The Honeymoon Trap

by Christina Hovland

  “I can’t promise anything. You know how these things go.”

  “Son, you’ve been around as long as I have you’ll find out there’s always a different way. Usually a better way. Especially when you’re talking about laying off good people. Brenda in accounting’s got a kid with cancer. Tony, our master control operator, has six kids and shows up to work every morning at seven. On the dot. Twenty years. These are the people your merger puts out of work.”

  That was a knife to the heart. Jim was right. There had to be a solution that didn’t leave all these people without jobs. William had been over it and over it, but there was no way he could keep them on once Crestone took over. The extra overhead made no sense and would drain the company.

  And then it hit him like a brick over the head.

  “What if you had an individual investor? This person comes in and infuses enough operating cash to get the station back on its feet. Can you convince the board to go for that?”

  Jim’s expression changed. “No investor’s going to bet on a race horse that’s losing.”

  “He will if the horse can win. And the people are worth it.” William walked back to the building with Jim at his side. “This horse is a winner. I’m willing to bet my personal money on it. I’ll need to have one of my guys here to watch over things. Make sure everything’s on track.”

  “Fine.” Jim clapped him on the back. “That’d be fine.”

  “You’ll get me the votes?” William put his hand out. This handshake agreement would mean more to Jim than any ink and paper ever would.

  “I’ll get those votes. There’ll be a lot of relief all around.” Jim squeezed his hand. “You’ve turned out well. Patricia did good with you.”

  “You knew my mom?”

  If he wasn’t mistaken, Jim’s eyes misted over.

  “That I did. Used to spend quite a lot of time with her and your dad, back before you were born.”

  William’s parents had never mentioned Jim. “No kidding? I had no idea.”

  “Patricia was a good woman. Missed by many.”

  “She was…is.” William cleared his throat.

  “Know things haven’t been easy since she died, but she’d be proud of you.” Jim squeezed William’s shoulder.

  He swallowed a punch of emotion. Those words, spoken in that fatherly tone, meant everything. He had given up, long ago, hearing them from his own father. But this…well, strangely, it brought him peace.

  “Thank you. I’ve ah…” William gestured to his truck. “Got some personal business.”

  “A girl, eh?” Jim winked. “I’d know that look anywhere.”

  William jerked his chin to the building. “Let’s get this done so I can get back to her.”

  …

  Disbelief. Total shock. Lucy stopped the message, clicked replay, and listened again. She nearly had it memorized.

  “Lucy, it’s Carlos. Carlos from California. You remember me. Of course you do. Long time no talk. Hey, I saw your alligator spot. I was hoping I could convince you to come work with me again. I’m managing a station here in Ohio. I have a couple of positions available right now…a morning anchor position and a general assignment reporter. I’m hoping one of these might interest you. Would love to work together again. Call me.”

  She took a huge breath. Leaving Confluence would be her reality.

  Numb, she started making a list of all she’d need to do before she moved on—the sooner the better. She couldn’t handle seeing William every day. Even if she found a job at one of the other news outlets, she’d bump into him around town.

  And that would hurt too damn bad.

  Her heart was already in pieces.

  Stupid Fat Caterpillar.

  Space and time and she’d heal from this.

  That was likely a lie. But she knew for sure she wouldn’t be able to move on in the same small town where he lived.

  It was too late to return Carlos’s call. She’d do it first thing in the morning, and start packing immediately.

  In the meantime, she’d keep her chin up. Keep living her life. Which, at the moment, included taking out the trash.

  She hefted the overfull bag from the plastic bin, turning her head away from the smell of three-day-old yogurt containers and the chicken she had never gotten around to cooking. The trek to the dumpster at the far side of the building always seemed farther when she waited too long to take out the garbage. The sun had tucked itself along the horizon with the promise of night soon to follow. Most of the time she didn’t mind being alone. Except, lately, at night she’d gotten used to Will being around.

  She shook her head. They both knew their—whatever it was they had—was over. Nights alone used to be her normal, she’d get used to that once more.

  A murmur of voices from a group of boys came around the side of the recycle bins.

  “Give her back.” Lucy would know Simon’s voice anywhere. Even with the slight tremble.

  Careful not to make any sound, she set the trash sack next to the dumpster and scooted around the edge.

  One of horrible boys from the bus stop—the big kid who looked like he hit puberty at age nine and bulked up with muscle shortly thereafter—held Mitzy by the scruff of her neck, her body poised to be dropped into a canvas grocery bag. Judging by the way Mitzy fought against his hold, she wasn’t there by choice.

  Oh. Hell. No.

  “What are you doing?” Lucy asked, her hands immediately going to her hips.

  Simon didn’t take his eyes from Mitzy. “They took your cat. I’m tryin’ to get her back.”

  “She’s a feisty one.” The kid who kicked the clod of dirt at Simon, and presently held Mitzy, glanced her way. The way the he looked at her made her flesh shiver, like he could see right through her, slashed her open, exposing every vulnerability she ever had.

  Screw that. She was so over being a victim to jerks like this.

  “Give back the cat. Simon, we’re calling your dad. He can deal with this.” She glared at the group. “Don’t mess with my cat again.”

  “Or what?” The kid was all piss and vinegar. He did, however, thrust the cat back to Simon. Mitzy wasn’t thrilled about the transfer. She kicked and spit until Simon set her on the ground. Then she took off for Lucy’s apartment.

  Lucy had enough of the monster who had held Mitzy hostage. “Let me tell you something about the world.” She stepped forward toward him and put on her sternest mask. It was like she was addressing all of the jerks who had ever touched her, hurt her, embarrassed her. “There are consequences to actions. I’ll be talking to the police chief. I’ll be certain that he contacts your parents, your principal, your teachers about all of this. And if you touch my cat again, or Simon for that matter, or any other kid in your class, I will make sure everyone knows that you like to pick on animals and people smaller than you.”

  “You’re no fun at all,” he huffed.

  “No, I’m not.” She turned back to her apartment. That was the first time she’d ever stood up to someone like him. Fine, he was still a kid, but he needed to learn before he became an older, bigger version of the same bully. Her hands shook a bit and her skin had probably broken out in hives. Nevertheless, she’d done it. It felt amazing. Runners got their high after a sprint or a marathon. Not that she’d ever run for enjoyment, but this feeling had to be close to what they experienced. “C’mon Simon.”

  He followed close to her side. She couldn’t help but notice how he glanced over his shoulder every few steps. He also held his wrist with the other hand.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Mitzy got me.” He held up the hurt hand. Sure enough, the cat had left a scratch that was more like a gash down his forearm.

  “Thank you for standing up for her.” Lucy opened her front door and Mitzy ran between her feet, heading straight for the top of the fridge. “She may not understand you were helping her, but I do.”

  “Thanks.” Simon held his wrist again. “Is she okay?”

>   Lucy grabbed her puny first aid kit and tore open one of the alcohol packets. “She’s just on edge. When she calms down I’ll check her out. How long did they have her?”

  He wiped at the scratch, droplets of blood soaking into the thin paper wipe. “Not long. I was there when they caught her. She was hiding under the dumpster. They got her to come out with a slice of bologna.”

  Lucy glanced to Mitzy. Aside from looking supremely pissed off, she seemed okay.

  “She’ll be all right,” Lucy assured.

  “Do you have to tell my dad?” Simon sounded like he would rather have all his teeth pulled one by one than bring his dad into the situation.

  “Of course I do. Those kids can’t get away with this. They tried to take Mitzy and the other day they pushed you. They hurt you. They hurt her. This has to stop.”

  “Jayden’s dad is the mayor. He’ll make things awful for Dad.”

  “Jayden was the kid holding her?” The ringleader of the totally messed up circus.

  “Yeah.”

  “Look, I have to tell your dad. We can tell him together, if you’d rather. This is a big problem and it’s not the kind of thing kids should have to deal with. Grown-ups handle things like this.”

  Lucy opened the freezer door and grabbed an ice pack. Mitzy apparently didn’t appreciate being bothered up on top of the fridge. She hopped down, straight onto the counter, sending the dishes Lucy had set to dry crashing to the floor.

  “Mitzy—” That’s as far as Lucy got before the on-edge cat scampered up the curtains on the window above the stove. Her claws gripped the polyester as she tried to get away. The rod collapsed and Mitzy tumbled to the stovetop. She screeched a long wail and scampered from the counter. Lucy gasped in horror when Mitzy’s back leg struck the loose knob, and it turned with a click. As if trapped in a nightmare, fire erupted from the gas burner, melting the polyester curtain.

  Lucy dropped the ice pack and turned on the faucet. The rushing in her ears overwhelmed all sense. She held her breath against the rising smoke and dumped cup after cup of water onto the flames. They licked farther up the wall, the aging building putting up no fight. Instead it acted as kindling for the fire.

  No. No. No.

  She couldn’t get enough water to make a difference. Her gaze flitted to the curtains turning to flames on the stove. Hysteria tried to overtake her, but no way would she let the entire apartment building burn down because of her.

  “Simon, go get your grandma. Tell her there’s a fire.” Lucy coughed against the smoke plumes. Air wouldn’t come. “Call nine-one-one. Tell her to get everyone out.”

  Simon ran to the door. Flames licked across the counter, rising up along the wall to the cabinets.

  She fell to the floor and dug through the cupboard under the sink. There had to be a fire extinguisher she hoped was newer than the appliances. The saddest excuse for a smoke alarm chirped weakly as the smoke increased.

  She blinked against reality. Her heartbeat pulsed rapidly. The acrid scent of smoke filled the apartment.

  Bright stars danced in her vision, blurring the room so it all felt like a dream. She clenched her eyes closed as her hand finally wrapped around the fire extinguisher.

  Opening them again, flames danced in front of her. She pulled the pin and gulped back a sob.

  …

  Sirens wailed in the distance. William broke into a full run to Lucy’s apartment, trying to ignore the rising tide of panic in his chest. The door stood wide open, but no one was around. Something was very wrong.

  He rushed across the entryway, and his heart stopped. Smoke burned his nostrils.

  William bolted to the kitchen. Plumes of filmy soot made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of him. He moved farther into the room, coughing into his hand as flames licked along the cupboards. Thick gray smoke tumbled from the burning wood.

  Lucy had in her hand what was possibly the smallest fire extinguisher known to man. The white powder did nothing to stop the inferno. She dropped it and collapsed onto the ground.

  His heart stopped beating.

  He couldn’t lose her.

  Smoke continued to fill the kitchen, the heat from the flames intense. He wrapped his arm around her to hoist her against his chest. She sobbed. Cruel, wrenching sounds escaped from her small frame. He carried her from the apartment.

  Lucy wheezed against his chest. A slippery, wet warmth oozed from her arm.

  Adrenaline seared through him, and every muscle in his body clenched.

  He had arrived too late.

  She was hurt.

  Rancid guilt multiplied as he hurried down the steps to the little patch of lawn beside Dixie’s apartment.

  Dixie barked orders at some of the neighbors who had appeared while he was inside. They sprayed garden hoses at the burning building. Flames burst higher through the roof, unresponsive to their efforts.

  “She’s hurt.” He laid Lucy on the grass next to where Dixie stood. “Her arm is burned.”

  Dixie’s eyes got huge, and she raised a hand to her mouth. “Lord in heaven.”

  “M-m-itzy’s in the house.” Agonized tears in Lucy’s eyes reflected the fire behind him.

  “I’ll get her,” he promised her.

  “Will, no. You can’t go back inside.”

  He wouldn’t let her lose anything more. “I said I’ll get her.”

  “Her arm,” William said to Dixie.

  Dixie knelt beside her. “Ambulance is comin’.”

  “What? I’m not…” Lucy glanced down. “Damn. W-when did that happen?”

  Dixie tugged off her purple cardigan laid it across Lucy’s chest.

  The jarring bleat of a fire engine got louder.

  Dixie smoothed Lucy’s matted hair and jerked her chin at William with a glance to the burning building.

  “I’ll hurry,” he whispered to Lucy.

  It took everything in him to leave her there and bolt back inside. One of the men with a hose hollered at him to stop. But he didn’t listen.

  Soupy, black smoke met him at the entry. Stumbling into the room and squinting against the filmy soot nearly brought William to his knees.

  A sizzling explosion from the kitchen shifted the foundation. William coughed against a surge of smoke. Another crash rained debris around him. His heart ricocheted against his ribs. The kitchen ceiling had caved in.

  He would find Mitzy and get out.

  Lucy loved her. He loved Lucy. The thought shifted the foundation of more than the apartment. It shifted the foundation of his life.

  He loved her.

  So by some convoluted formula, it was his responsibility to ensure the cat survived.

  Heat scorched his lungs as he made his way by memory through the house, avoiding the collapsed section near the kitchen. He lifted the bottom of his shirt to cover his mouth. The biting metallic scent of Lucy’s blood met his nostrils. His shirt was covered with it. He shook his head, unwilling to process anything other than Mitzy.

  Save the fucking cat.

  She generally hid under Lucy’s bed. He hoped to hell she stayed true to form as he crawled through the bedroom, his lungs convulsing against the smoke.

  “Here kit-ty kit—” A violent cough erupted from his chest. He squatted to run a hand under the bed.

  Nothing.

  “Mitzy, come on.” He hissed every curse word he could come up with. “Lucy needs you.”

  He fell against the overheated wall. Once more he swiped his arm under the bed. Soft fur and sharp claws met his hand.

  There. He had her.

  He grasped a leg and pulled her from under the bed. She hissed and spit, sinking her teeth into the soft pad of his hand.

  And then, because he was clearly in the Twilight zone of burning hell, she glared at him with pissed-off yellow cat eyes until something close to understanding passed over her mangled, furry face. Despite the fact that flames seared the walls around them, or maybe because of it, she nuzzled into him.

&
nbsp; Yes, she was definitely the Devil’s spawn.

  “You owe me for this.” He held her tight against his bloodied shirt.

  The foundation rocked and groaned. Flames licked around the corner into the room, smoke billowing around the doorframe. Stifling heat seized his lungs when he stood, and he was pretty sure he inhaled a few sparks. He wasn’t getting back out through the door. His lungs screamed for oxygen.

  Damn. He could not pass out.

  He glanced to the window—his only option.

  Holding the cat, he kicked the window as hard as he could. The thin pane of glass shattered.

  “Here!” someone outside shouted.

  The cat secure in one hand, he grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around his other before he punched against the remaining glass fragments. Mitzy did not like this apparently cruel treatment. She dug her claws into the muscles of his chest and attempted to launch herself away.

  Despite her persistent abuse, he passed her through the opening to waiting hands outside.

  Mitzy was pissed. He didn’t care. She was alive.

  “Lucy,” he rasped as the flames licked the walls around him.

  …

  “Where’s Simon?” Lucy asked.

  “He’s safe.” Dixie patted Lucy’s shoulder.

  Safe. Simon was safe. Where was Will? Goose bumps popped up along Lucy’s arm as she shivered and searched the unfolding scene for him.

  “They’re running over hell’s half-acre over there.” Dixie tucked another blanket around Lucy’s shoulders.

  “Will hasn’t come out yet,” Lucy whispered.

  “He will. Mitzy’s readin’ him the riot act, I figure.”

  The paramedics and a fireman arrived. The lights flashed with a brief lonely wail of the siren. No Will.

  He’d gone for the cat.

  Her cat.

  She fought against the stinging pain in her arm—it hurt like a sonofabitch. A medic had transferred her to a gurney outside the second ambulance and now examined the wound.

  Dixie squeezed her hand and murmured low. Lucy couldn’t make out what she said because nothing mattered but Will in that burning building.

  Flames had spread to Will’s apartment. Huge hoses attached to the fire hydrant near the road sprayed torrents of water over everything. The fire was winning, burning it all into a heap of metal and wood.