JUST A FRONT
Summary: AU in which Carl and Rachel divorced.
Notes: Okay, okay. I know I somehow can’t manage to write a story with them together, but with a little help this one will turn out fine.
Chapter 1
The charms of Carl Hutchins could reduce any woman to a quivering mess. Rachel snatched another petit four and popped it into her mouth as she watched him smile at Kirkland's teacher. It just wasn’t fair. He was nearly the same Carl she’d divorced four years ago. He should be slowing down, showing his age, not dazzling the stockings off a woman young enough to be his daughter. At this rate, she’d never manage to get him out of her system.
His grey hair was still longer than that of the average middle-aged man. Only on him could the hair look just right. She knew plenty of women who’d kill for either the soft locks or the chance to touch them. And that’s exactly what she wanted to do. Her fingers literally itched with the need to wonder through his hair.
He was still as lean and handsome as always. His black clothing hung on his frame with ease. She knew from experience just how good he would smell if she were to go over and lay her head against the soft material of his blazer. Tonight he was far too tempting for her sanity.
Not a thing had changed since the divorce. Carl played the elegant gentleman to perfection. He could schmooze and finesse an entire room of strangers. All the while he never revealed too much of himself. He deflected the most invasive of questions with the greatest of ease. Rachel liked to think only she truly knew him.
Something behind her must have caught his attention, because suddenly his eyes were resting on her. She needed to appear calm. Uninterested. Totally unaffected. Casual to the point of being cold.
Yeah, right, as if she could.
The room around them faded away as their eyes remained locked. Rachel could feel that tiny ball of apprehension in her belly. Sure, they were divorced and they’d lived in Bay City without an ounce of trouble. Yet as of late, she’d found herself responding to his presence in a more…well, personal way. They crossed one another’s paths, especially if it involved Vicky and the boys. Once or twice they’d even shared a friendly family meal at the Harbor Club. Some would say she was desperate, Rachel liked to think of it as a means of survival.
She nearly dropped here cup of punch as he strode across the room toward her. He smiled and greeted as he went, finally focusing his devastating smile on her. She gulped and wondered if she looked cool enough.
"Rachel."
"Carl." So far so good. "Did you enjoy the program?"
"As well as one can enjoy the singing of children."
"They were sweet weren’t they?"
"Very. Steven was impressive. You should be proud."
"I am." The silence grew from seconds into a minute.
"How’s everything?"
Everything? How was she supposed to answer? "Good, I can’t complain. I saw Maggie this morning—she told me you’d recently returned from a trip."
"Yes," he replied, taking a sip of his punch. "England and Ireland. Home."
Home. Funny, she had trouble remembering he hadn’t always been in Bay City. Even now, when she had little contact with him, she felt better knowing he was around. "At least you were here for today. Steven’s been so excited these last weeks."
"I cut short my schedule so I could be here. Willingly, I might add. Kirkland reminds me so much of my dear Ryan."
His eyes misted over at the thought of his long dead son. At least he had little Kirk. She remembered her own personal joy the day it had been revealed Grant was not Kirk’s father. How she wished she could’ve shared it with Carl.
"Of course I’ll miss them both equally," he continued.
"Miss them?"
He paused as though considering his next words. "I’m…moving."
So? Moving to another suite. A house maybe…oh, wait a sec. "Moving?’
"Leaving I suppose I should say." Carl’s dark eyes met hers. She couldn’t quite read them and wasn’t sure if she wanted to. "I’ve decided to leave Bay City Rachel. I’m going home."
(*)
He had a knack for saying the wrong thing at just the wrong time when it came to his former wife. For two people once so in love, they’d never quite mastered the art of communication.
"You’re moving," Rachel spluttered. Her eyes widened for a moment, then went cool. She was retreating to that place she’d inhabited during the divorce. Calm, collected Rachel Cory, the Ice Queen. Definitely not the passionate woman he’d married.
"Why?" she asked. "What bee’s gotten into your bonnet this time?"
"Rachel…"
"I thought Bay City was home."
"It is. It was." How was he supposed to put it into words? How do you tell someone you’re running away from them? "It’s time to move on. Victoria is thinking of leaving as well."
"Oh really. I had no idea."
He could see the thoughts spinning in her sharp little mind. "I thought Vic might have mentioned it to you before now."
"Not at all." She plunked down her cup and wrapped her arms around her middle. "Jamie had mentioned he wanted to live closer to Steven. I just hoped he meant he wanted to move home. It seems no one but me wants to be here."
Oh, Carl wanted to remain in Bay City, but the price for doing so was far too high. "It’s something I want Rachel," he said, unrepentant. But it wasn’t true.
"Fine," she muttered then attempted her social face. "I wish you all the luck in the world."
She started to move away from him, but his quick grab of her arm stopped her.
(*)
The almost forgotten touch of his hand sent frissions of awareness through her body. His fingers held her in a velvety iron grip. She stared at his skin against hers for a long moment, amazed, for just a moment, at the power of his touch.
Since the divorce she’d been so careful not to touch him. She’d been so cautious during their all too brief encounters. They were polite but never hugged or kissed. The didn’t even shake hands. But now, the simple gesture aroused a wealth of memories…some good, but some very bad.
All of a sudden she remembered just why she’d demanded the divorce in the first place. The danger, the worry, he’d put her through every time he went after Grant. The feeling that at any moment he would step over the line and she would lose him. The fear that he’d rip her heart out no matter how much she loved him.
He disentangled his hand from her slowly, as though he’d realized what he’d done. "Forgive me Rachel."
She took a deep breath. There were words she wanted to say to him, but couldn’t. She had questions she wanted answered, but knew it was useless. She was supposed to be over him, right?
"Rachel, if you’d like to talk…"
"There’s nothing we haven’t said," she said softly. Please God, don’t let my voice crack, she pleaded. "When do you go?"
"Within the month. Perhaps two."
So soon? Something she didn’t want to acknowledge welled up inside her and made her long to throw her arms around his neck and beg him not to leave her. She’d battled those feelings for quite a while and she’d keep doing so until her last breath.
"Rachel..."
"Goodbye Carl," she said softly and left him behind.
(*)
She wouldn’t look back, that he knew from experience.
The tension coiled with him eased a little once she was gone. It was these rare times alone with her he looked forward to. As of late however, his glimpses into her life had not been pleasant. It seemed that with every passing day, Rachel grew more severe in appearance. Gone was the soft woman in silks and sheers. Now the power suit reigned. The color she’d sported this evening had done nothing for her in Carl’s opinion. She looked ill at ease and annoyed. But still too tempting for his own good. His memory knew what lay beneath the stiff fabric of her suit. She’d always had a beautiful body.
He hadn’t expected such an overwhelming reaction from her. After all, they were no longer married, not for four years. Longer than they had managed to keep themselves together. And while their lives intertwined on some level, his loss shouldn’t be a blow for her. Sometimes she kept him guessing.
"Another round with the old battleaxe," Vicky said, careful to keep her tone on an even level. Carl knew Victoria’s feelings when it came to Rachel. Vic was on friendly terms with Rachel, but kept her distance all the same.
"Yes," he replied.
"She looked…ticked." Vicky slanted him a wicked smile. "What did ya do to her this time Carl?"
"Not a thing."
"Oh come on! Rachel was about to blow her top! Trust me, I know Mama Cory’s evil glare—I’ve had it aimed at me often enough."
"As have I," he agreed. "I merely told Rachel I’m leaving."
"And that’s her reaction. Wow. I thought she’d be happy."
As did he. He’d agonized over the move for months, never quite wanting to go or willing to stay. Nowadays he was restless, with a desire to move forward. That did not mean he wanted to leave Rachel. The platonic nature of their ‘relationship’ was sweet torture.
Until his little announcement came tumbling out of his mouth, sending his carefully balanced act crashing to the ground. Life was becoming for too complicated for his tastes. The best thing for all concerned would be to pack his things, dust the dirt of Bay City from his shoes and never look back.
He made his good-byes and walked to his car, reveling in the late spring night. This time of year was always a pleasing one here near the bay, making his stay tolerable. Over time he’d become acclimated to the bracing winters and mild summers associated with the lake. It would be a shame to give it all up. He couldn’t stay and didn’t want to leave. Just as he thought—too complicated.
Vicky and the boys were an attraction, but there was nothing to tie him to Bay City. Even Vic was thinking of moving. He was still on good terms with Bella, but not on the level she desired. Given the circumstances, Carl was sure his Bella Donna would jump him.
In spite of the safety of England, he wasn’t pulling stakes just yet.
His lonely suite hadn’t changed much since the first night he and Rachel had spent together. A few toys littered the rugs and children’s videos graced his entertainment center. Faithful Ito was long gone, leaving Carl utterly alone in the place. His ‘bachelor pad’ as Lorna had christened it.
Forgoing the desire for the sweet oblivion of sleep, he listened to the messages that had accumulated in his few hours absence. First came the quick message from Kirk he had chosen not to erase. Carl smiled. Being a grandfather was a never-ending joy.
The second message was from Lorna. Yet another of her frequent checks on how he was getting along. Her upcoming nuptials brought out her never before seen maternal side. For months now she’d been smothering him with attention. Her fiancé was a saint to put up with her.
The final message was from Bella—the woman must have literally flown home to call him. Times like this, he wished she could find some man who could sweep her off her feet. Bella was close to his heart and he wanted to see her happy in a new life, but one where he wasn’t the man on her arm.
If Rachel ever found someone… His good will died. No matter how sophisticated he attempted to appear about her, in his heart he couldn’t pull it off. Though he tried and tried, Rachel was still the only woman he wanted. Even if having her included the family from hell and the albatross known as Cory Enterprises.
Minor nuisances, he thought as he walked through the living room. And oh, the ways he could imagine taking care of them.
(*)
Work at Cory was never done. No matter how early she arrived or how late she stayed, there was always something to be done. Tonight the lights of the city lay before her like a twinkling carpet of stars. It was beautiful and very, very lonely. She could only imagine the lives being played out beneath her. And, if she stood in just the right place and strained just so, she could see the lights of the building where Carl lived. She couldn’t see any details, but she could see the spot where his lights should be. She knew this only because he’d brought her to this window one night, in the early stages of their relationship, and pointed it out.
Now she found herself watching those lights more and more often. She’d never brought binoculars or a telescope; both would be too much of an invasion. Instead, she preferred to use her imagination. She imagined him in his black silk pajamas, hair down around his face, a snifter of brandy in his hand. In the other hand would be a novel or maybe a volume of poetry. Perhaps he would read the words aloud, his beautiful voice echoing in the empty room. Assuming he was alone.
Once upon a time, he’d read for her. Nights when they were all that mattered.
She’d told herself a thousand times she shouldn’t come to this window and moon over the past. Their lives were their own now. Carl had his and she, well, she shared herself with her family. As long as she continued to remember him with rose-colored glasses, she’d welcome nothing but heartache. She had to give herself a good shot of reality, for no matter what she wished, in her mind, Carl would never fundamentally change. There’d always be that underlying threat of danger—the big reason she’d thrown him out of her life in the first place.
If she could clear her mind, put Carl firmly in the past, she’d be able to move on with her life. Maybe start seeing other men; take a shot at happiness.
So far, she was failing. It’ be so easy to fall for Carl all over again. It was easy to remember all the good things about him.
Some nights she woke and could swear his arm had been wrapped around her, his hand cupping her breast. For one breath-taking second she thought she’d dreamed the divorce; that she’d never pushed him away.
Other nights she’d pretend until she fell asleep that he was somewhere in the house, checking the doors and windows. He’d always insisted upon doing it himself. As she gazed out across the city, Rachel smiled.
She shouldn’t do this. She needed to remember the danger, the violence he’d subjected her family to.
With a sigh, Rachel pressed the down button for the freight elevator. By now the building was just about empty. She’d been spending too much time here as of late. In a way, the company was her security blanket. At least here there weren’t as many memories to sabotage her state of mind. And that was something she needed, especially after his little bombshell the night before.
She neared her car, thoughts light years way from her surroundings when the thrum of a gunning engine brought her back.
On the far side of the Cory parking garage a man was running at full tilt. Behind him a car was giving it’s all in hot pursuit. The car screeched to a stop as the running man slammed up against the concrete wall. Rachel started toward them in a mixture of curiosity and the natural need to see if she could be of help.
She could barely make out what was happening in the shadows of the garage, but could hear what sounded like sobbing. The driver, someone concealed from head to tow in black, stepped out of the car and made a beeline for the cornered man.
Rachel was still too far way to hear what they might be saying. The man against the wall flinched as the driver approached and stood a little too close for comfort. Standing in the shadows, she could see the driver shove the man, could hear the dull thud of his head against concrete. Then she heard a muffled ‘POP’ and watched the man double over and fall to the floor.
The man, she realized, hadn’t fallen down. With a sickening jolt, she realized the driver had shot him, killed him if the lack of movement was any proof.
Rachel stood frozen in horror. She’d just seen one human being murder another right in front of her eyes. There were no other explanations for what she’d seen…that man was dead!
The driver looked up and saw her. For just a moment their eyes locked. Rachel knew then that the killer wouldn’t let her just slip away.
Rachel ran. She didn’t bother going to her car, but relied on instinct to save her. Her feet, shod in three-inch heels, barely touched the ground as she ran from the Cory building and out into the night. Within seconds she heard footsteps getting closer and closer. Damn her for wearing such flimsy shoes! Of course, running for her life hadn’t been part of the day’s plan.
She didn’t have anything on her to use in defense. She’d never believed she would have a need for pepper spray or an airhorn. All she could remember was the brief coaching she’d grudgingly received from Carl.
Several shots whizzed by her, chipping the building on her right. If she didn’t do something soon the killer would get her for sure.
Ducking into an alley, she glanced about for something to use. Just her luck, she found a heavy metal pipe. She’d only have one shot to get it right.
Just then, her pursuer turned the corner and ran into the alley. Hidden in a shadow, Rachel raised her weapon in anticipation. Putting all her weight behind it, she swung the pipe at the killer’s midriff. The killer was surprised and doubled over as they lost their breath. Rachel couldn’t see the face, but that ‘OOH’ sure sounded odd. Not thinking about that too deeply, Rachel brought the pipe down on the killer’s back. The killer fell down with a howl of pain and Rachel hoped she’d managed to break something.
Rachel turned and ran for the street, running faster in spite of her shoes. If that monster got up after receiving those blows, she was probably a goner. The killer would get her for sure.
…..to be continued…
Choose Rachel’s next move:
I’m going to try this concept for a while. If there’s sufficient response, then I’ll keep writing. Please e-mail your choice to me at meloira@yahoo.com
Here are the options for chapter 2: