by Joanna Wayne
He shifted in his seat so he could face her, though he didn’t even want to do that now. “I’m not good at talking about feelings, Nicole. I don’t even have the right vocabulary for it, so no matter what I say it’s going to come out wrong.”
“There is no right or wrong. I’d just like to know what was so terrible for you about our one night together.”
“Terrible? Where did you possibly get an idea like that?”
“You didn’t make any effort to see me again. You didn’t return my calls.”
“I was twenty-one and playing the rebel without a cause. I didn’t make great decisions back then.”
“You made the decision to give me a ride home that night, to come inside, to make love. You must have had good reasons to run like hell when it was over.”
“If I hadn’t, you would have dumped me soon enough. You had everything going for you. I was a loser.”
“That’s not how I saw you.”
“How did you see me?”
“Sexy. Exciting. Wild… Intelligent, too. I was amazed how much you knew about politics.”
“That’s because it was all I ever heard at home.” Bitterness tinged his voice. Odd that it would after all this time. He’d have to watch that. “My mother was your dad’s executive secretary, which is how I got the job working at the Dalton Reelection Headquarters that summer. My being hired was strictly a favor to her.”
“I never knew that. I thought you came to work there because you were interested in a career in politics.”
“I had flunked out of LSU. I was interested in getting my mother off my case, paying the note on my Harley, having a good time and getting laid, not necessarily in that order.”
“For a guy interested in getting laid, you certainly resisted my advances for a long time.”
He was doing this all wrong, as he knew he would. “Believe me, Nicole, my not calling you or seeing you again wasn’t because I didn’t want to. You sent me reeling the first day I met you. That lithe little body and gorgeous tan, your perky breasts and the prettiest brown eyes I’d ever had batted in my direction… What was there not to like?”
“But I wasn’t what you wanted?”
“Oh, I wanted you, all right. I would have thought that much was obvious. But rebels don’t settle down with perfect coeds.”
“So you just made love to me, then went back to your life.”
“Yeah. My life. I rode around on my Harley and drank with the guys. That was my life.”
“I remember my father talking about how upset your mother was that you’d flunked out. I know the two of them were close, went almost everywhere together after she split up with your father in the fall. I guess it was just a bad…” Nicole stopped midsentence and stared at him. “My dad was having an affair with your mother that summer. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you were so hell-bent on destroying yourself. You were angry at her and at my dad.”
He felt his muscles tighten, surprised that the emotions associated with that summer could still surge inside him, and hating that any of this had to come out now. “That was a long time ago, Nicole. It’s in the past, and it should stay there.”
“I knew there was some kind of bond between them, but it never even occurred to me they were having an affair.”
“I’m sorry you had to find out now. I know how crazy you were about your father.”
“My father wasn’t known for playing by the rules. I knew there were indiscretions. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a great father. I’m just sorry he was part of the team that messed up your life so. When did you find out?”
“During the Christmas holidays of the previous year. I walked in on them at your dad’s office while they were engaged in a much more than friendly kiss.”
“No wonder you flunked out of school that semester. And then you came to work with me and I was flirting with you like crazy. Oh, wait….” She raked both hands through her hair, her expression pained. “You didn’t make love with me just to get back at my father. Tell me you didn’t, Dallas. Tell me that night meant more than that.”
The anguish in her voice crawled inside him. He reached across the seat and put a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t want to make love with you, didn’t want to like you, didn’t want to need you. But I did. Needed you so badly I think I would have exploded if we hadn’t gotten together that night.”
“Oh, Dallas. Why didn’t you tell me what was going on? I could have handled your anger over the affair easier than just thinking you didn’t want to see me. I cried for a week, walked around in a blue funk for a month. Poor Janice took the brunt of my feeling sorry for myself. That’s why she hates you so.”
“I hated myself for a long time after that. In fact it took having some guy running a red light and slamming into me on my motorcycle to get me off my path of self-destruction. I had to almost die before I could appreciate living.”
“Dad never told me.”
“Why should he? He never knew about us, and my mother wasn’t working for him anymore by then. I never knew what happened between them, but she’s happily remarried now. So is my father. Looking back, the affair with the senator was probably more a symptom than a cause. The divorce would have likely happened anyway. The biggest hurt for me in the long run was that you did so great without me.”
“I never did great without you, Dallas. I managed to go on with my life. I had to. But I never felt passion the way we did that night. Never again felt that my heart was so light it could just float to the heavens, or prayed that a night would go on forever.”
“Until Malcomb?”
“Not even then. I loved Malcomb when I married him, or at least I loved the man I thought he was. And if things had worked out, I would have stayed with him until the end, just as I promised in my vows. But it was never the way it was with you.”
She slid into his arms and he held her close. He ached for all the years they’d lost, but it was a sweet ache, nothing at all like the fear that stabbed him whenever he thought he could lose her again, this time to a madman.
“Maybe it was meant to be this way, Dallas. Perhaps the past was by design, a grand plan to lead us both to this point in our lives.”
“Marry you off to a lying pervert who’s possibly a serial killer? Some plan!”
“I’m trying to be positive.”
“I’d rather you be safe. When I get back to town, I’m going to request that Malcomb be tailed twenty-four hours a day. If he makes a move, we’ll have him. I can deal with him, but I can’t deal with worrying about you. I want you to promise me you’ll get out of that house.”
“It’s my house, Dallas, the family home. Malcomb is the one who should leave.”
“Will he leave if you ask him to?” The look on her face gave him his answer. “That’s what I thought. He’s not going, so you have to.”
“I guess I could stay with Janice, but she’ll never understand. She’ll think I’ve flipped out. She might even tell Malcomb about my fears, believing she’s helping.”
“You can stay with me, Nicole. I want you there. It’s the one place I can make sure you’re protected.”
“I can only be there as a friend, Dallas. It’s all I can handle.”
“We’ll play it any way you want.”
She brushed the back of her hand across his cheek, a tender gesture that sent the blood rushing to his head. “Then it looks as if you’ll have a new roommate. You don’t snore, do you?”
She was half teasing, trying to keep some levity in a situation that had spun to the outer limits. But she’d agreed to move out and that was all that mattered.
He felt the relief clear down to his toes until he considered the temptation he’d face having her around. It would be hell to have her there and not be able to make love with her. But he was a man, not an animal. He could do it. He’d make himself do it.
“I don’t like that look, Dallas. What are you thinking?”
“Just that we’d better stay out of the rain.�
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IT WAS HALF PAST TWO when Dallas dropped Nicole off at her house to throw a few things together. He was going down to the precinct to meet with his supervisor, lay out his case for having Malcomb tailed around the clock. He’d promised to be back to pick her up before five, a good hour before Malcomb would return. Her car was still at Matilda’s, they’d pick it up on the way to Dallas’s apartment.
“Moving in with Dallas.” She said the words out loud and trembled at the sound of them. She’d thought of doing that back when her dreams had been youthful and full of hope. Dreams not laced with fear and unspeakable terror.
Now moving in with him seemed a sign of failure. But staying here was not helping anything, and the feeling that Malcomb might actually be the serial killer was growing stronger every day. And even if he wasn’t, she couldn’t bear for him to touch her, not even in the incidental ways that occurred just because they lived in the same house.
And if she stayed, sooner or later she’d have to have sex with him. There were only so many excuses she could use, so many times she could put him off. Her flesh crawled at the thought of having him inside her, of the horribly chilling images that would fill her mind and make the act a sick mockery of everything good and loving a marriage should be.
She wouldn’t need much. Jeans, shirts, a few changes of underwear, some unsexy pajamas. The packing list took over her mind as she walked through the house to the master bedroom. Her house, but she was the one leaving. It would have to be that way for now.
Retrieving the large piece of luggage from the top of her closet, she threw it on the bed and unzipped it. The phone rang. Her heart flew to her throat. Malcomb. Somehow he knew what she was doing. But the caller ID indicated it was Ronnie’s group home. Nicole grabbed the receiver. It would be good to hear his voice.
But it wasn’t Ronnie who responded to her hello. “Is Mrs. Lancaster there?”
“Speaking.”
“Hi, Nicole. This is Tilda. I’ve a bit of bad news.”
“Is Ronnie sick?’”
“No. Now don’t get upset. I’m certain he’s fine. It’s just that…well, he’s disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” She dropped to the side of the bed, her legs too shaky to hold her up.
“He was outside shooting a few baskets after lunch. When I went out to get him so that he could finish his chores, he was gone. I’m sure he just wandered off without thinking. He won’t go far.”
“He never wanders off.”
“I know, but this time he did. We’ve called the police, but we wanted to let you know as well. Now, try not to worry. We’ll call you the second we hear something.”
The second they heard something. Only they wouldn’t hear anything. Malcomb was behind this. Her husband. A liar and a cheat. A man manipulative and controlling enough that he’d abduct an autistic young man to get back at her for leaving town last night.
Nicole wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. Wanted to pick up things and hurl them against the wall. Instead, she called Dallas to tell him that he didn’t need to come for her. She had to be home in case Ronnie called her. He knew how to reach her here. He wouldn’t know how to find her if she left.
Malcomb had all the controls. He always had. From the day he’d met her he’d put his plans in motion. Maybe even before he’d met her. She still didn’t know why he’d needed or wanted her in his life. But at this minute she was certain he’d had his reasons. And that they had nothing to do with love.
“HURRY IT UP, Ronnie. I don’t have all day.”
“Don’t like it here. Go home. Ronnie wants to go home.”
“That’s unfortunate, Ronnie, because you won’t be going home. Unless home is where the heart is. Your heart is going to exsanguinate right here, so if that’s the case, you’ll be home.”
Malcomb shoved Ronnie along the overgrown path to the old camp house that he’d purchased for cash from a drug addict he’d treated at LSU Hospital when he’d first come to Shreveport. It was little more than a lean-to, but it was off the road, concealed by a thick strand of pine trees. It could be seen neither from the lake nor the road, and that made it perfect for his purposes. It was the meeting place for his photography club, and the club was by invitation only.
“Phone Nicole. You call Nicole, Malcomb. Call Nicole.”
“Now why would you want to call that slut? She doesn’t have time for you, anyway. Doesn’t have time for me, either. She’s off spreading her legs for her cop lover. But don’t you worry, I’ll find her and bring her to you.”
“Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh. A bug. Black bugs. Little black bugs.” Ronnie shook his head, trying to avoid the gnats that swarmed around his face.
That monotone repetition ground on Malcomb’s nerves. Fortunately, he had injections of barbiturates ready to sedate Ronnie. Just the right amount. Not enough to kill him, just enough to take the edge off until Malcomb returned with Nicole. Their deaths should be a family affair.
This had worked out so much better than he’d imagined it could. He would show Nicole what a real woman did for her man. He would slide the sharp instruments inside her, easy at first, like a lover, then puncturing and lacerating while she writhed in pain.
The pretty, perfect wife. She was nice on his arm. Okay in bed. But she’d be much better in the grave. She and Ronnie both abducted. So sad.
He’d have it all. His position at the hospital. The social bearing that being the grieving widower of Nicole would provide. And the home that Gerald Dalton had built.
That would be the sweetest revenge of all. Payback to the man who’d seduced Tammy and stolen her away from him all those years ago.
NICOLE MOVED like a zombie, her feet dragging along the carpet. Dallas had promised they’d find Ronnie, and she knew he was trying, but he hadn’t called. And no news definitely wasn’t good news in this situation.
She’d tried to reach Malcomb at his office. His receptionist said he’d become ill and taken the afternoon off, and that Dr. Bruning was taking his calls. Then Nicole had tried Malcomb’s cellular phone, but there was no answer. No answer because he was busy abducting her brother.
Ronnie. So innocent. He wouldn’t understand what was happening, wouldn’t know that Malcomb might…
Might what? No, she couldn’t go there. Couldn’t think the worst. She had to hold on to hope that Malcomb had some shred of decency in him, that no matter what else he’d done, he wouldn’t hurt Ronnie.
She stared at the clock on the mantel. The hands kept moving. Time kept ticking away. But the phone just wouldn’t ring. She couldn’t go on like this. She’d have to find something to do or go crazy. Dragging herself to the laundry room, she bent over the hamper and started pulling out dirty clothes throwing the whites in one pile, the darks in another and the permanent press fabrics in yet another.
The task was mundane. It required no thought, and yet she found herself lingering over each piece of laundry, staring at it as if she’d never seen it before. She picked up a pair of Malcomb’s gray leisure trousers. He’d worn them this past weekend when he’d gone out to run errands.
Digging her hands into the pockets, she discovered some coins—and a key. A small copper key, the kind that might fit a file cabinet or a piece of luggage. Or some secret compartment.
Unexpected adrenaline pumped into her system, quickening her pulse, steadying her mind. Kicking past the piles of laundry, she ran to the kitchen and grabbed the key to the garage apartment from the rack by the back door. She ran outside and took the spiral staircase two steps at a time, not slowing until she reached the top. Then, her heart hammering in her chest, she fitted the key into the lock and turned.
She didn’t bother with the desk this time, but went straight to the darkroom. She’d checked it before, but there were lots of boxes and supplies stored in there. She could have missed something. She tore into the cabinets with a vengeance, driven now that she’d finally found a task that would allow her to vent her frustration. She worked feverishly for half an ho
ur, combing every shelf, every space where anything was stored. She found nothing.
And there was still no message from Dallas on the progress of the search. Tears burned at the backs of her eyelids, but she refused to give in to them. She wouldn’t cry and she wouldn’t give up. Still the desperation clawed at her. Finally she just plopped onto the floor in front of the built-in cabinet and beat her fists against the gray jute rug.
The floor jarred in response. At first she thought the room was moving, but it was only the board beneath her pounding fist. A strange movement, as if the board was loose.
A secret compartment in the floorboard? No. She was losing it for sure, had seen too many old movies.
But it could be. After all, Malcomb had drawn up the plans and hired the contractor for the renovation.
She pulled back the rug he’d picked out and installed himself. She’d thought him such a handyman the day he’d done that. Once the rug was pulled back, she knew for certain what a fool she’d been.
Fear and dread attacked with a vengeance, making the job of tilting the board and slipping it out of place far more difficult than it should have been. But once it was moved, she quickly thrust her hand into the dark hole revealed and felt around until her fingers hit a rough metal box. She lifted it out and set it between her legs. It was about two inches thick, the width and length the size of a sheet of typing paper—or eight-by-ten photographs. And that might be all it held. Enlarged snapshots. More nudes.
She fitted the key into the hole. It turned easily, and the front of the box lifted on its hinges. Her guess had been right. There were a few eight by tens. Several four by fives. She picked up one of the enlargements and held it with her fingertips, feeling as if even that contaminated her in some way, made her part of Malcomb’s sordid world.