Wife for Hire (16 page)

“No!” Lindy screamed, lurching toward him. Cara moved like lighting, intent on kicking the gun away, but she wasn’t fast enough to fade a boot to the gut. She crumpled to the floor and Nico hopped to his feet, gun in hand, just as Owen barreled through the door.

A shot rang out, splinters exploded from the wall between them, and Lindy screamed. Nico adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger again, but this time, there was nothing but a soft
click
.

No more bullets.

If the situation hadn’t been so terrifying, Nico’s horrified expression would have been comical. He backed away a step, hands in the air. “What, you know each other, is that what this is about? Listen, I’m sorry. I can pay it back. That thing with her was a mistake.”

“Oh, it was a fucking mistake, all right.” Owen’s voice was liquid nitrogen, and sent a chill through the room. He didn’t slow his gait until he was an arm’s length from Nico, who took a wild swing at him. An icy grin spread over Owen’s face, and with one stunning blow to the jaw, he sent Nico flying against the wall, where he slid to the floor in a heap. Owen nudged his leg to make sure he was out cold then turned, rummaging through the desk drawers with single-minded intensity.

Lindy dropped to her knees beside Cara and took her hand. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she gasped. “Actually, never better.” Her wobbly but proud smile sent some much-needed blood pumping back to Lindy’s frozen heart. “How about you?”

Lindy nodded, “Good. I’m really good, now.”

A shadow fell over them and they both looked up. Owen was jamming two bullets into the chamber. He took the paperweight from Lindy’s limp hand and pushed the gun into it. “If he moves, shoot him.” He strode to the telephone and dialed. “I need an officer at 5301 Alpine Road right away.”

Nico stirred with a murmur but didn’t get up. Owen must have really rung his bell, she thought with satisfaction. She held the gun as steady as she could while she waited for Owen to finish the call to the police.

A moment later, gentle fingers pulled the gun from her grasp. “You did so well, ladies. I am unbearably proud of both of you. We got him,” Owen murmured and sat on the floor, wrapping an arm around each of them. Lindy moved to pull away, but couldn’t muster the strength. She might as well let him hold her since it would be the last time. The shock faded and sounds of footsteps pounded down the hallway.

“What’s going on here? Was that a gunshot?” Sarabeth stood in the doorway, flanked by Jordan and Marty and dressed in cocktail attire.

Lindy pushed away from Owen and stood on her own two feet. They had some explaining to do.

Chapter Nineteen

Sarabeth stood in front of the monitors shaking her head. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “These people I’ve been trying to help…”

Lindy rubbed her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. How could you have known?”

“What about you?”

Lindy had been so focused on poor Sarabeth, she hadn’t even thought of Jordan and Marty. But now, the other woman stared at her husband accusingly.

“You went to a me-time meditation session. And a massage.”

She reached for the Play button and Owen made a grab for her, catching her wrist. “Don’t do it. No good can come of this. They cut them to make them look bad, and—”

She jerked her arm away, stilling him with icy look. “I will watch that clip, Owen—or whoever you are—and if I were you, I wouldn’t try to stop me.”

Owen flicked a glance to Marty who stood in the doorway. “It doesn’t matter. Let her see it,” he said, his face grim.

Owen backed away, and Jordan clicked the mouse. Lindy closed her eyes, wishing she was anywhere but there. The audio kicked in and a husky timbre filled the room. Brandi with an i?
“A man of your stature needs to blow off some steam. When you leave here, you’ll be so relaxed, your legs will feel like jelly. Let me do that for you, won’t you Marty?”

“That would be great.”

Jordan blanched, her face going bone white. She reached for the mouse.

“Leave it.” Marty’s voice cracked across the room like a shot, and Jordan froze.

“Wait. I-I thought you meant a deep tissue massage.”
Blankets rustled.
“I can’t do this, although I apprec
—
”

The recording stopped, and the room went silent. Lindy opened her eyes to see a shell-shocked Jordan walking toward Marty. Her eyes pooled with unshed tears. “Y-you didn’t do it?” she whispered.

Marty drew back as if she’d slapped him. “Jesus, of course not.”

“Why not?”

He set his glasses higher up on his nose. “Because I’m a married man.”

“I appreciate your restraint.” She gave him a watery smile and patted his cheek, but there was a hint of resignation and despair in her eyes.

Marty stood tall and seemed to muster his courage before adding, “And because I love my wife.” He grabbed her hand to press it to his lips. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d make it a little easier to do once in a while.”

“It’s no secret my father bribed you with the partnership. The family never fails to remind me that we wouldn’t even be married if it wasn’t for that.”

He gave a helpless shrug. “That may be how they see it, but they’re wrong. I have all the experience necessary to start my own successful practice now. I don’t need your father anymore.” He cupped her chin with a gentle hand. “But I still need you.”

“You actually love me?” The longing on his wife’s face was so raw, Lindy looked away.

“Always have.”

The tears flowed freely down Jordan’s face now, and Lindy swallowed the lump wedged in her throat. Who would have thought she would end up envying the two of them?

“I’m thrilled for you guys, I really am,” Cara said softly, “but I watch a lot of CSI and we’re going to get in big trouble for tampering with evidence, so can we clear out this room before the cops show up?”

…

By the time the police left, Lindy was a walking zombie. They’d been there for hours, repeating their story over and over while the techs logged evidence and shuffled in and out marking baggies. Liza and Nico had been arrested while Brandi, Marcel, and several other staff members were brought to the station for questioning. Apparently, it wasn’t only men who cheated at The Healing Place. After Marty and Jordan had talked, she also agreed to give a statement about how Nico had been overly physical with her and admitted that she’d been concerned for some time now that something was amiss.

Once all the statements were taken, the rest of the staff and guests were released but asked not to leave town for a few days until everything was straightened out. Poor Sarabeth was inconsolable. Lindy didn’t get a chance to talk to her much because they had sent the guests and staff to various hotels after sealing off the building. In her exhaustion, she’d followed Owen’s lead. It wasn’t until four in the morning, when they stepped over the threshold of their room adjoining Cara’s, that she re-evaluated her sleeping arrangements.

“You should go stay with your sister,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“Do we need to do this right now?” He tugged her toward him, breathing a long sigh into her hair. “She’s fine, actually, better than I’ve seen her in a long time. It’s been a hell of a night for all of us. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms and forget all the ugliness for a while. Can’t we do that? I promise we’ll talk when we wake up.”

She tried to muster up the fight but came up empty. The need to close her eyes was unbearable and she nodded. Tomorrow was another day. He pulled her toward the bed, shoved back the blankets and helped her in. She didn’t wait for him to join her before drifting off into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

…

“Go Lindy, go!”

He could hear Cara’s screams from the other side of the house, but knew in his gut Lindy wasn’t going. Dread clutched at his heart as he plowed through the door. She turned, wild-eyed, to face him, paperweight in hand, ready to take Nico on, her own safety an afterthought if it was a thought at all.

Crack!

A shot. A crimson stain spreading over the front of her shirt.

Owen jerked awake, his body drenched with sweat. His heart galloped in his chest as he flipped on the bedside lamp. A glance at the clock told him what he already knew. Two a.m. Same bat-dream, same bat-time, same bat-channel. Whoever said people didn’t dream in color could piss off. The red—all that fucking red—haunted him. Running a hand through his damp hair, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared blindly out the window.

It had been one week since he’d been back. One week since his sister had been kicked in the stomach by the man who once professed to love her. One week since he’d seen Nico Stephanopoulos with a gun pointed at Lindy. And one week since he’d woken up in their hotel room alone. He was no closer to getting over it than the day it happened and he relived the nightmare of what could’ve been every time he closed his eyes. The need to punish Stephanopoulos set his blood boiling. Like Cara had reminded him, it was in the hands of the DA now, and all they could do was wait.

He stood, knowing from experience that there would be no more rest for him if he lay back down. He hadn’t managed to string together two hours of uninterrupted sleep since he’d gotten back. Slipping into his track pants and sneakers, he stretched in preparation for a run. Exhaustion was the order of the day. Maybe then he could get another hour or two of sleep.

He crept down the stairs and into his home gym. Clearing his mind, he stepped on the treadmill and cranked it from zero to six without bothering to warm up. An hour later, he stepped off, soaked and gasping. He’d wanted exhaustion, he’d gotten it. Still, that last mile might have been pushing it. It was probably an exercise in futility regardless, because he’d been plenty tired when he’d gone to bed the first time. No matter how far he ran, he couldn’t escape the reality that he’d blown it.

Big time.

He swiped his arm across his brow and dropped to the floor. God, he missed her. Her laugh, her silly jokes, the way she looked at him. Everything sucked without her. But damn it, he’d almost lost her for real. What if he gave her what she wanted, what she deserved, and truly let himself go? Opened up the floodgates and loved her as hard as he knew he could, and something happened? He didn’t know if he could stand it. Love meant pain.

As opposed to what you’re doing now, genius?
He was surviving it, though, wasn’t he? Getting through the day. Going through the motions. Maybe he’d even find a nice woman eventually, and they’d enjoy one another’s company. She’d fit right into his life, like a neat little peg, and everything would be fine. Just fine.

With those words reverberating in his head, it felt like a bolt of lightning hit him square in the chest. For the first time, he realized something with the utmost clarity. That life was shite. Nothing like a life filled with love and Lindy. Could she hurt him? Shatter his heart? His thoughts turned momentarily to the other couples at the retreat. Just look at Bitsy Cedarhurst. And poor Marty. Hell, even the Warden had been sad for most of her marriage. His sister Cara. His mother. Nothing but pain. Except Lindy wasn’t Calvin Cedarhurst, or Jordan, or his father. And neither was he. They wouldn’t treat one another like that. If he was wrong, and things fell apart, it would be devastating. But unlike his mother, he was a survivor. And look at Cara now. She was empowered and happier than he’d seen her in more than a year. She’d made it through and come out the other side stronger than ever.

There were no guarantees. No contracts, no reams of data or crunching of numbers to determine whether he was making a rock solid deal. Love was a wild, crazy leap of faith. A risk. The same one Lindy had been willing to take on him, without reservation. She deserved no less than the same.

He stood, a kernel of hope melting away some of the ice that had settled around his heart. It was time to try and fix what he’d so carelessly attempted to break. He sure as hell didn’t deserve it, but he was going to ask her for another chance. He thought of the things he said to her that horrible night. The night she’d said she loved him. The night he’d thrown it back in her face, and his stomach pitched. Could she ever forgive him?

And if she didn’t, could he ever forgive himself?

…

Lindy stared at the pile of mismatched silks with disgust. She’d been back a week. Surely by now she should be able to handle the simple task of making a couple of pillows. She’d started out all right, but at some point during the process, she’d sewn the back piece of the red pillow to the front piece of the turquoise pillow. Stupid looking, like everything else lately. Except that cherry pie she bought the night before at the mini-mart.

She tossed the ruined fabric into the scrap pile she passed on her way to the kitchen. It was pie time. Those weeks with Owen might have ruined her for other men and two-hundred thread count sheets, but at least it hadn’t spoiled her love of crappy food.

The phone rang, startling her. She approached it slowly like she always did lately. Hoping it was Owen. Knowing it wasn’t. She peered down at the caller ID.
Sarabeth.
She considered picking up, but then let it go to voice mail. She wasn’t in the mood to talk right now. In the weeks since the incident, she’d kept in close contact with the young doctor. Sarabeth was still in shock about Nico and The Healing Place, and Lindy had certainly needed a shoulder to cry on after her blow up with Owen. They’d grown remarkably close during their nightly heart to hearts that often ended in tears but sometimes ended in laughter. If nothing else, in spite of her broken heart and Sarabeth’s decimated career, they’d each walked away from their experiences with a new friend. And God knew she needed one right now.

Resolving to call her back later, Lindy tiptoed into the kitchen, trying not to wake the sleeping puppies. Spying the pie on the counter, she winced when she saw that it was half gone already. She made a silent pledge to spend an extra thirty minutes on the treadmill, scooped up the box, and plucked a fork from the drawer. Why bother cutting a slice? She was alone and people who lived alone could eat straight out of the box if they wanted. Yay for perks.

Hot tears rushed to her eyes. She glanced at the clock and considered calling to check on Melba again. When Lindy had gotten back, the older woman had confided that she and Nate’s butcher, Russell, had fallen in love after a quarrel over the thickness of her olive loaf. He convinced her that they should discuss it over dinner, and three weeks later, he’d asked her to live in sin with him at his assisted living condo in Great Neck. In spite of Lindy’s concerns, Melba had said yes.

“I’ve been around a while, and I know what I know. Stanley is a good man and I’m not going to fool around playing coy while some other woman snatches him up. I don’t have all that much time left, and I want to enjoy every second of it.”

Lindy’s lips trembled into a watery smile at the memory. Melba was the best. She gave new meaning to the phrase “taking life by the balls,” and it wasn’t like they would never see each other again. They were meeting at the diner the following week for the early bird turkey-roll special. Everything was fine and this pity party had to stop.

As soon as she finished the pie.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks and let out a loud snuffle before shoveling a forkful of gooey pastry into her mouth. The sickly sweet and slightly tart gelatinous goo folded over her tongue, and she found herself wishing it could be used to spackle her shattered heart.

The rumble of what could only be a diesel engine interrupted her maudlin thoughts. Jeez, it sounded like an episode of
Ice Road Truckers
was setting up to film outside her house. What the heck was going on out there? She shuffled to the window and saw a giant flatbed truck sitting in her driveway covered by tarps. Must have the wrong house. She debated whether to go out and tell them so they didn’t ring her bell and wake the dogs, but then she glanced down at her cherry-stained Scooby Doo sweatshirt and decided against it. Hopefully they’d figured it out when they saw the house number on the door.

On her way back to the kitchen to put what was left of the pie away, an unsettling thought occurred to her. What if it wasn’t the wrong house? What if Mal had gotten involved in yet another far-fetched, get-rich-never scheme? All sorts of terrifying images ran through her mind and a frisson of fear skittered down her spine. What if he wanted them to open a mortuary and those tarps covered a dozen coffins? Or worse, a dozen customers…

She turned back and rushed out the door. Pie in hand, she ran down the stairs to the driveway in time to see a man leap down from the cab of the truck. “Hey, what’s all thi—” The words died on her lips as Owen turned to face her.