Maxwell Harrington frowned. His forehead wrinkled as he studied her face. “Oh fuck, Cilla. You haven’t been messing around online again, have you?” He sighed, her expression telling him all he needed to know. “You’re a married woman!” he snapped. “Hell, I don’t give a damn about Otis, but Jesus H. Christ, what do you think will happen to your career if word gets out?”
“I’m finished,” she mumbled. She couldn’t be totally certain the caller had been Claude, but her gut instinct was declaring it so. And, unfortunately, Claude didn’t sound like a man who would conveniently disappear into the woodwork. No. He wouldn’t, she realized. How could she have been so stupid? “It’s over.”
Her father thumped his fist on the desk. “Like hell. Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded as he took her by the elbow and steered her into the adjoining parlor.
It took all of ten minutes to bring him up to speed. She confessed everything, finishing up at the point when she’d hung up, right before Maxwell had entered her suite. She was pacing by the time she’d finished, biting her nails as she wore a hole in the carpet.
“What do I do, Daddy?” Cilla nervously asked before resuming her nail biting.
“For one thing you quit biting your nails. You just had them manicured, and stubby fingers aren’t a good look for a senator.”
Maxwell sighed, scratching his short salt-and-pepper beard as he gave the situation some thought. “Suddenly I know how all of President Clinton’s aides must have felt,” he muttered. “Doing everything they could do to clean up his sex-life fiascos.” His eyebrows shot up when his daughter threw him a frown. “Well hell, Cilla. Gain a hundred pounds, grow a penis, and you two could be twins. Especially after you voted for that antigun bill.” He grunted. “How any self-respecting Republican can vote to stiffen the gun laws is beyond me.”
She threw up her hands, exasperated. “Because it’s what I believe in! And I won’t be voting for any more bills period if you don’t help me figure a way out of this goddamn mess!”
Cilla knew that if anyone could turn the situation around it would be Maxwell Harrington. He was a man obsessed when it came to her career. Far more concerned with it than she ever had been, in fact. Where Maxwell hadn’t had what it took to advance his career beyond the senate before he retired, his daughter did possess that indefinable something, that cult of personality one shows to the masses to snag votes.
She realized that, vicarious or not, she was her father’s only shot at being in the governor’s mansion, and quite possibly the White House. Maxwell loved her as any father loves a daughter, perhaps more so, but it wouldn’t be love that would drive him to root Claude out. It would be obsession. Nothing would come between Cilla and Maxwell’s goals for her if it could be helped.
“I’m thinking. I’m thinking. Are you sure it’s this Claude character who’s been calling you?”
“No,” she slowly admitted. “But the odds are definitely leaning heavily in that direction. Who else could it be?”
“A crank caller?” he said hopefully. Maxwell sighed at her frown. “You do tend toward the dramatic at times, Cilla.”
“Okay,” she finally conceded, “I suppose there is a chance it could be a crank caller. But I still feel the situation warrants looking into!”
“I’ll take care of it,” her father announced as he stood up. He ran his hands over his suit jacket, smoothing it out. “In the interim, I want you to return to Cleveland this very moment. Have Beverly cancel whatever it was you were supposed to do tomorrow. Nobody can accuse you of sleeping around if you’re in Cleveland with Otis by your side.”
Cilla nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. I want to see my son, anyway.”
Maxwell grunted. “You might do well to think of Todd the next time you get it up your ass to do something stupid. Do you have any notion what this will do to him if word gets around what his mother has been up to?”
She winced and took a deep breath. “I know.” Cilla had never particularly cared for Otis one way or the other. Any socially presentable man would have done as a husband. But their son was a different story altogether.
For the first time she understood why it was that her father sank to such depths to save her every time she needed saving. It was more than obsession with her career. It was more than a desire to see his flesh and blood achieve what he couldn’t. It was something far more primitive and primal. A genetic instinct that drove a person to cut off any threat to the survival and livelihood of one’s offspring.
Cilla’s eyes followed her father as he made his way from the parlor. “Daddy?”
Maxwell stopped in his tracks long enough to look at her from over his shoulder.
“Thank you.”
By the time Nikki and Thomas made it back to Cleve
land the next morning, Thomas’s entire demeanor had changed. Gone was the passionate lover who couldn’t keep his hands off of her, and in his place was a cold, frighteningly aloof man Nikki’d never been introduced to before. Even in the car, his thoughts miles away, the need to touch her had always, at minimum, compelled him to leave a hand resting somewhere on her body. Now it was as though that affection had never been.
Realistically, she knew not to expect more than this from Thomas. Her brain understood, but his coldness still left her feeling rejected. From a mental and emotional standpoint, Thomas was going through more than she could fathom. Intellectually speaking, she understood that he needed to put up the walls to get through what was sure to be a hellish day of reckoning on his part. Now if only her brain would explain that to her wounded heart.
Nikki stared up at the high-rise apartment complex that was her home, somehow feeling disjointed from it now. She’d been gone but a few days, yet it felt like forever since life had been normal here. She sighed, wondering if this place would ever feel like home again.
“Thanks for the lift,” Nikki said, her green eyes turning to look at Thomas. “I suppose you need to be going.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I do.” He ran a hand over his jaw, never once looking at her. The frostiness of his expression made her feel cold and empty inside. “You want me to walk you up?”
Yes, but she’d never admit that. “No.” She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. You go do what you need to do.” She glanced at the clock in the dashboard. “I better go. I need to call my boss and let her know I’ll be coming in tonight.”
Thomas nodded, still not looking at her. “Take care of yourself, Doc.”
Her stomach muscles clenched. That almost sounded like good-bye. Maybe it was good-bye.
Determined not to show any vulnerability, Nikki opened the passenger side door and climbed out of the Taurus. Making a feeble attempt at a wave, she turned, briskly walking toward the high-rise’s entrance.
Chapter 24
Friday, July 25 7:31 P·M·
“Hey, Nita. Mind if I have a seat?”
Juanita Brown’s gaze flicked from the TV screen in the hospital cafeteria to Nikki. Her eyes widened. “Hey, girl! Where have you been?”
“Sick,” Nikki informed her, deciding that wasn’t altogether a lie. She definitely wouldn’t be talking about what had really kept her away from Cleveland General for four days. Besides, she
had
been running a fever the first day.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” the O.R. nurse said in the way of sympathy as she waved to the empty seat across from her. “Glad you’re back, though.”
“Me, too.”
The conversation was friendly and light, typical of the way people chat with good work acquaintances they have no relationship with outside of their place of employment. Nikki had always thought highly of Juanita and enjoyed her company, but their personalities were too disparate to have much in common beyond Cleveland General and the occasional after-hours drink. Nita loved Cleveland’s late-night scene and enjoyed the party life outside of work. Nothing wrong with that per se—it just wasn’t Nikki’s cup of tea.
“These political ads are always so syrupy sweet,” Juanita snorted, her gaze going back to the TV console. She tucked a springy black curl behind an ear. “I wonder if people really fall for them.”
Nikki grinned as she watched the brief and ultra-idyllic Harrington-Barnsworth television campaign ad with her colleague. “Gee, they even have a dog in this one. I didn’t know Cilla had a pet. I thought fur gave her allergies!”
“Cilla?” Juanita’s eyebrows rose. “You actually know the beanpole senator personally?”
Nikki shrugged. “More like my best friend knows her. They grew up together. Truthfully, I don’t much care for her on a personal level. Too condescending for my taste.”
Juanita smiled slowly. “I sense a bit of history there.”
Nikki sighed. “A bit.” Her expression was bemused. “I hate admitting to this now, Nita, but back in college I was a little jealous of her! She seemed to have it all together, if you know what I mean. The perfect woman with the perfect clothes and the perfect car who heralded from the perfect family.”
“Uh huh.”
“I tried to warm up to her for my best friend’s sake, but it was mission impossible. She was always so cutting, so arrogant and rude.”
Juanita frowned. “Not that I was before, but now I’m definitely not voting for her.”
“Hey now!” Nikki grinned. “She could have changed. It happens.”
“Hmmm . . .”
Nikki was about to chuckle when their conversation was interrupted by Dr. Michael Sorenson. She inwardly sighed, not in the mood to deal with him.
Nikki supposed she wouldn’t have liked being overlooked for a promotion in lieu of a doctor that had been on staff for a shorter period of time, either, but she would have shrugged off such an event months ago. Not Sorenson. He was determined to prove wrong the chief of staff’s decision to promote her.
She could only be grateful for the fact the jerk had no idea why she’d been absent the past four days. If the surgeon ever did learn the details, he’d probably embarrass the hospital into firing her. Indeed, he’d already made at least three flippant remarks tonight about how she couldn’t even see fit to show up to work, muttering under his breath about what immoral things she’d probably been doing in lieu of her job.
“I see we finally made it back to work,” he said in a pompous tone that grated.
Her smile was as syrupy sweet as the one Cilla favored for the cameras. “Yes,” Nikki replied with false cheer. “I’m feeling a lot better. Thanks for your concern.”
Dr. Sorenson frowned, his dark eyes trailing over her face. “You look flushed.”
God, he was weird. Probably one of those kooky, overly religious types. Granted, Michael Sorenson had no idea why Nikki had been gone the past few days, but neither was it his business, and she’d be damned if she’d enlighten him. Her life was no concern of his, and she planned on keeping it that way. “Recently recovered from a fever.”
“I see.”
“Hey,” Juanita cut in, “dinner time is almost up.” She rose from her chair, thankfully saving Nikki from further conversation. “Good to see you, Dr. Sorenson.”
Michael inclined his head. “A good evening to you, Nurse Brown.”
Nurse Brown. Nikki tamped down on the desire to roll her eyes at the way he’d emphasized the word “Nurse.” She had never fallen for that line of bull that a doctor’s position was superior to a nurse’s. They were a team, all of them performing their own individually vital functions.
“Good evening, Dr. Sorenson,” Nikki said, attempting to conceal her irritation. Following Juanita, she nodded before walking away.
“What is with him?” Juanita muttered under her breath once he was out of earshot. “Don’t tell me he’s still pissed about that promotion?”
“Yep.” Nikki sighed. “Don’t pay him any attention, Nita. I sure don’t.”
Work tonight had not been its usual respite. Far from it
in fact. Her boss was out with the flu, and Dr. Sorenson was out to get her. . . . No changes there.
Nikki sighed as she finished donning her street clothes. Picking up her duffel bag, she quickly exited the hospital, walking toward her Mercedes in the underground staff-only parking garage. The sound of nearby cars starting up and the noxious smell of gas fumes punctured the air—just like always. Everything was normal once again. All was as it had been before “Richard.”
Except for one thing, she silently admitted. Nothing could ever be the same again. Not after having spent those few days with Thomas.
He’d made her most secret fantasies reality. What’s more, he was slowly but surely making her fall in love with him. She wished she could say the latter was due to sex, but she knew it wasn’t. Her feelings had been deepening since before they’d slept together. Heck, she’d already been half in love with him the day he sent her those pistachios, she mused.
Opening the trunk of her car, Nikki threw the duffel bag inside and slammed it closed. She wondered what Thomas was doing this very moment, wondered too how he was coming to terms with all that had happened. She hoped that he’d want to see her again, but conceded that so much as looking at her might bring back painful memories he’d rather forget.
She had been with him, after all, when he’d received the bad news. Lucifer was, albeit indirectly, responsible for bringing them together in the first place. Perhaps the detective would have a hard time forgetting all of that.
Nikki frowned as she fumbled with the keys, telling herself she was behaving pathetically. If Thomas didn’t want to see her again, that was that, and there was no sense in dwelling on what could have been but would never be. She was stronger than that, she realized. She’d just have to keep reminding herself of that fact.
But it was difficult. Opening herself up to him in the way she had, surrendering total power to him while he handcuffed her to the bed and had his wicked way with her . . .
Well, the books on D/s had been correct. A special, inexplicable bond had been forged with Thomas in those hours. A bond that, for her at least, would never be broken. She didn’t know how much of it had to do with their far-from-ordinary sex and how much was due to the overall extreme circumstances they’d found themselves thrust into together, but she suspected it was both.