Last Ride on the Merry-go-round

by Judith Rochelle

  He sighed, remembering his mental musings of the day before when Ethan had called him, and the feelings rocketing through his body now every time he touched Jen in any way. The feelings he'd put a lid on all those years ago. Would he ever find the kind of situation Ethan had with Lisa or was the lure of the adrenaline still too strong? Having Jen reappear in his life had certainly given those thoughts a nudge and made him take a good hard look at where he was in life. Was Fate handing him a new card in the deck? If so, would he be smart enough to play it right?

  He had just stepped through the front door when a high-pitched scream from Jen's bedroom curdled his blood. He slammed the door and threw all the locks, then raced toward Jen's room, yanking his gun from his waistband.

  When he shoved open Jen's door, he was shocked at the sight of her in the light from the hall. She was sitting up in bed, eyes glazed, every muscle in her body drawn taut, and the scream still echoing from her throat. Checking to make sure the room was secure, he stowed the gun and turned on the bedside lamp. Even that didn't seem to penetrate whatever terror was gripping her.

  Very gently, he sat down on the bed and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  "Jen?” He gave her a slight shake. “Jen, can you hear me?"

  Her eyes stared straight through him.

  "Jennifer?” He shook her again. “It's me, Dino. Wake up."

  Still no response, and he needed to snap her out of it. Later, he couldn't have said if what he did next was to shock her out of her nightmare, or an irresistible urge to taste her lips, see what they felt like. But before he could change his mind, he simply cupped her face with his large hands and kissed her. He meant it to be just a brief touch, lips against lips, but her mouth was so sweet, her lips so soft he couldn't pull away. Somehow his tongue found its way into her open mouth and she was responding with heat that scorched him.

  His mind kept screaming at him to take it easy, but his body had other ideas and kicked itself into high gear.

  In the next instant she was pushing hard at him, panic in those unseeing eyes. “No. Keep away from me. No, no, no.” Her head whipped back and forth like the pendulum on a clock.

  "Jen, it's me.” This time he almost shouted, grasping her hands and holding them against his chest.

  As if a broom had swept it away, the haze disappeared from her eyes to be replaced by confusion and panic.

  "What ... Dino? What's happening?"

  He sat down next to her, still gripping her hands. “You had a nightmare, sweetheart. The way you screamed down the house, I thought all the devils in hell were attacking you."

  "Oh, God.” Tears trickled down her pale cheeks.

  Her body trembled in his grasp, so he released her hands and pulled her against his chest, soothing her. “It's okay. Really. Take deep breaths, okay?"

  Her body shook with the force of her sobs, his shirt absorbing her tears. He pressed his cheek against the softness of her hair and stroked her back, making soothing noises, waiting for the storm to pass. He had no idea how long they sat there like that, her body pressed against his. But after a while he became aware of the softness of her breasts against his chest, the silken feel of her hair against his face, and the hard bulge pressing against his fly that he was having more and more difficulty disguising.

  When he was sure she had regained some semblance of control, he set her gently away from him and tilted up her face.

  "Better?"

  She nodded, wiping at her eyes with the heel of one hand.

  "How about you go throw some cold water on your face and come out on the porch. I'm going to open a couple of wine coolers I picked up. Emergency rations, just in case. I think you could use one right about now."

  "Okay,” she hiccupped. “Dino, I'm sorry. I..."

  "Not a problem. But I think I need to get out of this room right now, okay?"

  He stood up, thankful that he had on a loose shirt to cover his bulging fly. Jen looked up at him and blushed, the same delicate shade of rose he'd seen that one other time.

  "I hope you don't think—"

  "I think we need to go sit on the porch and talk about your dream.” Then, because he couldn't help himself, he leaned down and placed a light kiss on her mouth. “And I think I'm in big trouble here, but don't worry. I'll do my best to behave myself.” He winked at her and left the room.

  * * * *

  Four people sat in the richly-paneled den in a massive stone house in the elite suburb of Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. Two opened bottles of wine nestled in a bucket of crushed ice. The cost of the two could have paid an executive's salary for a month. The furniture in the room was upholstered in the richest, most supple, most expensive leather available and the Persian rug on the polished hardwood floor cost a king's ransom. Paintings by some of the world's greatest artists adorned the walls and a small Michelangelo sculpture sat on a glass shelf.

  For some, this would be the grossest example of conspicuous consumption. For these people it was just one of the perks of their way of life.

  Two women—Patsy, a blonde, and Monica, a redhead—sat gracefully on the long couch, sipping at their wine. Behind the rosewood desk, Henry, a tall, heavy-set man with iron grey hair let his gaze move slowly from one to the other. Mac, a rangy man in expensively casual clothes, relaxed in a large arm chair. His was the only name ever mentioned in conversation outside this room. The man who handled things on the outside. Despite their almost paranoid preparations for secrecy, they all feared discovery, especially electronically.

  Recent events had brought them together for a rare meeting, but trouble always called for unusual measures.

  "So,” Henry said, setting his goblet precisely on a coaster, “we're all agreed we have a problem."

  "I'd say that's a mild way of putting it,” Monica told him. “I thought you had John Sutherland under control."

  "Greed makes a man do foolish things,” he pointed out, then laughed as if he'd just told a hilarious joke.

  "You would know,” Mac said.

  Henry took another sip of his wine. “It isn't just the fact that Sutherland's wife and child have disappeared, and along with them any trace of the two artifacts he held back. Someone is probing into this situation, and it's not the police."

  "Wellborn said a man spent a lot of time questioning him,” Patsy told him.

  "Yes. Well, that man's been taken care of."

  "And if someone else takes his place?” she asked.

  "We'll have to take care of him, too,” Mac said.

  She fiddled nervously with her glass. “We can't simply keep killing people off."

  Monica set her glass down hard on the cocktail table in front of her. “With the amount of money at stake here, and the need to protect ourselves, I don't see any other solution."

  "Until the bodies begin to pile up,” Henry pointed out. “How will we explain all of that? We never should have accepted these last items. We all knew they were dangerous. If they turn up in the wrong place and lead back to us, we're all screwed."

  "We'll make sure nothing points back to us,” Mac assured him with exaggerated patience. “Meanwhile, it is imperative that we find Jennifer Sutherland. She's the only one who can possibly tell us where John hid those pieces."

  "Well,” Henry said, “just how do you propose we do that? She seems to have fallen off the face of the earth."

  "We need to hire more people. I can't pull my man because I need eyes on the street in case someone does replace Jack Smiley."

  "Money is no object,” Monica interjected. “You must know more people with connections who can keep their mouths shut and operate under the radar."

  There was a long silence while they all stared at each other. Finally, Mac nodded his head.

  "All right. I'll look into it. Let's conference tomorrow night. I hope to have an answer by then."

  They finished their wine in silence. One by one, they left the house, driving into the night, each deep in thought at the mess they'd somehow gotten
themselves into. And the effect and repercussions that disclosure would have on their well-established lifestyles.

  * * * *

  "Better now?” Dino asked.

  They'd been sitting on the porch, Dino with a beer and Jen with a wine cooler, for most of an hour. Mainly, Jen had just sat looking out toward the Gulf and staring at the startlingly clear nighttime sky overhead.

  He'd listened carefully as she told him about the dream. About the living nightmare that had brought it on. About the years leading up to this. Everything. And in her tone he heard the sound of a woman who'd lived hard and wanted normal. Whatever normal was. He felt that stab at his heart again.

  He had to keep reminding himself that she was just part of the favor he was doing for Ethan. The last time he'd let a woman get to him like this, it had taken him years to heal. But damn. There was just something so sweet, so warm about Jen when she let her guard down. In her long sleep shirt, with her hair tumbled around her face, there was a vulnerability about her that kept reaching out to him.

  Don't be a sucker, you idiot. This can take you no place.

  He swallowed a sigh and tried to make his brain work.

  She turned her head toward him now and gave him a weak smile.

  "Yes. Thank you.” She took a sip of her by now warm cooler. “You're really a very nice man. You know that?"

  He laughed. “I could give you a long list of people who would disagree with you.” His gaze traveled over the outline of her face and body from the diffused light of the street lamps. “I'd say anyone who's been through what you have would definitely have a nightmare or two. Watching your husband killed in front of you and trying to shield your daughter can be very emotionally damaging."

  Jen sighed. “I think the whole thing bothers me even more because I didn't love John the way I thought I should, so I can't grieve for him the way he deserves. Deanne certainly didn't deserve to be dumped into the middle of this."

  "Don't you worry about Deanne. Ethan and Lisa will take good care of her mental health. And Jamie will help, too. My job is to take care of you."

  She twisted the empty bottle in her hands. “I don't want to be anyone's job, Dino."

  "I should have phrased that differently. It will be my great pleasure to look after you. Dig information out of your mind. And figure out how to get you out of this mess.” He swallowed the last of his beer. “Jen, can you think of anyone else who might be connected with this? Anyone who might have been putting the pressure on John?"

  "He never saw anyone but the board members from the museum. And whoever he gambled with."

  "Okay. I think we've lived with this enough for tonight. Tomorrow I want you to dredge up every detail you can of everyone related to the museum. That's got to be where it starts.” He stood up and reached a hand out to her. “Think you can get some sleep now?"

  She gave him that shaky smile again. “Yes. Thank you very much. I don't think this was exactly what you signed on for."

  He couldn't help himself. He pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I signed on for whatever it takes, Jen. Whatever it takes."

  * * * *

  The first thing that crossed Jen's mind when she opened her eyes was she had no idea where she was. Carefully she looked around the neat, colorful bedroom, taking in the brightly painted chest of drawers, the sheer curtains at the windows, and the striped cushion on the window seat.

  Then she remembered. Every bit of it. Where she was and how she got there. The nightmare last night and Dino's incredible tenderness as he talked her through it. The way he restored a semblance of calm to her tortured mind as she relived the gunshot over and over again. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had been that gentle with her, that caring. And, despite the invisible threads that were definitely tugging them together, she was, in reality, a virtual stranger to this man.

  Tendrils of the nightmare still clung to her, the sound of the shot, the image of John's body bleeding as he fell to the floor. The fear that she and Deanne would be discovered. In her dream, the men in the cabin had spotted the air conditioning grillwork and yanked it out, exposing Jen curling her body protectively around her daughter's.

  What choices we make in life, she thought. All those years living the wild life, the crazy parties, the instability. Of course, she'd met Ethan and now she had Deanne, so something good had come out of it. She'd been so sure marrying John had been the answer to everything, but he'd turned out to be an enigma, warm and caring one minute, cold and remote the next. She'd struggled to create a good environment for her daughter, but living the lie of a perfect marriage had drained her.

  How could she not know he'd been gambling? How could she not know what he'd been up to?

  Because you didn't want to know, said a little voice in her head.

  And now here she was, with no options except to trust Ethan and his friends. Especially Dino Brancuzzi. He had such an air of self-assurance about him, yet not with the arrogance Ethan had always displayed, or the sense that life on the edge was where it was at. Dino was a man comfortable in his own skin. His dark eyes held the wisdom of the ages, promising security and safety. And while he exuded sex appeal, it was a smoother, more controlled kind than the raw sexuality that always rolled off Ethan in waves.

  Why couldn't I have met him all those years ago? Before I had nothing left to offer a man? Not that he'd want me anyway.

  Last night at dinner she had answered questions until her head hurt, but she knew they really hadn't even scratched the surface. Somewhere hidden in her brain were pieces of information she didn't even realize were valuable.

  If it was up to her, she'd expend all her energies trying to figure out where stupid John had hidden those stupid antiquities that he'd been stupid enough to think he could steal. But she'd come to Ethan knowing he was probably the only person on earth who could help her, and he'd brought Dino into the equation. That meant she had to play by their rules, and somehow she had the feeling that even if they found the pieces, they had no intention of just handing them over to the people who had killed John. They were all about finding the people and putting them away. Breaking the connection. And probably, without that, she'd never be safe anyway.

  Dino said he wanted her to dig into her mind and give him every scrap of information tucked away in there, including the descriptions of the men in the cabin. That meant she needed to put aside the nightmares and get her brain in working order. If she could just get rid of the fear that sat in the middle of her stomach like a lump of undigested food.

  She sighed and forced herself out of bed. In the bathroom across the hall, Dino had thoughtfully left a stack of towels for her and a fresh bar of soap. She wanted to cry at the man's consideration. It wasn't much. Probably not more than he'd do for anyone else. But she couldn't remember the last time a man, any man, John included, had made simple gestures like this where she was concerned. Standing in the hot shower, she let the stream of water beat away the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

  * * * *

  As usual, Dino was up with the sun. Years of habit were hard to break. He started the coffee, then checked both his phone and email for messages. His contacts had been busy. Via email he had complete profiles on every member of the museum board, a list of questionable antiquities dealers, and the names of three people in Egypt and Thailand who were known to be go-betweens for smuggled antiquities. That meant he could put people on this right away.

  He had already called Ethan again to tell him this wasn't going to be a cheap exercise. Ethan had simply said whatever it cost, it cost. Just get the job done and call him back when he had his plan together.

  He was on his second cup of coffee when he caught a glimpse of Jen hurrying from her bedroom to the bathroom. In seconds he heard the sound of the shower. Good. At least she was putting herself together.

  He was still working at his laptop, studying the information when she came into the room. This morning she had her hair pulled into the ponytail
again, but she'd obviously brushed it to a shine beforehand and applied a little blush and lip gloss. The shorts and print shirt she wore were the same emerald green as her eyes. He had to grit his teeth to get his body to behave. Of all the times in his life for his hormones to kick into gear, this was the absolute worst. Jennifer LaCroix needed safety and security, not a rampaging lunatic consumed with lust.

  "Good morning."

  Her voice was softer today. Less strident. He didn't know if it was the aftereffects of the nightmare or just the knowledge that her daughter was in safe hands and she could take a deep breath. Whatever it was, he liked the sound of it, and wondered exactly what this woman would be like if her past could just disappear.

  "Hey. I made coffee.” He inclined his head toward the kitchen. “Fresh pot. Help yourself."

  "Thanks.” As she poured and stirred, she asked over her shoulder, “Anything new come up?"

  "As a matter of fact, there's been a development.” He kept his voice as low and even as possible. No matter how he told her about Smiley it would be a shock to her and rub nerves already raw. “Come sit down and I'll tell you."

  She sat down in the chair cornerwise to him. “This doesn't sound so good."

  Still keeping his voice in that even tone, he told her about Jack Smiley. Her face paled as if every drop of blood had suddenly left her body.

  "These people are just going to keep on killing, aren't they?"

  Dino nodded. “Probably. Until they get what they want. It's what they do."

  "How can you be so calm about it,” she cried, her tone anguished. “Are you so immune to things like this? That man died helping me. This is my fault."

  He grabbed her free hand and stroked his fingers over the back of it. She was colder than ice. “Jen. Jen, listen. No one, including me, ever gets used to death. I wouldn't like the person I'd be if I did. But in our line of work it's a risk we all take knowingly."