Come Back To Me (27 page)

Poor kid, she’s in way over her head. Getting out is gonna be a bitch.

In a halting voice, Cara’s story began to emerge. Jerry learned about her childhood, the repeated assaults by her father’s law partner, what happened to her in the psych hospital after she’d been caught with Rick, her father’s sudden death and her mother’s depression. He learned about the attack by a drug dealer that nearly killed her when she was seventeen. Her voice sounded raw, like bloody hamburger meat, but once she’d cracked open the door, she couldn’t seem to close it again.

She told him about her dashed hopes for a career as an artist. Last of all, she talked about her former fiancé, James, and their plans, and what Ezra Payne had done to destroy her life. Now things made sense. Jerry understood what he’d seen in her eyes the night he’d met her. He knew why she’d remained passive while Micah shaped her into whatever form he fancied.

Jerry held onto her, rubbing her back and her neck, sliding his fingers through her curls to massage her scalp. He wished he could go back in time and kill all those people for her. He would do that for Cara.

“Jerry.” Cara lifted her head. “Jerry, make love to me. Please. Make love to me.”

As Jerry’s hand moved to cup her cheek, she turned her mouth to his palm and kissed it.

“Red, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Because you’re afraid of what Micah might do to you?”

“No, Red, because I’m afraid of what he might do to you.”

“He won’t know. I promise you he’ll never know.” Cara paused. “I need-I need to know if I can feel. I need to feel again Jerry. Please. I don’t want to be fucked. I want you to make love to me. Please.”

Jerry couldn’t say no to her. God help them both, he couldn’t say no.

∗    ∗    ∗

For the next four days Jerry worked hard at the restaurant. He wanted the place to be perfect for Welsh’s return. He contacted the buyers, arranged for the shipments, made sure every ‘
t
’ was crossed and every ‘
i
’ dotted. He let nothing slip and he left nothing out of place, calling Micah daily with an update on the business and Cara’s condition. As instructed, he called a florist and filled their ranch home with flowers from Micah.

He spent every night with Cara, making love to her. He didn’t deserve her, he knew that, but he didn’t care. Cara came alive in his arms and he savored each minute with her. He knew he’d remember her for the rest of his life. His only goal now was to keep her alive.

On their last night together he told Cara what he planned to do. She was the only person in the entire world he trusted. He tried to convince her to come with him, but she refused. She knew what he was afraid to admit, that her presence would endanger him.

“Red,” he said. “You have to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Get out.”

Cara was quiet for a few moments. “I’ll try. I will. I just don’t know how yet. I can’t do what you’re doing. I don’t have those kinds of connections.”

“You have to be very careful. Don’t give him any reason to be suspicious.”

“I never do.” She laughed.

“It’s not a laughing matter.” Jerry gave her shoulders a little shake. “He’ll kill you, or worse.”

“Worse?”

“Yeah, just ask his last wife. Listen to me, never, never go to the police. You got it? Never go to the police.”

“His last wife? Micah has an ex-wife? What-what happened to her?”

“You don’t want to know,” said Jerry. “You don’t even know she exists. And another thing, he’s using. Cocaine. That will make his behavior erratic. Be prepared. Promise me, be prepared.”

He handed her a manila envelope. He’d already shown her the contents. “Wear rubber gloves. Transfer everything into a plastic bag. Hide the bag. Then burn the envelope.”

Cara reached for the package. Her hands trembled.

Jerry set the envelope aside and took her hands in his. He looked her straight in the eye. “Crawl if you have to. Beg if you have to. If he tells you to suck some asshole’s dick then you suck his dick. And you act like it’s the best thing you ever tasted. Do you hear me? Do whatever you have to do to survive. He can’t touch you sweetheart. He can’t really touch you, not in here.” Jerry placed a big hand over her heart. “None of them can touch you. None of them has ever touched you. Not that pervert neighbor, not those jerks in the hospital, not that monster Ezra Payne and not Micah Welsh. You are still you, Cara. Inside, you are still Cara. I see you. Do you understand me? I see who you truly are.”

Tears filled her eyes and Cara clung to him. Jerry laid her down and made love to her as if it was the last time he would ever make love to a woman. For all he knew, it was.

C
ara lifted the loaded pistol. The handgun felt heavier than she’d expected. Jerry had left it with her. It was the gun Jerry kept beneath the bar. It was registered to Micah. He’d pulled it out of his jacket pocket first thing this morning.

“Do you know how to fire a weapon?”

“I can fire a rifle, but I’ve never used a handgun.”

So he’d shown her how to release the safety, how to hold it with one hand and steady that hand with the other one. He’d told her to aim for the torso and to fire multiple times.

“Can you do this? Can you kill a man?”

Cara had nodded. He’d instructed her to use it only as a last resort and then disappear because Micah’s family would come after her.

“Wipe my prints off it. Keep it loaded and hide it where he’ll never find it.”

He’d already told her where Micah hid his other loaded pistol-- locked in a desk drawer in his office.

Micah’s plane wasn’t scheduled to land until just after midnight and since Jerry wouldn’t be there to pick him up, she’d have plenty of warning. Micah would call her to come get him, unless he decided to take a taxi. But Cara knew he wouldn’t call a taxi because he would want a scapegoat for Jerry’s failure to meet his plane, and that scapegoat would be her.

She had time.

She called the auto repair shop to find out if her car was ready. Jerry had ordered them to put a rush on it. When the manager told her they had finished the repairs, she very sweetly asked if someone could drive it out to Micah’s ranch since she was stranded there without a vehicle. Of course the manager agreed. Anything for Micah Welsh’s wife.

Cara drove the mechanic back to his shop. Afterward she stopped by a local salon to have her hair trimmed and her nails done, swinging by the state-run liquor store to purchase a bottle of Micah’s favorite scotch.

She stripped the sheets from their bed and laundered everything including her robe and all the towels. While the linens washed, she tidied the bathroom and the kitchen, removing any evidence of Jerry’s presence. The cleaning service Micah had insisted upon hiring had already been by earlier in the week so the house still looked more or less pristine.

When the sheets were dry Cara remade the bed, turning down her side and lying on it for a few moments, rolling around and around. She tossed her silk nightgown carelessly at the bottom of the bed so it would appear as if she’d taken it off in a hurry. Finally, she retrieved the cardboard shoebox containing James’ letters from under the back seat of her Jeep. She opened the box and moved the letters aside. She wrapped the gun in a kitchen towel and put it in the box. She quickly closed the lid.

Cara was determined not to think of James. She refused to bring a single memory of him into the mess she’d made of her life. Her time with James was sacrosanct, off limits. She wouldn’t allow Micah to sully it.

Finally Cara pulled on a pair of rubber cleaning gloves and got a plastic bag from the garage. She opened the manila envelope, dropped its contents into the bag and tied the bag shut. She tossed the envelope into the fire burning in the fireplace, watching until it had turned to ashes.

Cara knew exactly where she’d hide the shoebox and the plastic bag. Spending so much time alone on the ranch worked to her advantage. She’d explored nearly every inch of the place. There was a crawl space beneath the redwood deck in the back. It could be accessed by a removable screen. Cara had discovered it when she heard some yowling one day and found a feral cat trapped beneath the deck. She’d pried off the screen and set the cat free. As far as Cara could tell, there was no reason for Micah to ever look under there. He didn’t do yard work. A grounds crew mowed, trimmed, fertilized and planted in the spring, summer and fall, and in the winter a man kept the long driveway to the ranch clear of snow. Cara shoveled the front walk, the porch and the deck herself.

Cara walked out onto the back deck and down the steps. The night was dark, and other than a single lamp in her bedroom on the far side of the house, the lights were off. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dark. She dropped to her knees in the snow and reached for the screen. She set the box beneath the deck just to the left of the small opening. She set the plastic bag just to the right. Then she replaced the screen.

The last thing she did was to sweep the deck and the surrounding walkways clean of snow, piling the fluffy white Utah powder over the imprints she’d left next to the crawlspace. Cara removed her gloves and stuffed them into the bottom of the trash bin. Who would think twice about an old pair of rubber gloves?

Cara flipped on the kitchen light and made herself a turkey sandwich. She poured herself a glass of white wine, grabbed her sandwich and sat down with a magazine, waiting. She realized she would have to seduce Micah soon. He hadn’t touched her in a month, and in a rare pique of defiance she’d stopped using her birth control pills.

When she and Jerry had made love that first night she’d been in mid-cycle and she knew she’d been ovulating. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d gotten pregnant. If Micah found out, he might kill her. He’d certainly kill her child. Cara wouldn’t lose another child. Not this time. This time she’d be smart. She’d try to stay one step ahead of him. She’d follow Jerry’s instructions to the letter, no matter how Micah degraded her.

Cara had awakened from her long slumber.
It’s about time. I deserved that bump on the head. Something had to knock some sense into me.
Cara snorted. Who was she kidding? It was much more than the car accident. It was John. It was lying in Jerry’s arms. Jerry, who spelled things out clearly and didn’t put up with any of her self-pitying bullshit. Oh, she might have figured things out eventually, come to her senses one day, but by then it would have been too late. By then she’d be one of Micah’s casualties. Things were about to get a whole lot worse, Jerry had said as much and Cara couldn’t deny the fear she felt. But she was back. She inhabited her body again. This time, she planned to do her best to stay there.

∗    ∗    ∗

At ten-thirty p.m., as the waiters and busboys were standing around the bar chatting up the hostess, cashing in their tips, Jerry put in a call to Cara.

“Mrs. Welsh? It’s Jerry from the restaurant.”

“Yes Jerry, how are you? How was your night?”

“Good. It was good. We were busy. I just called to let you know I’m leaving shortly to pick up your husband. I believe his plane is arriving on time. I should have him home no later than one, one-thirty.”

“Thank you, Jerry. Drive safely.”

“Will do.”

Jerry hung up the phone, asking the waiters to finish up so he could get to the airport. At least six people overheard his conversation with Cara.

Jerry paid out the tips and the waiters and busboys trickled out the front door, following the new hostess. He locked it behind them. He went to check on the kitchen staff. The cooks had gone home. Only the dishwasher remained. Jerry reminded the young man that he would be locking up early so he could get to the airport to pick up the boss. The boy nodded his understanding.

Jerry checked the backroom. The place was empty. All the customers and staff had gone. He’d had the boss’s okay to close the club at ten since he wouldn’t be there to keep an eye on things. Jerry went up to Micah’s office to make certain everything was in its proper place. He turned off the lights and locked the door. By the time he returned to the kitchen, the dishwasher had finished up. Jerry took a look at the parking lot. The boy’s car was gone.

Jerry walked through the restaurant one last time, checking and rechecking. He locked the cash into the safe just like he did every night. He made sure the two deadbolts on the door in the rear of the supply room were locked, the door that led to another room where shipments of cocaine and heroin were stored briefly before they were sent on. Park City was merely a way station. Nobody suspected hard drugs in Utah and the boss liked the isolation—at least he used to like the isolation.

Jerry turned out the lights, double-checked the front door, pulled on his wool overcoat and stepped out the back door. He locked it behind him. He’d parked his car in the same spot he parked every day. The night was quiet, the air cold and crisp. He’d deliberately worn his Boston Celtics jersey tonight, joking with some of the waiters about the team’s playoff prospects.

To all intents and purposes, his rental house was the same as it had always been, as if he expected to return tonight. He’d left the porch light on, clothes in the dryer, dishes soaking in the sink and leftovers in the fridge. He hadn’t touched any of the money in his account in the small savings bank in Park City. It didn’t matter. He’d already stashed most of his cash in a bank in Tijuana in his cousin’s name. Aside from his wallet and keys Jerry brought two items with him, an old blue blanket he’d kept in his trunk for years and a hunting knife stashed in his spare tire compartment. He deliberately hadn’t washed his car in months and his license plate was filthy. Now all he had to do was get the hell out of Park City and stay under the speed limit.