SERAPH

Part 7

By Linda Ryner

Creating a new identity for myself wasn’t hard. I had been, after all, in the business of deception and intrigue. It was a simple matter to forge the proper documentation and get a new driver’s license, get a light ash blonde wig and get a pair of green contact lenses. Mama’s descendants hired me on as a “white voodoo priestess also knowledgeable in Native American traditions.” Doing so broadened the spectrum of clientele to some degree and I was quickly learning about voodoo as a religion and a way of life, finding myself integrating it into my own. Not wholly. The Native American way would always be my way. But all cultures and religions had something to teach. And being taught I was.

I even adopted the traditional African garb associated with that of voodoo. This turned out to be a good thing, because three weeks after I moved to New Orleans, I found out I was pregnant. The swirling skirts and blouses helped hide my condition.

Only one man could have been the father. Because of the way things were, I couldn’t tell him. One day, I would tell him about our child, but that day was not now. In fact, I reflected, it might not come for a good long time. About a month after I settled in, I read, courtesy of UPI, that Senator Daltrey had put a pistol into his mouth and committed suicide. It stunned me. I had to wonder, considering everything that had gone on as of late. But I didn’t dwell much on it. Daltrey deserved worse, in my opinion. Still, even for everything he’d been responsible for, I felt a pang of remorse. Why, I wasn’t sure.

Anyway, there I was, a half-white, half-Indian woman pushing thirty, relocated in New Orleans, selling occult products and practicing voodoo and Native American shamanism and almost three months pregnant. There was no word from Michael. So I could conclude one of two things. Either I’d done a damn good job eluding him or he knew exactly where I was and was choosing to watch over me until I either a.) “came to my senses” or b.) wanted him to come back in my life.

Mama Marie was a frequent visitor. She would channel through Marissa and she showed me things about traditional voodoo magick that only the greatest of priestesses would have an inkling about. She’d always had control over the African spirits, was one of the greatest magicians and healers known in her time. She taught me enough “low” magick to keep me interested. Once, she even led me to a Hindu priest who imparted the knowledge of how to call on Kali-Ma, the Avenging Goddess and it was stressed to me that the important thing to remember when calling on her was to make sure your own slate was clean before doing so. She was only to be called upon in times of great desperation and revenge, information I filed away in my head for future reference. I also found I had a moderate talent with fortunetelling that was actually legitimate. My third eye was opening since coming to this town. Of course, tarot card readings are 75 percent being able to read and assess the other person – something I’d been trained for previously while working with the Firm. But the other 25 percent at least in my case, was a true ability to “see.”

I lived in a small apartment above the shop that had been empty, filling it with my eclectic tastes and styles. Estate sales were a bounty for me. I lived simply but well. Eventually, Mama Marie’s several-times great granddaughter Marissa Leveau, made me a partner when I helped them out financially with some back taxes and whatnot.

I missed Michael terribly. In fact, I missed them all – Marella, Gabrielle, Lillian, String. There were times – especially at night – when I would consider going back to L.A. and to Michael, when I fantasized showing up on Michael’s doorstep to ask him to take me back. Then reality would set in and I would rid my head of any such nonsense. In the first place, my reasons for leaving had been damn good ones. And in the second place, I doubted that Michael would even take me back. So any way I looked at it, I was on my own. I would have my son (and I knew it was going to be a boy), my living reminder of the almost-perfect love I had with Michael. I would at least have that. That comforted me a little.

There was an overcast sky on that day in mid-March when I ran into a friend of mine from the “old” life. I had just finished a reading with a middle-aged tourist lady who left very pleased and then Marissa poked her head inside my beaded curtains.

“You got another out-of-towner,” she told me. “Looks West Coast.”

“Well-dressed?” I queried, stretching back in my chair.

She nodded. “Yeah. Armani. We charge her the full fifty bucks, yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need fifteen minutes to recharge.”

"I can’t wait fifteen minutes.” With a jangle of the plastic colored beads, the curtain strands were pushed aside and a lovely, tall black woman entered my parlor-like room. “And I was told you’re the best.”

I stared at the white-clad woman without expression. “It’s all right,” I told Marissa, who looked about ready to yank her by the arm out of the room. “I’ll see her.”

“You know her?” Marissa’s demanding voice almost made me smile. She was as protective as Mama Marie.

I nodded. “It’s OK, Marissa. Really.” Reluctantly, she left the room, leaving me alone with Marella. I indicated the chair in front of me. “Sit down, Marella.”

“Thank you.” She did so, crossing her long legs and leaning back against the rich red silk upholstery. “Interesting profession you’re taking up, Rachel.”

“It pays the bills. And I get to meet a lot of people on the other end of a tarot deck instead of a gun barrel.”

“What are you doing here, Rachel? You belong with us.” Marella leaned forward. “Do you have any idea what your leaving has done to Michael?”

“What my leaving . . . Marella, just how much do you know about the situation?” I suddenly demanded, hotly. “Do you have the slightest idea as to why I left?”

“You thought Michael had Melissa Hiatt executed.”

“I didn’t think anything. He did have her executed. I saw the orders when I went to pick her up myself.”

“That’s right. You saw a piece of paper.”

“That piece of paper stated Melissa Hiatt had been removed to Galen’s Keep three days before I got to her and was executed by lethal injection!” I said hotly.

“Rachel, it was bogus.” Marella’s hand snaked out and she grabbed me by the wrist. “Michael had those orders forged under his name. Melissa is alive. She’s working assignment in the Netherlands. Long-term.”

Stunned, I stared at her. I relinquished my hand and my voice was dry and crackly when I spoke. “What?”

“Michael would have told you that if you’d given him the chance. But you took off like a bat out of hell.”

I licked dry lips. “He never came to the beach house that night to tell me.”

“Because he was explaining his decision to Zeus and Admiral Clayton. It took most of the afternoon and well into the night before he could convince them that Melissa deserved a second chance. Then he had to convince the rest of the Committee to overturn their judgment with Zeus’ and Clayton’s backing.”

“Oh, my God.” I buried my face in my hands. “Oh, God. Why didn’t he just tell me he was going to do that?”

“He was waiting to see if he could pull it off first. He didn’t want to tell you and then have the Committee put the kabosh on it. That’s why he waited. And then when you barged in his office . . . well, Rachel, it could’ve killed the whole deal. Fortunately, it didn’t.”

I felt my eyes well with tears. But I couldn’t bring myself to let them fall. I was quiet for a long moment.

“What if I did come back?” I asked quietly. “What then?”

“Michael would hire you back in a heartbeat.” Her voice was positive.

"The job isn’t enough reason for me to go back, Marella.”

Marella pushed a stray black curl back from her face and over her ear. “He still loves you, Rachel. I’ve never seen Michael with anyone like he is with you. But in his eyes, you’ve betrayed him to a certain extent. He’s probably not going to let that go.”

“So if I do go back, he’s going to make me pay for it. He may let me come back, but I’m going to pay dearly.”

Marella was subdued. “You know him, Rachel. Better than most of us.” She eyed me up and down. “By the way, how far along are you?”

I smiled a little. Trust her to know. “Almost eight months. I was pregnant before I left, but I didn’t know it ‘til almost three months later.”

“You have to tell him.”

“I know.” I leaned back. “But for once, it’s going to be on my terms. I don’t want him to be willing to take me back because I’m pregnant with his baby. He has to want me back in spite of it, not because of it.” My eyes lifted to hers. “Marella, I will tell him. But in my own way. In my own time. Please don’t get the jump on me.”

“I won’t tell him if you promise me you will. You can fly back with me on the company jet.”

“I’ll take a commercial airline,” I countered. “And I’ll meet Michael at the beach house.” I paused. “How long did it take for Michael to find me?”

“He had you nailed down right after New Year’s. Being a white voodoo priestess generates local publicity.”

I chuckled. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good. I know this place that’s right upstairs. It’s called Chez Rachel.”

“Think I’ve had the pleasure of eating there before,” Marella answered, rising as I did.

“How does Veal Scallopini sound?” I asked as we made our way out of the parlor and up the stairwell.

“Sounds great. If you were a man, I’d marry you.”

I had to laugh. “Marella, if I were a man, you’d have a real problem.”

“Why is that?”

“Would you really want to marry a pregnant man?”

We laughed together as we went up the darkened stairs to my apartment.

******************************

A week later I was on my way to Los Angeles. Marella had made arrangements for the beach house to be stocked and ready. When I disembarked from the TWA jet, I was met at the gate by Gabrielle. I was so happy to see her I allowed a few tears to glisten in my eyes.

“I feel like the Prodigal Son coming back properly chastened,” I said in her ear as we hugged each other tight.

“You should, you naughty girl!” Gabrielle replied, kissing my cheek resoundingly. “What were you thinking of? We were all tearing our hair out! I thought Michael was going to wind up in the ER popping a vessel or something!” She suddenly leaned back and her hand rested on my belly, hidden underneath a swirling raincoat. Her eyes widened. “Rachel! You’re . . .”

“Yes. I am. Please don’t tell anyone,” I begged her as we made our way toward the baggage claim.

“Michael’s going to be thrilled!” Gabrielle crowed with a knowing smile.

“Before or after he hangs me up on a nail and tortures me?” I muttered under my breath.

“Look. It was a misunderstanding. Granted if you’d stuck around for a little while, you would’ve found out the real story about Melissa,” Gabrielle told me matter-of-factly. “But Michael should have clued you in a little.”

“Yes, he should have,” I answered defensively.

“He was really happy that you were coming back,” Gabrielle intimated to me as Gabrielle picked up my large suitcase from the baggage carousel and we headed out of the terminal. “Almost acted like a high school kid on his first date. He wants everything to be perfect. He’s taking you to The Forum tonight.”

The Forum was the most expensive Italian Restaurant in all of L.A. County. It was also one of the very best. And Michael had a permanent table there that he used on very special occasions only. If he was taking me there, he had definite designs on winning me back. And here I’d thought I was the one that was going to have to do the mating dance.

The limo dropped me off at the beach house with my luggage. Gabrielle picked up her car and left for Knightsbridge once more, probably to inform Michael that I’d gotten there all right. I showered and dressed, choosing black palazzo pants, a roomy matching top with gold designs. I chose a pair of low-slung black sandals with gold accents to complete the outfit. Looking at me, Michael would never be able to tell I was six months along. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to tell I was pregnant, period. As I applied makeup, I thought about how my face had gotten a little rounder. Not much, but some. Maybe Michael wouldn’t notice.

I was nervous as the limo took me to The Forum. I hadn’t been this nervous since my first encounter with him. I was mentally preparing myself to remain cool, knowing that I was on the defensive.

“Be smooth,” I told myself under my breath. “Be glad to see him, but place a boundary. Don’t let him get too close. Not yet.”

A doorman opened the limo door as we pulled up and helped me out. I was grateful for the assistance. I made my way inside, peeking inside the bar to make sure Michael wasn’t in there, then smiled at the lovely hostess at the elegantly scrolled podium.

“Yes, Miss, do you have a reservation?” she asked politely.

“I’m meeting a Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs,” I replied.

Ah, yes! The gentleman is already waiting. If you’ll please follow me.”

The dark-haired woman led me around to the main dining area where music was provided by lutes and flutes and small percussion instruments in a manner befitting the ancient custom. I saw Michael sitting at his back table, in a dressy white mandarin shirt with linen pants, talking on a telephone but when he saw me, he hung up and rose as the hostess presented me.

“Rachel, love.” He took my hands warmly, bringing them to his lips and I felt the familiar tingle rush through me. Then, he leaned down and placed a warm kiss on the corner of my mouth, but I maintained distance. “You are lovely as always,” he told me, seating me close to him at the table.

“Thank you, Michael.” My voice was amazingly calm. As he sat, I really gave him an appraisal. He looked harried, as he usually did. But I could see the strain in his face and in his eyes. I realized that Marella and Gabrielle hadn’t been exaggerating when they said Michael had been thrown into a virtual tizzy when I left. I decided then and there I was not going to be hardcore. “You clean up nice yourself.”

He smiled, not only with his mouth, but with his eyes, and I knew that smile was sincere. “Of course. One strives to make an impression on the most beautiful woman alive.”

“A sentiment I’m sure you didn’t hold when I left six months ago.” There was no point in tap-dancing around the issue.

The waiter came and took our drink orders. Michael was surprised when I ordered a club soda. “That’s not your usual,” he said in an even tone.

I shrugged. “It’s not, but I just don’t feel like a drink, Michael.”

“Is it a requirement for white voodoo priestesses?”

My look was sharp as my eyes flew to his. There was no mistaking his smug and superior tone.

"Just because your spirituality is lacking, don’t you dare ridicule my choices,” I hissed smolderingly. “If this is going to turn into verbal slug-fest, I have no problem leaving you sitting here and going back to New Orleans immediately.”

His hand was immediately over mine and his finger smoothed under my defiant chin. “I was teasing you, Rachel. It wasn’t a slam. You used to like it when I teased you.”

I was quiet a moment, then dropped my eyes. “If it seems I’m on the defensive, forgive me.”

He tipped my face back up. His beautiful eyes were warm and bright. “I guess you’re entitled. I’ve screwed up on several counts.” His finger outlined my jaw. “I’m not here to rake you over the coals, love. The simple fact of the matter is, I want you back. As my operative.” He paused, tracing my lips. “And as my lover.”

My surprise must have been evident. That secret little smile Michael occasionally displayed was on his face now. He knew his words had been totally unexpected. And all this even before the appetizers.

“Well,” I countered quietly, “I’d be honored to do both. But I’m going to have to have a desk job for – oh, about four or five months.”

“A desk job? You?” He smiled, leaning toward me, barely touching my lips with his own. God, my hormones were raging, especially now.

I took his large hand in mine. “It seems,” I told him, sliding it along my rounded belly, “that the oven is on and there’s something baking.”

Michael’s eyes widened in astonishment and his jaw dropped. It was almost a full fifteen seconds before he could even speak.

“You’re . . . you’re . . .” He licked his lips. “Oh, God. Rachel. Oh, my God.” His hand smoothed over my belly more possessively. “Rachel. Oh, my God . . .”

He brought me into him and his mouth clamped down on mine in the back of the restaurant with the small band and a few patrons looking on. He didn’t care. I didn’t care. A whole squad of tabloid reporters could have been circling our table like vultures and we wouldn’t have cared. All that was real was his hands and his mouth and his scent and the feel of him. I felt his heart beating hard against my own chest and after a few moments, I pulled my mouth from his.

“Michael, we’re getting an audience,” I whispered to him softly.

“I don’t care.” He pulled me close, cradling me to him. “Oh, God, Rachel. Were you even going to tell me?”

“Of course I was.” I held onto him tightly. “That’s not something I would have kept from you.” I was quiet, then looked up at him. “Michael, you’re not the only one who screwed up. I should have had more faith in you. You’ve proven to me time after time how much you love me. I keep looking for betrayal because every man I’ve known well – with the exception of my father – has done just that.” I paused again. “Michael – is there anything that’s happened since I’ve been gone that I need to know about? I don’t want any more misunderstandings.”

“Gabrielle and Marella explained to you about Melissa.”

“Yes,” I answered softly, “and maybe what happened happened because there just might have been a lack of faith on your part.”

“There was, and I regret it. You have no idea how I regret it.” His fingers toyed with the hair at the side of my face. “It’s something I want desperately to make up for.” He looked around for a moment. “Let’s get out of here. Go back to the beach house. There’s some fruit and cheese and caviar and champagne – damn, you can’t drink. There’s Perrier water . . .”

“I don’t care if there’s just stale bread and rotten fruit. Let’s go.”

On the ride back to the beach house, Michael made me lay back in the seat as his hands wandered over my gently rising belly. He nestled between my legs, placing them over his shoulders, pulling down the elastic waist of my pants and placing velvety kisses on my bare, rounded stomach. Somehow that was so erotic, and I sighed loudly, one hand tangling in his hair.

Once at the house, I was shy about baring my entire body. My breasts were swollen and I felt fat. But Michael marveled at my swollen body. He couldn’t get enough of touching my belly and began talking to the child like a father talks to a baby. It warmed my heart. I had visions of – what’s the expression now? Vanilla skies and white picket fences.

Michael was especially sensual and gentle with his lovemaking and we rediscovered that side of our relationship with eagerness and longing. When we finally lay back for a rest, it was almost two a.m. – we’d been making love nonstop for almost six hours. Michael held me close, repeatedly kissing my forehead and my hair, the fingers of one hand tangling in my damp tresses and his other arm draped protectively about me, hand resting on my pregnant belly.

“We’ll get married in Vegas,” he told me. “We can leave Friday. Would you rather stay at Caesar’s Palace or the Sahara?”

I giggled as I nestled into his arms. “Doesn’t matter. Caeser’s, I guess.” I was quiet a moment. “What about your family? What are they going to say?”

“About us getting married without them?”

“And about my being almost eight months pregnant before doing it. Don’t tell me it doesn’t make a difference, Michael. It’s going to create something of a scandal.”

“I can have paperwork forged that says we’ve been married for the last year. That’ll put the pregnancy within acceptable parameters as far as the media,” Michael answered. “Though I’m surprised you care about that. You always did like to fly in the face of convention about some things.”

“I care about you and the gossip. I want to be a credit to you, not a liability.”

He pulled me closer. “You could never be a liability.”

“No? Never?”

He shook his head. “No way, at no time, not in this lifetime.” He tipped my face upwards and placed a probing, sexual kiss on my lips. “I love you,” he whispered into my mouth.

Fired by his warmth, I turned in his arms, rising to my knees and straddling him at the waist, my hands resting lightly on his chest. He moaned gently when I grasped his erection in my hand, guiding him until he was enveloped inside me. His eyes widened and his hands went to my waist, setting a rhythm as I rode him like a magnificent stallion. I made love to him without thought, only with instinct and love, rewarded by his moans and cries. I was so overwhelmed with the need to touch him everywhere with my mouth and my hands. Later, he gathered me close, stroking my hair. I looked up at him for a moment and saw something in his eyes. Something, despite the fact we were reunited, that bothered him.

I leaned up on my elbow. “What is it, Michael?” I asked softly, tracing a finger over his jawline. “Something’s bothering you.”

He smiled gently. “Nothing that can’t wait for morning.”

“Talk to me,” I persisted.

“Later. I want to enjoy you right now – you, our baby, this moment.”

When I fell asleep in Michael’s comforting embrace, I was the most comfortable I’d been in a long time. I felt safe. I felt loved, wanted and needed. I wanted to trust Michael again and realized I had no reason to distrust him to begin with. Misconceptions had caused me to make some decisions I never would have made if I’d known the whole story. I needed to give him more benefit of the doubt. And Michael needed to stop protecting me so much and be more giving as far as the truth.

Before falling into unconsciousness, I felt his hand slide down to my belly, splaying out like a shield. I smiled and thought about what a wonderful father Michael was going to make.

******************************

Misfortunes call for tears. Did I mention that I was fresh out? I awoke the next morning to an empty beach house, but a rose was on the pillow next to me on top of a scripted note that read:

I’ll be back tonight. Indulge yourself however you like. My Jag’s at your disposal. Love, Michael.

I called Marissa back in New Orleans and let her know I was doing all right. We chatted for a little while, and then Marissa said, “You know, Mama Marie told us to pack up the rest a-your stuff, ‘cause you wasn’t gonna be comin’ back.”

“Mama told you that? Has she been looking in where she isn’t supposed to?” I laughed. “Well, she’s right. I’m getting married Friday.”

“You be gettin’ married?” Marissa was surprised. “Thought you were gonna give that piss-ass CIA agent a piece a-yer mind! What you do, give him a piece a-yer ass instead, girl?”

I laughed. “I cannot tell a lie.”

“You sure you know what yer doin’?”

“No, but let’s see what happens.”

“Baron Samedi’s balls, woman! You tell that no-‘ccount he better treat you like the queen you be! Or he be answerin’ to Marie Leveau’s kin!”

Later, I took a leisurely hot shower and dressed in a silk lounging outfit. Then I straightened the house up a bit and let the sea breeze go through, opening up the doors and windows. In the interim, I checked out the refrigerator. It was stocked – fresh fruits and vegetables. Tofu – yuck. Since when was Michael into that? I wondered. He liked raw fish, not soybeans. I poured myself some orange juice and checked the freezer out as I drank. There was a leg of lamb, T-bones, chicken breasts, beef and pork roasts . . . lo-cal bubblegum ice cream? Ewww. What was he thinking? I took out a couple of the steaks to thaw in the fridge and then went about stripping the bed and putting on clean sheets.

As I went around tucking sheets in, my hip bumped the nightstand and the phone slipped off, bouncing just under the bed. I sighed, getting on my hands and knees. It wasn’t easy at over eight months along, the old belly just got in the way. Retrieving the phone, my hand brushed something lacy and I pulled it out along with the dislocated phone.

I frowned as I studied the lacy bra. It was angel white and about three sizes too small to fit me. I was short in stature and small to medium-boned, but I had a more-than-adequate bust at 36C. I checked the tag and sure enough, it read 32A.

A coldness settled in the pit of my stomach. What was it doing here?

Who’s was it? This had been Michael’s refuge before I figured into the picture. In the four years that I’d been practically living with him, I could not believe I missed a bra underneath the bed we shared from a past love affair or conquest. I could only surmise one thing.

That it had been from an encounter after I’d left. Six months. Six months I’d been gone and he’d been with someone else.

Automatically, I went through drawers and closets. I found a dress at the end of the closet that was a Tall. It wasn’t mine. Nor could I construe it as being a gift Michael would be giving to me later. I was a petite to average. But this time, I would not make assumptions. This time, I would confront him with it and await an explanation. I had been separated from him for half a year because of a misunderstanding. This time, I owed him the courtesy of staying to find out what had happened. Ordinarily, I would have had dinner waiting. But I was so numbed, all I could do was sit in a chair and wait for him to come home.

About 7:30 that evening, I heard the limo pull in the drive and the opening and shutting of it’s door. A moment later, Michael walked in, tie askew and shirt unbuttoned. I saw him frown and he turned on a light as he made his way toward me.

“Why are you sitting here in the dark?” he queried, coming over to me and leaning down to give me a kiss. I accepted it, but with little emotion. He pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

“This is what’s wrong,” I said softly, pulling out the bra that was three sizes too small.

He blinked, putting down his briefcase. “What’s this?”

“You’ve helped to take off too many of them to not know what a brassiere is,” I replied tightly.

He took it from my hand. “This is yours.”

“It’s too small. I’m a 36. This is a 32.”

“You couldn’t have ordered or gotten something like this too small by mistake?”

“Not a chance, Michael. Who is she?” For a long moment, he was quiet. When he didn’t answer, I ventured again. “Is this what you didn’t want to talk about last night when I asked you?”

Michael licked his lips, then turned toward the bar, pouring himself a straight scotch. I waited as he seated himself across from me.

“I owe you an explanation,” he finally said in a quiet voice.

“Yes, you do.” My heart began to hurt and I could feel the stress tighten my stomach. I smoothed a hand over my rounded belly instinctively and I watched as his eyes followed my hand. “Do you love her?”

“No. Not in the sense that I love you.”

“Does she know that?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Do you want to hear this?”

Instead of answering, I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice.

“Obviously, you were taught too well while in The Firm. I had one hell of a time finding where you were,” he began, taking a sip from the tumbler. “You ditched your Pontiac at an Indian reservation, then completely disappeared off the face of the earth after changing identities. I had operatives working overtime trying to find out where the hell you’d gone to. One of my ops in New Orleans finally spotted you at that psychic fair in the latter part of January. He put his ear to the ground and all of a sudden was hearing all these stories about a white voodoo priestess.”

“I wasn’t a priestess. I was being taught. It sounded good for business so we went with it.”

“There was a point where I thought I’d lost you forever, about two weeks after you left. One night I got very drunk at a local bar.” He looked down for a moment, then back up. “One of my operatives happened to be there and hauled me home to the beach house. When I woke up with the mother of all hangovers – well, I guess you could say she cured me of it.”

I bit my lip until I tasted blood and waited for him to continue.

“The longer you were away, the more angry I got. So, in retrospect, I guess I continued the affair to get back at you for running away from me.” His eyes penetrated mine. “Rachel, my relationship with this woman was not at all like what we have. There was animal gratification, but nothing like what we have.”

“And that made what you did acceptable.”

“At the time, yes.”

“And now?”

“It was an incredibly stupid thing to do.”

“You regret it?”

“With all my heart.” He rose, placing the tumbler on a table and kneeling in front of me. “And I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

I looked at him stonily. I had no feeling anymore. Was this what it felt like to be dead?

“Don’t waste your time.” My voice was cold. “I don’t need your eloquent speeches. In fact, I don’t need anything from you at all.”

“Rachel, you’re pregnant. With my child.”

“With our child, Michael,” I emphasized. “You slept with her. You shared intimacy. Intimacy that should have been ours!”

“YOU WEREN’T HERE!”

I lifted my chin haughtily. “So you slept with the first woman that showed interest.”

“I was drunk. I was angry.”

“Fuck you, Michael.” I rose carefully to my feet and he started to help me but I snatched my arm away.

“There has to be a way to fix this.” The desperation in his voice was not lost upon me.

God, oh, God, I wanted to give him a second chance. I was quiet for a long moment, staring out the sliding glass door that opened out onto the deck. The waves were rolling in and I could feel the tears spilling down my cheeks, making hot trails against my skin. Ah. So I wasn’t dead. I couldn’t be dead and be crying so hard. Eventually I felt him come up behind and wrap his arms around me. I caught our dim reflection in the glass – it looked so domestic, so natural. And I wanted it.

“Tell me there’s a way for me to fix it.” His tone was urgent. “Tell me what to do.”

For the longest time we stood there in silence. “It’s not something that can be fixed,” I finally told him in a low, quiet voice. “It’s something that happened that can’t be undone. It’s not a question of what you can do to fix it.” I turned in the circle of his arms and looked up at him. “It’s a question of whether or not I can let go of it and forgive you.” I dropped my eyes and laid my head against his chest. “And I don’t know if I can do that, even though I know you’ve forgiven me for running away from you.”

“Then tell me what you need from me.”

“Time.”

He stroked my hair – that soothing gesture that always made me feel so safe – and kissed the top of my head. “All the time you want.”

“Away from you, Michael. I’m going back to New Orleans.” I felt his body tighten and I was waiting for his protest. It never came.

“All right,” he acquiesced.

“Thank you.”

“I love you, Rachel.”

My fingers dug into the sleeves of his shirt. “I know that. I love you, too.”

“How much time, Rachel? How long are you going to make me wait this time?”

I sighed loudly. “I don’t know, Michael.” I closed my eyes almost in defeat. “I just really don’t know.”

******************************

Mama Marie had been wrong about me not returning to New Orleans. I’d been back for two days before Marissa and I sat down to talk and I told her the unvarnished story. She was wonderful and sympathetic and would have probably cheerfully hurled a curse at Michael had I not stopped her. Whether you believe in curses or not, such words carried power and was not something I approved of. She settled for a tarot card reading for me, doing a full spread, placing the first six cards face up after I’d shuffled them. I was gratified that she’d used The Sacred Rose Tarot – a deck I’d always had an affinity with. The first card pulled to represent my present position was the Two of Wands.

“This is you – this where you are now,” Marissa told me. “Two of Wands. The man and woman holding the wands -- opposing forces, both seeking to lord over the other. Or it could be a fight within yourself.” She crossed the first card with the second. “This what lies just ahead for you, cherie. King of Cups.” She paused a moment. “This is a man who is quiet, powerful. He loves music and dancing – was a good student in school. The feelings of this man run very deep – he has insight but doesn’t let other people know about it. That is why he has so much power.” She looked up at me with deep eyes. “This will be an influence coming to you very soon.” I knew it was Michael she was talking about.

“Justice reversed,” She continued, her fingers smoothing over the next card. “The most you can hope for right at this moment, cherie, is frustration. Life is not going to be fair to you right now. The card also tells me you’re very headstrong in your decisions -- quick to judge a situation before all the facts present themselves.” She placed another card to the side. “This tells what has passed before, that brings you where you are now. The High Priestess, reversed.” She breathed out. “Damn, girl. Were you born to trouble?” She sighed once more. “You’ve had evil done to you in your past. Something that’s happened to make you the way you are now. It also tells me you ain’t usin’ yer instincts. You know how, but you don’ use them as you should. Y’think you do, but you don’t. This why you get into trouble. Darlin’, sometimes you have to go on faith. Nobody told you that?”

I said nothing. I knew Marissa was reading psychically into the cards now. That was all right. It made me uncomfortable, but it was probably what I needed – someone else’s insight.

“Knight of Wands, reversed.” She tapped her nail on the card. “This is the stuff in your life that’s just passed, or in the process of passing. Could also mean distant events havin’ t’do with what’s passin’ now.” Her eyes met mine again. “This be a woman, cherie? I’m sensing great jealousy and hate.”

I nodded. “It was the situation I was in before I came here to New Orleans a few months ago,” I confirmed.

She pulled the next card. “The Hanged Man. Hm.” She eyeballed it. “This what’s comin’ up for you, cherie. You gonna be goin’ through some changes here. But you gonna be makin’ a big sacrifice. And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout blood altar sacrifice. This is personal sacrifice, Mama.” She placed the last four cards face up. “Nine of Swords, reversed. This be you, right now. Y’have fear in you. And with good reason. It’s good you be cautious.” She pointed to the eighth card. “This the way you appear to others. The Star. Good card. You get what you want wi’ the help of those who guide you. You been discoverin’ your spiritual talents, girl. Everythin’ you do is within reach.” She indicated the ninth card. “Judgment. This be what you wantin’, cherie. You be wantin’ to be with that secret agent man a’ yours. You wan’ to start things fresh.”

I nodded. The reading was well done. Marissa’s talent at card-reading was bar none.

“Now the outcome.” This one she’d kept face down until now. I drew my breath in when I saw it.

It was the Tower. Chaos. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, it was reversed.

“Damn,” Marissa breathed.

“Finish it.” My voice was barely there.

“Damn, girl.” Her hand slid over mine in empathy. “You goin’ down, Rachel. Don’ know how, but that’s what the cards say.”

I knew Marissa’s record. She was 98% on all her readings. If she saw downfall in my future, that’s exactly what was going to happen.

“A’course, there’s free will,” Marissa reminded me. “Ever’one has the chance to change their fate – if they want to.”

“If they can,” I murmured distractedly. “If the outside forces can be tamed.”

She placed the cards back in her teakwood box. “Look, darlin’. Lord knows I love ya, but ya gotta stop bein’ the martyr! Michael’s a man! Men ain’t made to stay faithful! Why do ya think there’s one dominant stallion in a herd of mares?”

I lifted my chin a bit defiantly. “Wolves mate for life. That’s a fact. I’ve researched it.”

“We could argue ‘til the sun comes up,” she replied with a grimace. “You tellin’ me you don’t love this man, Rachel?”

“I love him desperately.”

“Then swallow yer pride and forgive ‘im, girl!”

I sighed. I wanted to. I really did. I didn’t understand what was holding me back.

For days I moped. I was like a zombie, unable to get my brain to function, unable to get a picture of Michael and some nameless, faceless woman in his arms out of my mind. Was he with her now? I wondered. Had Marissa been right about the human male being polygamous in nature? Not knowing who his paramour was driving me crazy. I didn’t want to know, but . . .

My brain was turning to mush. I couldn’t do a fast and I couldn’t do a sweat in my condition. I couldn’t take any hallucinogenics, either. So I whipped out a handy-dandy subliminal tape and stuck into my cassette player, arming myself with headphones and lying back comfortably. This would put me into a deep sleep and I would awaken refreshed. Then I could make some decisions. Almost thirteen hours later I awoke.

And I knew exactly what I was going to do.

******************************

Lillian was dressed in sweats and a headband when I knocked on her door. She was surprised to see me but gave me a big hug, pulling me inside and making me sit down with my feet up. She made some Oolong tea for us and we sat back, reminiscing about old times. During the first lull in conversation, she turned the subject.

“So you’ve finally decided to go back to Michael,” she stated softly.

I was quiet a moment. “I . . . well, maybe.” I looked up in Lillian’s eyes of cornflower blue. “You knew I came back about three weeks ago, didn’t you?”

“Marella told me. Then she said you’d left the next day.”

“Yeah. I did.” My eyes never wavered. “I had to after Michael confessed about his indiscretion.”

Lillian was quiet and sipped the tea. “I’m sorry you found out about that.”

“So am I. Did you know?”

She nodded. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how. And I couldn’t. Gabrielle confided in me and I couldn’t do that to her.”

My insides went cold. Gods in heaven and earth. For a long moment I was silent. And then I felt the fury beginning to settle in the pit of my stomach.

Gabrielle.

My good friend and buddy, Gabrielle.

My good and trusted friend who had met me at the airport, had expressed delight at my pregnancy and drove me to the romantic Forum to meet with the man we apparently now shared.

I remained calm although every fiber of my being was screaming. After the red haze passed, I leaned back and took a deep drink. I stayed for about an hour longer, then gathered my purse up to go.

“Are you booked into a hotel?” Lillian asked.

I nodded. “The Hyatt on Sunset. Until I get things settled.”

“Let’s have lunch on the weekend,” she suggested. “I’ll leave a message for you at the hotel desk Friday night.”

After our goodbyes, I drove my rental to Hollywood Boulevard, pulling into the chain-link parking area of a seedy-looking pawn shop I’d done business with before. The owner, a former Viet Nam vet who’d served three tours of duty, recognized me and smiled. I told him what I wanted and he went into the hidden back room he kept toys for “preferred” clients like me. When I walked out of there, I’d paid four high figures for a police special with bullets. I kept it in the folds of my sweatercoat as I went back to my car.

Then I drove in the direction of Thousand Oaks. It was time I paid a visit to my dear friend Gabrielle.

******************************

Gabrielle had taken on our boss’ partiality to white, but it was accented with a dramatic flare of occasional blacks and reds. She liked deco art from the 20s and her apartment abounded with it. Graceful lamps and statuary, bookends and antiques – a beautiful bar flanked with Tiffany lamps suspended from the ceiling. One could easily imagine her as a part of high society in the Roaring Twenties. She even had the look of a flapper sometimes.

My visit was a complete surprise to her, but she warmly let me in, hugging me and placing a light hand upon my ever-expanding belly. She offered to take my coat which I declined, complaining that I was chilled. Then she offered me some fruit juice which I accepted. Her short absence forced me to assess what I was doing.

I’d left the gun in the car. I had been parked outside of her apartment for over half an hour, fighting with myself. At the moment I was furious enough to put a bullet through her head for what she’d done. But I’d gone over my tarot reading from Marissa in my head. The part she’d told me about judging a situation before having all the facts stuck in my brain like a broken record. I would have to try and be more careful. Such conclusions had brought me grief too many times. I realized that what I really wanted from Gabrielle was a confession. And I also wanted to know why, even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer. I wasn’t oblivious to human nature. I knew it all too well. But I had to hear it from her mouth. After I heard it, I didn’t know what I was going to do.

We started off with small talk. After five minutes of it, I placed my half-downed glass of juice on a coaster on the nearby table.

“Gabrielle, I’m not here to catch up on the gossip,” I told her evenly, quietly. Then, I settled back, pursing my lips. “Actually, that’s not exactly true. There is one piece of gossip that I came here to discuss. Upgrade that to rumor.”

She sat back, rubbing her fingers against the arm of a plush white chair, then looked down. “Tell me what you want to know.”

“You’ve always been my friend. I need you to be truthful with me. No matter what.”

Now she looked up. “Whatever I tell you will be the truth.”

I licked dry lips. “I want the name of the woman Michael was sleeping with when I was gone.”

There were several beats of heavy silence. Gabrielle shifted, eyes never leaving mine. “Why does it matter? Surely Michael’s told you that it didn’t mean anything.”

“He didn’t say that. He said it wasn’t like what he and I had.”

There were another few beats of silence. “You know.” Gabrielle’s voice was lower than mine had been.

I nodded silently.

“What do you want, then? A confession?” Her tone bordered on anger. “Don’t act so wounded, Rachel! I wasn’t the one who left in such a fucking hurry!” She stood, grabbed my empty glass and stalked into the kitchen.

With some difficulty, I rose to my feet and followed her. “But it didn’t take you long to find an opening to present yourself as available,” I retorted coldly.

“That’s not fair!” She whirled on me, eyes flaming. “You didn’t see him that night, Rachel! I did! You didn’t see how distraught he was or how drunk he got that night! Michael does not get drunk! On the rare occasion he does, there’s a damn good reason! So before you take on the role of the woman betrayed, you think for a minute about how you betrayed him by not bothering to stick around long enough to find out the truth about Melissa!”

“If he’d been truthful with me to begin with, this never would have happened!” I hissed, blood pressure rising.

“And maybe,” Gabrielle said icily, “it was your lack of self-control and faith in Michael that made him wait before he told you the truth.”

My mouth dropped as I stared at her, stunned. Then I reacted, delivering a stinging slap to her face that left an imprint of my hand. She grabbed the side of her face with a surprised cry.

“Never,” I breathed heavily, “at any time did he have cause to think there was any lack of faith on my part. I have put my life in his hands more times than I can count. You can accuse me of anything else, but don’t you dare say it was because of that. That was never an issue before Melissa Hiatt fucked everything up.” I paused. “And as for self-control – oh, Gabrielle. You have no idea.” I shook my head. Tears came unbidden to my eyes. She really didn’t have any idea how close she’d come tonight to being shot between the eyes. My hate had been so overwhelming and so strong. Now, oddly, I could detach myself and see what her position had been, because I knew of the relationship they’d had before. The hate drained out of me then.

I turned around, retrieving my purse from the living room.

“Rachel, don’t go. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” Gabrielle grabbed my arm as I started out the door.

“It’s all right.” I was surprisingly calm, turning to face the taller woman. “It’s OK, Gabrielle. Really. I really don’t blame you. Not anymore.” To prove it, I embraced her, sighing deeply. Tentatively, Gabrielle’s arms went about me and we hugged like two sisters. I held back my tears determinedly.

“Everything will be all right,” she told me softly. “Michael loves you. No one but you.”

My jaw flexed. “I know.”

But I couldn’t comprehend the fact that I had come so close to killing my friend. That made me dangerous. It made me emotionally unstable. And it made me damned unsuitable to motherhood.

******************************

Michael stared at the legal document in stony silence. He was anything but pleased with the situation – a situation he was not able to control. While he saw the wisdom of it, he still didn’t like it.

“You’re not relinquishing parental rights,” Evelyn Winthorp reminded him gently. “You’re simply entrusting your child to our care to raise for the time being. Frankly, Michael, it’s the only thing you can responsibly do, given your present situation.”

Evelyn had been my staunch supporter in the decision to give Michael’s and my child over to her and her husband, to raise as their own, at least for now. After the incident at Gabrielle’s apartment that day, I had serious doubts about my ability to raise a child when I had so many unresolved things within myself, not the least of which was my relationship with Michael. Our child needed a stable, safe environment, with stable parents. Now, Michael’s lawyer, my lawyer from Des Moines, Evelyn and her husband, Michael and myself were in Evelyn’s study, trying to do what was right for our as yet unborn child.

“It’s better than putting him or her up for adoption with people we don’t even know,” I added quietly. “This way, either of us can visit when we want to. We can still be in his or her life. But let’s face it. Neither one of us is ready to commit to raising a child. For a lot of different reasons.”

He looked up at me. “Why don’t you simply give this up and marry me?”

“I’ll give you several reasons. First of all, say I married you and we carry on as before. We get a nanny or a nursemaid to take care of the child. Our jobs would keep us out of that child’s life more than keep us in it. That’s no way for a child to be raised, with housekeepers and babysitters. Second of all, say I married you and I became a stay-at-home mom. I’d be waiting for the day you never came back – and then we have a fatherless child. I can’t do that. And I won’t put a kid through that. Or, say we got married and you retired early. How long do you think it would be before you resented the hell out of that and were just itching to get back into the work? We’d end up fighting about the least little thing and get a divorce over leaving the toilet seat up or down. We’d share custody, you’d see us once in awhile and – God help me, Michael, I hate saying this – but you’d end up having a relationship with your child like you had with your own father. Do you really want that?”

That actually hit home. I saw his jaw flex and his nostrils flare and I knew he would sign the paper.

“This way, if anything happens to either one of us, our baby has two parents,” I continued softly. “We can at least do that much. We owe our baby that much.”

“I’ll sign this if you’ll agree to giving birth with my hand-picked medical team.”

“They can be on standby. But I will be giving birth in the natural way. With my own hand-picked midwife.”

“You’re not going to give birth to our baby on an Indian reservation hell-and-gone from civilization!” Michael exploded.

“I am, and you’ll have to like it.”

“Rachel.” Evelyn intervened smoothly. “Do you want that paper signed?”

I looked up at her, holding my temper back. “Of course I do.”

“Then I have a counter-offer, Michael,” she directed to her brother. “Rachel gives birth in a Firm facility . . .”

“No!” I interrupted vehemently.

“Hold on, hear me out.” Evelyn took my hand in hers. “She gives birth in a Firm facility. But she does it her way. With her own midwife. With your team in attendance and on standby if she should need medical support.”

There were a few moments of palpable silence. Michael looked over at me. “Is that agreeable to you?”

In all reality, I would have loved to have coolly told them all to fuck off, but I also realized that I had to learn how to compromise. This wasn’t about me or what I wanted. This was about what was best for our child. If I wanted Michael to sign that paper, to have our baby grow up in a stable, safe world where we both could still have reasonable access, then I had to give in on a few things.

“Yes,” I replied, calming. “I’ll agree to that.”

Michael licked dried lips. “All right, then.” He grabbed the paper and signed it with a flourish. My signature was already on it. “There. Finished.”

Evelyn and her husband witnessed and signed the document also and their lawyer picked it up, pulling Cal over to the side to talk to him for a few minutes. I leaned back in the chair, one hand on my belly. Michael immediately leaned over, his hand on mine.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice now gentle.

I shook my head. “Nothing. Just tired.”

“Let me take you upstairs so you can rest,” he intimated in a near-whisper.

“I think that’s a marvelous idea,” Evelyn stated, watching the two of us carefully. She rose, and walked with us through the study door and to the stairs. “Lee and I have a dinner party to go to tonight. But there’s plenty of stuff here if you’re hungry later, just help yourselves.”

“Thanks, Sis,” Michael said, giving her a squeeze about the shoulders. “We’ll be fine.”

“I know you will.” She smiled easily. “You do understand you’re doing the right thing, don’t you Michael? And you know we would never keep either one of you away from your own flesh and blood?”

He nodded, sighing heavily. “In my mind I know what we’re doing is the best thing right now. It’s . . . just hard surrendering something that’s part of you.”

“You’re not surrendering, Michael. You’re just letting us borrow a little joy at being parents again for a spell,” Evelyn told him, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek. Then she was gone and Michael guided me up the staircase and down the hall to the guest room that had been chosen for me.

Once inside, his hand slipped down to my hip and that simple movement made my heart race. Almost ready to give birth, and Michael could still make me horny as a teenager. I sat down on the bed, stretching and yawning. He took his suitcoat off and threw it over the back of a chair, coming to me and removing my shoes, tossing them carelessly to the floor. I laid back and looked at him through sleepy eyes. I was wearing an oversize fisherman’s sweater and stretch jeans to accommodate my pregnancy and Michael’s hands smoothed up my legs to rest on my knees. He rested his chin on them as we looked at each other.

“I hate to admit it, but this is probably the best thing,” he murmured.

“It is,” I replied positively. “It wasn’t like I didn’t think this through, Michael. I don’t want to give this child to anyone else. But better your family than strangers. The child’s education is all taken care of. I’ve transferred funds into an account in your sister’s name.”

“I could have done that.”

“I wanted to do it. I had to do it.”

“OK.” He didn’t press the issue. “So. You won’t marry me. You won’t come back to the Firm. You won’t even date me anymore. What are you going to do? After the pregnancy, I mean.”

“Remember my father’s cabin in Iowa?” I asked him softly.

He nodded. “Yeah. Primitive. No facilities or running water.”

“Well, that’s no longer true. I’m gutting it, adding on, adding plumbing and central air.”

“You’re going to take up residence there?”

“Yeah.” I stretched again. “I’m taking a spiritual journey. Only I’m doing it in a more civilized way.

“You gonna put in a phone?” he queried.

“Yeah. I’ll make sure you get the number, don’t worry. In fact, I may even give you a set of keys.”

“Wow. Does that mean you’re going to let bygones be bygones?”

“If I was gonna do that, I’d stay in California.”

“So you’re still angry.”

“I’m furious.” I sighed. “But I’ll get over it. Someday.”

“Rachel, it was . . .”

“Don’t.” I held up a hand, then closed my eyes. “I don’t care what it was or what it wasn’t. It’s history. It’s done. Let’s just leave it that way.”

“You shouldn’t feel threatened.”

“I don’t. By the way, I know who it was.”

“Oh, God.” There was a pause. “Damn it.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much my own summation.” I sighed, turning on my side. “So come on and keep me warm.”

His eyebrows rose. “Thought you were mad at me.”

“I am mad at you. It doesn’t mean I don’t want you in the same bed with me.”

I thought I heard his low chuckle, then I felt his weight as he joined me a few minutes later under the covers in his boxers. He pulled my clothed body into his and I started a little when I felt him against my back. He slipped one arm under my neck and the other lightly over my burgeoning waist and I could hear him breathing softly in my ear. His familiar scent was all around me and I was reveling in it.

In the middle of the night I was awakened out of a deep sleep. I opened my eyes against the darkness, able to see out the paneled windows onto the grounds. The moon was round and full and something pulled me to those windows. Carefully I disengaged myself from Michael’s protective arms and stood in front of them, the full moon rays streaming in. They bathed me in the silver and I was suddenly getting out of my clothes to stand naked in the moonlight. Quietly I opened the windows and let the unseasonably warm night air rush over me. I closed my eyes, listening to it sing, my arms wrapping around my belly as the pulsing beat of the earth and the universe enveloped me in its warm vibrations. I felt as though I was starting to find something I’d lost for awhile.

I don’t know how long I stood there when I felt Michael’s arms about me once more, pulling me back into his hard nakedness. The erotic thrill was electric. I turned in his arms, looping them up around his neck and bringing his head down to mine in a burning, longing kiss. His response was fire and his hands reached down, cupping my buttocks, pressing his lean hard belly into my swollen pregnancy.

The myths about sex during the last stages of pregnancy were precisely that – myths. Yet for all his ferocity, Michael was gentle. He pulled one of my legs up and I put my weight on his shoulders, hopping a bit to wrap my legs around his waist. With a shuddering breath, he eased into me and I looked up into his face momentarily, watching as his eyes closed and his head went back.

“Oh, God. Yes,” he whispered breathlessly.

Carefully, he turned with me to the canopied bed, following me down. His mouth branded me anywhere it would reach and the sweet, sensual rhythm as we moved together effortlessly seemed to be more profound now than it ever had been.

Michael seemed absolutely lost in it, thoroughly overcome at the sensations we shared. His moan was loud and passionate when he came and I sank into warm oblivion with him. I remember him speaking the most loving, sensual words in my ear as I literally passed out from the passion.

In the morning, an abdominal spasm woke me, and I felt warm sunlight stream across the bed. I groggily lifted up, seeing that I was alone in the bedroom. Another spasm manifested and I grimaced.

“All right, Michael Coldsmith-Briggs the Fourth, Mom’s up,” I murmured, struggling to reach a sitting position against the headboard. I shifted a little around the damp spot in the bed and smiled, thinking of the night before. When we’d rested after the initial lovemaking, Michael had brought out a bottle of Egyptian Musk massage oil, warming it in an oil warmer he’d brought with him and massaging it into my skin. I’d done the same with him and our bodies had been slick with it. There was nothing Michael didn’t do that night. His intense passion surprised and disarmed me. Was this what he’d meant about making things up to me? I wondered. It made me feel good that being pregnant hadn’t detracted from his desire.

I had just gotten back into bed after going through most of my morning routine when Michael entered the bedroom with a breakfast tray and a beautiful smile on his face.

“It should be a crime to look as beautiful as you do first thing in the morning,” he told me, placing the tray across my legs.

I laughed, kissing him gently. “It’s amazing what a few morning ablutions can do,” I teased. “And why did you go to all this trouble?”

“I didn’t. Evelyn did.” He took the napkin and laid it across my bulging stomach. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted caviar on your toast or jam, so I brought both.”

“Have you eaten?” I asked, beginning on my toast, and spreading a little of the jam and the caviar on it.

“Hours ago,” he replied, making a face at my food combination. “Is that a pregnant woman thing?”

I laughed. “I guess so. Sort of like pickles and ice cream.”

“Gag.” He suddenly smiled, too. “Would you like to leave today or tomorrow?”

I looked up between bites of toast and shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, I guess. Why? Are you going to drop me off in Prairie Du Chien?”

He sat back a moment. “Why on earth would you want to go to there?”

“Closest major city with an airport,” I reminded him patiently. “Closest to Effigy Mounds, anyway.”

There was a long pause. “Look, I’ll make arrangements with whatever midwife you want. But I want you to have the baby in a Firm facility in California.”

I stopped eating. “All the way across the country as opposed to half way? Babies don’t do well on airplanes, Michael. Evelyn and her husband are going to have to drive, you know.”

“Evelyn? What does she have to do with anything?”

He couldn’t have forgotten. “The guardianship? The piece of paper you signed last night? Remember?”

The look on his face was almost ghastly. For a moment, he stared at me, hard. It was almost a full minute before he spoke.

“Last night . . . what was it for, then?” His voice was hollow. “The way we made love – I thought you’d forgiven me. I thought things were good between us again.”

“They were. Are.” I frowned, then it dawned on me. “You thought . . .” I broke off. “Oh, God, Michael. You thought after last night . . .”

His hands cupped my face. “You and our baby mean everything to me. Forget the guardianship. I want you to be my wife. We can make this work.”

All I would have to do was say yes and my life might have been close to perfect. Marissa had been right. Everything was within my grasp. Right here. Right now. I could have it all. The enormity of it hit me like a ton of bricks.

And then I remembered just bare days ago, walking into Gabrielle’s place, mere centimeters away from killing her in cold blood. Though the gun had not been in my hand, I’d bought it, I’d had every intention of using it. And then I remembered that was what had driven me to do this. To provide a stability in our child’s life so I could at least get a handle on myself – if I ever could. As much as I wanted to give this to Michael and to myself, I couldn’t. I couldn’t trust myself with a baby if I couldn’t even trust myself as a rational being with Michael or my best friend.

“Not now we can’t.”

“We can! What makes you think we can’t?” Michael demanded, suddenly angry. “What, you need more time?”

This time, I got angry. “Yes! You haven’t the slightest idea . . .” I stopped. No. I was not going to go into it. Not with Michael, and certainly not now.

“I can’t give you more time,” Michael said in a cool, neutral voice. “There are some things that I need, Rachel. One of them is you. The other is our son.”

“You signed the paper,” I told him quietly. “And it’s iron-clad.”

“Why are you doing this?” To have Michael plead was uncomfortable for me. I’d never known him to do it before. I almost couldn’t look him in the face. “Has the job changed you so much? Hell, if I’d known what you were planning . . .” He broke off.

“I didn’t plan to get pregnant, Michael.” My voice was quiet and controlled.

“I will quit my job, Rachel. If that’s what it takes to keep everything together, I’ll do it.”

“You don’t want that.”

“I want you and our baby more!”

What kind of idiot would turn down an offer like this? I thought to myself. Michael was offering me everything. A life of love, togetherness, wealth, prestige . . .

“You’d rot without your job. You know it and I know it. You’re not ready to give it up. And I’m not ready to let you give up a life you love for an illusion that might or might not become a reality.”

“What illusion?” He honestly was bewildered. “Where’s the deception? I love you. You love me. You’re having our baby. Nothing else matters! I screwed up, Rachel, I know I did, but if you give me another chance, things can work! We can make them work!”

“It’s not about second chances, Michael. You don’t know me as well as you think. I’ll even concede that you might be ready to make these life changes for the sake of the baby and myself. But the simple fact of the matter is – I’m not.”

He was quiet for a long few moments. “You’re not prepared to make the sacrifices to be my wife and to be our child’s mother.”

It wasn’t that, exactly. How could I explain it?

“What I’m telling you is, I cannot be a mother right now. And my reasons are very good ones.”

“You’d rather have our child raised by my sister and her husband.”

“No. I’d love to be a part of that lovely vision that you painted of the three of us together,” I replied. “But I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you that now. I might not be able to tell you at all.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I’m making perfect sense. The problem is, I can see it and you can’t. And I can’t tell you anymore than what I have already.”

“You hate me.”

I stared at him. “No! I love you! More than you’ll ever know!”

“Just not enough to be my wife.”

“That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it?”

I sighed in frustration. “Damn it, Michael . . .” That’s when the first pain hit. I gasped and grabbed my stomach. “Oh, God . . .”

The alarm on Michael’s face was real. He removed the breakfast tray and took me in his arms. “Rachel?”

I felt more than heard the pop, and then my water broke, flooding the bed. I went weak.

“Michael, the baby’s coming,” I said breathlessly. “I need my raspberry tea and I need it now!”

“Shit. Shit!” Michael tried to lay me back comfortably, wanting to go out the door, yet not daring to leave the bedside.

Cramps were coming in waves now. I gasped, curling around them, resisting the urge to push. “Get me my fucking tea!!” I yelled.

“Evelyn!!” Michael yelled, as he opened my door. “Evelyn!! Rachel’s having the baby!!”

“TEA!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Later, when I remembered it, it had been comical the way Michael skidded out the door and ran down the hallway. In the next few minutes, Evelyn was in my room along with a nurse that had been hired for my care a few days before.

“There isn’t going to be time to get you to a medical facility,” Evelyn said, stating the obvious. “So . . .”

“I’m having this baby right now!!” I screeched. “So spread some old rugs on the floor, Evelyn!”

“You need to get back in bed!” she protested.

I shook my head. “I’m not giving birth in bed – I’m going to do it the old-fashioned way. On my hands and knees!”

Michael stumbled into the room with a steaming teapot and a kitchen mug. “I brought your tea,” he mumbled, totally flustered and confused about what was going on. “Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked, suddenly realizing my attempt to kneel on the floor.

“Exactly what I asked her,” Evelyn said, grimacing. “She’s determined to have the baby in the middle of the room.”

“Like hell.” Michael picked me up without effort and carried me to the bed. “You’re going to do some things my way, baby. Get used to it.”

“Get your hands off me and go make me another pot of some goddamn raspberry tea!” I hissed at him.

When I was settled back in bed, Evelyn handed me a steaming mug full. I took deep swallows and then sank back, waiting for it to take effect. Within ten minutes, the contractions lessened considerably. I was on my third cup when Michael came up with another tray of tea. Evelyn had soaked some soft wash rags in some soothing lukewarm water and applied them to my face. Firm personnel had been called and the nurse was keeping a close eye on the dilation and taking my vitals. I kept drinking and my calm crept back.

“I’m sorry I screamed at you,” I apologized to Michael, as he came to sit on the bed beside me.

“Don’t worry about it. It was probably a hormone thing,” he replied, slipping his strong arms about me and kissing my temple.

“So . . . you’re going to stay and watch your son get born?” I queried softly.

“Wouldn’t miss this for anything,” he answered.

“She’s fully dilated,” the nurse informed us.

I began to struggle to get up. Michael pushed me down. “What are you doing?”

“Assuming the birthing position,” I snapped at him.

“Rachel . . .”

“It’s all right,” the nurse interrupted. “I know what she’s doing. I’ve seen this done. Sir, I need you to steady her on one side. Ms. Winthrop, I need you on her other side. We’re going to let gravity help us.”

I actually smiled at her. “How did you know about this?”

The thirty-something woman smiled back. “My grandmother was a mid-wife. That’s what got me into nursing. I actually helped her a few times when I was a teenager. We did it this way – only with a birthing chair.”

“And mine’s back in Iowa,” I moaned.

“It’s OK – we can do this without it.”

Beyond modesty, I yanked off the covers and perched on my knees, Michael and Evelyn holding my arms to steady me. To be honest, I don’t remember a lot of it. A series of breaths and the pushing and repeating . . . the pain wasn’t even as bad as I thought it would be. At least what I can remember. They say if you could really remember birthing pain, you’d only have one child.

By the time Firm personnel reached Evelyn’s house, our child had entered this world and was resting peacefully on my belly. The nurse had suctioned the mucus from the mouth and nose and used eyedrops, but she didn’t even clean our son up at that point.

“Something I learned from grandma,” she said softly. “You let the child come to know its mother first.”

The tears finally came and I saw Michael’s look of awe as he beheld his son. Almost nine pounds, the nurse had estimated. Ten fingers and ten toes. A full head of hair. God, so beautiful! I thought and sobbed the words out.

Michael looked down at me in wonder. “Look what you did!” he said proudly. I had never seen such joy in his face.

“What we did,” I amended, briefly touching his cheek. “Say hello to Michael Rowan Coldsmith-Briggs the Fourth, Dad.”

And then, little Michael curled his teeny-tiny little hand around his father’s finger. Michael looked almost ready to burst out crying.

“He knows you,” I whispered, exhausted. “He knows his father.”

“He’ll know me very well,” I heard Michael pledge.

Then, I knew no more as sleep overtook me.

******************************

When I woke up, it was the middle of the night and one of Michael’s operatives was settled in a chair, watching over me. Actually, she was fast asleep. I was sore as hell, but I was also hungry, so I forced myself to get out of the bed, grabbing a robe to put on over my nightgown. Quietly, I crept to the door so as not to awaken my watcher, then slipped to the outside hallway. Carefully, I made my way to the staircase, my bare feet making no sound. The study door was open at the bottom and I could hear Michael’s voice.

“ . . . and I don’t understand why she just won’t marry me, Evelyn,” he was saying. “There’s something holding her back, and I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with my affair. In fact, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have anything to do with me. It’s something . . . some hangup . . . she has about herself. Or something she’s done. Or thinks she’s done.”

“Well, she hasn’t confided in me, Michael,” Evelyn told him softly. “I don’t know what it is, but I know you won’t be able to force it out of her. At least, not until she’s ready to tell you.”

“I love her more than you can imagine,” Michael said wearily. “And it just doesn’t seem to be enough. I want to know what this obstacle is. I have to know.”

“Michael, what if it’s nothing more than just needing to be spiritually centered? Don’t look at me like that, it could be nothing more than that. To some people, that’s a very important aspect of their lives. It never was with you so much, but with Rachel – from what you’ve told me about her background, it’s not so hard to believe. And – admit it, Michael. You haven’t exactly been honest with her on several counts. Not just recently, either. She knows about Sonja. But does she know about Maria? What about that baggage you’ve been dragging around with you? Did you ever tell Rachel that she’s almost identical in temperament to a woman you were deeply in love with twenty years ago? If she somehow found out about her and you didn’t even clue her in . . .”

“Rachel isn’t like Maria. Rachel wants me. She loves me. Maria loved me, but not enough to have a relationship with me. Not enough to leave everything she knew and be part of my life. Rachel did. She left a safe environment to be with me.”

“So you had the whole thing planned, didn’t you?” Evelyn queried. “You choreographed this entire thing. You knew exactly how to get her where you wanted her. And it all started and ended with Senator Daltrey.”

My ears perked up at that. I came further down the stairs and sat on one of the steps, trying to catch every word.

“It all seems to, doesn’t it?” Michael sighed. “Damn it, Evelyn. I never intended to fall in love with Rachel. I never thought I could be so crazy in love that almost nothing else mattered. If she ever finds out what I’ve done . . .”

“You should have thought about that when you were carrying your little plan of revenge out, Michael. When you mess around with people’s lives, you’re going to pay the price. You’ve messed around with Rachel’s life in so many ways, you’re beginning to believe the lie. You better hope to God Rachel never discovers the truth.”

“No matter what’s happened, you can’t accuse me of not loving her,” Michael said staunchly. “I’m a bastard and I’ve played God to further my own ends. But I love Rachel. Nothing will ever change that. She could be a bloody ax murderer, and it wouldn’t change things.”

What had he done? I wondered, dread coiling up like a snake in my belly. What in the world were they talking about?

“This relationship was a deception from the get-go, Michael,” Evelyn said disapprovingly. “Far be it from me to tell you how to run your life. But you dragged an innocent girl into your web, made her fall in love with you, got her to go to work for you and be your lover and all the while it was to get back at Daltrey for what he did to Father. I know you’ve always loved Dad in spite of everything he did to you, but that was Dad’s problem to take care of if he wanted to, not yours.”

More and more confusing, I thought.

“Dad wouldn’t do anything about it. So I did. Nobody does anything like that to my father – to my family – and gets away with it.”

"Well, you certainly didn’t let him get away with anything. And it almost got you and Rachel killed. It did get one innocent girl killed.”

“Yes. I know.” I could hear the heaviness in Michael’s voice.

“Michael, if Rachel marries you, you better treasure her like gold.”

“Bet your sweet life,” Michael replied, voice shaking. “She would always be the most valuable treasure in my life. She and Michael the Fourth.”

I closed my eyes. It was still all within my reach. We each had a secret we hadn’t shared with the other. What would happen if we let it all out in the open? If he told me his secret and I told him mine?

Slowly, I straightened, going back upstairs and into the room where my son was soundly sleeping with the nurse on guard. She smiled as I came in, attention wrested from her book.

“Timing’s perfect,” she told me, eyes gleaming. “He’s just about ready for his feeding.”

I lifted little Michael up from the crib and undid my bodice, sitting down comfortably on the edge of the bed. “Would you mind going downstairs to the study and bringing Michael up here?” I queried softly. “I want him to be part of this.”

“Sure. I’ll just be a minute – and I’ll give the two of you some privacy until you’re done.”

It wasn’t two minutes later when Michael quietly slipped into the room. He smiled warmly and sat beside me, his eyes transfixed on his son as he suckled at my milk-filled breast.

“That has to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathed against my ear. “My heart is pounding.”

I smiled softly up at him. “You needed to be here. I wanted you to be here.” I paused, looking away. “I’ve done some thinking, Michael.”

I felt his warm lips on my shoulder. “About?”

“About the three of us.”

I felt and heard his indrawn breath. “Go on, love.”

“Maybe . . .” I hesitated. “Maybe we could make it together as a family.”

His arms went around me and he pulled me into him. “I know we can.”

“If we can be totally honest with one another.”

Immediately, he stiffened. Yeah, I’d hit a nerve.

“About what?”

I situated little Michael in my arms a little more closely. “About us.”

"Meaning . . .?”

“Meaning – is there anything you need to tell me in regards to us or our relationship? Anything you think I need to know – that you haven’t told me yet?"

“Nothing that I can think of,” he said. And he said it oh, so easily. Inwardly I sighed. The truth would not be forthcoming. At least not tonight. “All right, Michael,” I acquiesced.

“So you’re having second thoughts? You’ll marry me?” he whispered near my ear.

“I said I was thinking about it.”

“When will you let me know?”

“When I’m done thinking about it.”

“When will that be?”

“When I let you know.”

Michael made a frustrated noise in his throat. “Damn, woman. You’re enough to try the patience of a saint.”

“Well, then, I guess it’s a good thing you’re only named after one,” I replied with a sniff, “because I’m here to tell you, you ain’t no saint.”

“And you’re no poet.”

I switched sides and little Michael began on my other breast. “No. But I gave you something better than a poem tonight.”

His lips were warm on my cheek. “You certainly did.” He was quiet for a long time. “You’ve given me a lot, Rachel. Maybe more than I deserve.”

“Don’t say that. You’re a man who deserves the best. I’ve always tried to be that for you.”

“And succeeded in spades.”

“Then why won’t you be honest about what you’re hiding from me?”

There was another dread pause. “Were you listening to the conversation I was having with Evelyn downstairs?”

I licked my lips. “I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t intentional. I was on my way to the kitchen.”

“You shouldn’t even be up. Where’s Sasha?”

“Sleeping in the big overstuffed chair you planted her in. Don’t get mad, you just had her come off a big assignment.” I looked up at him. “So? What did Evelyn mean when she said our relationship was a deception from the beginning?”

Michael kissed my ear. “I should have told you right after you started working for me. I guess I just didn’t want to screw things up and have you walk away.” He sighed deeply. “Would you be willing to wait a few days until after you’ve recovered from this before I tell you? Would you concede that much?”

I considered his request within a few moments of silence. I’d waited this long. And he might be right, waiting. Until my hormones could maybe go somewhat back to normal.

“OK,” I acquiesced. “I’ll wait a few days. But then you have to come clean, Michael. And when you’ve done that . . .” I paused. I wouldn’t have to say a word. I wouldn’t have to reveal my sin to him. But I had to. “When you’ve done that, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“It sounds serious.” There was a question in his tone.

“It is serious.” I sighed. “Probably every bit as serious as what you have to tell me.”

“We’ll work everything out between us,” Michael said positively.

I closed my eyes as he pulled me against him and hoped against hope that his words would come true.

******************************

I was recovering at Evelyn’s home over the next week. Michael staked himself out in Richmond and flew back and forth via helicopter to be with me over those days. I was sore as hell below the waist and getting sore above the waist with all the frequent feedings little Michael was demanding, but I was also learning that I had a natural maternal instinct. What I didn’t know Evelyn cheerfully volunteered, from boiling bottles to changing diapers to rocking Michael to sleep. I’d packed on about twenty-five pounds during the pregnancy and was working at getting them off. Nothing strenuous, just short walks around the grounds, leg-lifts and torso-twists when I remembered. I waited patiently for Michael to bring the subject up that was so crucial.

Finally, the day came. Michael came to Evelyn’s driving a white Jeep Cherokee and had me pack a couple of bags. Evelyn was quick to volunteer services as substitute mommy. Michael was taking me to a wooded cottage about seventy miles west and north of his sister’s. The “cottage” turned out to be an A-frame with a beautiful loft and a huge king-size feather bed with a skylight window that opened to the stars. A lovely fireplace was central in the living room below and picture windows opening to the west displayed a lovely sunset over spring leaves and blossoms. Parts of it reminded me of his ranch back in California.

Michael fixed a lovely repast for us in a quite romantic setting complete with silver candlesticks – salmon in green sauce, spiced rice pilaf, a Greek salad, champagne, a light loaf of soft garlic bread and for dessert, a slightly heavy glazed apple dumpling. It was almost like falling back into that familiar place again, as if we had never left it, as if we had never had any problems between us.

Afterwards, we settled on the floor near the fireplace with brandies in our hands. Between it and the champagne of earlier, I was a little lightheaded, since I’d had no alcohol for quite awhile. The warmth infused me, though, and I liked the feeling. Michael’s broad chest against my back and the way he draped one arm loosely about my waist made me feel secure and safe.

“I love it like this,” he intimated in my ear. “Private . . . quiet. Firelight makes your hair highlight burgundy red, did you know that?”

I smiled. “You’ve told me that many times.”

“Have I also told you how well motherhood suits you?” His voice was caressing and I felt his tongue caress my earlobe.

“Does it?” I cocked my head a little. “I’ve still got fifteen pounds to lose.”

Michael chuckled. “It’s not that noticeable on you. Besides, it won’t take much to get it off. It never does.” He smiled as he kissed my ear. “Besides, in another couple of months, I plan on upgrading your exercise program.”

I had to smile with him. “Full body work-out, huh?”

“Count on it.”

We were quiet for a few moments, and then I broke it. “But that’s not why we’re up here, Michael. You’re a wonderful romantic, but it’s pretty obvious that isn’t the sole purpose of our being alone here.”

“No. It’s time for confession.” I heard the heaviness in his voice.

“If it’s about Maria, you don’t have to explain yourself. I’m not upset with you if you chose me because I resemble her. People do it all the time. I know I stand on my own merit with you, both as your employee and as your lover.”

“Let me just say that you have some personality traits that are alike. But you are so different from Maria. If you want to know about her, I’ll tell you here and now.”

“I don’t need to know about her. I don’t feel threatened. And that’s part of your life you aren’t obligated to tell me about unless you really feel a need to.”

“Will you settle for a ‘someday I’ll tell you about it’?”

“Of course.”

“Then you’ve just eliminated half of my problem. Thank you.”

“So we still have the other half to deal with. What did you do that was so terrible, according to Evelyn? What makes what we have such a deception?”

“Everything, Rachel. In the beginning, everything was a deception. I knew exactly what I wanted from you and I set out to get it at any cost.”

“And it had what to do with Senator Daltrey?”

“It’s long and involved, love. I think I better start at the beginning. About twenty years ago.”

The story that unfolded was dumbfounding. But Michael narrated with a clear, even tone all the way through it.

“My father was running against a Democratic senator in sixty-four,” Michael began quietly. “Caine Lindsey.”

“Wasn’t he one of the senators that voted against desegregation?”

Michael nodded. “He was a liberal, but not liberal enough. Some of his own party couldn’t stand him.”

“Yeah, well. Republican or Democrat, a politician is still a politician. I hate ‘em all.”

Michael chuckled. “Aw, c’mon. Even my family as staunch Republicans stood behind Truman.”

“Truman was a different breed. And even he let himself be restricted by the times.”

“Well, anyway. My father was running against him. It got to be a regular mud-slinging contest. But then Lindsey crossed the line. He set my father up and effectively killed his political career.”

“What does this have to do with Daltrey?”

“Daltrey was Lindsey’s aide. He was key in setting everything up against my father.”

“Michael, what happened?” I could tell he was getting a little agitated. His arm was no longer about my waist and he was brooding into the flames of the fireplace.

“My father was visiting friends in London. You know how he liked to drink. Well, the pubs tend to close early, so my father bought a few bottles and went back up to his hotel room with three other patrons who weren’t ready to call it a night yet. They laced the liquor with something similar to a mickey and . . .” He breathed out a long breath. “They took pictures.”

“Of what? You’re father in a drunken stupor?”

Michael shook his head. “No. It was much worse than that.” He leaned around and looked into my eyes. “He was . . . engaged in a series of immoral acts. Or at least that was the way it had been made to look.”

I stared at Michael. “You mean . . . those men . . .”

“They made it look as if Dad was a homosexual. And in the sixties, that lifestyle was simply not acceptable. Especially with senatorial hopefuls.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Yeah, that was the general consensus when dad’s staff was presented with them,” Michael confirmed. “Not even my grandfather, who was senator of Massachusetts at the time, could stop Lindsey from getting Dad out of the race. Dad pulled out, the pictures and the negatives were discreetly disposed of and Dad became a diplomat instead of a senator. About two years later, Grandad had accumulated information and evidence of a a distinctly illegal nature involving Lindsey and got him bounced out of the Senate after his term was served. He committed suicide shortly after.”

“And Daltrey?” I queried.

“Went back home and started making preparations to run as an Iowa legislator and eventually, as history shows us, a senator.”

“So you wanted to get back at Daltrey for what he helped to do to your father.”

“He'd been a professor at Yale. He inspired me to take the government courses I needed to become an agent. I never expected a betrayal like that.”

My eyes were wide. "Oh, my God, Michael."

“He was a mentor. I thought he was my friend.”

“Oh, my God.” I brushed his cheek with my hand. “No wonder . . . my God, Michael. Why didn’t you tell me all of this before?”

He looked away. “Because you were just supposed to be a pawn. I didn’t count on falling in love with you.”

“A pawn?” I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean after years of thinking about it and festering over it, I finally decided to do something about it, and I was going to use you. So when recruitment time came around, I headed to the Midwest.”

“So . . . what you’re telling me is the reason you singled me out wasn’t because you were really impressed with my capabilities.”

“Actually, that was a surprise and a bonus. I was.”

“So you would have recruited me anyway.”

“Definitely. I would have been a fool not to.”

I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

“God. How do I tell you this?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I knew everything about you, Rachel. I mean everything. I knew about your academic record, your trouble at the college, the rape. I knew it all. And I used that knowledge. I used you. I wasn’t sure just how I was going to hook you and reel it in. I didn’t even know for sure how it was all going to play out. But I was going to take Daltrey down with your help, whether you knew about it or not.”

I thought back those years ago.

//In the beginning, everything was a deception.//

“So,” I said softly, “the first dinner we had together . . . that was the bait on the hook.”

“And you nibbled. You didn’t go for it, but you nibbled.”

“But you had no idea what my answer was going to be.”

“No. But I was determined that if you said no to me, I was going to pursue a relationship with you until you gave in.”

“To get back at Daltrey for your father.”

“I would have done anything. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else, and I would have done the same thing.”

“So you came back in July, braced to do it one way or the other.”

“Yes. But that wasn’t the only reason I came back.”

I looked up at him. “It wasn’t?”

He shook his head. “No. By that time, I’d taken your bait. And you weren’t even aware you’d thrown a line in to catch me.” He fondled my hair. “The time we spent together – you’ll never know how much I treasured that. I hadn’t felt so totally enmeshed in someone else for a long time. I was falling in love with you. And it scared me to death.”

We were quiet for a long time. I was tense. Nervous. The story wasn’t over yet. Eventually, Michael took up the narrative again.

“I had operatives following and watching you, Daltrey’s son, his friends . . . I knew exactly where you all were at any given time in twenty-four hours. Going to Gray’s Lake wasn’t simply by random choosing. If you hadn’t suggested it, I was going to. One of my ops overheard a conversation between Daltrey Junior and one of his friends that they were going to go swimming. So . . . I got hold of the friend. Todd.”

“You set up us running into them at the Lake?” I was dumbfounded, moving away from him. I winced at my soreness. “You did that?”

“To appear like your hero. To be a shoulder to lean on. And eventually, to get you to trust me.”

“Todd agreed to it?”

“Todd agreed to a lot of things when he found out I would absolutely crucify him for what he did to you when you were a sophomore. It was the only thing that kept him from paying the price later.”

“But Todd’s dad . . .”

“Is paying for his sins and Todd’s. But last I knew, Todd was in the South of France, soaking in the sun with an eight million dollar payoff.”

My mouth dropped. “What?!”

“I bought him to get what I wanted.”

I was horrified and I couldn’t help but stare at Michael. “What are you saying? Todd was in on this from the beginning? He . . .” I suddenly stopped and a fresh wave of horror washed over me. “ . . . he was . . . oh, my God. Michael. What about when you caught him sneaking around the house and when he rolled over on Daltrey and . . .” I stopped again. Bile began to rise in my throat. “You set it up, you bastard. You had my parents dug up and propped up in my living room! Todd made it look as though Daltrey and his girlfriend and maybe the others were responsible. You were paying him off! To legitimize going after Senator Daltrey through me! To give him a choice . . . that really wasn’t a choice. You knew he’d put himself on the block before ever letting anything happen to his son. He’d effectively kill his career through his own mechinations. An eye for an eye.”

“I was hoping it would be something you would never have to know,” Michael said soberly. “I fell in love with you that night. Totally, completely in love. I’ve hated myself for this deception ever since. But it was done.”

My jaw was flexing. “And that made it acceptable.”

“It did at the time.”

A coldness crept over me that had nothing to do with the temperature. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? And what you did tonight by telling me?”

“Rachel, if I could call it back . . .”

“Twenty-twenty hindsight doesn’t cut it, Michael!” Painfully, I got to my feet. “Do you know I still have nightmares about that? I wake up in cold sweats, my heart beating so fast it feels like it could pound right out of my chest! And some of the nights that you aren’t at the beach house, I cry myself to sleep over it! Because I can’t ever remember how they were, now! You took that away! I live with that nightmare every day of my life because of you!"

The only sliver of satisfaction I got was the invisible arrow I know pierced his heart that night. His face was deadly pale. He’d been afraid of my reaction all this time and I had just supplied him with one of his worst nightmares. Good! I thought triumphantly. And then I drove the arrow even deeper.

“Do you remember,” I asked him quietly, fury now spent, “what I told you a few months ago? About how thin the line was between Melissa and myself? How it could have been me in her position?”

He nodded. “I remember how I never would believe it of you. And I was right.”

“Wereyou?” I could see the uncertainty in his face and I felt the beginnings of a predatory smile on my lips. “When I went to see Gabrielle and confronted her about her affair with you when I was gone, I didn’t go alone, Michael.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the first stop I made after finding out was a pawn shop where the owner sells police specials for his five-star customers. I bought one and had every intention of killing Gabrielle where she stood the minute she opened the door to me.”

He visibly blanched and swallowed. “But you didn’t.”

“But I wanted to. And if Gabrielle’s explanation hadn’t satisfied me, I would have marched down to my car and done it anyway.” I paused, hands on hips. “Congratulations, Michael. I guess if your job ever comes up for grabs, I’d qualify. That’s what you set out for, wasn’t it? Isn’t that why you have the nickname of God in the department? Because you’re so good at molding operatives into your own image?”

“You . . . would have killed her? Over me?” He was unbelieving.

The smile vanished from my face. “Guess I’m not so different fro Melissa, am I?” I said bitterly. “Quid pro quo, Michael. You gave your secret. I gave mine. And that, as they say, is that.”

“You really would have killed her.” This time it was not a question. It was a statement. “Does she know?”

“Only if you tell her, you black-hearted bastard.”

I knew I’d shattered everything that Michael thought he knew about me. Just as he’d shattered my world about him. Suddenly, Marissa’s message about major sacrifice jelled. By bringing up the conversation in the study between Michael and his sister, I had effectively started a chain of events that would dash any hopes of ever being with Michael, of being his wife, of living with him and enjoying the lifestyle of the privileged. I had also given my son up to be raised by a loving family, albeit with Michael’s involvement. I had given him up because I doubted my ability to raise a child after what I had attempted, supposedly in the name of love, but really in the name of revenge. I had given him up because of where my mind had actually willingly gone to breach the battlements outside of civilized society.

And at that precise moment, I didn’t care. I didn’t care about any of it.

All I saw were the rotting corpses on my living room sofa those years ago. And all I remembered was the dismal abyss it had thrown me into.

There we stood, me by the door, Michael still sitting by the fireplace. Although we were in the same room, I don’t think we’d ever been so far apart. We could both sense the chasm that had just split us apart.

//I knew exactly what I wanted from you and I set out to get it at any cost.//

After a couple of minutes of no response, I turned, grabbing my sweater-coat. “Have a nice life, Michael. Choke on it.”

I was out the door and walking down the road. I didn’t care how far I had to walk before hitting the main highway. I’d get a ride. From somewhere.

When I reached Evelyn’s later that night, thanks to a passing motorist who took pity on me, I quietly packed and called a cab. She didn’t even know I was in the house. At the airport, I was waiting in line to board the plane when a gentleman, obviously an operative of Michael’s, approached me with an envelope.

“Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs said I was to hand-deliver this to you,” was his only explanation.

After the plane had taken off and I relaxed with a soda, I noted the white envelope still hanging out of the front pocket of my purse. As much as it pained me, I retrieved it, turning on my little light to read it. It was a single sheet of paper in Michael’s hand-written script.

“I’ll have your things sent to your cabin and put your furniture in storage here. Please fill out the paperwork that will be sent to you in regards to your termination of employment.

--Michael

And that summed the whole thing up in a little over two lines. That had been what my life really was after almost six years. My relationship with Michael Coldsmith-Briggs the Third had cost me dear.

I resolved then and there it would NEVER happen again.

******************************

END PART VII