Blown Away (6 page)

“No, I haven’t heard from him. When was he going to call?”

“He flew out to see you on Sunday.”

“He came out here? Really? Well, that was the day the tornado hit, and it was pretty crazy around here. Maybe he changed his mind.”

“Okay. He’ll probably call in soon. Sorry for your loss. We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah, later,” Lance said, and hung up.

Reprieve.

He turned to Joe, who was frowning.

“Who was that?” Joe asked.

“Oh…just a business call. No big deal.”

Joe wasn’t satisfied. Lance had a habit of getting himself into trouble—trouble that Joe usually had to rectify.

“Are you sure?” Joe asked.

“Absolutely,” Lance said. “Do you want dessert? I think there’s some coconut cake.”

Joe shrugged off the worry. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

The moment passed.

Night fell.

Lance Morgan slept like a baby, secure in the knowledge that his big brother was asleep in the room across the hall, and that, once again, he’d dodged a bullet. Somehow, someway, he would use
the sympathy he’d heard in Martinelli’s voice and convince the man to give him more time.

Cari had been given what amounted to a suite on the second floor of the Boudreaux mansion, but she wasn’t in the frame of mind to appreciate the beauty of her accommodations. The sitting room was bright and airy, with a massive white mantel over a fireplace centered in the middle of one wall. The furniture was upholstered in off-whites and creamy yellows, while accessories and knickknacks in varying shades of blue gave the room a personal feel.

The bedroom just off the sitting area was a reverse of the first. Pale blue sheers at the windows, a royal blue spread on the bed, with bits of yellow and white interspersed on shelves and tabletops.

The adjoining bathroom was stark by contrast—white walls, floor tiles, fixtures and curtains. The single bit of color was a whimsy of art. A tiny school of clown fish made of hand-blown glass had been mounted on the wall in perfect formation, as if they were swimming in a snowy sea.

She’d turned down Mike’s offer of food so that she could rest. All she really knew and cared about was that the bed she’d crawled into was cool and the sheets were soft. She also knew there were many doors and walls—and a man named Mike Boudreaux—standing between her and the danger of being discovered. For now, it was enough.

Downstairs, Mike went about the business of his life, explaining to those at the office that Susan was out of town. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She was in Bordelaise. He just hadn’t mentioned she was dead and wasn’t coming back. Like Cari, a part of him clung to the misapprehension that if it wasn’t said aloud, then it might not be the truth.

The responsibility he felt for Carolina North was wrapped up in his friendship with Susan and the knowledge that the woman was in serious trouble. He wasn’t sure how she was going to go about alerting the authorities to the man she claimed was a murderer, but all that could wait. Right now, she needed to hide and heal. Providing her with those small comforts was the least he could do. That, and find out all he could about a man named Lance Morgan. He’d already availed himself of the services of his security chief, Aaron Lake, and now Aaron was on the job, checking into Lance Morgan’s background.

Cari woke herself up screaming in the night.

Mike was in her room even before she could sit up and turn on the lights.

“Hey, hey,” Mike said, as he slid onto the side of her bed and clasped one of her hands. “You’re okay,
cher.
You’re okay.” Then he leaned over and switched on the lamp beside her bed.

“Oh my God,” Cari muttered, as she struggled to a sitting position. “The storm… I was…”

She shuddered, then shoved the hair away from her face. “I was dreaming.”

“I know,” Mike said. “Hang on. I’ll get you some water.”

Cari swung her legs off the side of the bed, disoriented. “Do you know where my pain pills are?”

“On the table beside the lamp,” he called out.

Cari looked, found them behind the clock and shook out two pills, then downed them with the water Mike handed her.

“Thanks,” she said, as she set the glass aside. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

Mike wanted to touch her, to hold and assure her she wasn’t alone. But it wasn’t the truth. Just because she was under his roof, that didn’t mean anything. She was alone, in every way that counted. Still, she looked so beaten and so lost, and his frustration came out in his voice, making it seem too abrupt.

“You don’t need to apologize for something that’s not your fault.”

Cari blinked. She didn’t understand the anger in his voice, but at three in the morning, according to the clock, she wasn’t in the mood to investigate.

“Then thank you for the water and the concern,” she said shortly and got up from the bed, stumbled, then stiffly moved past him on her way to the bathroom.

The firm click of the door and the chill tone in her voice shamed Mike. It wasn’t her fault he hadn’t been able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he kept
remembering the countless times he’d taken Susan for granted. He might be mad at himself, but that didn’t give him the right to take it out on Carolina.

She came out a couple of minutes later and appeared surprised he was still there.

“I don’t need to be tucked back in.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was curt with you, and you didn’t deserve it. Truth is, I’m mad at myself.”

Cari frowned as she settled down on the side of the bed. “Why?”

Mike shrugged, then sat down beside her. “Mostly for taking Susan for granted.”

Cari’s shoulders slumped. “I know what you mean. The other morning I went out for a walk. Weather permitting, I’ve done the same thing every day for as long as I can remember. Only on Sunday, everything was off. Like I’d stumbled into another dimension or something. I walk up on a man I’ve known all my life, and he’s burying a body. I get back to the farm to tell my parents just as a tornado wipes them and everything we own from the face of the earth. I took my world and the safety of familiarity for granted.”

Mike slid his hand over hers and turned it palm up, looking down at the cuts and bruises, then up at her face. The scratches there were shallow. The nurses had removed most of her facial bandages before he’d checked her out, but the bruises were blatant, and the staples in her head an ugly reminder of how close she’d come to dying.

“My mother used to say there was a reason for everything, but that we weren’t always meant to understand it. I guess this would be one of those times,” he said.

Cari’s voice shook. “I guess.”

The sound hurt his heart, but he knew sympathy was the last thing she needed.

“Think you can get back to sleep?”

“Maybe.”

Mike stood up, then pulled back the covers. “Crawl in.”

The offer was unexpected and oddly touching. “I can do it,” she said.

“I know,” he said, waiting as she gingerly scooted back beneath the covers. As soon as she’d settled, he straightened the spread, then leaned down to turn off the lamp.

Cari grabbed his arm. “Leave it on. Please?”

Mike frowned. The fear of a nightmare rerun was there on her face. The thought crossed his mind to lie down beside her—just as a friendly gesture to remind her she wasn’t alone. But then instinct told him to get out. He had a feeling that it would be far too easy to cross a line with this woman, and this was neither the time nor place.

“I’m just across the hall,” he said. “Call out if you need me.”

Cari nodded, then turned her back on him and rolled up in a ball.

He sighed. Nothing like a little body language to let you know what was really going on. She’d just made herself as small a target as possible. He just wasn’t sure how effective it was going to be against bad dreams, but it was enough to change his mind. Instead of leaving, he quietly moved to a white over-stuffed chair nearby, eased himself down into the cushions and crossed his legs.

Cari shifted slightly beneath the covers, unaware of the man who sat sentry at the foot of her bed.

When her body finally went limp and the covers ceased moving, Mike knew she’d fallen back to sleep. He could have left then—
should
have left then. The pain pills would likely carry her through until morning. But there was something so vulnerable about the slight bump she made beneath the covers that he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her.

So he sat.

An hour had passed, when she suddenly turned from one side to the other with a muffled moan, then threw off her covers. Immediately he was on his feet. He pulled the sheet and blanket back up over her shoulders, then paused, studying her face, feature by feature, and her wounds, bruise by bruise.

Now that he knew who she was, he was surprised that he hadn’t immediately seen the resemblance to Susan, because it was truly amazing.
Even through the bruises, he could see that the shapes of their faces and mouths were identical. Susan’s eyes hadn’t been quite as round, but everything else was so alike that he knew when she was healed, he would have been hard-pressed to tell them apart.

Suddenly Cari sighed and then spoke, but the words were so soft, he didn’t understand what she’d said.

The last thing he wanted was for her to wake up and find him standing over her like some crazy stalker. He started to back away when a tear slid out from under her lashes, puddled in the hollow under her eye for just a moment, then slipped down her cheek.

“Daddy…Daddy,” she said softly, and then sobbed.

“Ah, God,” Mike whispered. “Poor baby.”

Suddenly she gasped, and Mike knew she must be reliving the entire horror of the storm. Without thinking, he slid onto the mattress and took her hand.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,
cher,
it’s okay.”

She shuddered, but the pain pills had taken her far enough down that she didn’t wake up. It was the death grip she had on Mike’s hand that told him how frightening her dream must have been. She was holding on to his fingers so tight that her knuckles had gone white.

At that point, Mike forgot decorum. Without letting go, he carefully moved over her, then behind her. With the covers as a barrier, he spooned his body up against hers and pulled her close.

Within seconds, all the tension in her body seemed to dissipate. Unfortunately he was now within inches of her head wound. He could have counted the staples, but he couldn’t bear to look. Instead he closed his eyes and concentrated on the slow, steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he woke up just as dawn was breaking. Sometime during the night, Cari had turned to face him. Now he could feel the occasional exhalation of her breath against his chest—warm and soft.

Her eyelids fluttered. She was near to waking, and the last thing she needed was to find him in her bed. Slowly he eased his arm out from under the pillow above her head, then scooted off the bed. He paused for a moment, reluctant to leave her, but unwilling to think about why.

Somewhere downstairs, a phone began to ring. It had to be the dedicated line to the phone in his office, because none of the home phones were ringing.

He gave her a last thoughtful look, then made a quick exit.

The next time Cari woke up, sunlight was coming through the sheer fabric of the bedroom curtains. It took her a couple of moments to re-orient herself as to where she was and why, and once she did, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach returned.

Oh God. My family is dead, my world is destroyed, and the man I once thought I would marry is a murderer.

She started to kick off the covers, then winced. Motion resurrected all the dormant aches and pains.

“Have mercy,” Cari muttered, as she eased herself out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Within minutes, she was in the shower, using the warm jets of water to ease her knotted muscles. As she was drying off, she stopped in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the door to study her reflection. She had dozens of bruises in varying sizes all over her body. Besides the scrapes and cuts, there was the bald patch where her hair had been shaved so her head could be stapled.

“Basically, Carolina, you’re such a wreck not even Mom and Dad would know you,” she muttered, and turned away.

But within seconds, what she’d said triggered a notion that turned into an idea, then grew into a full-blown plan. She turned back around to look at herself in the mirror again, then pulled her long hair away from her face and squinted her eyes, turning first one way, then another.

The longer she stood there, the more certain she became that she’d just figured out a way to get herself to Bordelaise for the funerals. She tossed her towel aside and hurried into the bedroom.

A few minutes later she was in the hall and heading for the stairs, following the smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee.

Songee entered the breakfast room carrying the plate of fried eggs she’d made for Mike’s breakfast and slid it in front of him.

“Um, I’m glad you’re back, because as always, you outdid yourself,” Mike said, as he laid his newspaper aside and reached for the biscuits and bacon.

Songee Wister was barely five feet tall, but at fifty-one, easily a force of nature. The crisp pink dress and equally crisp white apron she was wearing were great foils for her café-au-lait skin. Her hair, once dark and curly, now a salt-and-pepper shade, was worn in dozens of tight little braids, then pulled back at her nape. She’d worked for Mike for more than fifteen years and considered the old mansion hers to run.

“Mr. Mike, will your lady also want some eggs to go with my biscuits and bacon?”

Mike slid a trio of bacon slices onto his plate, then reached for a biscuit and began to slather it with butter.

“I don’t know, Songee. We’ll ask her when she comes down.”

“Ask me what?” Cari asked, as she entered the breakfast room.

Songee turned around, then gasped. “Saints alive! She looks like—”

“Easy, Songee. I already told you, she’s Susan’s cousin, remember?