The Golden Chance (13 page)

Phila began to inch carefully toward the foot of the bed. She was trapped and defenseless as long as she was caught between Nick and the wall. The first thing she had to do was put some distance between herself and this large, threatening male.

Nick tracked her with his eyes. Phila lost her nerve. She gave up inching and launched herself full tilt toward the end of the bed, wildly seeking escape.

“Oh, no you don't—” He shot out an arm that caught her around the midsection.

It was like running into an iron railing. Phila fell back, gasping for breath. She twisted to one side, pulling herself into a ball and kicking out frantically.

Her foot struck Nick's thigh. He grunted in pain but he did not stop. He moved so fast Phila never stood a chance. He came down on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head and using the weight of his body to still her thrashing legs.

“Let me go, damn you!” Phila's head snapped around as she tried to find some vulnerable spot into which she could sink her teeth. Panic swamped her. She could not tolerate being held down like this. Old terror and fresh fear rampaged through her. She fought like a wild thing.

“Phila. Stop it.”

Her hair lashed the pillow. He weighed a ton, she realized vaguely as she struggled to wriggle free. She had been on top of him last night. Last night she had been the one in control. She hadn't fully comprehended just how large and powerful Nick really was. Now she was crushed beneath him. She could hardly breathe. Her mouth opened on a scream.

“Stop it,” Nick ordered again as he clamped a hand over her lips. “Just calm down, will you? Jesus, you're going crazy.” He waited a moment and then slowly removed his hand from her mouth.

“Calm down? You're assaulting me! Let go of me and I'll calm down.”

“Not a chance. Not until I get some answers. What did you plan to do with that pistol?”

“I have a right to own a gun.”

“That depends. Don't tell me you really believe the Castletons and Lightfoots deserve a bullet just because they didn't welcome Crissie Masters with open arms?”

“I don't have to explain anything to you, damn it.” The defiance was dangerous, Phila knew that. But in her anger and fear and outrage, it was also instinctive. It was the way she had always responded to that which threatened to control her. In that, she and Crissie had been very much alike.

“Don't be stupid, Phila. Tell me why you had that gun stashed in the bedside drawer.”

Phila stopped struggling, exhausted. She inhaled deeply, trying to recover her strength. Frantically she tried to contain her fear so that she could keep talking. Words were all she had left at the moment. She knew how to use words.

“I don't owe you an explanation, but I'll give you one if you'll promise to get off of me,” she said stiffly.

“I'm listening. Talk fast.”

“Elijah Spalding.”

Nick stared down into her face. His eyes glittered behind the lenses of his glasses. “Who?”

“Elijah Spalding. Ruth Spalding's husband. Remember her? I told you I testified at a trial a few weeks ago, remember?”

“I remember. You said the guy went to prison.”

“The man was Spalding. And they sent him to one of those minimum-security places. When he gets out, he'll come after me.”

“Why?”

“Because he said he would,” Phila said fiercely. “He hates me. It was my testimony that sent him away. He'll never forget that. He's a dangerous man. He likes to hurt little kids and women.”

Nick studied her for a moment longer, his eyes implacable as he searched her expression. “When did you buy the gun?”

“Right after the trial. Believe me, at the time I wasn't even thinking about Castletons and Lightfoots. Crissie was still alive.”

“That would be easy enough to check out.”

“Check it out. I don't give a damn.”

Nick contemplated her for a long moment, seemingly unaware of the way her bare breasts were crushed beneath his chest. “I think,” he said at last, “that you had better tell me a little more about this trial.”

Phila held her breath, sensing that he was about to release her. She gathered herself. “Please,” she whispered, hating herself for resorting to pleading.

“Please what?” Nick scowled.

“Please. Get. Off. Of. Me. I can't stand it.”

He levered himself slowly away from her, watching her warily. “Phila? Are you all right? What the hell are you looking at me like that for? I didn't hurt you.”

The instant she could move out from underneath him, Phila flung herself to the side of the bed and shot to her feet. She grabbed her brilliant purple robe, holding it in front of her like a shield as she backed as far away as she could get. She was brought up short by the closed door of the bathroom. She swallowed quickly a few times, trying to still her nervous stomach. Her fingers were white as they clutched the velour robe.

“Get out of here,” she ordered tightly.

Nick sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. “I'm not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “I think you're smart enough to realize that. Go take a shower, comb your hair, get dressed and calm down. I'll fix us some coffee and we'll talk.”

“I don't want to talk to you.”

“You don't have much choice.” He stood up.

Phila flinched, her eyes widening. She fumbled with the bathroom doorknob. “Don't touch me.”

“I'm not touching you. You're irrational.”

“I'm not the irrational one around here. You're the one who was waiting for me with a gun this morning.”

“I wasn't holding the gun on you.” He raked his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “I just wanted some answers. I had a right to a few after I found that automatic.” He took a step forward.

“No. Don't come any closer.” Phila got the bathroom door open. She backed quickly into the small room.

“Take it easy, damn it. I'm not going to hurt you.”

“You already have. I'm not going to give you a second chance.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the bed where he had recently pinned her. “I didn't hurt you. I just held you down so you couldn't get away or do me any damage.”

Technically, he was right, but Phila's emotions and memories weren't dealing in technicalities. Her chin lifted. “Will you get out of my bedroom?”

“Yeah. I'll get out of your bedroom.” He paced to the door. “The coffee will be ready when you get out of the bathroom. Then we'll talk.”

Phila slammed the bathroom door and locked it. The lock was a weak little device that probably would not last long against a determined assault, but it was all that was available.

Leaning back against the closed door, she listened carefully until she was satisfied that Nick had actually gone down the hall to the kitchen. Only then did the adrenaline begin to slow its wild rush through her bloodstream.

She stayed where she was for several minutes before she finally decided she could risk taking a shower. For the first time since she had awakened she began to pay attention to her body.

She wrinkled her nose at the hint of a faint, alien, musky scent. A man's scent. Something that had been damp and sticky a few hours ago had dried on the inside of her thighs. A new terror ripped through her. It was superseded almost instantly by raw fury. How could she have forgotten! How could he have—She vaguely remembered a short discussion on matters of health, but not one on the subject of birth control. Fury at her own appalling stupidity only served to fuel her anger at Nick.

Phila wrenched open the bathroom door, still clutching the robe in front of her. She flew down the hall, through the living room and came to a halt in the kitchen doorway.

“You didn't use anything last night, you bastard,” she yelled.

Nick glanced up from where he was calmly measuring coffee into a drip machine. “No, I didn't. I didn't even think about it until it was too late. You mean you're not taking pills?”

“No, I'm not taking pills,” she bit out furiously. “I haven't had any reason to take them. Do you go around doing this sort of thing a lot?”

“No.” He finished spooning coffee and put down the container. He picked up the pot and started to run water into it. “You're a first. Normally, I'm the cautious type. Very cautious. But I went a little crazy last night when you swept me off my feet and carried me into the bedroom. Are you always that impulsive?”

“No.
Never
.” Phila was beside herself with fury. “Oh, my God, I might be pregnant, you big jerk.”

“I'm sorry, but the truth is, you have a strange effect on me, honey. No one's ever dragged me off to bed before and made wild love to me until I couldn't think straight.”

“This is not funny.” Phila drew herself up ramrod straight. “Listen to me you son of a bitch and listen good. You wanted to know what I planned to do with that gun in the bedroom drawer? I'll tell you what I'll do with it. If I'm pregnant, I'll come after you with it.
Do you hear me
?”

“I hear you.” Nick poured the water into the machine and flipped the switch.

Phila choked on a sob of helpless rage, whirled and ran back to the bathroom. Too late she recalled that she was holding her robe in front of her, not behind her. The image of Nick watching her bare derriere as she made her exit was almost too much to handle on top of everything else that had happened. She was on the edge of bursting into tears.

She dashed into the bathroom, slammed the door shut and turned on the shower full blast. She would not cry, she vowed. She would not cry this morning.

Twenty minutes later she felt calmer and more in control of herself. The long shower had helped. She had scrubbed herself thoroughly in an effort to get rid of any outward traces of Nick's lovemaking. She could only cross her fingers about inner traces. Every five minutes she asked herself how she could have been so stupid. Her whole life seemed to have become unbelievably muddled lately.

Stress. It had to be the result of too much stress. She was just not thinking clearly these days. It seemed to her that she hadn't been able to think clearly since the news of Crissie's death.

She pulled on a pair of green jeans and an orange-and-green striped T-shirt, stuffed her feet into a pair of soft leather moccasins and headed back toward the kitchen. The aroma of brewing coffee was an irresistible lure.

Nick was sitting at the table near the window scanning an old fishing magazine that had been left behind by a previous tenant. Two bowls of cold cereal, a carton of milk and and a couple of spoons were sitting on the table beside him. He looked up when Phila appeared in the doorway.

“I thought you might be planning to spend the day in the shower,” he remarked.

“It was a tempting idea, but there wasn't enough hot water.”

Phila went over to the coffee machine and poured herself a cup of the dark brew. She gazed out the window over the sink, trying to collect her thoughts. An early morning fog squatted above the ocean. Peering through the trees, she found it impossible to tell where water ended and the thick mist began. It was all just one solid wall of gray. The world looked as if it ended right there on the other side of the woods.

“Sit down and eat, Phila. You'll feel better.”

“How do you know?”

“Call it a wild hunch. Eat some cereal and then we'll talk.”

“I'm not hungry, and there isn't anything left to talk about. I told you the whole story.”

“Not quite. Who is this Elijah Spalding?”

Phila swore under her breath, knowing she was going to have to explain everything to Nick before she could get rid of him. He was that kind of man. “Spalding and his wife, Ruth, have a large farm outside of Holloway. Two years ago they started taking in foster children. It looked like a great setup. To the authorities, the Spaldings seemed like a stable couple. Ruth was into organic gardening and health foods. Elijah came from a farming family and knew how to run that kind of business. He had served in the military for several years, including some time in Southeast Asia and Latin America.”

“The Army?”

Phila's mouth twisted in disgust. “Not exactly. During the trial it came out that he hadn't been on active duty with U.S. forces during his time out of the country. But he had been waging war. Independently, you might say.”

“A mercenary?”

“Yes. Nothing more than a hired killer. But no one knew about that part of his background when they started sending the kids to him. All they knew was that he and Ruth couldn't have kids of their own and they seemed to want to care for children. The farm they were running appeared to be prosperous, and it looked like a healthy environment for kids. Lots of fresh air, exercise, chores, wholesome routines. By the end of the first year there were five children living with the Spaldings.”

“But there were problems?”

Phila wandered over to the table and sat down. She kept her eyes on the gray mist beyond the trees as she talked. “Thelma Anderson started to get suspicious because when she made her visits to the farm the kids were too well behaved. Too quiet. Too polite. They gave all the right answers to her questions. Every one of the children seemed to have adjusted perfectly to life on the Spalding farm.”