Authors: Micqui Miller
"Caroline, I ... I..."
"Oh, make no mistake about it, Doctor Mahoney." She gave him a sly smile. "You're going to owe me big time for this one. Might even have to marry me." That was all Mick needed to snap him back to the moment. He pulled her into his arms, hugged her fiercely, and said,
"Okay, let's do this!"
Together, they turned the explosive over and concentrated on the wires of the double-timing mechanism. Caroline saw that Foy had bleached almost all of the color out of the wires. Even with a powerful magnifying glass, Mick wouldn't have 336
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been able to tell them apart. She exhaled a sigh of relief—
enough color remained for a person with normal vision. She recited the colors of the wires in order.
"Blue goes first," Mick said. "Yellow, then green." Taking a deep breath, Caroline slashed through the blue. Her hands perspired. Would she be able to hold the knife tightly enough to cut the right wire? She transferred the knife to her left hand and wiped her right on the leg of jeans.
"Yellow next?"
Mick nodded. "Easy to remember—blue and yellow make green."
She cut through those in order. It was time to rotate the explosive again. Fifty-eight seconds remained. Less than a minute before they all died, unless she ... In a millisecond, Caroline knew what she had to do, even if it meant risking all of their lives to give Mick back his. Feigning panic, Caroline threw down the knife and backed away.
Mick picked it up. "What are the colors, Caroline, what are the colors? Caroline, Annie, someone help me."
"I can't, Mick," Annie cried, her hand clutching her throat.
"I can't decipher them, either."
In a strangled voice, as if cowed by fear, Caroline managed to say, "The one on the left is red, the other one's white."
"Shit," Mick swore. "There should be a black one." From behind them they heard Ian stir. Mick looked over his shoulder, into the face of evil.
"Gotcha!" Foy cackled, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. "It's over, Mahoney, all over. I win!" 337
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"The hell it is, Striker." With the last seconds ticking off and adrenaline pumping through him like jet fuel, Mick grabbed the red wire, the one he always knew to cut last, and sliced right through it. With only a second left, he savagely slashed the white, and the display went dark.
"
Now
it's over," Mick said in a husky whisper.
"And you did it, Mick," Caroline said. "You did it by yourself.
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Sweet Caroline
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CHRISTMAS EVE DAWNED a perfect day with a light frost on the barren vines, a cloudless blue sky, and sun that would warm the day into the high 50s—a perfect day for a winter wedding.
Caroline sat in Sheila's library before a roaring fire, a shoebox filled with old papers and news clippings on the table before her. One by one she crumbled the clippings into little balls and tossed them purposefully into the burning logs. Sheila had insisted that Caroline move to the ranch five days before the wedding, and laid down the law to Mick that he was to come no closer to his bride than an arm's reach. They'd joked about it, but in a way, Caroline found the idea quaint—she would go into the arms of her husband almost a virgin again.
That made her smile. Since the night the police ambulance took Ian away, Caroline and Mick had been together every spare minute. They still lived in the two flats in town but he'd removed both doors and linked the apartments with a gingerbread trellis and floor tiles that created a yellow brick road. They agree they'd stay city dwellers until they had their first child. Then they'd move out to the ranch. Instinctively Caroline placed a gentle hand on her stomach and felt goosebumps rise on her arms. She had a special secret to share with Mick tonight.
Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed two. Mick had driven to San Francisco to pick up Travis and Kristi-Lee. At 339
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four, with help from the entire female Mahoney clan, Caroline would dress to meet her groom.
From the shoebox, she took the news clippings she'd cut out in late October, the story of Ian Foy's death from a malignant brain tumor. The accompanying obituary was written as a tribute to a man revered by many. ZyQyx had closed for a week of mourning, and even the Mahoneys issued a statement about losing a friend.
Foy had been released to a nursing home the day after he was arrested. He'd mentally slipped away after that. Caroline had been stunned to learn she was Ian's sole heir and donated most of the liquid assets to various charities. They'd hired a broker to initiate the sale of ZyQyx, with the proviso that any staff who wished to remain would be kept on by the new owners. Only one employee quit after the announcement—Ian's faithful Gerard.
Caroline picked up the postcard, which she'd pieced back together after Annie had torn it that night in Ian's office when she'd gone to confront him. There were no more secrets left. With a flick of Caroline's wrist, the postcard sailed into the fire.
Combing through the box, she pulled out both of her birth certificates. Finally Baby Girl Smith had a real name, although she wasn't quite sure how she felt about being four days older.
She scooped up the rest of the clippings without looking at them and tossed them into the fire.
* * * *
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Sweet Caroline
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UPSTAIRS, CAROLINE DREW a warm bath, stripped and turned in the mirror, looking for telltale signs that might give away her secret. Although only a month along, she thought her breasts were already growing larger and the areolas darker. Her tummy was still flat, but it took extra effort to pull the muscles to the same tightness of only thirty days ago.
Mick had proposed to Caroline "that night"—the way the family now referred to the incident at the campground. She'd stayed at the big house and Mick had stayed with her. They'd clung to each other while he told her things he'd kept buried deep inside for so long. Finally, they'd drifted off to sleep without even the thought of making love.
The next morning, Mick wanted to fly to Las Vegas. Said he'd already waited too long to have a son and wanted to start immediately. She knew she loved him and would never love another, but insisted they wait until they'd gotten to know each other, not just as lovers, but as "daytime friends." Reluctantly, Mick agreed but from that night forward, he'd declared they "fly without a net." As often as they'd made love, Caroline was beginning to worry that she'd never be able to give him what he wanted most.
On Thanksgiving morning, their lovemaking had been so special, she knew at that moment she'd conceived Mick's child, the first, she hoped, of many.
Caroline swept away the moisture that was building on the mirror from the hot water filling her tub. Looking down at her tummy, she said, "You're doomed to be a purple-eyed 341
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pumpkin head, my precious darling. And you'll probably be just as mischievous and charming as your dad." Through the open widow, she heard the sound of a car pulling to a stop in the drive. She looked out and saw Mick arriving with Travis and Kristi-Lee.
As if he knew she watched, Mick looked up at the window, smiled and waved. Seconds later the voice she knew she'd never tire of hearing called out to her, "Come kiss me, Caroline. I'm home."
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Micqui Miller
Despite a demanding career as a development director for a private high school, Micqui continues to hone her writing skills. In 1992, she won the coveted Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America for her novel, The Killing Hour, and in 2000, Micqui was once again nominated for Morning Star. Micqui's contemporary romance, Holly in the Morning, was a 2004 EPPIE finalist. The EPPIE, like the Oscar is to the motion picture industry, is the ultimate recognition for outstanding achievement in the electronic publishing industry. Micqui, her husband Bill, and their cat Minou reside in Central Texas.
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