. Frightening. Icy-cold fear slithered along Jack’s spine.

  A gun.

  Derek Arnold had Paul’s gun.

  At this very moment, he could be within yards of the house, with a gun. Jack swallowed.

  “The police finally believed me, and of course, they’ve got a description of the car and the license number and all that, so I’m sure they’ll catch up with him.”

  “You were driving your Thunderbird?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah. Dark green, looks almost black unless you’re up close to it. Plates read 742 FQD.”

  Jack wrote down the numbers. “Where are you now? And what’re you going to do?”

  “I’m in the sheriff’s office in west Baton Rouge. I’ll call my wife. She can order a rental car for me. Have it delivered here, or maybe one of these guys’ll take me to the rental place to pick it up.” He sighed. “Listen, Jack, I’m really sorry. I know I screwed up. Be careful.” He hesitated, then said, “Do you want me to come to New Orleans?”

  “No.”

  “My advice is, call the cops. The whole game’s changed now that he’s got a gun. In my opinion, the guy’s a loose cannon, considerin’ what he did to me.”

  That’s what Jack thought, too. He snorted. “What am I going to say to them? That I think he’s headed here? That I think he did something to his wife? That I think Nicole’s in danger? I have no proof of anything. No case.”

  “Then why don’t you pack up the Cantrelle woman and take her somewhere safe? Forget about trappin’ Arnold. It’s too dangerous.”

  “That’s exactly what I plan to do.” His heart pounded as he replaced the receiver. He’d been in all kinds of dangerous situations during his career. He’d covered wars. He’d covered hostage situations. He’d covered mob scenes, and terrorist hijackings. Nothing had ever scared him so thoroughly.

  Of course, during those situations, he’d only had to worry about his own skin.

  Now he had something infinitely more precious to worry about.

  He walked back to Nicole’s bedroom. She was bent over the bed, just shutting a small suitcase. She’d changed clothes, put on jeans, socks and loafers, a bright orange sweatshirt. She turned, smiled. “Jack...” She frowned. “What’s wrong? Was that Paul O’Malley on the phone?” He nodded, quickly told her what Paul had said. He saw her face go still. “A gun,” she said quietly.

  “We have to get out of here, and fast,” he said.

  She didn’t argue. She shut her suitcase, said, “I’m ready.” Met his gaze steadily.

  Jack took a shaky breath. If anything happened to her... “Nicole.” It was a whisper, and he heard the fear in his voice. He reached for her.

  She walked into his arms, raised her face, looked deeply into his eyes. Powerful emotions pummeled him. Fear for her safety. Love. “Whatever happens—”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” she said.

  Her eyes were steady, full of trust. Her soft lips were parted, moist-looking. He cradled the back of her head, brought it forward and crushed his mouth to hers. He put everything he was feeling into the kiss. All the anxiety, all the torment, all the frustration, all the passion, all the love.

  And she responded in kind.

  They stayed fused for a long time. Jack lost himself in the deep recesses of her hot, sweet mouth. But finally he had to let her go. “Come on,” he said roughly. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Mouth swollen from his kiss, eyes shadowed but not frightened, she nodded. She grabbed her big tote bag, slung it over her shoulder.

  He picked up her suitcase.

  She walked out of the bedroom, and he followed her. His own suitcase was in the hall. He picked it up, too.

  When she would have opened the front door, he said, “No. Wait. Let me go out and put these bags in the car. I’ll look around first. You stay right here.”

  “Okay.” Her dark eyes gleamed. Pink stained her cheeks. She opened the door and stood back to let him pass.

  Everything happened so fast.

  One moment Jack was stepping outside, looking around.

  The next he was staring down the muzzle of a gun, and Derek Arnold was shouting, “You dirty, rotten son-of-a-bitch! Shackin’ up with my wife! Who the hell do you think you are? Where is she? Come out here, Elise! Get your butt out here, or you’re gonna be sorry!” His face was contorted with rage. “When I get my hands on you—”

  Jack swung Nicole’s suitcase. The gun exploded and Jack staggered back, his left shoulder stinging. From somewhere behind him, Nicole screamed. “Jack! Jack!”

  Derek leaped at him, cursing and muttering. “Goddamn you, I saw you kissing her. I saw you through the window. How long has this been goin’ on, huh?” He hit Jack in the face. Jack’s shoulder felt as if someone had stuck a hot poker in it, but he managed, with the last of his strength, to heave his own suitcase up and into Arnold’s face.

  The next thing he knew he was lying on the ground.

  * * *

  When Jack fell, Nicole, who had been frantically trying to locate the can of Mace in her tote bag finally felt her fingers close around it. She flew out the door, spraying the can directly into Derek Arnold’s eyes.

  He screamed. He dropped his gun, clutched at his eyes, still screaming. Heart pounding, Nicole knelt over Jack. He struggled to sit up. “Nicole! Get back in the house. Where’s Ar—”

  Trembling with delayed reaction, Nicole said, “I sprayed him in the eyes.” She inclined her head. “He’s over there.” Arnold was half sitting, half standing against the trunk of a magnolia tree. He moaned and sobbed, his hands covering his eyes.

  “Are you okay, Jack?” Her heart still felt as if it were trying to get out of her chest. She’d been so scared when she’d heard the gun go off. So scared. If anything had happened to Jack...

  “I’m okay. It’s just my shoulder.”

  His voice sounded weak to her. “Jack, here. Take this can of Mace in case he’s able to try something else, although I don’t think he’s in any shape to do anything for a while.”

  “Wh-where are you going?”

  “Inside. I’m going to call the police.”

  “Hurry,” Jack said. “I’m starting to feel dizzy.”

  Blood had begun welling from his shoulder. She didn’t want to leave him, but she knew she had to. She handed him the Mace, then ran to the house. She called the police, then raced back outside. Jack, clutching his shoulder, face white, looked as i
f he was about to pass out. But he was still holding the can of Mace, aimed at Arnold. She wanted to go to him. But she knew she couldn’t. Not yet.

  Nicole looked around and finally saw what she’d been looking for. The gun lay in the grass a few feet away. She walked over, picked it up. She didn’t know much about pistols, but she did know how to shoot. She mentally thanked Norman for the lessons.

  She walked over to Derek Arnold, who by now, had collapsed against the tree trunk. She spread her legs, raised the gun and pointed it directly at him. “Don’t move a muscle,” she said. “Or you’re dead.”

  He whimpered.

  Ten minutes later, Nicole heard the sirens. When a police cruiser, followed shortly by an ambulance, pulled into the driveway, dome lights flashing, Nicole finally let down her guard.

  And as two officers and two paramedics rushed to her aid, she hurried to Jack’s side.

  “Oh, Jack, are you okay?” Tears blinded her as she knelt by him.

  But he didn’t answer.

  He had passed out.

  Chapter 14

  “Wh-where’s Arnold?” Jack said.

  Nicole whirled around, a big smile splitting her face. “You’re awake!” Relief made her feel weak, and she clutched at the windowsill for a brief moment before quickly walking to Jack’s bedside. “I thought you were going to sleep forever,” she said tenderly. She pulled the bedside chair over close to the bed, sat and reached for his hand.

  He clasped her hand, but she could feel how weak he was. “Am I in the hospital?” he said. He licked his lips.

  “Yes, you’re in the hospital. You were shot in the shoulder. Do you remember that?”

  “Yeah, I guess. And I remember fighting with Arnold,. swinging a suitcase at him.” He frowned with the effort of concentrating, blue eyes cloudy. Then suddenly, they cleared, and he grinned. “I remember now! You sprayed him in the face with your Mace!” He laughed triumphantly, then grimaced. “Ow, that hurts.” He licked his lips again.

  “Do you want some water?” There was a pain around her heart, as if someone were squeezing it. Each time she thought about what might have happened... if Jack had been a few inches over... if the bullet had gone through his heart instead of a muscle in his left shoulder.. .if.. .oh, God. She would have died if something had happened to him. It was in that moment of fear, when she’d realized he’d been shot, that she’d known his leaving her to go back to Houston, back to his nomadic life-style, wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to her. No, the worst thing, the impossible thing, the not-to-be-borne thing, would be knowing Jack was gone forever, that the light in his eyes would never shine again, that his heart would never beat again—