Magic Moment

by Adams, Angela

  Up until two days ago, life had been commonplace. She was simply Laura Roberts. An everyday bookkeeper for an ordinary produce warehouse. She got up every morning, went to work, performed her duties in a professional manner, and was affable in her dealings with vendors, staff, and customers. She lunched at the diner, sometimes joining another Food Mall employee, other times reading a book or magazine for company. At the end of the day, she returned to the simple condo she had recently purchased. Her first time living alone.

  Living alone, being the only person at home, was new to Laura. After college and a dorm mate, she had moved back to the home she had grown up in, a step none of her friends understood. Life dictated a woman went to college, got a job and moved out on her own.

  Laura enjoyed living with her mother. They had always been close. Always enjoyed doing things together, talking, shopping, baking cookies and bread for their neighbors at the Christmas holidays. Perhaps because her father had died when Laura had been so young, and growing up, mother and daughter had always had each other. Laura had always considered her mother her best friend. With her and Ann Roberts, there had never been any of the rebellious mother/daughter, tug-of-war, conflicts that Laura’s friends had related about their own mothers.

  Which was why her mother’s death had hurt so much. Laura hadn’t just lost the person who had given birth to her, but her pal, her confidante, her sounding board. While she was growing up, Laura’s best memories were of Saturday flea market shopping with her mother, followed by lunch at The Food Court.

  In college, Laura had gotten a business degree because she and her mother had been saving for Laura’s dream, to open an antique shop on Philadelphia’s Antique Row. When Ann Roberts died, Laura’s ambition for the project went with her.

  Laura had sold the family home, the dwelling just too lonely by herself. She’d walk in the front door, greeted by silence instead of Ann singing along with Beatles’ CDs. She sat at the kitchen table with her coffee and rather than talk over the day with her mother, stared at an empty chair. So she sold the house to a couple awaiting the birth of their first child, and purchased the condo. Not really a home, just a place to live.

  With all her good friends paired, Laura’s college roommate, Kate, insisted she needed to date more, have a man in her life. Jack Miller had been Kate’s neighbor in her upscale apartment complex of six-figure-income professionals. Laura found Jack nice enough, their dinners out and movie dates had been pleasant, but no firecrackers splintered, not even an ember … perhaps she had read too many romance novels or heard too many stories from Ann Roberts about her courtship and love for Laura’s father. Laura’s sole remembrance of her parents together was how her mother had sparkled whenever her father had walked into a room. She thought love, relationship, marriage was supposed to be that way. Yet, no one she had met brought her that special glow.

  After three months of dating, Jack’s commercial real estate firm offered him a promotion to project manager. With the advancement came a transfer, overseeing a new commercial development in Oregon. He had relocated within ten days. A light email exchange for the first few weeks had followed, then nothing. If truth were told, the deal had turned into the perfect way out of a relationship that wasn’t heading anywhere. With Jack’s move, Laura was back to microwave dinners in her condo and movies on the television.

  No, despite Kate’s prodding, Jack hadn’t been the one for Laura. She didn’t just want a man to enjoy a movie with. She wanted a partner, someone to trust, someone to share life’s burdens and joys, who made her cheeks twinge from smiling. Someone to laugh and cry with through life.

  All of which seemed insignificant now as she stared at her swollen face in the mirror, finding herself in a living nightmare. She tried to make sense of what had happened, but her head hurt. She was thankful her mother wasn’t alive to worry about her. Dear God, two men had intended to kill her. She couldn’t even determine if she had made the right decision taking off with Chase Donovan. He had sworn his arrival had been by chance, his words a ploy to get those wretched men off the boat.

  Chase had opportunity to hurt her if those were his intentions. He seemed sincere in wanting to help her, or maybe she wanted him to be sincere, wanted somebody to help her. She wanted to not be afraid. Chase said he was in the dark about what was happening on the boat, maybe about the FBI, too.

  She stepped into the green fleece. Besides, she wasn’t defenseless; she had the pen knife in one pocket, and the gun’s attachment in her other pocket. She decided to join Chase.

  Inside the wheelhouse looked like one big ballpark scoreboard with buttons and lights. All it needed were bells and whistles. Chase sat on a stool, his hands clutching the wheel. The muted boat lights guided them. He concentrated on the vast body of water, dark and murky in the night shadows. Laura noticed the bright blue of his eyes. The intense expression on his handsome face as he concentrated on commanding the boat. A spark flickered inside her that she didn’t quite understand.

  “Chase,” she called softly.

  He hadn’t heard her in her thick sock-covered feet come up behind him. “I hope you don’t get seasick,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

  “No. I like the ocean.”

  He slid from the stool and waved her to sit, all without losing his focus on the ocean before him.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  She sat on the stool. “My head hurts.”

  “Can you describe the pain?”

  “Like a dull toothache.”

  “But you’re not dizzy, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Nausea?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He held his index and middle finger in front of her eyes. “How many do you see?”

  “Two.”

  “Good.”

  “Why didn’t you want me to stay below?”

  “I want to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t pass out or something.” He flicked a switch on the control panel. “Plus, we need to talk. If you’re up to it.”

  She nodded.

  “What happened tonight?” he asked. “How did you meet up with Ron?”

  She was quiet for a minute, sorting through thoughts, contemplating how much to relay.

  “Were you in the office at all today?” she asked.

  “No.” His eyes stayed fixed on the sea before them. “I met my fraternity brothers in Atlantic City last night. They headed home. I stayed over.”

  “Then you probably don’t know that I resigned.”

  “As bookkeeper?” Chase was flabbergasted. “Why?”

  She told him of that morning’s conversation with his father exactly the way it had happened, adding how she had returned to the office to pack her belongings. Chase listened quietly and intently. His only reaction was a low, exasperated breath when she had finished.

  “Laura, your trip with the FBI agents wouldn’t have anything to do with your resignation, would it?”

  She wasn’t sure how much she should reveal. “It feels like a hammer’s hitting my brain when I try to remember this stuff,” she said honestly.

  He was quiet, as if trying to process her words. “Look, I understand you’re confused. You don’t know who to trust. But I want to help. What did those agents want?”

  She wanted to trust someone, and he was the only one around. Besides, what she had told the agents wasn’t as if she had given them information The Produce Market kept confidential. She hadn’t told the two men anything that couldn’t be found on a marketing brochure, including customers’ quotes.

  “Special Agent Saunders kept me waiting longer than we actually talked,” she said finally.

  “He wanted to make you nervous.”

  “You’ve had experience being questioned by the FBI?”

  He shook his head. “I
clerked in the public defender’s office. Passed the bar exam the first try, too. Most people find it hard to believe. That’s why I asked if you needed an attorney,” he said. “What else do you remember about Saunders’ questions?”

  She had no idea that Chase had a law degree, let alone a license to practice law. Neither Chase nor his father had ever mentioned Chase being a licensed attorney. Usually fathers were proud of such an accomplishment in a son. She wondered why his father hadn’t encouraged Chase to practice his profession, or at least rely on him for legal business advice.

  “Laura?” Chase’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  She hesitated. Being rescued by Chase was strange. Taking this boat ride was stranger. Confiding in him was the strangest.

  “Saunders asked me questions about who your father did business with, his customers. He seemed curious about the imported fruit.”

  “Fruit?”

  She nodded. “I mentioned what the warehouse imported, from where, but I didn’t have all the customers and their orders committed to memory.”

  “How did Saunders react?”

  “He seemed annoyed.” Actually, Saunders had flung his notepad to the floor.

  “You weren’t giving him what he wanted.”

  “The name Farmer Dan came up several times,” she said.

  Chase arched an eyebrow. “They asked about Oliver Daniels?”

  Farmer Dan was a white van, owned and operated by Oliver Daniels. Daniels was a steady customer, and Dick Donovan made no secret of their longtime personal friendship. Daniels parked his van in a variety of shopping center lots in the city’s Boulevard section, selling his merchandise from the back of the vehicle.

  “Saunders was interested in what Farmer Dan ordered. I remembered apples, lemons, but couldn’t recall much else. Saunders got huffy and told me to go.”

  “Oliver Daniels,” Chase muttered.

  Pushing the disheveled mass of hair off her face, Laura continued. “Saunders made me uncomfortable. Looking at me with his beady eyes, staring at me accusingly.”

  Chase frowned. “That’s part of the FBI graduation exam.”

  Laura ignored the quip. “Chase, I don’t know what’s going on at your father’s warehouse. If the FBI is snooping around, I don’t want to be involved,” she said softly, her tone almost pleading. “I felt it best if I resigned.”

  “What the hell could intrigue the FBI about a produce warehouse?” Chase muttered, mostly to himself. He pressed on. “Okay, you give my father your resignation and he asks you to come back tonight to pack your things. What happened?”

  A quick pain sliced through her head. “I took the bus back to the warehouse. I packed my desk. Put my stuff in an empty copier paper box.” She closed her eyes, trying to remember, trying to force the image.

  “Take your time, honey.”

  Her fingertips touched her temples and rubbed. The pain throbbed as if someone had wrung her brain so tight, she thought her head might burst. “I took the bus,” she repeated. “From my condo to the warehouse. I took the bus. Your father said he still had work to do. Ron was downstairs. We went down and your father asked Ron to drive me home.”

  “You said you gave Ron your address, but you didn’t make it home?”

  She stopped massaging, the motion not easing the ache. “We were driving,” she said softly. “Ron had put the box with my things in the trunk. He couldn’t find his phone and thought he dropped it in the trunk. He stopped the car. The door opened. The smell.” She shivered. The odor was back, clogging her nostrils. A vision darted passed her eyes. The man in black, clasping the foul cloth to her face. “I couldn’t breathe.”

  Silent sobs shook her. “I couldn’t breathe,” she cried. Her head pounded furiously, and her throat was raw. Her eyes, heavy like lead, insisted on closing.

  “It’s okay, Laura. I get the picture,” he whispered.

  Violent memories flooded back. The big hand covering her mouth, her desperation to breathe, and the pain, the horrific pain each time one of them touched her.

  “I need to go back to the other room,” she muttered.

  “Can you get back on your own?”

  She nodded, sliding off the stool. Her legs were shaky and a sharp twinge gripped her.

  His strong right arm went around her waist, supporting her slender frame. “I’ll take you.”

  “You can’t leave the wheel.”

  “For a bit, I can.” His free hand pressed a button, engaging the autopilot. The navigation device would regulate the boat for the few minutes he was away from the controls.

  “Put your arms around my neck,” he said and clasped her hand.

  She froze. Too many strange men had put their hands on her this evening.

  A gentle smile passed over his face. “I’ll carry you.”

  Chase was tall with the strong, enduring body of a marathon runner. She eyed him guardedly before sliding her arms around his neck and clasping her hands together.

  With extreme care, he lifted her and carried her down the stairs. Her head dropped weakly against his shoulder. His arm squeezed around her waist, holding her close. Being in his arms wasn’t so bad, and she relaxed. Shutting her eyes helped ease the throbbing gnawing at her temples and his warm body soothed her.

  When they reached the cabin, he lowered her feet to the floor. Her arms still clasped around his neck, Laura stared at the bed. She shook uncontrollably.

  “What?” he asked.

  Tangled, wrinkled white sheets glared at them, but Laura saw only the red spots. Blood, her blood, dried burgundy droplets that had dripped from her face onto the pillowcase; several smaller blotches covered the fitted sheet. A reminder of where the knife had sliced her stomach. She shuddered, burying her face against Chase’s shoulder. His arm went around her waist, pulling her into him. Laura didn’t shrink away.

  “I can’t get back in that bed,” she whimpered.

  His hand rubbed up and down her back until she ceased shaking. “I can change the sheets. There’s another set in the closet.”

  His arm remained around her, and his free hand reached up, stroking her hair. Laura found an odd comfort in his touch.

  “I’ll change the sheets, and you’ll feel better. Sit here.” He eased her down onto the hardback chair nestled between the desk and the wall.

  The anxious pace of Laura’s heart returned to normal. After stripping the bed bare, Chase took a set of teal-colored sheets from the closet. He tossed the used bedding to the closet floor and remade the bed, adding a gray wool blanket and a navy quilt.

  She stood. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He smiled.

  There was solace in his upturned lips, the way his blue eyes glimmered. Laura was being weak, and hated it. Feeling the shivers recur, she hugged herself. She needed to be brave and get into that bed.

  As if running through a fire, she dove at the mattress. Chase drew up the covers, tucking them around her.

  She looked up at him. “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the controls. I want to get out of New Jersey. When we’re in Delaware waters, I’ll drop the anchor and catch a nap.” His smile echoed reassurance. “Everything will be okay, Laura. We’ll figure this out. Relax, and go to sleep.”

  “Where will you sleep?” Her eyes drifted closed, exhaustion overwhelming her. She was asleep before hearing his answer.

  Chapter Five

  The blazing sun pierced her eyes. Blinking against the brightness, Laura struggled to sit up, only to collapse into the soft mattress. Her body ached as if she had been sandwiched between two SUVs.

  She took shallow breaths as her head cleared. No curtains or shades covered the three small windows, and sunshine lit the small room. The ocean’s ruffling waves and the birds’ tweeting filled the
air. The boat wasn’t moving forward, but gently seesawing back and forth.

  She pulled herself off the bed, kneading the kinks from her lower back and thighs. Her backside was sore from Chase having dropped her. She staggered, each hand massaging a buttock cheek. She opened the desk drawer, and saw the gun. Her eyes moved to the blood-covered knife, still in the plastic bag exactly where Chase had placed it. She slammed the drawer shut, and a jolt raced up her spine.

  As she opened the cabin door, a pleasant, tangy sea breeze tickled her senses. Stiff limbs hindered her movements, but she climbed the stairs to the deck. The sun blazed in the clear blue sky. The boat teetered, alone, in a vast mass of water. A brisk chill nipped the air, and Laura hugged herself.

  “Chase,” she called. No answer. She called his name again, this time her voice having an edge.

  He wasn’t in the wheelhouse. She darted back down the stairs. If he had been moving around in the bathroom or “head” as he had called it, she would have heard him.

  “Chase.” Panic gripped her. “Chase.”

  Her heart pounding, she ran through the narrow corridor and stopped dead in the eating area. Propped up on the stool, he was asleep at the bar with a half-filled liquor bottle and an empty glass. His head rested on folded arms, his breathing deep. A laptop was also on the bar. The monitor was dark, but the yellow light blinked. Laura hit the space bar and print appeared on the screen. Several windows had been minimized.

  Clicking on one minimized window, she skimmed the on-screen print and gasped, amazed at the words she read. She clicked another window and saw a search engine page. Chase had been reading articles on women who had been assaulted. Her eyes scanned the list of titles. He had wanted to understand, wanted to know how he could help her. From what she had observed of Chase in the last three years, she never guessed he had this sensitive, compassionate side to his personality. Her perception of Chase had been that of a friendly, but overindulged, self-absorbed playboy.

  Who would have guessed?

  She blanked the screen and walked gingerly to the stateroom. A hand slid in each of the sweatpants’ side pockets. Earlier Chase had given her the penknife and gun’s magazine, thinking she might have been afraid of him.