She was also the woman in charge, giving them orders as they worked side by side. Punching a large hole through the Sheetrock with a fireplace poker didn’t take any time at all. The insulation was messy but not difficult to remove. They filled a leaf bag with the stuffing. Luckily, there weren’t any wires or pipes in the area they uncovered. Next, they sliced through the sheathing with kitchen knives.
Then they got to work on the boards. That was a bitch. Carrie had to take a break when her thumb started bleeding. While Anne removed the splinter with her tweezers and bandaged the cut, Sara took over.
By three o’clock in the morning, they were all worn-out.
Sara and Carrie had Band-Aids on every finger. Anne still looked like a fashion plate. Her nails weren’t even chipped.
“How’s the sheet rope coming?” Sara asked. She pushed the sleeves of her striped blouse up to her elbows and fell into the chair.
“It’s ready to use,” Anne said. She placed a bowl of tomato soup in front of Sara and then went back to the stove to fill Carrie’s bowl.
“I’m too tired to eat,” Carrie said.
“You’ll need to keep up your strength,” Anne told her as she placed her bowl on the table.
Sara noticed Anne take two pills out of her pocket. She turned her back on them when she put them in her mouth and drank a glass of water.
“What did you just take?” Sara asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Anne answered as she took her seat across from Carrie.
“Aspirin?” Carrie asked.
“Yes,” Anne said just as Sara shook her head.
“Not aspirin. They were pink capsules.”
“You’re very observant,” Anne remarked. “They’re prescription medication for nausea. I’m just getting over a bout of illness.”
Carrie was barely listening. She had one elbow propped on the table, resting her head in her hand. She was too beat to care about table etiquette.
“What kind of illness?” Sara asked. She was swirling the soup with her spoon.
“Nothing much,” Anne said. “I found this tiny little bump about eighteen months ago, and I told Eric about it. He went with me to the doctor,” she explained. “As it turned out, it was no big deal.”
“Thank goodness,” Carrie said.
Sara was watching Anne’s eyes. “Where did you find this little bump?”
“In my right breast,” she said. “I had the biopsy and then got on with my life. Like I said, it was no big deal.”
“So it wasn’t malignant,” Sara said.
Carrie wondered why she was persisting with the subject. Hadn’t Anne just told them everything was all right? She thought Sara was being nosy.
“She just said . . .” Carrie began.
Sara didn’t look at Carrie as she nudged her under the table. “But it wasn’t malignant?” She repeated the question.
Anne looked at her soup when she answered. “Just a little bit.”
Carrie straightened. “Is that what the doctors said?”
“Oh, you know how doctors are,” Anne said. She waved her hand as she added, “They’re all alarmists. Eric said they only make money if they can do a lot of procedures . . . and surgeries . . . when it isn’t at all necessary.”
Carrie glanced at Sara before she asked, “Did they recommend surgery, then?”
“Of course, but Eric said they would, and of course he was right. They thought they could talk me into having my breast removed. Can you imagine what that would have done to our insurance premiums?”
“No, what would it have done?” Sara asked.
“The rate would have gone sky high. Besides, the insurance company wouldn’t have paid for the little procedure anyway.”
Removing a breast was a little procedure? Carrie was too stunned to speak. She picked up her spoon and pretended to eat.
“Eric had made some wonderful investments with our cash surplus. He’s so clever,” she said. “They were good, sound investments that I, of course, approved when he told me about them.”
“After he made the investments?” Sara asked. “He told you then?”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “He has carte blanche. I mean, he is an equal partner in the business.”
Carrie and Sara could see Anne’s spine stiffening. She was becoming defensive. Sara took a taste of the soup and then said, “Good choice for dinner, Anne. I love tomato soup.”
Anne smiled. “I do too.”
“So why do you think the insurance company wouldn’t pay?”
“Preexisting condition,” Anne explained. “The old insurance policy had lapsed, and the new one Eric found that had a much more reasonable premium didn’t begin for thirty days. I had the biopsy during that period where they could say it was preexisting. Eric told me to wait, but I was foolishly anxious. We had the money to pay for the procedure,” she hastily added, “if we had believed it was necessary. He did a lot of research on the Internet, and we decided to explore alternative methods. Your soup is getting cold, Carrie.”
“About this—” Carrie began. Sara kicked her under the table.
“Yes?” Anne asked. That guarded look was back in her eyes.
“Are there any crackers?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“You’re very lucky to have Eric,” Sara said.
Carrie choked on her soup. “Yes, you are,” she lied. “It’s a shame he couldn’t go to the spa with you.”
“I tried to talk him into it,” she said. “He gave me the week’s stay as a surprise for my birthday. He wanted me to rest and relax, and when I got back home, we were going to go back to the doctors and see what needed to be done. I was worried about what all this would cost, but Eric wouldn’t listen. He said that if we had to spend every penny to get me well, then that’s what we would do.”
That son of a bitch, Carrie thought to herself. He was getting rid of her, but Anne, perhaps still in shock, couldn’t accept the truth, and so she painted this lovely picture of her adoring husband. Had he left her a letter, or did he want her to die without knowing he was responsible?
“We should be on our way before dawn,” Sara said, interrupting Carrie’s thoughts.
“My hands are raw, and so are yours. Getting down that rope . . .”
“We can manage it.”
“Anne, did you bring any workout clothes?” Carrie asked. “You can’t go tromping down the mountain in high heels or the slippers you’re wearing now.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Between Sara and me, we’ll be able to outfit you properly,” Carrie said.
Her whole attitude toward Anne had undergone a radical change. She found herself feeling protective and hoping that Anne stayed in denial until they reached civilization.
“Why don’t you pack us some food to take along,” Carrie suggested to Anne. “And a first-aid kit.”
“You could use my fanny pack,” Sara said. “It’s on my dresser, but I don’t have the energy to go upstairs to get it.”
“Oh, I’ll get it. I love being useful. Don’t touch those dishes,” Anne ordered as she hurried out of the kitchen. “I’ll wash them later.”
The second Anne was out of earshot, Sara whispered, “That bastard.”
Carrie nodded. “Now I’ve got another reason for wanting to get out of this alive. I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”
Sara nodded. “You hold the gun, and I’ll pull the trigger.”
Chapter 22
SOMETHING WAS GROWLING, AND IT DEFINITELY WASN’T human. Avery scooted closer to John Paul. Promising her she could have twenty minutes to rest, he had found shelter for them under a jutting rock. The ground was dry, and the area was wide and deep enough for him to stretch his legs.
Avery had lobbied for finding a cave. John Paul had vetoed that idea because he didn’t want any unexpected company, like mountain lions or bears, sharing the space.
She suggested a fire, but he vetoed that idea too. The smoke could be seen from miles away.
She heard the growl again. It seemed closer. She nudged John Paul and whispered, “Do you hear that?”
“Uh-huh.”
He sounded half asleep. He was sitting up with his back against the rock, his long muscular legs stretched in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. He put his arm around her and told her to relax.
Her head was down on his shoulder, and every now and then his chin would rub against the top of her head. She couldn’t decide if he was being affectionate or if the day’s growth of whiskers made his skin itch.
Another rustling noise came from below them. She tensed in reaction. Then she thought she heard something growl again. What in heaven’s name was it? A bear? A mountain lion? What?
John Paul had his gun on the ground next to him, and his hand rested on the handle.
She took a deep breath and tried not to think about how uncomfortable she was. Think positive, she told herself. Keep that cup full. Be an optimist.
Oh, God, we’re gonna die out here. She sighed then. So much for being an optimist. He must have felt her shivering because he began to rub her arm. She thought that was sweet. She really did try to relax, but anxiety was keeping her mind revved up. Could a body be too exhausted to rest? When she’d sat down, she had been close to collapsing, and she knew she had to rest if she wanted to be able to run again.
What would the woman do about Carrie and the others now? Was John Paul right? Were they already dead?
She forced the thought aside and once again tried to get comfortable. Every muscle in her body ached, and her toes throbbed. She tried to take her boots off, but John Paul stopped her. Her feet needed to acclimate to the wet boots, and all she had to do was walk off the cramps. He acted like an authority, and since she knew he’d had survival training while in the Marines, she acquiesced. Besides, she’d been too weary to argue.
Avery was determined that, no matter what, she wouldn’t turn into a cynic like her aunt and John Paul. When the rain had begun and John Paul had teased her because she’d boasted that they were due for a break, she pointed out that the rain was a lovely, soft drizzle that brought with it a hazy fog, which, she insisted, was enchanting. Yep, that’s what she’d said. She’d smiled too. Then the drizzle turned to a deluge. And still she tried to maintain her positive attitude. What more could happen? she reasoned. They were already wet.
And that’s when the deluge turned into hail the size of golf balls, pelting their bodies as they ran into the protection of the trees.
More rustling noises pulled her back to the present. Had he heard the sound? She lifted her head from his shoulder and strained to hear. Fingers of gray light curled down through the branches as the rain continued.
His eyes were closed, but as she stared at him, they slowly opened. His gaze locked on hers. She was so thankful that he was there with her. She felt safe with him. She wasn’t having to go through this nightmare alone, and his strength comforted her and gave her hope.
“I want . . .” She couldn’t get the rest of the words out, couldn’t tell him how much she appreciated his help. She couldn’t stop looking at his mouth.
“Yeah, I do too.”
Later, she wasn’t so certain who initiated the kiss. She knew she’d leaned into him, and then his head had tilted down toward hers. Or had she pulled him close and had he merely accommodated her? She couldn’t remember. Their mouths had just . . . merged.
And, oh, it felt wonderful. His mouth was so warm against hers, and, Lord, did he know how to get rid of a woman’s defenses. He made her want much, much more. He was gentle and giving, yet rough and demanding at the same time. His hand cupped her chin, and he pressed it gently to let her know he wanted her to open her mouth for him.
She scooted up on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. When he began to caress her, she let go of her inhibitions, and her bones felt like Jell-O. She got quivers in her stomach. His tongue was driving her wild, making her want to be bolder.
The warmth of his touch radiated through her body. When he ended the kiss, she realized his hands were under her T-shirt. She knew he was as affected by the kiss as she was, for she could feel his heart beating rapidly under her fingertips.
She tried to get off his lap then, to retreat, but he wouldn’t let her. He held her tightly against him, then gently pushed her head down on his shoulder.
“You know what would be real nice now?” he whispered in that gruff, sexy tone of voice.
She was still trying to catch her breath. The taste of him lingered on her lips, and she was replaying every second of that powerful kiss in her mind.
The question suddenly penetrated. “For Pete’s sake, John Paul.”
“What?” he said.
“You want sex.”
He didn’t say a word for a long minute, acting as though he was taking his time to think it over. “Well, yeah. That would be nice too, I guess. Sugar, if you’re offering, I’m not gonna turn you down.” She wasn’t looking at him, so he knew it was safe to smile. “But what I really want is a cheeseburger.”
Her head snapped up. He got his chin out of her way in the nick of time. “What?”
“I was thinking a cheeseburger would be nice about now. And french fries and a cold beer,” he added.
“The shrubs weren’t enough for you?”
He laughed. “They weren’t shrubs. Those were edible leaves and berries I made you eat. They’ll give us energy,” he added. “But I still want a cheeseburger. My brother-in-law got me hooked on junk food.”
“You were really thinking about food?”
He grinned. “Yeah, I was, but if you’re desperate to have sex, I guess I could accommodate you.”
“I do not want to have sex.”
“You said you did.”
He was exasperating. “No, I didn’t.”
“And you kissed me,” he pointed out. “So I just assumed . . .”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.”
“It’s obvious you can’t keep your hands off me, sugar.”
No wonder love and hate were so closely linked. Right now, she wanted to strangle him. He enjoyed making her squirm, seemed to be getting a real kick out of it.
She really wanted to have the last word. “It was just a meaningless kiss.”
“Then how come you got all hot and bothered?”
“I did not.”