Welcome to Nicole's version of hell.
* * * *
Before a full minute had elapsed, Nicole reached Michael's car and unlocked the door to his expensive car. She got into the driver's seat, carefully pulled out into the traffic and headed for the outskirts of Eastwynd. It was such a nice car. Too bad it would stay that way for only a few more minutes.
She drove for half an hour before she reached the area ten miles above Eastwynd in the hills, which she had designated as a junkyard for the bastard's possession. It might not make much of a dent in his pocketbook, but thirty thousand dollars was thirty thousand dollars, and it would teach him a valuable lesson.
She cautioned herself to drive slowly and with greater care as the road became slippery with wet snow and the embankment on the right became steeper as she wound her way up the side of the mountain on a gravel road. She wouldn't want to make the car her own grave. Parking perpendicular to the road, she slammed on the emergency brake and slid the transmission into neutral.
Michael's slim black briefcase lay on the floor in front of the passenger seat. That would be the last he saw of that. She bitterly hoped it contained important and irreplaceable papers for the time he could once again see.
The freezing wind blew through her coat, chilling her. She searched until she found a twenty-pound rock and lugged it to the car before hefting it onto the gas pedal. Like a race car on the track, the engine revved up with a roar. She stepped as far as she could from the driver's side and disengaged the emergency brake before she shifted the transmission into drive.
The car slowly moved forward until it slipped over the road and over the embankment, where it began picking up speed, hitting bent and gnarled pine trees. Snow and rocks crunched under the four tyres. Two hundred feet down, she heard what sounded like a dull, distant clap of thunder. The next instant, the car exploded into a plethora of bright orange and crimson red flames. Too bad. The gas tank must have been full.
What tremendous heat the burning car must be generating. In a short period of time, the car would be nothing more than a burnt mass of twisted wreckage. It was much like in the movies—let the car roll down the hill and it would explode into fire and flames.
Clutching her purse, she burst into laughter. She lifted her face to the sky, which was once more opening its vaults of small crystals. Tiny snowflakes wet her eyelashes, her cheeks and her lips. She laughed some more.
She glanced at her watch. She had ten minutes to reach the waiting taxi she had arranged for. Half running, half walking, she risked missing the taxi as she turned back several times to watch the plume of smoke coming from what had once been Michael's car.
Deep down inside, she knew she wasn't a vindictive woman, but this once, she had allowed herself to play dirty. Michael would stop playing his little games now. She was sure of it. He wouldn't go about telling lies and sending intimate presents she had no use for. She would start her life over again by selling her house and getting a new job in a city as far away from Eastwynd as possible. And far from Michael's influence.
She nearly slipped and fell on the icy road as she ran towards the spot where the taxi was to wait. Her thin-soled shoes provided no warmth against the snow and slush but if she had worn winter boots, that in itself would have given her away to Michael. She was so close to freedom.
Nicole stood near the hairpin curve at the Old Eastwynd Road and waited for the taxi, which was already five minutes late. She stamped her feet, trying to keep warm as the wind gusted, chilling her through her grey three-quarter-length coat. The snow fell lightly, spotting her with brief, wet flakes before they melted into miniscule pools of water.
Where was the taxi? She couldn't stand here and wait. The dispatcher could have sent the taxi to another area in error. She had to start walking. It was far too cold to stand out here and do nothing. She estimated the walk back to Eastwynd might take two and a half hours if she hurried. She threw her purse strap over her shoulder and jammed her hands deep into her pockets to keep them warm.
The curve in the road led her downhill and after a mile her cheeks were flushed and her nose frozen. The view on the left was lovely from this height, though. She laughed, thinking revenge should have been sweeter than what she had experienced. She had expected a more heady feeling of decisive victory, or even of cleansing. But she didn't feel that. Instead, she felt empty and that nagging sensation that something vital was missing pestered her. Now that she would never again see Michael, there was a hole in her heart.
The laughter turned to tears. She hadn't known how much pain and agony the Mace would cause a man. Her father had used to go hunting and had sworn the stinging spray would cause a six-hundred-pound bear to hightail it to safer country. To spray the chemical into a man's face had been the ultimate revenge. Uncomfortably, Nicole wondered if he would ever regain his eyesight. Against her will, she hoped he would. Somehow she couldn't bear that his handsome features would be marred by her petty action.
Michael had changed but perhaps, on second thought, he hadn't warranted such a drastic punishment. She berated herself for what she had done, but didn't trouble herself over the car. Possessions could always be replaced. Sadly, she couldn't alter the past. What was done was done, just as Michael had committed murder that summer when the future had evaporated as surely as her breath did as she strode towards Eastwynd.
It was so peacefully silent. Not even a chickadee sang, and there was no sound except for the soles of her shoes crunching on the snow. It was as if no one else in the world existed. A car ground its way up the side of the mountain. A minute later, a white car with a yellow light on its roof came into view.
The car stopped and a bearded man poked his head out of the window. “You the lady who wants a ride?"
She nodded, knowing her lips were too frozen to speak. The ride home was uneventful.
* * * *
Safe within her house, Nicole took a long, warm bath and drank several cups of herbal tea before warmth returned to her bones. Deep in her heart, she knew she would never stop loving the man she had known as James. That man, however, was a part of the irretrievable past.
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Chapter Fourteen
* * * *
Bryan had begun the rendering plant's full shutdown procedure. It was Saturday, and the next two days would allow enough time for the plant to be closed down so the employees could celebrate Christmas for a full week with their friends and families.
The shutdown and consequent start-up were always concentrated procedures. This time Bryan had to make sure the boilers were shut down properly to avoid disastrous complications. Last Easter, the third class power engineer had failed to empty the boilers and had nearly blown up the plant.
He slipped and slid on the packed ice in the plant's parking lot. The muscle in his sprained ankle complained about the pain it was forced to endure. It had started snowing again, and the wind cut through the layers of cotton shirts and underwear beneath his blue overalls. He threw open the door to the office and a blast of warm air began to slowly thaw him.
"Libby, have you seen Michael? I need his authorisation for these procedures."
"Again? What don't you need authorisation for?” she asked, looking up from her newspaper. Her eyes twinkled impishly.
The door to Michael's office was open, which meant he probably wasn't in. “Is he out for lunch again? Isn't this the third time this week?"
"Don't know. I'm not counting.” She bent her head over the comics section. “I'm his secretary, not his wife."
"Brad hasn't shown up for work yet today?” Oddly, it wasn't like him to display irresponsible behaviour.
"Nope."
Bryan bypassed Libby and went into Michael's office. While he was here, he might as well call Cathy and see what she was up to. He had a Christmas present in mind for her, since she had settled down at his house for the holidays. A French maid's outfit in black lace to expose her breasts and, when she bent over, the open c
rotched briefs made of fishnet would show off her pussy and ass. Man, he was getting a hard-on just thinking about how she would look all dolled up as his personal maid for the night.
He urged himself to think about something else as he lifted the receiver to his ear and started dialling. “Hey, Catty. Whatchya got cooking?” he asked playfully when he heard her answer.
"I'm making stew,” she replied.
"Man, but your voice is sexy.” He imagined her wearing nothing at all as she skipped around the kitchen concocting magic meals.
"I can't wait for you to come back."
"Are you playing with yourself?"
"You want me to?"
"First of all, what are you wearing?"
"Nothing. And I'm hot and bothered thinking about last night."
"Oh yeah. Me too.” He gulped, envisioning her long fingers reaching between her legs and stroking her clitoris. Oh, man, but he shouldn't have called her. His dick was harder than a rock and bulging against his coveralls.
"So, you got a minute,” she breathed huskily into the phone. “I'm going to put my fingers on my juicy clit and—"
"No!” Bryan shouted. “Don't do that! Hopefully I'll be home early tonight and you can play with me instead."
"Now isn't that a plan?” Her words came out more as a long moan.
"I wonder if this is what it's like to have withdrawal symptoms."
"Maybe I'll just lie down on the table here, open my legs and dream about you,” she whispered.
"Yow, mama."
She chuckled.
"Just put some clothes on, baby, or else I'll have to lock a chastity belt on you while I'm away at work."
"Aw. You'd really do that?"
"If it makes you hornier when I get home, yeah, I could arrange it."
"You're just this girl's fantasy. Don't you need to go back to work?"
"With this hard-on? I don't think so."
Her pleasant laugh delighted him.
"Don't you have some cooking to do?"
"You bet and it's getting hotter by the minute."
Bryan disliked leaving both of them on the edge but he had to finish his job. Then there would be plenty of time for hot sex. “Stay hot for me, baby. I'll be home in a while."
He heard her blow a kiss through the phone before he hung up.
Wow, but she was one hot chick. He could understand her discouragement when the truth was that she wasn't a Carmichael by birth but being one hadn't helped him cope with the vagaries life dished out.
For some reason, he remembered Michael's stern father. Rumour was that he enjoyed helping people when he could but rumour also had it that Wayland's brother, Neall, was a sucker for keeping the family in line with the proverbial iron-fisted hand. Bryan had never learned why his own father had had a falling out with Wayland in the late nineteen-fifties. He had only learned in bits and pieces that the Carmichael family had grown exponentially and he had more relatives than he could comfortably count. Bryan thought there were at least seventy-five extended members of the family.
He sat behind the desk and signed the authorisation papers, and wrote a note to let Michael know. His boss insisted his staff be fully accountable and responsible for their actions, which was very much in line with treating his employees more as equals than as a group of mindless robots.
Libby pushed the door open. “Bryan?"
Glad he was sitting behind the desk where the secretary couldn't see the prominent bulge at his crotch, he looked up. “What's cooking?"
She opened the door and stepped into the office as she popped her wire-rimmed glasses off her nose.
"Michael just called. He's in the hospital."
"What? Why? He never gets sick. What happened?” His ears rang. It took a bulldozer to keep Michael down when he was ill, which wasn't often.
"All he said was that he was fine, but he would have to stay there for a couple of hours because of a small accident he had. He's going to get his brother to pick him up."
"What kind of accident? Did he say?"
"That's all he said. I offered to come down and be with him, but he said to go home early."
Bryan nodded. Libby's maternal instincts were kicking in and how typical for Michael to encourage her to leave early. He always thought of others before himself. “He probably doesn't want to let you know he's not immune to bad health."
"He sounded out of breath, as if it hurt for him to talk, but I couldn't get anything out of him. What are you up to?"
If Libby couldn't get Michael to talk, no one could. “More authorisations. Why don't you go home? I'll take care of the phone if it rings.” It was so close to the holidays, though, he doubted anyone would want to do business.
"Oh sure. I'm outta here. Looking forward to having seven days in a row off."
"What colour is your hair today?"
"Sunset red. Like it?” She patted her head.
"Is that the colour your hair will be for the holidays?"
"It's subject to change. I was thinking Christmas green wouldn't be bad.” She giggled as she closed the door behind her.
"I guess. If you want a chickadee to land on your head."
Bryan shrugged and finished signing the note he had written. If Colin was with Michael, there was no need to worry.
* * * *
As five o'clock approached, the phone rang. Brushing her hair away from her eyes and her skin wrinkled like a prune after her hot bath, Nicole answered.
"Are you all right?"
She heard the concern in Sarah's tone. “Why wouldn't I be?"
"I heard you went to lunch with Michael but that he was hurt. Then you didn't come back to the office, so I assumed you were hurt too. There are so many crazies in the world today with nothing better to do than hurt innocent people."
Nicole listened to the other woman ramble on. “I'm fine but I wasn't with him."
"That's not what I heard but you're the one who knows best."
"How was he hurt?"
"Someone sprayed Mace in his face. The lobby attendant called nine-one-one and an ambulance came to take him to the hospital. Someone must hate him an awful lot to do that. I'm glad you weren't with him, that nothing happened to you."
Nicole grunted noncommittally.
"Michael's screams raised the hairs on the back of the necks of everyone who worked in the first floor offices. No one can talk about anything else. I think the verdict is in that he simply didn't deserve that kind of treatment."
Nicole felt as if she had been tried and found guilty, although how could anyone know she had sprayed the Mace in Michael's face?
"Are you still there?"
"Yes,” Nicole said weakly. None of her co-workers would be able to understand what she had been through with Michael in the last few days, how he had tormented her senses. They had no right to judge her.
"He's not like other men I've met. Not in looks, and definitely not in attitude. He cares about everyone he meets. He's not out of touch with what makes people tick, with what they need. That's rare for a man like him."
Nicole didn't feel much like talking and somehow managed to get out, “A man like him?"
"He's so wealthy, he could buy the country, you know. Yet, he's like you and me. Down to earth. You know what I mean?"
She knew all right. Michael was every woman's dream...except hers.
"Why don't you give him another chance? Now that you're carrying his baby?"
"What?” Nicole had forgotten about the lies he had sown.
"Well, you're pregnant and I'm sure that makes you a little edgy, but maybe you need to give him one more shot. I'm sure you won't be sorry."
"Has he been talking to you?"
There was a slight pause before Sarah said, “No. Other people are talking. Don't be angry with him."
"I don't need a mediator to interfere with my life,” Nicole snapped.
"I wouldn't have to be a mediator if you weren't so pigheaded. But I don't want you throwing away an opportunit
y of a lifetime because you're moody."
"An opportunity of a lifetime?” Nicole repeated incredulously. Michael had squandered his one opportunity.
"Grab him before his attention wanders to another woman. Hold on to him. That's the one piece of advice I can give you."
"I don't need your advice,” Nicole said uncharitably. What difference did it make if Michael picked up another woman? The thought made her uneasy. And a little jealous. “I need everyone to leave me alone. I'm not involved with him."
"You're only kidding yourself that you aren't."
Inanely, Nicole wondered what Colin would think if another woman caught Michael's fancy. Would the burly man care or would he find ways to prevent the romance from flowering as he had when she had been in love with his brother?
"Listen. I've got to run. I still have to get a few presents, and then I'll be able to put my feet up for a day or so before the real fun begins. Who thought up Christmas anyways? Say, if you need anything, just call. Okay?” Sarah disconnected.
Nicole stared at the receiver. “Why is every damned person on his side?” she queried the empty air.
"Because I'm telling the truth."
Biting back a scream, she whirled around and faced the door. Michael leaned against the frame, dressed casually in faded blue jeans, a dark blue flannel shirt and a heavy matching jacket. His expression was thunderous. Nicole drew back in fear. He hadn't left her alone after all.
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Chapter Fifteen
* * * *
Bryan was just about to leave the Anessa offices when Colin screeched to a halt in his SUV. The vehicle slid on the ice before the burly man brought the truck under control. He got out in a hurry, wearing a black leather jacket over a white dress shirt, and charcoal grey trousers. The glass in the door shuddered when he strode in with a dark look.
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