Enchanted Heart

by Felicia Mason

  For a woman who’d skated through life for twenty-seven years and had never, ever been in love, that was a truly scary thing.

  Though at one time he would have denied it, Lance’s future lay in someone else’s hands. He’d given all of his control to Vivienne. And he didn’t know what she’d do with it. She owned the most vital part of him: his heart.

  Yeah, he had issues. He had a wife and a kid that Vivienne knew nothing about. But the existence of Gayla and Tarique paled when put up against what he wanted with Viv.

  Getting rid of Gayla might cost a lot of money, but losing Viv would cost him his soul. She completed him in ways he hadn’t even realized he was lacking.

  The measure of Lance’s dedication was that he’d waited for her. After they talked and he gave her the box, he went to his car and worked on his business plan that was coming together quite nicely.

  When the constant stream of customers trickled to just a few, and then the scantily clad salesclerks made their own departures, Lance waited for Viv to leave. Then he followed her home.

  The doorbell rang at Vivienne and Vicki’s house. “I’ll get it,” Vicki called out.

  “Who’s ringing this late?”

  “I ordered some pizza.” With a twenty-dollar bill in her hand, Vicki made her way to the door. “It’s about time,” she said, talking through the screen. “What took you so long?”

  “I wanted to give you enough time to think about what I said.”

  Vicki opened the door wider. “Huh?”

  Lance got a look at her and reared back. “Viv, that’s got to be the ugliest beauty mask I’ve ever seen. So that’s your secret, huh?”

  In less time that it had taken for the words to come out of his mouth, Lance realized he’d made a mistake, a terrible mistake. All of his glibness faded away.

  The woman’s face contorted and Lance reached for her. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I . . .”

  A wail sounded, and for a moment, Lance thought that it reflected just how he felt. “Miss, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . shit. Vivienne!”

  “What’s all the racket?” Viv said. She appeared behind Vicki who stood frozen at the door. Lance’s face held an expression of abject dismay.

  Viv put the pieces together. Vicki’s worst nightmare had just come true. A stranger, caught unaware, had seen her. And judging from both their faces, something awful had been said or done.

  The night had taken its toll though. And for once, Viv, drained of energy after smiling all evening, being the perfect hostess, and then being emotionally drained after the conversation with Lance, she didn’t give a damn about the fallout. Fuzzy-mouthed from the champagne she’d imbibed with abandon, she sighed.

  “Lance Heart Smith, meet my sister Vicki. Vicki, this is Lance.”

  Vicki stared up at him, jaw slack, eyes wide in an expression Viv couldn’t name.

  “Hey, hey, Miss Vicki. Here’s your pizza,” a younger voice said behind Lance. On a wail, Vicki turned and hurried away.

  Lance turned to the delivery driver and stared at him. “Vicki?”

  Popping gum, the driver held out the pizza box. “That’ll be $14.95,” he said. “And I brought change.”

  Lance dug in his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed the kid a bill. He took the box and stepped into the house.

  “You’re not welcome here,” Vivienne said.

  “Tough. I need to apologize to your sister.”

  “Uh, dude. This is a fifty. I ain’t got change for that.”

  “Keep it,” Lance called back.

  “Coolio,” he heard the driver reply. “Thanks, Miss Vicki,” he hollered into the house.

  “Where’d she go?”

  “Lance, just let it go, please.”

  Depositing the pizza box on a coffee table, Lance glanced around the comfortable living room. His gaze took in the wide spaces that would allow for a wheelchair, the other smaller touches that indicated a person with a disability lived there. A brace propped against a chair.

  “I can’t,” he said. “I hurt her.”

  Viv snorted. “You’ve hurt me, too. That’s never stopped you.”

  He faced her then. “I thought you said you were identical twins? What happened to you two?”

  Vivienne closed her eyes. “This is not the time or the place for this, Lance.”

  “Like hell it isn’t.” He turned again, then took a step toward the area that shunted off the main room and probably led to bedrooms.

  Viv, guessing his plan, shifted so she barred his way, her hands on his chest halting his steps.

  “Well, isn’t this a charming little scene.”

  They both turned at the man’s voice. He stood in the arch opening that led from the foyer into the living room. Though a warm night, he wore a black leather jacket over a T-shirt and khaki pants. The shoes were Salvatore Ferragamo; Lance knew because an identical pair were in his closet. He took in the details, noting that the man had the classic looks of a Ralph Lauren model, even as he felt the ripple of awareness run through Vivienne. Feeling overly protective of Viv, Lance looked to her for direction and a clue about the newcomer’s intention. Was he friend or foe?

  Vivienne’s expression, as stunned as Vicki’s had been moments ago, gave Lance his answer. “I take it this isn’t your brother.”

  The man got a laugh out of that.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  The man, still chuckling, advanced on them. “Brother? Is that what you told him?” He just shook his head, the chuckle drifting into a lazy half-smile at his mouth. Lance stepped in front of Viv.

  “Look here, pal . . .”

  The man spared Lance barely a glance.

  “It’s good to see you, Rachel. Did you miss me?”

  Lance’s gaze shot to Viv’s. “Rachel?”

  Viv stood as if she’d been turned to stone or a pillar of salt. The color had drained from her face and she swayed. In an instant, he was next to her, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

  “You always said I made you weak in the knees,” the man said. “It’s good to see some things haven’t changed.”

  “Vivienne?”

  She looked at Lance, but no words came out of her mouth. Lance released her and took a step away, his gaze shooting between Viv and the man.

  “Vivian,” the man said, wrapping the name around his tongue and releasing it on a soft sigh. “That’s nice. I like it. Elegant. It suits you better than Rachel.” He pressed a kiss to Viv’s cheek and slowly trailed a finger from her temple to the edge of her mouth that trembled.

  Lance didn’t miss a moment of the sultry welcome. The first licks of anger lashed through him. “Who the hell are you?”

  The man smiled even as he tugged Viv closer. His hand splayed at her side in a clearly proprietary gesture. He held his free hand out to Lance for a shake. “I’m her man, Dean Khan. And you are?”

  Lance didn’t take the man’s hand. On a shrug, Khan dropped it.

  “I see,” Lance said. His hands fisted at his side. Slowly, he counted to ten. Then he nodded. “I see now.”

  Viv tried to reach for him, but Khan kept a hand firmly clamped around her.

  “Lance, it’s not . . .”

  “I was a fool.” He held up both hands as if in surrender. “But no more.”

  “Lance, please.”

  The look on Vivienne’s face was one he’d seen before, the one women used when they didn’t get their way and wanted something from him. But his eyes were now open, wide open.

  She tried to twist away from Khan. “Let me go.”

  Dean Khan just chuckled and leaned in to steal a kiss.

  Realization hit Lance then and there. He’d been double the fool. If Viv was pregnant, which he now doubted, chances were the father was this man who clearly had more than an intimate relationship with Vivienne. Or rather, make that Rachel.

  “I should have known,” he said. He advanced on her. “How much, Rachel,” he asked, stressing t
he name. “How much was this going to cost me?”

  She shook her head and managed to wrench free of Khan’s embrace. He rested a thigh on the arm of the sofa and watched them. “Lance, it’s not like that. I need your . . .”

  “Yeah, you needed me all right. What were you doing, playing us off each other? Or was he a part of this all along?”

  That reality filtered through Lance’s brain. “Goddammit! What a fool I’ve been.” He sent a scathing glance Khan’s way. “Well, guess what Vivienne or Rachel or whatever the hell your real name is? You can kiss this trust-fund baby good-bye.”

  Lance stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

  Vivienne tried to run after him, but Khan caught the edge of her duster and dragged her back. Flailing, Viv knocked over a lamp that crashed to the floor.

  Vivienne faced Khan. “How did you find me?”

  “The Internet is an amazing tool.” He smiled. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

  “You’re supposed to be in prison.”

  He held out his arms, as if in supplication. “A model prisoner.” He winked at her. “Good behavior and that sort of thing, you know.” He snapped his fingers. “Ah, that’s right. You don’t know. You didn’t do any time.”

  In a flash, before she could move, he grabbed her. A knife appeared from nowhere and was pressed to her neck, the sharp blade bearing down into her skin. The slightest movement would draw blood.

  Vivienne’s eyes locked with his.

  “Listen good now, honey,” he said, the words spoken low and clear. “I’ve seen your little setup over on Colley Avenue. A little research shows you’re doing quite well. I’ll expect a cut, Rachel. Let’s say, sixty percent. That sounds fair, don’t you think? Just compensation and all that. Otherwise, the IRS and a few other state and federal agencies might get some, shall we say”—the knife edge twirled—“incriminating documents.”

  Viv stood still, not moving an inch. Her breathing was heavy and ragged. Her gaze never left his.

  “All those years I sat there rotting in that prison. I had plenty of time to think about vengeance,” he said, his voice low and painfully controlled. The blunt end of the knife blade slowly trailed from her throat to her breast. Vivienne sucked in her breath. Beads of perspiration covered the top of her lip and her forehead.

  “What’s all the commotion?” Vicki said, appearing from the far end of the room.

  Dean Khan whirled around, clutching Viv to him, the knife in front.

  Spying the weapon, Vicki screamed and ran down the hallway.

  Khan swore. “What the hell was that?”

  “M-my sister.”

  He grunted, then jammed himself close behind her, one arm firmly wrapped around her waist, the knife again an immediate threat.

  “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “I’m not going to kill you, Rachel, so you don’t have to worry about that. You’re far more valuable to me alive. Lucky you.” The knife circled her nipple and paused right on the tip. The flat tip rose and fell with Viv’s heavy breathing.

  “What might you look like scarred?” he asked, the question a taunt that made Viv whimper as she watched the blade slowly turn. “You wouldn’t be able to turn so many tricks then, huh?”

  “P-please don’t hurt me.”

  He only laughed. “I want my money, Rachel. With interest. I’ll be by to collect.”

  The knife flicked to her arm and nicked it. Viv cried out at the same time a vase hit Khan’s arm.

  “Leave my sister alone,” Vicki screamed, aiming another piece of china at him. “I’ve called the police.”

  “Vicki, no!”

  Khan whirled around, quickly deflecting the missile that crashed to the floor and shattered. Viv cried out and grabbed her arm. He got a good look at Vicki and curled his lip. “You are one ugly-ass bitch.”

  He sheathed the knife and sauntered to the door. At the archway, he turned. “You,” he said, pointing to Vivienne, “I’ll see later.”

  28

  Lance nursed his anger like a woman nurses a child—completely absorbed by the process even as the sweet pain tugged at his chest. There was nothing sweet about his rage though. Furious enough to strangle Vivienne, he swore a blue streak. He’d been played like a Stradivarius in the hands of a master. How they must be laughing at his gullibility.

  And to think, he had been ready to jump all up in his grandmother’s shit because of Vivienne. She’d been right—again, which left him no reason to believe that Virginia wasn’t also right about Gayla.

  Maybe he’d have been better off without either one.

  He’d half hoped to find Rochelle lurking in the lobby of his building when he got home, but instead he ran into T.J. who’d just pulled to the guard gate.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Hey, dog, thought you’d like to hang out tonight.”

  It took Lance all of three seconds to make up his mind.

  “Park over there. I’ll drive.”

  He’d prowl the clubs tonight with T.J. At least there he knew what the women were after. Buy a girl a drink, cop a feel and go to bed with her. Shades of deception and hidden agendas didn’t cloud every action. The process was all pretty cut and dried and both parties knew the rules: No rings, no strings. And no progeny.

  His long-held motto echoed through his head, and that thought circled around to the child Vivienne—Rachel!—was or wasn’t having, which sent his mind straight back to the place where it had started today, on the kid he already had and his mother.

  “God fucking damn.”

  T.J. raised a brow as he pulled the seat belt across his chest. “Do I wanna know?”

  Lance peeled out of the parking lot.

  T.J. clutched the grab bar. “Guess not.”

  The police came, took their statements and departed when Vivienne refused to press charges against the intruder or even tell police his name. They assessed her arm and decided she didn’t need stitches, but could go to a hospital to have it checked just in case. After looking at the broken lamps and dishes on the floor, the officers left a card with a toll-free number to a twenty-four-hour domestic violence hot line.

  Vicki cleaned and bandaged the cut and bruises on Vivienne’s arm, then brewed a pot of chamomile tea. The sisters sat together on the sofa.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Vicki asked.

  Viv, her legs drawn up beneath her, wrapped her hands around the warmth of the mug. “It’s a long story,” she said after a time.

  “The night is long in front of us.”

  Viv sipped some tea and closed her eyes. “You’re not going to like parts of it.”

  “I don’t like seeing a man holding a knife at your throat either. And my God, Viv, why wouldn’t you cooperate with the police? They could catch him. Put him behind bars where he belongs. What if he breaks into somebody else’s house?”

  “He didn’t break in,” Viv said, the words so low that Vicki leaned forward to hear.

  “What was that?”

  “He didn’t break in. Lance left the door open.”

  “And that’s why he had a knife to your throat?”

  Viv sighed. “His name is Dean Khan. I used to date him.”

  “Tell me you’re joking. He’s a freaking psycho.”

  “He was supposed to be in prison for ten years.”

  “Prison? Like rape-and-murder prison?” Vicki’s concerned gaze swept over her twin and she reached for Viv’s hand.

  Viv shook her head. “He’s not a rapist. Or a killer. At least he wasn’t when I knew him. Dean is—was—a white-collar criminal. If he hadn’t gone to prison all those years ago, he’d surely be on his way there now. He’s the type who would have been involved in Enron or WorldCom or something like that.”

  “Get back to the part about you dating him and why he was here tonight with a knife on you.”

  “It was when I was at Brown.”

  Vicki did the mental calculation. “Mom and Dad
would have been dead about two years.”

  Viv nodded. “You were still living in that home. I needed money to get you out and to live the kind of life I envisioned for myself. I met this guy on campus. He did taxes for people. He didn’t charge a lot, twenty-five dollars for the easy form and sixty-five or seventy-five dollars for complex ones.”

  “The guy was this Dean Khan?”

  Viv nodded. “I found out that he was running a scam though. He had students all over the place filing false returns. He showed them how to do it using phony names and stolen Social Security numbers. He put on little workshops on how to claim deductions and get rapid refunds. He pocketed sixty percent of every deal.”

  “Sixty percent? Who’d be stupid enough to go for that?”

  Viv shrugged. “A lot of people. It was easy money and the campus was big enough to get lost in.”

  “How’d he get caught?”

  Viv sipped at her tea then looked at her sister. “I turned him in. I didn’t know that a guy I’d met and was trying to put the squeeze on for rent money was really a federal cop. I thought he was an art student. They were always good marks because they needed supplies that cost a lot. The tax form scam was easy for them.”

  “And you got a cut of every deal with Dean Khan made?”

  “I was the bookkeeper, so to speak. I made deposits for him under a phony business name. Irregular cash deposits on a regular basis didn’t look so odd coming from a college student working to make ends meet. I fit in with everybody else just trying to get an education.”

  Realizing just where this was all leading and why, Vicki reached for a tissue. “Viv, you didn’t have to do it.”

  “Yeah, I did. I couldn’t let them keep you locked up in there like an animal.”

  Vicki closed her eyes. The months she’d spent first at Eastern State Hospital and then in a group home for the mentally retarded were the worst of her life. She’d been so relieved, so grateful when Viv showed up demanding her release. The time in the mental hospital had been due to lack of space anywhere else, and the group home a last resort after their parents were killed and no relatives stepped forward to care for the disabled teenager.