Anger rose in him, a fury so deep only revenge could pacify it. Maybe it was just as well he help his father.
Yes, he could commit murder.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The sun cut through the partly open Venetian blinds and sliced bright bands of gold across Eric Parker’s sleeping face, the cream-colored sheets of his four-poster bed, and a section of his bloodstained leather belt, which, along with the rest of his clothes, lay in a crumpled mass at the foot of his bed.
It was late Saturday morning.
He awoke with a headache a little before noon. After fumbling in his bedside table for some aspirin, he sat up in bed, swallowed three Tylenol dry and then walked into the bathroom, where he drank water from the faucet and relieved himself.
As he stood before the toilet, Eric peered at himself in the bathroom mirror, surprised to find that he looked worse than he felt. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, the pupils still dilated; his hair was a wild mass of dark brown waves; his face, usually smooth and tan, was creased with fine pink lines and he was in need of a shave.
Eric flushed the toilet and turned with a groan away from the mirror. Regardless of how much he’d drank, last night was still fresh in his mind. When Eric left Leana, he took the elevator to the lobby, asked the doorman to get him a cab and then waited for it outside in the rain so there would be no chance of him running into Celina or George.
When a cab pulled alongside him, he stepped soaking wet inside and instructed the cabbie to take him to Redman Place, the condominium complex where many of Redman International’s senior executives lived--including himself, Celina and Diana Crane. Not wanting to come across either of them, Eric went straight to his apartment, peeled off his damp clothes and crawled into bed, where he quickly forgot the beating he gave Leana Redman and fell asleep.
Now, standing beneath a hot shower, Eric realized the enormity of what he had done to Leana. Hitting her with that belt had been a grave mistake. If he hadn’t threatened her, Eric was certain she would have gone to the police--or to her father--and he now would be in jail, instead of his bathroom.
He wondered how long she would keep quiet. Did she believe him when he said he’d have a contract put out on her? When her anger prevailed--and he knew it would, probably even had--would she risk the chance that he was bluffing and go to the police? Or to George?
Eric stepped out of the shower and was struck with the realization that by hitting Leana, he had given her the power to blackmail him. Leana knew how hard he had struggled to reach the top. She knew how much his reputation and his job at Redman International meant to him.
If she wanted to, she could destroy everything he ever worked for.
* * *
Later, after changing into a pair of dark blue sweat pants and an old, faded football jersey, Eric knew he had to call Celina and explain to her what she’d walked in on last night. If he let too much time pass, more damage would be done.
He went to the living room, picked up the telephone and dialed Celina’s number. If she told her father what she had seen, he knew George would fire him--and all those years of struggling to the top would have been for nothing. As the phone rang, his thoughts returned to Leana. If he lost his job because of her, he would make her see that last night was just a party.
There was no answer. Eric replaced the receiver, stepped into a pair of worn moccasins and left for Celina’s apartment, which was two floors above his. There was no answer there as well. Either she was out, or she was not answering the door.
He returned to his apartment and dialed the doorman.
“I saw her come in myself, Mr. Parker, at around eleven last night. No, she hasn’t left the building. Yes, I’m sure of it. You have a nice day, too, sir.”
Eric
Yes, he could commit murder.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The sun cut through the partly open Venetian blinds and sliced bright bands of gold across Eric Parker’s sleeping face, the cream-colored sheets of his four-poster bed, and a section of his bloodstained leather belt, which, along with the rest of his clothes, lay in a crumpled mass at the foot of his bed.
It was late Saturday morning.
He awoke with a headache a little before noon. After fumbling in his bedside table for some aspirin, he sat up in bed, swallowed three Tylenol dry and then walked into the bathroom, where he drank water from the faucet and relieved himself.
As he stood before the toilet, Eric peered at himself in the bathroom mirror, surprised to find that he looked worse than he felt. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, the pupils still dilated; his hair was a wild mass of dark brown waves; his face, usually smooth and tan, was creased with fine pink lines and he was in need of a shave.
Eric flushed the toilet and turned with a groan away from the mirror. Regardless of how much he’d drank, last night was still fresh in his mind. When Eric left Leana, he took the elevator to the lobby, asked the doorman to get him a cab and then waited for it outside in the rain so there would be no chance of him running into Celina or George.
When a cab pulled alongside him, he stepped soaking wet inside and instructed the cabbie to take him to Redman Place, the condominium complex where many of Redman International’s senior executives lived--including himself, Celina and Diana Crane. Not wanting to come across either of them, Eric went straight to his apartment, peeled off his damp clothes and crawled into bed, where he quickly forgot the beating he gave Leana Redman and fell asleep.
Now, standing beneath a hot shower, Eric realized the enormity of what he had done to Leana. Hitting her with that belt had been a grave mistake. If he hadn’t threatened her, Eric was certain she would have gone to the police--or to her father--and he now would be in jail, instead of his bathroom.
He wondered how long she would keep quiet. Did she believe him when he said he’d have a contract put out on her? When her anger prevailed--and he knew it would, probably even had--would she risk the chance that he was bluffing and go to the police? Or to George?
Eric stepped out of the shower and was struck with the realization that by hitting Leana, he had given her the power to blackmail him. Leana knew how hard he had struggled to reach the top. She knew how much his reputation and his job at Redman International meant to him.
If she wanted to, she could destroy everything he ever worked for.
* * *
Later, after changing into a pair of dark blue sweat pants and an old, faded football jersey, Eric knew he had to call Celina and explain to her what she’d walked in on last night. If he let too much time pass, more damage would be done.
He went to the living room, picked up the telephone and dialed Celina’s number. If she told her father what she had seen, he knew George would fire him--and all those years of struggling to the top would have been for nothing. As the phone rang, his thoughts returned to Leana. If he lost his job because of her, he would make her see that last night was just a party.
There was no answer. Eric replaced the receiver, stepped into a pair of worn moccasins and left for Celina’s apartment, which was two floors above his. There was no answer there as well. Either she was out, or she was not answering the door.
He returned to his apartment and dialed the doorman.
“I saw her come in myself, Mr. Parker, at around eleven last night. No, she hasn’t left the building. Yes, I’m sure of it. You have a nice day, too, sir.”
Eric
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