Imminent Conquest (12 page)

"Maybe you've convinced yourself into thinking you didn't do it."

Michael shook his head. “I don't need a counsellor. I had enough of that bullshit in prison. I need to redeem my name and regain those lost years."

"You can't do that. No one can.” The conversation was taking a turn that made her afraid. She knew threatening to call the cops wouldn't do much to dissuade him or make him leave. It hardly mattered that she would have to find some way past him to get to the phone in the hallway. She found herself searching for a weapon on the kitchen counter, but berated herself for her habit of cleaning up after every meal, no matter how small or large it had been.

"Don't think about that, sweetheart. I assure you it won't work."

She wondered how he could possibly know what she was thinking. But hadn't he always known and voiced her thoughts before she did? “I'll kill you if you come near me again."

He chuckled. “That's very amusing but I don't think so. You love me far too much to hurt me."

Nicole swallowed heavily. Where had she heard that the line between love and hate was a thin thread, that murder was most often committed in a fit of rage or passion? Was it possible that was the reason why Michael had killed his father, that deep love had turned to hatred? She had spent the last decade trying to bury the pain of who he had become. Now, when she had succeeded, he had the nerve to waltz back into her life and reopen the healing wound.

"You've always loved me. From the first time we met."

"Don't delude yourself.” Nicole remembered how she had been on foot and waiting for a train to pass at a crossing and Michael had driven up in a sporty red car. They had been practically side by side. Feeling awkward, she had begun to talk to him above the rattling steel wheels and the shaking ground. He had been handsomely rakish in a golf shirt that had shown her a peek at his fuzzy chest. She had loved him from the very first time she had set her eyes on him.

"I'm not the one trying to fool myself. I'd say you're doing a fine job."

She blinked back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “Leave me alone. Can't you see that what we had is over?"

His eyes set in a grim line. “You just need time to adjust to me being in your life again. It would probably be an understatement if I said you were still in shock."

"I don't want you in my life,” she reiterated. “I've erased you from my thoughts as if you never existed. Why can't you understand that?"

His shoulders sagged briefly. Was he feeling the same sadness and formidable loneliness she did at times? “I wish I could kiss you but I don't want to goad you into using a butcher's knife on me. I love you,” he finished before he disappeared into the hallway.

Nicole stared out of the kitchen window for a long time before she heard a car drive up, crunching snow under its wheels. Had he returned again? Why couldn't he understand she didn't want him in her life?

The door opened. She shrank back against the counter, dreading another encounter with the man who had turned her world upside down. Instead of Michael, Brad shuffled in. Snowflakes melted on his hair and shoulders.

Pausing by the open door, he surveyed the kitchen, not surprised to see her. “You made it home,” he said in a deadpan tone.

Snow drifted inside and onto the doormat.

She shrugged, relieved Michael hadn't come again.

"Who brought you home?” This time he gave her a suspicious look.

She marched past him and closed the door, cutting off the stiff wind blowing inside. “A taxi."

He shook himself out of his jacket. “Really?"

Nicole suddenly saw him in a new light. How could she have made herself believe she was in love with him? She felt friendship for him. And a great deal of pity. He wasn't exactly the type of man to invoke a woman's lust. He was homey, and that's all he would ever be. “Really."

His eyes were bloodshot. So he had been drinking again, she supposed.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?"

"I want you to answer my questions."

"I don't owe you anything,” she said, flipping on the light switch.

"Who said anything about owing me? I want to know what went on tonight."

She shrugged listlessly, unwilling to talk about what had been an ordeal, and a pleasurable thrill, at the same time. She had no intention of ever seeing Michael again, so discussing that with Brad was unnecessary.

"I saw the way he looked at you,” Brad said in a voice laden with accusation.

She set the teakettle on the burner to boil some water to make a cup of decaf.

"It's all in his head."

"What, Nicole? What's in his head?” Brad ran a hand through his hair.

"Whatever kind of stunt he was pulling."

"He's not the kind of person to pull that kind of shit."

"Then you don't know this man you idolise so well."

"He does things to help people,” Brad went on relentlessly. He hadn't moved from the doormat. “He spends a great deal of time making sure his employees are happy, and consequently that their families are too."

"He's not worth worshipping."

"I respect him. I don't worship him. There's a difference."

"I don't think you know the difference.” She went about getting a mug, spooning instant coffee granules into the bottom.

"It's not in his mentality to cosy up with a woman he doesn't know. He respects people."

"And let me guess, they respect him back, is that it?"

"What happened tonight got me wondering about you."

Nicole didn't flinch. The words hurt coming from a man she had known for fourteen years, one she had trusted not to hurt her. “What are you wondering?” she asked offhandedly, screwing the plastic lid back on the glass container.

"That either you know him, or you're some kind of tramp."

His words sliced across her consciousness. Placing her hands on her hips, she slowly turned around and faced him. “What on earth are you talking about?"

She couldn't understand how earlier this evening, she had been living the all-American dream, planning to get married, and now all her plans had come crashing down.

"So you're going to deny how he ran his finger down your shoulder and called you sweetheart. What do you do when my back is turned?” he demanded, still not moving.

"He mistook me for someone else,” she lied.

"Uh-huh. If that's what he did, then why didn't you tell him so? Why did you let him continue believing he had the wrong woman?"

As if she hadn't tried to stop Michael at the party. She had to find some way to turn this conversation around without having to defend every movement she had made. “Is that why your wife left you, Brad? Because she wasn't willing to put up with your constant questioning about where she went?"

This hadn't been the first time he had grilled her about where she had been. At first, she had seen his behaviour as being over-protective but now she saw he might be jealous.

"This has nothing to do with her. This is about you."

The kettle's shrieking made Nicole jump. Quickly, she circled and shut the burner off. “You didn't answer my question."

"Meg did what she wanted to do."

"And did she start asking why you were questioning her all the time about where she went?"

"I'm going to tell you something,” he said, his voice low and measured. “I need this job in a bad way. So I'll tolerate his pawing but that's where my tolerance ends."

Nicole's heart drummed loudly in her ears. Had she really heard him correctly? “If you hadn't demanded I go to that party in that tiny bit of fabric, none of this would have happened,” she said, turning the tables.

"Oh, so it's my fault."

"Remember? I didn't want to go? You said I had to?"

"Can't you do better than that?"

She rubbed the back of her hand, trying to ease the tension that had crept into her fingers. Her head ached. Michael had cracked her world, the one she felt safe and at ease in, wide apart tonight. He had had no right to do that.

Brad ambled into the kitchen and slumped into a chair at the dining room table. “I wanted something more for us than what I had with Meg. I wanted a perfect marriage, based on love and trust. I thought I had found it with you. But I was wrong."

Nicole said nothing. Earlier this evening, she would have said the same thing but his insecurities were too blatant to make her comfortable with him.

"It was supposed to be just the two of us. Not a threesome."

She examined him, his long face and his reddened cheeks as if he was suppressing the urge to cry. Perhaps this once she warranted his accusations but she wasn't the type to flirt or have an affair with another man. It wasn't part of her emotional makeup.

"Are you wrapping your hair around his dick?"

She felt her cheeks leach of colour. She sucked in a breath. Had he returned before Michael left the first time, and seen her naked and tied up on the bed? “I don't understand. Before we left for the party, you couldn't talk about anyone but him. Now, you can't stand him?"

"It's not Michael I have a problem with. It's you, Nicole."

"I had nothing to do with his coming on to me."

"But you did nothing to discourage him either."

She decided to plunge into the depths of misery. “I told him I didn't want anything to do with him. Not ever."

Brad merely nodded, as if he understood.

"What's it going to take for you to hear the truth?” she asked, exasperated. “I don't know him but I knew your job was important to you. I wanted him to keep his hands to himself but he wouldn't take no for an answer. I've never met him before tonight.” The lie came much more easily than she thought it would.

He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Until tonight, I didn't think you knew how to lie."

"I'm telling you—"

"That's where a relationship fails the most. When one of the partners decides to tell a fib or two.” He reached into his breast pocket, withdrew a photograph and threw it onto the dining room table. “Before you bullshit some more, have a look at this."

Drawn to the black and white photograph, she stared down at the table. “Oh, my God,” she whispered in shocked disbelief. The colour photograph showed the day Michael and she had gone to the lake in the woods, the day Michael had killed his father. He carried her in his arms and was about to throw her into the crystal blue water.

Who could have taken the photo since they had been alone that day?

"I think that's Michael,” Brad cut in on her dismal thoughts. “Now deny knowing him."

She focused on the room she was in, realising her shocked expression had given her away.

"Now deny knowing him,” he repeated.

Speechless, she struggled with the evidence before her eyes. After Michael had been imprisoned, she had burned each and every photo she'd had of him in an attempt to do away with her memories. Where had this photo come from? No one outside of Michael and she had ever taken photos of themselves, either separately or as a couple.

"It's not what it looks like,” she protested weakly.

"Uh-huh.” He gained his feet and strode past her, towards the stairs, even as she attempted to grab his sleeve and stop him. She hurried to keep up with him.

"It was years ago. I was barely out of high school."

"So why didn't you tell me that in the first place?” He stopped.

She lurched into him, colliding with his chest.

"Why did you have to turn out to be like Meg? Why do you have to cover up the truth?"

He halted inside the bedroom door. Nicole caught her lower lip between her teeth. The room reeked of champagne and the comforter was still soaked.

"What the hell?” Brad's eyes narrowed.

Her face heated with the recollection of Michael's actions. There was no way she could ever tell Brad about the bitter pleasure, the way Michael aroused her body and made her long for his.

Brad faced her. “I can just imagine what you two did. On our very own bed."

"It's not like it looks,” she lied again, this time more easily. She whirled to leave Brad to his own sad conclusions when a piece of folded white paper on the bedside table caught her eye.

Brad saw it too and reached the paper before she did. He read, “Call me when you need more. Michael. He even left his phone number."

"I don't want to see him again. Why can't you believe that?” The world she had constructed came hurtling down.

"So you have been seeing him then?"

"No! I didn't say that!"

"But you implied it. That's enough for me."

"No! He's a murderer!"

He faced her, his eyes narrowed and darkened with anger. “He's a murderer? A man like him? Your lies are getting more ingenuous. That's for sure."

"It's the truth. I can prove it."

"And how, exactly, are you going to do that?"

"He used to be James Carmichael. He changed his name so he could get more respectability."

Brad threw open the closet and rummaged about before he found a black gym bag and crammed a few briefs and a pair of pants and a shirt inside.

When he turned, he paused in front of her. “He's got more respectability than you'll ever have."

"Don't leave. Not when you're angry.” She feared that, after a few drinks, and with the snow falling heavily, he would slide off the road and injure himself. Or worse yet, kill himself.

He halted abruptly and turned a venomous look on her. “I can do whatever I damn well please, and like Meg, you can turn yourself inside out if you want."

Her tongue was so knotted, she couldn't speak. A door slammed downstairs. Moments later, she heard the Topaz's engine grind to life.

"I only want to be happy,” she whispered softly. “I don't want anything else."

The car's wheels screamed against the slushy, accumulating snow. Then there was numbing, frozen silence.

Nicole sat behind her desk in her private office at Bessman and Overton. Idly, she toyed with a dull pencil at chest level, rolling it back and forth along her palm. Stacks of legal papers sat behind her on the credenza, waiting to be typed. She wished she could have called in sick this morning after spending a sleepless night. But she had never done that before and wouldn't start now.