Reclaimed

by Marliss Melton

  RECLAIMED

  A Christmas Short Story

  MARLISS MELTON

  ©James-York Press, P. O. Box 141, Williamsburg, VA 23187

  This story is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © December 2012 by Marliss Melton

  All Rights Reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including scanning, xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information or retrieval system, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and copyright owner of this book. For information, write to James-York Press, P. O. Box 141, Williamsburg, VA 23187

  Published by James-York Press/December 2012

  Edited by Sydney Baily-Gould at Cat Whisker Studio

  Cover Designed and Illustrated by Wicked Smart Designs

  ISBN-10: 1938732073

  ISBN-13: 978-1-938732-07-2

  Chapter One

  Karen’s eyes stung with mixed emotions as she watched her son, Drake, spin his bride on the dance floor.

  The scent of white roses and wedding cake filled the reception hall of the church Drake had attended all his childhood. The bride and groom’s faces shone with enchantment in the candlelight, their love made all the more poignant for the four years Skyler had been kept from Drake by the federal witness protection program, WITSEC.

  I’m so happy for them, Karen thought, wondering at the heavy sense of loss in the region of her heart. Their future looked so bright. But even now, for fear of reprisal by the Centurion mob, whom Skyler had testified against, she was known to the wedding guests as Sasha Baskakova. Her blonde hair had been dyed to black, which would help her blend in better in Greece, where Drake’s reassignment would take them both next week. There, Skyler would be truly safe and Drake could finally relax.

  “Mom.”

  Karen turned her head to find Lucy, her daughter, waving her over toward the head table where she sat with friends and her hunky husband, Gus Atwater. The two were both CIA case officers, finishing up their tour in Phuket, Thailand. Karen prayed they’d be reassigned somewhere closer to home, this time. It would seem so empty when Drake moved out.

  Wending her way through the china-and-crystal covered tables, she became conscious of a set of eyes marking her approach. Her estranged husband, Connor Donovan, sat across from her at the table of honor, next to Lucy. His scrutiny caused her skin to warm and prickle, just as she’d chafed at his nearness throughout the marriage ceremony. He’d looked so handsome giving the bride away, performing the duty that had fallen to him since Skyler’s father, once head of the Centurions, had killed himself in prison.

  Everyone said Connor resembled the actor George Clooney, right down to the silver glinting in his dark hair. That was especially true when he wore a black tuxedo, except that his eyes were green like Lucy’s. Or rather, Lucy’s eyes were green like his. Life experience had carved interesting lines on his face, but aside from those, he didn’t look much different than he had at their own wedding thirty-two years earlier. Except his expression had been cool and confident back then, not contemplative. Lately, he studied her with a gravity and maturity she’d never seen before.

  As she neared the table, he stood, brushing past the seats between them to pull her chair out. His actions cut Lucy’s lively monologue off in mid-sentence.

  “Would you like to dance?” he asked before she could even sit.

  Karen blinked up at him, startled by his request. Aside from Thanksgiving Day, when she’d invited him out of pure charity to share the feast with his family, he’d gone three years without even speaking to her. Now he wanted her to dance with him?

  “Come on, Karen.” His green eyes sparkled with a persuasive light. “It’s our son’s wedding. Dance with me. Please.”

  The silence at the table prompted her to peek at Lucy, who was giving her a look that said, Don’t you dare turn him down. Karen heaved an inward sigh of resignation. Cut from the same bolt of cloth as her father, Lucy sided with Connor in all things, while Drake championed his mother’s wishes. She would so miss having him at home!

  She managed a casual shrug. “Why not?”

  Connor’s fingers curled warmly around her elbow as he steered her through the tables toward the dance floor. How long had it been since he’d touched her? Since their marriage had fallen apart three years and four months ago. She swallowed down a lump that thickened in her throat.

  As they stepped onto the parquet floor, he pulled her into his arms, holding her like they’d never been separated, and started to sway. Karen fixed her gaze on the bow tie at the base of his neck—red in deference to the Christmas-themed wedding—and tried to block out the words to Lionel Richie’s Endless Love.

  As Connor’s thighs brushed hers, a spark of yearning kindled low in her belly.

  My love, there's only you in my life. The only thing that's bright.

  God, it felt good to be held by a big, strong man, even though she had nothing to say to him. She reminded herself that there’d been nothing bright about their many years together, either. Connor had spent most of that time on undercover assignments, and she had raised their children virtually alone. And even that would have been okay, if he’d just come home and talked to her; if he’d just shared his trials and tribulations, his hopes and dreams. Instead, he’d conveyed his feelings for her through his touch. The sex had always been great—stellar, in fact—but it wasn’t enough. She’d wanted words, and he’d never given them to her.

  Even now, he looked at her like he was expecting her to close the breach with something warm and apologetic. Why should she, when she wasn’t the one who’d built the wall between them? She’d done everything she could think of to keep him from erecting it, brick by brick. If he’d just talked more about his feelings, then maybe they’d still be together.

  And your eyes, your eyes, your eyes, they tell me how much you care. . .

  She made the mistake of glancing up. The hunger in Connor’s green eyes made the spark in her belly flare without warning. She swallowed hard, shocked to discover that her attraction to him hadn’t waned one bit as a result of their separation.

  “You’re staring,” she scolded, hoping the heat in her face didn’t betray her response to his nearness.

  “Well, that’s your fault.” He paired the easy answer with a fluid pivot.

  “My fault.” She gasped at the offending words.

  “You picked the sexiest dress to wear and you expect me not to stare?”

  Oh. She realized she just been complimented, Connor style.

  A flush of pleasure heated her cheeks as she glanced down at the clingy red-sequined gown. She admitted to herself that she had bought it with him in mind. “You like it?”

  “You have to ask?”

  Their hips brushed again, and she discovered, with a secret thrill, that his appreciation was largely evident. Her mouth went dry and her legs turned weak. Desperate and impulsive thoughts flooded her mind, forcing her to acknowledge how much she missed his tender and thorough lovemaking. But desire was not enough. They’d proven that already.

  Oh, I know, I know, I've found in you my endless love.

  The bitter irony of the song’s lyrics made Karen’s heart contract. Her endless love had burned down to a pile of glowing cinders. What she’d always wanted was what Drake and Skyler had: a deep and articulated emotional connection.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered, s
tepping back.

  Connor’s face became a mask. His hands dropped to his side.

  Squelching the impulse to apologize, Karen whirled and walked blindly off the parquet floor in search of the lady’s room. A glance back at the door revealed both her children watching her retreat. And despite their very different personalities, the disappointment etched on their faces was identical.

  Chapter Two

  Garbage night.

  Karen tied shut the trash bag as she pulled it out of its canister. The quiet in her house seemed to magnify the plink, plink of her leaking faucet. Short of calling an expensive plumber, she had no idea how to fix it on her own.

  She reached across the counter and snapped on the radio to drown out the sound. But the melodious and melancholy voice of Bing Crosby singing Silver Bells only seemed to magnify her loneliness. Her home had never been this quiet two days before Christmas.

  Hefting the full plastic bag, she made her way across the kitchen, through the laundry room and out into the cold garage. At the side exit, she disarmed the security system Connor had installed a decade earlier. Their neighborhood in Arlington, Virginia, was as safe as any neighborhood this close to Washington, D.C., but Connor’s job in the FBI made him a cautious man. Cautious and emotionally aloof.

  Except on this past Thanksgiving when he’d been chatty and pleasant. But that was for Drake and Skyler’s benefit, Karen assured herself. He hadn’t changed.

  He tried talking to you at the wedding too, her conscience pointed out. But you ignored him.

  Karen scowled. Why was her heart so quick to defend the man? If he was trying to make amends for so many years of emotional detachment, he was simply too damn late!

  Pushing outside into frigid air, she dropped the garbage into the near-empty receptacle and pulled it toward the street. Now that Drake was out of his basement apartment and living in Greece, it was up to Karen to do what any single female had to do. She could handle it. With independence came the ability to find a new mate—this time, one willing to share his inner self.

  Someone like Carl, you mean? Her conscience was ruthless tonight. Karen drew a deep breath as she headed for the curb. Carl, her colleague at the Family Therapy Center, had dazzled her with his ability to articulate emotion. His performance in the bedroom, however, had left much to be desired.

  You can’t have it all, Karen.

  She’d confessed the affair to Connor, hoping it would prompt him to change. Instead, he’d flown into a rage and left her, telling her that she could have the house. Then he’d frozen her out of his life, but neither one of them had pursued an actual divorce. Until this past Thanksgiving, Connor hadn’t even spoken to her. And then there was that dance at Drake’s wedding.

  Even then, all he’d said then was that her dress looked sexy. Big deal. It didn’t mean he wanted to try again with her. So, why was she still pondering that look in his eyes, which was probably just lust, though it looked more like regret? Whatever it was, it made her think of him every minute of every day since, a fact she thoroughly resented.

  Arriving at the curb, Karen swung the trash can around and looked up. Every house on her street twinkled with Christmas lights, except hers. With a sigh, she plodded back to her brick rancher. The sight of her dark windows, not even a tree glowing in the picture window, made her feel dead inside.

  I’ve been busy, she reminded herself. She had more clients in her counseling practice this time of year than a forty-hour work week could accommodate, so she put in sixty hours, all the while thinking she was as much a basket case as any of her patients.

  Sure, she knew how to move on with her life, she just couldn’t seem to do it.

  As she passed under the basketball hoop, her children’s voices echoed in her head. She had never thought she’d miss the sound of Lucy bullying her younger brother, but the tears that filmed her eyes told her otherwise. I wish they were young again.

  The light outside the garage door blinked off without warning, and Karen’s stride faltered. With a sigh, she continued toward it. Now, there was something else an independent woman had to do—change the light bulbs.

  Following the stone walkway by feel, she waded through inky darkness. Hadn’t she left on the light in the garage, as well? And now it was out, suggesting that a fuse had blown. Wouldn’t that just be her luck!

  With a surge of annoyance, she stepped into the garage, shut the door, and locked it. Her gaze slid to the flashing red light on the alarm.

  How odd. The alarm still worked. Perhaps the security system was wired differently.

  A feather-light breeze tickled her stockinged legs, cutting through her thoughts, and the realization hit her: I’m not alone.

  As she whirled to face the dark garage, a man-sized shadow lunged at her, and a hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her startled scream. Thick arms banded her shoulders and trapped her against his larger frame.

  “Quiet, or I’ll cut your throat,” came a gravelly voice that raised the hairs at her neck. A prick against the skin between her collar bones prompted a spike of terror. “Walk inside,” he commanded.

  Her assailant propelled her toward the kitchen door. She could scarcely feel her legs as she entered. What were those defensive moves Connor had taught her all those years ago? She couldn’t recall. Zumba and core fitness classes made her look and feel fit for a woman her age, but at 5’2”, with no training to draw from, she was helpless, and she knew it.

  “Keep moving,” he growled, steering her through her dimly lit kitchen. In the window pane, she glimpsed a reflection of her pasty face and his terrifying image. Caucasian male, over six feet tall, black clothing, scraggly brown hair and a five-o’clock shadow.

  Where were they headed? Please, not my bedroom!

  He pushed her toward the combination living room, dining room, all recently redecorated by Drake’s new bride, and a light snapped on, revealing a second man.

  Karen startled back, stepping on the first man’s toe.

  “Careful,” he growled, gouging her tender throat with his blade. At the same time, he removed his callused hand from across her mouth, freeing her to speak.

  “Who are you?” she demanded of the stranger. Sitting in Connor’s old armchair, he was clearly the one in charge. “And what are you doing in my house?”

  His fawn-colored suit suggested wealth. Its tailored lines did a fine job of disguising his portly frame but did not conceal the butt of a pistol peeking from the inner pocket. He held a smoking cigar to his lips with his left hand. At her question, he lowered it with a look of affront, and the gold and garnet ring he wore gave a gleam.

  “You don’t know who I am?”

  “No idea.” She tried to modulate her voice, to sound as normal as possible. Her many years in counseling helped her to hide that her heart was hammering, the blood whooshing in her ears.

  “Your husband never mentioned Ashton Jameson?” His bushy eyebrows climbed toward his hairline—greased back to disguise the fact that his hair was thinning. She estimated him to be sixty or so and, yes, the name rang a bell, only it wasn’t Connor who had mentioned it; it was Skyler.

  This was the brute Skyler’s father had arranged for her to marry? Just this past fall, Jameson had abducted her, intending to rape and murder her to avenge her testimony.

  The blood in Karen’s head drained to her toes as she considered what this meant for her.

  “Ah, now I see you recognize the name,” said the villain with satisfaction. His Charleston accent grew more pronounced as he added, “Good, good. Then my motives will be clear to you. Your son and husband stole my fiancée from me, not once but twice. I suffered imprisonment and humiliation at their hands, and that—” he waved his cigar to encompass the magnitude of their gall—“I cannot overlook.”

  “That has nothing to do with me,” she rushed to convince him. “My husband and I are separated. We don’t even speak.”

  “Separated?” He pounced on the word. “Not divorced?”

 
; “We—we just haven’t signed the papers yet. I assure you, he has nothing to do with me.” Her heart gave a thud of hopelessness as she realized with belated clarity that she wanted Connor to pursue her, as he’d begun to do at Drake’s wedding. Lord, what a time to grasp that revelation!

  Jameson gave an ugly smile. Sticking his cigar into his mouth, he took another pull on it, turning the tip bright orange and filling the room with its pungent odor. “We’ll just see about that.” He exhaled a ring of smoke.

  The chilling words left no doubt as to his intention. He nodded at the goon restraining her, and in the next instant, she was being muscled toward the hallway. Oh, God.

  With every step, the details of Skyler’s recent abduction panned through Karen’s mind, escalating her terror. Clearly Jameson wanted Connor to suffer the indignities that he had suffered, and there was one sure way to do that—with Karen his victim.

  No! She dug her heels into the new runner Skyler had placed in the long hall to compliment the terracotta-colored paint. Not the bedroom.

  But, of course, that was exactly the goon’s destination. And when Karen refused to take another step, he simply lifted her off her feet and carried her. As he shouldered his way into the master bedroom, fury erupted in her veins. She would fight them both to the death.

  Not for the first time did she wish she were tall like Lucy, trained by the CIA in Hapkido, and capable of making grown men cry for mercy. But even Lucy would have her hands full with this hulking menace. And then she’d still have Jameson and his pistol to contend with.

  She hit the mattress with enough force to jar her spine. And she wasn’t quick enough to roll off the far side before the goon threw himself atop her. Pinned by his weight, she tried to avoid his grip but he manacled her left wrist, brought it over her head and secured it in seconds to the decorative wrought iron of her headboard, using what Drake called a flexcuff—basically a garbage bag tie, only longer and stronger.