by D L Lane
“Don’t do this,” she uttered in a low, unsteady tone.
It was far too soon, she wasn’t ready, he got that, yet he couldn’t let her go.
“Gage.” It sounded like a breathy entreaty.
Perhaps he was immoral, after all, she’d barely laid her spouse to rest, but while she wanted to ignore what was happening, that spark between them was there. He knew it. Felt it. Longed to explore this thing between them. Wanted. No, needed.
“Danica, I—”
“I can’t handle another thing. So please, don’t. Not right now.”
With his stomach a ball of nerves and his heart in his throat, Gage surrendered, giving them both a momentary retreat when he placed his lips on her forehead, closing his eyes, breathing her in for a long moment, then whispered, “All right, Danny. All right.”
Chapter Fifty
Before
Box of cookies in hand, Danica stepped out of the blazing sun and into the cool air of the fellowship hall. Something about the scent of brewing coffee, as well as the familiarity of the space, put her at ease. If there was one thing she needed, it was peace of mind. Marcus had been acting strangely again last night, demanding—sterner—which wasn’t at all like him. Though things seemed well enough this morning before he left for work. He’d given her the usual chaste kiss on the forehead and said he would call her later.
Maybe he had a rough day at the hospital, and when he came home yesterday, he was in a rotten mood? The thought made sense.
Pulling herself into the task ahead of her, she walked toward the snack table.
“Have you heard?” Deloris asked.
Removing her sunglasses, she frowned. “Heard what?”
“Gage is coming home.”
Those four words seemed to seize Danica’s breath, as well the functions of her brain. So it took her a second to mumble, “Excuse me?” needing the confirmation she had heard the woman correctly.
“Gage”—Deloris patted her arm—“he’s coming back to Cedar Point.”
“How—” She cleared the frog in her throat. “How do you know?”
“I was talking with his mother this morning—breakfast at The Snack Shack. Anyway, she said he won’t be returning to the FBI in any capacity and will be coming home.”
Stunned, Danica wondered if she needed to take a seat, but she somehow found the strength to stand there. “When?”
Deloris stopped fiddling with the napkin arrangement and glanced up. “Hmm?”
“When is he coming?”
“Oh, sometime next week. They are flying out to L.A. to help him with the move.”
“So”—she blinked once, twice, three times—“it’s not just a visit?”
“No, dearest. He’s coming home for good.”
~
After the surprising news from Deloris Kramer, Danica had gone through the rest of her day as if on autopilot, not recalling everything she’d done. Oh, she knew she’d gone to the ladies auxiliary meeting, though Danica doubted she could say what they discussed. Then she ran a few errands, doing them more so to get her head straight, but it hadn’t worked. What had? Her husband’s car in the garage yanked her out of the mental fog when she pulled up beside it, making a point to glance at the time on her dash.
4:48 P.M.
“Marcus is never home this early,” she said to no one.
Slipping out of her vehicle, she went into the kitchen, placing her keys, purse, and sunglasses down on the marble countertop of the breakfast bar, then set her course to find her husband, never able to stop wondering why he was home.
Deciding to check his office, figuring that’s where he’d be, she slowed before she even made it to the hallway. Music, and not the classical he tended to listen to, was blaring.
Frozen, she heard Skillet and their song, “Monster.”
She frowned, and for a moment, fear zipped up her spine. But, she had nothing to be afraid of, not from Marcus. So why did that emotion strike?
Pushing that ridiculous, irrational feeling to the side, she headed for the room the music was coming from—her small dance studio. The one Marcus insisted on adding to the design of the home when they were in the planning stages of building it.
Crossing the threshold, her eyes widened. Not only was the music deafening, but her studio with its mirrored walls had been transformed into a home gym of sorts, and a shirtless Marcus was running at full speed on a treadmill, sweat dripping off him as if he’d come up out of the pool and hadn’t toweled off.
Heading over to the wall cabinet that contained the stereo system, Danica turned the music down, then spun around to see her husband slow from a sprint to a jog, then a walk, before he shut off the bulky piece of exercise equipment.
Chest heaving, he gripped the side rails, then slowly, almost menacingly, Marcus turned toward her.
“What’s going on?” she asked, hand on hip.
“I wasn’t done with my jog.”
Danica narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t jogged for years, not to mention what you were doing couldn’t be considered one.”
“I’ve started again.”
“Okay. If that isn’t bizarre enough, what is all of this.” She swiped an arm out like a game show hostess, taking in the weights, the elliptical, the rowing machine? “You never said you would be turning my studio into a gym.”
“I didn’t realize I needed your permission,” he snapped, and it was like he’d slapped Danica with his attitude.
“All right, Marcus,” she said, trying not to be upset, but she was probably failing. “Whatever this Neanderthal thing is about, I don’t know. But when you’re ready to speak to me respectfully, come find me.”
Telling herself not to stomp, she made her way out and into their bedroom, intending on locking herself in the bathroom. She’d take a long, hot, bubble bath until her fingers pruned. Maybe she wouldn’t even make dinner! Then Danica’s mind clicked over to her upcoming trip to see J.J. on Friday. Her best friend had opened an art gallery in Hollywood and was having a special showing—a silent auction in which the proceeds would go to wounded heroes and their families, all of them members of the armed forces or some branch of law enforcement.
The time away will do you good.
Two steps from her en suite, long, strong fingers wrapped around her elbow, stopping her. “I’m sorry.”
Closing her eyes, she stood her ground. She wouldn’t turn around and look at him. “You should be.”
Marcus wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back into his chest—his sweat-soaked body seeping through Danica’s clothes. “I am. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ve just had a rough week at work, but that’s no excuse to be hateful with you.”
All the anger seemed to leave, deflating her stiff shoulders.
“Forgive me. I’ll send all the equipment back. You’re right. I should have spoken to you first.”
“No,” she said with a sigh, “you don’t need to do that. I haven’t used the space in a long, long time.”
“I love you, Danica Dawn Harding.” He burrowed his nose into the strands of her hair, into the side of her neck, nuzzling.
“I love you, too, Marcus.”
“You mean everything to me. Everything.”
“You do to me, as well.”
“I’m such a lucky man.”
“Lucky?”
“The moment I saw you dancing up on that stage, I had to make you mine. You were the one. I knew it when I asked you to dinner, and you told me you were engaged and couldn’t accept my invitation. I knew you were the one even when you kept turning me down after that crazy guy Ryan broke your heart. You’ve always been the one, and you always will be.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Like magic, the massive wrought iron gate opened the moment Gage pulled his SUV up; Cooper, having most of Land’s End dotted with security cameras, would obviously be seeing he had arrived. With no need to roll down his window and push the button on the speaker box, he pushed the gas pedal instead and
drove through.
Twilight did give the place an eerie, not quite night, not quite day haze, so he got why the kids around town would believe the property to be haunted. Although, with the substantial ivy-covered wall surrounding the main house, it would be difficult to see.
Glancing up into the rearview mirror, he watched the gate slide to a close as he left it behind, then focused out the windshield, taking in the home. It had been standing tall and proud since 1795.
Cooper had been working on the place—the mansion slowly coming back into its own, Gage noted. All the faded black shutters framing the large windows no longer faded, but repainted, and the white house had a fresh new shade of white, making it pop in the gloom.
Parking by the three-tier fountain, devoid of water and filled with debris and dead leaves, Gage got out of his vehicle and headed for the stairs to the columned front porch. It had been a while since Gage had been there to see him, but he knew the inside of the place should be flooded with natural light during the day, but Cooper kept it all out with heavy velvet curtains pulled shut. However, even within the dimly lit spaces, there were pleasing architectural details like Italian marble mantles, crystal chandeliers, and thick walls of original horsehair plaster.
The skree of rusty hinges sounded as the door opened, making Gage think he was headed into the inner sanctum of a night dwelling creature like on those bad, low budget B movies that played on his TV in the wee hours when he couldn’t sleep.
“Chief Harrison,” Francis McCloud, Cooper’s housekeeper, greeted him then stepped aside so he could enter. “He’s in the study.”
More like his command room, he thought but kept it to himself. “Thanks.”
“May I get you anything? Something to drink, perhaps?”
“No, thank you, Francis. I’m good.”
She inclined her graying head, then left him to his own devices.
Knowing the way, Gage went past the grand staircase, down a marbled corridor, then into the room that, back in the day, would have been a study but was now a space NASA would envy with an entire wall of monitors.
“Coop?”
The man turned the leather desk chair he was seated in around to face him. “It’s good to see you, Gage.”
He strode up to the oversized desk Cooper was sitting behind and grinned. “I think I need a little more light before I can say I can see you, but since you insist on living in the shadows, I’ll just agree for agreement's sake.”
Coop chuckled. “Pull up a chair.”
Rounding the antique Bergère, Gage took a seat. This close, and with the lights from the monitors flickering, he could tell Cooper had shaved his head. “So, Dixie told me you called in about an uninvited guest on your property?”
Cooper nodded. “Happened yesterday. Late afternoon.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’d been down by the pond and was on my way back here when I noticed movement. So, I changed my course, and—”
“Let me guess. You didn’t make yourself known but became a ghost in the trees?”
“I wanted to find out who was dumb enough to come here.”
Gage nodded. “Go on. Sorry I interrupted.”
“The person was dressed in baggy black sweats and an oversized black hoodie, the hood covering their head.”
Straightening, the visual struck Gage. “Black?”
“Completely covered.”
Those cop instincts sharpened. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Whoever Cooper tailed was the same person who’d vandalized Danica’s place. “Did you see who it was?”
“Only the back of them, but by the direction they were going, they came from the old cabins.”
“Is there anything in the cabins that would draw someone to them?”
“No. They are all empty and in need of some serious repair. Meaning, there’s nothing of interest to see or to steal.”
“How about a kid scoping out a secluded party place?”
“Maybe, but as I said, they are in bad shape. Some of them open-air since the windows are gone, and the roofs have caved in.”
Gage tweaked his chin. “Could you tell if it were a man or a woman?”
Shaded fingertips thrummed a beat on the desktop. “Whoever it was, they were tall, but not very broad of shoulder. So, if it were a man, he’s slim. Going back to your kid thought, I suppose it could have been a teenager. But even on the off chance they were looking for a place to party, you know the rumors about Land’s End.”
“Rumors you’d like to keep perpetuating.”
The former elite soldier raised his hand, the angle causing the muted light to sweep over the scars. “Spooky keeps people out.”
“You didn’t happen to catch any of this on one of your spy devices, did you?”
“Not way back there, but the intrusion has made me make some changes to my camera setup. So, if they show again, I’ll catch them.”
“Do you have paper and a pen?”
“Sure.” Cooper pulled out the middle desk drawer, producing both a pen and a note pad.
“Jot this down.” Gage rattled off a number, the man scribbling quickly across the little square. “Call me if you see anyone or get anything on camera. That’s my cell. Don’t waste time going through Dixie.”
“Got it. But, if you don’t mind me asking, why?”
“I’ve recently seen a figure dressed in black on someone else’s security feed, setting a tree on their front lawn ablaze, so I’m really interested in talking to your mystery person.”
“Ah… All right. If I catch anything on camera, I’ll call.”
~
Her house was quiet. Too quiet, she realized, as she waited for Breck and Mase to bring her babies home. The whole day had been horrible, finding out the steadfast man Danica could always count on had been someone she didn’t know. Dismissed! Marcus had been dismissed, had failed a drug test, cleared out their bank accounts, his trust fund, sold his investments, and cashed in his life insurance policy! He had left her by herself to raise their two children, with ten-thousand questions and, not to mention, penniless.
Some of the numbness had worn off, replaced by little wisps of anger. They cropped up one by one and started to swirl inside her head. Danica tried, really tried, not to let them take over.
Perhaps I should watch some mindless television?
She considered going into the family room and turning on the TV, but sitting in there, staring at some random show in an attempt to get her mind off things, didn’t appeal to her. Besides, she doubted she’d be able to shut her brain off anyway, so as if a stranger in her own home, Danica wandered.
The tick, tick, tick of the mantel clock drew her eye to the marble surround, the empty fireplace, over to the chair her husband had claimed as his own. A spark of insanity flickered then turned into a burn. Spinning on her heel, she stormed to the linen closet, reached in, flung folded sheets behind her, saw what she wanted, then grabbed a blanket—and went back to ‘his’ chair.
With a whip of material, she covered the furniture so she couldn’t see it any longer and took a step back. Not good enough!
Danica grabbed the wingback and started dragging it until she maneuvered it out of the room, into the foyer, where she took a second to catch her breath. She opened the door and tugged it out. With the evening air disrupting the strands of her hair, she booted the thing off the rounded stoop, seeing it bounce/slide down the three curved stairs, then tip to its side.
Tired from the effort, yet on the other hand energized by some strange combo of anger and anxiety, she stepped back into the foyer, shut the door, and kicked off her heels. Leaving them willy-nilly, she power-walked down the hall. The movement felt good she decided as she came to the half-open door. Reaching out, Danica pushed it fully open, went in, and flipped the light on in her once-upon-a-time dance studio.
Glancing around the space, irritation joined the mix of emotions she was experiencing. It had been too long, but she wanted—no, she needed to dance
. However, with all the bulky equipment Marcus had added to the room a few years ago, she wouldn’t be able to accomplish that.
“Well,” she said to herself, “you tossed the chair; so you can get rid of this stuff.”
Going to the weight rack, Danica started pulling them off, then blazed a trail until she made it to the front door. Throwing it open, she heaved.
This became her pattern—to the room, removing what she could, to the front door, pitching it out onto the front lawn.
Back and forth she went until she was as winded as if she’d ran the Boston Marathon.
“Danny?” Her sister’s voice registered, but she was too busy yanking on the elliptical to respond. “Danica?”
Breckin sounded upset.
Join the party! Huffing, she finally had the machine out of the corner and in the middle of the room.
“Danica?” Breck was closer, but Danica didn’t care. “The front lawn looks like a yard sale gone wrong, and the hallway appears to have been struck by a tornado!”
Puff. Pull. Grumble.
“What in the name of Pete?”
Swiping sweat-damp hair from her face, Danica turned to see Breckin and Mason, their eyes wide, both holding one of her twins, attention locked on her.
“Do you need any workout equipment or know anyone who would like some?” She went back to her yank-grunt job.
“Danica,” Mason spoke calmly as if he were a hostage negotiator attempting to talk her down. “You are going to hurt yourself if you try pulling on that thing any longer.”
“I want it out of here.”
“Okay. I’ll make sure to remove it for you, but for now, let it go.”
“No! I need to clear this room!”
It wasn’t until her babies started to cry that her crazy-town behavior became apparent to her, catching a glimpse of her disheveled and sweating self in one of the walls of mirrors. Her updo was no longer up, but half down. She even had a large tear on her damp, silky sleeve, while mascara ran down her cheeks in lines of morbid black.
She should have gone to soothe her children. She should have taken a breath and gathered herself.