by Unknown
She breathed deep, enjoying the bite of frigid air. "Come on, Pumpkin. Guess it's time to face the music." The part Greyhound, part Saint Bernard responded to her gentle tug with his curiously graceful gait.
"Thanks, Ted, Alice, for getting rid of that weirdo for me." Miranda unlocked her apartment door and motioned her neighbors to precede her inside.
"That ‘weirdo’ claims to be your husband," Ted growled, not at all his usual calm self.
Alice settled into a flowered chintz armchair as if she belonged there. "Yes, dear. I realize your personal life is, well, personal, but maybe you could tell us something so we won't worry if he shows up again."
Miranda busied herself in the tiny kitchen on the opposite side of the counter. She filled a kettle with water and put it on the stove to heat for tea before venturing an answer. What could she say? The truth was embarrassing, humiliating even. Lying was out of the question.
Ted paced the length of her tiny living room. Alice waited with her usual patience, hands folded in her lap. These people were more than neighbors--they were her friends. With the exception of Lucy, they were the only family she had.
"It's kind of complicated," she said. She brought the tray to the coffee table and convinced Ted to sit down.
"Got nothing but time," Ted said. The porcelain teacup looked tiny in his massive hand.
Alice picked up her usual mug. It sported "Take No Prisoners" inscribed across it. She sniffed at the rising steam. "Earl Grey, my favorite."
Miranda hesitated. May as well just get it over with. "Jack called off our engagement yesterday. I drank too much and went to Las Vegas with Drake McLain and married him."
She desperately wished she'd spiked the tea.
Ted snapped his cup into the saucer so hard the delicate handle came off in his hand. It circled his index finger like a mutant ring. "I'll kill him," he rumbled.
"Which one? The ex-fiancé or the new husband?" Alice asked. "Honestly, Miranda, I never knew what you saw in that Jack person anyway. Weak chin."
Ted cracked his knuckles, a habit that set Miranda's teeth on edge. "Have a cookie, Ted." She shoved the plate into his hands.
He looked at her, the pain in his big eyes startling and hot. "If he ever hurts you in any way I'll take care of him." Without another word, Ted left. Awkward silence filled the turbulence of his wake.
Miranda dropped to the floor next to Pumpkin. The beast put his head in her lap and rubbed against her hand. He always knew when Miranda was hurting. She scratched behind his silky ears, comforting herself with the familiar.
The intensity of Ted's emotion made her feel small. "How long has Ted felt this way about me?" she asked Alice after a long stretch.
"Oh, quite a while now. He'll get over it. Every time you broke an engagement, he thought he'd have a chance. Now that you're married, well, he needs time to get used to the idea."
"Married." Miranda snorted. "I'm not used to the idea myself. The fact of the matter is," she felt heat creeping up her neck, "we never consummated the marriage. At least, I don't think we did."
"Seems to me that's something a woman would know," Alice remarked.
"I was a little out of it," Miranda muttered.
"Do you mean to tell me you don't want to be married to Drake?"
"I despise him. He made my sister’s life a misery when he was married to her. Why should I expect different treatment?"
"The plot thickens," Alice said, eyes twinkling in the cool winter light coming through the window. "So, it's Drake the Devil you find yourself married to. Something tells me you haven't told the whole story yet."
The urge to confide in someone she trusted fought with her need for privacy. She fiddled with Pumpkin's ears. "There's this." She stood and went to her desk. "Look." She handed Alice the video camera.
Alice turned it over in her hands. "Looks like an improved version of Mitiko's latest surveillance camera." Her voice was now crisp, authoritative. She'd spent her working years with Air Force intelligence. Since retirement, she'd hid her sharp wit and keen intellect behind the "little old lady" facade. She enjoyed the surprise on people's faces when they found out about her earlier James Bond lifestyle. At least, those she chose to tell.
"Where did you find it?" Alice asked. She pushed a tiny switch. An inch sized laser disc popped out.
"Hidden in our honeymoon suite. And yes, you're right. It's the prototype camera Drake's been installing in our classified technology facility."
Alice cackled. "He videotaped your wedding night?"
"I don't think it's very funny."
"No, I'm sorry." Alice picked up her mug again. "Why?"
Miranda finished the question. "Video our wedding night? Beats me. I've been trying to figure that out since I left him in Las Vegas."
Alice tapped her chin. "I wonder if it could be --"
Rapid pounding on the door interrupted her.
"Who could that be?" Miranda turned the doorknob. She stumbled forward as Drake jerked the door open all the way.
"Thank you," he said, though Miranda plowing into him muffled the formality.
The way her body vibrated at the inopportune touch of his hands on her shoulders, steadying her, had her pushing him away.
"Let go of me." She may have pushed, but if anything his grip tightened.
"Not until you agree to talk to me." Drake's lips were compressed into tight lines, his eyes obsidian cold.
"I hate you," Miranda managed to say. "Come in." He released her and she stumbled back.
Alice stood and gathered her coat around her, but not before Miranda saw her hide the camera within the heavy folds of leopard print cloth. The idea that Alice would be working to figure out the contents and intents of the recording offered Miranda a huge shot of encouragement.
"You know," Alice remarked as she headed for the door, "communication is the foundation of all happy marriages." She sent her best "little old lady" smile at Miranda and Drake and tottered through the door, closing it behind her.
"At last, someone I agree with," Drake grumbled.
He rolled his shoulders as Miranda had often seen him do in the boardroom after winning a subtle point in a contractual dispute. Good, if he thought he had the advantage she'd make use of his overconfidence. Maybe play with it just a little, and then go for the jugular.
Oh, yeah.
"There's hot tea. Would you like a cup?" Her best hostess voice served her well.
Drake raised an eyebrow, and then pulled off his still soggy shoe. "Thank you."
"Cream and sugar?" Or perhaps a dash of arsenic?
"Both, thanks." He took the offered mug, which was decorated with silly, colorful cartoon figures, and the slogan "Time to Play" printed in huge ballooning letters.
Miranda sat across the coffee table from him and took his measure. Strain that might be simply fatigue was evident in the lines around his lips. He hadn't changed clothes. Hadn't taken the time to do more than find a place to turn his car. Her plan to play "cat and mouse" fizzled in the face of his presence and her own curiosity.
"Why did you come back?" she asked, her voice quiet.
"As your neighbor so correctly said, we need to talk."
Miranda shook her head. "We need to do more than talk."
"Oh?" His eyes lit when he smiled. Something deep inside Miranda did a slow somersault. She found she needed to take a deep, calming breath before continuing.
"First of all, I want an annulment. Then, I want to know why you married me to begin with."
"Most women would want the question answered before taking such drastic action."
She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm not most women."
"So I've heard." He mimicked her pose. "I understand you've been engaged three times. Seems to me you'd be overjoyed to finally get through the marriage ceremony without your groom running away."
The unexpected attack brought Miranda to her feet. His words pierced the vulnerable spot in her heart until s
he was sure he could see the blood seeping out. "Get out," she ordered.
"I'm quite comfortable right where I am. Now, lets talk about theft. Where is it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." She clamped her teeth so tightly together that her jaw ached. Making the words come through clenched lips was an agony. She tried to un-ball the fists her hands had become. The trembling in her knees forced her to fight for control.
"We can play that game if you want to. Anyway," he leaned forward, "as long as we're married, it's not really theft. After all, what's mine is yours."
"Quit talking in riddles, McLain." Maybe he'd let something, some reason for the hidden camera, spill.
She's stalling. Drake recognized the brushing-back-the-hair motion as one used at work when she hadn't decided the best course of action. How far could he push her?
"A small video camera is missing. It was a prototype; used mini-disc technology. I had it with me when we checked into the hotel in Las Vegas. I discovered it was missing after I also discovered my brand new bride had deserted me." He leaned back and sipped at his now tepid tea. "I imagine you'd draw the same conclusion as to where it went."
"Why take something so valuable on a personal trip?"
Drake shrugged. "To try it out. I thought we might like pictures of our honeymoon to show the kiddies some day."
Direct hit. Drake watched a pink flush creep up Miranda's neck until it disappeared into her hairline. She'd found it all right, and in that damning place pointing at the bed.
"We're not going to have children. I refuse to continue this marriage. In fact," she narrowed her eyes, "I haven't any proof that we are married."
"Would a signed certificate do?" He pulled an official looking document from his jacket pocket. "How about a photo of us, the happy couple?" The hideous picture showed more of the fake official than Drake or Miranda. Just as well. Drake watched Miranda pale as she looked at the documents. In the picture, Miranda's eyes were half closed and she had a sappy smile on her face.
She wasn't smiling now. "Why? I don't understand why you would want to maintain a marriage to a person who despises you."
"I decided we need each other. With your credentials and my business sense we can take the market by storm. When the possibility presented itself to make it a family business, it seemed like a good idea."
"You don't understand," Miranda shouted. "I hate you."
"Love and hate, two strong emotions. I've heard one is close to the other, almost interchangeable depending on the circumstances. Besides, your affection is unnecessary. All I need is your cooperation for the next four weeks."
"An arbitrary length of time. What's happening in the next four weeks that you need me as your wife?"
"Payback."
"I need more information."
"At the end of four weeks, if you still want it, I'll give you a divorce." Time to bargain a bit, let her think she had some maneuvering room.
Miranda paced again. When she stopped, her face was carefully devoid of expression. "Not good enough. I don't need your cooperation to get a divorce. I could go back to Nevada tonight and take care of it. Tell me more."
"You've forgotten, you might be pregnant. A month is enough time to know about that as well."
"I haven't forgotten anything," Miranda snarled. "I just don't believe you."
"Your belief in me is the last of my concerns. Now, do you agree to the month?"
"I want it in writing; signed by a credible witness," Miranda said. She dropped into a chair.
Drake allowed himself a small, internal shout of glee. The first part of his plan was in action. "One witness, whom we can both trust to keep the details of the arrangement secret." He nodded. "Okay."
"Alice will do it."
"You mean Grandma Moses?"
Miranda glared at him. "Don't make fun of my friends."
"Sorry." He considered her suggestion, could find nothing wrong with it. Certainly a friend of Miranda's would be more concerned about her reputation than his own reasons for the secrecy. "Alice will do fine."
Miranda jumped up and grabbed a yellow legal pad from the counter. She began to write with a thick purple pen that Drake was sure had never seen the inside of her briefcase.
When she finished writing she thrust the pad at him and said, "Look this over while I get Alice."
"Delighted," he said to her back.
He read the short paragraph. It may have been written in purple ink, but the commas and dotted I's were in all the right places. Miranda agreed to maintain her marriage to Drake for thirty days from this date. At that time either party had the option of getting a no-contest divorce unless Miranda found herself pregnant. In that eventuality the contract would be revised.
Keeping a high tech business afloat was a never-ending challenge, Drake mused. He never thought he'd need the inconvenience of marriage in order to remain solvent. His expression hardened and his hands gripped the paper so tightly it rustled.
The fact that this move would have been unnecessary if Lucy and Jack hadn't conspired to buy out small stockowners here and there, grated on him. He wondered how long the pair had planned to undercut him. The day he'd found Jack's memo, unwittingly sent to Drake instead of to Lucy's private e-mail account, was the day Drake decided revenge might be best served cold but he wanted something hot as a side dish.
Miranda was the perfect foil. Sister to one conspirator, ex-lover of the other, he could use her to bring them both down. If he lost her in the process, so be it.
A stab of conscience grazed him as Miranda returned with Alice. According to his in-depth and discrete investigation, Miranda had no idea of the extent Lucy was mired in debt, or how she planned to get herself out of it. Miranda made an unlikely pawn. Pawns, often underrated in the game of chess, just as often proved the winning piece. He planned to have the piece on his side when the last move was made.
"Here's the agreement I told you about," Miranda said to Alice as she plucked the pad from Drake's hands.
Alice placed a pair of wire-framed glasses on the bridge of her nose and took the pad to the window where the wintry sun shone through. Miranda tapped her foot. Drake sipped his cold tea.
When Alice finally turned back to the room, a small frown joined the myriad lines on her forehead. She tapped at the paper with a finger. "This will never stand up in a court of law. I suppose you both understand that?"
"Sure it will," Drake said. "It's a personal agreement, not a business one. No one is pressuring anyone to sign."
Alice ignored him and focused on Miranda. "At least put in a line about not taking anything out that you didn't bring in, dear. You didn't sign any kind of pre-nuptial agreement, I suppose?"
Miranda rubbed her nose. "Not that I remember."
Alice hesitated a moment longer, then wrote another sentence on the paper. She then signed it. "Here, I've made a small change. About the best that can be done if neither of you want to use a lawyer for this thing."
"Thanks, Alice." Miranda held the pen in her hand, point poised over the sheet. With a grimace, she affixed her signature to it then pushed the document to Drake. He signed and dated it as well, then stood, folded it and put it into his pocket.
"Hey, I want a copy of that. Alice should have one too," Miranda protested.
"I'll do it at the office tomorrow," Drake soothed. "Now get your things and let's go home." He couldn't wait for a glass of brandy. Now that his reason for being here was accomplished he was twice as cold as when he first walked in.
"I'm not going anywhere," Miranda insisted.
"You agreed to maintain our marriage. That implied cohabitation."
"I intend to cohabitate right here," Miranda stated. She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin.
"Another little spat," Alice said with a sigh. "I'll leave you to work this out. Just remember that compromise is the basis of a sound marriage." She patted Miranda's cheek and left.
"You can't believe for an instant tha
t I'll live here?" Drake demanded. He looked around him, for the first time taking in the cozy living area, tinier kitchen and the door that must lead to the bedroom. "We'll be in each other's way every second. You can afford a bigger place on the salary I pay you."
"How I spend my money is none of your business," Miranda shot back. "I've agreed to your silly marriage solely because I'm unsure of what really happened on our so-called wedding night. I refuse to uproot myself further so as not to inconvenience you. I'm staying here. What you choose to do about it is your business." By the time she finished, her voice had risen to a shout.
Moving closer and keeping his voice soft, Drake said, "It seems compromise would be a good idea."
She trembled but didn't back away. Were those unshed tears glistening in her eyes? She turned away before he could be sure.
"This is home," Miranda insisted, her voice tight with emotions that Drake couldn't begin to understand. For some reason he couldn't put a finger on, he wanted to understand.
The Miranda of the boardroom was gone, leaving this fragile, vulnerable woman in her place. A woman Drake uneasily understood that he wanted to know better--better than the Miranda who worked with such professional efficiency. This woman lived in a small, one bedroom apartment when she could easily afford an elegant condominium. Plants vied for window space, framed pictures glinted from every surface, and fat pillows took up space on the couches and chairs. That dog looked at home in the middle of the braided rug.
This was a woman secure in her home. If he wanted her cooperation, he'd better give in a little. Besides, he liked it here. The observation surprised him. He tamped down the warm emotion and turned Miranda to face him. Her swollen lips trembled, but the look in her eyes undid him. Glaring and strong, yet at the same time huge and entreating.
He was her husband, sort of. Perhaps he should take a moment to remind both of them of that quasi fact.
The expression on her face turned to panic as he touched her lips with his. Sweet, she tasted soft and hot and sweet, Drake mused.