by Helen Conrad
He ducked his head and made for the door. He could handle anger and disdain, but friendliness made him very uncomfortable.
Now what, Shelley Carrington? she asked herself, standing in the middle of her office, undecided. You're not really going to go chasing into Jeff's office. You couldn't be that silly, that blatant.
No, she realized, suddenly sagging. She couldn't. It wasn't in her to throw herself at a man. She'd never done it. She never would. She wasn't even sure why she thought she might want to do it now.
Michael Hudson had excited her as no other man had ever done. He'd infuriated her, but he'd also opened a new world to her, a world she'd only glimpsed when he was with her.
A world better left untouched, she added, scolding herself. She sank back down on her couch, holding her arms tightly about her as though to ward off unwelcome feelings.
She'd always felt so smug, so sure no man would ever drag her heart around. She'd seen her friends go through the heartache, and she'd thought her experience with Barry had been her inoculation against the disease. But here she was, letting Michael infect her mind.
Restlessly she rose and paced her office. Love. Who needed it? She'd seen the hunger for it destroy her beautiful mother-despite the fact that she'd been quite successful, an internationally known poet for a long time. She'd also been a woman who counted on her looks to pay her way, and when those looks began to fade, she'd retreated into a dreamworld of another time, another place.
It had been her mother's schizophrenia that had interested Shelley in psychology. At first everyone in the family had tried to ignore it, hoping that it would go away if they pretended it already had. As a poet, her mother lived in a world of imagination, and they tried to blame it on that. Maybe she was just acting out her fantasy thoughts.
Shelley was still in high school when her mother came down to dinner one night and announced airily that she'd been murdered during her afternoon nap, and this was really her ghost that they saw before them. Shelley knew she had to do something.
She began haunting libraries, reading everything she could on every kind of mental disturbance. With what she learned she began to realize that there was help for her mother, and slowly she convinced the rest of the family to find professional guidance. With proper medication, her mother was living a fairly normal life now.
But by the time that happened, her mother's misery had lasted for quite some time. Shelley's anger at her father was still simmering deep inside. He was a physician, after all. Why hadn't he suspected the problem and taken care of it sooner? Maybe because he was hardly ever home. And maybe that was part of the entire reason behind the nightmare world her mother had to live in for so long.
It was ironic, really, that she had been the one to diagnose their mother. Her older brother Rick and older sister Kathy had always been the stars of the family. Shelley was the little sister, watching from the sidelines as Kathy became an Olympic swimmer and Rick turned into the local playboy. Unlike her siblings, she’d been shy and hesitant—and that meant she was often ignored. It took a long time for the others to believe what was happening.
Shelley was still bitter that her mother had been forced to suffer so long without help. If only they’d known more, understood better. . . . Now her life was devoted to making sure others got the sort of help they needed right from the start.
All in all, she'd been satisfied with her life. She had her friends, her work. She didn't need anything else. But one afternoon with Michael Hudson had threatened the structure of her life-style, and she hadn't been the same since.
She really should put these wild ideas out of her head, she told herself. Maybe she should get away for a while. Her friend Robin was always bringing up vacation ideas. Lately she’d been pushing a trip to a new resort hotel in Southern California. Shelley had been ignoring her, but maybe it was time to get away and do something different. Anything to keep the temptation of Michael from overwhelming her.
Her telephone buzzed, and she stepped to her desk to answer it.
“Doctor Kramer would like to see you right away,” Maria said.
Shelley's heart leaped in her throat.
“I'll be right out,” she answered.
She didn't give herself time to think. Speeding out the door of her office into the lobby, she just caught sight of Michael's back as he left the building, stepping out into the parking lot. His black hair shone in the sunlight for just a second, then disappeared from sight.
She stood staring at the swinging door as it came slowly to a stop, her pulse racing, a lump in her throat. He was gone. She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or very, very relieved.
“Shelley?” Jeff was standing in the open door to his office. “Coming to see me?”
A sideways glance found Maria watching her with open interest, and Shelley managed a bright smile for the secretary. “Yes—yes, I am,” she told her colleague, and walked on into his room. “Maria said you had something to say to me.”
Jeff nodded, pointing out a chair at the far side of his desk for her to sit in. Jeff Kramer was in his mid-thirties, a dark-haired man of medium build. He and Shelley worked well together except when he was between girlfriends and began hinting that the two of them would make a great couple. She knew very well there was no spark there, but since he lived in her apartment building, he was sometimes a little difficult to shake off.
“Shelley,” he would say, shaking his head sadly, “you don't know what you're missing. We could be so good together.”
The thought wasn't even mildly tempting. Jeff was a swinger who bragged about his dates and loved to appear in fancy places with famous names. Shelley could never figure out why he was remotely interested in her, and she said so every time he asked her out.
Jeff never had an answer, but Robin thought she knew what it was. “It's your shy, virginal quality,” she told Shelley. “It intrigues him.”
“Shy! I'm not a bit shy and he knows it!”
Robin had cocked her head to the side, considering. “Maybe you're not shy,” she conceded. “But your femininity is.”
Today Jeff wanted only to get down to business. “I've just seen this Michael Hudson character. I know you met him earlier this week. What did you think of him?”
If only she knew. She stifled a smile and shook her head. “I won't be much help to you, Jeff. I . . . didn't really get a fix on him.” She took a deep breath. “I imagine he'd be difficult to open up.”
“Yeah. These undercover guys are slick operators. They live on deception and they get so good at it, they don't know what reality is anymore.”
“Undercover?” She hadn't realized he would tell Jeff about that. But of course, Jeff would know. It was because he worked with the police that they'd picked him as the analyst to help keep the cover alive.
“Sure. Didn't you know? He runs sting operations on con artists. He busted a big ring of mining swindlers in Reno a few years ago. He goes in like he's a rich hick, ripe for the plucking, then he nails the crooks in the middle of their game.” Jeff frowned. “I really don't appreciate the department getting me involved this way. Setting up phony appointments. I've got real work to do. I don't have time for this.” He shot her a furtive look. “So that's why I'm going to hand him over to you.”
“Me?” Her voice came out a piercing squeak. It was impossible. But how could she get out of it?
Very simple, Shelley Carrington, she told herself sternly. You just say no.
When she'd first started working with Jeff two years before, she'd been so grateful to be hired, so eager to please, that she'd done any job he suggested without a murmur of protest. Over time he got quite used to slipping all the dirty work her way. She'd known for quite a while that it was high time she made a stand. This seemed like a ready-made opportunity to show Jeff she wasn't going to put up with it any longer.
“No way, Jeff.” Shaking her head almost violently, she began to back away from his desk. “You're the certified therapist.”
&n
bsp; He came toward her, brow furrowed. “But you signed for it.”
She shook her head, refusing to be bullied. “I signed for you, though, and you know it.” She gestured toward the telephone. “Call the department if you want to get out of it. But don't throw him in my lap.”
“Thanks a lot,” Jeff grumbled, giving it up. “Just remember this next time you want a favor from me.”
She grinned at him, surprised it had been so easy. “I'll remember.” She slipped out of his office and stopped, feeling pleased with herself. Not only had she stood up to Jeff, she'd strengthened her resolve against seeing Michael again. Good for me, she thought.
She gave a little dancing two-step in time to the piped-in music and walked across the hall toward her own office. As she passed Maria's desk her glance fell on a book of matches in the ashtray.
“Smoking again, Maria?” she asked teasingly, knowing the secretary fought a perpetual battle with cigarettes,
Maria looked surprised. “What? Oh, no. Those are Mr. Hudson's.” She shuddered dramatically. “Get them out of here, would you? I hate to be reminded, especially at this time in the afternoon.”
Shelley obediently picked up the matches and put them in her pocket.
Back in her office, she pulled them out again and turned them in her fingers, the bay vista grand hotel, Newport beach. Funny, Shelley thought, that was one of the hotels Robin had been talking about staying in.
Robin had been relentless lately. “You need to get away from this constant grind,” she'd argued. “You need to kick off your shoes and put on a bikini. Be a woman for a change!”
And behind that, of course, Robin meant be a woman and find a man. She knew her friend worried about her. Robin had been her roommate in college, and they'd moved in together again only a few months before when Robin had separated from her husband of five years. He was on an engineering assignment in South America, but the split had come about more because of marital problems than because of job situations. Robin made no bones about needing a man in her life.
Shelley's fingers tightened on the matchbook cover. Maybe she would go with Robin after all. The thought sent her pulse racing again.
Was she crazy? Irrationally she began to laugh softly. Yes, yes, she was crazy. That was exactly it. She couldn't get the man out of her mind.
She closed her eyes and leaned back in her swivel chair. She knew he was poison, and yet she also knew that he offered an excitement she wouldn't be able to resist.
Well, never mind, she told herself. He hadn't shown any signs of wanting to see her again. And why should he?
Go with Robin, she told herself, and have a nice vacation. But don't expect to see Michael Hudson.
She turned to look at the picture he'd stared at on her wall. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she remembered the kiss they'd shared, and something inside seemed to curl at the memory, tightening so quickly that she gasped.
Michael Hudson was about to slip into the driver’s seat of his fancy rented car when he noticed a sign and hesitated. He’d just finished up a bit of investigative work on a yacht here at the marina and was about to head home, but the name on the sign caught his eye. Mickey’s on the Bay. Where had he heard of that before? Ah yes. Something overheard in a restaurant a couple of days ago.
“You want to do business with the Carringtons? Go hang out at Mickey’s on the Bay.”
It was a comment made by someone passing his table and hadn’t been directed at him, but he’d just spent time with Shelley and it interested him, so he’d filed it away anyway. And now, here the place was, just a few steps from where his car was parked. A slow grin began to twist his mouth as memories of Shelley teased his senses. He was about to leave town. Last chance. How could he resist?
It seemed an odd place for one of the most important and prominent families in town to choose as their natural hangout. Crusty as a barnacle covered boat, it stood out on the embarcadero, obviously one of the oldest cafes in the area. And the one most in need of some updated décor, he thought as he walked in.
The place was crowded. Talk was flowing freely. He slid onto a stool at the counter and smiled at the redhead, wearing a “Mickey” name tag, who was tending it.
“You from out of town?” she asked, just making conversation as she poured him a cup of coffee.
He nodded. “Just passing through,” he murmured. “So, how are your burgers?”
“The best,” she shot back with a smile. “Get the bacon cheeseburger. You’ll be a happy man.”
He grinned. “That’s my goal. I’ll have one.”
He was about to ask her if there were any Carringtons around, or was it just a myth that they congregated here, when he caught sight of Shelley herself sitting by the window in a booth toward the back of the room. She was laughing at something a tall young man was saying and Michael felt a little jerk to his jealousy meter. Which was crazy. No justification for it at all.
There was a crowd of people around her and he could see that there was no point in trying to get her attention, so he sat and watched. They were a noisy bunch, but in a good-natured way that didn’t really bother anyone. He felt a twinge, watching. Though he didn’t know anyone but Shelley, he could see that there was a bond of closeness between them all. Like a family picnic.
Family. That was something he didn’t know too much about. His own had been so massively dysfunctional, he sometimes tried to convince himself his childhood had been a bad dream.
He stared into the bottom of his coffee cup for a long moment, thinking of how different their backgrounds were. Shelley was raised as small town royalty--- his parents had been small time crooks, sort of Bonnie and Clyde wanna-bes. His earliest memories were of being wakened from his motel bed in the middle of the night and rushed to the car as his parents escaped yet again from a bad situation. It was his job to stare out the back window, watching for that tell-tale flashing red light coming up from behind. Getting across the state line was always the most important goal in his family. Sometimes they made it, sometimes they didn’t, and he was farmed out to a foster family for a few months while his parents served a bit of time.
Family. Yeah, that was something other people had. Not him.
“Don’t mind them,” the redhead said as she served him his cheeseburger, nodding toward where the party was going on. “It’s just Carringtons doing a little celebrating. Happens all the time.”
He looked back at her and nodded. “Actually, I’ve met Shelley,” he said as he prepared the burger for it’s first bite.
“Really?” Mickey’s eyes sparkled as she noticed him sneaking a look in that direction. “Hey Shelley,” she called out. “Someone here to see you.”
“No… .” Michael tried to stop her, but it was too late. He watched as Shelley looked up, surprised. Then a series of mixed emotions flickered across her face. She saw him. Her eyes widened and she looked pleased. He smiled rather wanly. She bit her lip and looked worried. Once she’d thought it over, she obviously wasn’t all that happy to see him. Then, realizing he could probably read her like a book, she changed her mind and smiled. She said something to the young man. He glanced back at Michael and shrugged, then moved on, and Shelley rose to come toward him.
“Like an old friend,” he thought. “Why not?”
He had to admit, she’d appealed to him from the first. Something about her tugged at him, and at the same time, something else flashed like a warning. In his love-‘em and leave- ‘em world, women like Shelley didn’t fit the scenario.
“Hi,” she said, stopping a stool away, as though afraid he might touch her if she got too close. “What are you doing here?”
“Having lunch.” He smiled, looking at her. He couldn’t help it. Her hair was tousled, as though she’d been hugging lots of cousins, and her sweater was clinging to her lovely breasts in a way that made his pulse go a little faster. Her dark eyes were wary and uncertain. He wanted to pull her in and hold her and whisper reassurance.
But anythi
ng he would tell her would be a lie. No point.
“Care to share my cheeseburger?” he offered.
“No thanks.” She smiled back and risked coming a little closer. “So what happened with your partner?” she asked. “The last time I saw you, you said he was in trouble or something.”
He stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “He’s okay,” he said dismissively. “We got it taken care of. No problem.”
She nodded, wondering if he was telling her the truth. What a strange way to live—always so close to disaster for yourself or for those that you were close to.
“So what brings you here?” he asked.
“My cousin Reid and his wife Jennifer just found out the baby they’re having is actually two. Twins! So of course, a bunch of us had to get together and…. .” She shrugged.
“Congratulate them?” he guessed, helping her out.
She nodded and looked away, then visibly steeled herself and looked back into his eyes with new energy. “So, how are your sessions with Jeff going? Coming to any conclusions about your tendency to shoplift?”
He laughed. “Sure,” he said. “It was just a phase I was going through. Nothing serious.”
“Nothing serious,” she repeated softly, wondering if that wasn’t close to being the story of his life. “Good. I guess you’re cured then.”
He nodded and took another bite before he answered. “Actually, I’ve had my last session. In fact, my job here is done.” He gave her a half grin. “It’s time to say good-bye to Destiny Bay. I’m moving on.”
Their eyes met and something seemed to quiver between them, like a note held by a violin. It touched her emotions, deep inside, but she couldn’t have said how or why.
“Where to?” she asked, trying not to sound plaintive.
He shrugged and looked away. “You know better than to ask that.”
She nodded, thinking of the matchbook she’d found. Did she have the nerve to ask him about it? No. Not quite.
Suddenly she was angry. It was awfully convenient to have a way to back out of any sort of commitment or responsibility, wasn’t it? All he had to say was, sorry, it’s a secret. I can’t tell you where I’m going or what I’m doing. See you later-- if I feel like it.
