Facets

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Because this is all part of the plan. First he seduces you, then he makes you dependent on him physically, then he starts hitting you up for favors.”

  “Is that how you work?” she blurted.

  He slapped her hard across the face.

  Her hand flew to the spot, but she was more aware of the tears in her eyes. They were a sign of weakness, which was the last thing she wanted to show John. So she said, “Did I hit it right?”

  “You have a fresh mouth. I should have done that years ago.”

  “If you had, I’d have reported you for child abuse.”

  “For a slap across the face? I think not.”

  “But you’ve got it in you for more,” she lashed back, “and we both know it. You have a mean streak. Deep down, under that expensive suit of yours, you’re no better than a street fighter.”

  Before she could move from his reach, he closed a large hand around a fistful of her sweatshirt and hauled her close.

  “And you,” he said in a fury of clenched teeth, “are a bitch. I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I don’t want to see you. Just stay here and study. Stay away from Maine. And stay away from Cutter Reid. If you don’t, you’ll have yourself to blame for what happens. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Let go of me.”

  He hoisted her higher. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “I hate you.”

  “The feeling’s mutual. Now, are we in agreement about the other? Do you understand what I expect of you?”

  “I understand that as soon as I’m legally of age, I can tell you to fuck off.”

  His nostrils flared at her choice of words, but that was the only satisfaction she got. “Wrong, sweetheart.” He twisted his hand to lift her even higher, while he put his mouth by her cheek and spoke with lethal quiet. “What I’m saying has nothing to do with age. It has to do with power. I have it, you don’t. I control the trust fund, I control the stock. You won’t have a voting seat on the board until you’re twenty-five, and by that time I’ll have the board stacked my way. So the best you can do when you turn eighteen is run away, and I won’t be able to bring you back.” He took a deep breath, seeming to inhale her essence before spitting it out in a contemptuous snarl. “If you want to run away, be my guest. I don’t want you.” Releasing her forcefully, he turned on his heel and left.

  Pam went to see her mother the next day. She sat quietly with her, not saying much, staring blindly out at the gray December landscape. After a time, she took her hand. It was pale and delicate, not quite limp, not quite directed, an apt representation of Patricia herself. The longer Pam looked at it, the more carefully she traced the fragile webwork of veins, the more devastated she felt. She was thirteen again, lost and alone and frightened because everything that had been good in her life was being taken away. And suddenly it didn’t matter that she was nearly eighteen or that Patricia was to be protected. Unable to hold it in any longer, Pam bent over that hand and began to cry.

  “I don’t know—what to do—things are so wrong—I need help—Mommy.”

  She wept softly, losing track of time in her grief. Somewhere in its midst, she felt Patricia’s fingers close around hers, and she held on for dear life.

  Chapter 15

  CUTTER PUT HIS BACK TO THE phone booth door and lowered his head over the receiver. “Pamela St. George, please.”

  “Just a minute.” The voice was that of another of the students in Pam’s dorm and was accommodating enough. Whether the girl could produce Pam was another story. He had already tried twice without luck and was uneasy. They hadn’t talked in five days, which wasn’t unusual, but he had expected her in Timiny Cove that morning, and she hadn’t shown. He had checked the big brick house and found it locked tight. He wasn’t waiting to get back to his place to try her again at the dorm.

  “I’m sorry,” the voice came back, “but she isn’t here.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

  “Has she signed out?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can you check?” he asked impatiently, then sighed. “I was supposed to meet her this morning. I’m worried.”

  “She was here a little while ago. I saw her myself, and she looked fine. Do you want to leave a message?”

  The words echoed in his brain. She wasn’t sick. Or in a car crash. He’d already left two cryptic messages that only Pam would understand. “No,” he murmured and hung up the phone.

  Leaving the booth, he slid into his truck and sat for a long time staring out the windshield. He was scared to death. He loved Pam so much that she was his first thought in the morning and his last thought at night. She was with him wherever he went, was everything poetic in a life that was otherwise ordinary.

  He didn’t know what in the hell was wrong. It wasn’t like Pam not to call if she couldn’t come. Or not to answer his calls.

  Starting the pickup, he backed away from the phone booth and headed out of town toward the highway. Minutes later he was pushing the speed limit, heading south, toward Boston.

  He’d find her. If he had to wait all night and all of Sunday outside her dorm, he’d find her. He had to know what was wrong. She meant far too much to him not to worry, and it was even worse since they’d made love. Her body was perfect. It was fresh and clean, and it responded to his body as if it had been created especially for him. When he was hugged tightly inside her, he felt securely loved.

  It was an illusion, of course. Pam did love him, but there was nothing secure about it in the sense of longevity. She argued that they had a future, but he didn’t believe it. He was a townie, she was a city girl. He was born to dirt, she was born to money. He knew he’d have to give her up one day, but he just wasn’t ready for it yet. He hadn’t had her long enough. He wanted more time.

  In the fall she’d go off to college, and her world would open up. He could follow her, could leave the mine and take a job where she was, but that would only be worse because then she’d see him out of the context of Timiny Cove. In comparison to the college guys, he would seem a dud.

  Flashing lights suddenly filled his rearview mirror. He didn’t have to look at his gauge to know he’d been speeding. Muttering a choice epithet, he slowed down and moved out of the fast lane. When the cruiser sped past him after another target, he stayed where he was. Someone had given him a reprieve.

  He prayed for another one when he reached Boston, but it wasn’t to be. Pam wasn’t at her dorm. She had signed out to a friend’s house, which meant she could be anywhere. Leaving another cryptic message, he checked in to a nearby motel. Pam never showed. He stayed there, watching the phone, until midday Sunday, then staked out a position within viewing distance of the brick-flanked drive to her school. It was cold and dark at 6:00 P.M. when the Cougar finally turned in. He quickly followed, pulled into the parking space beside hers, and caught her as she got out of her car.

  She screamed with fright, then with anguish. “Cutter! Oh God.” She covered her face with shaky hands, but rather than falling into his arms as he thought she would, she shrank back against her car. “Go away, Cutter! Go quickly!”

  He didn’t like the sound of that at all. “What’s wrong?”

  “Leave! Please, leave!” She parted her hands and shot a frantic look around. “If we’re seen together, there’ll be awful trouble.” She grabbed hold of his heavy jacket. Not even the darkness could hide the fear in her eyes. “Go now, before someone sees!”

  He’d never seen her this way, and it was making him more nervous by the minute. “Not until I find out what’s wrong. You were supposed to drive up yesterday morning.”

  “I couldn’t. He said he’d have me watched.”

  Cutter felt a ripple of cold fear. “John?”

  “He knows about us. Everything. And he’ll do awful things if he catches us together.” She glanced worriedly over her shoulder.

  Cutter pulled her down
against the baseboard of his pickup. “What things?”

  “Fire you.”

  “I’ll quit first.”

  “No.” She held tight to his jacket. “He’ll fire the others—Jethro, the MacMorgans, Hugo Wall, all the men you fought for—and he said he’s already sold the house.”

  “I haven’t heard about that, and I would’ve. Word spreads fast.”

  “Maybe it’s too soon.”

  “Maybe he’s lying.”

  “You didn’t see his face, Cutter! It was awful! The man is mad! He’ll do everything he says!”

  Cutter refused to believe it, but Pam clearly did. Tugging her shaking body to his, he held her tightly for a minute. Then he gave her a kiss that was rough, telling her of the hell he’d been through for the last two days. When he raised his head, he was angry. “John is full of crap.”

  “No. He’ll do it. All of it.”

  “He isn’t God.”

  “Close to it.”

  “He can’t control us.”

  “But he does!”

  “We’ll escape him.”

  “He has everything covered, Cutter. I’ve thought and thought and I can’t find a way out.”

  “We’ll run away.”

  “He’ll be right after us.”

  “We’ll get married.”

  “I’m too young. He’ll take you to court.”

  “No court will listen if you say you love me.”

  “His court will. He knows the judges.”

  “So we’ll wait three months. You’ll be old enough then.”

  “That won’t do any good,” she cried. “He’ll ruin you!”

  “There’s not much left to ruin if I lose you.”

  With an anguished sound, she pressed her face to his chest, then looked up and reached for his mouth. He tasted the desperation in her kiss—or in his, he didn’t know which, and it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were together then and there.

  All but bodily lifting her, he opened the door of the pickup, slid her in, and followed. Pressing her flat on the bench seat, he kissed her and touched her until the December air turned hot and heavy between them. Then, disturbed by what she had said and needing a reaffirmation of her love, he began pulling at her jeans.

  “God, no, Cutter!” she cried.

  “I need you.” He caught her mouth again and ate hungrily from it until his need surpassed that. Rising to his knees, he used both hands on her pants.

  “Not here!” she whispered, frantic. “We can’t!”

  He tugged the denim over her hips. “We can, dammit. We can do what we want.”

  “If someone comes—”

  “No one will.” He unzipped his fly and released himself, then came down to her. “It’s dark. No one will see.” He entered her in a single strong stroke, then thrust again and again, grasping her bottom and lifting her to deepen the penetration until she cried out at the pleasure he gave her.

  She came, clutching his shirt, murmuring, “I love you I love you,” and he climaxed seconds later. But he stayed hard, because having her once was never enough. Her breathing had barely slowed before he was moving again. He pushed deeper, harder, and again she rose to meet him. The sound that tore from his throat when he climaxed this time came from deep in his soul. It echoed in the cab of the pickup long after their passion was spent and their clothing repaired.

  The chilly air seeped over them quickly. “What are we going to do?” Pam asked. Her cheek was against his chest. She was as curled around him as a human being could be on the front seat of a small truck, and he held her tightly.

  “I can’t give you up yet.”

  “He’ll do something awful.”

  “Then we’ll fight him.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, but there has to be a way.”

  “Maybe when I’m eighteen.”

  “I’m supposed to stay away from you till then?”

  “If he catches us, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll face him. Maybe it’s time.”

  “But it’s not just us,” she insisted; and, much as he didn’t want to, he had to listen. “There are others involved. Innocent people. He’ll hurt them, too.”

  “Maybe he’s bluffing.”

  “What if he isn’t?”

  “He can only hurt people so much before the hurt boomerangs.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  Cutter thought about the meantime, and there was nothing comforting about it. He could quit the mine and leave Timiny Cove, but it was his home, the only place he knew. If he belonged anywhere, it was there, where he finally was respected to some extent. And the respect was two-sided. While it wasn’t exactly affection he felt for the people, he recognized their struggles and felt loyalty to them. They depended on him in subtle ways. While he wouldn’t go so far as to call them friends, he couldn’t desert them.

  Nor could he desert Pam. She depended on him too. Even if he hadn’t loved her so much, he would have wanted to be there to protect her as Eugene would have done.

  A spark of light came from his left. Pam whispered a frightened, “Oh God,” while he peered through the fogged-up windows. “It’s the security patrol.” She pushed away from him. “I have to leave. If the guard finds me here with you—”

  “Too late.” Cutter caught her hand. He rolled down his window as the guard approached. “Evening, sir.” He glanced at the wrist where a watch would have been if he owned one. “We still have some time, don’t we?”

  The guard aimed his flashlight into the truck. Pam held up a hand against its brightness, but she took Cutter’s lead and calmly leaned over his thigh toward the window. “We won’t be long. Another five minutes? It’s freezing out here.”

  The guard, who looked far too old and wrinkled to protect active young women, gave a grunt. “I was thinking that myself when I stopped. But I never seen the truck here before, and it’s my job to check.”

  “That’s good,” Cutter said. “I’m glad to know someone’s looking out for her when I’m not.”

  Touching the flashlight to his forehead in a salute, the guard returned to his car and slowly drove off.

  “He saw the truck,” Pam gasped as soon as the window was up again. “He’ll remember it now. Oh, God, I knew this would happen.”

  Cutter linked his fingers through hers. “Nothing happened,” he said as smoothly as he could, although his heart was pounding. “As far as he’s concerned, we’re both happy and healthy. The old geezer’s probably already forgotten he saw us.”

  “If he’d come five minutes earlier, do you know what he would have seen?”

  Cutter grinned.

  “You laugh!” she cried. “If we’d been caught like that, John would have strung you up by your heels.”

  “It’s okay, honey. We weren’t caught.” But his grin was gone. Everything that had come before was crowding in on him. He started the engine.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked again as he drove the short distance to her dorm.

  He was asking himself the same question. The answer eluded him, but he knew one thing. “I won’t give you up, Pam. Not on John’s say-so. If you were to find someone else and tell me you didn’t love me anymore, that would be different.”

  “I’ll always love you.”

  “Someday you might not.”

  “No. Always.”

  His need to hear the words was enough to stop him from arguing more. “Then we’ll find a way to see each other now.” He drew her close for a kiss. “You’re my life,” he whispered. She ran her fingers over his forehead, across his cheek to his mouth, following with her eyes in a way that made him uneasy. “Don’t memorize things, Pam. We’ll be together next weekend.” Still she looked at him as though her heart were going to break. “Pam?”

  “Gotta run.” The words were no more than a broken breath, but they hung in the air for a long minute. Then she came up the few inches to his mouth. Her lips were soft
and hungry, desperate in the way they clung to his. In seconds, his own desperation had him taking ravenous control of the kiss, but his tongue had barely filled her mouth when she tore herself away. Seconds later, she was out of the truck and running toward the dorm.

  He started after her, then caught himself and straightened behind the wheel. She was upset, it was late, and the eyes of whoever cared to watch were on them. If he followed her, it would draw unwanted attention. He’d call her later to make sure she was okay. Maybe by that time he would come up with a brainstorm.

  The brainstorm didn’t come during the ride home. Snow did. It fell gently, reflecting in his headlights to make the night look unnaturally bright. But the brightness didn’t spread to his insides. He was feeling cold and bleak when he pulled up to his home and cut the engine. Head down, he trudged to the door, only to stop short when he felt a prickling at the back of his neck.

  His footprints weren’t the only ones in the snow.

  His head came up, eyes focusing on the shadowed figure that stood by his door. Before he could identify it, a second, larger figure materialized from the side and rammed a fist into his stomach. The force of it sent him reeling. He had barely hit the snow when he was hauled back up by a third man. Another blow caught him in the ribs. He staggered in pain and tried to deflect the next shot, but it hit him in the gut. When his arms automatically went to his stomach, he took a wallop in the jaw that sent him backward.

  The pain was explosive. Time and again he staggered to his feet, only to be slammed to one side or another. He tried to fight back, but with each attempt the pummeling came harder. He couldn’t catch his breath. He couldn’t straighten. In sheer self-defense, he curled on his side with his arms covering his head, only to be kicked everywhere else.

  At a low sound that he couldn’t make out through the pain, the beating stopped. He gulped for air, unable to open one of his eyes, unable to turn over. That was done for him by the same booted foot that had inflicted such damage seconds before. The sharp movement made him cry out in agony. A lingering shred of sense urged him to catch sight of his assailants, but he was too dizzy to see much. He panicked when his jacket and then his shirt were crudely torn from him. Bare-chested in the December snow and hurting all over, he was dragged halfway up the steps.