Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

  From the street, Caroline had seen Mick's windows were dark, too. She hadn't expected to see him again—not until late tomorrow. After the oysters and champagne had a chance to settle.

  She unlocked her apartment door, took two steps inside and kicked off her shoes. Padding across the living room, she flopped down in one of the love seats, too tired even to undress.

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  Sweet Caroline

  by Micqui Miller

  Her headache had disappeared at almost the same moment she'd stepped away from Ian's table. Nothing, however, soothed the ache that had been gnawing at her since the moment she caught her first glimpse of Mrs. Mustafa. How much of a coincidence had it been that they'd shown up at L'Etoile? They'd obviously followed Ian. What if Caroline had not come down from her flat until five minutes after the Mustafa limousine picked up Mick? Would they still have met along the way? Was Mick playing a cruel joke on both of them, the lovely woman who called him mon ami and Caroline?

  And Ian? She shuddered. He'd made a complete ass of himself and her by association. She reached up, turned on a light and opened her laptop. It was late, and she was tired, but e-mail suddenly seemed like her only link to a sane and rational world.

  Immediately, a line-up of messages waiting flashed onto the screen, among them a reply to her request for a background check on Mick. She thought about opening it then changed her mind. It was too late, and she's had enough of him for one day.

  She had messages from a couple of friends, a joke forwarded by Brian, and three emails from Travis. She jumped on those, opening the most recent first. Hey, sis, where the heck are you? I've left about six messages on your cell and this is my third e-mail!

  Her cell phone. She grabbed her purse and spilled the contents on the coffee table. A comb, lipstick, a package of 146

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  tissues, Ian's car keys, her wallet, and the shank—no cell phone.

  Wide-awake, she sprang to her feet and raced into the bedroom, flipped on the lights and breathed a huge sigh of relief. The phone lay on the floor, right next to the bed. Exactly where she'd left it.

  She checked her messages. All were from Travis, exactly as he'd said. It was after three in Dallas now—way too late, or too early, to return his call. She walked into the living room and scrolled down the screen, into the body of his e-mail message.

  Since we can't reach you in person, we'll have to tell you the good news online. Kristi-Lee's pregnant!!! Can you believe it? Your little brother's going to be a daddy! If you can sneak away for a couple of days, hop a commuter and meet us in Vegas. We're getting married on the 15th. I want you to be my best man!

  Travis and Kristi-Lee had been dating since high school. She always knew they'd marry one day, but Travis was still such a kid. Now the kid was going to be a daddy. Travis, Kristi-Lee,

  I am soooooo happy for you, and so honored that you asked. Of course I'll be your best man. Does that mean I have to wear a tux?—vbg—It's after one here, so I'll call you first thing in the morning. Congrats again!

  Love you both. C.

  Caroline sent the message then slumped in the love seat. She was too tired to stand up and shed her clothes so she loosened the barrettes that held her hair in place. After she 147

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  laid them on the table, she ran her hands through the tangle of curls, catching her nails on one of the tight knots. It was another reminder of how different she and Travis were. His hair was as straight as a stalk of wheat, hers so curly that in high humidity, like tonight, it turned to frizz and knots. KristiLee's hair was straight, too. How lucky for their children. They'd never have to put up with bad hair days. She stood and unzipped her dress. Once in the bedroom, she shucked her panty hose next, then her slip and bra. She grabbed the first pair of panties she found in her drawer, a ghastly pair of red satin bikinis with a fringe around the waistband. Luke had gotten them for her as a Valentine present. She was sure she'd incinerated them the day they broke up, but Travis had found them somewhere among her things and thrown them in the box he sent. What a great laugh he must have had over it. She tossed a nightshirt over her head and fell into bed.

  Forty-five minutes later, Caroline's eyes popped open wide. She'd barely fallen into the haze of half sleep when the memory of the shank, as if driven by its own power, raced across her REM sleep. She jumped up and as soon as her feet touched the floor, she stooped down and looked under the bed. Nothing, which gave her a sense of relief as well as piqued her curiosity.

  Mick had access to her apartment with his passkey. He knew she was meeting Ian at eight, but he didn't know where they were dining. Unless—and she knew this was probably far flung—unless he'd hidden the shank under her bed. If its technology had advanced to wireless, he could have been 148

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  monitoring her conversation with Ian as they rode along because she'd carried the shank in her purse. Caroline had hardly finished the thought before heading for the door. She knew three things for sure—Mick wasn't home, he never locked the door to his apartment, and she was going to get to the bottom of this shank business. She left the lights blazing in her apartment and boldly crossed the hall. She left her own door wide open. With one twist of the knob, she was inside Mick's, turning on every light along the way.

  Instinctively, she was drawn to the wall of photographs. She'd seen something this morning that had triggered a memory or an association. With Mick out, she had the time to examine each photo without fear of appearing too curious or examining one too long.

  * * * *

  WHAT HAD STARTED out as a perfect day was becoming one of the longest of Mick's life. He couldn't remember a time he'd enjoyed playing tour guide more. Caroline Spring had been a most appreciative tourist in addition to having a sense of humor, a trait he found wildly attractive and pathetically missing in most women he'd spent time with recently. Bright, funny, opinionated, and best of all, intriguing. Caroline didn't aim to please, and she didn't blather on about her life in excruciating detail. She spoke intelligently on any subject he threw at her. She traveled almost as much as he, yet she delighted in prowling the gaudy little souvenir shops in Bodega, prancing along the beach and digging her toes into 149

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  the wet sand, and the sea breeze whipping her red mane into a frenzy of tangles and curls that was sexier than anything Mick had seen in the last ten years. Gazing out at the horizon, her face had lit up with a look of wonderment that in less than ninety days she could stand in that same spot and watch a pod of whales frolic by on their southerly migration. Caroline Spring had a zest for life unmatched by any woman he had ever known. With her he viewed life differently. An amazing woman, an amazing day. And one that had turned sour as quickly as fresh milk left sitting in the sun. Hard to swallow but a fact: she preferred Striker Foy to him.

  Two hours ago, he'd awakened at the sound of her climbing the front steps. He ran across his apartment but reached the peephole in his door too late to see if she'd come home alone. Hell, he was a guy and he knew what guys were like, even overblown windbags like Striker Foy. Outside his front window, Mick saw the Beamer and had lain awake since, brooding over the fact that Caroline and Striker were doing the deed approximately six feet away while he counted imaginary cracks in the ceiling tiles. At 2:30 a.m., he gave in to his Caroline-generated insomnia and threw aside the covers. Not bothering to turn on the lights, Mick paced from room to room. He didn't want to read, didn't want to watch cable, and he didn't want to go for a drive—at least not until he saw Striker sneaking out as the sun rose.

  He was washing his hands in the bathroom when he heard Caroline's door open. He turned off the taps and grabbed a 150

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  hand towel. With any luck, he'd catch Striker tiptoeing down the steps and spoil h
is perfect evening, too. Instead of catching his nemesis on the prowl, Mick jumped back into the bathroom at the sound of resolute footsteps crossing the hall and the turn of the knob of his door. Instinctively, he killed the lights and threw aside the towel. He heard the door fly open and determined footsteps pass by the bathroom door. He opened it a crack and couldn't believe what he saw—Caroline Spring boldly walking into his living room, not a knock, not a hello, not anything. He looked down at himself. He stood buck naked, and she was turning on every light in the place. As much as he might have enjoyed shocking her, he was more curious to see what she was doing.

  As quietly as possible, praying the bathroom door wouldn't squeak on its hinges, Mick opened it further and peered into the living room. Caroline had marched straight to the far wall, to the photographs of his family, the collage they'd dubbed the Mahoney Rogues Gallery.

  After checking out several photos, Caroline appeared to fasten her attention on one, his favorite, the photo of Annie Mahoney. He never fancied himself a real photographer, but he knew that was the best picture he'd ever taken and he'd only been ten years old at the time. Definitely the high water mark of his accomplishments behind the lens. Unfortunately Annie had not been standing alone that day. With little success, Mick had tried to cut her partner out of the photo by almost standing in her face. When that failed, he'd edited the film, and managed to crop more away. If anyone 151

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  looked closely enough, as he saw Caroline looking now, they'd see someone had stood beside Annie, an arm slung around her shoulders, a proprietary hand dipping toward her breast. The picture still showed part of the top of that hand and a thumb.

  Mick watched as Caroline stood riveted. He heard the seconds ticking away on the clock on the wall opposite from where he stood. The entire scene felt surreal—he, hiding in his own apartment while she stood there like she owned it. Suddenly, Caroline turned and began tossing the place. She pitched throw pillows aside, reached between the cushions on the couch, moved books and CDs, and finally, rummaged her way through his kitchen to the drawers of a buffet where he'd stored the miscellaneous things of life that didn't deserve a proper place. She was obviously looking for something, but what?

  Apparently finished with the front rooms, Caroline headed toward the bedroom. Mick grabbed the closest bath towel, wrapped it around his hips and tiptoed after her.

  * * * *

  A RUMPLED BED. CAROLINE couldn't believe what she saw. Mick kept house like a spinster, with everything in its place or neatly folded and put away. Tonight, his bed looked like it had been slept in, and not on a particularly good night, either. The covers were tossed to one side and dragging on the floor, the pillows askew, the sheets balled. Ha! So the man's not perfect after all. 152

  Sweet Caroline

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  Other than a chance to view the wall of photos at her leisure, she'd come up with nothing more to show for her investigation than a big fat goose egg—nothing unusual, nothing incriminating, nothing period.

  That aside, she was glad she'd had the chance to study the pre-convent photo of his aunt. It had fascinated her this morning, and now tonight as she studied the shadow, the light and the background, she knew she was still missing something, but what? It was an ordinary photo of the face of a happy, smiling young woman with a mischievous glint in her eyes. No more, no less—no halo, nothing beatific, nothing to cause the visceral sensation it had evoked in Caroline this morning and again tonight.

  She decided to start with Mick's closet, wondering if she'd find the clothing jungle both Travis and Luke hid behind their closed closet doors.

  Dang! His walk-in closet was as big as her kitchen at home. Mick had more clothes than she and three of her friends combined. The rack of one wall was filled with business suits, separated by color, weight and season, with tags marking each color. His shirts hung the same, and at least twenty pairs of shoes lined up like little beanie babies, all facing in the same direction, and placed in sections marked brown, black, cordovan.

  As she had that morning, Caroline felt a stab of gloom. This compulsive neatness was the sign of a man who had a lived alone too long and liked it. Set in his ways and with no room for anyone to disturb his sense of order. She turned back to the rumpled bed. Except for that. 153

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  Or maybe Mick had brought Mrs. Mustafa back here. Maybe they'd tossed about for hours, making love while Ian ate everything that didn't eat him first. Caroline set her jaw, swallowed her discontent and continued her search. Mick's dresser drawers were as neatly organized as his closet. Everything in place by color or function. The dress socks in one drawer—blues, blacks, browns, and tans, all labeled by color, casual in the same order, white athletic in a separate compartment. His underwear the same, by color and by style.

  She picked through his jewelry, an odd assortment of cufflinks, tie tacks, a Phi Beta Kappa key, a couple of class rings, and two tiny keys that she'd bet fit locks lost long ago, an Indian head penny, and a genuine silver dollar. Nothing there—no bugs, no listening devices.

  Next she went for the nightstands. Matching lamps stood on each of the two cabinets at the head of an extra-long, king-sized bed. Both had alarm clocks and clock radios. Apparently Dr. Mahoney was quite the heavy sleeper She started with the cabinet closest to the window. She opened the top drawer and to her amazement, found a bible and a rosary. A scientist, a scholar, a carouser, and now a man of religion. The more she learned about him, the more he surprised her.

  The drawer below was empty.

  She walked around the bed to the second nightstand. Beside the lamp, alarm clock and radio, she found a box of tissues and Grisham's latest novel. This had to be the side of the bed Mick favored. Nothing very telling here. 154

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  She opened the top drawer and reared back. She wasn't expecting a book of nursery rhymes, but she wasn't expecting a Ruger 9 mm. handgun either. She'd grown up with guns and could shoot as well as any man, but she hated them all the same.

  She raised it to the light. At least Mick played by the rules and had removed the clip and stored it elsewhere, hopefully locked safely away from all those nephews and nieces he'd told her about today.

  It didn't surprise Caroline that she found a box of condoms in the second drawer. She'd already braced herself for that, but not for this particular brand and size. The box was at least three times bigger than any she'd ever seen, covered in bright red and gold foil.

  She turned on the lamp and read the "size" messages printed in huge bold type: SUPER EXTRA LARGE, LONGER

  AND WIDER, GIANT-SIZED PROTECTION FOR A BIG MAN'S

  PLEASURE.

  "No way!"

  TEXTURES AND FLAVORS FOR EVERY TASTE!

  The box was still sealed, but the end flap seemed loose. Knowing she shouldn't, but unable to resist, Caroline slipped a fingernail under the flap. The entire box of foil packets fell into her lap.

  There were only six packages, 4" x 4". The first, according to the packet, was textured, feathered, and Juicy Fruitflavored.

  "This I have to see." Caroline ripped open the packet and pulled out a circle of bright pink latex. When she stretched it, 155

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  she saw it was textured with zigzag ridges and a tiny plume at the tip, appropriately colored peacock blue. The condom itself was long enough and wide enough to fit her forearm. She stared at it several moments, and finally yelped, "Holy smokes!"

  * * * *

  FROM HIS VANTAGE point, Mick watched Caroline's invasion unobserved in the reflection of the mirror over his dresser. He'd seen her move among the clothes in his closet, then poke through his drawers. What was she looking for?

  This search made no sense to him.

  He knew he ought to stop her. Eventually, she'd realize he was watching. Would she
be honest and tell him why? Or would she reel off some cockamamie story that neither of them believed?

  Right now, she was digging a hole that was getting deeper with every drawer she opened, and so he allowed her to continue to violate his privacy, confident that she'd have tell him the truth eventually.

  He'd forgotten about the condoms, a gag gift he'd bought for Brian's bachelor party next Thursday at the ranch. They weren't meant to be worn or even opened. Just something stupid to keep the party going if the rest of the guys ran out of lies and tall tales. Seeing Caroline's expression was icing on the cake. If she really thought the condoms belonged to him, all the better.

  He had only a second to enjoy her shock. She recovered quickly, tossed the pink latex aside, and to his utter 156

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  amazement, dropped to her hands and knees. Standing, her nightshirt stopped an inch or two above her knees. Kneeling while she reached under his bed, it rose way up, giving him a perfect view of a swatch of red satin covering tight, hard little buns.

  It's time to stop her, Mahoney. But he was enjoying the view too much to move, and now she'd really piqued his curiosity. What in bloody hell was she looking for?

  Trading the mirror's reflection for the real thing, Mick rounded the corner of the hallway until he stood smack in the middle of the doorway. So engrossed in her search, Caroline, he realized, had failed to sense his presence. Or if she had, she was so compelled to retrieve whatever she thought she'd found she didn't bother to notice. In order to give her more freedom of movement, she hiked up her nightshirt and bunched it around her waist while she slid, shoulders deep, under his bed.

  Mick didn't know whether to call a halt to this ridiculous search by pulling her out by the ankles or to simply continue enjoying what was so delectably outlined by red satin and fringe. He chose a neutral stance. He picked up the stretched condom that she'd tossed aside and walked up behind her, until the soles of her bare feet were less than a foot from his toes. As if she were the ground hog, he waited for her to come out, mentally licking his chops for the moment she looked up and saw his shadow.