EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE

by Debby Conrad

  Hollin opened the door and peered out into the dark night. Lightning streaked across the black sky in the way off distance. But the rain seemed to have lifted some, and she decided to make a run for it. Her bare feet hit the cool, wet pavement as she sprinted past the pool, past the guest cottage with its peeling paint, and burst through the door of the pool shed.

  The horrible musty smell made her nostrils flare with disgust. Fumbling in the dark for the light switch, she found it, flicked it on and smiled with satisfaction. In the far corner sat several buckets. She had her choice of metal or plastic as well as several sizes. She grabbed two plastic ones, turned off the light and stepped outside.

  A tiny light flickered in the distance. Perhaps a cigarette lighter, or a match. She told herself she had probably imagined it when the flicker didn’t reappear, but then a bolt of lightning made it possible to see. Someone stood at the bottom of the hill near the boathouse.

  Hollin ran back to the house and bolted the back door behind her. Her breath caught and her heart raced. A terrifying realization washed over her. What if the figure she’d seen by the boathouse was Griffin? And what if he planned to hurt her again?

  She’d survived him once. But she had no intention of letting him touch her ever again. She’d kill him before she’d let him violate her a second time. The only problem was she had no way of defending herself. She didn’t own a gun, didn’t know if she’d have the nerve to use it if she did happen to own one.

  She could always run. Go back to Boston as soon as daylight set in.

  But her family was counting on her to stick around, at least another week or two. And she’d promised her mother.

  Thirteen years ago, after the trial, Angela had sent her away to a private girls’ school. After graduation, Hollin went on to college and then moved to Boston where she now worked for an antiques dealer. Other than a few brief visits over the years, she hadn’t spent any time in Whisper Lake.

  How could she? Griffin had only served three years for what he’d done to her. And rather than fade away in a hole somewhere, he’d come back to a town that didn’t want him.

  It hadn’t stopped him though. Instead, he’d gotten a job with a local construction company and eventually started his own construction business.

  Rachel had told her the man had purchased an abundance of property around town and planned to single-handedly turn Whisper Lake into a resort area. Not that Hollin cared. After a week or two, she’d be out of here. The thought saddened her.

  Although she now considered Boston her home, she missed the lake, this old house, Brad and Rachel. She barely knew Chelsea, and the child was already six years old.

  Sighing, she wrapped her arms around her middle. When would she stop being so afraid? When would she stop running away?

  She shivered with cold and fear. Griffin may have taken her virginity, but she wasn’t going to let him control her life any longer.

  She made her way up the stairs and down the hall to her room. Placing one of the buckets on the bed, directly under the leak, she curled up in the wingback chair by the window.

  She would figure it out in the morning. Somehow, she would figure out how to be free of Griffin Wells, once and for all. In the meantime, she planned to keep her gaze glued to the window. No matter how tired she was, there was no way she’d be able to sleep, knowing someone was out there.

  #

  Hollin had barely touched any of her breakfast even though she was starving. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and yet nothing Josephine had put on her plate looked appealing.

  It could be she’d lost her appetite due to her headache. The house smelled like a funeral parlor, covering the smell of dust and old wood. The floral arrangements from John’s gravesite had all been delivered to their home at her mother’s direction. With every breath, Hollin smelled lilies, and she detested the scent of lilies.

  Angela Hollinsworth-MacDougal sat adjacent from her daughter in the formal dining room, dressed in a pastel, pink suit, her dark blond hair swirled into an old fashioned twist. She had a proud, regal look about her that morning, no matter that her husband had been buried only yesterday. The small silver bell she carried with her everywhere sat on the edge of the table. This way Angela could ring for her private nurse, Claudia, whenever the moment suited her.

  “Sit up straight, Hollin. I didn’t teach you to slouch at the table.”

  Hollin set her fork aside and sat up tall. “Yes, Mother.” Always the dutiful daughter. She was named after the Hollinsworths, and it was a name that deserved the utmost respect. Which meant Hollin had always been afraid of disappointing her mother while growing up.

  Rachel was the outcast, defying Angela and John at every opportunity. While Hollin and Brad had always aimed to please. In school, Rachel didn’t care about her grades. Hollin and Brad were straight A students. Rachel broke curfew, snuck out of the house, drank and smoked. Hollin had only drank on one occasion, and look where that had gotten her. She shuddered, remembering the party at Griffin’s trailer.

  “I don’t know why your sister has to sleep so late,” Angela said, interrupting Hollin’s thoughts. She picked up the white, cloth napkin from her lap and blotted the corners of her mouth. “Rachel knows Ed is supposed to be here shortly, and he wanted you kids present while he talks with me.” She scowled. “I have no idea why. John and I prepared our wills together. He left everything to me.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Townsend will explain when he gets here,” Hollin said reassuringly, staring at a strip of wallpaper that had come loose.

  But it wasn’t the peeling wallpaper that bothered her. She suddenly felt agitated that Chelsea had gone off to school while her mother was still in bed. Rachel hadn’t bothered to get up and see her daughter off. Josephine had handled that task, as well as dressing the little girl and making sure she finished her breakfast before the bus came.

  “Child, what’s wrong?” Josephine asked, bustling toward them from the kitchen. “Don’t you like my cooking anymore?”

  “Of course I do. You’re a wonderful cook. But with everything that’s happened, I’ve lost my appetite, that’s all.”

  “Maybe you’re coming down with something, like young Chelsea. She had the sniffles for a few days, but this morning she insisted on going back to school.” The gray haired woman leaned close and placed the back of her chubby hand on Hollin’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm. Would you like me to make you something else?”

  “No, thank you, Josephine. I’ll eat something later. I promise.”

  Once the housekeeper had cleared their plates, her mother whispered, “That was rude, Hollin. Josephine works hard for her age. At least you can do is eat what she prepares.”

  “I’m sorry.” And she truly was. She hadn’t meant to offend the woman who had been part of the household since Hollin could remember. Hollin slid her chair back a few inches. “Mother, have you any intentions of having the roof fixed?”

  Angela smiled brightly. “As a matter of fact, it’s one of the things I’d like to discuss with Ed this morning. He’ll no doubt be dissolving the partnership he had with John, so I’m expecting a sizeable amount of cash soon. With that, and along with John’s life insurance, I’ll be able to restore this house to the grandiose state it once was in.”

  Hollin forced a smile. Her mother sounded as if she cared more about money than losing her husband. She knew it wasn’t true. Angela had adored John. He’d spoiled her rotten. But when her mother didn’t want to face something, such as her husband’s death or her daughter’s brutal rape, she simply pretended the whole thing never happened.

  Angela leaned over and patted Hollin’s knee. “Why don’t you go wake your sister. I don’t want to keep Ed waiting once he gets here.”

  “What about Brad?” she asked, getting to her feet.

  “I don’t have to worry about Brad. He should be here soon. He’s always on time.”

  #

  “What do you mean there isn’t any money?
” The room grew silent as Angela grilled her husband’s business partner. “John was a lawyer, a fine lawyer. He made plenty of money. What are you trying to pull, Ed?”

  “Angela, please.” Ed Townsend adjusted the wire rim glasses on his nose and ran a hand over his bald head.

  “Angela’s right,” Brad chimed in. “My father made a decent living. Surely, there’s something left over.”

  Hollin shifted her gaze from one person to the next. It all made sense now--the reason the house hadn’t been updated, the need to sell the paintings. John had been struggling to make ends meet.

  Ed pushed some papers toward Angela, to the end of the dining room table. “Just look at these, would you?”

  Angela lifted her chin. “I don’t have my reading glasses. Brad, would you mind?”

  “Of course not.” Brad slid the papers his way and studied them. His forehead creased, his eyes grew intense, as he flipped through each of the pages. While he read, he unbuttoned the cuffs on his blue oxford and rolled them up his forearms. Finally, he set the papers aside. He looked up and smiled sadly at Hollin, then focused on Angela. “Mr. Townsend is right. Dad was broke.”

  Swallowing hard, Angela looked directly at Ed. “Fine, but there is still the matter of the money from the partnership, and John’s life insurance policy. I couldn’t find his copy this morning. Perhaps he left it at the office.”

  Ed cleared his throat. “Angela, there is no life insurance. John let the policy lapse over a year ago. He said he couldn’t afford the premiums anymore. Keeping up with the payments on this old house wasn’t easy for him.” He paused and softly added, “I don’t suppose he thought he would die at sixty years old.”

  Neither had Hollin. Her mind reeled with confusion. Her stepfather had always seemed so healthy, full of energy. He ate well, didn’t drink, didn’t smoke. He’d even switched to decaf several years ago. Heart attacks were supposed to afflict the old, the overweight, the sick. It wasn’t fair, she thought, swiping a tear.

  “And as far as any money due him from the partnership,” Ed went on, “it was John who owed me money.” He raised a hand in front of him when Angela went to open her mouth. “I don’t want the money. I lost my partner, my best friend. The money doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Angela said, defeated. “He never said a word. I should have known there was something wrong. Every time I mentioned remodeling or having repairs done, he always made some excuse. Once he said the flaws gave the house character, strength.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

  Brad laid a hand over Angela’s in comfort. “Don’t worry yourself. We’ll figure something out. The girls and I.”

  Rachel, who had been quiet through the entire meeting, got to her feet with a loud commotion. “Please,” she said in a disgusted tone. “Look around, Brad. The place is falling down. How the hell are you going to save it?” She hadn’t bothered to dress this morning. She’d simply thrown a robe over her pajamas. Hollin doubted she’d even brushed her teeth. And it was obvious she hadn’t bothered to run a comb through her hair. Her face looked sallow, with a grayish-yellow tone. The word pathetic came to mind, although Hollin hated to think of her sister like that.

  “Rachel,” Angela said sternly. “Please sit down and be quiet until Mr. Townsend has finished.”

  Rolling her eyes, Rachel ignored her mother. “I’m out of here.”

  Hollin watched Rachel’s retreating back. “She’s upset,” she said, trying to make an excuse for her sister’s irrational behavior.

  “She’s a spoiled brat, is what she is,” Brad said, then quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, Angela. She just gets to me sometimes.”

  After a moment, Ed tugged at his mustache and said, “You could always sell the place. Or even a few acres. In fact, someone called me this morning and expressed an interest in your property.”

  Angela slapped a hand down hard on the table. “This house is not for sale, nor is any of the ten acres that goes with it.” She released a long, exhausted sigh. “I’m afraid this is all too much for me at the moment,” she said, picking up the silver bell and shaking it impatiently. Hollin fought the urge to cover her ears against the deafening sound. “I need to lie down. I’m in mourning, and I shouldn’t have to deal with all these financial matters.”

  Angela’s nurse appeared at the doorway. Claudia Reynolds was a sturdy woman in her mid-fifties, with salt and pepper hair. “Mrs. MacDougal, are you all right?”

  “No, dear. I’m feeling quite ill at the moment.”

  Claudia came to Angela’s side and helped her to her feet, offering an arm for support. The two women were almost to the doorway when Angela stopped and turned around.

  “Hollin. Brad. I would like for the two of you to work together and find a way to save this house. I was born here and I plan to die here. And not anytime soon.” She sniffed. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Hollin understood all right. This house meant everything to her mother. She loved it more than life itself. Maybe more than she loved her daughters and her two dead husbands.

  Once Angela was out of sight, Hollin turned her attention to Ed Townsend. “I have some money in my savings. A few thousand--”

  The man shook his head, shifting his gaze to Brad and then back to Hollin.

  “How bad is it?” she asked.

  “There are three loans on the place. It’s mortgaged to the hilt. And, to my knowledge, the taxes haven’t been paid yet this year.” He sighed. “I can probably stall the bank for a few more months, if that will help. Larry Brown is a personal friend of mine, and of John’s.”

  She listened with rising dismay. “If we were to sell, how much do you think we could get?”

  Brad opened his mouth to say something, then quickly snapped it shut.

  “How much?” she asked again.

  Ed shrugged one beefy shoulder. “If you’re lucky, about two hundred thousand for the land, maybe a million for the land and the house.”

  Hollin nodded. “You said someone called you this morning about buying this place?”

  Ed glanced down at his hands, twisting them nervously.

  “Mr. Townsend? Is that true? Did someone call you this morning or not?”

  He looked up. “Yes,” he said finally. “Someone called just this morning, and he seems very interested in buying any or all of your mother’s property. In fact, he made a very impressive offer.”

  “Who is this man?”

  His expression was one of mute wretchedness. And Hollin knew the answer before he’d spoken.

  “It’s Griffin Wells.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hollin was relatively calm considering what Ed Townsend had just told them. If you could call her trembling hands and pounding heart being calm. She refused to let the mention of Griffin’s name get to her, beginning now. She wanted to start living her life without being afraid at every turn. And dammit, she was going to.

  Looking pointedly at Ed, she said, “Tell Mr. Wells thank you for his offer, but we’re not interested in selling.”

  “Sure, I understand. It was just a--” Pausing, he shook his head slightly. “It was stupid of me to bring it up.” He shifted his nervous gaze between Brad and Hollin, then closed his mouth.

  Once Ed was done delivering all his bad news, Brad offered to see him to the door. “Tell Griffin Wells to take whatever offer he was thinking about making and shove it up his ass!” Hollin heard Brad say.

  Elbows on the table, she pressed her fingertips to her pounding temples. Why would Griffin want to buy her childhood home? Hadn’t he taken enough from her already? And how was he able to afford such a valuable piece of property?

  The man had grown up in a trailer, with only a mother to care for him. An alcoholic mother who had run off and left him before he’d even finished high school. Griffin had dropped out of school shortly thereafter and gotten a job at the hardware store in town. He’d kept the old, rundown trailer, which used to be quite the place for th
e high school kids to hang out when they wanted to party. She wondered if it was still sitting there, tucked back in the woods near Stoney Bridge.

  “Are you all right?” Brad came up behind Hollin and began massaging her shoulders, pressing his fingers into her tense muscles.

  But Hollin didn’t want him standing behind her like that, touching her, the smell of lilies permeating the air. “Please stop!”

  She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but Brad didn’t seem to be offended. He removed his hands instantly and went around the table to sit across from her.

  “You still remember that night, don’t you?” he asked.

  Hollin lifted her gaze to meet his. “Of course, I remember. And I really don’t want to discuss this right now.” She slid her chair back and was about to stand when he stopped her.

  “I’m sorry. Please stay a moment. I need to talk to you.” She hadn’t missed the tenderness in his expression, the sadness in his blue eyes.

  She also remembered the way he’d stuck to her like glue after she’d been raped. The way he’d sat in her room and cried with her. Her mother and John were in Europe when it happened. Brad had been away at school. But as soon as Rachel had called him, he’d come home and had stayed by her side until her mother and his father had returned.

  He was her friend, her brother, and she loved him dearly. Relaxing her posture a little, Hollin sucked in a long breath and released it slowly.

  Brad offered her a smile. “I want to apologize for my behavior at the cemetery. The way I yelled at Sara.”

  “You should be apologizing to her, not to me.”

  He nodded in agreement. “It was tough yesterday. Burying Dad. His death was so unexpected, and my nerves were a little on edge.”

  Reaching across the table, Hollin touched his hand briefly. Brad’s father had died Monday evening while visiting Brad at his apartment. It had to have been awful for him, watching his father die like that, and not being able to do anything to save him.

  “I couldn’t believe the way Sara dressed for Dad’s funeral,” he went on. “After all the money I pay her in alimony. What the hell does she do with it all, anyway?”