by Elise Whyles
Barbara glanced idly at the clock on the dash and smirked. Lenny figured she was over visiting for most of the day. She didn’t need to rush through this, and if it paid off in the end, well, all the better. A hand patted her purse, the checkbook peeking out from the top. Oh yes, it would pay handsomely.
“Where are you off to?” Barbara turned the key, the engine of Lenny’s older car purring. Staying a few meters behind her daughter, she followed her to an upscale neighborhood where she parked at a smaller house. She glanced at her watch and smirked with a hint of glee. Stepping on the gas, she headed north, toward the Drumheller Prison.
When she arrived, humming a tune, she smoothed her skirt down and flashed a smile at the guard on duty. “Good morning.”
The guard glanced at her with an icy detachment. “Morning, ma’am. Which inmate are you here to see?” The slightly overweight guard looked at his computer screen with an unreadable expression.
“I’m here to see Michael Kilpatrick.” Barbara offered her driver’s license and a sweet, seductive smile.
“He’s in holding now, be about ten minutes. Leave your valuables here, fill out this card, and when you leave you can collect them.” He tossed a small white card on the countertop, along with a pen. “You’ll step through that doorway there, passing by the metal detector. As long as it’s clear, you can proceed. The officer on the other side will escort you to the visitation area.”
“Thank you.” Barbara sashayed down the corridor, winking at a younger, handsome guard before slipping past the doors and into the common visitor’s lounge. She took a seat at a table and crossed her legs, her skirt riding up a little to reveal muscled calves. She looked up to see Michael strolling in front of two guards toward her.
“No touching.” The male guard escorting him shot a look between both of them.
“Barbara, how delightful.” Slick, even, the rich baritone drew shivers down her spine as she rose to greet the man striding toward her. Dark eyes appraised her carefully, a hint of heat flaring before the guard escorting him ushered him none-too-gently into a seat. “What brings you by? I’ve missed our visits. Heard you got married again. Congratulations.”
“Just came to see how you were doing.” Barbara leaned forward, her blouse gaping enticingly. “Are you still interested in…”
“The bitch is mine. Besides, I hate to leave a loose end.” Mike’s charming persona wavered for a moment before his casual smile was back in place. “Has she been causing you grief?”
“When doesn’t she?” Barbara giggled. “Look, I think we need to reevaluate. I heard they’re looking at doing an audit of her account. If they find out it’s not her making the transactions…”
“They won’t. You’ve made sure there was no paper trail, baby. Relax. Even if they do one, what are they going to do? It’s her signature on the checks, isn’t it? As long as they think so, they’re not going to do anything.” Mike cast an assessing glance around. “And she’s so scared of her shadow she wouldn’t say anything anyway.”
“True. Still, I don’t think we want to take any risks. Remember, darling, with her out of the picture it’ll be just us. Do you think you could get some phone time?”
Mike stared at her cleavage, his tongue sliding out to lick at his lips. “What did you find out?”
“She’s been to the parole board twice. I don’t know what was said, and they won’t tell me anything. I think, perhaps, you should reach out to her. You’ve been such a good boy lately.”
“Got a phone number?”
Barbara giggled, her fingers stroking down his arm. “What’s in it for me, Michael?”
“Oh, I’m sure I can figure something out.”
“So am I. I’ll give you her number. Just remember, slow and easy, nothing too outrageous. I don’t want there to be any suspicion aroused beforehand.” Barbara pulled the slim pink slip of paper from her bra, slid it across the table, her gaze darting around carefully. “Don’t make it too often.”
“Time’s up,” the guard ordered, grabbing the back of Mike’s chair.
“I’ll see you next week?” Barbara coyly batted her lashes and rose, her fingers smoothing her clothes into place as she strolled out of the room. The door clicked behind her and she struggled to contain a smile of glee. It wouldn’t be long, of that she was certain. Not long at all before the bitch was out of the way.
* * * *
Tension settled in her shoulders as Gillian walked along the stone path before a non-descript gray and green house. She pushed the doorbell and waited for the door to open. A heavyset redhead opened the door and ushered her into the foyer.
“Good morning, Miss Hilliard. Doctor Reimer will be with you in a moment. Just have a seat. Can I get you a tea or coffee?”
“No, nothing for me, thank you.” Gillian clutched her purse and sank onto the edge of an overstuffed leather chair. Her eyes darted around the room, unease flowing like water through her. This was a bad idea, the thought echoed in her mind like a pingpong ball. Doctor Reimer would notice too much, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to uncover all the details just yet, least of all to someone who already saw too much. Her face heated with embarrassment at the thought of discussing something so personal, something so raw and untamed, with such a clinical person.
“Good morning, Gillian. Please come in.” Doctor Hillary Reimer held the door open. Her graying hair was pulled back into an elegant French twist, her simple suit cut perfectly. For a second, Gillian felt a flare of jealousy before she squelched it.
“How was the wedding?” Doctor Reimer gestured to a seat as she settled into her chair. “You’ve been back for two weeks now. I can’t imagine spending any length of time with your mother was anything you’d enjoy.”
“It was a wedding.” Gilli shrugged. “More to the point, it was Mother’s wedding. I went, I suffered, I came home. Highlight of my weekend.”
Doctor Reimer scribbled something on her pad, glanced up at her over her glasses, and smiled. “Did you meet anyone?”
Gillian tensed, her face flushing. The question led to others, to ones she didn’t have the guts to answer right now. Maybe later, when she was alone in the darkest part of the night. “Uh, several people. No one worth discussing.”
“Really? Seems you’re a bit flushed about something. Did you have a problem at the wedding with your mother?” she hinted. “Perhaps she brought up Michael again?”
“Nothing I haven’t had before.” Gillian swallowed against the rising tide of fear. It choked her with an icy, brutal grip she couldn’t escape. Shifting on the leather, she mentally groaned at the creak of her chair and glanced toward the window.
“So you met someone then.” Her casual tone did nothing to hide her curiosity, her pen scratching across the pad.
Gillian fidgeted beneath the weight of her gaze. What she’d experienced had opened the floodgates and she was barely keeping afloat. Memories flickered, teasing her mind, her focus, and she clamped down hard, unwilling to share even as she fought the guilt still plaguing her. “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You can’t simply ignore the obvious, Gillian. At some point you have to make up your mind to open your heart again.”
“Sure, sure I will. I just don’t want to discuss my mother’s wedding right now.”
“Is that what we were discussing? I thought we were talking about you meeting someone? However, if the topic is a bit too tender, what should we talk about then?”
Gillian inhaled, fighting against the fear tightening her throat. Staring into her lap, she debated how much to tell. The ticking of the clock seemed to mock her, the steady cadence throbbing with her heart. Inhaling, she glanced at her therapist before her gaze skittered away.
“I’ve been having nightmares again. The bad ones I had when he was writing me just after his sentencing. Just doesn’t seem to be easing no matter what I do. I’ve tried to escape by sleeping with the light on, but it’s not helping. I don’t understand why. It’s not
like he’s sent me a letter recently, and I haven’t talked to Mother about him in weeks. Every night it seems I’ve been getting less and less sleep. What sleep I do get that’s not filled with the nightmares is usually filled with…” She cut herself off.
“What happens in the nightmares?”
Gillian plucked at her skirt, a frown marring her face. The dreams were never concrete, never real enough to be spoken of in detail. Or they hadn’t been. Now they’d returned, clearer and more menacing than ever before. “He’s there yelling at me. Telling me I’m worthless,” her voice dropped until she was whispering, “screaming at me how I’m sexless and useless. Taunting me. He and Mother are constantly at me, yelling, screaming, cursing. No matter how I try to escape, they’re both there hovering over me. It’s like it’s stuck on replay, only it never ends. His words just get sharper and sharper.”
“Do they become physical at all?”
Gillian glanced up sharply. As terrifying as these dreams were, there was an element that kept them from being simple replays. “Not all of them. A few have been about that night. Mostly, though, he’s yelling from the sidelines, going on about how sexless I am, how I’m not a good fuck. But it’s not directed at me anymore. It’s directed at Ja…” Gillian slapped a hand over her mouth and stared in horror. She shook her head and half rose, only to settle back when Doctor Reimer gestured for her to remain in her seat.
“Relax.” She smiled. “I’m not here to judge you at all. If Michael isn’t yelling at you, who is he yelling at?”
“Jack. The man I met at the wedding. He’s determined to make him not want me.” Gillian sighed. “I mean, I’ve had really good dreams, ones where Jack and I are … and then Mike pops up screaming, yelling, throwing things. I just don’t get why. I don’t understand why when he stops my mother’s there, harping, yelling, making me miserable.”
“You met someone, Gillian, someone who your mind and body agree is worthy of note. For too long you’ve hidden away from the fact you’re a woman. The nightmares are a means of your mind facing your fears, of opening the doors to what you won’t admit to needing or wanting. There is nothing wrong with needing someone, Gillian, nothing at all. I want you to work on your relaxation exercises, and I want you back in this office in two weeks.” She patted Gillian’s knee, a warm smile on her face. “Good for you. It’s time, and you deserve a little happiness. Have you been doing your journal? I want you to work on it every night. And I want to hear about this man you met.”
“I didn’t…” Gillian flushed, memories floating through her mind. Already she could feel the heat swirling in her belly, the images flashing of how free she’d been.
“Gillian, make an appointment for two weeks and we’ll see you then.”
With a quick nod, Gillian rose and shuffled from the office. Of course her nightmares were linked to her fears. Why wouldn’t they be? She’d come twice! With some stranger she’d met at her mother’s wedding. She got into her battered old Chevy and debated going home or to work. A glance at the clock revealed she could make it in for six hours of work. Hiding from this in your work is not productive, Gillian. Doctor Reimer’s voice echoed as she cranked the stereo and started for the university. Productivity could go screw itself, Gillian decided, and turned the stereo up another notch.
* * * *
Kicking off her low-heeled shoes, Gillian carried the take-out bag across to the kitchen and set it on the counter. She dropped her briefcase and turned her computer on. It was still early; a few hours of work could be done before she went to bed. And if it helped to keep the nightmares at bay, well, it was just an extra little perk. Ripping into the burger and fries, she set to work cataloguing the latest arrival of fossils.
The jarring phone shattered the silence and pulled her from her work. She reached for the handset and hit the Talk button. “Hello?” She eyed the window and the streetlights beyond. Gillian blinked as the first one flickered and came on, her attention darting to the clock on the wall.
“Gillian, why am I not surprised to find you at home.” The cutting tone grated across her raw nerves. “You owe me for the cost of your dress.”
“It was cleaned, wasn’t it? I left it in your room for room service to pick up and clean.” Gillian swallowed against the rising bile. With a trembling hand, she pushed away the remains of her dinner and tucked her feet beneath her in an old habit she’d long given up avoiding.
“That is not the point, young lady. You ruined the dress, and who knows where your shoes went. Then you leave me at the hotel by myself. I was expecting you to be there when Lenny and I were departing for our honeymoon. I mean, you could have at least had the decency to inform us of your departure. We expected you at breakfast.” Barbara’s rant gained volume with each passing word. “I certainly hope you had fun. I’ll be sending the bill to you—”
Gillian closed her work for the night and straightened. “Mother, I didn’t agree to the wedding, it wasn’t something I desired to even attend. You picked the gown—” The hard knot only tightened the longer her mother’s voice droned on.
“Do not take that tone with me.” Barbara cut her off.
“Was there a reason for your call? I am rather busy. I’ve already said I’d pay for the cleaning of the dress. My shoes were, um.” Gilli vibrated with anger and guilt, her stomach twisting into a hard knot. Her dinner rolled and heaved, the urge to vomit growing stronger with each passing second.
“I will send you the bill for the damages.” Barbara sniffled. “As well, you should visit Michael. He’s a good man and you’d do well to remember—”
“I remember just how good he is every time I have a shower, mother. Every time I look in the mirror or catch a whiff of his cologne. Not to mention, I got a reminder this past year when he was up for parole and didn’t get it. You of all people should be supporting me. Should be backing me, and instead you’re siding with that fuckwad? The parole board called me, asking me to appear, and I went. I sat in the tiny room and listened to him go on about how he’s changed, and I felt sick. Don’t call me again, Mother, if all you’re going to go on about is that bastard. I detest him!”
“You think you’re going to find another man as good—?”
“Yes! And I fucked him until I could barely walk!” She slammed the phone down on the desk and turned the ringer off. Fury erupted and she stomped into the kitchen to get a glass of wine. Sitting on the couch, Gillian stared out the window. Tonight would be hell, unless she stayed up. Determination flooded her with resolve at the thought of what the darkness would hold if she fell asleep.
She hit the Power button on the stereo and huddled in the corner of the couch while the shadows grew until darkness spread across her floor. Rocking, she curled around a pillow, her eyes staring sightlessly out the window at the gathering shadows.
Chapter 6
Jack shouldered the pack and ducked around two young college kids on his way through the campus. He drowned out the annoying ranting of his partner and fingered his phone. Two weeks and at least a dozen attempts and he still couldn’t get the nerve to call her. Maybe it was the memory of waking alone, or the way she’d taken a bathrobe and her dress and left her shoes behind. Deep inside, he couldn’t shake the thought maybe it wasn’t anything she’d done, but rather the sound of the faint tears in the shower keeping him from calling her.
“This heat is killing me.”
“Brad, shut up.” His patience already worn thin, Jack tightened the grip on the handle of his bag and wished it was the young twit’s neck. “It’s not hot, you’re not in gear, and we’re almost there.”
“Still don’t understand why I have to do this. Why couldn’t Sally come or Joe, or one of the others…”
“Because it’s your job.” Jack stopped, swiveling his head to glare at the slightly pudgy young man. “You were hired to do the PR stuff, so shut up and do your job. All you’ve done is bitch all morning and I’m tired of it. You don’t want to be here, go back to the station.”
>
“Hey, man, don’t stress out about it. Geez, you’d think you were suffering from the heat.” Brad raised his hands in surrender. “It ain’t like I’m—”
“I mean it, Brad, don’t make me say it again or I will send you back to the shop.” Jack stomped a few strides away. He’d love to send Brad back to the firehouse, leave him there, and come back. He’d have more opportunity to get everything set up. As had happened too often, his mind drifted again. He needed to get answers and find out why he was so hung up on Gillian. Was she okay? Why had she run from their bed?
A slight smile curved his lips at the memory of her little gasps, her moans of pleasure. The shock in her eyes when she’d orgasmed had given him a thrill unlike any he’d ever known. His pleasure had been intense even before he’d come.
“Whoa, now there’s a frump if ever I saw one.” Brad snickered, his fingers fluttering in the direction they were walking. He snorted with laughter, his lips twisting in derision. “Yep, total frump. Man, I never saw anyone so fashionably challenged. Talk about uncoordinated in the closet. Doesn’t she know anything about dressing? Come on, that’s something my granny would wear to church. Couldn’t get a lay out of that one if…” He slapped his hand on his hip.
Jack glanced up, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. His skin felt tight, heart pounding, the roar deafening, and he froze. Gillian stood talking to a tall, lean man, his graying hair slicked back with gel. She wore an ankle-length brown skirt, matching jacket, and a tan blouse. Her dark hair had been pulled back and tied in a knot. The dark-rimmed glasses he remembered perched on her nose, sliding as she bobbed her head in response to something her co-worker said.
He swallowed hard, the force of want like a kick in the gut. He stifled a groan, his body already responding to the play of memories in his head. What surprised him was not all were of the actual sex. More than a few were of the banter, her snarky remarks at the reception. Even the shy, hesitant way she tried to hide right in plain sight. Beneath the surface was a woman unlike any he’d ever known, and he realized with a sudden tightening in his chest how much he wanted her.