everything within his enormous power spectrum to win her back. And Doug had taken a perverse kind of pleasure in seeing it; ever aware that his world could come tumbling down at any moment and the last laugh might very well be at his expense. Annie had been adamant, however, repeatedly insisting that nothing her father could do or say would change her mind; she was, after all, in love with Douglas McArthur and that was a place she was quite happy to be in.
“ But he’s a carpenter!” De Roché railed with equal amounts of fury and loathing. “And you’re going to live in the woods on the edge of a fucking freeway in a half completed wood-frame house!” Doug had been working on the house prior to their marriage and that’s where he and Annie intended to settle down, at least for the time being.
“ Jesus was a carpenter,” Annie reminded her father. “It’s a noble profession. Besides, I like it in the woods. Doug and I will be happy there.”
“ Happy?” De Roché said as if the word tasted foul on his tongue. “Living like common trailer park trash? What makes you think that happiness is an inalienable right? You’ll change your tune,” he admonished his daughter. “You’ll come crawling back when you realize you have nothing, when you need a fix of what only daddy can provide.”
But Annie hadn’t changed her tune. It had been more than eight years since that terrible day and Doug was as amazed as De Roché that he and Annie were still together and vital. There was some part of Doug that had always expected Annie would some day come to her senses and go back to her sheltered and privileged life. And now, it had taken the death of her mother to accomplish the deed. Poor Rachael, she’s the one who’d suffered because of her husband’s perversions, hadn’t she?
Loyal wife, keeper of terrible secrets.
Now she was dead and De Roché was calling in all his debts.
Annie was being forced back into De Roché’s sick world. And Doug knew why, and he was almost crazy with grief over it. As he’d said would happen, De Roché had somehow found out about Annie’s pregnancy and he’d sent those assholes to root them out, to frighten them into going back. Doug was trying to convince himself that at least Annie would be safe behind the walls of De Roché Manor. No harm would come to her until after the baby came. He was reasonably sure of that. He wasn’t quite so sure, however, about his own chances for survival. What he should do is deliver Annie, then get away as quickly as possible, disappear, begin looking into De Roché’s life, his past, find out everything he could about the man and his associations. From where he stood right now, there didn’t seem to be any other choice. He should have been doing it all along instead of blissfully loving Annie and ignoring De Roché’s resolve. Now he was sorry he’d become so complacent. Annie was an heiress to one of the largest political and financial dynasties in the history of the United States. How did he think that their lives could ever be normal? The years had almost made him forget De Roché’s threats. Big mistake. Now Doug needed to remember if he was going to survive. If he got moving now perhaps there would be time enough before the baby came to figure out what the hell was going on and rectify the problem.
3
In a room beneath an ancient cathedral, a telephone began to ring. The monk in the simple black robe and white collar turned away from the altar at which he had been praying and stared at the ringing telephone as if it were something not of this world. Carefully he tucked the object which he had been clutching tightly in his praying fists into the side pocket of his robe. This was only the third time in as many years that this particular phone had rung. The telephone number was unpublished and there were only seven men in the world who knew it. After the third ring, the monk got to his feet and picked up the handset.
“
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham