The way Phillip saw it, Shaw owed him a solid for saving him from Christine and fatherhood. He had no idea what a handful Christine was. Add a baby to that mess and Shaw’d be turning to whiskey and razor blades.
He took in a deep breath of mountain air and felt cleansed. A week from now, all the bullshit would be over. Shaw would be gone. Christine would go back to being herself. Instead of this hormone-addled hellion, she’d become. And things would be under control again.
She’d never acted this way before Shaw came along—the backtalk and bold behavior. Now that Shaw was leaving, she’d go back to being herself. He had a man on her to ensure she did as she was told. If she didn’t follow through, he’d know and use the backup plan. A doctor friend had slipped him a scrip for a drug guaranteed to abort. If she defied him, he’d slip the drug to her and she’d miscarry. If she was smart, she’d follow orders. If Shaw was smart, he was on the road already.
He left the fishing gear on the porch and grabbed his duffle. Once he walked through that door, he’d put all thoughts of Christine and the bullshit out of his mind. It was playtime and nobody was going to ruin it for him.
Then he went inside and found Melanie lying naked on the bed. “What the hell are you doing here?” His agitation renewed.
She sat up on her haunches. “Surprised?”
He dropped his duffle on the table and shrugged off his jacket. “Are you stalking me now?” He twisted toward the open door. “Where’s your car?”
She stretched like a sleepy cat then popped off the bed. “In the back. I wanted to surprise you.”
Determined to get a reaction out of him, she pressed her naked body against his back. “Admit it, you’re happy to see me.”
Phillip would admit no such thing. His plans didn’t include her. He shrugged her off and curled a lip at her. “What are you doing here?”
She smiled coyly, brushing her bare breasts against his arm. “You and Chris had a fight. Somebody needed to console you.”
“What’d you do, put a tracker on my truck?” He sat on the bed to untie his boots. “Maybe I don't want consolation.”
Melanie giggled and jumped in the bed with him. She tugged at his clothes but he remained still and unresponsive. “Oh, you’re going to make me work for it, huh?” She unbuttoned his shirt and mashed her breasts against this bare chest. She unzipped his fly and purred. “That’s better. See, Melanie knows what you need.” She whispered in his ear. “It’s what you always need.”
She mounted him and he didn’t mind it too much. What the hell. Sometimes you just have to roll with things. A little primer to kick off his evening plans wasn’t a half-bad idea. And he wasn’t the kind of guy to turn down a free lay. He leaned back on his elbows and let her work it. “She knows I’m here. What if she comes up?”
Melanie worked him hard, churning her hips and thrusting—happy to be the dominant one in the coupling. She pushed him back on the bed, her breasts swaying above him as she pumped. “She doesn’t care where you are. So, just lay back and enjoy the ride, cowboy.”
PHILLIP ROLLED INTO the lot at Hillson’s Lodge, his body thrumming at the thought of getting his hands on Kathy Conlan. Hillson’s was a lodge in name only—in truth, it was a place where men and their mistresses met up for a meal and a drink before doing the dirty. Thanks to Melanie, Phillip was primed and ready to go.
He’d left her sleeping at the cabin. She always dosed after sex but he’d helped her along by emptying a couple of her sleeping pills into her wine. She’d probably be out until morning. But being the gentleman he was, he’d left a note on his pillow. Just in case.
He only felt a modicum of guilt as he played touchy-feely with Kathy at a back booth. Why should he feel guilty at all? He hadn’t invited Mel to come. He’d made other plans. She was the interloper.
Kathy’s red hair sparkled in the dim lighting and her breasts jiggled every time she laughed. As though inviting Phillip to touch them. He nursed a bourbon but kept the bubbly coming for her. She was a tigress in bed and the drunker she got the longer she could go. His jeans got snug as he thought about what he was going to do to her later. But not too much later.
She giggled and batted her big green eyes at him. “I could just look at you all night long.”
He put her hand on his crotch and her eyes popped wide. “How about we do something else all night long?”
She pressed her sumptuous breasts against his arm and her warm breath tickled his neck. “Oh, you naughty boy. You naughty, naughty boy. Mama’s gonna have to give you a licking when we get home.”
They exploded in laughter.
Phillip licked his lips and ran his finger along her thigh. “Oh yeah, I think you’ll have to because I am naughty. Very naughty. I need to be taught a lesson.”
A blur of motion that Phillip caught out of the corner of his eye drew his gaze to the door. Just the back of a brunette, leaving. Nice ass, though.
He called for the check and steered Kathy to the exit. In ten minutes, they’d be between the sheets doing the dirty. She liked it dirty, too. As dirty as it gets.
Kathy hung on Phillip as they stumbled toward the truck. He copped a feel and thought maybe he didn’t want to wait until they got to her place. Maybe he’d pop her right there in the truck. Or she could go down on him while he drove. His jeans grew more snug at the thought. He hit the key fob and released the locks.
He gunned the engine and swung out of the lot—just missing a red sports car parked on the shoulder. He was too horny to even get irritated with the idiot who’d parked there.
He slipped his hand down the front of her dress and kneaded her breast. “Oh, the things I'm going to do to you.”
She slid over and unzipped his fly. “Tell me. Is it something dirty.” She giggled. “Something real dirty?” She wriggled on the seat, lowering her head to his lap. “What have got here?”
Out of nowhere, headlights came up fast behind them. Phillip glimpsed in the rearview mirror. “What the hell?” He pushed Kathy off him. “Get up.”
She looked bewildered for a moment then sensed the lights behind them and twisted toward the rear windshield. “What’s wrong? Oh my God.” She quickly fastened her seatbelt, hands trembling. “What’s he doing?”
Phillip hit the gas but the tailgater stayed with them. His increased speed only acting as a challenge to the other drive. “The crazy shit, what’s he doing?”
Kathy lost her drunken glow and kept twisting to look out the back window. “Just pull over, honey. Let him pass.”
“The hell I will.” He floored it. “Let the idiot take his best shot.”
Kathy screamed at him to pull over. “You don’t know who that is. Could be some crazy with a gun. Or worse. Just please, honey, pull over.”
They barreled up the winding road, tires screeching, engine whining—the sports car keeping pace. A couple times, Phillip lost control and the truck slid, but he corrected course quickly. He could handle the truck and the road but the driver relentlessly pursuing them matched his skills. No matter how many maneuvers Phillip tried, he couldn’t shake the crazy asshole.
And as the winding mountain road grew steeper, the sports car gained the advantage. Phillip’s truck slipped and veered dangerously close to the edge of the road. Kathy screamed every time the truck swerved.
When Phillip took a curve too fast the truck skidded and went into a spin, alternately crashing into the mountainside and the guard rails. The tires screamed against the asphalt as though foreshadowing disaster. Sure he was going to die, he wanted to just let go of the wheel. To give in. It would almost be a relief to just say fuck it to it all. Everything in the world around him slowed and sounds became deep gurgles of nonsense. He couldn’t feel his hands or his face or his feet. He floated outside himself, confused, yet oddly at peace.
Kathy shrieked and woke him to reality as they barreled toward doom. With sheer grit, he fought to regain control. The truck slid sideways, racing toward a 100-foot drop into the cany
on below. He was dead. They were dead. It was over.
He closed his eyes and surrendered to the end. A calm came over him, as though he would finally sleep. He wanted that peace. That release into the nothingness. He offered himself up to it and then, they stopped. Whether by God’s hand or sheer luck, they sat in a turnout—the truck just inches from the cliff’s edge.
For a long moment, they sat in stunned silence. Finally, Kathy said, “I’m gonna hurl.” She pushed open the passenger door and leaned out. “Help me, Jesus.”
Fresh air flooded the cab and Phillip blinked, coming out of his daze. “You okay?”
Still hanging out the passenger door, Kathy pointed. “Is that him?”
Phillip stretched across the seat to get a better look. About fifty yards down the road, a red Miata idled. “That bitch,” he muttered. It was Melanie and though she was too far away to see, he knew she was laughing. She revved the engine and shot past them. He stared until her tail lights dissolved into the darkening night. “You’ll pay for this,” he muttered.
He yanked Kathy back into the cab. “You sure you’re okay?”
She’d caught her breath but was pale and shaky. “I think so.” She gazed at the empty road as though Melanie would reappear. “Who was that? Do you know?”
Phillip stared at a balled up piece of paper in the footwell. Though he knew what it said, he opened it and read the note:
Didn't want to wake you. Meeting a fishing buddy. Back by eleven. Wait up for me.
Phillip
He balled up the note and tossed it out the window. “Never seen them before in my life.”
Chapter 10
THE RAIN PELTED CHRISTINE as she ran to her car in the alley. All she wanted was to run. To keep running. Until she could get away. But there was no escape. They’d never be free of him. No matter where they went, he’d find them. Find her. And he’d kill them both.
She slid on the wet pavement and fell to her knees. What was the use in trying anymore? She couldn’t move and didn’t try. Maybe the rain will just wash me away.
Michael pulled her into his arms and told her everything would be all right. Urgently whispering that they had to act. “I know you’re scared. But he’s forcing our hand.” She shook her head in horror. He gripped her arms. “There's no other way.”
She cried into his chest. “No, no, no.”
He drew her closer. “It’s him or us.”
She wrenched free and paced the alley—rain seeping into her clothes and chilling her to her soul. “I can’t do it.” She couldn’t look at him—couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his face. “I thought I could be brave. But I’m not. I'm afraid.”
Michael shook her. “He knows about us. We have to do it now. If we don’t, he’ll kill us. I saw it in his eyes.”
She’d seen it too. That morning. The promise of murder in Phillip’s eyes.
“Why can’t we just run away? Somewhere he won’t find us.”
Michael backed her against the wall. “And where’s that? Mexico? Europe?” Christine shivered, her mind a blank. “You think he won’t look for us there?” He touched her bruised cheek gently. “He’s crazy. He’d never stop looking. There’s no place to hide from him.”
She covered her face with her hands. “You’re confusing me. I can't think.”
Michael gently pulled her hands away from her face. “There’s nothing to think about. It’s just time to make your choice. Me or him?” She trembled but had no answer. “Choose, Christine. Choose.”
She felt trapped, cornered. Was he just another man who wanted to capture and keep her? “I can’t.” Michael groaned. “I feel like no matter what I choose, I’ll be wrong.” She wept. “I love you. I do. But I’m not strong like you.” She hung her head. “I’m weak. I’m a coward.”
Michael cupped her face in his hands. “No, you’re just scared. You have to believe in us.”
“I do believe in us. But killing him? I—
Michael dropped his hands and stepped back. “You what? Want to spend the rest of your life as his prisoner?” He jabbed a finger at her face. “His punching bag? Is that what you want?”
He made it sound so simple. So necessary. But he was twisting words around her. Knotting her up into what he wanted. She stared at the pavement, black and shiny with rain. She wanted to melt into it and disappear. “No.”
He pushed the rain-soaked hair out of her eyes. “He’s making you kill the baby. How is this any different?”
“My baby,” she whispered as if a prayer. Her insides stirred. Was it the baby? Moving already?
Michael pulled her into his arms. “He’ll never let you have a baby. Not ever.” He whispered in her ear, “You have to choose before it’s too late.”
She clung to him. “I don’t want to choose. I just want him to be”—she choked on the word—“gone.”
He smothered her with a kiss, as though he wanted to consume her. The rain, Phillip, the fear, everything swam away until there was nothing but them. He lifted her leg and wrapped it around his hip. “I want you. Here. Now.”
She yielded to his touch—sacrificing herself to his protection. “Can you do it?” She shuddered. “Can you really make him go away?”
With a thrust of the hips, they both cried out. “Yes.”
And then it was over in a rush of heat and pain. He laughed into her hair as though he’d won a prize. Her dread returned and she feared that Michael couldn’t keep his promise. No matter how much he reassured her, something would go wrong. She loved him but didn’t believe he was strong enough to stop Phillip.
As they leaned against the filthy wall, panting, she faced the truth. She couldn’t count on him. She couldn’t count on anyone.
Chapter 11
THE FRIGID AIR RAISED the hair on her arms and the paper gown crinkled as she moved. Feet in stirrups, she lay on the table—exposed and ready for probing. Like a corpse awaiting examination. The nurse stood at the instrument tray—her face a mask of indifference. Everything was sharp and bright. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The air tasted like antiseptic. She was too present, too aware. She wanted to rise out of her body and float away so she wouldn’t have to watch. Or feel the life sucked out of her womb.
Dr. Ruckman entered dressed in surgical greens that played off her rich auburn hair. She was a nice woman with kind eyes and a sunny disposition. She gave Christine a reassuring smile and consulted the medical chart. Scanning the instrument tray she said, “Are you ready?”
Christine nodded, the muscles in her neck as unyielding as wooden slats.
Dr. Ruckman touched her arm gently. “You understand that I'm not putting you under? You'll feel some discomfort. Pressure. It might pinch. We're vacuuming the uterus.”
Tears ran down the sides of Christine’s face and into her ears. She’d read the literature—understood how it worked. She only wanted it to be over. “I know. I understand. Please, just do it.”
The doctor hesitated, concern flickering in her dark eyes. “Are you sure?”
Christine tried to smile but could only wince. “Who can be sure about something like this? Please, I just want it to be over. All right?”
Ruckman understood and nodded. She raised her mask, put on goggles and gloves, then stepped to the foot of the table. A modern-day Dr. Frankenstein under the glare of fluorescent light. A last look at Christine and then she flipped on the machine. It hummed like an old refrigerator.
Christine squeezed her eyes shut—Michael’s and Phillip’s threats and promises raced through her mind. Her own desires. Aunt Violet’s warnings. They all hovered above her—whispering in her ear, telling her what to do, how to feel, where to go.
Ruckman reached for the hose and Christine screamed.
SHE CURLED ON A NARROW bed in the recovery room, a cold compress on her forehead. Her eyes opened in response to the creaking door. Dr. Ruckman stood over her for a moment, concern etched in her face. She rolled a stool to the bedside. “Better?”
“Yes.” She removed the compress and set it aside. “I'm sorry. I didn't know I’d have that kind of reaction.”
Ruckman patted her hand. “No apologies necessary. A lot of women find it...difficult.”
Still woozy, she struggled to sit up. “You won't tell anyone? You can't. Can you?”
“No, I won't tell anyone.” Her brown eyes probed Christine’s. “But time isn't on your side.”
Christine pushed down the dread that threatened to rise. “I know.”
Ruckman stood and her gaze fixed on Christine’s bruised cheek. “I can refer you to a good counselor. She has a shelter for women in your situation. Where you can go and think things through.”
Christine rose slowly to her feet. She hugged her doctor for a moment. “Thank you, but I’ll be all right.”
Ruckman’s look told her she didn’t share Christine’s confidence.
A light rap sounded at the door. A lanky woman with a benevolent face and hesitant smile stood in the doorway. Ruckman curled a hand at the woman. “Come in, Jess.” She turned to Christine. “This is Jess Wilson. The woman I was just telling you about.”
Christine drew back. “Oh, I didn’t think you meant now.”
Jess stepped into the room and closed the door. In her hand, she held a brochure. “No, no, this isn’t an official meeting.” She set the brochure on the bed. “Since I was here, I thought I’d say hello and give you some literature to look over.” She raised her palms. “No pressure.”
Christine didn’t touch the brochure or even glance at it. “As I was telling Dr. Ruckman, I’m fine. I really am.”
Jess smiled politely but her lavender eyes fixed on Christine’s cheek. “Yes, I can see that.”
Christine pulled her hair forward to cover the bruise. “It’s not what it looks like. I fell when I was visiting my aunt. The deck was wet and slippery.”
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