by Holly Hart
I twist my body at the last moment, and his foot connects with my hip instead of my stomach. I feel the force of the blow throughout my entire body. Squirming desperately on the floor, I try to shove chairs out of the way, to move them enough to edge my way under the table.
Evan aims another kick in my direction. This one lands directly on my kidneys. I scream again as bile rises in my stomach and the intense pain from the unexpected blow rocks me. Each blow is taking too much of my energy, robbing me of my ability to fight back, to protect myself.
With my strength ebbing fast, I make one last, desperate attempt to get beneath the table. I sense Evan preparing for a third kick. I hear another scream mixing with my own. Sheila’s.
And then the sound of a body hitting the ground with a heavy thud that shakes the house.
92
Jeremy
The whiskey bottle strikes against the edge of the shot glass as the liquid fills the small space. The resulting ringing sound is cheerful, striking a direct counterpoint to my dark mood.
How dare she accuse me of being unfeeling, of not caring what happens to Sheila? She knows about everything I do, how hard I work, how much I want to make the world a better place, but there’s only so much I can do, and I’m sick and tired of always having to clean up after my brother. And Sheila’s an adult; she went into marriage with my brother knowing exactly what his history was. If she’s paying for it now, then it’s her own fault.
Even as the thought crosses my mind, I realize that Caitlin is right.
I’m a bastard.
I cover the bottle and return it to the mini bar behind my desk, leaving the untouched shot of whiskey sitting on the surface as I stride out of the room.
I dig my car keys and cell phone out of my pocket and look at Janet. “Track down the address for Sheila Murdoch. I don’t know her age, but she has a kid who goes to the Hunt school of something or other and she’s married to my brother. That should give you enough information to get her location. Once you have it, text it to me.”
“Okay.” Janet turns back to her computer. “Are you going out?”
“Yeah.”
“And when are you coming back?”
“I don’t know how long this is going to take,” I tell her and start walking toward the elevator.
“But what about that tele-conference call you’re scheduled to have with Senator Harris? And this afternoon’s meeting with that group who have come here from Spain?”
“Cancel them. Cancel everything I have on the calendar for today. This is more important than all of that.”
By the time the elevator reaches the parking garage and the doors open, Ben has brought one of the company cars around and is waiting for me.
“Hey, boss,” he greets me as I settle into the passenger seat. “What’s going on?”
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Janet. Sheila’s address. I punch it into the car’s GPS system as Ben pulls out of the parking garage.
He glances at the screen and makes the first indicated turn. “So, where are we going?”
“Sheila Murdoch’s place.” I tug the seat belt across my chest and wonder exactly what I’m supposed to do about this particular situation. It’s not like I can force her to leave Evan, but at least I can let her know that if she wants help, wants a safe place, I can provide her with both.
“Evan’s wife? I wondered how long before something needed to be done about that.” He makes another turn. “By the way, Evan isn’t at the office right now.”
A sense of foreboding prickles the back of my neck. “What do you mean? I saw him this morning.”
“He started out there,” Ben confirms, “but he left about ten-ish. Just a few minutes after Caitlin paid you a visit, now that I think about it. One of my guys tried to follow him when he left, but he gave them the slip about three blocks from the office.”
Ben shakes his head. “I’ll say this about your brother: when he wants to give someone the slip, he does a good job of it. It’s a skill more special ops soldiers would love to have.”
“Evan would never have made it through the psych eval.”
“True.”
We pass the rest of the drive in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
“Hey.” Ben breaks the quiet as he turns onto a residential street. “Isn’t that Caitlin’s car?”
I sit up and stare. He’s right. There’s a bright green VW with the name of Caitlin’s floral shop painted across the side parked beside a maroon mini-van. The sense of foreboding morphs into full-on dread. When she raced out of the office I figured she’d go to talk to her friend, Evelyn, or start researching battered women’s shelters. It never even crossed my mind that she’d come here.
“What the hell is she thinking?” I swear to myself as Ben and I exit the car.
Before we take two steps, a scream splits the air.
Without so much as looking at one another, we break into a sprint. Ben levels a kick at the front door – barely breaking stride – shattering the wood and bending the hinges.
The sight that greets us is like one straight out of a horror movie.
My brother is sprawled across the floor, his neck twisted in an impossible angle. Blood and gray matter ooze from a huge gash in the back of his skull, gathering on the floor in a spreading pool. A heavy, non-stick frying pan lays on the floor a few feet from him.
Sheila and Caitlin are huddled against the far wall. Tiny drops of dark liquid cover Sheila. Blood seeps angrily from a cut near Caitlin’s left temple. Ignoring my fallen brother, I charge across the kitchen and fall to my knees beside my wife.
“Are you okay?” I press the heel of my hand against her cut temple, trying to staunch the blood while I run the other hand over her slender body, searching for other injuries.
Caitlin stares at me with glassy eyes. “He knocked me down. Sheila hit him with a pan, and then …” Unable to bring herself to say the words, she points at my brother. “That happened.”
Grimacing, Ben crouches beside Evan and presses two fingers to the side of his neck. “Dead,” he says and unhooks his cell phone from his belt.
Sheila, her entire body shaking, starts to wail about how she didn’t mean to kill him, that she just wanted him to stop.
I gather both women close, holding on to them as if my life depended on it, whispering a thankful prayer that it’s not Caitlin’s body lying in a pool of blood while Ben talks to the 911 operator.
93
Jeremy
“Hey, you.”
Caitlin opens her eyes and grins as I step fully into her private hospital room.
“Hey yourself.”
My stomach lurches at the sight of the large white bandage wrapped around her head. I settle on the side of the bed and focus on drawing one deep breath after another, desperately trying to slow my heartbeat, which goes berserk every time I think about what she went through in the minutes before I got to Sheila’s. What might have happened if Sheila hadn’t grabbed that pan.
My hand shakes as it finds hers. The feel of her cool skin against mine doesn’t completely ease the panic, but it does calm it a little.
“What’s happening to Sheila?” Concern edges Caitlin’s voice. “She hasn’t been arrested, has she?”
I shake my head. “The police are still investigating, but the officer I spoke to felt that between Evan’s reputation and your injuries, as well as Sheila’s bruises, that it was going to be determined that she acted in self-defense and that no charges would be pressed.”
“Thank God.” Caitlin closes her eyes and relaxes back against the pillows.
I thread my fingers through hers.
“I’m very sorry about your brother,” Caitlin says, her voice whisper soft.
“I’m not.”
“But he was your brother, your twin. There must have been some kind of connection.”
“If there ever was, it disappeared a long time ago. I’ve always known he was a bastard. And I would have killed h
im myself for what he did to you if Sheila hadn’t beaten me to the punch.”
My heart starts racing again and words I’ve never spoken before swell in my throat.
“Caitlin, there’s something I want to say to you.”
“Mm hmm,” she murmurs, sounding as if she’s about to fall asleep.
I gently squeeze her fingers. “Can you stay awake long enough to hear me out, or should I table this conversation until later?”
“Now is good,” she says but doesn’t open her eyes.
Good, because who knows if I’ll have the courage later on?
I shift around so I can look directly at her beautiful face.
“Caitlin, I’m in love with you.”
“What?” Her lashes spring apart and her huge green eyes stare at me.
My heart falters as I search for the words that will convince her of my authenticity. If I can’t make her believe in me, if I can’t convince her that she’s my whole world … I don’t know what I’ll do. Now that I know she exists, the perfect woman for me, my missing half, the idea of facing the rest of my life without her is too damning to even imagine. I need her even more than I need to draw my next breath.
“I know I promised that this whole marriage and baby thing was a business arrangement, but I don’t want that any more. I want you to be mine, forever and always.”
“You do?”
I nod. A smile plays at the corners of her mouth.
“I love you too.”
I shake my head. “Caitlin, it’s okay. You don’t have to say it back to me. I don’t expect you to. I just … I’ve just been carrying this around with me for so long and after what happened today, I couldn’t let it go unsaid any longer.”
“Jeremy.” Grimacing, Caitlin sits up. She cups her free hand around my cheek and stares directly into my eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, I don’t even remember a time when I wasn’t. I’ve ached to tell you, but was afraid of how you’d react. I didn’t want to lose you, just because I tried to push for something you weren’t ready to give.”
Sincerity glows in her eyes and a bright warmth spreads throughout my chest. Mindful of her injuries, I lean forward and brush a light kiss across her lips.
“Mmm,” she purrs. She slides her hand from my cheek to my neck, holding me in place as she deepens the kiss.
We’re so engrossed in the taste and feel of one another that we don’t hear the soft knock on the door.
“While it’s nice to see that at least one of my patients is doing her best to get back to her normal activities, I do advise cooling things down, just for a few days, to give your body a chance to heal.”
The unexpected discovery that we have a guest causes us to spring apart.
A tall, lean older doctor grins at us. He returns a chart to the foot of Caitlin’s bed.
“Mrs. Caldwell. While it doesn’t look like you’ve suffered any severe damage, I would like you to stay here overnight for observation.”
Caitlin jerks the hand I’m still holding free and covers her belly. Sensing her sudden panic, I place my hand over hers, offering as much comfort as she’ll accept. “Is it my baby? What’s wrong with it?”
The doctor smiles warmly. “Your babies are just fine, but you do have a mild concussion and I want to make sure it doesn’t get any worse.”
Relief surges through me. Concussions are bad, but with proper medical care, they’re something that Caitlin will recover from and fairly quickly at that. I’m so pleased that it takes a moment for everything the doctor said to sink in.
“Wait a minute,” I call out as he starts to leave the room. “Did you just say babies?”
He nods. “Yes. The tests we ran when your wife came in indicate that the two of you will be welcoming twins in a few months. Congratulations – and good luck. You’ll need it…”
Epilogue
Caitlin
“Okay, everyone, look at the camera and say cheese.”
It takes nearly all of my self-control to not roll my eyes at the photographer’s ridiculous antics as he tries to get four babies – all under the age of one week – to look at the camera. He’s lucky they’re all fairly content at the moment and not trying to scream the place down.
He peers into the little screen at the back of his camera and grins. “Looks like a money shot to me.”
“Great.” Jeremy jumps up from the arm of the chair I’m sitting in. “’Cause little Felicia here definitely needs her diaper changed.”
My daughter waves her hand happily in the air and chews absently on the collar of his shirt as he carries her into the bathroom.
Kahn, who has been obsessed with the babies since I reached about the fifth month of my pregnancy, follows behind, his tail wagging in a slow arc, obviously satisfied that Sasha, who is busy playing with a piece of ribbon I tied around one of the flower arrangements, is capable of looking after the remaining three babies.
I turn my attention to baby Abigail on my lap. Quieter than her sister, who at just two weeks old is already in constant motion, little Abbie stares up at me with solemn blue eyes. The doctors tell me it’s way too early to know exactly what color her eyes will be, but I swear I already see a few flecks of gold in her left one.
The photographer keeps one eye on us as he tucks his camera into its case. He shakes his head. “Two sets of twins. How far apart did you say they are?”
“Three days,” Sheila tells him. “It’ll be nice; they can grow up together.”
He laughs. “Nice, sure, and it certainly won’t be boring. But I’ve got three of my own at home. There’s six years between the oldest and youngest, and I’ll tell you want. They keep my wife and me on our toes. It doesn’t seem like we get a single moment’s rest. Once this group starts crawling, you’re going to be hopping.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m hiring a couple of good nannies,” Jeremy says as he enters the room. He brings Felicia to me, setting her on my lap next to Abbie and kissing my forehead before he turns to Sheila. “How are the boys? Do they need a new diaper?”
Sheila shakes her head. “I don’t think so, but you know that as soon as you sit down, that’s going to change.”
Jeremy laughs, and despite the warning, returns to the arm of my chair. He loops one arm around my shoulders, pulling me close against him, and reaches down to tickle Abbie and Felicia with the other.
I lean into him. I can’t believe how lucky I am. Not only has Jeremy proven himself to be an adept and patient parent to our little girls, one who happily gets up with them in the middle of the night and never complains about diaper changes, he’s also been giving Sheila’s twins the exact same treatment. He and Sheila have even gone house shopping together, searching for a house closer to the one we just bought so that he can keep an eye on the twins for her.
And now that they’re here, I get to spend more time with him than ever before. Weeks before my due date, he hired two new CEOs and arranged for them to handle the day-to-day issues of Caldwell Industries, making it possible for him to work only half days, which I love.
And he already split the one percent of Caldwell Industries that set this whole crazy baby race into motion four ways, making sure each twin gets an equal share in the company.
A sudden bright flash startles all of us.
“Sorry,” the photographer says as he lowers his camera. His eyes meet mine. “It’s just that the two of you looked so in love, so happy right there, I couldn’t resist taking one last shot. I wish all of my clients were as happy and lucky as the group of you are.”
As he packs up the rest of his things, I wish the same thing for the world.
Part III
Keeping Her
On the run?
Check.
Sleeping with the enemy?
Check.
Yeah, things got a little messed up.
Everybody deserves a second chance.
And this is mine.
$150,000 to dig up dirt on some billionaire
CEO?
Easy money.
Until I walk into the boardroom and see Chance’s gorgeous face.
But there’s no smile on that chiselled jawline.
Not for me.
Not for the girl who broke his heart.
Now I’m not just the girl who left him.
I’m the woman trying to take his company, too.
He’ll do anything to save it.
Even me…
94
1. SARA
I wake up to the sound of an air horn blaring in my ear, and the taste of used cat litter in my mouth.
I vaguely remember being at the Toad & Turtle with Grace. Shots. Cosmos. Dancing with some guy with a man-bun. His hand roaming around under my shirt.
My clumsy, hung-over attempt to grab the iPhone from my bedside table sends it crashing to the floor, where it lands on the hardwood with a sickening clack. The initial stab of panic subsides when I remember the screen was already cracked to shit anyway.
The thing lies teasingly close to my fingertips as I reach for it from the bed. Fuck. My throbbing head is telling me I really don’t want to lift it from the pillow unless this is a life-or-death emergency that can’t be ignored. Why the hell did I make an air horn my ringtone?
Oh yeah: because every call I get could be a life or death emergency that can’t be ignored.
My fingers finally close around the mobile and carry it up to the ear that’s not muffled by my pillow. Somehow my thumb finds the answer button.
“Sara Bishop,” I mutter. “This better be good.”
“No, Ms. Bishop,” says the man on the other end of the line. “You better be good, or you won’t be getting a six-figure paycheck for a month’s work. Is that clear?”
Suddenly my eyes are wide open. Did he just say six figures? For a month’s work?
