Marriage of Convenience (24 page)

But now both folders were empty.

“Wait.” Caroline said to no one in particular. “Something isn’t right.” Holding the folders in her hand, she turned to the desk and fingered the calendar. Turning to the current week, she ended up in March of the next year. Throwing down the folders, she took up the calendar and spread the pages wide, studying the center fold. Entire sections had been ripped out.

“Papers are missing. Why would someone take paperwork and calendar pages?” She dropped her hands to her thighs, disgust and curiosity tangling together inside her. One of the officers took out a notebook and began writing notes. He looked up periodically and asked questions about the missing papers. After a few minutes he flipped the book closed and shoved it back into his pocket. The other one said they’d be done with the front room in the next twenty minutes if she wanted to start making plans to open. Neither made any promises as they backed out of the room.

Open? Had they seen her front room? No, opening was not an option today. She sank into her desk chair and scanned the room. As she saw it she had two choices, close up and go home or clean up and reopen. The first option was definitely appealing. Feeling her arms sink into her sides and her head fall back against the headrest, all she wanted to do was call Malcolm, cry out her frustrations, and sink into a bubble bath. Geoffrey would make her favorite meal. Malcolm would rub her shoulders, and then maybe they would watch a mindless movie to distract her overwrought brain.

She could do that. She had no doubt she had a safe place to express her disappointment and time to consider her next move. There wouldn’t be any pressure to straighten the store, reopen, or make arrangements for her staff. Malcolm’s concern would be for her safety. Geoffrey’s would be that she eat through the stress. Sarah and Gloria would be outraged on her behalf, but not so much as to create added drama. She had that option. And the more she thought about it, the more it beckoned.

Or she could fight. She could call the insurance company, order and install new glass, replace the furniture, and clean up the mess. She could even redecorate so that the mere replacement with the same style didn’t remind her of the original pieces and the reason they no longer existed.

The idea of a new design, a new set up appealed to her, and she sat up a little straighter. She had all sorts of local contacts for repurposed and retro furniture. She could create an eclectic grouping of styles and fabrics that would put the old design to shame. It would be cheerful and bright and reflect her determination to pick up and march on.

But was that how she felt? Her shop had represented years of scraping and scratching. She’d pieced the shop together initially with her own savings. She’s spent years building relationships and contacts that rewarded her in free samples, loaners, and professional courtesies. Could she really let all that simply slip away because of what must have been a mistake? The cops hadn’t sounded hopeful that they’d locate the people responsible. She’d questioned how they knew it was more than one, and they didn’t have an answer to that either other than to speculate that the timing and amount of damage indicated multiple suspects. And she didn’t think it really mattered. Whether it was one person or ten, she still had no idea who would target her. The cops’ uncertainty didn’t give her any reassurances, but she’d never depended on anyone for support in the past anyway, so that shouldn’t prevent her from rebuilding.

When she weighed the pros and cons, there was no good reason to abandon her dream.

Getting her second wind, she resolved to rebuild. And not just rebuild, but rejuvenate the business by reinventing its image, its style, its appeal. Caroline picked up the phone and called the insurance company. Having described the events as she understood them, arranged for the police report to be faxed, and signing the claim online, she turned her attention to the more exciting aspects of her forced remodel. She began calling around the City, gathering supplies, creating the design as she went. By 10 a.m. she had ordered new glass, arranged for its installation, ordered new furniture, and scheduled a consultation with a security company.

The details nailed down, she set about straightening the cafe. She disposed of the smaller pieces and set aside the larger ones for special pickup. A demolition disposal company would collect any large pieces in the morning. As she worked, she thought about her files and the calendar. Though the destruction to the furniture was upsetting and the overall damage to the shop hurtful, the theft was puzzling.

She could replace the furniture. She could hire security and create a safe environment. She could purchase more insurance to safe-guard against future trespasses. But without her invoices and calendar to direct her in the coming weeks, she would have to rely on what had been entered into the computer. She didn’t have high hopes that this would result in many orders. They’d been swamped over the past couple of weeks and had found it difficult to update the electronic calendar and spreadsheet. Papers went into the file and back out to reference designs and recall details. Some got put back in their proper place; others were found under other papers during clean up. She couldn’t believe anyone had found time to enter data into the computer.

Blowing hair from her forehead, Caroline swiped at her brow with the sleeve of her shirt and grimaced at the dirty sweat stain the motion left behind. Standing in the door way that separated the counter space and cafe from the kitchen, the cafe looked barren and cold. She’d stacked the larger pieces to one side, bagged the smaller pieces, and swept up the glass. Still, the once warm and inviting space was marred with black scuff marks, jagged holes, and broken tiles. Slumping against the wall, she wished she had a bottle of water. Too tired to search the refrigerators, she resigned herself to rest as she waited for the lumber to arrive to board up the windows for the night.

Caroline sighed as the last nail was driven home. Thanking the men, she offered them water and a tip. They welcomed both. Bending forward, she tried to relax her back by stretching to her toes. Raising up, she stretched her arms back over her head, and felt the muscles along the front of her body resist. Relaxing down, she scanned the cafe one more time and decided she’d done what she could do. She’d scheduled carpenters, floor repairs, and a cleaning company for the next day. If all went as planned, they’d have their work complete in time for the furniture deliveries in three days.

Gathering her purse, she stuffed the empty files folders, mutilated calendar, and the company jump drive into its folds. Perhaps she could start trying to recover some of the invoices after her bath. It was nearly 5:00 p.m. when she stepped out onto the sidewalk. It, too, had been cleaned up. Beyond the plywood, there was little evidence anything exciting had happened.

The sun, which had peeked through the clouds that morning, had lost its battle to the clouds. Dusk was fast becoming dark, but the streetlights hadn’t taken notice and were not yet illuminating the few stragglers walking to purchase last-minute items.

Caroline was halfway to the train station when she saw a shadow emerge from a darkened alley. The back of her neck prickled, and she stumbled. She forced herself to practice some relaxing breathing techniques. She quickened her pace, reminded herself that she was in a safe neighborhood, was almost at the station, and if necessary, she could defend herself.

A part of her brain that she could honestly say she didn’t like, said that walking alone on a darkening, deserted street wasn’t the most intelligent thing to do, even if the distance was only a few blocks. A braver person would have stopped and glanced around. Perhaps curiosity would have sent whoever or whatever was there scurrying away. After the day she’d had, she simply didn’t have it in her. And doing so would simply reinforce the fear that was already playing havoc with her pulse. Caroline again quickened her pace, the sound of her heels ringing loudly in her ears as they fell on the pavement.

Relief poured through her as she saw the lights of the station materialize down the street. She was still a block away, but her mind clung to the notion that she was going to make it. Surely there would be someone there, or at least an emergency phone she could use. In her hurry to leave the house that morning, she’d forgotten her cell phone.

Caroline almost didn’t see it, the move was so quick. From the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow break away from the darkness of the narrow alley. Her head instinctively turned, but the dark figure had already clamped a gloved hand over her nose and mouth, as the other strong arm snaked around her waist, imprisoning her arms and slamming her forcefully into a hard, burly body. Her feet cleared the ground, and she was hauled backwards into the alley.

Her mind raced, trying to remember the self defense training she’d had years ago. Don’t panic. Don’t struggle. Always hand over your purse and wallet. Once they get what they want, they’ll take off and leave you alone.

“Going somewhere? I asked you to join me yesterday, and you were obviously busy. You don’t appear busy now. Perhaps you’ll exercise more polite manners now that you’re less distracted.”

Caroline recognized the voice from the phone call the previous day and ignored her own advice. She began to struggle, twisting her body this way and that. Her attacker, obviously experienced, wasn’t taken off guard. He tightened his hold, and her vision began to cloud from lack of oxygen. She kicked desperately backwards, adrenaline pumping through her veins, giving her added strength. Her heel caught the man in the leg, and he dropped her, howling as he clutched his injured leg. She didn’t have time to savor his pain as she gulped air and scrambled to her feet. She didn’t make one running step before a hand fisted in her hair and viciously yanked her back.

She turned with the momentum of the pull, her arm holding a subtle bend at the elbow, arching with the turn. She felt a thud as her elbow connected with his Adam’s apple with a bony crunch. He released her hair and grabbed for his own throat. Choked, gasping sounds gave way to wheezing curses. And though he fell to his knees, a hand snaked out and caught her ankle as she made a second attempt to escape. He yanked on her foot, pulling it out from under her. She landed hard on her knees, barely getting her palms out in front of her to prevent her face from smacking the pavement.

Caroline groaned as the pavement cut through her stockings and into her knees. She turned onto her backside, and howled in protest as the move twisted the tender flesh of her knees. A slow feel of her knee caps didn’t produce the slip and slide feeling of broken bones. No longer capable of escape, she felt blood ooze from the gashes on her knees. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she felt the sinking sensation of defeat.

“You idiot,” said her attacker. “I just wanted to talk to you. This wasn’t necessary.”

Not necessary? He’d scared the hell out of her and then nearly crushed the life out of her. Was the man crazy? Perhaps he was one of those poor people who wandered the streets of the City, talking to themselves, convinced they were being told to do things by voices in their head.

“What do you want?” Caroline croaked, gathering her arms around her shins to protect her knees.

“You have a meeting to attend. It’s my job to get you there.”

Caroline looked at him in disbelief, her eyes wide. “What are you talking about? Who arranges a meeting by sending a thug to attack a woman in the street?”

“Attack you?” he said, his voice indignant. “You attacked me! I was giving you a second opportunity to follow through on your obligations, and you kicked me! So much for doing people favors. I should have torched your damn shop, grabbed you off the street, knocked you out, and delivered you hours ago.” Reggie rubbed his leg. “Now get up. My van’s down the street. Don’t try anything stupid, or I will put you under.”

Caroline was unable to move. He’d destroyed her shop. But why? She cried out, in physical pain as much as emotional. Her world seemed to be collapsing, and she was the only one who didn’t understand why or how to prevent it. Still sitting, she tried to straighten her legs and turn to her side. The twisting motion caused the cuts on her knees to burn and the wounds to reopen. Fresh blood dripped down her legs. She whimpered and retook her seat on the cold pavement.

“Don’t get all girly on me now. Let’s go.” Reggie, clearly tired of the physical abuse he’d endured, mercilessly yanked her to her feet. Caroline stumbled and fell against him, quickly righting herself to avoid having to be closer to him than was necessary. She’d rather fall on her face than take comfort in his strength.

Still nursing her wounds, Caroline hobbled into the building and leaned against the wall as the elevator rushed down to meet them. Her attacker hadn’t said anything on the ride over. He’d blindfolded her, but the ride hadn’t taken long. She didn’t know where she was, but she understood that if she saw an opportunity to get away, she could probably figure out her location pretty quickly. As the doors slid open, she pushed herself off the wall and grimaced; she could still feel the impression of the big man’s fingers on her shoulder where he’d grasped her to pull her off the ground. Brute.

He punched 15 on the control panel, and they rode in silence. The doors slid open again, and he pushed her forward, using her elbow to push her to the left. The hall stretched for several feet, ending in a glass door with the words “Dollar Tree” etched across the front. Caroline felt her stomach drop.

“How’s married life, Doc?” Doctor Allen had been on staff with Malcolm for almost seven years. They weren’t close by any means, but news of Malcolm’s nuptials was of interest to everyone.

Malcolm smiled. “Wonderful. Thank you.” He hadn’t even had to think about it. “I hope your family is doing well.”

“They are. Thanks. Though I presume your life is more … adventurous these days.” Dr. Allen winked as he hesitated.

This was not conversation Malcolm expected from a colleague, especially a male colleague. He wasn’t really sure what to say.