A Year and a Day (Harlequin Super Romance)

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A Year and a Day (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 6

by Cooper, Inglath


  “Go away, Jonathan. I don’t want to see you,” she’d said from behind the closed door.

  “This is crazy. Open up. I need to talk to you.”

  She stood at the door, arms folded across her chest, trying to control her shaking. “Just leave, Jonathan. Please.”

  He didn’t say anything for a few moments, but when he spoke again, she heard the edge of rage in his voice. “Open the door, Audrey, or I’ll open it myself.”

  The seconds ticked by while she stood there, her forehead pressed against the door, her eyes closed. She just wanted it to end. Wanted him to leave her alone, let her go on with her life.

  “Unless you want the whole neighborhood to know I’m here, open the door. Now.”

  There was no mistaking the threat behind the words, and she’d finally opened it. Sammy was out back playing. She didn’t want him to know Jonathan was here. She just wanted this to end peacefully. She wanted to be left alone. That was all. Just left alone.

  Jonathan came inside, his face set. “Come home, Audrey. This is insane.”

  She stared up at him, wondering how he could say that with a straight face. “Insane is what goes on in our house.”

  “I told you I was sorry,” he said, sounding frighteningly reasonable. “What else can I do?”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything. Except go.”

  He moved farther into the living room, looking out the picture window to Sammy, playing on the swingset. He looked back at her then. “You don’t really think I’d let you keep him, do you?”

  The words sliced through her like a knife, cold and cutting. “This isn’t the time to talk about this,” she said carefully.

  “When would be a better time?” he asked, the words deceptively soft.

  “Jonathan—”

  “I advise you to come home, Audrey. If you don’t, I will guarantee you don’t stand a chance in hell of getting custody. You have no job. No education. No money of your own. Nothing—”

  “Except the fact that I’ll tell any judge who’ll listen what you’ve been doing to me,” she said, hot anger rearing inside her.

  “What I’ve been doing?” He laughed. “Don’t you mean what we’ve been doing? Fighting occasionally like any normal couple?”

  She stared at him in disbelief. He was serious. “A normal couple? You think that’s what we are?”

  “We wouldn’t have any problems, Audrey, if you would just remember that I don’t like my wife flirting with every man she meets.”

  The accusation was so unjust, so unfair, that she felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. It wasn’t so much the accusation itself, but the realization that he believed it to be true. Could he make someone else believe it? A judge? She glanced out the window at Sammy, and a chill ran through her. No one knew better than she did how persuasive and convincing Jonathan could be. When he wanted something, nothing would stop him until he got it.

  And so she had gone back, the walls of the prison in which she lived pressing ever closer, Jonathan’s need to control her reaching new levels. He cut off all access to cash, allowing her to carry department-store credit cards and a gas card only.

  The computer beeped, bringing her thoughts to the present. A box popped up on the screen.

  You have mail.

  Heart pounding, Audrey clicked on New Mail.

  Dear Audrey,

  We are an underground network of volunteers united in an effort to support women and children living in abusive situations.

  This address could only have been given to you by someone within our organization. For that person to have done so, he or she has witnessed evidence that you need our assistance.

  Our network of volunteers—across this country, and other countries, as well—is made up of ordinary citizens: teachers, nurses, lawyers, doctors who believe that many abusive relationships will never be resolved, but will most likely end in the death of the victimized spouse and/or her children.

  The statistics support this belief.

  Our goal is to put you in a situation where you can start a new life. Any contact you have with anyone from your current life will jeopardize your safety. Please be certain you are ready to resort to these measures.

  You and your son will need passports.

  I will contact you at this address when I have a location for you. Please check daily. I am sure you know the seriousness of this matter. In taking your son out of the country without your husband’s permission, you may be charged with kidnapping should he ever find you.

  If this is what you feel you must do, I do not wish to discourage you. At the same time, we must be certain you are completely aware of what you are doing.

  May God Bless You,

  Kathryn Milborn

  Audrey sat for a moment, stunned by the stark warning. And yet, she had known there would be no turning back once she’d taken this step. But what choice did she have? To stay was to ensure one eventual outcome. She could no longer tell herself that things would get better. Jonathan’s rage continued to escalate, each incident stoking the fire of the next.

  She had to get out. This time for good. If not for herself, then for Sammy.

  She reached for the mouse and clicked on Reply.

  THE FIRST FEW DAYS at Webster & Associates weren’t exactly what Nicholas had expected.

  He kept waiting for the excitement to kick in, for the adrenaline that had gotten him through every day as a prosecutor to start pumping.

  But there wasn’t much in the stacks of files now occupying his desk that incited either excitement or adrenaline. Bureaucracy and red tape appeared to be the name of the game.

  His office was everything a corporate attorney’s office should be. Soft leather couches adjacent to his desk. Original artwork on the walls. None of which was his taste, but was meant to impress, to say, “Trust us. We’re good enough to afford all of this.”

  His surroundings could not have been more different from the shabby old office in which he’d worked as a prosecutor. And yet, somewhere deep down, he missed that.

  On Thursday afternoon, Nicholas met with Ross Webster in the conference room to go over a Colby, Inc., case currently in litigation. They were seated at a carved walnut table so heavy Nicholas could not imagine how it had ever been moved in one piece.

  Ella Fralin had filed suit claiming that the custom-built house she’d purchased from Colby, Inc., had been built with materials substandard to those depicted in her original contract.

  Ross had a different take. “Every piece of material used in that house meets code,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his hands a teepee beneath his chin. “It’s all legal.”

  Nicholas frowned. “But she says the original proposal laid out a different scenario.”

  “The misunderstanding lies in the fact that her scenario would have cost a great deal more than what she paid for the house.” Ross made the explanation as if Nicholas were a first-year law student in need of a play-by-play.

  Nicholas peeled back a couple of pages in the file before him, scanning one of the letters. “Mrs. Fralin alleges the price she paid was to have included the higher-grade materials.”

  “She’s nearly eighty years old,” Ross said, starting to sound a little tired of the conversation. “We have the documentation to back up our argument. It’ll be an easy sell for a jury to see how she might have misunderstood.”

  A knock sounded in the open doorway. Sylvia Webster stepped into the room on a cloud of expensive perfume. She waved a bag at Ross. “New tie delivery.”

  Ross looked at Nicholas and flipped up the tie he was wearing. “Coffee spill.”

  Sylvia glanced over her shoulder. “Look who I brought with me.”

  Behind her, Audrey Colby appeared in the doorway.

  Nicholas’s stomach took a high dive and hit concrete.

  Her hands clasped the strap of her purse as if it were an anchor, the only thing keeping her from running. “Hello,” she said, her gaze not quite meeting eit
her his or Ross’s.

  “Audrey,” Ross said, clearing his throat. “How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks,” she said, her voice measured.

  “You’ve met Nicholas, haven’t you?”

  She finally looked at him then, her eyes cool, polite. “Yes, briefly.”

  “It’s nice to see you again,” Nicholas said.

  “You, too.” Awkwardness hung in the air, heavy, like imminent snowfall. For the life of him, he couldn’t explain why she affected him this way, what it was about her that flattened whatever assurance he’d imagined himself having around women.

  “Well,” he said, shuffling up the files in front of him and pushing his chair back. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to finish.”

  At the doorway, Audrey stepped aside, leaving a notable chunk of distance between them. But even so, he felt the magnetic force field between them as he walked past and wondered if she felt it, too.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AUDREY AND SYLVIA walked the few blocks from the Webster & Associates office to the Peachtree Plaza Hotel where the Martin Hospice fashion show was to be held at noon. Audrey had considered calling Sylvia and backing out of going today. It had been Jonathan’s idea that she should attend. Sylvia was one of the organizers, and the show always received favorable press coverage. Not going, though, would mean an inevitable confrontation.

  The detour to Ross’s office had been a last-minute surprise. Sylvia had insisted Audrey come in and say hello. Since she couldn’t come up with any plausible excuse not to, she’d done so while hoping to avoid Nicholas Wakefield. Seeing him had left her shaken. He unnerved her with the way he looked at her, as if he could see right past any walls she might have put up around herself.

  The crosswalk light on Peachtree turned red, the midday traffic heavy.

  Sylvia glanced at Audrey, a smile touching her mouth. “Do you want to explain that look?”

  Audrey adjusted her sunglasses, her gaze on the other side of the street. “What look?”

  “The one between you and that delicious Nicholas Wakefield.”

  “There wasn’t any look,” Audrey said, still without letting her eyes meet Sylvia’s.

  “Oh, from where I was standing, there was.” Sylvia raised perfectly arched eyebrows. “Come on, Audrey. We might be married, but we’re not dead. And you’d have to be not to notice him. Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman. That’s who he reminds me of. Those eyes and that smile. They could talk a woman into anything.” She laughed. “Or maybe out of anything.”

  The light changed, and they crossed the street, falling in behind a group of businessmen headed inside the Peachtree Hotel. Despite the winter air, Audrey’s face felt flushed.

  “I’ll take your silence as agreement,” Sylvia said, pushing the up button for the elevator. “I can tell you one thing. If he looked at me the way he looked at you a few minutes ago, I’d be walking six inches off the ground. But then again, Ross isn’t the jealous type. I get the feeling Jonathan is.”

  “He has nothing to be jealous of,” she said.

  The elevator opened with a ding. Two women in dark suits stepped out. Audrey and Sylvia got on. The doors closed.

  Sylvia reached in her purse, pulled out a Chanel lipstick and compact, applied fresh color to her mouth, then snapped the mirror closed. “That’s your opinion. But if your husband had seen that look, I feel certain he would disagree.”

  NICHOLAS SPENT the better part of the afternoon deposing the eighty-year-old woman who claimed Colby, Inc., had not built her the house they had contracted to build. Ella Fralin was sharp as a whip, not a single answer veering off course from her original assertions.

  Once Mrs. Fralin had left the conference room, Nicholas walked down to Ross’s office, leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb and said, “She was pretty convincing.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Ross replied. “We’ve got the documentation. It’ll stand up in court.”

  Nicholas studied the other attorney for a few moments, wondering why he was having trouble accepting Ross’s version of the story. He now worked for Webster & Associates. Certainly, that’s where his loyalties should lie.

  It was the gut-instinct thing again.

  Ross pushed the button on his speaker phone. “Linda?”

  “Yes, Mr. Webster.”

  “I have some papers here that Jonathan Colby needs to sign. I just spoke with his secretary. He’s left for the day. Could you run them by his house for me?”

  “Certainly,” the secretary said.

  “I’ll be driving right by there,” Nicholas said, the words out before he realized he was going to say them.

  Ross looked up at him. “You sure?”

  “It’s not a problem,” he said, even as he began to think better of it.

  “Never mind, Linda.” Ross clicked off the phone and held out a manila envelope.

  Nicholas reached for it.

  “If he’s home, tell him I’ll give him a ring in the morning to see what he thinks,” Ross said.

  Nicholas nodded. “Sure.”

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  Ross’s daughter stood in the doorway, smiling. Nicholas recognized her from the picture on her father’s desk. Tall with glossy dark hair, she wore a fitted pink sweater and the kind of worn-in-the-knees blue jeans that cost a couple of hundred dollars or better.

  “I’m not interrupting, am I?” she asked.

  “No. Come in, honey,” Ross said. “Have you met Nicholas Wakefield?”

  “No,” she said, flashing Nicholas another smile and sticking out her hand. “I would have remembered.”

  “Nicholas, my daughter, Laura,” Ross said.

  Nicholas shook her hand, noticing the confidence in her grip. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  “You’re the new partner then?”

  “Yes,” he said, gathering up his files.

  “Daddy says you were with the prosecutor’s office?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Awfully different work, isn’t it?”

  “Opposite end of the social ladder for the most part,” he agreed.

  She held his gaze a moment too long. “I won’t be going back to grad school until the fourteenth. I’m trying to decide which career path to take. Maybe we could have lunch. I’d love to hear about your work as a prosecutor.”

  “I’m not sure that world’s for you, sweetheart,” Ross spoke up.

  She looked at her father. “I don’t mind getting a little dirt under my fingernails, Daddy.”

  Nicholas stood for a moment, not certain what he was supposed to do with that. “I should be going.”

  “I’ll call about that lunch,” she said, as if his agreement were a given.

  He offered her a polite nod, and then headed back to his own office where he finished up a couple of letters and then decided to leave early. It was the first evening since he’d started that he’d left the office before seven.

  He didn’t let himself admit why he was doing so today until he’d reached his car in the parking garage. He’d thought about Audrey Colby countless times since New Year’s Eve and had given himself as many lectures on the foolishness of it. Seeing her this morning had caught him off guard. His imagination had not favorably enhanced his memory of her. It had been accurate in every detail. She was as beautiful as he remembered.

  He’d had a hard time concentrating on the Fralin deposition that afternoon. He kept seeing Audrey’s face, smelling the soft scent of her hair when he’d walked past her on his way out the door.

  She was a married woman. And not only that, but married to the biggest client represented by his new law firm. Still, he could not deny that he was leaving early for one reason. He hoped that Jonathan wouldn’t be home yet. And that Audrey would be the one to answer the door.

  NICHOLAS STOPPED his car outside the Colby house. Impressive would have been understating it. It was one of the bigger houses in a neighborhood of hotel-size homes. But instead of the sta
tely mansion he’d expected, the house had a cool, modern look, wings jutting off in every direction, enormous windows. Very Architectural Digest.

  Manila envelope in hand, he got out and rang the doorbell, wishing with sudden good sense that he’d let Ross’s secretary drop it off.

  Until Audrey opened the door.

  He didn’t say anything for several seconds. His voice had escaped him. Dressed in khaki pants and an oversize wool sweater, she looked up at him with a surprised expression, her eyes taking him immediate prisoner.

  “Hello again,” he said.

  “Mr. Wakefield.” Her voice was cool and less than welcoming.

  “Ross asked me to drop this off for Jonathan.”

  She took the proferred envelope from him, not quite meeting his gaze. “Thank you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

  For a few awkward moments, they stood silent in the winter darkness. “I wondered about your resolution,” he finally said. “How’s it going?”

  “On track so far.”

  When she didn’t ask the same of him, he said, “Yeah, me, too. But then I usually do all right the first week. You know, to the gym every night, chains on the refrigerator.”

  Again, they fell silent, and he was hit with the same feeling he’d had the night of the Websters’ party. He was aware of the vulnerability hidden behind the wall of reserve surrounding her. Her eyes again were the giveaway. They were wary and evasive, in the way of a person whose trust in the world around them has been permanently damaged.

  A sudden need for self-preservation made him say, “Well. I’d better get going.”

  “Good night then.” She stepped back to close the door and dropped the envelope. The edge hadn’t been sealed, and the papers inside slid onto the brick entrance. She bent over to pick them up. He dropped down to help her. The neckline of her sweater fell to the side of her shoulder, revealing a glimpse of smooth white skin marred by a horrible blue bruise.

  His hands fell still on the papers, and he stared at her shoulder, unable to take his eyes away.

 

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