Needing Nicole (The Cantrelle Family Trilogy Book 2) (22 page)

“I was keeping it as a surprise.” Julianne chuckled. “Actually, I was afraid I’d be so bad I wouldn’t want anyone to see me, but... I’m pretty good! If you and lover-boy want to come, I’ll leave tickets for you at the box office.”

“We’ll be there,” Nicole promised.

* * *

Jack wasn’t enthusiastic about going to see Julianne in a play that evening. He really thought they should burrow in at Nicole’s, but he could see that Nicole needed distraction, and Lord knows, he probably could use some himself. He was beginning to feel like a first-class rat.

The play was fun—a one-act comedy by a local playwright—and Julianne was very good, he thought. She played a secondary role, but it was a meaty part, and she had some of the best lines in the production. Afterward, flushed with excitement and success, she asked them if they’d like to join her and some of the other actors.

Jack could see that Nicole, who was usually the first person ready to go somewhere and have a good time, wasn’t really excited about the prospect, so he made it easy for her. “I think we’d better get home. I’m expecting a phone call.” Julianne nodded, gave Nicole a quick hug and told them goodbye.

Nicole was very quiet on the way home. Jack wanted to say something, anything, that would take that look of pain out of her eyes, but he felt helpless. He’d always known there could be no future for them. He simply couldn’t give Nicole what she wanted. What could he say? I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I have to leave you. You’ll get over this. Hell, he wasn’t sure
he’d
get over this.

So he said nothing.

That night there was a desperate edge to their lovemaking. When Jack kissed her, and touched her, he could feel the hunger and yearning in her response. He tried to bury himself in her, in the sensations and feelings their act of love evoked. He tried to forget that this might be one of the last times they’d be together like this.

He forgot about skill and technique and patience. Instead, his kisses were hungry and needy, and he couldn’t wait very long before he was driving into her with a raw urgency that he couldn’t control. And when their release came, within seconds of each other, she cried out his name and clutched him, her fingernails digging into his back.

Afterward, exhausted and damp with sweat, he gently turned her over, then gathered her close so that her back was fitted tightly up against the front of him. For a long time, he lay there listening to her breathing, his nose buried in her fragrant hair. He could feel her steady heartbeat, and he wondered what was going through her mind. Every so often he would stroke her, as if to remind himself that she was there, that nothing had changed.

But they both knew that before long everything would change. The most that Jack could hope for was that he wouldn’t hurt Nicole too badly in the process.

When Nicole left for work Monday morning, Derek Arnold had still not made a move toward New Orleans. Jack talked to Paul O’Malley, who called from his car phone at six a.m., and Paul reported that all was quiet.

So Jack took Nicole to work, made her promise to stay in the building the entire day and told her he’d be parked at the curb at five o’clock when she quit.

Actually, he hadn’t wanted her to go to work at all, but she had insisted. “He doesn’t know where I work, Jack. How can anything possibly happen to me there?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just worried, that’s all.”

She had given him a sad smile, kissed him and said, “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right.”

Afterward Jack felt guilty. Hell, he should have been the one to reassure her, not the other way around. He kept thinking of how young and beautiful, how vulnerable she’d looked in her soft turquoise wool dress when she’d walked through the wrought-iron gates to her building.

He drove quickly back to her place. He wanted to be there if Paul O’Malley called. In his gut, Jack felt if Derek Arnold was going to do anything about the information Jenny had fed him Friday night, today would be the day he’d do it. He would have had all weekend to sit and think about it, and by this morning, he would have made up his mind.

Jack made himself a pot of coffee and sat at the kitchen table with his notebook. He looked at his notes about Elise, but they didn’t interest him. Not this morning. His gaze wandered around the cheerful kitchen. Everywhere he looked he saw touches of Nicole’s personality, her life with Aimee. Aimee’s yellow plastic mug. Her high chair. The big red porcelain pig that held cookies. A pair of Nicole’s silver earrings that lay forgotten on the kitchen counter. A crayon drawing hung on the front of the refrigerator with a magnet.

Other things reminded him of the past week: the open pantry, where he’d cornered Nicole one night, and where they’d ended up making love; the chipped sugar bowl sitting in the middle of the table and how she’d teased him about putting two heaping teaspoonsful of sugar in his coffee; even the stove and how he loved to slip up behind Nicole and snake his arms around her while she cooked. Even now, thinking about it, his palms remembered the exact texture of her firm breasts, how they seemed to fill his hands perfectly, as if they’d been made with him in mind.

Jack laid his head in his arms. He could hear his heart beating, keeping time with the kitchen clock. Suddenly, he just had to hear the sound of Nicole’s voice. His head told him there was absolutely no reason to worry about her; she was perfectly safe at work. His heart told him to call her.

He walked to the phone in the hall, picked it up, pressed the numbers he’d already committed to memory. He waited impatiently for her to come on the line.

“Miss Belizaire’s office,” she said in her soft, throaty voice.

Something warm curled into Jack’s stomach at the sound. “Hi,” he said. “How’s it going this morning?”

“It’s a typical Monday. Very busy.”

She sounded too businesslike. “Is someone there? Can you talk?”

“I can talk for a minute. Have you heard anything from Paul?”

“No.” He laughed sheepishly. “I...I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice, that’s all.”

“Jack...”

He heard the wistful note and cursed himself for yielding to the weakness that had prompted his call. “I’m sorry, Nicole,” he said, “I shouldn’t have called. I won’t call again unless I have some news.”

“Okay. See you at five.”

He hung up. He’d barely turned away from the phone when it rang. He snatched up the receiver. “Hello,” he barked.

“Jack?” Static accompanied the greeting.

It was Paul O’Malley. “Paul? Where are you?”

“On Interstate 10. Trailing Arnold. He’s on his way.” Jack looked at his watch. It was ten o’clock. “What time did he leave?”

“About nine. I waited to make sure he was actually headed towards New Orleans. I’m still not completely sure, ’cause we’re just outside Beaumont. I mean, he could just be on a sales trip, but I gotta feelin’ he’s headin’ your way.”

Jack’s stomach clenched. “That means he’ll probably hit town about three o’clock, maybe four, depending on whether he stops for lunch.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figure. Anyway, I’ll keep you posted. You gonna be at this number all day?”

“Yes. I won’t budge until four-thirty, when it’s time to go pick up Nicole.”

“You got the number to my car phone, don’cha?” O’Malley asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, call me if anything changes. Although it might be hard to reach me since you won’t know what area code I’m in.”

“Why don’t you just check in with me a couple of times instead?”

“Yeah, that might be better.”

“And Paul?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t lose him.”

“You can count on me.”

When they’d hung up, Jack took a deep breath, and called the law firm once more.

“Nicole,” he said when she answered, “Paul O’Malley just called. Derek Arnold is on his way.” He repeated everything O’Malley had told him, once again cautioning Nicole against leaving the office.

“But Jack, there’s no reason for me to stay in at lunchtime. He couldn’t possibly get here by then if they’re near Beaumont now. Not unless he sprouts wings and grows a jet engine!”

“Humor me, okay? I’ll just feel better knowing you’re inside.”

He heard her sigh. “Okay. Okay. I promise.” She chuckled. “Honestly, you’re worse than my brothers!”

“Nicole,” Jack said, “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.” Then, furious with himself for yielding to that damned weakness again, he added, “I’d feel guilty forever. I got you into this mess, and I aim to make damn sure you get out in one piece.”

For the rest of the day he paced around. He couldn’t settle into anything. He tried to watch television, but the picture remained a blur in his mind. He tried to read. The words were meaningless. He tried to nap. His eyes remained wide open. Finally he gave up. He changed into workout clothes and did push-ups until the muscles in his arms ached. Then he did sit-ups until he was gasping for breath.

Afterward he took a long hot bath, cleaned up the bathroom, put on fresh clothes and sat back down at the kitchen table. With notebook paper in front of him he began to write:
The first time I saw her, she was stepping down from the streetcar. Her yellow rain slicker
...

As the afternoon wore on Jack got more and more tense. He kept looking at the clock. Two o’clock. They should be near the city, maybe close to Baton Rouge. Two-thirty. He kept waiting for the phone to ring. Three o’clock. He tapped his pen against the kitchen table.

Why didn’t Paul O’Malley call? Jack had been sure the private investigator would call him once they hit the outskirts of New Orleans.

He stood, stretched. Paced the length of the kitchen floor. Walked down the hall to the living room. Looked out the front window. He could just barely see the street from this angle. Nothing. Only bright sunshine, an occasional bird flitting from one branch to another. A large orange Queen butterfly sailed over a stubborn patch of periwinkle that had refused to die out for the winter.

He looked at his watch again. Three-fourteen. Damn it. Why didn’t O’Malley call? Well, the hell with it. He’d try to call him. So Jack tried. With no success. He heard the phone ringing at the other end, but no one answered.

It was now three twenty-three. Jack’s uneasiness grew. Why hadn’t O’Malley called him? Something
must
be wrong.

He thought for a moment, made his decision. He called Nicole. “I want you to tell Julianne what’s going on and ask her if you can leave. Right now.”

“But why, Jack?”

“I can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling I have. You’ll have to trust me, Nicole.”

“All right.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

When he saw her emerge from the courtyard, he felt weak with relief. He wanted more than anything to gather her in his arms, but he also wanted to get her home as quickly as possible.

He drove fast. Several times he reached over to touch her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, although who he was reassuring—himself or her—he wasn’t sure.

At four-fifteen they pulled into the driveway. He didn’t even bother to put the car in the garage, just hurried her into the house. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to hold her close. He could feel her heart beating. He could feel her soft breasts pressed up against his chest. He didn’t kiss her. They didn’t talk. He just held her.

Finally he let her go. Voice gruff, he said, “Go pack a few things. We’re going to a hotel.”

“Jack,” Nicole protested, frown lines creasing her forehead.

“Don’t argue with me, Nicole.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, then closed it. Evidently she’d seen by his expression that his mind was made up. And it was. He might never be able to do anything about his feelings for Nicole, but dammit, he loved her. And he was through taking chances with her life.

She disappeared toward her bedroom. Jack was just walking out of Aimee’s room, his own packed suitcase in his hand, when the phone shrilled. He darted into the hall, dropped the suitcase, grabbed the receiver.

“Yes?”

“Jack?”

Jack expelled the air he’d been holding in. Relief washed over him. “Paul! Christ, man, I’ve been going nuts waiting for you to call. Where are you? What happened?”

“Wait,” O’Malley said. His voice sounded strained. “Lemme talk, okay?”

“I’m waiting.”

“I lost him.”

“What! How could you lose him! For God’s sake, Paul, you’re the best in the business! I trusted you!”

“I’m sorry, Jack. I underestimated the bastard. I didn’t think he had a clue about me, so I guess I was careless. He must’a found me out, ’cause he stopped for gas just outside of Baton Rouge. Anyway, I pulled into the service station, too. And I had to get gas. I mean, it would’ve looked funny if I hadn’t. While I was waiting to pay for my gas, he pulled his car around to the back of the parking lot, near the vending machines and men’s room. I couldn’t go right after him ’cause I had to pay first. I didn’t want the attendant to get all worked up, thinkin’ I was tryin’ to get away without payin’. Anyway, by the time the guy in front of me got done—there was some mixup about his change—and I paid, several minutes had passed.

“I got in my car, drove around back. I didn’t see Arnold anywhere. His car was there, though. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I figured he couldn’t go anywhere without his car. So I sat there and waited. I waited twenty minutes. Then I started to get nervous, tryin’ to think what had happened to him.

“I got out of the car, walked around the building toward the men’s room. I figured that was the only place he could be, unless he was hidin’ in the woods, and why would he do that? I still didn’t think he knew I was followin’ him.

“Anyway, I went to the men’s room, tried the doorknob. It was locked. I knocked. I figured if he was in there and I knocked, he’d just think it was someone wantin’ to get in and he’d come out. He yanked the door open, and the next thing I knew I woke up with a splittin’ headache and a knot on my head the size of a tennis ball. I was layin’ in the weeds, about twenty feet from the back of the service station, and my pockets were empty. No I.D. No wallet. No money. No car keys. Hell, he even took my car.”