ALMOST EVERYTHING

by Williams, Mary J.

  India went through her usual nighttime routine with quick efficiency. She hung her clothes in the closet, deposited what needed washing in the hamper and slipped into her favorite nightgown.

  As the smooth satin slid over her skin, India’s entire body seemed to sigh a thank you. She cleansed the makeup from her face, applied a liberal amount of moisturizer and turned off the bathroom light.

  India froze in her tracks, her body tensing when she found Allard waiting by her bed. He wore a robe and nothing more. He’d decided to reassert his place of dominance. Sex, as always, was his way to show her who was in charge. He had the power, she had none.

  “Lie down,” he said.

  “No.”

  Probably the first time in his adult life anyone had dared to tell him no, Allard seemed at a loss. Confused, his expression turned from arrogance to shock. As the seconds ticked by and India stayed where she was, she saw the rise of his temper reflected in his small dark eyes and thin lips.

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  Cool and calm on the outside, underneath, India’s pulse raced, and her heart pounded. Not out of fear. She was pissed—royally. At Allard but mostly at herself. For too long, she’d shut down as time slipped through her fingers. She was tired of playing the spectator in her own life.

  “I do have a choice,” India said. “What you’ve never understood is that I always have.”

  “If you make me come after you, everything will change.”

  “Oh, I certainly hope so.” She crossed her arms, almost daring Allard to follow through with his threat. “I let you use my body. Never again.”

  “One last chance. Come to your senses, and we’ll forget tonight ever happened.”

  “Forget?” India snorted her disbelief. “Not on your life. Tonight is the only part of our marriage I plan to remember. The rest will be like a nightmare. Once I wake, the details will fade away.”

  As close to out of control as India had ever witnessed, Allard crossed the room. Not knowing what he intended, she didn’t give him time to follow through. When he reached for her arm, she grabbed his thumb, twisted, and pirouetted, exactly as she learned in her self-defense classes.

  Crying out in pain, Allard sank to his knees. He tried to get away, but each time he moved, India’s grip tightened, crippling him with another shaft of agony.

  “Who has all the power now, asshole?” India taunted.

  Allard swiped at her with his free hand. The move was ineffectual, even pathetic, but he wasn’t ready to cry uncle. India didn’t want to break his thumb, but she would. After all, a woman had to do what a woman had to do.

  “Crawl,” she told him.

  “What?” His face contorted with pain, Allard gasped.

  “Leave the room—on your knees. Now!”

  India shouted the command, raising her voice for the first time in their marriage. Felt good, she realized. Damn good.

  Allard finally came to his senses, or the pain made him lose the ability to argue. Either way, he crawled toward the door, India keeping a firm hold on his thumb the entire way. Once in the hall, she set him free, adding a shove for good measure. With a whimper, he collapsed, cradling his hand.

  India didn’t wait to see what Allard did next. She shut the door, turned the lock, and sprang into action. Since the first day she moved into the Hallstrom mansion, she would lie awake and plan her escape. Different scenarios, the same result. Tonight, she finally put one of her many fantasies to good use.

  Chances were good Allard would nurse his wounded pride and sore thumb until morning. Despite what happened, he would continue to think of India as easily manipulated and maneuvered. The idea she might escape her prison at any time—let alone in the middle of the night—wouldn’t occur to him.

  Out of fear of misguided loyalty, no one left Allard Hallstrom. India was thrilled to be the first.

  The front door was out of the question. Night or day, Mrs. Danvers’ staff was trained to report all comings and goings. India’s best bet was the balcony just off her bedroom. She knew for a fact the ivy-covered trellis would hold her weight—another test she’d run one sleepless night.

  Another plus, the sensors on the motion detector security lights weren’t trained toward the trellis. India would be able to make her way without detection. Once on solid ground, she should be able to access her car in the garage. Since she knew the code, she could drive through the front gates without worry.

  The only luggage she needed was one backpack. India was happy to leave behind her extensive wardrobe and anything else purchased with Allard’s money. She made a few exceptions.

  Jewelry. According to the insurance papers—witnessed by her—everything belonged to her. Always thinking ahead, she made certain she had a copy in case Allard tried to accuse her of theft.

  The more expensive pieces were locked in the library wall safe. Didn’t matter. India kept some very nice items in a jewel case including the diamond and sapphire earrings she wore to the town hall meeting.

  Sliding her wedding ring from her finger, India added the gold band to the case. Next, she dressed in a pair of running shoes, leggings, and a lightweight sweater—both in black.

  To the backpack, she added a small framed Picasso and an egg Allard claimed was a genuine Fabergé. Four t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, underwear—all which she packed around the painting and egg.

  India fastened her hair into a ponytail. A knit cap and black leather jacket later, she was ready.

  Without a backward glance, she walked away from the place she’d lived for the past five years. She wasn’t free. Not yet. But as India breathed in the night air, she felt closer, so much closer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ♫~♫~♫

  MORGAN ALWAYS BELIEVED the Reinhold Farms contained special healing powers. Nothing mystical, or supernatural. Fresh air, wide-open spaces. The recipe was simple but impossible to duplicate because the secret ingredients were Marcy and Sven.

  After only a few hours of sleep, a hearty breakfast, and a walk around the farm, Joplin’s energy was up, and her tired body refreshed. Morgan could see a renewed sparkle in her green eyes.

  “You want to talk about the day you left the band?” Joplin asked as they strolled past the barn.

  “Nothing to say.” Morgan shrugged. “Unless you put the onus for the band’s break up on me.”

  “Razor’s Edge was doomed by a host of factors,” Joplin said. “When Jax witnessed your kiss with Skye, he—”

  “Whoa. Back up. When did I kiss Skye?”

  “You don’t remember?” When Morgan shrugged, Joplin rolled her eyes, obviously exasperated. “Men.”

  “I did not kiss Skye Monroe.”

  “Let me refresh your memory. Picture the morning you left, just before you got on the elevator. Ring any bells?”

  “Well, shit.” Morgan stopped in his tracks. “You mean the little peck between friends?”

  “Looked like more from Jax’s vantage point,” Joplin told him.

  “Jax was a jealous idiot. Just because he couldn’t have Skye, he assumed the worst,” said with a Morgan grumble. “Don’t tell me the final straw that broke Razor’s Edge was a non-kiss?”

  “Bands have split over less.” Joplin shook her head. “By the time you walked away, the thread holding Razor’s Edge together was frayed beyond repair. If Jax had been in his right mind, he wouldn’t have seen red.”

  “Jax loved Skye.” Morgan sighed. “I know what it’s like to want the one person you can’t have.”

  They walked in easy silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Morgan knew in his heart he hadn’t been the reason the members of Razor’s Edge went their separate ways. However, he was willing to take his share of the responsibility. The secrets he kept added to the rising tension, but the writing was on the wall long before he took off.

  “You know in your heart no one will agree to a reunion.” Morgan pl
aced a friendly arm around Joplin’s shoulders as they walked into the kitchen. “You’re batting zero so far. Skip Kane and save yourself the heartache.”

  Marcy, kneading bread at the counter, looked up and smiled.

  “Good walk?” she inquired.

  “Wonderful,” Joplin said to her hostess, but she wasn’t finished with Morgan. “My heart isn’t a factor. Kane is my past. My future is with my fiancé.”

  “You’re engaged?” Marcy beamed as her gaze went straight to Joplin’s finger. “No ring?”

  “Bradly and I haven’t had time to pick one out.”

  “Most guys have the ring before they propose,” Morgan said. “Makes me wonder.”

  “Don’t.” Joplin poured herself a cup of coffee. “I need a man who’s settled, grounded, reliable. Bradly is all three and more.”

  “Unlike Kane Harrison who was wild, unreliable, and dangerous.”

  “Doesn’t matter what Kane was, or who he is now,” Joplin assured him. “I told my uncle I would try to bring Razor’s Edge back together for one night only. Part of my promise was to make the requests face to face.”

  “Can’t say I blame you for leaving Kane until last.” Morgan gave Joplin an understanding smile. “You know where to find him?”

  “Yes.”

  Subject closed. The look on Joplin’s face was easy to read. Morgan respected her wishes.

  “My mission is almost over,” he said as he took a seat next to Joplin at the kitchen table.

  “Revenge.” Marcy didn’t look happy. “You need to finish mending fences with India. What do you think she’ll say if you help to put her father and husband in prison?”

  “Thank you would be my guess.”

  India. She walked into the kitchen followed by Sven.

  “Look who came knocking on our door.”

  India seemed tired. A bit disheveled. To Morgan, she never looked more beautiful.

  “Do you mean what you said?” Morgan asked, his eyes locked on her face. “You want me to take down your father and Allard Hallstrom?”

  “Even better, I’ll help.” India handed Morgan a manila envelope. “Combined with whatever you’ve compiled against them, the information in there will be the last nail in the coffin.”

  “You’re sure?” Morgan didn’t want any more misunderstandings. “They’ll both do jail time.”

  “If we’re lucky,” India said with a sharp nod. “I do have one request.”

  “Name it.”

  “Don’t wait. Send the information to the proper authorities today.”

  Talk of sending two men to prison was serious business. Morgan didn’t feel somber. All he wanted to do was grin. So, he did.

  “I have a close contact at the FBI. She’s been on standby, waiting for the last pieces to fit into place. I’ll call her right away.”

  “The IRS will probably want their piece of the pie.” India sighed. “And whatever department handles fraud and embezzlement.”

  “Sounds like there’s enough glory to go around.” Sven cleared his throat, the look in his kind eyes apologetic. “Sorry, India.”

  “Don’t be. Any affection I had for my father died long ago. As for Allard? I hope he rots in jail—followed by an eternity in hell.”

  Morgan had a million questions for India, but they had to wait. First, he called Dionne. They had a plan in place. With a few clicks of her keyboard and a brief conversation with Agent Corrine Malone of the FBI, his part of phase one was over.

  “Dionne arranged for a messenger to pick up the new documents.” Morgan patted the envelope. “Someone should be here within the hour. Before then, we should make copies.”

  “Already done,” India said. She explained about the copies she’d hidden in various locations. “Might seem like overkill.”

  “Seems smart,” Marcy said as she washed the flour from her hands. “Funny. You and Morgan, working toward the same goal all these years. Kind of like you were together even though you weren’t.”

  Morgan looked at India and smiled. Marcy was right. Their connection never ended—not completely. He tried to hate her. Told himself he’d succeeded, that she was nothing more than an evil heartbreaker. She wasn’t.

  Emotions—love, hate, passion—clouded his perceptions. India’s lies hadn’t helped. She said she had her reasons. Now, he needed to know what they were.

  “Let’s find a quiet place and talk.”

  “Fire’s set in the parlor,” Marcy said.

  “Sound good?” Morgan asked India.

  “Yes.”

  Morgan led the way down the hall and to the right. The parlor was more of a family room. Shelves of books lined one wall, a flat-screen television dominated another. On cold winter nights, Marcy and Sven snuggled on the over-stuffed sofa and watched old movies.

  Shutting the door, Morgan moved to the brick fireplace. He struck a match, lit the paper, and watched as shards of kindling burned and crackled.

  “You left him?”

  India nodded.

  “I did.”

  “For good?”

  “Snuck out in the cover of darkness.” Her lips curved into a half-smile. “Felt kind of badass.”

  “For good?” Morgan asked again.

  “Nothing can ever make me go back.” India reached her hands toward the fire and sighed. “Called my lawyer first thing. She believes I’ll be a divorced woman in three months, in accordance with Michigan law.”

  “Free.” Morgan cleared his throat. Didn’t want to get too far ahead. “Congratulations.”

  “I didn’t mean to assume you and I would be together,” India rushed to assure him. “Everything’s happened so fast.”

  “Fast?” Morgan scoffed. “Took almost ten years.”

  “Guess you’re right.” Her smile slipped. “We lived such different lives, Morgan. You became a rock star, then a business mogul. I bartered my body in exchange for some compassion and common decency.”

  Morgan rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Jesus, he was tired of her cryptic bullshit.

  “Just tell me why.” He paced the length of the floor. “Don’t hem, or haw. Don’t say you married Hallstrom for love and then run away. Give me the straight, simple truth.”

  “You may not understand. But here goes.” India breathed in, then out. “I told you about my Aunt Lu.”

  “Your father’s sister.” Morgan nodded. “Lucrecia Curtis. Shortish, with a big heart. Never stayed in one place for long.”

  “Good memory.”

  “I remember everything you ever said.”

  “Same for me,” India said.

  Morgan stopped pacing. He wanted nothing more than to lock the door, take India in his arms, and forget the rest of the world existed for the next week or two. Later, he told himself. Promised himself.

  “Makes sense.” Morgan took a seat on the sofa. “We were young and in love for the first time.”

  “For me, the only time,” India said as she joined him. “The only other person I’ve loved is Aunt Lu.”

  Clear as day, Morgan could see India’s face when she would talk about following in her aunt’s footsteps. All the good things she would do, the people she would help.

  “She was your role model.”

  India grew still, her eyes taking on a faraway look.

  “The week before I graduated college, Aunt Lu was in a car accident. Her body survived, but the doctors said she would never wake up. Brain dead.”

  “You must have been devastated.”

  “Devastated came later. I was in shock.” She frowned. “Let me go back to the night my father had you thrown out of town.”

  “I know what happened on my end.”

  “They beat you.” Pain flashed across her face. “I really didn’t know.”

  “Nothing you could have done.”

  Morgan wanted to take India’s hand. When she stood and moved out of reach, he frowned but didn’t comment.


  “One second, I was asleep in my bed; the next, I was on a plane for Europe, sick with worry over what happened to you. Thank goodness for Marcy and Sven. Took awhile for them to find a way, but they managed to get in touch and let me know you were okay.”

  “They told me the same about you.”

  “Foolishly, I assumed the arranged marriage was off.” India rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. “My father and Allard renegotiated—without consulting me. The new deal was pretty much the same. Finish high school, then college, if I agreed to the marriage, and promised never to see you again.”

  “Rance Curtis is a cold-hearted bastard.”

  “Pragmatic, according to him. Hallstrom’s money would dig him out of a financial hole of his own making.”

  “You agreed?” Morgan asked. He already knew the answer.

  “My plans hadn’t changed. Get my degree, then find you.” She raised her eyes to his. “Always, Morgan. You were my endgame. Until Aunt Lu’s accident.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My father, worried I might renege on our agreement, used his sister as leverage to make me go through with the wedding. If I didn’t, as Aunt Lu’s legal guardian, he threatened to move her to a country where care facilities—if you can call them that—weren’t regulated.”

  The truth began to sink in. Morgan could guess the rest of India’s story, but after so long, so much pain and misunderstandings, he needed to hear the rest from India, and she needed to tell him.

  “He showed me pictures, Morgan. Told me stories. The things they did to patients. Female patients.” India shuddered.

  Morgan had read stories about such places. Along with a vivid imagination, he had a good idea of what would have happened to Lucrecia Curtis. Worse for India, Rance Curtis put the images into her brain in graphic detail.

  “No doubt he would have followed through on his threat. To his own sister.” India closed her eyes. When her lids opened, her expression was bleak. “With no money or powerful friends, what choice did I have? The nursing home is the best in the state. I visit every Friday without fail.”