Shrouded in Darkness

by H. D. Thomson

She parked and got out with her bag of groceries. Jake’s pickup wasn’t around. Only the mournful sigh of the wind was there to greet her. The last whisper of light hovered in the sky before it would sink onto the other side of the world. She didn’t want to go inside. She didn’t want her own company. Yet, she didn’t want Jake’s either. She wasn’t ready to see him.

  Memories of last night were still far too vivid. She slammed the car door and treaded through the snow. The feel of him. The heat, the hardness, the satin touch of him on her and in her. Margot hugged the bag of groceries to her chest. She’d never wanted, never hungered, never shattered like that before. Control. She’d lost every ounce of it. He’d had her begging, crying for him. He’d had her so mindless, so sensitive to his every caress. No one, not even Malcolm—especially not Malcolm—had pulled her under such a sensual spell.

  The wind picked up and swept through her hair and brushed across her cheeks as she climbed the steps to the veranda. As she shivered and pulled her thoughts back to the present, the heel of her boot caught on a patch of ice. She slid sideways. The bag in her hands went flying and crashed against the wood porch.

  “Damn it!”

  Margot didn’t have to look to know the bottle of wine had broken. She picked up the bag. Wine leaked onto her hands. The cold air immediately hit her damp skin, stiffening already chilled fingers. She didn’t dare rub them on her clothes. The stains would be impossible to get out.

  Muttering to herself, Margot walked around the wrap around veranda to the garbage by the side door. After rescuing the can of cat food, pint of milk and carton of frozen macaroni and cheese dinner, she stuffed the bag and most of the broken bottle into the trash. A thin layer of wine had already crystallized into ice, gluing fragments of glass to her other purchases. She banged the side of the canned cat food to get the pieces off. Finally, giving up after several vain attempts, she secured the top of the trashcan with several bungee cords to keep the raccoons and other small animals out and walked back along the veranda.

  By the time Margot turned the corner and looked over the railing to the driveway, it was too late. A car was parked alongside her own. Tensing, she glanced across the porch. Ten feet away, Malcolm stood by the front door.

  Her heart skipped a beat than galloped hard against her ribs. As she stepped back, the bottom of her boot pressed down on a board. The wood beneath creaked. Malcolm turned, and for several long, silent moments they both stood watching each other.

  Malcolm had his collar turned up, protecting his neck from the cold as a frigid breeze played with the sandy locks of his hair. Black leather gloves covered his hands and a thick jacket in matching leather sheltered him from the winter air. He looked casually elegant, the exact impression she knew he always strove to portray. Image meant everything to Malcolm. She’d found that out while sharing a bathroom with him. After the first week, she’d given up the battle and she’d used the guest bathroom.

  Attractive, wealthy, sophisticated. He was all of those. An impressive package for any unsuspecting female. But not this female. Not anymore.

  “Hello, Margot. I’m glad I caught you at home.”

  The smile, the congenial tone of voice didn’t fool her. Not when she saw the cold, calculating sheen in Malcolm’s eyes.

  “What do you want?” She kept the fear from her voice. The best—no—the only option she had was to play dumb. She knew nothing, suspected nothing, didn’t know a damn thing about the fire or her brother.

  He stepped casually toward her. “I think you know.”

  “No, I don’t.” Thank God. Her words had just the right tone of disbelief, just the right amount of acid. “I’m not a mind reader.”

  “The disk.” He took another step. This time it was measured, not the least casual. “I want it.”

  “What disk?”

  Swallowing, Margot tried to tell herself she wasn’t afraid. But it wasn’t working. She was deathly afraid. She didn’t have a weapon—didn’t have anything to protect herself. Her brother’s murderer stood only a few feet away. And she didn’t particularly like the way he kept on opening and closing his hands like that. It looked like they were itching to get around her neck...and squeeze the life out of her.

  To think she’d lived with this man, slept with him, sat at the same kitchen table—

  “The disk John gave you. You know, your brother? The one that took a nose dive over the cliff?”

  She stiffened. God, she hated him. She didn’t know how someone who looked so beautiful could be so ugly. “Johnny didn’t give me a disk. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Abruptly, Malcolm pivoted and looked out over the darkening landscape. He sighed. “I wish I could believe you.”

  She watched his profile uneasily. Maybe she’d be able to get out of this with her hide intact. “Well, it’s the truth.”

  “Damn it! There’s got to be a copy.” Frustration thickened his voice as he leaned over and placed both gloved hands along the railing. “It’s got to be somewhere in your house. I can’t think of anywhere else it could be at.”

  Her grip on the milk, frozen dinner and cat food tightened. The sting of glass fragments cut into her palms. “You did it? You broke into my house? You deliberately destroyed my things? All because of a stupid disk?”

  “It’s not just a ‘stupid disk’. It’s my damned future! Without it, I don’t have one! All my money’s riding on that ‘stupid disk’.” He turned to face her, and she saw the desperation, the fear in his eyes before he masked it. “If you know anything, I suggest you tell me.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Did you break into my house?”

  He pushed back a lock of sandy hair from his brow. “What if I did? What are you going to do about it?” He raised one brow. “Sue me?”

  To see the answer in his eyes and have it verbally confirmed, hit hard. Frustration, anger and fear burned the back of her throat. She felt helpless. Then again, Malcolm might have the brute strength, but she had her mind. She could outsmart him.

  She shouldn’t have doubted Jake, shouldn’t have believed even for a moment that he was capable of all that anger and violence. He wasn’t like Malcolm. Now she knew, at least on this, Jake had told her the truth. But was he right about Malcolm’s involvement? Was her ex-husband capable of killing her own brother? One moment she believed it and the next she just didn’t know.

  She looked into Malcolm’s sky blue eyes and wondered. What if she just outright asked him? No. That was far too dangerous.

  Ignoring the stiffness, the slow numbing of her hands against the packages, Margot straightened. “It’s obvious you didn’t find the disk from the way you went through my house.” Bitterness sharpened her voice. “You could have at least been more careful. You didn’t have to destroy everything you touched.”

  Malcolm’s casual shrug made her forget caution, forget anything but the anger. She waved her frozen dinner at him. “I want you off my property. Now.”

  He caught her wrist. “Or what?” He pulled her toward him until he peered down at her and his breath, moist and hot, brushed her temple. He arched a brow. “You’ll beat me? Or better yet—spank me? Sounds kind of kinky, but I’d like that. You still have a tight little body—at least from what I’ve seen of it. I could go for a little T. and A. right now.”

  She jerked her wrist from his grasp. “You make me sick!”

  “I never used to.” He reached out to touch her cheek, but she stepped aside. “There was a time when you liked it.” His voice turned husky. “Seriously, Margot. It was good there for a while between us. You have to admit that.”

  He was being serious. She saw it in his eyes and was stunned, so stunned that she couldn’t form a coherent response.

  “Remember when we’d go to Jackson’s after dinner.” His face softened. “Damn, but you knew how to dance. The way you moved that body of yours.”

  She finally found her voice. “Sex. You’re talking about sex. For a brief second, I thought you mig
ht have changed, might have actually had some feelings for what we once had.”

  He looked insulted. “Of course I did! Why do you think I married you!” Anger darkened his face. “And we’d still be together if it wasn’t for you. You and your damned divorce!”

  “My divorce? You’re the reason for the divorce. Any sane person couldn’t live with someone like you. Your temper is frightening. You lose control all the time and—”

  “Are you calling yourself sane now?” His lip curled at the corner. “My. I don’t think that would be the correct term to use...not with your past record-—”

  “Don’t!” He’d hit way below the belt on that one. Her voice turned sharp with anger. “I’ve had enough of you and your snide innuendoes. You always have to push me, back me into a corner every single time until I can’t do anything but hit back. I think in some sick way you enjoy doing it. I don’t know why, and I don’t want to know why. But I do want you to leave. I don’t want you here—now or anytime in the future. Got that?”

  A red flush stained his cheeks. “Oh, I hear you. Loud and clear. You can yell all you want, and I’ll be the only one able to hear you. It’s just you and me up here. All alone. All by ourselves. Got that?” He stepped toward her.

  She didn’t move back. They were only threats. She wasn’t about to show him they bothered her as she walked past him, brushing a shoulder against his arm on the way to the front door. And anyway, she could threaten just as well as Malcolm. “I’m leaving, and if you’re not gone by the time I get to the phone, I’ll call Carl.”

  “Carl? You can’t be serious. The guy’s a joke. I’ve had the bad luck to meet him twice, but hell, that’ll do me for a lifetime. He’s got the brain the size of a pea. The only thing not funny about him is the way he blabs and snoops into everyone’s business. If he doesn’t watch it, someone’s going to make sure he shuts his trap for good.”

  “You might not take him seriously, but what about another restraining order? Will you take that seriously?” Stopping at the front door, she looked over her shoulder and watched his expression change, the slight tensing of his jaw, the angry glitter in the back of his eyes. She’d hit home. “I’ll do it again if I have to.”

  “Don’t push me, Margot.”

  Fear shot into her veins. That low, deadly tone of voice was far too familiar. If she let herself remember... No. She wouldn’t let herself think back. She hitched her chin up a notch and stared back, hoping like hell she looked self-assured. “Then don’t push me, Malcolm. I won’t be pushed. Not anymore. You’d be smart to remember that.”

  She hugged the groceries against her chest and fumbled with the key to unlock the front door. Her hands were stiff, dangerously close to being frostbitten, which right now was almost a blessing. The cold masked the pain from the slivers of wine bottle embedded in her palms. She didn’t want to think how they would feel when warmed.

  Sighing with resignation, she gripped the brass doorknob. Suddenly, Malcolm lunged, shoving her away from the door and barring her path into the house.

  “Is that a threat?” he asked harshly by her ear, his palm pressed flat against the doorframe.

  Margot froze. He was so close that she smelled peppermint on his breath. “It’s more than a threat, Malcolm.” She stood her ground, not about to back away with fear. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Clenching her jaw hard, she glared at his chest and said through gritted teeth, “It’s a promise. I swear if you step into my house one more time without being invited, I’ll call the police and happily press charges. If Carl doesn’t charge you with breaking and entering, I’ll be damned sure I find something else he can arrest you for. Assault and battery is a good one for starters. I bet you’d like that. And what about stalking? I think Arizona has a law against—”

  Malcolm grabbed her upper arm. His hand on her made her react without thinking, and she swung the carton of milk. It landed against his cheek. The thin cardboard cracked open, spraying milk everywhere. Chips of broken glass frozen to the carton caught on his cheek, scraping his smoothly tanned flesh and drawing blood.

  Margot broke free and dragged frigid air into her lungs as icy milk trickled from her face, down her neck to seep into her sweater and jacket. For several, long heartbeats they stood without moving, breathing heavily, staring. A muscle ticked along the edge of his jaw while milk coated one side of his face and dripped from his ear lobe. Then Malcolm growled and lurched for her with both hands.

  She stumbled back onto slick ice. This time, she couldn’t regain her footing, couldn’t do anything but helplessly clutch at air.

  Her skull hit the side of the railing as she went down. White pinpricks flashed across her vision as the world blurred around her. Then she was falling into blackness.

  Chapter 11

  He wasn’t a violent man. At least, he’d always thought that until now, Jake realized as he sank back and rested his neck against the chair’s backrest and stared up at the ceiling of John’s lab.

  In high school, he’d been the stereotypical geek, the awkward, gangly boy with his head buried in a book, the type girls avoided and disliked as much as an outbreak of acne. He’d been into science, math, everything that wasn’t considered ‘in’. Then out of high school, he’d grown into his large-boned body and acquired a new self-confidence, and suddenly women were finding him attractive. But he hadn’t changed. Not really. He still had his head buried, but now it was in front of a computer.

  Fat lot of good that had done him.

  Why hadn’t he learned to have fun? Or gone out drinking and chasing girls like the rest of his male counterparts? Maybe if he’d been able to relax, let his hair down, so to speak, he wouldn’t be in such a dire situation right now.

  If only he could go back and start from the very beginning. He would never have accepted the position at Miltronics, never have let himself get caught up in Malcolm’s enthusiasm and his own inflated ego. A chance to change the world. The possibilities of a Nobel Peace Prize, and...disaster. Why hadn’t he seen the dark side of the formula? Had he been so damn self-centered that he hadn’t understood its two edged sword? Of course he’d understood the ramifications. He’d ignored everything, because he’d wanted it all—money, fame, colleague recognition.

  Jake gripped the vinyl armrests and pushed out of the chair. Right now, he couldn’t work. He was too wired to concentrate. Anger and self-loathing rolled through him. Oh, yes. He’d never been a violent man, never been put into a situation which forced him to see the darker side of his personality. But now—well, now he wanted to lash out, pound something with his bare hands. The rage inside him at times completely consumed him. Then there was the hopelessness. They were both dark, insidious companions that dogged his every step. He had no business dwelling on such unproductive emotions; he couldn’t afford to. If he caved to either one, he wouldn’t have a future.

  Sighing, he turned away from the desk and computer and with two thumbs rubbed at the pressure points by his temples. He needed to be rational and formulate some backup plan. Jake snorted. He couldn’t think of one he hadn’t already attempted.

  Maybe he should go back through Margot’s house and search again. The disk had to be there somewhere. Granted, John hadn’t said it was at Margot’s place in so many words, but the implication had been there all the same. What else could Jake make out of, “I’ve got you covered. It’s tucked away where only my sister can find it.”

  Maybe if he had Margot’s help, this time, they’d be able to find it. Though, he hated the idea of involving her further. Damn it. He’d told her far too much already, endangering her life when he had no right. He’d caved in and spilled his guts, instead of fielding Margot’s questions like he should have. But he’d needed to talk to someone other than himself.

  Walking over to the window that faced Margot’s house, Jake stretched, twisting his waist and arching his back. The joints between his vertebras popped, easing a back cramped with tension. He saw an unfamiliar car parked alongside M
argot’s 4X4. Jake’s own pickup was hidden away on a back road along side Margot’s property. Most days he parked there and backtracked to John’s lab—his way of insuring Margot didn’t start asking more questions.

  Frowning, he drew nearer to the glass. She was up there on the veranda with someone, but he couldn’t get a good view because of the branches from an aspen tree. Shifting, he pressed closer only to have his warm breath fog the icy glass panel. Impatiently, he rubbed the condensation away with a fisted hand.

  Then suddenly he saw up the hill to the house.

  Malcolm. Even with the fading sunlight, he’d recognize Margot’s ex-husband anywhere.

  Jake stiffened. What the hell was Malcolm doing there with Margot? Something wasn’t right, but Jake was too far away to gauge either’s expression.

  He watched Margot turn her back on Malcolm and reach for the front door. Then Malcolm sprang. No. They were struggling. Malcolm was touching her, hurting her. Suddenly, she crumbled to the porch.

  Jake sucked in air. No.

  She didn’t get up.

  Fear moved him. Fear that Malcolm wasn’t done. Fear that he wouldn’t get there in time.

  Margot. She couldn’t be hurt. He wouldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let it happen.

  Rage catapulted Jake across the linoleum floor to the front door. He dodged a table and a trashcan. Blood pounded against his ears. His heart crashed against his ribs. He’d kill Malcolm. He’d use his bare hands and strangle the life from him.

  Two feet from the front door, it hit him, slamming him to a halt. The pain. It ripped through his limbs, ate through his veins and ligaments to sear his skin. Crying out against the pain, Jake pushed himself forward. One step. Two. He stumbled. He fell to his knees, the flats of his hands landing on the tile as he gasped for breath.

  Jake didn’t blackout. But almost. He held on, curling into a fetal position on the floor. Fighting the crushing pain only seemed to make it worse, so he gave into it and rode each wave that pounded against him.