Somebody's Knocking at My Door

by Francis Ray

  She took the wine from his hand and drank. “The more I thought about it, the more implausible it seemed that my family just happened to come up and they just happened to drive by Jacques’s home when you happened to be outside and had a party going on.”

  “David called when they arrived at your apartment,” he confessed, taking it as a good sign that she hadn’t dashed the wine in his face.

  “And your relatives. What did you tell them?”

  That had been the one easy part of his scheme. “That a woman had dumped me and, if they wanted to see her, be at Dad’s house Saturday afternoon.”

  She drained the glass, set it on the table, and went to him. “You know what that makes you?”

  Maybe he could duck if she swung. “No.”

  “A very special man,” she said, her voice trembling. “I was a fool. If you give me another chance I promise to do better this time.”

  His first instinct was to grab her and rush to his bed … if he could make it that far. “Are you going to try and save me again?”

  She began unbuttoning his shirt. “You can take care of yourself.”

  There was something that he wanted to ask, but she began kissing his chest. His body heated; his brain shut down. He pulled her to him and devoured her lips.

  He had been right. They didn’t make it to the bedroom.

  * * *

  Angelique woke up in Damien’s arms. They’d finally made it to his massive four-poster. The drapes were drawn. Moonlight splayed across their entwined, satiated bodies. She felt contented and delicious. “I guess I should go.”

  He rolled on top of her. “If you think you’re leaving, you’re crazy.”

  Her arms clasped him around the neck. “Kristen and I always go to church together. I need to call her.”

  “Later.”

  “Later,” she repeated as his mouth and body took hers.

  * * *

  Kristen had been up a couple of hours when Angelique called. Hearing the happiness in her friend’s voice, she bit back the need to ask her to come home because they needed to talk. “I’ll see you when I see you. Good-bye.”

  Kristen slowly hung up the phone and went back to the bathroom and picked up the home pregnancy kit. If the advertisement was right, it could tell if you were pregnant twenty-four hours after you missed your first period.

  Her period should have started this morning. It hadn’t.

  No matter how many times she counted and rechecked the calendar, the results were always the same. No matter how stressed she was, her menstrual cycle was like clockwork. Not even when her father died or when Adam was blinded by the carjackers or when she’d broken up with Eric had it varied.

  Kristen lifted her head and stared at her pale, scared reflection in the bathroom mirror. She didn’t need the test to tell her what her body had already told her. She was pregnant with Rafe’s child.

  Her hand curved around her stomach. Part of her wanted the baby, the other part was afraid of what it would do to Rafe. He’d blame and hate himself. With his father dying, he didn’t need one more thing pushing him to the edge.

  She gripped the edge of the vanity. She didn’t know how she’d face him tomorrow night, but she had to. They were finishing up this week. If she could just act normally, he’d never know.

  * * *

  “You’re not coming up,” Angelique said firmly, her hands against Damien’s chest.

  “I won’t stay long,” Damien said, biting her lower lip while his body pinned hers lightly against her ten-year-old Toyota.

  She shivered. Every time he’d touched her they ended up making love at his apartment. From the blunt arousal she felt against her stomach, the same thing would happen if they went to her apartment. “I’m not falling for that again. It’s 6:15 pm. I should have been home hours ago.”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  Feeling herself weakening, she kissed him on the cheek and ducked under his arm. “I’ll see you Wednesday at eight.”

  “I thought we said six,” he told her with a grin.

  She blew him a kiss. “Get out of here while I still have some will power left.” Waving, she entered her apartment building. She’d missed almost an entire day of writing on her dissertation, but she felt energized and ready to take on the world. She punched the elevator button and stepped on.

  Love did that to you, she thought. She didn’t shy away from the truth. She’d done enough of that. She loved Damien and knew he cared. For now that was enough.

  Passing Kristen’s door, she rang the doorbell to let her know she was home. She was smiling when the door opened. It faded when she saw Kristen’s drawn, tear-stained face. She entered, shoving the door closed behind her. “What is it?”

  Kristen bit her lower lip. “I’m pregnant.”

  Angelique’s eyes widened in shock. She pulled Kristen into her arms. Questions swirled around in her head. One she didn’t have to ask was who the father was.

  * * *

  Kristen sat propped in her brass bed, drinking the tea Angelique had prepared for her. She’d told Angelique everything. “I can’t tell him.”

  “You can’t hide it forever.” Angelique sat on the edge of the bed.

  “It’ll just be for a little while.” Her delicate cup rattled against the saucer. “He’s going through so much with his father.”

  “And being pregnant, you’re not?”

  Kristen drew in a shaky breath. “I have friends and family to turn to. He doesn’t.”

  “Because he’s chosen to live that way.” Angelique put her hand on Kristen’s knee. “I know about shutting people out. You’re miserable, but you’d rather chew your fingers off than admit it. It takes time and love to change that. Being pregnant, you don’t have time.”

  “I have to believe it will all work out. I don’t think I could stand it if it didn’t,” she said, her voice thin and shaky.

  Resigned, Angelique took the cup and stood. “Slide under the covers and get some rest. I’ll go get the laptop and work in the living room.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” Kristen scooted down in bed.

  “Stop talking and go to sleep. I’ll be here if you need me.” Standing, Angelique started from the room.

  “I’m glad you and Damien worked it out.”

  “Sleep.” Angelique snapped off the overhead light. Rafe, if you don’t get it together, I have a nice fire-ant bed I’m going to introduce you to.

  * * *

  He had finally managed to drive her away.

  All night, Kristen had avoided looking at him. She made excuses to work with Jim as she’d done all week. At least he could see her eyes and assure himself that she hadn’t been crying.

  He woke at night, worried about her. Scared she was pregnant, and how that would affect her life. Worried that she wouldn’t tell him if she was. Worried that if she was and later married, how the baby’s stepfather would treat it.

  The boys were all excited about finishing their boxes; Kristen hadn’t said a word about hers. Maybe that was for the best. “You’ve all done a wonderful job. I’m proud of each of you and your plan to take shop when school starts in the fall. I know you’ll do well.”

  The young men high-fived. Kristen’s smile was so brief he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t imagined it. “You all right?”

  “Yes,” she answered. To the teenagers, she said, “Let’s go. I’m sure Jacques and your families are anxious to see your boxes. Don’t forget to thank Rafe.”

  The boys shook Rafe’s hand, thanking him profusely. When he looked up, Kristen was gone.

  * * *

  Rafe didn’t drink, but he figured that if it would dull the pain, he’d give it a try. He popped the top of the beer can and guzzled it down despite the bitter taste. Maybe if he drank enough of the stuff he’d be able to forget that he was following in his father’s malicious footsteps.

  Like his father had always told him, he’d ruin anything he touched. He’d tried to help Kristen, but he’
d ended up bringing her nothing but pain and heartache. She’d given him so much and he had repaid her by taking something precious and irreplaceable from her.

  He was his father’s son. His legacy to anyone who loved him would be suffering and misery. He took another swallow and held the can to his mouth until it was empty.

  He popped another tab. He didn’t plan to stop until the six-pack was gone. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like ripping off his skin—anything to make the pain go away.

  As his unsteady hand popped the top of the last can, Rafe discovered that no matter how much he drank, the pain was there to stay.

  * * *

  Maurice grumbled about the high fare from the airport when the cab dropped him in front of his home Friday evening, but he paid the driver, who unceremoniously dumped his Louis Vuitton luggage on the driveway and drove off.

  “Prick.” Maurice considered leaving his bags for the maid to pick up, but finally hefted the three pieces of heavy luggage. If Mia wasn’t there, he’d have to deal with the uppity cook and he was feeling too good to let a confrontation with that dried-up prune ruin it.

  The last two weeks had been the way he’d always dreamed of living. Wherever he’d gone, he’d been treated with respect and deference, pampered in luxury. Mentioning the Thibodeaux name had given him entree into the inner circle in every city he visited.

  The only problem had been that he hadn’t been able to get a little on the side. Last night Claudette had called and asked him to come home. He was almost looking forward to screwing her.

  Dropping his luggage, he stuck his key in the lock and frowned when it wouldn’t work. He pulled the key out just as the door opened.

  “Good evening, Mr. Laurent,” Mia said nervously.

  Maurice got hard just looking at the luscious little maid’s firm body. He’d yet to get more than a few feels from her. “Get my luggage. Where is my wife?”

  “On the grounds, I think, sir.”

  “Leave them and come with me.” Knowing she was too scared not to follow orders, he walked away. He got harder just thinking about sliding into her.

  He opened the study door and glanced back. The stupid girl was wringing her hands. “Come here.”

  “Sir, please.” Tears sparkled in her big, brown eyes.

  “If you value your job, you’ll come here.” The crying annoyed him, but he’d have to overlook it since he needed a piece and she was handy.

  When she was within arm’s length, he grabbed her arms and pulled her inside the study. Then he slammed her back against the closed door.

  “Please, Mr. Laurent, no!” Eyes closed, she tried to twist away.

  “Shut up!” Maurice snapped. His hand closed roughly over her small breast.

  “Turn her loose, Maurice.”

  Maurice stilled: dread made his blood run cold. He spun around. Standing behind her father’s desk was Claudette, coldly furious.

  thirty

  Seeing all his hard work and sacrifice disappearing, he started toward Claudette, hands outstretched, to lie his way out of it the way he’d always done. Two heavyset, broad-shouldered men merged out of the shadows. Maurice pulled up short. Both were dressed in black business suits, but their eyes were flat. “What’s going on?”

  Ignoring him, a livid Claudette came around the desk and crossed the room to Mia, who had her head down, crying. The man nearest Claudette accompanied her.

  Maurice saw all his plans evaporate over a worthless woman. “It’s her fault. She’s been after me since I came here,” he shouted. “I was just trying to teach her a lesson so she’d leave me alone.”

  The young woman’s head came up. Her teary eyes widened as she looked at Claudette. “I didn’t. I swear!”

  Claudette placed a gentle hand on the woman’s trembling shoulder. “I’m sorry. Has … has this happened before?”

  Shame flushed her cheeks. She tucked her head. “He threatened to have me fired.”

  “She’s lying!” Maurice started toward Claudette, but the burly, clean-shaven man with her blocked his path. “What are they doing here?”

  Once again, Claudette ignored Maurice. Instead she spoke to the man standing close to her. “Mr. Thomas, please take Mia to the kitchen and have Bridget look after her, then ask Simon to drive her home.” Claudette looked back at Mia. “I’m sorry, Mia. More than you’ll ever know. You have my word that it won’t happen again.”

  Opening the door to the study, Claudette stepped aside. “Please go with this man. I’ll call you later to see how you’re doing.”

  The young woman nodded, then allowed the man to take her arm and lead her away.

  Closing the door, Claudette went behind her desk and picked up a manila folder filled with a two-inch-thick stack of papers. “This,” she said to Maurice, “is a complete file on you from your birth in Akron to a middle-class, hard-working couple who kicked you out when you were seventeen for dealing drugs, to your arrest for embezzlement in Atlanta sixteen months ago.”

  Sweat popped out on Maurice’s forehead. Damn. “My parents were just being hateful. I was never charged with anything. My record is clean.”

  Claudette threw the file on the desk in disgust. “Only because the actual embezzlement was done by an employee of the insurance firm. My information says you talked her out of implicating you, but the theft was your idea.”

  “That’s a lie!” Maurice yelled, his mouth as dry as cotton.

  “That’s not what she says, is it, Mr. Lawson?”

  “No, Ms. Thibodeaux, it’s not,” Lawson said, his soft voice a glaring contrast to his brawny build and cold eyes. “She said he promised to help secure her release, but he disappeared two weeks after she was convicted and sent to prison. She said she’s been trying to contact him ever since, but he didn’t show up until three weeks ago after she warned his cousin that if he didn’t, he’d be sorry.”

  She’d threatened him, all right. He thought he had conned her into keeping her mouth shut by telling her he was working on a deal that would make them rich. Once he had the money, he’d get a high-priced attorney and get her out. She just had to give him a little time. He’d lied, of course. The door behind him opened and the other man came back and positioned himself on the other side of Claudette.

  “Bodyguards? You think I’d hurt you?” Perhaps he could still talk his way out of this … if he could get her alone.

  Claudette simply stared at him. “You lied from the start. You even charmed DeLois in Human Resources at Thibodeaux out of doing an employee or reference check on you. Your surname might be French, but you learned the language from one of your many lovers.” Her voice chilled. “A trapped animal is unpredictable.”

  His mouth hardened. “You didn’t think that when I was on top of you!”

  Both men started toward him. Claudette simply raised her hand and they stopped. But if looks could kill, Maurice knew he would be knocking on the gates of hell. He loosened his tie. “I’m sorry, honey, you caught me off guard. Send these men away and we’ll straighten this out.”

  Opening the folder, she took out a sheet of paper and placed it on the desk so he could see it. “And how do you propose we straighten out your marriage to Ann?”

  Shit. He gulped.

  “You married her so she couldn’t testify against you—then you left the city and came here. There is no record of a divorce.”

  “I-I…”

  Claudette talked over him. “Please show this person out of my house and make sure he takes nothing bought with my money.”

  Maurice’s eyes bugged; he started backing up. “You can’t do that! How am I supposed to get back to the city? What about all my clothes, my car?”

  “See that he gets the essentials.” Claudette settled into her father’s chair. The fit was perfect.

  “Think of the gossip!” Maurice warned. “I’ll sell the story to every tabloid in the country,” he threatened when they grabbed him by the arms and pulled him toward the door. “You’ll be the butt of jokes
across the country.”

  “But I’ll be free of a leech like you.” Claudette leaned back and folded her arms. “Which you may not be, if Ann Young has her way. Seems she won’t need to testify if the police find certain incriminating evidence against you. That wasn’t your first illegal operation.”

  “No! Stop! You can’t do this!” he screamed as they pulled him out the front door. His humiliation was complete when Mia, Simon, and Bridget watched as he was stripped down to his black silk briefs, then tossed a pair of faded jeans and a grubby sweatshirt.

  * * *

  Kristen knew what Rafe was going to say before he opened his mouth. Her hand clenched her pen as he came through the gallery door just after they opened on Saturday morning. She could only be grateful there weren’t any customers and that Jacques was in the back unpacking a shipment. “Hello, Rafe.”

  He stuck his hands into his pockets, then pulled them out again. “Hello—I came to see if … if everything is all right.”

  She gripped the pen and held his tortured gaze. “I’m fine.”

  His stance rigid, his eyes desolate, he asked, “You … you aren’t pregnant?”

  “No, I’m not.” She barely managed to get the words out without sobbing.

  Relief washed across his face. “I been thinking that it’s probably best that we don’t see each other anymore. I’ll be busy and you’ll be busy with your job and everything.”

  Her nostrils stung. She swallowed. “All right.”

  He nodded, looking lost and alone. “If you ever need me though, you call.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She picked up his business cards on the desk and handed them to him. “I want you to have the rest.”

  His large hand closed around the cards. Her heart cried out for him. “Good-bye, Kristen.”

  The door closed. She watched him walk away and felt as if her heart was being wrenched from her body. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her eyes shut in pain and misery.

  The door opened. Her lids snapped up. It was Claudette, not Rafe. Kristen tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t support her. She let the tears flow.

  “Kristen, I’m sorry. I’m not here to cause you any problems,” Claudette rushed to say. “I’ve come to apologize. I’ve spoken to Marvin, and you can have your old job at the museum back.”