"Nothing," she said. She hadn't been able to concentrate, and nothing had been done tonight. The man they hired would probably find the answers soon. Erika thought she'd look over some of the papers, hoping a different set of eyes would see what might be hiding between the lines, but she'd seen nothing. She'd been too busy worrying about what Michael was doing.
"I think I'll go to bed," Michael said, getting up and folding his coat and jacket over his shoulder.
Erika stood, too.
"Coming?" he said.
For a moment the two of them going up the stairs together flashed into her mind. "No," she said. "I have to clean up here first."
***
Michael nodded and left her. At the door he looked over his shoulder. Erika had turned to the desk. He knew she was concerned about the problems at Graves Enterprises. She was also hiding something from him. He wondered if her supporting Malick's idea had anything to do with it. Quickly he dismissed the idea. She'd offered him another solution to teaching. He could find a replacement himself, or surely the university would find one. Michael didn't think he was the reason for Erika's secret. He remembered thinking there was something more to her when they were in the cabin. She needed this year. It was important to her. Michael didn't think it was the money. Not once during her day and night in the cabin had she mentioned the worth of the estate. And to date she hadn't mentioned its value. The numbers alone should have been enough to make anyone leave his home and come here. Yet she hadn't used the obvious trump card she held. What was it Erika St. James wanted?
***
How long had he been running? Michael's legs felt like they were tied to weights. He went as fast as he could. His lungs pumped, breath congealing in puffs as he followed Abby up the hill. What was she doing here? She never came here. She always went up toward the building. There was no building here. She climbed, surefooted. How come she didn't seem to have a problem with the ascent? Why was she climbing the mountain? Where was she going, and what did she plan to do when she got to the top?
Michael saved his breath and pushed on after her. His legs and lungs screamed for him to stop, but he pushed on. Then he saw Frank ahead of him, between him and Abby. Fear stilled his heart for a beat, then forced him to push harder. He found it more difficult to breathe. Each time Abby checked over her shoulder he could see the fear on her face. Her long hair unfurled in the wind. Michael felt the wind's raw fury against his face.
"Abbyyyy!" he called. "Stopppp." The wind took his voice. He knew she couldn't hear him but he kept calling her. Frank pursued her with deadly intent. Michael knew Frank would reach her before he could. Either that, or she'd tumble off the other side of the mountain. There was nothing there, no gentle incline, just the sheer face of a cliff and an unrelenting drop. Three thousand feet of open air, then jagged rocks. Her body would be cut to shreds as it pounded into the stone. The mental picture made him run faster. He hoped he could reach Frank, and Abby would know there was nothing to fear.
Then he saw the gun!
Frank stopped, took aim. The woman above him didn't know, hadn't turned to look over her shoulder. She was a perfect target.
"Noooo!" he shouted. "She's innocent, Fraaaaank." Abby moved around a rock as the first shot rang out. In the wind its sound was blunted. Frank started moving again. Abby turned. She looked different. Michael tried to see her but Frank blocked his view.
Michael didn't think he would make it. His legs felt as if he were trudging through a rough sea at high tide. Suddenly Abby moved higher than Frank. Only she wasn't Abby. Michael's heart stopped. It was Erika!
Frank took aim again. The gun was pointed directly at Erika's back. In a second she'd be dead. The shot rang out, reverberating in Michael's head.
Michael shouted.
***
Erika heard him as she reached the top of the stairs. She knew Michael was dreaming again. Without thinking she headed for his rooms. The second scream sounded like a man in agony. She opened the door at the end of the hall and found him fighting the covers, the same as he had done at the cabin. Erika remembered what had happened when she tried to subdue him. Approaching the bed, she stayed clear of his flailing arms until she could grab them. With her knee on the bed, she wrestled with him for several seconds before he collapsed. Like the time in the cabin, Michael hugged her close. His breath was heavy against her neck, and she could feel his heart hammering against her breast.
Erika stayed, holding him long after he'd relaxed and fallen into a restful sleep. He lay heavily against her, and his head fell back onto the pillow. Erika stared at his sleeping form. He was a beautiful man, but he was made ragged by demons. She didn't know how deeply they were buried. He'd never be a full person until he exorcised them.
She knew about demons. She'd lived with them. Her mother had had demons, still had them. Alva St. James Redford suffered with her enemies day and night. Her life was a living hell, and she'd made Erika's the same until Erika ran to Carlton and refused to ever go back to her mother’s house.
Standing up, Erika straightened the covers over the sleeping man. She laid the back of her hand on his forehead. He was warm but not fevered. She should go to her rooms now, but she felt a reluctance to leave. As tired as she should be, she felt like staying the night and making sure Michael slept comfortably through the remainder of the dark hours. She knew it wasn't the rational thing to do, but that didn't make it any less her wish.
She moved toward the door, thinking how much he had to contend with—the news media and their incessant dredging up of long forgotten stories, his friend being sick, his guilt over refusing to take over Malick’s classes, the added pressure of a new job, new people, and her. A man used to staying by himself must be going through several adjustment problems with her in the same house, albeit a big house.
She certainly knew she had adjustment problems with his presence, and not all of them were bad.
Chapter 9
Michael cleared his throat and answered the question the student in the last row had asked. When he finished he checked his watch. Class was over. It had ended fifteen minutes ago and every student was still there. He couldn’t believe the time had flown so fast. When he was a student, other than being in Malick’s class, he’d be out the classroom door as soon as class ended. But a quarter of an hour after they should be heading for cars, study groups or evening dates, Michael still had a full class that looked in no hurry to leave.
"Thank you, class. We'll meet again Thursday."
People began putting their books away and filing out of the room. When they were all gone Michael sat down. It hadn't been as bad as he expected. In fact, it had been better than he could have dreamed. He loved talking to them, discussing the points, the logic of it all.
He was exhilarated. He wanted to rush home and talk to Erika, tell her how well things had gone. Snapping his briefcase closed, he drew on his jacket and walked to the door. At the exit, with his hand on the light switch, he turned back and looked at the room of empty desks and chairs. Chalk dust covered his fingers. Michael smiled to himself and headed home.
Erika was in the library when he arrived. She wore a dressing gown and had her feet curled under her as she read. Michael liked the picture she made. It surprised him how much he enjoyed finding her waiting for him. He wanted to run to her, pull her into his arms and kiss her. He wanted to take her to his bed and make love to her.
He shrugged off the thought. They were together for one year to run Graves Enterprises, he reminded himself. Then it was over. They would both be free to go their own ways. Romantic entanglements could get messy.
She hadn't turned when he entered. Maybe he should leave her to her reading and go to his room. But he watched her. The light highlighted her hair, giving her natural brown an auburn glow. Michael could almost feel the soft texture of her hair. He wanted to run his fingers through it, just as he'd wanted to do that first morning on the dock when she stood above him.
"Hi." She smiled, looking
over her shoulder. "How was it?" She uncurled her feet and stood.
Michael didn't know what to say.
"You liked it?"
"It was better than I expected," he conceded
"You liked it." Her grin grew wide.
He paused a long moment. "I liked it."
Like a birthday girl getting a present, Erika ran to him. Instinctively he opened his arms and caught her. Whirling about the room, Michael felt as if he'd been given the present. When they stopped he just held her, knowing there was more he wanted to do, but he didn't trust himself. After a moment he stepped back. She was smiling.
"Tell me all about it."
She drew him to the sofa, where she pushed her book aside and sat down. Michael joined her.
"You can't imagine how scared I was walking into that room," he began. "It was like my first day in court—no, worse than my first day."
"But you relaxed," she prompted.
"After a while. Malick had excellent notes and I started by following them, but shortly into the discussion the class seemed to take on a spirit of its own." Michael told her everything. He couldn't help talking. He'd had a great night. He felt like a kid bubbling over after a great day. Finally something inside him felt as if it had a purpose. He had a purpose. He could do this, delve into the law and be safe, away from changing anyone's life.
When he stopped, Erika didn't move or say anything. She just stared at him with an I-told-you-so smile on her face.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Michael actually thought she was glad. It made him feel good. It had been a long time since he thought anyone really cared how he felt.
"It's late," she said.
They stood. Michael reached for her hand and drew it through his arm. Together they left the library and walked to the steps. At the top of the landing Michael let go of her. He didn't want to. He wanted to fulfill his fantasy of lifting her from the floor and carrying her up the remaining steps toward his rooms. Instead, he gently touched his mouth to her cheek and whispered a thank you before turning and heading toward his suite.
That night the dreams came back. This time they were different. He ran and ran, but couldn't reach Erika. Abby wasn't there. Frank Mason raised his gun and pointed it at Erika as she went up the mountain.
Michael shouted. He sat straight up in bed. His body was covered in sweat and his breath came in ragged gasps. Putting his feet over the side of the bed, he leaned his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. He tried to calm himself, calm his rapidly beating heart.
Why was Erika in this dream? This was the second time she'd been there. And it was more real. Often, he didn't waken. The dream would end and he'd fall asleep without ever fully awakening. Tonight, though, he'd been so sure Frank would kill her that his shout was loud enough to wake him. Michael was relieved, but still had the feeling Erika was in danger.
Then he remembered that Frank had escaped. As much as he tried, Michael couldn't shake the feeling that Erika was in danger. Grabbing his dressing gown, he pulled it over his naked body and padded, barefoot, toward her suite. Michael didn't exactly know where it was. He'd only seen her go that way, not which door she opened.
He tried the first door on her side of the stairs and found the room empty. The second door must have been to Carlton's room. It was huge, dark, and austere. He couldn't image Erika living in there. The third door was hers. He opened it quietly and looked inside. The walls were light beige or yellow. There was a sitting room with a fireplace, and several sofas and chairs making a warm conversation area. The fire had been lit, but had died during the night. Only a few embers snapped on the hearth. Michael went through to the bedroom. Erika lay in the big bed.
He should have turned and left then, but he didn't. Her bed was a tall four-poster with swags of fabric giving it an air of openness. Her sheets and comforter were white satin, and she lay between them like a small child. Michael went across the room. Quietly he stood watching her even breathing. She was all right. Michael let go of the breath he didn't know he was holding. His dream had been just that, a dream. He should return to his own room. Why didn't he move? Why was he standing there mesmerized by the sight of a woman sleeping?
She slept on the right side of the bed, facing the door. One arm was hooked under her pillow and the other on top of the coverlet. She wore a red sleeping gown. Even in the low light he could see its color. Michael realized he liked gowns, not pajamas. Erika didn’t look like the pajama type. He’d prefer her naked, but the gown was sexy and he could watch her sensual curves when she moved. His body began the familiar burn that she elicited in him. Now he really needed to leave. What would he do if she woke and found him acting as a voyeur in her room? Could he explain his presence?
He knew the answers to these questions. He wasn’t ready to explain them to her. Yet he stood in place as if rooted to the floor. He remained staring at the darkness of Erika's skin against the whiteness of the sheets, watching the way the shadows played across the bed and the woman in it. She was beautiful. She seemed to get more beautiful each time he saw her.
Erika moved. She turned over. Michael froze in place. When she'd settled herself, he let go his breath and stole out of the room.
***
Erika couldn't shake the feeling this morning that something was wrong. She showered and dressed the same as she did every morning, but today she felt uneasy, more so than usual. Maybe it was the past few days of stress-related incidents. She'd been under stress before and never had the feeling that had awakened her during the night.
Maybe it was Michael. He was new in her life. Maybe she'd just imagined he'd been there. Seeing him in the night wasn’t like a dream. It was more than real. Maybe their talk in the library after he returned from his class had been on her mind. He looked happier than she’d seen him before. His face was animated, colorful with excitement. She’d hugged him, felt his arms around her, the strength of his embrace. Was that it? Was the fact that she’d liked being in his arms the reason she imagined him in her room? And was it the reason she felt as if something was wrong?
Erika shrugged, trying to shake off the feeling. As she left her rooms and headed for breakfast she hoped this feeling wouldn't persist.
Michael met her at the landing.
"Good morning," she said, smiling and pretending nothing bothering her.
They fell into step together. "Are you ready for another day?"
Erika nodded. She wasn't her usual self and she wanted to ask Michael a strange question. She just had no way of saying it. She'd always had a good memory and sleep had only been a problem when she had run-ins with her mother, but since Michael arrived her routine had been disrupted. Last night had been. . .more real, was all she could call it, more real than ever before.
"I'd like to ask you a question," she began, needing to clear her throat.
Michael shrugged. "Go ahead."
Erika hesitated. They'd reached the bottom step and she still hadn't said anything.
"What is it?" he asked again.
At the door of the breakfast room Erika stopped and faced him. "Were you in my room last night?"
"Now there's a very interesting question."
The door swung fully open. Both Michael and Erika turned to face the person who'd spoken. Alva stood there in her full regalia.
"Good morning, Mrs. Redford," Michael greeted.
"Mother, what are you doing here?" Erika asked, anger dripping from her words.
"Obviously, I've come to protect my daughter." She looked at Michael. "Young man, did you sleep in my daughter's room last night?" She lowered her head and looked at Michael, like a schoolteacher peering over her glasses.
"No," he said decisively. "I slept in my own room."
"Too bad," she said, a smile showing her even, white teeth. "It might be just what she needs." Alva Redford threw a look at her daughter. Erika brushed past her and poured herself a cup of coffee. She didn't want her mother here this morning. She'd wanted
to have a leisurely breakfast with Michael before they went to the office. After she'd asked Michael her question, depending on the answer, she couldn't have predicted how leisurely their breakfast would be. Now she'd have to contend with another of her mother's requests.
"What do you want?" Erika asked again.
Alva took her time. She strolled to the server and lifted a plate as if she was the owner of the house. Piling it high with food, she then poured a cup of black coffee and walked to where Michael stood.
"Would you mind if I talked to my daughter alone?"
"You promise there will be no blood?" Michael glanced at Erika.
Alva laughter was a high pitch tingle. "I can only speak for myself, Michael." She said his name with all the emphasis of a Southern belle.
Michael smiled and accepted the plate and cup. "I'll be in the library," he said, giving Erika a sympathetic glance that told her he was nearby if she needed him.
Alva closed the door.
"All right, Mother. We're alone now. Why are you here?"
Alva returned to the server and made herself a plate of fruit and croissants. She then took a seat in front of a cup that already had her lipstick on one side. Obviously, she wasn't going to speak until Erika sat down. Erika remembered this and wondered why she'd let herself fall into her mother's trap. Alva wanted the upper hand, and this was a small measure of her showing Erika she still had the ability to make her cringe.
Erika took a seat opposite her mother.
"Score one for Alva St. James Redford," Erika said. "She won the battle of the chairs. Now for the last time what do you want?"
"You know, Erika, Carlton and I had an agreement."
"What kind of agreement?"
Alva lifted her cup. The rings on her fingers shone in the morning light filtering through the open curtains.
Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5) Page 15