For The Love Of Laurel

by Patricia Harreld

  Now that Laurel knew Gerald was still alive, he had to get word to him. He remembered Laurel talking about taking a vacation to Colombia before she knew Gerald was there. He’d thought she was just making small talk—and maybe she was. Then. Now it would be just like her to decide to take one in the hope that she could find her father. He wanted to think she had enough sense to realize the danger in doing that, but had to admit it was something she might well get into her pretty head to do.

  Chapter 28

  It was just after noon. Laurel was alone in the house. It was hard to wrap her mind around the fact that less than twelve hours ago, she’d been embroiled in a nightmare. She’d dug deep within herself to remain rational and civil, first with Dylan, and then with Mari. She’d given Mari a couple of weeks off to go spend time with her parents. Of course, Mari wanted to know why. Laurel explained she needed some time alone, and it was past time for Mari to pay her ageing parents a visit.

  Trying to act normal had brought Laurel near a breakdown with all she’d found out about Gerald since his “death.” Learning about the near-rape from Steadman was more than she could deal with. Each day, Laurel became more depressed. That one incident had ruined any possibility of a normal relationship with a man ever since it happened. She knew not all men were like him, but she was afraid she would never be able to have sex again, or even fall in love, without seeing Steadman’s face.

  As soon as Mari left, Laurel checked to see if Dylan was home. He wasn’t. She hoped he wouldn’t call to see if she was okay. If he did, she’d have to answer the phone, because if she didn’t, he’d sure as hell be on her doorstep as soon as he could get there.

  She went into the dining room and opened the drapes. “C’mon sun, fade this damned Persian rug.” Time to forget what Daddy wanted. He lied to me all my life, and is still lying to me. All she wanted to do was destroy everything that meant something to him. Does that include me? How would he feel if Dylan had to tell him his daughter was dead? By her own hand. Even as she had the thought, she knew she would never do it. He wasn’t worth giving up her life.

  She went to the liquor cabinet and decided to sample Gerald’s expensive scotch. She knew it would get her drunk faster than wine, and that was all she wanted right now—to get drunk so she could forget for a while. She grabbed a bottle that was about half full along with a shot glass and sat at the huge table in front of the buffet. Daddy’s million-dollar buffet. She filled the shot glass and tossed it back in one gulp. Tears came to her eyes, and she had a fit of coughing. God, that stuff is awful. How can he and Dylan stand it? She considered wine instead, but ruled it out. No. She’d drink the scotch if she could bear to even though she wanted to pour the precious Macallan 30 down the sink. The thought of it tickled her. Wouldn’t Gerald have a fit! But he wasn’t here and she could do as she damn well pleased. She started to pour another shot, but after a few moments of staring at the bottle, she thought, “What the hell,” and took a swig. She still hated the taste but forced herself to take another drink, and then another. The last one wasn’t as bad. I guess you can get used to anything. Even a lying father? No. Not that. Never that.

  She carried the bottle to the buffet and put it on a doily, and then opened a drawer. The ugly flatware taunted her. She took the drawer out, and after another hefty swig from the bottle, carried the drawer to the garage and unceremoniously dumped the silver in the garbage can. It felt good, and she laughed as it clanked its way to the bottom of the can. “No more need to polish that crap, Mari.”

  Back to the buffet and the bottle. The scotch was beginning to taste smooth. She bent over and opened the door to one of the cabinets. Delicate cups and saucers. She took out a saucer, stared at it, and she made a face. “Mini Frisbees.”

  She felt buzzed and unsteady on her feet. Not surprising, given what I’ve been through, plus I haven’t eaten anything today. But I don’t care right now.

  After taking another drink of scotch, she threw each of the twenty-four cups and saucers, one at a time, with a sip of scotch between each toss. One of them fell short of hitting the wall and smashing. “Oh no you don’t!” she said, as she stumbled forward to find and destroy the offending saucer.

  She looked around and cackled. What a mess. And I’m not through yet.

  Next came the cake plate. It made a satisfying sound as it shattered. She retrieved a gravy boat, poured some scotch into it, and then drank from the spout. “Better than turkey gravy,” she announced, her words slurred.

  She opened the door containing the twenty-four dinner plates. She held onto the buffet with one hand and put the gravy boat on top of it with the other.

  “Time to play with the big Frisbees.” She removed a plate and threw it backhand. As soon as it hit something and broke, she picked up another one and threw it. As she threw each one, she turned a couple of degrees. By the time all the plates were broken, pieces of china lay everywhere.

  Through bleary eyes, she surveyed her handiwork. After a few moments of giddiness, a feeling of guilt surfaced then left as quickly as it had come. She picked up the scotch, but the bottle was empty, so she broke it against the dining table. She spied the gravy boat, grabbed it, and finished the scotch inside.

  Next, the damn crystal glasses. She grabbed one and tried to throw it. Instead, it slipped out of her hand and splintered on the floor at her feet. She yelped as a small piece stuck in her ankle. She bent over and tried to remove it, but all at once, she felt as if her body was spinning out of control. Her muscles tightened, forcing her into a ball, smaller and smaller, tighter and tighter, until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She thought she would disappear entirely.

  Chapter 29

  Dylan had been debriefed by the FBI and his own boss. They had wanted to question Laurel as well, but he talked them into waiting. He could tell she needed time, and since they had Steadman, there was no urgency.

  It was nearly six before he got to his apartment. No lights were on in the main house. He saw Laurel’s car but not Mari’s. She was probably shopping.

  Once inside the apartment, he called Mari to see how Laurel was holding up. She didn’t answer. Strange. Even if she was at the store, she’d take his call. Next he tried Laurel, but she didn’t answer either. She was no doubt sleeping. He knew she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. He’d wait until Mari got home and then call her.

  He had his daily protein shake and a salad, often glancing at his phone as if willing it to ring. He realized the two women might have gone somewhere together, but Laurel had seemed on the verge of losing it. He doubted she’d have recovered that quickly. Maybe she had snapped, and Mari had taken her to the hospital. And maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing. Kind of hard not to after what has gone down in the last twenty-four hours.

  He watched TV for a couple of hours, getting up to look at the main house every fifteen minutes. He tried both women’s phones several times. Maybe they went to a movie and had the phones turned off.

  And maybe it’s time to check the house, Kraft.

  The front door was locked, but he had a key. He opened the door and stepped inside. The smell of booze hit him. He turned on a light, but nothing seemed amiss. It was totally silent. He went to the living room and flipped the switch. Nothing. Next, the dining room. He turned on the light.

  It took him several seconds to process what he saw. Broken dishes were scattered over nearly every inch of the floor. The buffet drawers and cupboards were wide open. A shattered bottle of scotch lay half on the table and half on the floor. In the midst of the shards of glass, Laurel lay unmoving.

  “God in heaven, what the hell happened here?” He moved to Laurel and felt for a pulse. She was breathing. Somebody sending a warning message? A piece of glass was imbedded in her ankle and another in her shoulder. Gently, he removed them, glad she couldn’t feel it. A thin line of blood had worked its way down her arm and dripped onto the carpet but had already clotted. He’d deal with that cut—and the carpet—later. Now he ha
d to get her off the floor and see if she was cut anyplace else that hadn’t stopped bleeding.

  He lifted her head and checked her hair. No glass there that he could find. He continued to sit her up, all the while looking for pieces of glass. He carefully examined her left side from head to toe and found no glass. There was none on the rug either. He turned her so he could see her right side and found a few pieces stuck to the back of her shirt and jeans, though none on her side. He removed the glass from her clothes. None of it seemed to have penetrated her skin.

  Once he was satisfied she was free of glass, he picked her up and carried her to a chair at the dining table and eased her into it. Her head fell forward. He swore and picked her up again, this time carrying her to her bedroom and placing her on the bed. He stood and looked at her, hands on hips, lips pursed.

  Who did this to her? Where the hell is Mari? And how long has Laurel been out? Was she forced to drink the scotch? I doubt she’d drink it on her own.

  His phone rang, and he jumped. He checked caller ID. Mari. Thank God. “Kraft.”

  “Dylan, sorry I didn’t get your message until I got off the plane.”

  “Plane? What plane?”

  “Laurel gave me two weeks off and insisted I see my folks in Florida.”

  Dylan didn’t like the sound of that. Was Laurel planning something? Did someone else know she would be alone?

  “That was nice of her. Is someone going to work for her while you’re gone?” Dylan said, his tone as casual as he could make it—not an easy thing to do given the way his heart raced.

  “She didn’t say.”

  “Okay. You have a wonderful vacation.” He hung up before she could answer.

  Now what? As he looked at Laurel’s sleeping form, he wondered if he could wake her so she could get out of the clothes that might contain tiny pieces of glass he’d missed. He sat her up.

  “Laurel? Wake up!” She moaned softly. That’s a start. Cringing, he slapped her cheek.

  Her eyes half-opened. “Hurt.”

  He pulled her close. “I’m so sorry, but you’ve got to come out of this.” Who am I kidding. The only thing she can do is sleep it off.

  Making up his mind, he unbuttoned her blouse and managed to get it off and toss it in the corner. He lowered her upper body onto the bed, forcing himself to ignore her lacy bra and what it barely hid. Next he took off her shoes and socks. Finally, he unzipped her jeans and pulled them off.

  He could do nothing but stare at her perfect figure clad only in a white bra and matching panties, both of which he tried to ignore. He covered her with a blanket then took the clothes she’d been wearing and put them in the trash. If they contained any glass, it might never come out.

  He went back to the bed and lifted her head off the pillow. He ran his fingers through her auburn hair once more, feeling for glass. He was grateful he didn’t find any. He’d seen enough of her to know there wasn’t glass anywhere else. He tucked the sheet and blanket around her and left the room, leaving the door ajar so he could hear her if she woke.

  He went back to the dining room and stood in the doorway. Cleaning the mess would take hours. He’d have to call a housekeeping company. But could they be trusted to keep their mouths shut? An event like this in their neighborhood would likely set tongues wagging. To hell with it. It wasn’t his house. Let Laurel decide when she came to. He knew that was the coward’s way out, but so what? In a way, he was glad Mari was gone, because she’d have done everything herself. If Laurel wanted to hire others who might be indiscreet, that was her choice. But before everything else, he would collect enough pieces of china to get fingerprints—if the guy who’d made this mess hadn’t worn gloves.

  He went through the house, checking to see if any other rooms had been disturbed. Nothing seemed out of place. The doors and windows were locked and the security system had been on. He had to disarm it when he arrived. It didn’t make any sense, unless someone else knew the security code. Carruthers? No, Gerald had changed it the day Dylan took over. There were no answers, yet someone unauthorized had been here. And why destroy the contents of the buffet?

  Maybe he could find something tomorrow. The house was secure for tonight. He made a pot of coffee and watched TV until after the eleven o’clock news, and then checked on Laurel for the umpteenth time. She had barely moved. He decided to stay the night since Mari wasn’t there. He could flake out on the couch.

  As he started out the door, he heard a whisper, “Mari?”

  He turned and went to the bed. “It’s Dylan.”

  She opened her eyes and squinted at him. “Where’s Mari?”

  “In Florida.”

  “Oh.” She brought one hand to her forehead. “What happened? My head hurts and I have to pee.” She managed to get out of bed.

  He saw her robe tossed over the back of a chair, grabbed it, and wrapped it around her.

  “Thanks. What’s Mari doing in Florida?”

  “According to her, you sent her there.”

  “I remember now. Everything.” She looked at Dylan, her eyes wide. She went into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Dylan hurried into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. She was coming out of the bathroom when he came back.

  She reached for a cup. “Oh, thank you. This will help as much as the aspirin I just took. God, being hung over is a real pisser. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that. Who undressed me?”

  “I did. I found you passed out in a veritable sea of glass and wanted to be sure you didn’t have glass all over you. I removed a piece from your ankle and one from your shoulder. Then I brought you up here but didn’t want to put you in bed with your clothes on in case I missed some glass. I threw the clothes away, put band aids on your cuts and tucked you in.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “Should I have done something more?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Oh, I get it. Well, Ms. Avidon, whatever else you may think of me, I would never take advantage of a drunk woman, even if she was the most desirable, beautiful female I’d ever seen.”

  She took a sip of coffee and looked at him over the cup. “And was she?”

  He stared back, weighing his answer, and finally said, “She was.”

  Laurel gave him a shy smile even as she pulled her robe more tightly around her. “Sit.” She patted the bed.

  “Who attacked you?” he said, as he sat on the bed.

  “Steadman?”

  “No. He’s in custody.”

  “Everything is fuzzy.” She put the empty cup on the nightstand. “I want to sleep on it and hope I don’t have nightmares.”

  “It’s not quite midnight. Go back to sleep. I’ll be here until morning.”

  “In my bed?” She giggled.

  “I’m on your bed, not in it. Quite a difference. It sounds like the booze is starting to wear off.”

  “It should be. I started before noon. I don’t know when I passed out, but I sure got a lot done before I did. You must have seen the dining room.”

  “You did that?”

  “Yes. My father deserved it.”

  Now he settled back against the headboard. “You crazy woman. What did you think throwing a temper tantrum would solve?”

  “Everything. I wanted to do to him what he did to me—hit where it hurt. And if you are going to be in or on my bed, slide down beside me. It hurts my neck to look up at you.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “No? Ah. You wish I was someone else. What’s her name?”

  He did slide down until he was prone and propped his head up with his hand. He put his other hand on her cheek and softly caressed it. “There is no ‘her’. I don’t have time for a relationship. And I won’t be staying in this room tonight, never mind in or even on your bed.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m only human. You’ve had a traumatic couple of days, and you’re vulnerable.

  “I’m also sober, and I don’t believe yo
u’d take advantage of me unless I allowed you to—which, you may rest assured, I won’t.”

  He started to sit up, but she pushed him back and turned toward him. “I don’t want to be alone right now. Just stay as a bodyguard and friend. There’s no reason it needs to become anything else simply because you’re a man and I’m a woman. I feel almost normal, but I need the human closeness.”

  He groaned. “If Mari were here, would you ask her to stay with you and comfort you?”

  “Yes. She’s done it many times since I was a child. Just do as she would. Stay until I get to sleep. Then go downstairs if that makes you more comfortable.”

  “We’ll see. Just don’t ask me to read you a bedtime story.”

  She gave a half smile. “Mari never read them. She just made them up. I was always the beautiful princess rescued by the handsome prince, or a variation on that theme.”

  Dylan could tell she was feeling better. Her eyes were clearer and she sounded normal when she talked. You need to leave now, Dylan. So why am I not moving?

  Shit.

  Chapter 30

  “I’m not good at making up fairy tales. I’d probably cause you to have nightmares.”

  “I’ve had plenty of those the last couple of days. That’s what I want to avoid.” She grabbed his hand. “Stay. Just for a while.”

  “Okay. Just for a while. Now that you’re awake, I can tell you’re tense. My lifelong dream has been to be in bed with a woman in a ratty bathrobe. If you’ll take it off, and turn onto your stomach, I’ll give you a massage guaranteed to get rid of all your tension.”

  “And a story?” He could hear the teasing in her tone as she sat up to shrug off the robe. She then lay back down and turned onto her stomach, pulling the blanket over her to her neck.

  “How does Red Riding Hood go?”

  “Just like all the rest. There’s a handsome hero who saves the beautiful damsel in distress and they live happily ever after.”