A shiver crept along her spine.
Was he the one behind the calls?
The phone rang and she jerked, spilling water down the front of her. She slapped down the glass and flicked her cell open—lifted it to her ear.
A smooth as satin voice. “I’ll bet you miss me.”
“Who is this?” But she knew.
“How quickly they forget. They never write, never call.”
Her chest felt like home to a percussion symphony, and rapid-fire cymbal clashes she had come to expect burst in her lungs. “Don’t call me again!”
She slammed the phone on the night table and grasped the edge of the bed, hanging on for dear life. Trust Him. “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”
The fluffy pillows welcomed her aching head as she leaned back, Psalm 91:2 fresh on her lips, scurrying through her heart. Repeating it over and over like a calming mantra, she finally relaxed. Closed her eyes.
The phone again.
#
Ed pulled into the drive at Alicia’s house. A familiarity he understood. But she wasn’t expecting him. Probably not willing to talk. At the last game, he had finally told her he was no longer interested. Not even a friend with benefits which she had made clear was fine with her.
He punched in her number. She might be in a forgiving mood.
“Sure, come on in.”
Ed rolled out of the truck, cold and unsure all the way to the door. Maybe she’d be waiting with a baseball bat. He deserved it. And yet, he knew Alicia only wanted the celebrity that went with being Ed’s girl. She wanted to be able to supply her friends with tickets. Loved getting the first interviews from him in the locker room.
Still, he’d been adamant that he no longer wanted the relationship. Until tonight. Tonight, when he realized he was way out of Rochelle’s league. He might have a troupe of followers, but she was the one with class. The perfect girl in his book.
Alicia answered the door with her usual titillating smile. She waggled a finger at him and as soon as he was through the door, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Mmmm. I’ve missed you, McGrath. You haven’t been very nice to me.” She kissed him hard, leaving nothing for him to imagine.
He shook his head, pulled her arms away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”
“What?” She jerked away, hands on hips. A major pout covered her face. “What kind of game are you playing?”
“I—uh. I’m not sure why I came here tonight.”
She pushed him aside, opened the door, and shoved him through it.
“Well, don’t come back until you know for good and well what you want. I’m not your booty call. Got it?”
“I’m really sorry, Alicia.”
“Whatever.”
CHAPTER 27
HAVING TROUBLE SLEEPING, ED could think of no one but Rochelle. No doubt the guilt that she’d been right about him all along. He was nothing but a player. Still, all he wanted was to hear her voice to give him peace. Would she be awake this late?
He pressed in her number.
“What do you want? Enough, already!”
“Rochelle?”
Ed heard shuffling of the phone. “Ed?”
“Are you okay?” What was this wrenching at his heart? If she were in any kind of trouble, he would be in his truck and at her door in seconds.
“Do you know what time it is? You’re crazy to call this late. And yes, I’m fine. Just a nightmare. The phone startled me is all.”
“I thought you might be awake. The storm’s so noisy.”
Suddenly, picturing those curls clinging to porcelain skin and eyes so blue they popped against her cheeks as she lay on soft pillows, he had to swallow down thoughts better forgotten. This girl was the real deal. Not like Red Kelly or Alicia Caldwell. Or any number he knew too well.
“My, Ed, you are stubborn.”
“But you’re all right?” Ed pressed for an answer. “You can trust me.”
“And why should I trust a man I barely know?”
Donna had mentioned a man who had betrayed Rochelle. Wasn’t Ed that same kind of jerk? He thought he’d changed in the last couple months, but after tonight, he wasn’t sure. “Don’t a hundred phone calls over the course of six weeks mean anything?”
“Yes, it means you’ll have a big phone bill.”
“Cute. Then how about because I’m your friend, I care. Tonight was fun, wasn’t it? Maybe we could do it again.” Maybe he could keep on changing. Become worthy of a girl like Rochelle. Alicia’s lips forced their way into his mind. He groaned.
And maybe Rochelle was better off without him messing up her life.
#
Forcing him to wait for an answer, Rochelle picked up the copy of GlitznGossip she had purchased for no other reason than to check out his face. Despite the fat lip, the photo didn’t lie. Incredibly handsome, not only in a model sort of way, but in a rugged, no-nonsense manner. The casual cocoa-brown hair. Almost steel-colored blue eyes.
A blend of every physical quality a woman desired. The dark hair and longer than normal lashes didn’t play fair. And while the lopsided smile brought out all kinds of new emotions, she questioned if she would ever risk going on a date again as long as she lived. From the look of the woman on the cover, she’d have more than an abundance of competition. She crinkled the magazine and dropped it onto the stand.
Finally, he broke the silence. “Still there?”
“Yes.”
“Now that we’re home for a few days, I’d love for you to come to another game.”
“Not wise.” With the cell phone pressed between her head and shoulder, she crossed her arms like an irate warden matron. Only needed a thumping foot to complete the picture.
“Did I say or do anything wrong tonight?”
“Not at all. Actually, you said everything right.” Too right.
“But the answer’s still no?”
His words quenched her thirst for company, but it couldn’t happen again. “I went because I wanted to see what the game of hockey is all about. And you were dead on. I had a wonderful time.” Such a terrific time her common sense had nearly vanished. The player grinning on the cover of the magazine confused what she thought she knew about Ed.
Then he chuckled, soft and low, his laugh matching the deep timbre of his voice. “Well, you see, I have an in with this guy on the team. I might be able to line up tickets whenever you’d like them.”
He had been so kind. And here she behaved cold and callous. She checked the attitude but steered the conversation away from them. “I didn’t think you’d ever get up from the ice. Is all that blood usual or … was tonight an exception?”
“Do you really want to discuss my fight at the game?”
The only just course was to be honest and not lead him on. “Listen, your career keeps you hustling from city to city and back again. You don’t need a damsel in distress muddying things up. There are plenty of women who would love to be a part of your life.”
“Yeah, about that. I’m not sure why I feel the need to tell you. After I dropped you off, I went to see an old friend of mine. But I—”
“See what I mean. You have enough to keep you busy.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have discussed that with you. But I just want you to know that I’m changing, Rochelle. I don’t want that old life anymore.”
“At least not for the last hour or so, right?”
“Can’t we be friends? Simply enjoy each other’s company and have a good time.”
Good-time Ed. She closed her eyes and fought through the frankness of that statement. When she opened them, her path cleared. Good times meant a hodgepodge of problems, mostly for her if she discovered herself more than a little interested. Here he was a couple hours after dropping her off and insinuating he’d been with an old girlfriend. Or, maybe his current one. “Ed, it really has nothing to do with other women. That’s your business. I have to know I can survive. By myself. I had a pl
an for where I was going. My life has been anything but normal for the last few years and the timing isn’t right. Not even for a good time.
“I have to learn to climb into my car again at night without checking every empty space. To walk from the car to the grocery store if I need milk before I go to bed. I have to be able to open the door to the neighbor kid without having a panic attack thinking he’s a criminal in disguise. I have to be assured I can get on an elevator with a strange man without my heart racing because he offers his arm to help me through the door. Don’t you understand? This isn’t me. You’ve never seen the real me.”
“What if I’d like to?”
She groaned. “Please. Your life is a complete one-eighty from mine. I like the quiet life. Watch a movie. Pop some corn.”
“Oh, yeah. My big glamorous life. I like popcorn and movies. I realize I’ve done what’s expected of me, but those things don’t fulfill. I appreciate your concerns. If you have to, think of me as nothing more than a friend—your big brother.”
“I don’t need a big brother. You’ve seen me through enough and I’m grateful. So very grateful. But don’t you think it’s time I acted like an adult? I’ll be fine.” A lie she tried to convince herself was real. She’d never be fine again.
“But Rochelle.”
“No, I don’t need a knight in shining armor. Those days are gone. Knights aren’t real.”
CHAPTER 28
MAGGIE REINHOLDT LICKED HER top lip, catching the last drop of courage. She snatched the stuffed tiger to her chest, scratched it behind the ears.
“Those big eyes don’t fool me. You know exactly what I’m thinking, don’t you?”
He offered nothing but a stupid look. Didn’t say a word.
“Well? Are you going to give me a lecture about the whiskey? Don’t see why.” She slapped the end of his nose. “Say something, anything. I’m sick of the quiet.”
Sitting alone every night while Erik entertained his lady friends or went to the club with a buddy had grown old very quickly. And yet, she didn’t want him at home either.
Five years they had been playing this game of who’s gonna give in first and ask for a divorce? She knew Erik, understood his need to be seen as perfect. He’d never want a divorce. Even if he did, it would show weakness to the rest of the world, his admiring public. No, Maggie would have to be the one.
But Erik frightened her—not always, just sometimes. That look he got in his eyes when he was angry as if he might pick up the fireplace poker and clobber her.
What made her think that? The booze. Right, it was the booze talking. She had to stop it, make the noises in her head go away.
Maggie stared at the bottle. She had promised herself that tonight would be different. She wouldn’t drink it all down. She had to change. Unless she was ready to commit to exposing him, she would have to be content to remain his wife.
And, anyway, she didn’t have the proof yet. Maybe if she found it…
She owed it to Ricky. Owed it to the rest of the mothers at the clinic.
The bottle waited patiently. She licked her lips again, listened to it chanting her name. “Come on, Mags, just one more. A small nip this time. No one will know. You can add a little water to the bottle.” She bit her lip, thinking and weighing the outcome. “Attagirl. You know who loves ya.”
That’s right. Erik didn’t love her anymore. Probably never had.
“Just a touch. Enough to wet these dry lips.”
Maggie leaned over, took off the cap, and poured two fingers.
“That all? What’s wrong with you?”
And she poured two more.
CHAPTER 29
AFTER HAVING STARED AT the ceiling most of the night praying for a few minutes of sleep, Rochelle had fought drowsiness driving to work. The best she’d hoped for was to arrive partially awake and mostly alive. After Ed spilling his guts to her, she couldn’t have slept more than a couple hours. He seemed honest; she’d say that for him. But what did it matter.
Now, with three-fruit tea still warming her lips and the crumbly remnants of a blueberry muffin adorning her desk, she fixed her sleepy eyes on the mess in her office. Never quite as neat as home. Not even close. She needn’t complain. At least she had an office with a large window, even if it did open onto the parking lot. The wall on her right, ceiling to floor oak bookcases, dedicated most of the space to reference books she never touched.
The clock chimed behind her. Enough Monday morning daydreams. Stacks of current events pressed for her attention. The Detroit Free Press, The Washington Post, and the New York Times, a few of the newspapers vying for attention to use on the first segment.
A well-meaning soul had plunked a copy of GlitznGossip into the pile. Her nose crinkled. Featured on the cover, a group of professional athletes gyrated on the floor of a local club. A sticky note obstructed the face of athlete number one and said, “How about interviewing a couple Christian athletes from our area for a slightly different perspective?”
Warily opening the magazine, as if one of the characters might leap off the page and grab her, she mulled over the idea. Could she be objective?
Might be an interesting twist at that, a chance for a successful athlete to show his faith rather than his girlfriend twerking on the dance floor.
Anything to distract her thoughts from the unseating of Councilman Bennett. Who would have guessed that would happen so quickly? Or at all? And he’d been granted bail.
Halfway through the magazine’s feature article, page thirty-three leapt out and she slumped in the chair. Ed McGrath.
At Club 22, Cicarelli’s joint in Shelby, Ed lounged next to a blonde with a thick head of hair way down to there and legs way up to there. Rochelle crossed her arms. Here smirked the party boy she had known lived behind those innocent eyes. He didn’t look at blondie like, “Gee, you’re the cat’s meow,” he looked at her like, “Wanna curl up in front of my fireplace, kitten?”
But Rochelle couldn’t stop herself. She leaned forward, licked her finger, and flipped more pages. With one woman after another, he posed for the camera. Ed at Envy Detroit with a gorgeous, sultry brunette. Ed at Luna Lounge with an emerald-eyed redhead, fire her middle name. Ed at Necto Night Club, his arms full of the right kinds of curves. Why so many pictures of the hockey pro?
With another glance, she let the next bold heading soak in.
Of course. Detroit’s most eligible bachelor for the second year in a row. Ding! You didn’t win that sitting home knitting hockey stick covers.
She sent the magazine skidding across the desk and onto the floor.
The door opened, and she glanced up as a gust of stale office air invaded. Donna followed in its wake. Rochelle straightened with restated professionalism and hoped Donna hadn’t noticed the tantrum, but the smirk on her producer’s face said otherwise.
Donna reached down, retrieved the magazine, and stared at the cover. Then she made a bad smell sniffy face and dropped it into a wastebasket.
“Didn’t Nancy Reagan teach you anything? You could have just said no. Ted Kirkland would have understood the idea didn’t exactly thrill you.” Donna scowled. “Now, on a more serious note.”
“Is there a problem?” Cutbacks at the station in the foreseeable future had been discussed. She had a mortgage to pay like anyone else. Her parents’ insurance money had gone to the three funerals, her college education, and the down payment on her house. As of yet, she hadn’t decided how best to use Danny’s money. “Talk to me.”
“Why didn’t you spill to me before now?” Donna asked. “I could have helped.”
“Spill what?” That’s it. They weren’t merely rumors circulating about the station. She and a lot of other people’s jobs must be on the chopping block like plump turkeys the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.
Donna’s finger stabbed the air. “Are you or are you not one of my best friends?”
Rochelle rolled one of the newspapers and swatted away the threatening finger. “What brought
that up?”
“Ed says you’re still having bad dreams or something. I thought you were doing better.”
Rochelle dropped the paper and leaned forward on her elbows. She gritted her teeth. “The whole world doesn’t need to know. I’m getting weird phone calls. But it’s no one’s business but mine.” She took another swig of the sweet tea, licked her upper lip, and sat back.
“I might be your producer, but I’m still Ed’s sister-in-law.” She pulled a face. “And your friend.”
“I do not want to discuss Ed. And he had no right discussing me.”
“Touchy, touchy.” The smirk revisited Donna’s face, and Rochelle wished she would leave. Friend or not, she had prep to do, and if Donna didn’t have suggestions to recommend for the show, she should vacate the premises. “But Ed said—”
“Ed gossips? I thought he was too busy churning out grist for his own gossip mills. Busy like a little ant, storing up for the winter. Busy, busy, busy.”
“Wow! What did he do to cause the Wicked Queen to come to life? Anybody warn Snow White?” She dug the magazine out of the trash. “And I thought you’d be the perfect match.”
Rochelle cringed. “He didn’t do a thing. We had a couple cups of coffee, Donna. Don’t make that face. That’s all there is. I’m old news.”
Rochelle rose and walked to the window as she scanned the snow-crusted parking lot. Instead of enjoying the pure white, she bit her lip. The late-night hang-ups between midnight and three in the morning frightened her.
“I don’t mind that he talked to you about me. I’m just embarrassed about it.” She turned halfway to a shielded position, discomfited by the burden of confession. “But there’s no shutting out. There is no Ed and me.”
She returned to the window, a groan pressing her lips. “And apparently, you don’t get it either.” How could she trust any man to be part of her life after the heartache she’d suffered from Danny? She’d made so many excuses for him when they were dating. But the excuses had been just that. Shallow, empty justifications for his infidelity. He’d been a wonderful actor. And Ed appeared, on the surface at least, to be a clone of Danny. Handsome and charismatic to a fault.
Fear Is Louder Than Words: Her stalker taught her fear. Her suspicions taught her terror. Page 9