by Joanna Wayne
She held her ground. “You knew I was working toward my teaching degree when you asked me to marry you, that I want to teach autistic kids. My having a career didn’t seem to bother you then.”
“You dropped your studies when we became engaged.”
“So that I would have time to plan the wedding, go on the honeymoon and adjust to married life. I never intended to drop them permanently.”
He glared at her over the rim of his coffee cup. “Is this to punish me for working late?”
“No.” She hated the way he always turned everything around to focus on him. Besides, try as she might, she didn’t understand his hesitancy to have her go back to her studies when he had so little time for her. “We’ve been married ten months. It’s time I focus on my life.”
His eyebrows raised. “Are you tired of our life so quickly, sweetheart?”
“Of course not. But I need more.”
“Just the words a man likes to hear as he’s walking out of the house to spend hours in an operating room performing a tedious triple bypass on a fragile patient.”
“That’s just it, Malcomb. You’re a surgeon and a very good one. What you do every day saves lives, while I just seem to spin my wheels and accomplish very little.”
He set his coffee cup on the counter and took both of her hands in his. “I do understand, Nicole. I keep long hours and don’t always pay you enough attention, but I love you more than I can say, and I need you. Much too much. Coming home to you at night makes all the stress I live with during the day worthwhile.”
“I’d still be here at night, Malcomb.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. You’d be stressed, too.” He combed his fingers through her hair, gently lifting it and pushing it away from her face. “And when I found time to take a few days off for us to go away together, you’d be involved in your studies.”
“We haven’t taken any trips since our honeymoon.”
“But we will. Besides, there’s no reason for you to get a teaching certificate or spend your day tending other people’s children. We’ll want to start our own family soon.”
Children. Hers and Malcomb’s. She felt a twinge of panic at the thought. Damn. What was wrong with her? One reason she’d accepted his marriage proposal when she had was that her biological clock was ticking like crazy. She was twenty-eight. Malcomb was eight years her senior.
She tried to turn away, but he wrapped his fingers around her arm, tugged her closer, then touched his lips to hers.
“Why don’t you go out and spend some time with Ronnie today? That always makes you feel better.”
Which opened another can of worms. “Speaking of Ronnie, I was hoping we could bring him here for the weekend.”
“Again?”
“We haven’t had him overnight in nearly a month.”
“I know, and I miss his visits nearly as much as you do, but I was hoping for some quality time together this weekend, just the two of us.” Malcomb kissed her again, this time more soundly. “It’s been an especially difficult week. You do understand, don’t you?”
She nodded and let the matter drop, though the truth was she didn’t seem to understand anything about her husband anymore. When she heard the door close behind him, she returned her gaze to the paper and stared at it blankly.
The piercing ring of the phone disturbed the lonely silence. Grateful for the intrusion, she crossed the floor and took the receiver from the wall cradle. It was likely the paging service trying to reach Malcomb. “Lancaster residence.”
“Is this Mrs. Lancaster?” The voice was female, strained.
“Yes.”
“There are things you should know about your husband.”
“Excuse me?”
“Malcomb Lancaster is a liar and a cheat.”
“Who is this?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am.”
“If this is some kind of sick joke—”
The caller broke the connection.
Nicole’s hands shook as she hung up the phone. Malcomb Lancaster is a liar and a cheat. The words of the caller crept through her mind and settled in dark corners, like invading soldiers digging into their foxholes.
But it was only a prank call. Malcomb might be possessive and self-centered, but he was neither a liar nor a cheat. Still, Nicole felt as if someone had trailed a cold finger up her spine as she walked to the bathroom, stripped off her robe and pajamas and stepped beneath the pulsating spray of hot water for her morning shower.
Closing her eyes, she let the water sluice down her body, trying to remember what her life had been like before Malcomb, before the death of her father, before her world had been turned upside down.
But even then she hadn’t been totally happy. She had never fit in the world of politics the way her dad had. Even before his death, she’d already started thinking of becoming a teacher. Helping children with problems similar to Ronnie’s seemed a lot more satisfying.
Leaning against the wet, marble wall, she forced herself to breathe, filling her lungs with the steamy air. Fortified with resolution, she mentally laid out her plans for the day. Malcomb wouldn’t like them, but he’d deal with it, and their marriage would be stronger and better for it.
MALCOMB SWERVED his black Porsche into his private parking space and killed the engine. He was in no mood for Nicole’s nagging about taking classes at the university. She didn’t need to work. She had inherited enough money that they could live in luxury the rest of their lives if he never made another dime. Besides, as soon as women went to work outside the home, they were tempted to stray. He knew that all too well. And he wouldn’t have that—not from Nicole.
Still, she was the perfect wife in so many ways. Old money, and swimming in political influence. Nicole was beautiful, with silky brown hair that fell to her satiny shoulders. Expressive chestnut-colored eyes that danced when she talked and shone with the brilliance of diamonds when they made love. A flawless complexion and skin as soft as the rich lotion she rubbed into her long, shapely legs after a shower. If she had any physical faults at all, it was that her breasts were just a tad smaller than Malcomb liked. But all in all, she was a gorgeous woman.
He forced a smile to his lips as the elevator door clanged open.
Best of all, she was Gerald Dalton’s daughter. Something of the late senator’s now belonged to Malcomb.
That in itself made marriage worthwhile.
NICOLE STROLLED ACROSS the Shreveport campus of Louisiana State University. Although it was an offspring of the main campus in Baton Rouge, it had an enrollment of over four thousand students—youths, senior citizens and everything in between. The eclectic mix seemed to give the commuter school an energy that was contagious. It zinged along her nerve endings, making her feel more alive than she had in weeks as she headed toward the administrative offices. She took it as a sign that she’d made the right decision.
“Nicole Lancaster?”
She spun around at the sound of her name and stared into the bright eyes and beaming, chocolate-brown face of Matilda Washington as the young woman hurried toward her.
“I was hoping I’d run into you today,” Nicole said, once they’d exchanged hugs. “But I can’t imagine how you recognized me from the back.”
“Are you kidding? No one sways those hips the way you do. You’d be illegal in at least five Midwestern states.”
“I do not sway my hips.”
“Yeah, right. And Louisiana politicians never lie. But if the sway hadn’t been enough, the dress you’re wearing is a dead giveaway.”
Nicole ran her hands down the silky fabric of her loosely fitted skirt. “There’s nothing unusual about my dress.”
“But I was with you when you bought it—in that boutique where they check your bank statement before they let you in the door. I only got to come in because they thought I was there to carry your packages.”
“You’re crazy. And God it’s good to see you. How are your classes going and how’s Jake?”
“Genius child that he is, I’m surprised he didn’t. And how’s Jake’s sexy dad?”
“Mark’s as busy as ever. Still working two jobs so that I can stay in school and get this degree. The guy’s one in a million.” Matilda smiled and waved at someone across the grassy campus, then turned her attention back to Nicole. “So does this mean you’re coming back to school or are you just here to laugh at us poor struggling students?”
“I’m thinking of coming back. I’m on my way to admissions now to pick up a schedule of spring classes.”
“All right! That means we might be doing our student teaching together next fall, after all.”
“If the schedule works out so that I can get the rest of the prerequisites I need in the spring. Do you have time to grab a cup of coffee?”
“I’ll make time, as long as you promise to tell me all about the fabulous honeymoon and how wonderful marriage to the handsome Dr. Lancaster is.”
Nicole cringed inside, but tried not to let her doubts show. “The honeymoon was marvelous.”
“And is life with the wonderful Dr. Lancaster the dream we all told you it would be?”
Malcomb Lancaster is a cheat and a liar.
The voice of the morning’s phantom caller ambushed her, and for a second Nicole felt as if she’d been plunged into the waters of an icy mountain stream. She forged ahead, picking up her pace and pushing the ridiculous fears to the back of her mind. Malcomb might not be the husband she’d dreamed of, but he was a respected surgeon and he loved her. So explain the tears that were moistening her eyes.
Matilda put her arm around Nicole’s shoulder. “Just ignore that last question. Every marriage has mornings when you wonder why you ever gave up sleeping single in a double bed. I have my spring schedule with me. Let’s get that coffee and see if we can find a class to take together. I’ve missed you.”
“Thanks. So how’s our favorite psych professor?” Nicole asked, needing one of Matilda’s funny stories to get her into a lighter mood.
“You won’t believe what that man did now….”
By the time they reached the snack area, Nicole had slid into an easy camaraderie. This was so much nicer than sitting alone in a rambling house that echoed with the pleasures of the past and whispered doubts about the present. She had the distinct feeling that today was going to be a major turning point in her life and her marriage. Whether for better or worse remained to be seen.
DALLAS MITCHELL SIPPED his lukewarm coffee and bent over his notes—one quick scan before he rushed upstairs to speak to a sociology class. He wasn’t good at talking in front of groups, but the professor was a friend of his and Dallas hated to turn him down. Besides, the subject was the behavior of guilty people when undergoing police questioning. He didn’t know why the students were interested, but they’d definitely come to the right man. He’d questioned hundreds of suspects over the past five years, both guilty and innocent.
A good cop could usually tell when suspects were lying the second they opened their mouth. Either their answers were so pat and unwavering that you knew they had them memorized, or else they could never tell the same story twice. An innocent man had to think before he answered, but once he’d made a statement, he seldom changed it much.
There were a hundred other things Dallas looked for as well, but clues weren’t always reliable. A true psychopath could lie flawlessly, smiling and looking anyone straight in the eye while he did it. Dallas had run into a few of those along the way. And they were the really dangerous men. The kind who could commit the type of murders he was dealing with now.
The image of the last body pulled from the bushes in an isolated area near Cross Lake burned in his mind and turned his stomach acidic. An elementary schoolteacher, aged twenty-eight, a single mom who liked country dancing, had been drugged and tortured. Then her left carotid artery had been slashed—a tiny incision, one quick, sure stroke by someone who knew what he or she was doing. The same way two other women had been killed over the past few months.
Lost in his thoughts, Dallas stuffed the notes back into the manila folder he’d confiscated from headquarters and started across the freshly mopped floor, his coffee cup in hand.
A woman’s laughter drifted across the snack area and stopped him in his tracks. Old memories stormed his consciousness, frightening and exciting at the same time. He turned toward the sound, hoping his mind was playing tricks on him.
No such luck. Nicole Dalton was sitting at a table no more than a dozen feet away, talking animatedly to a companion. If he just kept walking, he could be out the door in two minutes without having to face her.
Or he could walk right up to her and speak. But what did one say to a woman one had slept with once nine years ago? “Hi, there. Do you remember me? Or the way we heated up that alcove over your garage?”
Dallas was still staring at her when she turned to face him. Their gazes met, and he saw recognition shadow her dark eyes. Her lips curled in the slightest of smiles, and his heart plunged to his loafers. That’s the way, Dallas. Show her what weak stuff you’re made of.
His social skills had never been the best, but he guessed it was a little late to run for the door now.
Chapter Two
Nicole watched Dallas approach, amazed that he seemed so unchanged, when she felt eons older than when she’d last seen him. She put out her hand. “Hello, Dallas. It’s been awhile.”
“It has.” He took her hand, held it for a few seconds, then ran his thumb along the circle of her wedding band before letting go. “You’re looking good.”
“You, too.” It was an understatement. He looked great—more muscular than she remembered, with stronger lines in his face, but the same thick, dark hair and piercing brown eyes. He wasn’t handsome, not in the classical sense Malcomb was, but he had rugged features and a confident air that set him apart from the average Joe.
In a word, he was sexy.
“I heard about your father,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” He’d heard but hadn’t bothered to call. Not that she’d have expected it of him. It had been years since they’d… The old memories surfaced, and her lungs felt as if the oxygen had suddenly been sucked from the air. She motioned to one of the empty chairs at their small square table and managed to keep her voice reasonably steady. “Would you like to join us?”
He hesitated, and she regretted having asked. “I understand if you’re busy,” she said, providing him an easy out.
He glanced behind him as if he might run for the door, then turned back to face her. “I have a few minutes.” His gaze moved to Matilda. “As long as I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Not at all,” Matilda said. “In fact, I’ve got to get a move on. I have to pick up my son from play school and drop him off at my mom’s before my next class.”
Nicole made the introductions. Matilda stood, shook Dallas’s hand, then turned back to Nicole. “Maybe I’ll bring Jake out to the Revel tomorrow. What time are you volunteering at the children’s art booth?”
“Nine until twelve. Do come. I’d love to see Jake again.”
“I’ll give it my best shot. Ciao.” With that she was gone, leaving Nicole with a living, breathing reincarnation of her past.
Dallas settled into the chair Matilda had just vacated, directly across from Nicole. He stretched his long legs under the table, leaned back and slouched just enough to give the air of complete nonchalance. Just like old times.
Nothing like old times.
She was all grown up now, a married woman, self-assured and in control. The morning’s conversation with Malcomb flashed into her mind. Come to think of it, maybe things weren’t so different, but she was smart enough to know she didn’t need to throw Dallas into the mix. Not that having him in her life fo
r more than a night had ever been one of her options.
She glanced at his ring finger. Bare. Still dodging commitment. Why was that not a surprise? “So what have you been doing with your life, Dallas?”
“Mostly chasing murderers.”
“For fun or profit?”
“It’s usually fun, but the profit keeps me in cold beer and pizza.”
“What more could a man want?”
He shook his head. “Not a lot most days.”
Dallas had never been much of a talker. Apparently he still got by on sentence fragments and head movements. “So does that mean you’re a cop?”
“A homicide detective with the Shreveport Police Department.” He sipped his coffee. “What about you? I expected to see your name on a ballot by now.”
“Hanging on to my dad’s shirttail?”
“No. Designing your own shirt. I remember you had definite ideas about how the government should be run.”
“I tried the big show for a while. I never had my dad’s passion for it.”
“Few people do.”
She didn’t miss the sarcasm in his tone. “Dad loved what he did. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I never said there was. Still, he must have hated your decision to abandon the ship that Gerald Dalton built.”
“It’s not as if Dad had ordered me into politics. The final decision was always—” She stopped midsentence. She didn’t have to explain anything about her life to Dallas.
“So you just gave up your political aspirations and married Dr. Malcomb Lancaster,” he said, when the silence grew awkward.
“You’ve kept up with me pretty well.”
“The marriage made all the local newspapers.”
“I wouldn’t have expected homicide detectives to peruse the society section.”
“We just check out the pictures of the pretty women.”
He smiled, the cocky half smile that had haunted her dreams constantly for those first long months after he’d dropped, or rather bolted, from her life. She stared at him, but her thoughts drifted back to Malcomb. Was he wishing he’d bolted from her life, as well? Maybe her real talent lay in driving away the men who mattered most in her life.
