For Love of Money

by Cathy Perkins

  Just like that, the spark in his eyes vanished.

  She plowed ahead. She’d waited six long years to say this, and by God she was going to get it all out. “You wanted to decide everything. Where we lived. Where we worked. If I worked. Everything! You never listened to my dreams. Never cared what I wanted.”

  They glared at each other, bristling like a pair of junkyard dogs.

  Slowly his expression changed from furious to grim, a look of raw pain in his eyes.

  She didn’t know what to say. In spite of everything he’d put her through—the tears, the hurt, the loneliness, all of it—she still loved him.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you, Holly. Sorry it ended like that. But you hurt me, too. I don’t think you’ve ever admitted you weren’t blameless. You broke my heart. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I was too angry at the time to see that. And then it was too late.”

  His words tore at her defenses. How had they managed to screw up so completely? Thrown away something so precious? “Why? Why was it too late? If you’d come after me. If you’d talked to me the way you are now…”

  “I did come after you.”

  Her hands covered her mouth. He had followed her that night. Stumbling. Half-naked. Zipping his jeans. At the time, it had only made her more furious. She’d run away, so hurt, so angry. Nothing he could have said at the time would’ve made it any better.

  “When you wouldn’t talk to me…” He shook his head. “I was young and stupid. My pride wanted you to come back, to make the first move. By the time I’d cooled down enough to realize I was making the biggest mistake of my life, Meredith presented me with a bigger one.”

  Her gaze snapped up to meet his. “What?”

  “She told me she was pregnant.”

  Hormones she didn’t know she possessed flooded her senses. With a creaking, groaning lurch, her long-dormant baby clock started a countdown. Jealousy burned through her veins.

  Meredith the home wrecker—had his child?

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  “She was pregnant?” Holly swallowed the watermelon-sized lump lodged in her throat. Even saying the words were torture.

  What was wrong with her? She’d never wanted children.

  Never admitted she wanted children.

  “You have a child?”

  JC shook his head. “No.”

  Relief roared through her, followed by a spark of insight. “That’s why you married her.”

  “It was the right thing to do.” He slumped against the scaffold, looking defeated. “She miscarried right after the ceremony. The marriage was a disaster from day one. I wanted an annulment. She wanted to hang in there, with me as her meal ticket.”

  “Is that how—?”

  “That’s not how I see all women. Just her.”

  It sure explained some of his attitude toward women, though. Laurie had said he was divorced. “You never remarried?”

  “I…” His face shut down. His expression shouted he’d already revealed too much.

  The doorbell sputtered.

  Holly ignored it. She’d rather hear what JC would say next.

  “Are you expecting someone?”

  “Yeah, I am.” Dammit, Laurie, have I told you lately your timing sucks?

  JC released another deep breath. He crossed the room and jerked open the front door.

  She really, really wanted to remind him to look to see who it was. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  Laurie stood on the porch. She rocked back on her crutches with a startled, “Oh. Am I interrupting?”

  “No,” JC said at the same time Holly said, “Yes.”

  “Glad we cleared that up.” Laurie rolled her eyes.

  JC brushed past Laurie and shot one last, indecipherable look over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later. Lock the door after me.”

  Frustration roared inside her. This conversation was so not over.

  Laurie stared at his departing back, then turned to Holly with assessing eyes. “Well, well. This has the potential to be very interesting.”

  “Don’t start with me. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You never do.” Laurie awkwardly poled her way into the living room. “Too bad I didn’t get here sooner. Apparently, I missed an enlightening show.”

  Holly turned the latch on the deadbolt. There. Dammit, JC, I hope you’re happy. “I didn’t know he planned to stop by. I don’t know what’s up with him.” She retrieved her brush, noticed her hands were still shaking, and dropped the brush into the paint can.

  “You have any place to sit beside the floor?” Laurie asked, glancing around.

  Holly made a face. “Picky, picky. How did you get here? I thought Gwen was bringing you.”

  “She had other plans.”

  “You drove? With that cast?”

  “It wasn’t that difficult. Now quit stalling. Break out the pizza and tell me what the hell was going on in here with JC.”

  “I thought you were bringing the pizza.”

  “Round Table delivers. Start talking.”

  “Nothing is going on.” Holly grabbed her cell and called the pizza shop.

  “Bull,” Laurie said the minute she finished placing the order. “The tension in here was off the Richter scale. Tell me, is this huge wall you put up to keep JC away related to him personally, or is it because he’s a cop? ’Cause if it’s just the cop thing, you’re the dumbest smart woman I ever met.”

  Holly stomped into the laundry room and returned with a folding chair and a handful of magazines. “Here. Improve your mind while I finish this last bit of painting. But you know I have a completely valid reason not to like cops, so get off my case.”

  “That asshole in Seattle? That guy just pissed you off.”

  “Yeah, well. JC pisses me off, too.”

  “I’d say he turns you on. In a major way. In fact, I’d say if I got here thirty seconds later, you two would’ve been doing the nasty right here on the floorboards.”

  Holly ignored her, and instead concentrated on climbing back onto the scaffold. She’d already cycled through pissed and hurt before ending up completely confused about everything related to JC.

  Laurie propped her crutches against the wall, squirmed around on the folding chair and thumbed through a magazine. “Oh, look. A dating guide. Should we take some quizzes and figure out what your problem is?”

  “I’m not the problem.” Holly picked up the brush and smoothed paint onto the wall.

  Long silent minutes followed.

  “This is ridiculous.” Laurie tossed the magazine on the floor. “Okay, how’s this for a relationship assessment? You and JC were both young back then. Too young. You were completely in love, but you screwed up and it fell apart.”

  “He screwed up,” Holly muttered. But did JC have a point? Had her actions pushed him into Meredith’s arms? Okay. Maybe. But would he have gone there if he really loved her?

  “Sweetie, it’s time to deal with whatever that asshole in Seattle did to you. And we definitely need to talk about your feelings for JC.” Laurie smiled, a Cheshire cat grin. “Those could be quite interesting.”

  “Well, Ms. Sigmund Freud-ette. You’re wrong. I’m not interested in JC.”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  Shut up, she grumped at the nagging voice in her head. It wasn’t her friggin’ pants that were on fire.

  “Could’ve fooled me. There was some seriously interesting chemistry in the air.”

  “Yeah, it’s called fury.”

  “I really don’t understand you sometimes.”

  Holly glanced over her shoulder, then turned.

  Lips pursed, Laurie regarded her seriously. “You’ve got a second chance with the man who turns you on mentally as well as physically, but son of a bitch, he’s a cop.” She brushed her hands in a dismissive move. “So you’re going to use that excuse to ignore him. Instead of dealing with what broke you apart the first time, you’re going to walk away from him. Ag
ain.”

  Holly stared at her best friend. “I cannot believe you said that.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Talk about “saved by the bell.” Holly dropped the brush into the paint can and awkwardly climbed off the scaffold.

  “We aren’t finished,” Laurie warned.

  “Hush.” Holly grabbed her wallet, crossed the foyer and peeked out the side window. Rather than a deranged assailant, a teenager holding a pizza box stood on the porch.

  She opened the door. On the street, behind the teenager, a car slowed to a crawl. Not just any car, a Richland police cruiser.

  “Everything okay here?” the officer called.

  “I’m going to fucking kill him,” Holly blurted. Fury clenched her fists and squinted her eyes.

  “What?” The pizza kid took a step back. His head swiveled between Holly and the cop, flight written all over his face.

  “Not you,” Holly waved the hand clutching the cash. “Here.”

  The kid grabbed the money and bolted for his car. The police officer threw a casual salute and continued up the road.

  Holly slammed the door, stormed into the kitchen and threw the pizza box onto the counter.

  “What’s the matter?” Laurie trailed behind her.

  “I cannot believe he did that without telling me. He had no right.”

  “Who did what?”

  “JC. That’s exactly where things went to hell with Frank.”

  “Slow down. Start at the beginning.” Laurie propped her crutches against the wall and sat on one of the counter stools.

  “The beginning…” Holly sat beside her and cradled her head in her hands. “Which beginning? Frank or what happened in Seattle?”

  “Either one. Both.”

  Holly dropped her hands onto the tile countertop and sighed. “The beginning with Frank was pretty normal. He seemed fun, intelligent. I was working a lot, so for the first few months, I only saw him occasionally. But gradually he started getting possessive and making comments like he was planning our future. I told him to slow down and claimed I was busy the next time he called. The coffee thing was already creeping me out—”

  “The coffee thing?” Laurie asked.

  Holly slumped against the counter stool and explained about the controlling coffee breaks. “He was already trying to make decisions for me—for both of us—in too many areas.”

  “I’m hearing annoying, but not scary,” Laurie said.

  “There’s more. I went to the drugstore late one night. He called while I was in the store. What was I doing shopping so late?” Holly mimed staring at a cell phone clutched in her upturned hand. “I thought WTF? How did he even know I was out?”

  “Okay, that’s stepping over the line. What did you do?” Laurie asked.

  Holly’s hand waved in a brushing motion. “He had an excuse, said he’d had a call for service in the area and swung by to see if I was awake and wanted to get coffee or food and saw me leave. He did this whole ‘I’m concerned’ thing. There’d been some ‘incidents’ in the area, yada yada, so I didn’t yell at him about it then, even though it really bothered me. And it kept getting worse. Every time I went somewhere other than the office, he’d call. What was I doing? Where was I going? With who? I don’t like that person. I’d rather you didn’t hang out with them. He pushed and pushed to put me in a box. Control what I did and who I saw.”

  “You did the right thing, breaking up with him.”

  “I tried. I told him in no uncertain terms that I would go wherever I wanted. That no one told me what to do.” Holly dropped her gaze to the pizza box, hating to even remember those days in Seattle. “It was the first time he really scared me. I honestly thought he might hit me. I backed away and he got it under control, but instead of leaving me alone, it got worse. Every time I turned around, he was right there. I changed grocery stores, coffee shops.”

  She shook her head. “I’d round a corner and there he’d be. Or he’d walk up behind me…He’d follow me if I went on a date, sit at the next table, and glare. He’d get his cop buddies to drive by my house and check for my car. I’d stand at my window and watch cop cars slow down or stop in front of my building. They’d pull me over if I was driving and tell me to ‘get my act together.’”

  “Sweetie.” Laurie reached over and hugged her.

  “I’ve never felt so trapped. Who was I going to go to? The police?” She made a bitter noise. “I got the restraining order when I showed the judge the call log. Hundreds of call and texts every friggin’ day. And that was after I told Frank to leave me alone. Some of those messages… God, he had me so freaked out.”

  “I remember you said the other police weren’t helpful.” Laurie shook her head. “That sucks.”

  “I kept telling myself most of the officers were good guys. But when Mom asked for help, well, I was actually grateful for the excuse to leave town for a while. So what happens? This insane week.”

  “It has been nuts. But what happened tonight, just now?” Laurie gestured toward the front door.

  Holly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes, hoping she’d see things differently. “A Richland cop stopped outside my house because there was a pizza guy on my doorstep and a second car in the driveway. Without talking to me, JC apparently called them and asked them to do that.”

  “Holly, yesterday was pretty scary.”

  “You’re missing the point. It’s JC wanting to control me. Just like Frank did. Were you not listening?”

  Laurie shook her head. “No, you’re missing the point. Frank and JC are completely different. They’re doing things for different reasons. Someone tried to hit us in a parking lot. We both know it wasn’t an accident. JC knows it, too. He cares about you and wants you safe.”

  Holly raised frustrated hands. “But on his terms. He’s deciding for me.”

  “This works in your favor. If it was me and someone I used to be involved with recruits his friends to protect me…Tell me something Holly.” Laurie swiveled toward her, a serious expression on her face. “If something else happened, would you trust JC—the man who was here tonight, not the kid you used to know—would you trust him to take care of you?”

  Part of her wanted to blow off Laurie’s question because it wasn’t what was bothering her, but she couldn’t help remembering how much better she felt when JC showed up Thursday night. “Maybe the real issue isn’t about control,” she said slowly. “Maybe it’s more about communication and trust.”

  “Progress.” Laurie smiled her Cheshire grin. “Keep working on that. Now open the pizza box. I’m starving.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  SATURDAY MORNING

  The central console pinged a warning when Holly started the BMW. Low air pressure.

  She pushed the gearshift to park, climbed out and examined the tires. Great.

  Her first stop was the gas station. She studied the air machine. How much was she supposed to put in? She connected the hose, squirted air into the tires, and added “Visit Tire Store to her long To-Do list.

  Minutes later, she cleared the Interstate 182/82 interchange and set the BMW’s cruise control at seventy-two miles per hour. Tire underinflated, reduce speed, warned the console. As if in response, the front end shimmied.

  She lowered her speed. Spend the morning at the tire store or drive? The car could make it to Yakima, as long as she watched her speed.

  Elbow propped on the window ledge, she gave her left hand an experimental flex. Annoyed rumbles came from under the bandage, but her fingers weren’t as stiff as they’d been the day before. She squirmed into a comfortable position and watched the countryside stream past her window. Farms, orchards, and vineyards lined the Yakima River—a crazy quilt of yellows and reds that stitched together a series of small towns.

  Hopefully, the extra key in her tote bag fit a mailbox in one of the towns’ post offices.

  With a shrug, she tapped her Bluetooth. “Voicemail.”

  Most of Frida
y’s ignored calls were friends expressing concern over the incident in the library parking lot. Then, “Holly? Devon Edwards.”

  She straightened.

  “I checked that Wyoming proxy. Nothing definite, but the feds are sniffing around. You sure you want this guy as a client?”

  She’d asked herself the same question.

  The next voicemail began and the bottom fell out of her stomach.

  “Hello, Holly.”

  Blood drained from her face, leaving her cold and sweaty. She knew that voice.

  Frank Phalen.

  She’d moved three hundred miles to get away from him. But somehow, she’d known he’d find her again.

  “I’m glad you came to see me at the casino. We were meant to be together. To have a second chance.”

  Second chance? Oh God, the flowers were from him.

  “Call me.”

  This could not be happening.

  The pavement before her started a slow swaying dance. She made it to the side of the road. The car shuddered as trucks rushed past, the buffeting air forming a counterpoint to her chorus of wails.

  …

  Holly wasn’t sure how long she sat on the shoulder of the highway. Gradually, reason returned. Okay. The long hair, the clothes, the hat. Working security. Not what she expected, but she still should’ve figured it out immediately. Creepy Security Guy was Frank. No more rationalizing or explaining it away.

  Part of her wanted to shriek, How could you not recognize him?

  The rest went, Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

  He’d seen her when she met with Peter Ayers. No wonder he’d sent the flowers to the office. Sending flowers might be a gray area, but calling her violated the restraining order.

  Was the order still in effect? It had been nearly a year. How long did a protective order last?

  JC’s words from the wake resonated in her mind. Tell me if Phalen contacts you.

  She raised her hand to tap the Bluetooth and call JC, but the previous evening’s confrontation resonated. JC might think calling about Frank was just a pretense to contact him. Was she even remotely ready to talk to him?

  Not just no, but hell, no.