Authors: Brandon Massey

Within the Shadows (33 page)

BOOK: Within the Shadows

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“Need to think about what to do next,” he said. “We’ve gotta learn what her weaknesses are—if she has any—and fight back.”

“She’s got a weakness all right,” she said. “You.”

“Me?”

“She’s lost her mind over you. She’s willing to do anything to have you, to please you. Got to be a way we can use that to our advantage.”

“How?”

“Don’t know yet. We’ll figure it out.”

“I’m about to lose it, for real.” He finally sat in a chair at the dinette table, dragged his shaky hand down his face. “Wish we could hop on a plane and fly somewhere, somewhere she’d never find us.”

“Eat, honey.” She set a plate heaped with pasta in front of him. “You’ve burned up a lot of energy. You’ll crash if you don’t get some food in you.”

“Thanks.” He began to shovel pasta in his mouth. “You eating?”

“Ate earlier.” She sat across from him and sipped a mug of peppermint tea. She touched his hand. “God, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I don’t know how I got away from her. Luck, I guess.”

“There’s no such thing as luck. Someone’s looking out for you, and I don’t mean Sammy.”

“I wish someone would tell me what to do next.”

“We’ll find answers, Drew. But you know what we’ve gotta do in the meantime?”

“What?”

“Stay together. I don’t want you out there alone anymore.”

A frightening vision returned to him: Mika rising from the floor, unharmed, after he had shot her almost point-blank with the .38.

He held Carmen’s hand tightly.

“I don’t want to be alone, either,” he said.

After he finished eating, they moved to the living room. They reclined on the sofa, a fluffy throw pillow separating their bodies; but each of their hands massaged the pillow, the paths of their fingers frequently intersecting.

Carmen had turned off the electric lights and lit a few ylang-ylang-scented candles. The rich, floral fragrance suffused the room; the flickering flames slowed the flow of the adrenaline coursing through his veins, relaxed his tense muscles.

The large entertainment center standing against a wall housed a TV, and a stereo. He had shut off the television and inserted a CD in the stereo system, the closest album at hand. It happened to be Will Downing. Downing was singing, “If I Ever Lose This Heaven.” Mellow, soulful music.

Sliding across the pillow, his hand trailed over hers. The feeling of her silky skin sent a pleasant buzz through him. On impulse, he took her hand in his, brought it to his lips, and kissed her fingers.

He expected a prompt, “no friends-with-benefits” rebuke. But she didn’t pull away, or speak. Shifting to face him, she gently traced her hand along his cheek.

He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. Soft, tender kisses. Her mouth tasted like delicious peppermint.

She slid her arms around him, encircling his back. Pulled him close. Rubbed her hand along his back, from his shoulder blades to the base of his spine. He moved his arms around her, too, drew her against him tighter. Their chests were pressed so close it seemed their hearts had unified into one, slowly beating organ.

“Feel so good I never want to move,” he whispered, his lips near her ear.

“Hmmm,” she said.

“I love you,” he said. He’d never spoken those words to her before, but they tumbled out of him, unexpectedly. And he immediately knew he meant them. He loved her body, of course, loved the feel of her, the taste of her, the electrifying sensation of being physically close to her; but much more than those things, he loved her caring soul and generous spirit, loved her sharp intellect and sense of humor and easygoing nature and unwavering support of him, no matter what he was going through. He loved even her flaws, because they formed the complete, one-of-a-kind, wonderful woman who was Carmen.

She drew back and looked at him, blinking. Surprised at his confession.

“I love you, Carmen,” he said, and added: “As more than a friend.”

She blinked again. Then smiled. “I love you, too. In all the same ways.”

He pulled her into his arms again, and held her.

Cuddled together on the sofa underneath a crisp blanket, they lay in companionable silence.

The candle flames encased the room in a soothing glow. Night breezes soughed around the windows.

They had switched off the stereo, to savor the tranquil night, the lub-dub of their heartbeats, and their hushed breaths.

Andrew felt their love for each other like a tangible presence in the room. Not like the coldness that heralded a spirit, but like a soul-hugging warmth that would comfort them on even the coldest night.

Although they had professed their love for each other, he was in no rush for them to
make
love. Being with Carmen comforted him, but he was too tense to initiate lovemaking, too anxious about Mika to risk exposing either of them to what could be a very real physical threat. As long as they stayed together, he believed they would somehow beat Mika. Afterward, when they were safer, there would be plenty of time and opportunity to explore a deeper level of passion together.

Besides, waiting to make love to Carmen gave him something to look forward to, something to live for. In the meantime, he was happy to hold her and bask in the warmth of her presence.

Carmen finally spoke. “What’s on your mind, honey?”

“You.”

“What’re you thinking about me?”

“All the stuff we’ve been through together over the years. How we somehow managed to stay platonic for so long. Wondering why we waited.”

“Hmm. I think it’s timing. We weren’t ready for each other as more than friends, till now.”

“Not until the rest of my world is collapsing, huh?”

“We’ll get past it,” she said. “Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about bad stuff, Drew.”

“Neither do I. I’d much rather talk about us. Where this is going.”

She rubbed his chest. “Ah, a man is bringing up plans for the future. I’m impressed. Usually guys hate to talk about that stuff.”

“We’re normally commitment-phobic. I can’t front, I’ve been that way myself, in the past. But this is different—I wanna do this right.”

“You want an exclusive with me?”

“Most definitely.”

“Want me to be your
numero uno
girl?”

“Yep.”

“Your ace-boon-coon chick?”

“The Bonnie to my Clyde.” He grinned.

She grinned, too. “Sounds tempting. I’ll give it some thought and get back to you.”

“What?” He looked at her.

“Drew, Drew.” She giggled. “Always so gullible.”

“And you’ve always got jokes. But seriously, what do you think? Do you want the same thing?”

“This is what I think.” She grasped his chin, guided his mouth to hers, and kissed him, repeatedly and tenderly.

“I take that as a yes,” he said.

“I’ve always been your lady,” she said.

As they lay together, both of them half asleep, his cell phone rang.

“Who can this be?” Groaning, he got up, Carmen rolling off him.

It was Eric.

“Drew, you’ve gotta get over here now!” Eric said. “Your house is on fire.”

Chapter 35

F
lames devoured Andrew’s home. The ravenous fire swallowed the roof, ate the walls, and chewed the windows and doors, belching a stream of acrid, gray-black smoke into the cloudy night sky.

One arm draped loosely around Carmen, Andrew watched the conflagration from a safe distance across the street. A team of firefighters battled to save his house. But they had arrived too late, and the fire had spread too quickly, for them to prevent most of the devastation.

Earlier that evening, he had stood in the driveway and regarded his home with protective pride.

Now, everything he owned was going up, quite literally, in smoke.

He had homeowner’s insurance, but that wouldn’t replace everything. Photos, memorabilia special only to him—they were lost forever.

Most of all, insurance could never replace the sense of violation that had numbed him to the deepest core of his being.

Eric was beside him. Talking to him. He might as well have been speaking in a foreign tongue. Dazed, Andrew couldn’t comprehend his words.

Although it was past ten o’clock in the evening, half of the neighborhood had clustered nearby to gape at the gigantic torch that was Andrew’s house. Many of his neighbors had offered supportive words, had given his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. But he could read the thoughts lurking beneath the friendly surface of their eyes, and the thoughts were:
I’m sorry, man. But I’m sure as hell glad that’s not my house.

He probably was imagining things. But he couldn’t help it. He had never in his life felt so hollow. When the wind occasionally picked up, he felt as if he could just be carried away on the breeze and spun through the night like an empty soda can.

A grim-faced fire investigator approached, holding a clipboard. “Mr. Wilson?”

Andrew looked at him. Fuzzily realized the man had spoken to him. Said nothing.

“We’re very sorry about your home, sir. We’ll do a full investigation to find out what caused the blaze. Could’ve been electrical, chemical, natural or—”

“She did it,” Andrew said flatly. “She’s punishing me.”

“Who?” The investigator clenched his pen.

Andrew shrugged. “I filed a restraining order against her. But it doesn’t matter. You won’t catch her.”

“Pardon me?”

Tears came to Andrew’s eyes. He wiped his eyes quickly, almost savagely.

Carmen stepped in. “He means a psycho bitch burned his house down. But she’s too slick for you guys to catch.”

“Ma’am, I promise you, we’ll investigate this and if an arsonist is responsible, we’ll see that justice is served.”

“Do whatever you want, follow your little procedures,” she said. “We’ll handle our business, thank you.”

The investigator pursed his lips, offered a card and told them to call him in the morning to answer more questions, and walked away.

Carmen gave Andrew a handkerchief. He blotted his damp eyes.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. Probably when his grandfather had died, seven years ago. Shedding tears wasn’t his style. But he couldn’t stop them from flowing out of him, lava-hot.

Carmen rubbed his back, murmured words of comfort. Eric rested his hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks, guys,” he said. He drew in a hitching breath. “I’ll be okay.” His cell phone rang. The call was from a private number.

He knew who was calling. He didn’t want to talk to her.

But he did.

“Mika,” he whispered, in a voice that, if it were a weapon, could have killed.

“See what happens when you make me angry?” Mika said.

She sounded cheerful. Triumphant.

If he could have channeled his rage through the phone lines, it would have struck her down like a lightning bolt.

“I love you, Andrew, but you had to be taught a lesson,” she said. “Stay away from that bitch. Stop hiding from our love.”

Fury had strangled him, made it nearly impossible to draw the breath necessary to speak.

Eric and Carmen watched him. His body language had transmitted itself to them. Their eyes had narrowed and their jaws had clenched, as if they were striving to contain explosive rage.

It went without saying that they realized who had called him.

“You don’t need that hovel you called a house, anyway,” Mika said. “Soon, you’ll come to our home, and you’ll scarcely remember that miserable, third-rate place of yours.”

He clutched the phone so tightly the handset’s edges pressed red indentations into his palm.

“And I know all about Sammy, that pathetic little soul you’ve been talking to about me,” she said. “I pay him no mind, and neither should you—he can’t help you hide from the truth. No one can. Your only choice is to give in to our love, accept our joyous future together. Tell me that you love me, baby. Say it how you said it earlier, when we were driving—”

Shouting, he hurled the phone into the night.

A young boy who lived across the street retrieved his phone. Andrew accepted it reluctantly.

Mika had hung up. But a text message awaited him.

CAN’T RUN FROM R LOVE I WON’T LET U

He deleted the message. He glanced at his burning house, and turned to Eric.

BOOK: Within the Shadows

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