Authors: Margaret Carroll
Caroline had broken her first rule of survival, to draw as little attention to herself as possible. She jammed the hat and sunglasses back into place with hands that shook.
She was too jittery to notice the man who had come to a standstill across the street. He stood close to a family eating ice cream cones in the shade of a pin oak. In his hand, at waist height, was a small digital camera aimed directly at Caroline.
She drove back to the ranch a short while later, her mind whirling with images of her day in town.
Little did she know, those same images were at this very moment being broken down into a million tiny pieces of data before hurtling through cables for reassembly two thousand miles away.
B
ingo.
Porter stared at the letters on the tiny display screen of his cell phone. He had programmed his computer to place a call automatically if it received an urgent message from Beltway Security Investigations.
And it had.
The implications made his blood dam up and stop flowing. He traced a finger across the screen of his cell phone as a tingle of excitement tripped up his spine, raising the tiny hairs along its length.
The chase had begun.
He pushed his chair back from the table, his takeout lunch of steamed vegetables and chicken forgotten, and raced down the stairs. He activated the keypad and the lock clicked open. His office was silent on a Sunday, save for the ticking of a mahogany grandfather clock and the hum of his computer, which he always kept on.
He scratched at the bumps that were beginning to rise on his face. An excess of emotion already.
The mailbox contained a single message, flagged in red, from Beltway.
Every nerve ending in Porter’s body froze as he double-clicked.
What he saw next sickened him.
“Oh, Caroline,” he whispered. “Oh, Caroline, no.”
A digital photograph filled the screen, larger than he could bear. Caroline with short hair, bleached a freakish shade of yellow, standing someplace in the mountains, a place Porter had never been. Storm Pass. A place she had never been, as far as he knew. This fact alone sent pain like a dagger working its way deep into his heart. His sense of injury increased the longer he studied the photograph. She looked different. Her face was rounder somehow, the cheeks fuller beneath a ridiculous baseball cap and sunglasses that were too big. There was no mistaking the curve of her lips, or the roundness of her hips inside a tight pair of jeans. She had deliberately altered her appearance.
Porter tapped his fingers on the desk, considering this, as the implication settled over him like a heavy weight. She had done this to herself to hide from just one person, him. The only person in the world who would give his life for her.
Tears stung Porter’s eyes.
What he saw next stopped Porter’s tears in their tracks, however. As he scrolled down, his grief turned to rage.
The next image showed Caroline laughing up into the face of a strange man. Her mouth open, her lips full. Inviting. Sensual.
A flame of hot jealousy tore through Porter, searing his loins and curdling the food in his stomach.
Whore.
He stared at the photo, barely aware of the switch it tripped inside his brain, turning his sorrow to rage. The
wetness of her lips. The way she leaned in close to the man. The contours of her breasts, easy to make out, in a tight jersey knit shirt. But it was the expression on her face that fueled Porter’s rage. She was laughing. Laughing out loud so the sound echoed here in his office, cold and still as a funeral parlor.
He had known it would come to this.
The tiny measure of triumph he felt disappeared as he studied the man beside Caroline. Large body, athletic build. Broad jaw with wide lips and big white teeth. Sunlight played on rich, dark hair. The sort of man who would draw Caroline to him like a moth to a porch light. The man leaned over Caroline, dwarfing her body with his. His hand rested on her arm in a gesture of proprietorship. His mouth hung open, hungry, so Porter could almost hear his booming laugh.
First step in the classic mating dance.
Whore!
Jealousy snaked through Porter, spreading heat in his loins, turning him hard. He felt himself stiffen and grow until the fabric of his trousers strained in his lap. He stared at the screen, studying the look on Caroline’s face. Her mouth open, her lips shining, wet.
Porter’s fingers slid from the mouse. He unzipped his trousers, his breath coming like a ragged bellows as the heat inside mounted. Keeping his gaze on the screen, his fingers warmed to their task with each stroke.
He climaxed quickly.
Slumping back in his chair he waited for his breathing to steady. He felt sick, disgusted. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on his desk, one of several placed strategically around the office, and mopped at his trousers and skin.
On the screen, Caroline continued to laugh in silent mockery.
Cold now and spent, Porter shuddered as he scrolled through the remainder of the e-mail.
He found another photo of his wife, her mouth now open in a round O, reaching to take a pair of sunglasses and bright red baseball cap from the man. Her disguise was in place in the next, but the heart shape of the chin, the delicate lips and teeth were unmistakable.
Porter ran a finger along the lines of her jaw. A wave of grief washed over him for the life he’d hoped for, planned for. Now it was lost forever.
That realization filled him with mourning as he contemplated the garish woman that had taken his wife’s place. The clownish hair, the hat, the sunglasses, all part of a twisted lie told for his benefit. So that he, Porter, would never find her. The knowledge hollowed him with grief. He would have given his life for her. His fingers slid slowly off the screen, leaving tracks of moisture like tears.
He scrolled down. In the next photo Caroline was seated in a lawn chair next to an old woman. Nan Birmingham, her new employer, according to the accompanying memo.
A heavy sigh escaped him now. He had dreaded this since she left, vanishing like a ghost into the shimmering heat just eight days ago, taking with her everything that mattered, everything that gave his life meaning. That day had changed everything. Now they were deep into autumn, the season of change that led to death.
Porter typed a brief message to Beltway Security authorizing preparation of a full dossier.
When the message was sent, he went back and reread
the memo accompanying the photos. Caroline was using the name Alice Stevens. She lived with Nan Birmingham on a ranch several miles outside the town called Storm Pass. The laughing man in the photo was Ken Kincaid, former safety for the Kansas City Chiefs. The fact pricked at something in Porter’s memory. He remembered reading about the guy in the paper a few years back. His career had been cut short by an injury. His wife left him for one of his teammates. Porter shrugged. Son of a bitch got what he deserved.
Porter closed the file, switched off the computer, and sat in the still office.
He had no choice now. This was all her doing. “Damn it, Caroline,” he said, his voice strange and loud in the empty room. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he dug at them with the backs of his knuckles. Inside his mouth his teeth began to work, shredding the inside of his cheeks until he tasted blood.
“Why, Caroline?” he whispered. “Why?”
But he knew the answer. She had been destined for this. He had known it from the day they’d met. Known it and ignored it, allowing himself to be lulled, drawn in by her sensual youth, fooled by her keen intellect into thinking she could heal the wounds of her childhood and become the soul mate he had yearned for. He had tried and tried to make her see the dark corruption that was seeded inside her, poised and waiting to unfurl when it would render a permanent shadow on her mind like a poisonous cloud.
But it was no use. His beloved bride had closed her mind against him. She, who had married a man who would trade his soul to save her, a man who had devoted his entire life to the intricacies of the human mind.
The one man in ten million, perhaps, who could understand her flaws and even, perhaps, one day cure them. Caroline’s resistance to Porter and his love was ironic, a tragedy in the classic Greek tradition.
His gaze fell on the couch where so many patients had lain, spewing the intimate details of their private pain. And now he, Dr. Porter Moross, was experiencing a pain equal to the one he had suffered once long ago. It was the inevitable conclusion of their life together, his and Caroline’s, sealed by fate when she walked away.
The way his mother had.
He went to the couch and laid himself down, resting his head on the cushion where his patients rested theirs.
There and then he surrendered to his pain, fresh and sharp as the first night without his mommy all those years ago. Pulling his knees to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them in an effort to stop the shivering that wracked his body. But he was not able to stop the sobs that rose up inside him. He was not crying for himself, for the pain he had endured and would continue to endure. He was crying tears of sorrow for her.
For Caroline. For the price she would pay for ruining Porter’s life, for the steps he would have to take to rectify her mistake.
N
an took a sip of coffee. “Weather’s turning.”
The morning after the parade was bright and clear in Storm Pass. But Nan was right. Something had changed. The angle of the sun had shifted, the air had a sharp scent.
More than that, something had changed inside Caroline. Her sense of safety was fading. She was jittery after her careless mistake in town yesterday. She tried to lose herself in work, installing storm windows under Nan’s direction. The physical activity helped lessen Caroline’s anxiety.
They were about to tackle Caroline’s bedroom at the back of the house when the sound of an approaching car set her nerves on edge once more.
Caroline froze, unable to hide a sharp intake of breath.
A knock on the door sent the dogs into a snarling fit.
“I’ll get it.” Nan said. “I’m sure it’s Federico or one of his men with news from the stables.”
Caroline stayed where she was, rooted to the spot, dismayed at the feelings that were flooding through her. Fear. Anxiety. The tapes were playing once more in
her mind, telling her she would never be safe. And all because she had been stupid enough to spend the day in town yesterday, and clumsy enough to lose her dark glasses and hat on Main Street.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she whispered miserably. She did a quick inventory of her belongings and cash reserve, which had dwindled on the trip out here and more after she’d bought some new clothes, but still amounted to several thousand dollars. Three thousand, one hundred forty, to be precise. She could leave on five minutes’ notice if she had to.
The dogs stopped barking, and she heard Nan’s voice, calm and welcoming.
Next came the rumble, low and deep, of a familiar male voice.
Ken Kincaid.
Then came footsteps on the front stairs, heavy but fast. She had just enough time to check her reflection in the mirror that hung over the Jenny Lind bureau before he appeared in the doorway.
She whirled around to face him.
“Hey, Alice.” His voice was low and sweet, the way she remembered. He wore Levi’s, hiking shoes, and a green plaid shirt. “Relief crew’s here.”
“Hey.” Caroline jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans, suddenly conscious of her messy hair and the smudge of dirt she hoped she’d wiped clean from her cheek.
He gave the room a swift glance, taking in the bed and its pretty chenille spread. “I didn’t mean to barge in. Nan said there’s a window up here giving you trouble.”
That was not true.
Caroline looked down at the storm window she was balancing against one knee.
“Let me get that.” He took the storm window from her and crossed the room to throw open the back window. The window slid smoothly into place. He repeated the process on the remaining windows before turning to her with a look of satisfaction on his face. “That should do it,” he said, leaning over to smooth a wrinkle his knee had left on the spread.
“Thanks,” Caroline said.
“No problem. If it happens again, all you need is some silicone oil. Or, better yet, call me.” He stood, his posture easy and relaxed, and grinned.
Caroline found it impossible not to smile back.
“You’ve got a great view of the peak,” he observed.
She nodded.
“It’s a good sight to see when you wake up in the morning.”
Caroline thought of how cozy it was to lie here, watching the peak come into view by moonlight. That first night her worries had kept her up, her stomach in knots, her heart pounding at every sound. She woke each morning to find a bit more of her tension had drained away during the night. “It’s beautiful by moonlight, too.” She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. Her basic rule was to reveal nothing about herself. But Ken Kincaid made her forget that rule. He was so easy to talk to, so laid-back, that she just couldn’t help herself.
He skipped the opportunity to make an obvious pass at her, a fact for which she was grateful. “We’ll make a mountain girl out of you yet. You’ll have to change your name to Elly May,” he teased.
Caroline’s eyes widened in alarm. Had he guessed Alice was a made-up name? “I don’t feel like an Elly May,” she said cautiously.
He laughed. “Give it a winter up here and we’ll be calling you Elly May. ‘A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet,’ you know.” He continued to check out the view, looking up at Ute Peak. “Stick around for all four seasons and you’ll know how special this place is.”
She could tell by the look on his face he meant it. “I bet you missed the mountains when you were away.”
“Pretty much. I guess it’s in my blood.”
Her mind jumped. She wondered if there was a place that would ever be inside her blood but she didn’t know the answer to that. All she knew was that her time in Storm Pass had given her a taste of freedom from the prison Porter had built with her help. That was over now. But she knew the prison cell remained, ready and waiting for her return. Caroline became aware of Ken’s eyes on her. Curious. Thoughtful. Judging? The possibility unnerved her. She cleared her throat, shifting her weight as her glance drifted involuntarily to her bed. “Well, thanks for helping out.” Coloring, she looked away.
He gave a quick nod but stayed put. “Any time, Alice.”
They heard footsteps on the stairs and Nan appeared in the doorway.
Not a moment too soon, Caroline thought.
Nan saw the windows and gave an approving nod. “Good work. They’re up. How’s Gus?” She directed this last at Ken.
“He’s doing okay, Nan, thanks for asking.”
“Glad to hear it. Have you come to join us for lunch?”
He cleared his throat. “Actually, I came by to see if I could take Alice fishing. If she’s not too busy, that is.”
They both looked at Caroline.
“That’s a fine idea,” Nan said quickly. “We’re about done here for today.”
Caroline shifted her weight. The prospect of an afternoon with Ken made something flutter inside her like a butterfly preparing for flight. And yet it was a risk she could not, dared not take. Looking down, she traced a pattern in the wool rug at their feet, studying it as though a good excuse might be written there.
Nan spoke up. “Alice needs to get to know the area before winter sets in. My niece is pestering me again to fly down to Florida for a visit. I might just do it. Me and Scout.” She looked down at the little dog waiting at her feet. “Won’t be gone long. Alice could keep an eye on the place.”
Caroline nodded. She couldn’t hold back a twinge of excitement at the thought of having this big, beautiful place all to herself for a week with time on her own to paint or hike or read or do anything she wanted.
“That’s a great idea,” Ken said. “I’d just be a phone call away.”
Caroline couldn’t hold back a smile, even though in her heart she knew it was best for all of them if she kept her distance from Ken. Starting now.
But Nan’s next words silenced the protest Caroline planned to make about the fishing trip. “Besides, I could use an afternoon on my own. And I wouldn’t turn down fresh trout.”
“You’ve got a deal, Mrs. Birmingham,” Ken said. “We’ll bring you back plenty of fish. That’s a guarantee.”
Ignoring the look of hesitation on Caroline’s face, Nan smiled. “Good. It’s settled. I’ll pack a lunch.”
Ken waved her off. “No need. I’ve got us covered.” He looked at Caroline and winked. “I was betting you’d say yes.”
Caroline was at a loss for words. The fluttery feeling in her chest got bigger at the prospect of spending time with him, or maybe it was due to the warning bell clanging in her head. Not to mention she was suddenly aware of how sweaty she was from wrestling all morning with the storm windows. “I, ah, am not much of a fisher,” she said finally.
Nan chuckled. “Don’t you worry about that, Alice. You’re headed out with the highest rated wilderness guide in the state of Colorado. Bring me back some trout and have fun.” She led the way downstairs.
Caroline swallowed. Nan made it sound as though they were going on a date. But one look at Ken’s face, lit from inside with a big, relaxed smile, was enough to push Caroline’s misgivings aside at least for the moment. “Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose I’m ready for my fishing lesson.”
Ken nodded happily. “I guess you are, Alice. Come on, I’ll show you the prettiest place in the world.”