The Triple Threat Collection

by Lis Wiehl

  “Makayla, did he hurt you?” Panic gripped her as she felt Makayla tremble. But then she saw the smallest of head shakes.

  A smile flitted across Miller’s face. “So that’s her name? Makayla Miller? That’s pretty.”

  Makayla lifted her head a fraction. Now only her eyes moved, darting back and forth between Nic and Miller. Her green eyes. Just like Miller’s.

  Her mind moving at warp speed, Nic took stock. Her gun was locked in the gun safe. Her handcuffs and cell phone were on the bureau. There was a landline phone in the kitchen and another in her bedroom. The kitchen, with its lovely knives, was so far away. And even farther was the alarm panel, with one button labeled with a little blue shield that would immediately summon the police. If Miller hadn’t cut the line. If he had, then neither the landline phones nor the alarm panel would work.

  The only weapon left to Nic was her own body. If she could get close to him, she could attack him with her fists and elbows, knees and shins. But if she wasn’t fast enough, or if she made a mistake, then there was Miller’s gun. The gun that might hurt her daughter.

  The chance seemed too big to take.

  “I just wanted to see her,” Miller said. “I’m her father, aren’t I? Just like it said in those papers my lawyer got. And you’ve kept her from me all these years.”

  Nic remembered that voice now. Flat, almost affectless.

  “No, you’re not.” Nic spit out the words. “You’re nothing. You’re nobody.” She looked down at her daughter, still clutching her waist. She was learning the news that Nic had always dreaded giving her, but now even that was eclipsed by something more terrible.

  “Go, Makayla. Go now.” She pried her daughter’s arms away from her. “Run out the front door to Mrs. Henderson’s. And don’t look back.”

  “Don’t.” Miller’s voice was eerily calm.

  “Run!” Nic urged, giving her daughter’s shoulder a little push, trying to turn her toward the door. “He won’t shoot you.” She knew it in her bones.

  “That’s right, honey.” He lifted the gun and pointed it at Nic’s head. “I won’t shoot you. I’ll shoot your mother. The woman who doesn’t want to admit that I’m your daddy.”

  Makayla froze.

  “Don’t listen to him, sweetie.” Nic didn’t allow any fear into her voice. “Go to Mrs. Henderson’s.”

  “Makayla,” Miller said, “don’t pay attention to her. I’m your daddy. Your daddy!” He attempted a smile. “And if you do exactly what I say, no one will get hurt. Because I don’t want to hurt anyone. I really don’t. But if you don’t do what I say, then I will be forced to shoot your mom. You don’t want me to do that, do you?”

  Makayla said nothing, her eyes darting from Miller to the door and then back to her mother. He continued to stare at her until she finally shook her head.

  “Good. Now I want you to get your mom’s cell phone and your cell phone and bring them to me. Do it right now. And don’t be tempted to call anyone.” He gestured toward Nic with the gun. “Or else.”

  Makayla took one quick look at Nic and then scurried to her mother’s bedroom. He must have cut the phone line, Nic thought. Otherwise he wouldn’t risk letting her out of his sight. She wondered if Makayla might still chance trying to call when she was in the bedroom, out of sight. And what Miller would do if he caught her. She didn’t pray anymore, didn’t believe in God, but she sent up a silent plea. Just one word. Please.

  The Donny Miller who had raped her had been a coward who needed a drug and the urgings of a buddy to commit his crimes. But ten years in prison was guaranteed to change someone. And not in a good way.

  The second Makayla left the room, Miller was at Nic’s side in two quick strides. He put one arm loosely around her shoulders and with the other pressed the gun against her temple. She could feel every hair on her skin. Could feel where the bullet would enter her temporal lobe. Could imagine Tony Sardella looking down at her body on the autopsy table as he switched on the circular saw.

  Nic did not move.

  Makayla came back in with Nic’s phone and then took her own cell from her back pocket. She held them out toward Miller. Her eyes were so big they seemed to fill up her face.

  “That’s my good girl.” He offered her another dead smile, which made everything seem worse. “Now, turn them off and take out the batteries.”

  Makayla did as he ordered, her hands trembling. After he instructed her to drop the phones on the floor, he crushed them with his heavy boots, the barrel of the gun digging into the thin skin of Nic’s temple as he stomped.

  “Now bring me something I can tie your mom up with. Scarves, belts, something like that. I need a lot.”

  As soon as Makayla scurried out of the room for the second time, Nic tried to look at Miller, but all she could see was the black barrel of the gun. “If you touch a hair on her head, I’ll make you beg to die.”

  “What do you think I am? She’s my daughter. Mine. Whether you admit it or not. But don’t worry. I’ll be merciful to you, as long as you don’t do anything stupid. You are the mother of my child, after all.”

  She realized that whatever Miller knew, he did not know what she did for a living now. He might still think she was a waitress. He probably didn’t know that she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. And that she could, if only she didn’t have a gun pressed against her head.

  “What are you going to do to us?” she said in an even voice.

  “I just want to make up for lost time, that’s all. Don’t worry. I won’t hurt her. I would never hurt her.” He didn’t say anything about his plans for Nic.

  Makayla came out of Nic’s bedroom. A bundle of scarves and belts filled her arms. She dropped them at Miller’s feet. Automatically, he started to lean over to pick them up.

  And then Nic saw what else was in her daughter’s hands. Nic’s Glock. Makayla must have seen Nic key in the combination to the gun safe enough times that she had memorized the numbers.

  Her daughter raised the gun, holding it out in front of her with two shaking hands.

  Nic threw herself sideways, not to protect Miller, but to knock him off balance so that he couldn’t shoot Makayla.

  Time slowed down. Makayla’s index finger curled on the trigger and pulled it back.

  Boom! A bullet tore into the ceiling. Nic’s concentration was so fierce that she barely registered the sound. White plaster sifted down on them.

  Makayla stumbled backward, still holding the gun. Nic’s vision narrowed. All she could see was Miller’s gun, which he was now raising to point at Makayla.

  Nic spun toward him, her raised elbow slashing through the air. It connected with Miller’s left eyebrow, and suddenly blood was sheeting down his face. Swinging her right leg back, Nic arched her back and snapped her leg out from the hip, delivering a high round kick to his wrist.

  The gun flew away. She heard it slide along the hardwood floor, but she knew they weren’t safe. Not yet.

  Nic grabbed Miller’s shoulders and delivered a knee strike to his solar plexus. A deep part of her thrilled at the sound of the grunt as all the air left his lungs. She moved her hands to the back of his neck and pulled his head onto her knee, skipping in place as she drove first her left knee and then her right into his face, unloading them against his nose and cheeks. She heard the soft and splintery sound of bones cracking.

  And then Miller fell to his knees, wailing and spitting blood, and Makayla slipped Nic’s gun into her hand.

  CHAPTER 39

  Bridgetown Medical Specialists

  We have some choices,” Dr. Dubruski told Allison and Marshall. Her narrow face looked drawn, the skin stretched tight over her cheekbones. But she never looked away from them; she let them see that their pain was hers as well. “We could do a D & C. There’s a slight risk associated with that. Or you can wait and let your body miscarry on its own. But some people find that too painful.”

  As she would in a courtroom, Allison sought clarification.“Physically, you mea
n?” She had become all mind, no heart. She could calculate, communicate, prevaricate.

  The doctor shook her head. “It’s not a comfortable process, no, but I meant more emotionally. The waiting can get to some people. It can take up to two weeks.”

  Marshall looked at her, and Allison realized this was one decision that only she could make. “I think I would rather wait for it to happen.” Part of her just wasn’t ready to admit that it was really true. She hoped that if she had to wait for it, she would also come to accept it.

  “Okay. But remember you can discuss it at home. If you change your mind and decide you want a D & C, just call me.”

  When Dr. Dubruski hugged her, Allison’s arms stayed limp by her sides. When the doctor pulled back, her eyes were wet, but Allison couldn’t cry. Wouldn’t. Not anymore.

  All she could do now was wait.

  Marshall insisted that she not try to work, so Allison told the office she was sick, without getting into specifics. He stayed home from the advertising agency the first day, but then she made him go back. It was bad enough having one of them slowly going crazy. When he left for work, she tried to pray, but her thoughts could not find a fix on anything.

  The time dragged on. The only thing that distracted her was talking to Cassidy and Nicole. Cassidy reported that her doctor was doling out a reduced amount of Somulex, one night at a time, and that she had already attended four NA meetings. She also was growing desperate from lack of rest, and Allison tried to assure her that eventually she would sleep through the night.

  But it was Nicole who had the most exciting story, even though she didn’t say much about it. She and Makayla had fought off an armed intruder, although ultimately only he had been hurt. Closing ranks and pulling a few strings, the FBI had managed to put a damper on the news. Allison sensed there was more to it than Nicole was telling, but she was too focused on her impending loss to try to get more information.

  On the second day, when the shock had lessened a little, Allison wanted to read in more detail about what would happen. But none of her pregnancy books had more than a paragraph or two. It made sense, she supposed. After all, these were pregnancy books, and a miscarriage ended a pregnancy. Nothing to see here. Please move along.

  “I guess it is possible to be a little bit pregnant,” she told Marshall that evening.

  “What?” He looked up from the minestrone soup he had made her, clearly lost in his own thoughts. He was the person she needed the most, but how could they comfort each other when they both were in agony?

  “I always used to think that being a little bit pregnant was the stupidest idea,” she said patiently. “You were either pregnant or you weren’t. But that’s exactly what I am. I’m in limbo.”

  On the third day, in her restless search for more information, Allison found the Fit Pregnancy magazine Marshall had picked up for her at the newsstand a few weeks earlier. On the cover, a woman in a yellow bikini, her dark hair flowing past her shoulders, rested her hand on her baby bump, smiling proudly at the camera. Allison had never even had much of a baby bump. She had kept her pregnancy a secret, and now she would suffer in secret. The stupid girl on the cover looked ten years younger than Allison. She could have a dozen more babies, easy.

  But what about Allison? She might not ever have a baby. “Why, God?” she cried out. “Why? It’s not fair!”

  She whirled and threw the magazine across the room. It slapped against the wall and then fell to the floor. She picked it up and began to rip it apart, page by page. Pictures of bellies ripe with promise and adorable babies and pregnant women doing yoga and running barefoot along the beach.

  Twenty minutes later, that’s where Marshall found her when he came home at lunchtime to check on her. On her hands and knees, weeping amid strewn scraps of paper.

  That evening the bleeding started. Heavier than she expected. Marshall sat with her as she lay on the bed, biting her lip. The TV was on, but neither of them paid any attention to it for more than a few minutes, even when Cassidy came on and began talking about the Jim Fate case, pointing out that there were still loose ends. All Allison’s thoughts were concentrated on the work of her body.

  An hour into it, she suddenly felt panicky, breathless, and nauseated. Marshall ran out of the room and came back with a blue and white ceramic bowl, and before Allison could tell him not to be ridiculous, of course she was not going to vomit in the same bowl she mixed cookie dough in, she was throwing up into it.

  The worst part was over by morning. She even managed to sleep a little.

  When she woke up around ten, she felt as if she’d been emptied of everything. Of blood, of tears, of pain.

  Of life.

  Pastor Schmitz visited that afternoon. “We don’t know why we suffer,” he told Allison and Marshall gently. “Even Jesus said, ‘Father, take this cup from Me.’ Suffering, and being with others who are suffering, is part of what it means to be human.”

  Allison nodded, but the word suffering seemed inadequate to describe the aching void inside her.

  That evening Marshall brought her a bowl of potato and leek soup he had spent all afternoon simmering. She managed to swallow one spoonful, two, but then her throat closed, and she set the tray aside. He took it without comment and was back twenty minutes later. “There’s someone here to see you,” he said.

  It was not even 6 p.m., but completely dark outside. How Allison longed for spring! She shook her head. “Marshall, I don’t feel up to seeing anyone.” Her physical strength was coming back, but her emotions were numb.

  “I think you might make an exception.” Before she could protest again, he opened the door a little wider. “Go on,” he urged someone. “It’s okay. Um, está bien.” Then a tiny figure slipped through.

  Estella. Something in Allison cracked open at the sight of her grin.

  A young Hispanic woman who shared the same plump cheeks and dark eyes as Estella stood in the doorway, smiling shyly. “Gracias,” she said. “Thank you for helping my daughter.”

  Estella toddled over to Allison. One soft hand patted her cheek. “Hola,” she said in a high, piping voice.

  Looking at Estella’s perfection, Allison felt the tears come again. But this time, they left her feeling cleansed.

  The next day, Allison boxed up the few baby things she had allowed herself to buy. A tan, soft, plush rattle shaped like Paddington Bear. A pair of Robeez booties made of red corduroy. She had bought a couple of maternity suits, modeling them with the pregnancy-shaped pillow the shop offered, and those, too, went into the box. Pushing away the memory of how she had grinned with delight and amazement at the dressing room mirror, Allison carried the box down to the basement. It was surprisingly light.

  She spent the afternoon paging through her Bible, finally finding comfort in the book of Lamentations:

  “I have been deprived of peace; I have forgotten what prosperity is. So I say, ‘My splendor is gone and all that I had hoped from the LORD.’

  I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall.

  I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me.

  Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:

  Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.”

  As the afternoon drew to a close, she started when the doorbell rang. Allison opened the door to find Cassidy and Nicole on her front step. They hugged her, a little awkwardly, and then Cassidy ran back to the car and returned with a basket of food from Elephants Delicatessen. There was a still-warm roasted chicken, green grapes, Italian cheese, salami, almonds, olives, and a fresh-baked baguette. And, of course, a huge chocolate brownie.

  “We figured if you couldn’t come out to dinner, dinner should come to you,” Cassidy said, grinning.

  Tears sprang to Allison’s eyes. It seemed like anything and everything could make her cry. But it was better than being numb. “Oh, you guys, this is so thoughtful.”

  “I can’t t
ake any credit,” Nicole said. “It was all Cass’s idea.”

  Allison didn’t let her expression change, but she thought it was the first time she had heard Nicole call Cassidy by her nickname. She sent up a quick prayer of thanks. Things were shifting among the three women. Cassidy was facing her problems, Nicole seemed to be opening up a sliver, and Allison had allowed her friends to see that she, too, was vulnerable. Even gathering in her home was a new step.

  When Marshall came home twenty minutes later, there were hugs all around. Then he said, “I’m going to catch up on some work in my office.” He put a little bit of everything from the basket—except for the brownie, which he knew was off-limits—on a plate.

  Allison shot him a grateful smile. She waited until the door to his office was closed before she said to Cassidy, “I’m not the only one who’s been going through things. How’s it going getting off the Somulex?”

  Cassidy bit her lip. “It’s been hard. First I had to tell my primary doctor that I had been going to two other doctors. He called that ‘drug-seeking behavior,’ which made me kind of angry until I realized he was right. Anyway, he’s slowly tapering me off. I won’t lie to you. I miss the way I used to sleep back when I first took one pill and it would just knock me out for the night. Now when I try to sleep, my skin itches and my heart feels like it’s going to come out of my chest.

  “But the alternative? I’m sure that would have been worse. So thank you, guys. This is going to sound all sappy and everything, but lately I’ve been realizing I can always count on you.” She turned to Nicole. “Nicole even took me to my first couple of meetings.”

  A rare smile lit up Nicole’s face, but she still shrugged. “You would have done the same for me.”

  “How about you, Allison?” Cassidy asked. “How are you doing? Really?”

  “Physically, I’m back to normal.” Allison realized she was resting her hand on her now-flat belly. “Emotionally—well, first I was sad, then numb, then scared. I’ve also been angry, and depressed, and through it all I’ve been exhausted. Now I’m back to sad. But I’ve been praying a lot, and I feel like God is really walking beside me.”