by Carol Caiton
"My drawings? The things in my closet?"
Her entire life—mementos from childhood, her diplomas, the books she'd collected over the years—all of it was gone?
"He took everything, Nina. It's all gone. Your bedroom is empty. Like a guest room. And today was trash day." Lydia's voice cracked. "He stood outside and waited for the truck."
Nina couldn't speak. Something was jammed in her throat.
"When he came back inside," Lydia whispered, "he said . . . he said I could move out, too if I ever mention your name."
The sob that was lodged in her throat surged up. She pulled the receiver from her ear, pressed it against her stomach so her sister couldn't hear, and let out a broken wail. New tears streamed down her face.
"Nina?"
She brought the receiver back to her ear.
"Nina?"
"I have to go, Lyd. I can't talk."
"Nina, I'm so sorry. I'm so sor—"
"I know. But I can't talk anymore." Her throat burned. "I have to go."
"I love you, Nina." Lydia was openly crying now, as well.
"I love you too, Lyd."
She barely got the receiver back in its cradle before her sobs broke free. Burying her face in her hands, she cried for the loss of her home and its sheltering security. She cried for the horrible, costly mistake she'd made. She cried for the loss of her belongings. And she cried because she'd fallen so low in her father's eyes, he wanted nothing in his house to remind him he had a second daughter.
She needed a tissue, but there were no tissues. No tissues, no paper towels, no anything. So she slid off the barstool, stumbled over to the sink, and turned on the spigot.
For the second time that morning, she splashed her face with water. Her skin felt raw and chapped. Her eyes ached. She used the sweatshirt to dry her face, then she made her way to the living room.
Picking up Libby's icepack, she toed off her sneakers. She should probably be unpacking her car. She should probably be doing a lot of things. But she curled up on the plump cushions of her brand new sofa and settled the icepack over her eyes. After a few minutes she was able to breathe through her nose again. The chill of the ice felt good.
* * *
The apartment was semi-dark when she woke up. Moonlight glowed through the open drapes of both sets of French doors, providing enough illumination for her to recognize her surroundings. She stayed where she was for a few minutes, shifting her eyes from the coffee table to the vase of flowers, replaying the conversation with Lydia in her mind. But she didn't cry again. Maybe she was all cried out.
She listened to the quiet for a while. Her circumstances at home would have to take a backseat to the more pressing situation she'd landed herself in. If time did indeed heal all wounds, the breach in her relationship with her parents would eventually smooth over and mend. She'd have to hold that thought close, believe in it, so she could concentrate on this current dilemma and find some way out.
It was time to pull herself together. She had to move her few belongings into this apartment, take stock of what was needed, and buy some essentials.
Sitting up, she slid into her shoes, reached for her sweatshirt and purse, and went in search of the bathroom.
She located a light switch just inside the hallway and squinted when the overhead globe generated enough light to cast shadows in the living room. Something dimmer would be less jarring, she decided, and mentally started her shopping list.
She found the bathroom easily enough, but when she switched on that light as well, she could only stand and stare. It was as large as the living room and probably ten times the size of their bathroom at home. Beige marble covered the floor, ran halfway up the walls, and covered two steps leading to a corner garden tub. Plantation-style shutters stretched across the wide arched window behind the tub, and on the adjacent wall, an electric fireplace—an electric fireplace—stood level with the foot of the tub and was framed by smaller blocks of the same marble.
Opposite the tub a marble vanity spanned the entire space from wall to wall with drawers and a countertop that would hold more cosmetics and lotions than she'd use in a lifetime. Of course her sneakers scritched as she walked across the floor, reminding her of another item to add to her shopping list—a pair of sandals with soles that wouldn't embarrass her.
RUSH, she decided, was very into mirrors. Five people could stand comfortably fixing their hair in front of the vanity. Appearance mattered here . . . which was probably why Simon Yetzer kept staring at her.
Surprisingly, her face appeared almost normal. Her skin was dry and a little chafed, but the swelling on her cheek was gone.
She freshened up, using the sweatshirt again as a towel. Then she let her hair down, bent over, and brushed it into a new ponytail.
Satisfied, she turned off the light and crossed the hall to peer inside the other open door.
A bedroom.
She felt for the light switch and flipped it up. Recessed ceiling lights revealed a queen-sized brass bed against the far wall. Two teakwood end tables sat on either side of the headboard bearing a pair of polished brass lamps, and a padded bench stood at the foot.
Another giant-sized mirror, framed in the same teak, was mounted on the wall across from where she stood, a wing chair and matching footstool beside it. She saw no dresser, however, so she turned to the double-wide bi-fold doors at her left and opened them.
Inside was a walk-in closet, easily the size of the bedroom itself. Drawer units and clothing racks lined the walls. A row of slanted shelves would hold thirty or forty pairs of shoes, she thought, shaking her head. She'd never owned more than four at any given time.
Backing out, she added sheets and towels to the list of necessities and went back out to the living room. Fortunately, Wal-Mart was open twenty-four hours every day.
CHAPTER 10
"How much longer, Daddy?" Joshua called from the back seat of the BMW.
Predictable.
Mason smiled, turning the car into an upper-middle-class subdivision on the east side of town. The DVD player and a wide selection of movies hadn't occupied his son for long. Joshua was a boy who wanted to be involved in his environment. Television didn't do it for him. Being strapped into a car seat, no matter how comfortable, didn't either.
"About forty-five seconds, Josh."
It took hardly the blink of an eye for that to register.
"Seconds?"
"Yep."
"We're there?"
In the rearview mirror he watched his son's dark head turn this way and that with new interest. "We're there," Mason confirmed. He noted the house numbers and pulled up alongside the curb in front of a two-story, colonial-style house.
"And Jill's gonna cook lunch outside?"
Mason switched off the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition. "Well, it might be Jill's father doing the cooking. Or maybe even Uncle Luke."
"But what about the other Jill? What's she gonna do?"
Mason released his seat belt and turned to face his son. "There's only one Jill. She has a sister named Rachel."
"But she looks just like Jill?"
"That's right."
It was a conversation they'd already had twice, but the concept of identical twins wasn't one his five-year-old son had grasped.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"Did Jill's mommy make two of her because she loved her so much?"
"No, Josh, that's now how it works."
"But I want you to make two of me so I can have a brother."
Yes indeed, predictable. "Sorry, buddy. Like I said, that's not how it works. Now unfasten your seat belt."
Mason climbed from the car and opened the back passenger door. Joshua scrambled down from his seat and almost made it out the door before reaching back inside to grab a tiny toy car. Stuffing it into his pants pocket, he clambered out and slipped his hand into his father's.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"I like Jill."
&n
bsp; "I like Jill, too."
"Then if Uncle Luke marries the real Jill, maybe you could marry the other one so we can have a Jill, too."
Mason laughed as he rang the doorbell. "Josh, if you decide to become a lawyer when you grow up, I hope I never have to face you in a courtroom."
"What does that mean?"
There was no chance to reply because the front door opened. A young woman, casually dressed in white shorts and a lime-green pullover looked back at them. Her long dark hair was highlighted by a single streak of blonde on one side, and when she smiled, she was the most wholesomely pretty young woman Mason had seen in a while.
"You don't look like Jill." Joshua said outright.
The young woman dropped down to squat at his son's height and held out her hand. "That's because I'm Ali. And you must be Joshua."
Joshua's mouth pursed into a frown as he pulled his hand from Mason's and slid it into hers. "I never shaked hands with a girl before."
"And I've never shaken hands with someone as young as you, so I guess this is a first for both of us."
"I have a Boltswagen. Wanna see it?"
"A Boltswagen, huh? Sure," Ali said. She glanced up at Mason with a grin, then back at Joshua as he dug into his pocket and pulled out a miniature bumblebee-yellow Volkswagen Beetle. He extended his hand proudly. "See?"
"I sure do see." Ali's smile broadened. She picked up the car, checked it out, then gave it back. "And guess what."
"What?"
"I have a car just like that one."
Joshua's eyes widened. "A real one?"
"A real one."
"Same color?"
"Same color. And it's got mag wheels and fireball graphics on both sides."
Joshua whirled around. "Daddy, did you hear that?"
Mason chuckled. "I heard."
"Can I ride in it?" his son asked him. Then it apparently occurred to him that the car belonged to Ali and it was she he should be asking. He whirled back around. "Can I ride in it?"
"Not today, because your dad doesn't know me well enough to let me take you for a drive. But look over there." She pointed toward the street, a couple of houses down, where a big black SUV sat parked. Peeking out from behind it the bumblebee-yellow Bug could be seen. "Later on, after lunch, I'll let you check it out. Okay?"
"Okay! Daddy, did you hear that?"
Mason laughed. "I heard her, Josh."
Ali stood up then and held out her hand to him. "I'm Ali Brosig—the maid of honor."
He folded his hand around her smaller one. "Mason Ingersol—best man."
She laughed and he found himself as charmed as his son.
"Come on in. Everyone's out back so I'll walk you through."
He caught a glimpse of soft, springtime colors in the living room as they passed. Then he watched as his son switched loyalties and slid his hand into Ali Brosig's. A true male of the species. The right car and a terrific smile was all it took.
Stepping through a set of French doors onto a concrete patio, the first person he spotted wasn't someone he expected to see. Instantly on guard, he recognized the resemblance between Ali Brosig and the cop he'd encountered just that morning during a drug bust at RUSH. Sister and brother? This afternoon he was dressed in a pair of black jeans and a gray pullover and was eyeing him with the same steady regard.
Mason wondered if Luke had talked to Jill yet about RUSH. They hadn't known one another long—three months maybe—and his close affiliation to a morally questionable, controversial operation would be something Luke would have to ease into cautiously. Nice girl . . . nice neighborhood . . . her father was a doctor . . . . Right-wing conservative? They could be as volatile as left-wing liberals.
Breaking eye contact with the cop, he searched out Luke but had no chance to flash a warning before everyone else noticed him and Joshua, and introductions got underway.
Joshua shied back toward Mason and lifted his arms to be held. His son would find his feet in a few minutes but until then Mason obliged, picking him up.
"Which one's the real Jill, Daddy?" he whispered. But his tone was loud enough to bring smiles all around. Warily, his blue eyes moved back and forth between the remarkably beautiful twins, both with tumbling golden curls that fell below their waists, both looking on with friendly blue eyes and soft smiles.
And both women wore jeans, so Mason took a guess and identified them by their blouses. "I think Jill's wearing the red top." He raised a questioning brow and received an amused nod. "And her sister, Rachel, is wearing the light green one. They're two different people, Josh. Jill and Rachel."
His son didn't answer.
Ali stepped forward. "Would you like to come with me so you can talk to Rachel? We can ask her about her school."
Joshua's eyes continued to look at one twin then the other. "Uncle Luke said she got all done at school."
"Well, your Uncle Luke probably meant Jill finished college. But Rachel wants to be a pharmacist and she hasn't graduated yet."
Joshua said nothing.
"So, do you want to come with me and get to know Rachel?"
"Can I touch her hair?"
Mason grinned. Even the cop smiled.
Ali looked over at Rachel, then turned back. "Well, yes, I think so," she agreed. "Rachel's pretty friendly."
Instead of squirming to get down, Joshua leaned over and reached out with both arms, silently asking her to carry him.
Ali's eyes softened. Her smile grew warm with emotion and Mason's awareness sharpened. She took his son into her arms, tucking one beneath his rump as though she'd carried him a hundred times before. Joshua's little boy fingers found the long blonde streak in her hair and Mason watched as she and Rachel crossed the yard toward a redwood picnic table.
"She's seeing someone," said a deep voice beside him. It was the cop. Her brother.
Mason kept watching as she shifted Joshua to her other side, freeing one hand to help Rachel shake out a tablecloth. Had her brother's tone been less aggressive, he would have conceded and backed off. Instead, he merely said, "Things change."
Nathan Brosig snorted. "Not that drastically."
Mason turned to look at him then. "Meaning?"
"Meaning your job for starters. Or maybe I should start with your lifestyle, then the job."
Mason gave the other man a hard, measuring stare. "You don't know the first thing about my lifestyle." And with that he turned and walked away.
But he got only a few paces before the cop was at his side, matching him step for step. "Then talk to me," he said, as though Mason would open his personal life for inspection. "Because if you're as interested in her as my eyes tell me you are, you'd better convince me you're not some twisted pervert . . . or you can be damned sure she'll be getting an earful from me."
Mason stopped walking. Was he that interested? Right now he just wanted to ignore the guy and shake off the hostility he'd aroused. This was supposed to be a family gathering. He and Joshua were here for Luke and Jill.
But Dalton Cooper came to mind, barging his way into a board meeting, putting his job in jeopardy to protect his sister. Mason understood that need to protect and admired it in others, so he relented. "You weren't surprised to see me here," he said.
Brosig took a swallow from his bottle of beer. "I knew who you were this morning at RUSH. You and Luke share a strong family resemblance." He shrugged. "Add that to the name Ingersol and the math was simple."
Mason considered that. Ali's brother could have caused a lot of trouble for Luke if he'd chosen to share that information. "Why didn't you tell them?"
"Because I might need a favor in return." Brosig looked over at his sister, then his gaze shifted to Rachel.
"A favor," Mason echoed. "That means you want some legal advice, or you've got an interest in RUSH yourself. Which is it?"
"Fucking lawyers."
Mason let out a laugh. "Fucking cops."
The other man scowled. But they wandered over to the patio, pulled two chairs out fro
m under the wide round table, and sat down.
"It concerns RUSH," Brosig said. "But not in the way you're thinking because I don't have any trouble finding my own women."
"Stop trying to second-guess me. You have no idea what I'm thinking. And don't assume that we at RUSH ever had a hard time finding a woman."
Brosig grinned and Mason frowned because the guy's smile was just as engaging as his sister's. "So what's the favor you want that concerns RUSH but not you?"
The grin faded. "It's Rachel."
Now that surprised him. Mason turned his head to look across the yard at the pretty blonde china doll offering a handful of lustrous curls to his son. "What about her?" he asked, pretty sure he wasn't going to like where this was going.
Brosig didn't answer right away. He, too, looked across the yard and a brief flicker of pain flashed in his eyes. Quickly there, quickly gone.
But Mason had seen it and he was once again surprised. "Look," he said, "if Rachel fills out an application, there will be a battery of markers she'll need to pass before she's accepted. If it helps, I can tell you that the larger percentage of female applicants are turned away."
Nathan looked directly into his eyes. "Rachel was twelve years old, walking home from a birthday party when she was dragged behind some bushes and raped."
Jesus Christ!
Mason looked over at the beautiful girl again and felt as though the wind—or something—had been knocked out of him. "Did they catch the guy?"
Nathan shifted. "I shot the bastard while he was still on top of her."
"Christ, man."
"He stabbed her. Cut into her arm . . . ."
Once again Mason glanced across the yard. The pale green top she wore was a crewneck pullover with short sleeves that covered her upper arms. He was beginning to grasp the situation. "Rachel has issues?"
"Yeah," Nathan nodded, "but the issues she has are . . . unusual. She spent years in therapy. Hell, the whole family spent time in therapy. She's a lot quieter than Jill. Shy. But she's always been that way." He inhaled deeply. "The important thing is she got it together. She's got her head on straight."
