Vengeance Is Mine (22 page)

CHAPTER 1

Connie Wilson frowned as she stared out at the snow-covered courtyard. The condo association had decorated for Christmas, and this was the night they'd turned on the lights. She had watched them from her third-floor windows, draping the tall, stately pines with strings of multicolored bulbs. Now that the lights were on, the gently falling snow reflected all the colors, but Connie was too worried to appreciate the lovely sight. She didn't even smile as she spotted the life-size sleigh nestled under the trees with the illuminated figures of Santa and his elves. It was almost ten, and Alan still wasn't home.

He'd never stayed at his parents this late before. The Thanksgiving dinner had begun at three, and meals at the Stanford mansion were always served on time. Even with all the courses associated with the traditional Thanksgiving feast, they must have been finished by four or four-thirty.

Alan had promised to make his announcement right after dessert. Perhaps that had been as late as five, but there was no way the obligatory snifter of cognac, sipped with his father in the library, could have taken more than an hour. Even if Ralph Stanford had objected to the marriage, as Connie was sure he had, father and son wouldn't have argued this long.

So what was keeping Alan? She paced back and forth across the white carpet, doing her best to think positive thoughts. Alan loved her. She was sure of that. And he was determined to marry her, with or without his parents' permission. He had been ready to slay dragons for her when she'd kissed him good-bye; nothing Alan's parents could say or do would sway him.

And he wasn't the type to stop off for a drink. He always called her when he knew he'd be late. Even if there'd been a terrible family fight, he would come straight home to her. But what if his parents hadn't objected? What if he had convinced them that marriage to her was acceptable? Was it even remotely possible that he was with his family right now, planning the wedding?

Connie thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. Alan had told her all about his family, and she was sure the Stanfords would never approve of her as a prospective daughter-in-law. They were probably laying down the law right now, telling Alan that if he went ahead with this unsuitable marriage, they would disown him.

She pictured Alan coming in the door, his face lined with worry. She'd put on coffee, so it would be ready when he got home. He loved a good cup of coffee. One was bound to make him feel better.

Connie measured out the espresso beans, put them in the electric grinder. She loved coffee, too, and she adored the espresso Alan had taught her to make in his machine. But the doctor had told her that too much caffeine during a pregnancy could cause problems, so she had decided to give up coffee until after the baby was born.

There were so many things to remember. Connie frowned slightly as she glanced at the list she'd tacked up on the kitchen bulletin board. No caffeine, no alcohol, a high-fiber diet, moderate daily exercise, and plenty of rest. She was doing everything her doctor had recommended. Her friends from the past would never believe the fun-loving exotic dancer had stopped drinking, toned down her makeup, and let her bleached blond hair grow out to its natural color. Connie now looked like the girl next door, wholesome, sweet, and totally natural.

When the coffee was ready to brew, she went into the huge living room. She glanced at the clock and sighed again. It was almost ten-thirty. Should she call Alan at his parents' house to make sure everything was all right? She debated for a moment, even going so far as to pick up the phone, but she replaced the receiver in its cradle without punching in the number for the Stanford mansion. A call from her might rock the boat, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

She sat down on the couch and stared at the snow falling outside. She was just thinking how pretty it was when the telephone rang. She reached out to it, crossing her fingers for luck. It just had to be Alan!

“Mrs. Stanford?”

The voice sounded official, and Connie could hear other voices in the background. “No. I'm not Mrs. Stanford. Is this a sales call?”

“No, this is Central Dispatch, Minneapolis Police. Do you know an Alan Stanford?”

“Yes.” Connie swallowed hard. “Alan's my fiancé. Is something wrong?”

“Two officers are on their way to talk to you. They should be there any minute.”

“But . . . why? What's happened?”

“Just relax, Miss . . . ?”

Connie clutched the phone so hard, her knuckles were white. “Connie Wilson. But can't you tell me—”

“I'm sorry.” The voice interrupted. “I'm just a dispatcher, and I don't know. They just told me to call this number to confirm that someone was home.”

Connie's head was spinning. Had Alan been arrested? She was about to ask, even though the dispatcher probably wouldn't know, when she heard a sharp knocking. “Someone's at the door. It must be your officers.”

“Please let them in. And thank you, Miss Wilson.”

There was a click, and Connie dropped the phone back into its cradle. Her legs were shaking as she rushed across the carpet to answer the door.

“Miss Wilson?” The older officer flashed his badge. “May we come in, please?”

“Yes. Of course.” Connie stood to the side so both men could enter. “But . . . how do you know my name?”

“The dispatcher told us. We were in radio contact. Please sit down, Miss Wilson.”

Connie had a wild urge to refuse. If she didn't sit down, perhaps they would leave. And then Alan would come in the door, and—

“Miss Wilson? Please.”

The older officer gestured toward the couch. Connie sat. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“There's been an accident, Miss Wilson.”

The blood rushed from Connie's face, and she swallowed hard. “But . . . Alan's all right, isn't he?”

“I'm afraid not.” The older officer shook his head. “Do you have anyone who can come to stay with you, Miss Wilson?”

“No. There's no one. But I don't need anyone to stay here. I have to go to the hospital to see Alan!”

“There's no need for that, Miss Wilson.”

“Alan's dead?” Connie's eyes widened. “No! That can't be true!”

“I'm afraid it is. Why don't you let us call someone for you. A friend? Family? You shouldn't be alone at a time like this.”

“No!” Connie shook her head so hard, she became dizzy. “You've got the wrong person, that's all. It was someone else. You just thought it was Alan. Alan's alive! I know he is.”

“Calm down, Miss Wilson.”

The older officer tried to put an arm around her shoulders, but Connie shrugged it off. “You'll see. It's a mistake, that's all. Alan'll be coming through that door any second, and we'll all have a good laugh.”

“Miss Wilson . . . I know how hard this is to accept, but we made positive identification at the scene.”

“Nooooo!” Connie started to sob, and tears poured down her face. Alan couldn't be dead! Not Alan! Then she was hit by a terrible cramping. She screamed in pain.

“Miss Wilson . . . Connie. Please.” The older officer looked terribly concerned. “Are you ill?”

She opened her mouth to tell him, but nothing came out. She felt so weak she could barely move, and dark spots swirled in front of her eyes. Another cramp struck, as if it were trying to split her in two, and she looked down to see that the couch was wet with blood.

“The . . . the baby! Save the baby!” Connie forced herself to choke out the words. She heard the younger officer radio for an ambulance, but just as he was giving the address, everything went black.