Yesterday's Tomorrows (6 page)

I
sighed
and leaned back in my chair and rubbed my hands over my tired eyes. I'd read the same paragraph for the past thirty minutes, but I may as well have been staring at black and white hieroglyphics for all I got out of it.

Why the hell I'd chosen to drown myself in legal documents instead of a bottle of Macallan Scotch might have been a serious misjudgment on my part. Today marked an anniversary of the worst day in my life. Had it really been five years since I buried Claire? Five years since I had to yield her to the cold, hard ground rather than the security of my arms?

On good days, if I closed my eyes, I could still feel her warmth pressed against my body; I could hear her sighs as I moved my mouth along her soft curves. But other times, like today, all I could feel was her weight as she collapsed in my arms, and the only sounds were my anguished cries as I begged her not to leave me.

Time had eased the daily heartache, but it hadn't healed the hole in my heart. It was always a day I struggled to get through, even years later. But four hours ago when my buddy James called and invited me out, I'd been determined that for the first time in five years I could handle the memories that were stronger today than other days. However, as the office area grew quiet, my thoughts grew louder. All of the sudden pep talks from my family caused the tug and pull of my emotions to be worse. They didn't understand the promises I had made, the reassurances I had given.

The guilt I felt.

It wasn't as simple as they wanted me to believe.

Thunder rumbled outside, a perfect match to my dark mood. I put the papers I was reviewing into a folder and made a note for Linda, my secretary, to have copies made for the other members of my team. Linda Talbot was a godsend in our office, but I'd never admit that to her. She was the most efficient person I'd ever seen and she expected nothing less from those who worked around her. Those of us who worked with her thought her mouth was only capable of two movements: straight across or turned downward. I doubted an appearance by the President of the United States would rattle her. She'd probably scold him for not making an appointment and would usher him to a chair to wait his turn.

So to find her happy about the new clerk who finally got things right had caused more than one of us to stop dead in our tracks. I'd grown used to hearing Linda grumble about how things were done sloppily and rarely on schedule. Now she was singing the praises of one Madelyn Stone and insisted that 'Maddy' be the only one to handle our paperwork.
'Did you have a chance to try the treats Maddy left in the break room? Quite the baker, that girl.' 'I heard Maddy brought a card around for everyone to sign when Mr. Sigmon had his surgery. Such a thoughtful girl.' 'Did you see the card Maddy brought me for my birthday? She wrote such a nice note on it.'

This last comment had a glare attached to it since I was guilty of forgetting this significant event and had to quickly make up for it with a generous gift certificate to Linda's favorite restaurant. And to top it off, apparently Maddy was able to perform all these extra workplace treats while never neglecting her duties. This was in stark contrast to her co-worker, Misty, who could frequently be seen leaning against a desk openly flirting with many of the male staff. I'd been the target of Misty on more than one occasion while Linda ‘tsked’ disapprovingly from her desk. I had no interest in Misty other than it was funny to watch my straitlaced secretary get riled up.

I yanked the sticky note off the folder; there was little point creating more work for Saint Madelyn. It was another excuse not to go home to my empty apartment, too. I headed to the workroom area two floors down where there were bigger copying machines better equipped to manage the number of papers I needed to be copied and compiled. As I neared the door, I became aware of low mumbles and short rounds of laughter. The cleaning staff must be here. I hesitated outside the door as I heard what was being said.

"Hi there. What can I do for you?" a woman's voice said. I jumped, believing she was talking to me until I realized I couldn't be seen.

I heard her throaty laughter. "Hi, Kyle. Don't worry. That's what I'm here for. I promise to make this easy for you."

Puzzled by what kind of meeting could be taking place at this hour, I hid in the hallway and continued to listen.

"Alright. Let's see what you've got...Oh, wow, yes, you've certainly got a hard one there. Long one, too. I'm glad you called, so I can help you with that."

What the fuck? Hard and long? How exactly was she going to help with it?

I don't know who the hell Kyle was, but under other circumstances, I might have enjoyed hearing that same voice making the same promise from between my thighs. Her voice was warm and inviting; seductive even. Apparently, my dick thought so, too, judging by how it was straining against my zipper. I cursed myself for responding even slightly, today of all days.

"No, I think you need to try a different angle...mmm…here, try starting here…yes, that’s better, now you’re ready to slide it…yes, you've almost got it…keep going…yes…a little more…there ya go…now finish…yes…excellent!”

Flustered by the words and irritated by my reaction to them, I decided to put an end to whatever the fuck was going in there, hopefully not actual fucking of any kind; I really wasn't into voyeurism. I took about three steps into the room before I froze.

There sat Madelyn, a huge smile on her face as she sat talking into a headset in front of a computer. I almost didn't recognize her - her face was flushed and her hair swung freely about her shoulders in a new style instead of held captive in her usual tight braid. She looked exhilarated. It stopped me in my tracks and anything I was about to say lodged in my throat.

I must have made some sort of sound because she suddenly turned in my direction. She almost fell out of her chair. Huge eyes settled on me as her hand slapped across her chest.

"Mr. Andrews," she choked. She mumbled something into her mouthpiece and yanked the headset off her head, glancing sideways at the computer before staring at me. "What do you mean barging in here like that? You scared me half to death!"

I managed to recover my voice and kept it from squeaking like the prepubescent teenager I was feeling like after listening to her erotic words. "I hardly barged. And why are you still here and what the hell are you doing?" I strode closer until my legs bumped into her knees. Her jaw worked up and down as if she couldn't form the right words. I could read surprise and confusion in her rapidly blinking eyes. However, the fear I also saw in them as she tried to shrink backward into her seat didn't sit well with me.

I took a step backward. "Well? What are you doing after hours on a company computer talking to, who was it? Kyle?"

"I...I was just helping a student with a math problem, flipping and sliding geometric shapes to be exact. I'm an online tutor. I have permission from Mrs. Holmes to use the computer until I get one of my own." She turned the computer screen toward me and sure enough there on the screen were some triangles on a grid and some mathematical-looking markings.

Geometry? I'd gotten hard over a fucking math problem?

"Oh." Lame, but it was all I had at the moment.

Her eyes darkened and narrowed. "What did you think I was doing?"

I did what any smart man would do; I remained silent and took a step backward, trying discreetly to adjust myself. Yep, that law degree was coming in handy now. She seemed genuinely confused until she saw my movement near my crotch and revelation flashed in her eyes. The way her mouth twisted in a snarl, I swear she looked like a she-wolf ready to launch herself at me.

"Oh, my God! You thought I was having phone sex, didn't you?"

Maybe honesty was the best policy. "Well, imagine hearing it from my point of view. I heard words like 'long' and 'hard' and 'finish off' and I'm a guy, so yes, I guess my mind went there. Hardly anyone but the cleaning crew works this late, and I just assumed anyone still here was up to no good."

I tried to plead my case, but even I knew the defense was weak. A better man would have looked at the evidence first and then asked questions. My tired and emotional brain had irrationally jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"Circumstantial evidence. You must be a great lawyer," she spat. "Do you always judge everyone before you know all the facts? Or are you so hell-bent on fitting me into your preconceived idea that there's no room for questions?"

The she-wolf took a step toward me and raised her hand. I prepared myself for the claws I deserved. They didn't strike. What did were the words she flung at me. "You," her chest heaved as she pointed her finger at me, "you really think that badly of me, don't you? You don’t know me. You think because I served time in prison that I must have no character whatsoever; that I always make poor choices. Well, for your information, I...I...oh, never mind. You're going to think what you will anyway."

She turned away, but not before I saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. She began to pack some paper and a computer tablet into a bag.

"Madelyn --" I didn't know what to say, how to make this right. But I knew I had to try. I saw something break in her as she was speaking, and I hated being responsible for it. "I'm sorry. Even if I thought what I did, I should have confirmed it before I accused you. I know better than that, and I'm truly sorry."

She didn't say anything, just sniffed and shrugged her small shoulders.

I grasped her forearm and tried to gently turn her to look at me. "I really am sorry."

Slowly she twisted toward me, and my heart broke at the devastated look on her face.

"You know," she whispered hoarsely, "I heard you that day you told me to look in the mirror. I heard what you were trying to tell me - that I had a chip on my shoulder, and that I shut people down without giving them a chance. It doesn't take a genius to see that I reject them before they can reject me. But how can I move past that when there will always be people like you who never consider there might be more to me? You say I sit on my high horse, but you sit in your...your pristine ivory tower ready to launch arrows coated in condescending barbs at those you think are beneath you."

I flinched at her words. God, this woman knew how to deliver a punch and drive me insane, even if she was a bit melodramatic.

"Dramatic much?" Yeah, that probably didn't help my cause much.

She glared at me. "If the shoe fits..."

All my emotions flooded to the surface.

"If I live in an ivory tower, then it was built and dirtied with my own blood, sweat, and tears, sweetheart. And I don't mean just hard work. I've experienced loss and seen the worst of what humanity has to offer." I moved forward until I backed her against the table where she'd been sitting, bracing one arm on the table and one on her chair, caging her until I could inhale her vanilla scent and my breath gently stirred a few wisps of hair across her forehead.

"You think you're the only one who's had a tough life? Get over yourself. That doesn't make you special. It also doesn't need to make you a victim for the rest of your life. You get to choose what you're going to do about it. I'm sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion, but it had nothing to do with your background or you. I said I'm sorry already. Accept it or reject it; I'm not sure I even care. But don't expect me to stand here and feel sorry for you while you push everybody away and hide behind your self-doubt."

We both stood glaring at each other, our chests heaving from our burst of emotions. Several seconds passed before I turned on my heel and walked out on her. Again.

I tried to go back to working in my office, but after my confrontation with Madelyn I couldn't focus at all, her words still playing in my head. She was right; I didn't know anything about her other than she served time for murder.

After pacing my office for several minutes, I typed in a few keywords on my computer. Sure enough, 'Madelyn Stone' turned up on a few sites, mostly newspaper articles. I skimmed through them for the basics: she had been accused of murdering Paul Regis, a regional Vice-President for a national lumber company, and she’d accepted a plea deal and was sentenced to eight years in prison on the charge of second-degree murder. The Regis family made several statements regarding their disappointment in the ruling, saying she plotted the murder when Paul Regis rejected her sexual advances in exchange for a corporate sponsored college scholarship. Madelyn's court-appointed lawyer had tried to claim she was protecting a third person, someone named Charly, but since that person could not be found to testify on Madelyn's behalf, her defense held little merit. I suspected the overworked public defender had done his best, but didn't have the time or resources to investigate fully. And the police thought they had an open and shut case, so they didn't pursue it further.

I drummed my fingers on my desk. I had a lot of pages, but the story still wasn't coming together. There were too many holes. From what I knew of Madelyn, she was smart, witty, and compassionate. She didn't seem capable of hurting anyone, much less murdering someone. Then again, not every murderer came packaged in a burly thug-like appearance. Who knew what someone was capable of when pushed too far? The lack of the supposed witness didn't add up. And where was her family now? Why wasn't anyone there to greet her the day she was released?

I shook my head. This evening had turned out to be too fucked up in the end. I grabbed my jacket and felt for my truck keys and phone. It was only seven-thirty; maybe I could still catch James to have that drink.

"Hey, you've reached James Harrington. You know what to do."

Shit. Of course he wasn't waiting around for me. He was probably balls deep into his girlfriend by now. Not that I could blame him. I briefly considered going to our favorite hangout, even if I had to hang out alone at the bar. But inevitably some chick looking for a free drink and possible hook-up would hit on me, and I wasn't in the mood to be generous, either with my wallet or my dick. At least at home I might be able to drink enough to fall into a drunken stupor and fall into a dreamless sleep.