Retribution (16 page)

“All right, he's not a bum. But my point remains. We could tell Paul.”

“And he'll be required to file a report. I can't take that risk.” Her brain felt like gelatin, all quivery and unsettled. “I can't think right now.” She put her head between her hands. “Maybe I'll feel differently later, but please, Roger, I don't want anyone else to know.”

He pulled a hand down his short beard. “What about Ted and Trina, or Bill? I don't think there's a bigger guy in Darlington than Bill.”

“Can't we wait?” She knew her eyes held a pleading look, like the one Susan used when she wanted ice cream, but she didn't care. “What if I'm getting worked up over nothing?” Had she been wrong to tell him? Was her judgment so far off that she could no longer trust her own counsel? She forced a smile. “I feel better already just telling someone. Thanks for listening.”

“First thing we need to do is get those gas cans out of your car. Come on.” Roger pulled her up. “Let's get to work.”

The situation had moved from her control to his and she wasn't sure if she felt relief or fear.

~*~

As Roger drove down the cul-de-sac of his street Lillian remained quiet, seemingly deep in thought. He was taking a risk bringing her here, but sometimes fate created opportunities that human intervention could not. This might be one of those times. The adrenalin rush began. His muscles twitched, begging for action. His heart beat harder to supply the oxygen needed. “So what do you think?” He asked as he pulled into his drive and noticed her stare. “Care to share your thoughts on my domain?”

“I had envisioned you somewhere grander. Not that this isn't a nice little house, but you carry yourself differently, like a man used to wealth.”

One point for Lillian. She had noticed his breeding.

“The basic two bedrooms and two baths, kitchen and living room. Disappointed?”

“Not at all. It's a cute house. I can see myself living in a place like this,” she murmured. “You keep a nice lawn. No flowers, though.”

“I'm not much into flowers.” Trying to hide his eagerness, he opened her car door. It had never been in the plan to bring her to the house, but several times in the past, when a plan had gone bad, he had improvised with success. The thought of having his obligation met lightened his step. The neighbors were working people, and no one should be home, but he glanced up the street anyway as he guided her toward the house.

“This is nice, Roger.” The muscles in her face seemed to relax as she entered the sparse kitchen.

“Sit down while I get rid of those gas cans. The bathroom is down this way, first door on the left.” He pointed to the hall leading off the kitchen before leading her to the living room on the right. He would deal with her car later; maybe take it back to the park like the original plan.

“I should help you.”

“No need. I can do this. Make yourself at home, and I'll be right back.”

As Lillian sank onto the couch, he headed toward the door, and then stopped. Had he shut down his computer? Sometimes he forgot, especially if he was running late. And this morning he knew the fire chief would be waiting in his office. He couldn't risk her wandering around, spotting the computer, and deciding to get online. Not that she could find his files, or even be able to open them if she did happen onto them, but the nagging doubt felt like a drip that wouldn't stop.

He detoured down the hall to his bedroom. The computer screen showed black, but the green light blinked. The system was on, but had reverted to sleep mode. He flushed the toilet in the adjoining bathroom and turned on the water in the sink, hoping to mask the sound of the computer shutting down. Pulling open the long center drawer of the desk, he tapped a finger against the map he had placed there. Once the computer screen darkened, he turned off the water and headed back up the hall.

Lillian sat with her head resting on the back of the couch.

After checking again for anyone lingering in the neighborhood, he slipped the three gas cans into the storage room attached to the side of his house. He locked the shed door behind him, headed to the kitchen, and washed his hands. “All done,” he announced as he rounded the corner to the living room.

Lillian, with feet still planted on the floor, was fast asleep, her head resting on the side cushions.

From panic to peaceful within a couple of hours, while his anxiety remained part of him, each negative episode layering one on top of the other. What would it feel like to be at peace? He didn't even know, it had been so long. Anger bubbled through his gut like putrid fumes as he watched her even breaths. He clenched his hands. Maybe this
was
fate's way of repaying him for thwarting his agenda at the park. He moved toward her sleeping form, the beige carpet absorbing his footsteps.

Her dark eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks.

He stood rigid until her even breathing resumed.

The voice pounded in his head.
“Do it. Do it. Do it.”

Last night's phone call from his contact had reminded him of his commitment. Finish what he had agreed to do. Roger had tried to explain the reason for the delay, but the response remained the same. Get the job done.

No one knew Lillian was at his house. No one knew she had called him. Latoya knew, but Latoya would never tell. And the fire chief, well, he could be a problem, but what did the man really know? Emergencies happened every day at the office. Did Roger tell him it was a personal emergency? He stroked his beard, trying to remember.

She really was beautiful, her sandy-red hair fanning out against the brown upholstery. Black lashes hiding hazel eyes that could pull a man into their depths, or freeze him with a sudden icy stare. Roger knew her better than anyone else. He knew that her attractive looks hid a soul intent on her own gain, selfish and spoiled.

Cautiously lowering himself to the edge of the couch, he paused.

Still she slept.

Her throat lay before him, pale and thin.

Do it. Do it
.
Finally give her what she has coming. Pay her for what she did. She is evil, evil, evil…

A deep moan escaped his lips as he reached for her throat.

12

Three days had passed since Lillian had discovered her past had followed her to Darlington. Three days since she had awakened to find Roger leaning over her on the couch. Startled, she had jerked away from him, and then laughed as his expression of guilt and surprise. Later she had wondered about his reaction. Had he intended to kiss her?

As she pulled her car into the bed and breakfast, her jaw tightened. What had possessed her to trust him with her fate? She knew nothing about the man, and had reacted impulsively on some unfathomable gut instinct. That's one of the things Dr. Widder had warned her about: her latent impulsiveness. Her embarrassment over sharing her personal life increased her anxiety. And the kiss. It fell way beyond her level of comfort. But she had needed ally, and Roger had promised not to share.

Equally important, what had he done with the gas cans? They hadn't had a chance to talk since leaving his house on Tuesday.

Regardless, she had given him her trust, and her culpability curdled in her stomach. For the past three days, she had constantly looked over her shoulder, hunting for any familiar face. The stress of the unexpected had left her drained and tense. Who could have followed her here, and why? Surely, anger alone would not cause someone to go to such lengths unless personally affected. And no one had been impacted by the fire more than she. The hot and hungry flames had eaten her entire world.

She turned off the car and rotated tight shoulders. Could she beg off tonight's routine dinner, and plead a headache? Or should she simply turn around and head back to campus? The heavy workload wouldn't be a total lie. But the truth remained—she dreaded seeing Roger again. Their relationship had changed, but she wasn't sure in what way.

Gravel crunched beneath tires as she sat in indecision. Car lights shone into her window. Too late to escape now.

“Hey there,” Paul called across the darkening space. He lifted a hand in salute. A bag dangled from his fist.

“Paul. Good to see you again.” She checked the car door to verify it had locked.

“Brought Trina a surprise.” Paul's conspiratorial expression forced a smile on her face. “One of the guys at the office has family in Ohio. You know that specialty soda Trina's always talking about? Well, I had him grab her some when he went back home last week. I've been saving it for tonight.” He held up the brown bag, his fist clutching the paper around the bottle's neck.

She did remember Trina mentioning it, and cringed for not having thought to have some shipped.

Leave it to Paul to grab onto the small things, always making people feel special.

She kicked loose gravel with the toe of her shoe as they walked toward the back entrance.

The warmth of the kitchen felt good after the cool night air, and the odor of Italian tomato sauce permeated the air.

Taking a deep breath, Lillian wished for the hundredth time she was part of this family—as an equal and not one stained by her past.

“Hey, Lillian. Paul. Just in time to set the table.” Trina looked so cute, her apron standing like a ball around her belly, spatters of red across her mid-section. With the back of a hand, she wiped strands of brown hair off her face. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

“It's just you—and the baby you're heaving around,” said Sandra. She pushed Trina into a kitchen chair. “Here, take a break. Reinforcements have arrived.”

Trina settled into the chair at the side of the table. “What you got there, Paul?”

Paul leaned and kissed her cheek. “I brought a gift to my best girl.” An impish grin filled his face. “Hope you don't mind, Ted.”

“Have to see what you brought first, bro.”

For a second Lillian felt the grip of jealousy at their camaraderie.

“Ohhh…” Trina pulled the two-liter bottle from its bag. “Sandra, can I have a glass?” She struggled to remove the twist-top.

“Now you've crossed the line,” Ted said to Paul. “Her favorite drink.”

“You'll have to use a mug,” Sandra said as she dropped ice into a ceramic cup. “We plan to use all the good glasses for supper.”

“No problem!”

Ted laughed. “You had better give it to her or she'll start drinking from the bottle.”

Trina placed her nose just inches above the open bottle and sniffed. She held out her arms and Paul leaned down for her hug. “Thank you.”

Jimmy examined the bottle. “Can I have some? Is it good?”

“Well, I like it.” Trina held up her mug. “Here, take a sip and see what you think.”

Jimmy peered into the cup and back at Trina, his eyebrows creased. “I don't know…”

“Come on, it's pop,” Bill said. “Kids like pop.”

“It's soda, Jimmy,” Sandra said. “Pop is the same thing as soda.”

The boy took a small sip. “Yuck. You can have the rest, Miss Trina.”

Trina took the mug from the grimacing boy. “Gladly. You just don't know what's good.”

“Can I have some sweet tea?”

“At supper. Here, have some water.” Sandra filled a plastic cup and handed it to the boy.

As life swirled around her, Lillian's muscles relaxed. The depression that had settled over her for the past few days melted away in the heat and familial setting. “Let me change my clothes and I'll be down to help.” In the upper hall, she smiled as she passed a young couple walking hand-in-hand toward the stairs. “Have a good evening.”

The young woman, looking to be no more than early twenties, snuggled into the side of the equally youthful man. “We're headed to dinner and then the movies.” The woman gazed at the sparkling diamond on her left hand as she twisted the accompanying band with her finger.

Lillian sighed. Newlyweds most likely, but the thought did not bring the anticipated pain that it once had. In her room she chose a pair of thin-leg jeans and a pale-orange knit top, not so orange as to clash with her hair, but a nice warm orange that made her feel happy.

Back in the kitchen, Jimmy approached her with a wide grin. “Miss Lillian, what do you call a fake noodle?”

She loved the sparkle that this young guy exuded. So much tragedy had followed him, and yet he could smile. “I don't know,” she replied. “What do you call a fake noodle?”

“An impasta!” He slapped his leg and laughed. “Get it? An impasta!”

“I get it, you funny guy.” Lillian turned to Sandra. “What do you need me to do?”

Jimmy tugged at her arm. “Here's another one. What do you call an alligator in a vest?”

“Jimmy, enough for now,” Sandra said. “Go find something to do.”

“I don't have anything to do.”

Lillian smiled, remembering being told the same thing from her mother a million times when she got in the way. “Let me see,” she said. “An alligator in a suit?”

“No,” Jimmy said, still laughing. “Not in a suit, in a vest.”

“Oh, in a vest.” She screwed her face in thought. “How about a handsome gator?”

Jimmy cackled. “No, an investigator!”

No one could be around Jimmy for long and stay morose.

“Jimmy, come help me set the table before your grandma feeds you to one of those alligators.” Bill ruffled the boy's hair, and then reached for the white ceramic plates off the top shelf. “Can someone get the napkins and silverware?”

Paul grabbed the basket of silverware from the kitchen table and Lillian took the napkins. Napkin duty seemed to fall to her. Headlights reflected in the window and her breath caught in her throat.

Roger had arrived.

A rush of cool air followed Roger through the door. She tried to avoid looking at him, but she felt his magnetic gaze pull her, as though she were a helpless sliver of metal. He had the looks: dark hair that waved just enough to give it interest, dark eyes that seemed to penetrate to her heart. As she wondered what he looked like without his goatee, she swallowed the bitter lump that rose in her throat.