The Backup Plan

by Sherryl Woods

“Until he went and died on you,” Warren said.

  Dinah flashed him a look of pure hatred. “Yes, until he died,” she snapped. “But he didn’t let me down, if that’s what you’re implying. Far from it.”

  “Then you tell me. How did it happen, Dinah?”

  She saw the scene again in her mind—their capture that night, the driver walking away and leaving them with an impossible choice to make, Peter insisting that she let him cover her escape. But that’s where the images stopped, in the back of the car, with Peter still very much alive. She wouldn’t allow the reel to play on. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to see it or hear it or experience it again, much less describe it to a man who was, after all, a virtual stranger.

  “Dinah?” he coaxed. “Don’t stop now. Tell me what happened.”

  When she continued to remain silent, he asked, “Were you there?”

  She nodded, feeling numb.

  “Tell me,” he encouraged. “Take your time and describe what happened.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “You can,” he said, his tone unrelenting. “You must. No evasions this time, Dinah. It’s time to let it out. You’re safe here. It’s over. You survived.”

  She remembered dimly hearing Cord’s whisper in the night. “You’re safe,” he’d said. And she had relaxed. She had believed it.

  Yet now she felt as terrified as she had on that deserted highway. There was nothing safe about remembering or talking about that night. The only safety was in stuffing it down deep inside where she wouldn’t have to face the guilt that came with knowing she’d survived and Peter hadn’t.

  Even she could see the illogic of that. She knew Peter was dead. She knew she’d lived.

  Even so, panic welled up and overwhelmed her. Her heart began to race. She broke out in a cold sweat. Her breath snagged in her throat. She glanced around the room wildly, needing air, certain that all of the oxygen had been sucked right out of her.

  Realizing the windows were sealed and overcome by a choking fear, she bolted for the door, then down the seven flights of stairs, not pausing until she was outside, gasping in air, leaning against the wall of the building, her heart still pounding in an out-of-control rhythm.

  The door opened again and Warren Blake appeared beside her, his eyes filled with kindness and regret. He put a hand on her shoulder and waited until she finally began to relax, the panic slowly releasing its grip on her.

  “How often do you have these panic attacks?” he asked.

  She leaned back against the wall of the building, her eyes closed. “Not so much lately,” she said eventually. “They only come when I…you know.”

  “Start to think about what happened,” he guessed.

  She nodded. “Or when something happens that reminds me,” she said, recalling the clap of thunder that had sent her diving into the dirt at Cord’s at the beginning of the summer.

  His gaze narrowed. “Something like what?”

  “Thunder,” she said, then realized how telling that probably was, after all.

  “Any loud noise?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did Peter die in a car-bomb explosion?”

  Hearing the words spoken so calmly, so matter-offactly filled her with an odd sense of relief. It was only three little words—car-bomb explosion—she thought with amazement. Why hadn’t she been able to make her self utter them?

  Because with those words came images too horrifying to express, she realized, as they began to creep in. Images of the charred metal of the car, the rising smoke, and then, worst of all, Peter’s shattered body.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered with a barely muffled sob. She covered her eyes as if that could keep away the fresh pictures that were winding through her head in a horrifying, never-ending loop.

  Each image was more appalling than the one before. And with each she let out another sob, and then another, until she was bent over, clutching her stomach, the tears streaming down her face.

  Warren Blake remained beside her, steady as a rock, his hand on her shoulder reassuring, as she cried her heart out. For Peter. For herself. For a world gone mad with hatred.

  For once, Dinah didn’t try to stop the tears from flowing. She let them come, feeling the cleansing that came with them, the letting go of the anguish that had been eating her alive, that had kept her from moving on.

  These tears felt different from all the others she’d shed. Was it because she was finally able to acknowledge why she was crying and for whom? Were these the first honest tears she’d shed?

  Slowly, the sobs eased and the tears dried up, all on their own, she realized with surprise. It seemed there wasn’t an endless supply of them after all. How astonishing!

  When she stood up at last, Warren handed her a box of tissues. The gesture made her lips twitch with an unexpected smile.

  “Are you always prepared for anything?”

  “Pretty much, but I saw this coming,” he said. “You did good, Dinah.”

  She frowned at the praise. “Do you get some sort of weird thrill out of watching a woman unravel before your eyes?”

  “No, what thrills me is seeing someone finally face their demons.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “You’re in no condition to drive right now and you need someone with you. Who would you like me to call?”

  Her mother would be soothing. Maggie would be comforting. But it was Cord’s name she instinctively gave him. She needed to feel his arms around her, though if she kept bombarding him with her neediness, he was going to wind up losing his job.

  “I’ll call,” she said, accepting the phone and dialing. “It’s me,” she said when Cord answered. “Can you come get me?”

  “Where are you?” he asked at once, not even hesitating.

  She gave him the address for the office building. “I’ll be in the café off the lobby.”

  “Twenty minutes, sugar. Will you be okay till then?” he asked, his voice threaded with worry. “Maggie’s closer.”

  “No,” she said. “I’ll wait for you. I want you, Cord.”

  “You’ve got me. I’m on my way.”

  She held tight to his words as she handed the phone back to Warren. “He’s on his way.”

  “I’ll come in and wait with you,” he said.

  “You don’t need to do that,” she insisted.

  “Yes, I do.”

  She frowned at his determination. “Do you think I’m going to fall apart again?”

  His brows rose. “Do you?”

  “I hadn’t planned on it.”

  “Well, then, neither will I,” he retorted mildly.

  Inside, he bought two cups of coffee and set one in front of her. Dinah clung to it, just to have something to do with her hands. Now that the whole scene was over, she was swamped with embarrassment.

  “There’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about,” Warren said.

  She scowled at him. “Are you reading my mind now?”

  “No need to,” he said. “I know how this stuff works. People have a breakthrough and instead of appointment in the streets, they get all twisted up and uncomfortable about creating a scene.”

  “How do you stand it?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “Stand it?” he repeated with amazement. “It’s what I live for. What just happened with you means you’re finally on the road to recovery. You’re getting in touch with your emotions again, instead of blocking them out. How could I not be happy about that?”

  “You are in a very weird profession,” Dinah said, then felt compelled to add politely, “If you don’t mind me saying so.”

  He laughed. “You’re not the first. Your friend Maggie equates what I do with some form of black magic or something. She doesn’t have any use for it.”

  “She sent me to you,” Dinah reminded him. “In my book that says she respects you.”

  He seemed startled by the assessment. “You think so?”

  “For a man who makes a career
of reading between the lines, you seem oddly clueless about Maggie,” she said, studying him speculatively. “I think she just loves yanking your chain. You must make it easy for her.”

  His expression turned thoughtful. “I probably do. Maybe I’ll ask her out one of these days so I can investigate your theory, see if there’s convincing data there to support it.”

  Dinah grinned. “Sounds like a plan to me. Just don’t make it a case study, doc. Try thinking of it as a date.” She looked up just then and saw Cord’s truck angling into a no-parking space in front of the building.

  “There’s my ride. I’d better get out there before he goes toe-to-toe with a cop over his illegal parking.” She met Warren’s gaze. “Thank you for today. Same time Monday?”

  He glanced in Cord’s direction, then shook his head. “I think you deserve a long weekend off. I’ll see you again on Tuesday.”

  Dinah brightened as if she’d been given a pass to skip school. “Really?”

  He winked. “Enjoy yourself. You did good work today.”

  A warm glow washed over her at his praise. Who’d ever have thought that she’d be complimented for getting in touch with her own emotions when she’d always been trained to keep her feelings at bay.

  She walked toward the door and got there just as Cord yanked it open, his expression filled with worry. The instant he spotted her, he opened his arms and gathered her close.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “None the worse for wear,” she said, breathing in the musky, masculine scent of him and the faint aroma of sawdust. It was a scent she was beginning to crave.

  “Let’s go home.”

  “Yours or mine?”

  She chuckled at the uncertainty in his gaze. “I think mine, for a change. Something tells me Mother and Dad need to have their world shaken up a bit.”

  “And you think you showing up with me in tow will do that?” he asked, an edge in his voice.

  “No, I think them figuring out you’re upstairs in my bed will do that,” she corrected, then grinned. “You game?”

  Cord laughed. “As long as you’re the one who in tends to fend off Maybelle and her rolling pin when she spots me sneaking up the stairs.”

  “That’s a deal,” she promised him.

  What had ever made her think that life in Charleston was destined to be dull? In some ways she’d taken more risks here in the past few weeks than she had in years. And maybe these were the risks that really mattered.

  “What the hell is that?” Cord asked, snapping awake to the sound of a powerful engine right outside the window.

  Dinah was sitting upright in bed beside him looking every bit as startled and confused as he was. “It sounds like a motorcycle,” she said. “But who would be riding a motorcycle in this house? Surely this isn’t one more part of Tommy Lee’s rebellion.” She frowned at Cord. “We need to talk about that, by the way, but not right now. The motorcycle thing is more pressing.”

  “One way to find out who’s on it,” Cord said, crawling out of bed and padding bare-assed over to the window to peek outside. As soon as he caught a glimpse of the candy-apple-red Harley and its driver, he burst out laughing.

  “What?” Dinah demanded, coming over to join him.

  “Will you look at that?” Cord said, just as Dorothy Davis exited the front door in a pair of jeans, boots and a black T-shirt with the logo of some rock band splashed across the front in a psychedelic tie-dyed pattern. In his opinion, she looked carefree and damn good for her age. He could imagine Dinah looking just like that in another twenty or thirty years.

  “Mother,” Dinah said, her mouth gaping.

  “And unless I miss my guess, that’s your daddy on the motorcycle,” Cord said, watching as the man helped Dorothy climb on behind him, then handed her a helmet.

  “Have they lost their minds?” Dinah muttered, vanishing from his side.

  By the time Cord turned away from the outrageous, unexpected scene outside, Dinah was pulling on her robe and heading out the bedroom door. He shouted for her to stop, but she was evidently on a mission.

  He debated following her, but concluded his sudden appearance in the driveway half-dressed would put a damper on whatever impulsive craziness was going on with the Davises. In his opinion, they were old enough to make their own decisions. Dinah, he suspected, did not see it that way.

  In less than a minute, he heard the motorcycle roar off and guessed that Dinah hadn’t gotten outside in time to confront her parents. In his opinion, that was just as well.

  He settled back against the pillows and waited for her return.

  It didn’t take long for Dinah to reappear, her expression filled with indignation. “They didn’t stop. They acted like they didn’t even hear me.”

  “How could they? That engine was pretty loud.”

  “Oh, they heard me. My mother looked straight at me and grinned like some schoolgirl,” she said, flopping down on the bed beside him, only to stand up and start to pace. “What on earth are they thinking?”

  “That it’s a great day for a ride?” Cord ventured, only to draw a scowl.

  “It’s a great day for a drive in the country in the car,” she retorted. “Or even in a convertible. But a motorcycle? Come on, Cordell. They’ll kill themselves.”

  “Maybe they’ve done this before,” he suggested. “Maybe they’re experienced.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Dinah said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “My father on a motorcycle? Mr. Uptight and Professional? I’ve never seen the man when he hasn’t been wearing a suit.”

  Cord chuckled, then smothered it when Dinah glared at him. “I’m sure he’s gotten out of his suits from time to time.”

  “Not in my lifetime,” she insisted.

  He resisted pointing out that Marshall Davis had evidently gotten undressed with his wife on at least two occasions since Dinah and Tommy Lee did exist.

  “You’ve been gone for ten years,” he reminded her quietly. “Things change.”

  Dinah sat down on the edge of the bed looking thoroughly lost and confused. “Could they possibly have changed that much?”

  “I guess you’ll just have to ask them when they come back,” he said. “If they come back,” she said direly.

  He beckoned to her, intent on improving her mood. “Come here.”

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  “So I can make you forget all about your parents and whatever it is they’re up to.”

  She looked for an instant as if she were going to argue, but then she stripped off her robe and headed his way. “It’s a good thing you have this amazing talent for making me forget things,” she said. “But you’re going to have to work really, really hard to pull it off this time.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said modestly.

  Something told him if he was going to spend a lifetime trying to get Dinah’s mind to shut down, he was going to need some potent vitamins.

  19

  It had been so many years since Dorothy had done any thing as outrageous as climbing onto the back of a motorcycle that she couldn’t even remember the occasion. Nor was she convinced that her proper, Southern gentleman husband had been involved.

  Marshall had always been all about doing the right thing, which was just one reason she’d never really believed him capable of cheating on her. He’d had his life planned out from the time he was old enough to under stand that banking was the family business. She some times imagined him sitting behind his father’s desk at the age of two learning how to sort little piles of money.

  This evening, as he headed onto a country road shaded by live oaks draped in Spanish moss, she clung to him and rested her head against his back. It was far too noisy to ask all the questions running through her head, which meant all she could do was enjoy the totally unexpected ride.

  If Marshall had been half as surprising and inventive as this back in their youth, maybe she never would have had her doubts about marrying him when they�
�d first been pushed together by their respective parents. Maybe they never would have settled into the dull routine of their lives if she’d known he was capable of this adventurous streak.

  Of course, the blame was partially hers. She’d never asked anything more of him than what he’d offered, which was a quiet devotion.

  She smiled thinking about Marshall’s mysterious call earlier in the afternoon. All he’d told her was to be ready at five and to dig in the closet for something casual that absolutely did not have a designer label on it.

  “I’m talking jeans and sneakers,” he said adamantly. “Okay?”

  “Have you lost your mind?” She wasn’t even sure she owned such clothes anymore. Thank heavens, though, Dinah’s closet was full of such outfits. Apparently it was close to being a uniform in her daughter’s line of work.

  To her surprise, Marshall had laughed. “No, coming to my senses, as a matter of fact. If you don’t have what I’m talking about, go to one of the superstores. I’m sure they’ll have whatever you need.”

  “I imagine Dinah does, as well,” she admitted. “I’ll borrow something from her. Amazingly enough, we’re the same size.”

  “Why is that a surprise? You’re as slender as you were the day we met. But whatever you do, don’t tell Dinah why you’re stealing her wardrobe. She’ll never let us hear the end of it.”

  “See you at five.”

  She’d hung up feeling the first faint stirring of anticipation that she’d felt in decades. Sneaking into Dinah’s closet and finding something to wear had only added to the spirit of adventure. When, only a few minutes later, she’d heard Dinah and Cord slipping into that very same bedroom, she’d relished the narrow escape.

  Now, out here on this shaded, winding road, she wouldn’t say it was nervous anticipation that had her stomach feeling all fluttery. It was more like plain old nerves. Riding a motorcycle was scary business at their age, but she had to admit it was as exhilarating as the sheer unexpectedness of it.

  She hung on for dear life and gave herself up to sensation—the hard muscles in her husband’s back, the throb of the engine between her thighs, the wind rushing past, the familiar scent of Old Spice, which Marshall had refused to trade for any of the more trendy, designer aftershaves men wore these days.