With a forced laugh, Rainie had bounced around the kitchen, pretending to box with an invisible opponent. “Like that?”
Her dad had chuckled, dispelling the fear that he’d sent spiraling through her only moments earlier. “Exactly like that.” Still grinning, he’d turned in the chair, caught her wrist, and pulled her toward him. “Come sit on my knee a minute.” As she complied, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “My goodness, my little girl is all grown-up. You weigh a ton.”
“Daddy! You aren’t supposed to tell girls that they weigh too much.”
“I don’t think you weigh too much. You’re perfect in every way.” He tightened his arms around her. “Beautiful, smart, and assertive, a fabulous combination. You’ll never encounter the glass ceiling, sweetheart. You’ll wow them with your looks, think circles around them, and have their jobs before they know what hit them.”
Rainie knew she was smart. It had always been easy for her to excel in her studies. But she was a little worried about the competition she might encounter in a university environment where all the best students came together and set a higher standard. “I’m not that smart, Daddy.”
“You certainly are,” he retorted. “But what matters more is that you’re gutsy. You’ll never be intimidated by a two-thousand-dollar suit.”
“Of course not. The suit doesn’t make the man.”
“Exactly right, and there’s nothing wrong with a woman having some starch in her spine. It’ll serve you well in both your personal and professional lives.” He’d reached up to tousle her hair. “I’m so proud of you, honey. You remember that. Okay? You’re becoming everything I ever dreamed you’d be.”
As the scene faded from her mind, Rainie realized that she stood frozen on the step stool, her tear-filled gaze fixed on the little Umbrella Girl skipping in the rain on a container of Morton salt. A sob built in her chest and suddenly erupted from her throat. Body convulsing with the violence of her grief, she barely managed to climb down off the stool without falling. She dropped the salt container, and granules spewed from the partially opened spout in a fan of white over the worn linoleum. On legs that had gone rubbery, she went to the table, sank onto a chair, and buried her face in her folded arms.
“Oh, Daddy,” she cried brokenly. “You wouldn’t be proud of me now. I didn’t roll with the punches and come out swinging. I broke my promise to you.”
Rainie wept until her chest felt hollow and she had no more tears to shed. When she finally lifted her head, the silence in her small house seemed to shout at her. Her gaze jerked to the toaster, which had become the bane of her existence, because she couldn’t bear to see her distorted reflection in the chrome. She looked at the new dead bolt that she’d installed on her back door. She glanced at Thomas’s cat door, which she always left open for him, but not without some trepidation when she retired at night. Then her thoughts trailed to her bedtime rituals: Before she could shower, she had to wedge a chair under the doorknob. Before she could sleep, she had to make sure the window was locked. And when she finally drifted off, she slept restively, listening for strange noises even in her dreams.
Parker was right. On the telephone with him, she’d felt brave, but when she’d stood face-to-face with him, she’d lost her courage and behaved like a mouse. She resented the fact that he’d played head games with her. In fact, it made her so angry that she trembled. But it had also forced her to see herself clearly. What had happened to the girl who’d made her father so proud? When had she become a frightened mouse instead of a young lioness, eager to take on the world?
Peter. It always came back to him. Trusting in him had been the worst mistake of her life, and marrying him had been sheer insanity. It had taken him a year and a half to beat her down, but in the end, he had achieved his goal. When she’d finally found a way to get away from him, she’d been a shivery mass of raw nerves, so terrified he might catch her that she could scarcely breathe.
Looking back, Rainie couldn’t pinpoint the moment when he’d finally broken her. Had it been the night she’d wrinkled her nose at the tartness of his prize merlot? Or had it been the time she’d gotten her days mixed up and served him cordon bleu for dinner instead of his customary Thursday-night filet mignon? Rainie couldn’t recall the details of that beating. Peter had flown into so many rages that many of the events had all blurred together.
Only two facts were clear in her mind: She had emerged from the relationship a changed person, and she didn’t like what she had become. Sadly, she didn’t know how to fix herself. She had escaped from Peter physically, but emotionally, she was still his prisoner.
Somehow she had to rectify that. Otherwise, no matter how long or how far she ran, Peter would still control her life.
After a great deal of soul-searching, Parker decided that he was definitely his father’s son. If the old man had hired someone like Rainie Pritchard, her uneasiness would have bothered him like a sore tooth, and he would have been unable to leave it alone. Parker admired his dad and wanted to be exactly like him in many ways, but—and it was a big but—he wasn’t completely blind to the fact that Frank Harrigan had faults. One of the most glaring was his inability to back off when his friendly, straightforward personality overwhelmed another person. With someone shy and timid like Rainie, Frank would have kept pushing to gain her trust, and that was precisely what Parker had done. Push, push, push. He wished now that he’d had the good sense to let it ride. If she wanted to bottle up her emotions, that was her choice. He didn’t think it was healthy, but what he thought didn’t matter.
Always up at five and in the stable by a quarter of six, Parker had a well-rehearsed apology memorized by the time Rainie showed up for work at eight. After escorting her to the office, he stepped inside and closed the door to afford them some privacy. At this time of morning, the hallway got heavy traffic, and he didn’t want another employee to overhear what he was about to say.
“Rainie,” he began, “I had a lot of time to think last night, and I want to apologize for baitin’ you with all the political and religious nonsense. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t.” She slapped her purse down on her desk and whirled to face him, her cheeks high with color, her hazel eyes sparkling, with anger or tears, he wasn’t certain. “You were right. I do act like a mouse.”
Parker’s heart twisted at the hurt in her expression. “That’s just an old sayin’, Rainie. I didn’t mean it literally.”
“I realize it’s an old saying. Do you know why some sayings have been passed down through so many generations, Mr. Harrigan?”
“Parker,” he corrected.
She thrust up a hand. “When and if I feel comfortable using your first name, I’ll do so. Until then, stop haranguing me about it.”
Well, Parker thought, I did tell her to speak her mind. He leaned against the closed door. Though he tried to suppress it, a grin touched his mouth.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded.
“Nothin’. Call me whatever suits you, I guess. I answer to almost anything.”
The pink in her cheeks deepened, and her gaze flicked to a spot on the wall beside him. “Returning to the subject, the reason some sayings survive the passage of time is because they’re so apt. I have become mouselike in certain situations.”
Parker wished that she would elaborate on what kind of situations made her uneasy, but he believed he already knew. Rainie Pritchard—or whatever the hell her real last name might be—was afraid of men. All men. He wished she could tell him what had happened to her. But, there again, it didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Anger roiled within him when he thought about it. He would have traded his favorite pair of boots for ten minutes alone with the son of a bitch who’d done this to her.
“I never should’ve said that to you,” he told her.
“Yes.” Her tear-bright gaze jerked back to his. “I’m glad you said it. I admit I was angry with you yesterday and well into last night. But I’ve done some soul-searching, t
oo, and the truth is you did me a favor. What you said to me yesterday made me realize how much I’ve changed and that I don’t like what I’ve become.”
She lifted her hands in a gesture of helpless bewilderment. “I don’t know how I got like this, and I’m not sure how to change back to the person I used to be. Does that make any sense?”
“Perfect sense.” Folding his arms, Parker crossed his ankles and stared solemnly at the toe of his upturned boot. After a long moment of silence, he looked back up at her. “It wasn’t my aim to make you feel bad, honey. I only wanted you to relax around me and feel free to speak your mind.”
“I’ll work on it. Just let me do it on my own time schedule. Okay? Pushing me only makes things worse.”
“Worse?”
“How can I relax around someone who rants and raves about politics and religion for an hour every day? I was starting to think you had a screw loose.”
Caught off guard, Parker almost choked on a startled laugh. “Only one?”
She smiled slightly and wiped the shine of tears from her cheeks. “Maybe today over lunch, you can tell me what you really think. If I still believe you’re a lunatic, I’ll let you know.”
“Deal.”
Parker searched her pinched face, which bore unmistakable evidence of a poor night’s sleep. As the angry splotches of red faded from her cheeks, a chalky pallor returned. Dark circles underscored her expressive eyes. As crazy as he knew the notion was, he wanted to cuddle her up and promise her that nobody would ever hurt her again. Sadly, he wasn’t with her twenty-four/seven, and that was a promise he might not be able to keep.
“Can I ask you just one question?” he ventured. “If you don’t want to answer, you can tell me to go stick my head in a horse trough.”
She lifted a slender shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “Sure, ask away.”
He maintained his relaxed position. “Is there any chance that he may find you?”
Her already bloodless face went even paler. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Parker almost told her that she was a piss-poor liar, but for once in his life, he decided to err on the side of caution. “I’m not askin’ for details, honey. I’m just lookin’ for a simple yes or no. If there’s a chance that the asshole may find you, I’d like a heads-up.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated.
Parker decided that was a polite way of telling him to go stick his head in a horse trough, so he let it go at that.
That night while Rainie was eating vegetarian stir-fry for dinner on her living room sofa, a special news alert flashed on the television screen. According to the female news anchor, there was a new development in the Lorraina Danning investigation. An article of clothing had washed ashore somewhere in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and the authorities believed the garment might belong to the missing Seattle socialite. The discovery rekindled public interest in the story, and Rainie saw her face intermittently flash on the screen. Though she knew the clothing didn’t belong to her and would provide the authorities with no clues as to her whereabouts, she was still alarmed. What if Parker was watching television tonight? Rainie didn’t socialize with his employees, so she felt fairly confident that her changed appearance could withstand their casual scrutiny. But she and Parker ate together every day, giving him ample opportunity to memorize her features. What if he saw her face on the screen and recognized her?
The thought tied her stomach into knots, and she gravitated to the kitchen for a glass of wine from her discount box of sweet Berry Splash. Now that she was making decent money, she could afford better wine, but she still hadn’t worked her way through the cheap stuff. Besides, it gave her a sense of revenge. Peter would have a coronary. She lifted her goblet in a mock toast to his memory. Take that, she thought as she gulped down the wine, eager for its numbing effect to calm her nerves. When the glass was drained and she pushed the box nozzle to refill it, she hesitated, remembering her father’s alcoholism. Was she following in his footsteps, using booze to dull her senses? She allowed herself only two glasses of wine per night, but what if two glasses became three over time, and she ended up hooked? Toward the end of her father’s illness, one drink had been too many for him and a dozen hadn’t been enough.
Rainie dumped the wine down the sink, but even as she watched the pink liquid disappear, she yearned for its numbing properties. That frightened her. Was she becoming a problem drinker? She decided that it couldn’t become a problem unless she allowed it to be, and took herself off to bed. Thomas scurried ahead of her into the bedroom. He’d taken to sleeping with her, and he wasn’t happy when he got left behind in the main part of the house.
“You won’t be able to go outside to potty,” Rainie warned him. “Once I’m locked in, I’m not opening up until daylight.”
His answer was to curl up on her bed and start grooming himself. Rainie wedged the chair under the doorknob, checked to make sure the window was locked, and went into the adjoining bathroom to begin her own nightly grooming ritual. A few minutes later, when she slipped under the bedcovers, Thomas settled on the extra pillow. Usually his loud purring soothed her, but tonight nothing could. It was hot in there without central air-conditioning. Her body felt electrified, and her thoughts raced. What if Parker had seen her face on television tonight? If he recognized her, would he break his word and turn her in?
The worst part was, Rainie knew she wouldn’t blame him if he did. Peter Danning was being raked over the coals. He was the prime suspect in a murder case. It had come to light that his first two wives had died mysteriously and left him large sums of money. The only reason he hadn’t been arrested and charged with Rainie’s murder was because there was insufficient evidence to convict him. In short, his life was being destroyed. Rainie knew he had it coming. Even if he hadn’t caused the deaths of the other two women, he’d made Rainie’s life a living hell, and she felt certain that he would have killed her during that cruise if she hadn’t escaped when she had. She refused to feel guilty for causing him trouble.
But Parker might not see it that way. Innocent until proven guilty. A man was being accused of murdering his wife, and that wife was still very much alive. Parker’s unshakable sense of right and wrong might lead him to call the police. Rainie stared blindly toward the ceiling, the rush of her blood sounding in her ears. It was terrifying to think that her freedom could be snatched away at any moment. Even more frightening was the thought of Peter finding out that she was still alive. Even if they arrested her and put her in jail, she wouldn’t feel safe from him. Peter was intelligent and treacherous. His wealth and powerful connections also gave him a long reach. You’re mine, he’d often whispered as he exercised his conjugal rights. Do you hear me, Lorraina? You’re mine. I’ll see you dead before I’ll ever let you leave me.
The memories made Rainie shudder. She turned on her side and drew up her knees to huddle under the covers. In the darkness, it was all too easy to imagine that he was there in the room with her. Her skin shriveled and got goose bumps. Bile burned in her throat. Rationally she knew he wasn’t there. She’d checked the closet and looked under the bed. He couldn’t be in the room. But still she shrank from the darkness, half expecting his hand to clamp onto her shoulder. Get up, he’d say. And when she did, he’d flip on the lights, drag her over to the full-length dressing mirror, and make her kneel in front of him.
Rainie squeezed her eyes closed so tightly that her lids ached, but still the images haunted her. He’d treated her like an object, not a person, and she had allowed it. Why hadn’t she fought back? How could she have done such demeaning things just to avoid a beating? She’d read about people who’d gone through repeated tortures and never broken. But she had. Toward the end, she’d been like a robot, doing whatever Peter demanded, always careful not to let her revulsion show on her face, because that would have made him angry. Anything Peter wanted, he got. She’d had no pride by the time she left him, none at all. When she rem
embered the things she’d done to survive, she felt a shame that ran so deep it made her bones feel cold.
During lunch hour the following day, Rainie tried to feel Parker out to see if he’d watched the Lorraina Danning news broadcasts the night before. “I really enjoyed that documentary last night on tigers,” she tried. “Did you happen to watch it?”
He had just taken a bite of submarine sandwich and took a moment to reply. “No. I read for a while and then hit the sack.”
“Oh.” Rainie puzzled over his answer. Now that she came to think of it, she’d never heard him mention anything that he’d watched on television. Mostly he talked only about things he’d heard on the radio. “Don’t you like television?”
His black hair glistened in the sunlight that poured through the window behind her. His clean-shaven jaw gleamed like seasoned oak rubbed to a high sheen. “I rent a movie now and then, but mostly I don’t watch regular programming. After a hard day, it puts me right to sleep.”
“You don’t even watch the news?”
“Sometimes, but not very often. I catch the news on the radio every day. That’s good enough for me. Why, are you a boob-tube enthusiast?”
Relieved that he hadn’t seen her face on the newscasts, Rainie laughed even though the question wasn’t really funny. “Not really, no. I do watch the news every evening, though.”
“I’d rather read. It keeps my brain workin’.” He grinned at her around another bite of sandwich. “Did you know that you burn only thirteen calories an hour while you’re watchin’ television?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Don’t quote me on it, but it’s something like that. My brother Quincy could tell you exactly. He’s the health fanatic in the family.”
“How did he end up a health fanatic?”
“Beats the sand out of me,” he replied before taking a sip of Coke. “All the rest of us are normal.”
Rainie smiled. “Being health conscious is abnormal?”