The Commitment

by Unknown

  Exhaustion dogged Miranda. What little sleep she'd had last night did nothing for her. Right now she needed answers.

  It was close to seven o'clock. Lucy should be stirring. Time for a breakfast meeting with little sister. Miranda left a note for her assistant and headed for her car.

  * * * *

  Lucy lived in one of the newer condominiums on the northeast side of town. The sun was well up and shining through a thin layer of clouds as Miranda slid up the ice encrusted steps to the door. Three minutes and two rings later she heard the bolt lock rasp open. Lucy's pale face met her.

  Lucy's upswept hair and picture perfect make-up was in odd contrast to the plain dental assistant scrubs she wore; yet she made even those look perfect. Her elegant model's body would accept nothing less. Her clunky shoes were the only part of the uniform that didn't suit her style. Guess she had to make some concessions to the job.

  "Miranda, what are you doing here?" A delicate frown creased the space between her eyes.

  "Freezing my butt off," Miranda replied. "Can I come in?"

  Lucy glanced over her shoulder then back. She licked her lips. "The place is kind of a mess right now."

  Miranda stared. Who was this stranger wearing Lucy's face and clothes? Her Lucy would have been eager, happy to see her. Another frigid blast blew up her long wool coat. "I promise not to look. How about a cup of coffee before we both need to be at work?"

  After hesitating just a bit longer Lucy stood back so Miranda could enter.

  "I haven't got much time. We have early appointments today." Lucy hurried Miranda through a messier than normal living room and into the kitchen.

  The coffee carafe was half full. Since Lucy didn't seem inclined to be gracious this morning, Miranda poured herself a lukewarm cup and set it into the microwave to heat. Lucy busied herself with loading the dishwasher. Normally chatty, she stayed silent, chewing her lower lip and glancing at the clock.

  What was she so nervous about?

  The microwave chimed. Miranda enjoyed her first hot drink of the day. The familiar flavor settled her. She shrugged off her coat and made herself comfortable at the counter. Lucy kept her back towards Miranda while rinsing cups under the steaming faucet.

  Stalling, Miranda realized, as if she knew Miranda wasn't there for a pleasant social visit.

  At last Lucy dried her hands. "I really do have to get ready for work."

  Miranda sipped, using the time to gather her wits about her. She may not have the opportunity to ask questions again, at least not while Lucy was so flustered.

  "I want to know the real reason you and Drake got divorced," she said without subterfuge. "Why did you show up with Jack the other day in Las Vegas?" She refused to blush at the memory. Thanks to the tiny recording she knew the truth behind that scene.

  "We went all through my reasons months ago. He was cold, abusive. I couldn't love him like that." Lucy paced.

  "Funny, he told me a different story."

  "Of course he did. Did you expect him to tell his new bride the truth about was a bastard he is?" Lucy's voice snarled. "You should have paid more attention to me. He's going to hurt you just like he hurt me." Her eyes glittered. Then she flushed and turned back to the sink.

  Miranda went to her sister. Regardless of the truth Lucy's distress brought out Miranda's maternal instincts. When Miranda touched her, Lucy's shoulders stiffened.

  "I didn't think my marrying Drake would affect you so much," Miranda said, taking a stab in the dark. "Are you still in love with him?"

  Lucy whirled to face her. "No. It's not that. I just worry about you." Again Lucy's gaze strayed to the clock. "I'm sorry, but I really need to go. Keep my warning in mind, okay?"

  "You don't need to worry about me. I've been handling Drake longer than you."

  A strangled laugh escaped Lucy. Her gaze locked on something behind Miranda. "You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into."

  This wasn't getting her anywhere, just more frustrated. Miranda had to ask just one more question before she left. The same question that had gone unanswered before. "Why were you and Jack together when you came to Las Vegas? I didn't think you even liked him."

  Lucy flushed a deeper shade of rose. She didn't answer the question; instead she pushed past Miranda into the living room and pulled on her coat. "Let's go."

  As Miranda followed she noticed more details about the rooms than before. She noticed that a good deal of the clutter in the living room did not belong to Lucy. As a matter of fact, Lucy didn't own a briefcase let alone a tan cowhide number like the one that leaned against the sofa.

  Miranda sniffed. That's what had bothered her before but she hadn't been able to identify it. Now she recognized the faint odor of cigar smoke in the air. A tented pile of newspapers covered the small coffee table. A tumbler with a quarter inch of liquid in the bottom kept the newspaper company. Miranda twitched aside the paper. An ashtray containing a chewed on cigar stub was hidden beneath.

  "Since when did you take up cigars?" She raised an eyebrow at her sister.

  "Oh, I try lots of different things these days." The corner of Lucy's mouth quirked up and down. When had she developed a twitch?

  "Sure."

  A single brown loafer, a man's shoe, lay angled sideways near the door to the bedroom, as if it had been cast off in a hurry. A red and black sweatshirt had been tossed on the arm of a chair.

  An uneasy suspicion formed in Miranda's mind. All of these man's things had a familiar look to them. They reminded her of --

  The door swung open. Miranda turned. She and Lucy said, "Jack," at the same time.

  Except for his eyes, Jack stood motionless. Those beady blue marbles rolled in the sockets, first looking at one sister then switching to the other. Miranda saw him swallow. His jaw tensed, and then he put his keys into his pocket and strolled into the room.

  "Looks like Miranda has discovered our little secret." He kissed Lucy on the cheek.

  Miranda felt her thinning strands of composure slipping. Lucy went from flushed to porcelain pale in a heartbeat.

  "Secret?" Miranda's voice came out in a whisper.

  Jack scratched the back of his neck. He unzipped the expensive leather jacket. "Lucy asked me to move in with her."

  Miranda fought dizziness. "Three days ago you and I were engaged."

  Jack had the grace to look at his feet, caught. "Now you know why I called that off. Sorry you had to find out this way."

  "Sorry?" Incredulous, Miranda stepped toward her sister. "How could you?" she asked Lucy.

  Lucy turned away without answering.

  "I think you should leave now," Jack told Miranda. "I won't have you harassing Lucy. Besides, I have a job search to begin." His mouth pursed with the bitter taste of his last remark. It illuminated what Drake had told her.

  Confusion coursed through Miranda, tinged with anger. "Is Jack the reason you divorced Drake, or rather why he divorced you?"

  Not meeting Miranda's eyes, Lucy nodded.

  I'm going to throw up if I don't get out of here, Miranda thought. Without saying another word she grabbed her coat and purse and pushed past Jack to the door. His smirk made her do something she'd never done in her life. She slapped him across the face just before she left. The satisfaction of seeing the red marks of her fingers on his face and the shock in his eyes justified the tingling in her hand if not the act itself.

  The ache in her chest refused to go away.

  Keeping her mind on the increased traffic, Miranda focused on driving, refusing to replay the scene she'd just lived through. She didn't know where she was going until she pulled into her parking space at work.

  Jack's appearance at Lucy's place, his words and actions, sickened her. That she'd been attracted to such a slimeball spoke about her ability to sense character. She'd have to work on that.

  Now that she knew at least part of the truth about Jack, how was she going to face Drake? How many other people at work knew that Jack had been cheating o
n her? A stray memory surfaced. It was of arrested conversations accompanied by sideways glances as she entered the break room.

  She leaned her head on the cool steering wheel. Probably everyone knew. Great.

  The pain of humiliation at the hands of her beloved sister left her gasping. She wondered whether the howl trying to escape her throat was going to be hysterical laughter or hysterical weeping.

  Three broken engagements and one unconscious marriage. She was doing just great.

  The car was cooling off. She couldn't sit here all day and stew. She sat up and squared her shoulders, swallowing the howl for now.

  She'd do what she always did when life threw her a curve ball. She'd somehow find a way to get on base. Never a quitter, she had to admit that she'd never felt more like just dropping everything and moving to someplace where no one had ever heard of her. Antarctica would do. A billowing snowy gust blew past the car. She changed her mind--Easter Island. At least it was warm there.

  Putting confidence and determination into her every move, Miranda left her car and entered the building.

  Chapter Nine

  The intercom beeped. "Your wife just arrived, Mr. McLain."

  "About time," Drake grumbled. Where the hell had she run off to without waking him first? After the passion of the night before he expected, okay hoped, for a more pleasant morning than waking up to a bed containing Pumpkin rather than Miranda.

  He suspected that Pumpkin had been happier to see him than Miranda would have been. He wouldn't mind so much if the dog had better breath. The sloppy doggy kisses were a little much, too. Taking the dog for his necessary walk had given Drake a whole new appreciation of Miranda's endurance. Nobody walked a greyhound. The dog ran you.

  Miranda hadn't been at her old desk or the new one. He tried hard not to care. He tried hard not to think about the fact that maybe she regretted their intimacy of last night.

  He tried especially hard not to think about whom she might have gone to cry to.

  He slammed a fist onto his desk. The feeling of possessing her had crept over him last night when they at last finished making love. He'd held her while she slept. She was his now in every sense. Nobody took what was his. One way or another he'd bind her to him.

  A flash of light on his computer screen stopped his introspection. A small window opened. Finally. Someone was accessing the company stock portfolio program.

  Since it was privately held stock only employees and their families were allowed to buy and sell it. There had been more shares traded than usual of late. Someone was buying a lot of stock.

  If he had a disgruntled employee manipulating stock in an effort to have more leverage on the board, Drake needed to know about it. Millennium Tech was his brainchild, his company. Every employee benefited from the new patents his or her discoveries brought in. Drake was determined to hold onto the control that brought them that measure of security.

  A few keystrokes later had Drake gritting his teeth in frustration. Whoever had logged onto the stock portfolio program, logged off before Drake could track him. It could be a her, he mused.

  Miranda marched in without knocking. A driven, forceful executive in a suit had replaced the soft, passionate woman of last night. He put away his disappointment and prepared for battle.

  Her question surprised him.

  "Why did you fire Jack?"

  A flash of heat shot through him. Had she left their bed to run to Jack? "It's no longer your concern." He struggled to keep his voice cool, controlled.

  She placed her hands palm down on his desk and glared at him. "It is my concern if he called off our engagement because you fired him."

  Rage settled over Drake in the guise of icy calm. He had to make her forget Jack. He stood and cradled her face between his hands. Her eyes opened wide. When his lips crushed down on hers a satisfying shaft of desire and conquest rushed through him. He claimed his woman.

  Her sweet mouth gave in to his as if it had no choice. Then she pushed him hard enough to break his hold.

  "That's not going to work this time," she spat out as she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Her hand trembled.

  "It was worth a try," Drake answered. His rage was replaced by gratification of her reaction.

  "If you're done proving your manhood, answer my question," she shot back at him.

  Her single-mindedness both pleased and irritated Drake. He had first hand knowledge that she applied that trait to her personal life. It made for intense intimacy. Right now he wished he could distract her. But maybe this should be dealt with without further delay.

  "Sit."

  She crossed her arms, more glaring.

  "Please sit," he amended.

  She did so, but kept her arms crossed.

  "I caught Jack stealing technology. He didn't know that I'd installed those nifty new cameras. You remember those little cameras? Like the one you pilfered from our honeymoon suite?"

  Miranda refused to rise to the bait. "Jack had no reason to steal from Millennium Tech. Why would he? This was the best job he ever had."

  Her defense of Jack grated on Drake. "Maybe he got greedy. Money is the biggest motivator when an employee steals. The second biggest is desire for power. Take your pick."

  "What does that have to do with Lucy?" Miranda's voice was close to a whisper, like she was talking to herself.

  "Unless they've suddenly become partners, I don't see that it has anything to do with your sister."

  Miranda started pacing, a sure sign that her brain was working overtime trying to put pieces of a puzzle together. "Did you sign over any stock to Lucy as part of your divorce settlement?"

  "My lawyer worked out most of the details." Ugly suspicion began to grow. His mind worked out the possibilities. He didn't like them.

  "While you were married did she take much interest in the company--how it worked, who it hired, that kind of stuff?"

  "At first she didn't seem to care much as long as it brought in lots of money." Drake fought to keep the long buried bitterness out of his voice. "After a while I was pleased that she'd want to accompany me when I came in over the weekend to work. I even had security make up a key card for her." His voice trailed off. He joined her pacing.

  Miranda stopped. She put her hand on Drake's arm. He looked down at her, into her eyes. He didn't like what he saw there, something soft, like pity.

  Her voice, gentle as spring sunshine, asked, "Who did you find Lucy in bed with?"

  "Not Jack."

  She nodded. "Who?"

  "Jones, Bob Jones." He clamped his jaw tight.

  Jones Industries was Millennium Tech's closest competitor. Lucy had known that. Drake had never discovered what Jones had offered her. Whatever, it had been had been enough to coax her into bed; the bed Drake had found them in that afternoon.

  He forced the mental image from his mind.

  Miranda nodded. She sat. "Jack, Lucy, and Bob Jones, there must be a connection. Once we find it we'll know what's happening to the stock."

  Glad that she didn't want to rehash the end of his precious marriage any longer, Drake took his chair again. "What's the connection between Jack and Lucy?"

  Miranda squirmed. Without meeting his gaze, she said, "He's moved in with her."

  A small wave of sympathy washed over him as he realized where she'd gone that morning. "You found him at Lucy's this morning?"

  She nodded. All Drake felt was anger at Jack and Lucy for hurting Miranda, not for the folly of their living arrangement.

  Miranda's chin sank as she said, "I'm worried. Lucy did not look happy. She should have been ecstatic since she must be the other reason Jack dumped me. She always won in the guy department."

  Drake ignored that last remark. "We need a plan," he said over steepled fingers.

  Miranda shook her shoulders. Drake watched her chin come back up as she focused on action. Then he saw a twinkle form in her eyes.

  "I've always wanted to be a spy," she said. "Here's what we're goi
ng to do." She leaned across his desk and outlined the beginnings of a plan.

  He loved it.

  Chapter Ten

  Miranda struggled with her strappy high heels. She pasted a smile on her face. Now she remembered why she had spent years avoiding these business club dinners. Getting dressed up to be nice to people who, during regular business hours, were happy to cut your company's throat just went across her ethical grain.

  As if reading her mind Drake lifted his highball glass in a toast in her direction.

  Okay, so networking was important even if it wasn't her cup of tea. She put up a hand to tug the stray wisp of hair out of her face, but stopped when she remembered that the hairdresser had lacquered it there on purpose. Wispy was sexy, she'd been assured.

  Why was it, she silently fumed, that men could come to these things without changing from their business suits? For some insane reason women were expected in "cocktail" wear. The temperature was in the low twenties and dropping with a wind chill designed to freeze an Eskimo and here she was in her ridiculous strappy little heels, her ridiculous strappy red dress, and her ridiculous strappy hairdo. She felt ridiculous.

  Why had she let Drake chose her clothes for tonight?

  With as much dignity as she could muster in the tight dress, Miranda tottered to the Ladies Room. Before engaging the enemy she may as well refresh the fire-engine red lipstick that matched the dress.

  At least the restroom was quiet. An older woman in a well-cut blue evening suit sat at the far end of the mirrored counter.

  The plan was all Miranda's idea, well mostly. She and Drake had decided to start attending these social business functions together as husband and wife. During the course of this evening she was supposed to meet Bob Jones as if by accident. She had wanted to wow him with her intelligence. Drake thought the red dress would get his attention faster.

  She made a face at her reflection before applying the lipstick. Drake was probably right. She hated it when he was right.

  Sighing, she adjusted the new push-up bra before wobbling back to the dining room. Time to start hunting.