If Tomorrow Never Comes (26 page)

Meanwhile,
Jordan struggled to fight off the immensity of the implications of their
union.
 
All that mattered was she'd
discovered happiness.
 
She was in love
for the first and last time, the kind that if it had wings could fly her to the
moon.
 
She could only pray they were
strong enough to take her where she had to go.

Jake
held Jordan close, his arms never before filled with so much a woman.
 
He could only imagine what it must have cost
her to give the pleasures his body demanded.
 
The emotional price she paid.
 
The
forbearance required to set aside the onslaught of her past.
 
Though he wanted to love her again, he
couldn't so unsure was he she wouldn’t refuse because she truly wanted him or
feared what he might do if she did.
 
Wondering made his insides ache beyond any pain he'd ever
experienced.
  
If only he could rip the
hearts out of the men, who touched her, hurt her, a revenge that would do
little to quench his thirst for blood.

For
a long time he’d been searching for a Sunday kind of love, one that lasted
beyond Saturday night.
  
Before when he
believed he had found it, when he kissed and made love to the best, now they
seemed nothing in comparison.
  
How could
he explain to Jordan she was every woman in the world to him, his fantasy, his
reality, everything good and fair, everything he'd ever need?
 
There was no way to explain how he’d given up
on life until tonight. Jordan was the purest thing he'd ever known.
 

With
tears poking at his eyes, he wondered if he'd ever know her love again, for he
was listening to her heart beating and when he listened hard, he heard the
sounds of leaving.

Rudely
invading rosy thoughts was the devastation he felt the night he learned about
Brenda and Scorpio.
 
Brenda!
 
His feelings for her a moment in time
compared to those for Jordan that were filling him so full, they became liquid
seeking refuge from the corners of his eyes.

Clinging
tightly to the future, Jake stared at the ceiling mulling over something
Margaret once said, “Destiny, when it arrives will bring all your dreams to
you.
 
Have faith, believe in magic and
nothing will stand in your way.”
  
Was
Jordan his destiny?
 
Was she his
magic?
 
Could she make his dreams come
true?

Jamming
eyelids closed, sucking in his lips; Jake managed to keep the sobs wrenching
him from becoming audible.
 
Right now, he
had only one dream, to kill Scorpio before he killed Jordan.
 
Then she could go on with her life the best
way she knew how.
 
If she were his magic,
possibly holding her, loving her, gave him some of her courage, enough to
accomplish his goal.

Jordan
stirred in Jake’s arms as though she heard his thoughts.
 
The moonlight silvering the room exposed a
sweet face glowing from the aftermath of love as he embedded to memory her
every feature.
 
Tomorrow he'd, take
Jordan to retrieve the airline ticket and money.
 
He’d make sure she was safely out of harm’s
way before going after Scorpio.
   

When
Jake reached his thumb out to smooth over Jordan’s lower lip, though a sharp
pain almost doubled him over, he didn't move. He couldn't disturb her, and,
while his thumb continued exploring her mouth, his other hand sought the
bandages now soaked with blood.
 
Afraid
Jordan might see the telltale signs; he pulled the sheet over him.
 
Though he never felt so tired, every muscle
and bone screaming with exhaustion, She didn't dare close his eyes.
 
Staying alert was imperative, until she
slept, then he'd leave, only then.

The
euphoria dousing Jordan had almost pushed her beyond coherent thought,
almost.
 
Deep within an ache, growing in
her midriff became a trapped breath.
 
She
prayed that her pretense of sleep was convincing.
 
She was struggling with the delicious
tingling heat spreading, threatening to expose the now tiny pants of
breath.
 
Jake was running his thumb over
her lower lip, tracing her mouth all the way around and around making her lips
tingle.
 

Masterfully
fighting off languorous feelings, Jordan heard his breathing altar.
 
Her hand spread across his broad, furry
chest, felt a steady, slow rise and fall.
 
Warily eyes cracked ever so slightly examined his that were now closed
an examination that if it had continued on to his torso would have exposed
life-draining blood seeping through the sheet.

Slipping
from the bed, she quickly dressed.
 
Painstakingly, pressing her hand between the mattress and box spring she
retrieved the key and envelope.
 
Holding
them to her breast, she glanced at Jake’s face, a sight that was as though a
lighted match had ignited her soul.
 
Yes,
she was doing the right thing.

CHAPTER 26

           
Crowns of imposing edifices'
piercing the sky gleamed from the sun just waking up stretching and yawning
revealing its rainbow shades.
 
In the wee
hours of morning, rain had purified the sedated metropolis.
   
The now inky streets were taking on life in
diverse dimensions of motorized conveyances their vapors and shrill racket
desecrating the atmosphere.

           
Toasters popped and coffee pots
puffed filling kitchens with a bouquet of fragrances.
 
Obnoxious alarms awoke the hordes of humanity
soon to litter the sidewalks, stores, office buildings, and parks.
 

           
A rejuvenating breeze stirring lush
leaves coaxed dewdrops to sprinkle the ground below and roused the birds from
slumber to chirp their greetings.
 
Flowers thankful for nature’s nectar raised their heads toward the promise
of a brilliant day as if thanking the heavens for the refreshment.
 
Lush lawns, playgrounds of sand, along with
contorted workings of steel stood proud awaiting the squealing sound of
children celebrating summer.
 
For many, a
typical day consumed by boring routines for others, a few hours' reprieve from
the shadows of evening that once again would haunt them and lower their odds of
surviving the sickle of crime.
 

           
For eight individuals today would be
one of resolution and restitution.
 
Hours
quickly depleted by reviewing the past, glimpsing the future, and making
choices that could mean the loss of their life or that of a loved one.
 
           
Every
second, minute and hour, desperately attempting to salvage a portion of their
life aimlessly squandered, would be used to make decisions, every effort, and
every word ultimately affecting the aftermath.
 

           
Their conscience was on trial.
 
Upon reviewing all the evidence,
contemplating, and confronting it, the verdict would be unrelenting.
 
Hidden away in their own self-inflicted incarceration
with no outside influence, in a whisper of a second, their heart as their jury,
they’d make their final choice.

____________

           
Something awful fluttering around in
her head, bludgeoning her mind awoke Margaret with a start.
 
As if to keep herself contained, clutching
the blanket to her breast, she began interrogating her intuition.
 
What was the dreadful feeling telling her,
what did she do, or forget to do?
 
Despite the warm morning air sweeping through the room, she
shivered.
 
At once, her plump toes poked
into fluffy slippers, her arms plunged through terry cloth sleeves.
 

           
Hastily arriving in the kitchen, her
eyes flicking back and forth said she did not know exactly why she chose that
room.
 
All she knew was her lungs were
shouting for air bringing her hands against the stomach expanding with
something icy exploding and distending her chest.
 
For no rational reason, she glanced at the
towel rack.
 
Her apron was gone.

           
It took both trembling hands to
maneuver her key into Jake's door.
 
As
quiet as a mouse, she padded into the kitchen.
 
Though somewhat relieved to find her apron on the counter, she could not
dispel the alarm clamoring against her skull.
 
Hesitantly she reached to snatch the cottony material, hoping, and
praying she was wrong.
 
As her worst
premonition came true, ten fingers twisted the softness into tight wads.
 
Jake’s gun was missing. “Dear God,” lurched
from her mouth as a squeal, but, before reaching his bedroom, a horrifying
spark of reality told her Jordan would not be there.
 

____________

           
Seven miles in the air a seven fifty
seven destined for the East coast left a trail of vapor crowning the
mountains.
   
An average looking man,
casually dressed, lounged in a seat, his fingers drumming nervously on his
knees.
 
To his chagrin, a thunderstorm
delayed his flight.
 
He was eager to
return to claim a sizable check and see the gratification on his friends face
when revealing the results of his accomplished task.
 
Knowing that once he informed his colleague
the disillusionment would be too heavy to digest the reason for the irrefutable
verification hidden safely within the briefcase beneath his feet.

____________

           
A wall-sized television hissing
relentlessly, lights still glowing on the face of a DVD recorder, erotic
pictures strewn on the coffee table alongside several video cases of
pornography all evidence of what took place during the middle of the
night.
 
Scattered on the floor was Jake's
plans for sweeping Scorpios' places of distribution including photos' of hired
henchmen and their lengthy records.
  

           
Torn pieces of a red sequined dress
draped a lampshade, a chair, and portions of the carpet.
 
High heels, a garter belt, and black silk
panties lay on a library table behind the sofa.
 
Twisted nylon stockings remained tied to the arms of a wooden
chair.
 
Beneath diffused light, a dagger
gleamed.
          

           
A level of exhilaration from
alcohol, drugs, and the culmination of sexual fantasies had summoned the realms
of insanity.
 
Sitting naked in a chair, a
maniacal smile pasted Scorpios' face.
 

____________

           
Billy’s torso was slumped over his
desk, a pen in one hand, a gun in the other.
 
A white tuxedo spread neatly on the bed.
 
On the floor black polished shoes, in a corner, two suitcases, and
strewn on the carpet, balls of crumbled paper.
 
Taking the entire evening to compose, two letters’ were propped against
his mothers' photo, one addressed to Jake, the other, McMaster's.
 
In front of them reflections of light drew
attention to a badge.
 
What appeared to
be another letter was partially visible beneath the weight of Billy's chest, a
composition of conscience.

           
Dear Mother,

                       
By the time, you receive
this . . .

____________

           
Seated at her dressing table,
Marla's tissue filled fingers dabbed at blood seeping from the corner of her
mouth; other fingers attempted to straighten snarled curls.
 
The lights circumscribing the mirror
corroborated what she already suspected as a palm smoothed over a shoulder
bearing imprints of fingers already beginning to discolor.
 
Her meager effort to scoop cold cream to
remove smudged makeup alerted her senses to the multitude of muscles trumpeting
pain.
 
Scrutinizing the replica of
herself, she flinched from the sight of wrist burns.
 

           
As if to render the sympathetic
touch she craved, in slow motion the cushions of four fingers smoothing over
blank features wiped away remains of moisture that had turned the whites of her
eyes into a sea of red.
 
Lowering her
gaze to the capsule on the vanity top, she contemplated the contemptible
injustice Scorpio demanded she perform.
 
Elbows seeking stability allowed her face to fall into the welcoming
oblivion of her hands.