No Good Deed
Page 11
“I made tea. It’s on the stove. When I get back, we need to talk. Who’s this Richard you’re so afraid of? I can’t protect you properly if I don’t know what I’m protecting you from, and from the way you were carrying on during the night, my guess would be you’re more afraid of him than you are of Zabat’s men. I shouldn’t be long.” He opened the door and went out.
Mechanically, Alexa locked up behind him and then went into the kitchen. The tea was stronger than when she made it, but this morning the extra jolt of caffeine would come in handy.
What the hell had she said and done last night? She’d obviously called out Richard’s name, but for her terror to show, there must’ve been something else.
Sighing, she leaned back and closed her eyes, praying the analgesic she’d taken a little while ago went to work soon. Any hope she’d had of keeping Richard and her flight from him a secret was gone now, but all things considered, perhaps Mike deserved to know everything. His life was on the line, and if Richard did know she was alive and came looking for her, Mike might not come out of it any better than she would.
Sitting up, she reached for her cup of tea and downed it. There was no point in waiting here counting down the seconds until Mike came in again. She could probably finish her therapy before he did, and if she were lucky, making breakfast would buy her the time she needed to get her head around this and figure out what to say.
“Whoever you are, you won’t win,” she said aloud to the now-defunct cameras. Life was just a pile of garbage, and she would bulldoze her way through it as long as she had to. Losing wasn’t an option.
Two hours later, Alexa pushed away the plate with the remnants of her crêpes and syrup and reached for her third cup of tea—weaker now since she’d made this pot. She didn’t have much of an appetite this morning. Mike sat across from her, his plate all but licked clean. There was a certain satisfaction knowing he’d enjoyed the fruit-stuffed thin pancakes she’d made, a skill she’d acquired in the convent and had honed here. What would Richard think of her new and improved culinary abilities?
Damn it!
She needed to stop thinking about the man or she would go crazy. And Mike was waiting for an explanation. Setting down her cup, she chewed her lower lip, not sure where to begin.
“I suppose I should tell you about Richard, not that he has any bearing on what’s happening to us here,” she began. “I don’t remember much about last night’s dream, but it was probably one of the recurring nightmares I’ve had for months now.”
“Your scream scared the bejesus out of me. You’ve got a damn fine set of lungs,” he said, leaning back in the chair and raising his mug of tea. “This is good, but I miss coffee.”
She chuckled. “I’m sure you do. A lot of the teachers I worked with wouldn’t have been able to function without it.”
“I can believe that. My partner usually has to have at least four cups just to get going in the morning, the stronger the better. Even I can’t drink the sludge he brews.”
Smiling sadly, she nodded. “I miss my coworkers, but not being with the kids hurts even more.”
Talking about school wasn’t what she wanted to do right now. It was just another way of putting off the inevitable. She huffed out a nervous breath.
“Do you remember when you asked me why I was in that convenience store the night of the execution?” That conversation seemed a lifetime ago, and yet less than twenty-four hours had passed.
“Yeah. You fed me some cock-and-bull story about needing gas.”
“It wasn’t a lie. I did need gas, and I was hungry. There’d been an unexpected spring snowstorm—not as bad as this one, but bad enough—and the police had closed the highway the night before, forcing me to hunker down in a motel for more than twenty-four hours. I’d stayed inside all day because I was hiding, running away, but not because I’d committed any crime. I was trying to escape from the man who’d made the last two years of my life a living hell,” she admitted. “I thought I’d succeeded, but you know what happened next. Lousy timing, right?”
“Is there ever a good time for something like that?”
She shrugged. “Probably not.”
“It takes a lot of guts to leave an abuser . . . Were you married to him?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“No, but we were engaged and living together.” Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry. She’d shed enough tears over that bastard.
He reached for her hand.
“I’ve seen enough victims of domestic abuse to know getting out isn’t always easy. More than one undeserving spouse has ended up in a body bag, so if you had the guts to leave him, I won’t hold it against you.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stared down at her hand sitting inside his larger one before pulling it away.
“For some reason when it comes to the men in my life, I fall for the same kind over and over again,” she said bitterly. “Oh, they start out charming, make me feel that I’m the most wonderful person in the world, and once I fall for them, bam! They morph into controlling bastards who want to change everything about me they claimed they loved and admired and make me into an obedient little slave who has no friends and lives only to serve them.”
“I can promise I won’t make you do anything that isn’t to ensure your safety.” He shrugged. “I can be inflexible at times, but it’s usually because experience has taught me to be, so no matter how difficult it is for you to believe, you can trust me. What you see is what you get. I’ve met more than one man like the guys you’ve described, insecure assholes who need the world to revolve around them.”
“You make it sound so normal, but I’m not sure what normal really is. I don’t think I’ve trusted a man since my father. Maybe that’s why I gravitate toward the losers. I expect them to lie to me and let me down, and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “Dad was in the army. When I was six, he gave me that doll you must’ve noticed in my room last night. He was going on a peacekeeping mission and promised to come back in time for Christmas. He didn’t. The pain cut deep.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Mike said. “I’m sure he meant to come back.”
“No doubt he did, but I wasn’t the only one hurt by that broken promise. He and Mom were high school sweethearts, and she didn’t handle losing him well. She cried all the time, wouldn’t get up. Eventually, the school sent someone to the house to find out why I wasn’t attending. Long story short, she was hospitalized for severe depression, and I went to live with my elderly aunt Agnes. She’d never married and didn’t understand how to deal with a rambunctious six-year-old. ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’ was her motto. I stayed with her almost two years before Mom was well enough to come home. She had good days and bad days, days when I looked after her instead of the other way around, but I was old enough to know I didn’t want to be sent away again. We coped until she met Anderson Kincaid. Within a year, they married. Mom was totally immersed in her husband. My stepfather wasn’t ready for a rebellious fourteen-year-old. He promised to love me like his own but sent me to boarding school instead.” She hung her head and swallowed. She hadn’t talked about this in a very long time.
“That’s rough. I can understand how you felt let down. My parents died when I was just a kid—not as young as you were—but I know how difficult that can be. At least you still had your mother.” He smiled sadly. “Go on.”
“Anderson always seemed standoffish, as if forming a relationship with me wasn’t something he wanted to do. I don’t think he realized how much that hurt me.” She blew out a heavy breath. “I’m not sure where to start. Richard was just the last one in a long line of assholes.”
“My uncle used to say you should start at the root of a problem and work your way out.”
She chuckled. “Are you sure we have enough time for that?”
Shrugging, he nodded. “I’m not going anywhere, and we’re snowed in, so yeah, we’ve got time.”
She stood and handed Mike the dishes one by one. They said confession was good for the soul. Hopefully, the mysterious “they” were right.
Chapter Nine
While Alexa washed the dishes, Mike opted to take another run at the attic hoping to find a pair of mittens for her and not C-4 hidden in those boxes. The thought that some might be stashed up there, ready to blow at the touch of a button, had been eating away at him since he’d awakened. He opened every box, trunk, and bin, rummaging through them. While he found socks, scarves, woolen hats, and two pairs of skis, there were no mittens or gloves anywhere, but there was no C-4 either. Inside one of the two bins of camping equipment, he found a flashlight, batteries, a pair of binoculars, and a large jar of instant coffee. Carrying his prizes downstairs, grinning like a kid with the best gift under the Christmas tree, the first thing he did was make himself a cup.
He sipped the bitter liquid and sighed. “It isn’t as good as freshly brewed, but it’ll do. Are you sure you don’t want a cup? I don’t mind sharing.”
“No, thanks. I’ll stick with this.”
Alexa settled on the sofa, still dressed in that brown monstrosity that passed for a robe, her hair in a loose ponytail. She had a fresh cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her, and if she wrung her hands any harder, she would peel the skin right off them. He sat across from her in the old-fashioned rocker he’d claimed, savoring his coffee.
Since he still needed to shovel a path to the garage and move broken branches before he could get the snowmobile inside, he hadn’t showered or shaved. No doubt he looked scruffy, but he wanted to let Alexa talk while she was inclined to do so. The fact that sitting around as if they were a couple enjoying an early morning conversation was a rather intimate thing to do didn’t escape him.
“So, are you ready to tell me all about the loves and woes of Alexa O’Brien?” he asked.
“You make my life sound like a soap opera. I wish it were. Then I could just turn it off and walk away.” She chewed her lower lip. “Loves and woes sums it up nicely. I’m not proud of my gullibility, nor am I looking for sympathy here. This isn’t a forum for ‘poor little me.’ I made mistakes and I’ll own them, but from now on, I’m determined to stand on my own feet. No one will ever control my life again, and if that means I have to stay alone, then so be it. I’ll be the mistress of my own destiny.”
Mike frowned. Did she realize what she was giving up? Love and family were important. He blinked. Christ, he was beginning to sound like Henri.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting your independence. It’s your life. You’ve got the right to live it your way, but cutting yourself off from others may not be the right way to do it. There are times when we all need to lean on someone.”
“Who do you lean on?” she challenged, her eyes narrowing as she pursed her lips. “I can’t see you accepting help easily.”
Mike rubbed the back of his neck. Who did he lean on? Henri? The captain? “I didn’t say it was easy, but sooner or later, you’ve got to trust someone other than yourself. Believe me. I’ve screwed up plenty of times. The bruises on my face are perfect examples of what happens when I try to go it alone, but we were talking about you.”
It wasn’t time to examine his personality flaws. He had plenty of them, and like the lady, he’d made bad choices—stupid choices that could’ve gotten him killed—but this was about her, about getting to the bottom of a deep fear and anxiety that could have an impact on his ability to protect her. Since there were already too many things he couldn’t control, he needed a firm grip on the rest.
But she had to do this at her own pace.
“My stepfather wasn’t a billionaire, but he had money, and while he couldn’t give me five minutes of his time, I never wanted for anything. Hillvale Academy was girls only, and when I was home on breaks, Mom and Anderson kept me busy but on a short leash. Once I graduated high school, I chose a university in Windsor. It was as far away from Toronto as I could get and stay in the same province. I needed to know I could get home if I had to. I was late getting into the dating game, and maybe because of that, I was drawn to older guys.” She chuckled and shook her head. “I thought they were more mature. What a joke. In hindsight, I’d say most of them were needier than I was. The relationships would start out like storybook fantasies, Prince Charming with all the bells and whistles, but then their true colors would surface. They’d lie, complain about this, that, and the other thing, and tighten the reins until I felt I was smothering. Then, when I didn’t live up to expectations, they’d dump me.”
She went on to describe a number of failed relationships. “Every time my dreams shattered, I would promise myself not to fall for the same kind of guy, but then I would, and the cycle would start anew.”
Mike shook his head. The pattern was a common one. For better or worse, people were often attracted to a partner with a specific personality.
“You’re being too hard on yourself. That’s what youth is for—a time to make mistakes and learn from them.”
She reached for her cup of tea.
“But I didn’t learn. In fact, as I got older, it was worse. Mom wanted grandkids, and I grew desperate to find Mr. Right. I wanted the fairy tale, but when it came to the men in my life, I had blinders on.”
She removed the elastic holding her hair in place and rubbed the top of her head. He recalled how silky the strands had felt against his fingers last night. Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, he concentrated on his mug.
“Until I met Richard, my biggest disaster was Jonah, a stockbroker in his midforties. I fell hard, planning the wedding, the house, and the children, but while I was in love, he was more interested in the mileage he got with me on his arm as eye candy. He told me he had something special to ask me. I expected a proposal, but instead he suggested I sleep with one of his clients to cement a deal. I slapped his face and walked away, threatening to emasculate him if he ever came near me again.”
Mike guffawed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but I would’ve loved to have seen that. At least he didn’t charge you with assault, right?”
“No, he didn’t. He apologized and sent flowers, claiming I’d sent mixed messages when I offered to do whatever he needed to help with his career. Somehow sleeping with his clients never crossed my mind. I tossed the roses in the trash. To this day, I hate red roses.”
“What a creep,” Mike said. “We all make mistakes, and finding the right person may sound easy, but it isn’t. Like that song says, a lot of people look for love in the wrong place and rarely find it.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Find love in the wrong place.”
He licked his lips, trying not to let her see how her barb had hit its mark.
“I met my wife in a bar, if that’s what you mean,” he answered reluctantly. “We had a great couple of years.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“She died.”
Alexa’s jaw dropped open, and her eyes grew the size of loonies. Her cheeks pinked.
“I’m so sorry.”
He stood. Just because the question had thrown him was no reason to be so blunt.
“Look, I need to move the snowmobile before that damn shed collapses under the weight of the snow and ice,” he said, trying to buy himself some time. “Why don’t we take a break? Judging by the way you keep rubbing your temples, I’d say you’ve got a headache. A hot shower will make you feel better. When I’m done outside, you can tell me how Richard came into your life, and once you do, maybe I’ll tell you about Thea.”
“That was your wife?”
He nodded.
“How did she die?”
“She was murdered, and I was responsible,” he bit off. “I won’t be long. Come lock the door.”
&nb
sp; He stood and grabbed his jacket, noticing how pale she was, the look of surprise on her face now one of horror. What else had he expected?
Two hours later, after shaving a week’s stubble from his face, Mike stepped into the claw tub, pulled the curtain around him, and turned on the water, adjusting it until it was hot enough to shower. His shoulders and ribs ached again, no doubt from trying to shovel all that snow at light speed. He’d been here only a little more than thirty hours, but he felt as if he’d aged a decade during that time. He couldn’t imagine how Alexa was handling everything that had happened, but she was, and she was trying to make the best of things.
How much did she remember about last night? True, he’d gone into her room because of her cries, but he’d stayed long after she’d fallen asleep, past the time when she would’ve known if he’d left her. Holding Alexa had brought back his urges and needs. When she’d awakened, it had taken all of his self-control to lie still, knowing he sported the hard-on from hell. As soon as she’d closed the bathroom door, he’d taken off like a scalded cat. All he could hope for was that she’d been half asleep and hadn’t noticed.
There was something about Alexa, other than her preferred scent, that reminded him of Thea—not the bitter, nervous woman she’d become before her death, but the woman his wife had been in the early days of their relationship. She’d been hell-bent on maintaining her distance, not wanting to date a cop since her father had been one and had died on the job, but eventually she’d accepted one of Mike’s invitations. They’d had great times. He’d worked the fraud unit, probably one of the safest assignments on the force. Eventually, he’d asked Thea to marry him and she’d accepted, but then he’d gotten his shot at undercover work, and everything had changed. The more he’d gotten involved with the seamier side of Montreal, the larger the gulf between them had grown. Then she’d died, and while Zabat hadn’t pulled the trigger, he’d been behind the crime. Mike had long since come to grips with his responsibility for her death, and that was why he would never open his heart again.