Authors: K A Jordan
Did he mean Cora's video clip?
"This is ridiculous!" So her moment of temptation was going to be her downfall.
"This is not up for debate." Martin raised his right hand. "We have a one-strike policy on pornography." His left hand slid out of sight.
"Tiffany shows more skin!"
Rumor had it there was a panic button under his desk. Was he going to call Security?
They are counting on you to make a scene.
Don't give them the satisfaction.
She wouldn't, but it was so hard to take this without shouting, 'I know what's really going on here.'
Do that and they will kill you.
"We have to let you go," Martin said, keeping his left hand out of sight. He slid another sheet of paper to her. "You need to sign this."
"What is it?"
"Standard forms – non-disclosure, non-litigation." He gave her a stern look. "Unless you want our lawyers to contact you, I suggest you sign."
Sign. It's all bullshit, designed to scare you into silence.
She felt numb as she signed the papers. Martin escorted her to her desk. She packed her belongings in a box, feeling the eyes of her co-workers on her as she fought back tears of frustration and rage.
She got home, shaking with shock and rage. The rage got worse as she paced her house. Tiffany wore short skirts and low cut sweaters all the time. They used the only excuse they had to get rid of her.
Nail the bastards. Don't let them get away with this.
But how? If the local law was on Phillips' side, who could she turn to?
Call the DEA. They will get those scumbags.
"Jake, this better not be another trick."
Trust me.
He brushed her cheek with a cold kiss.
She fired up her old computer. While it booted up, she made herself a cup of tea.
I want revenge, she thought, not just on Tony Avon and Tiffany, but on Ryan Phillips! It would feel really, really good to throw them under the bus. There was no reason for her to protect the plant now. The thumb drive was on her dresser; all the scanned invoices were on it.
When she went back into the office, the computer was ready. It took a few moments to find the website for the Drug Enforcement Agency. The regional offices were shown on a map of the United States.
"Which one?"
Detroit division.
Jake's presence burned with malignant energy.
She found the number easily. But as she picked up the phone, her hand started to shake and her ears buzzed.
Get those bastards.
"Stop it!" June took a couple of deep calming breaths. "I can't think like this."
Scumbag bastards. Take them down, lock them up!
"I said stop!" Her head hurt and her vision blurred as she fought to close him out. The light came to her call, covered her with its soft glow. She breathed a sigh of relief as the pressure eased.
"I need to call Eric."
No!
This is Eric's fault. He called that cop. Leave him out of this!
Jake's presence flared, strong and angry. The air took on a biting edge and small objects rattled.
"Get out!" June sent the light through the house, forcing Jake out.
She slumped in her chair for a few moments before she gulped down her tea. The phone number on the screen blurred. If she called now, she would cry like a baby. She went back into the kitchen, cleaning while she calmed down.
Helping Eric had set this chain of events into motion – now her safe little life was shattering. Meeting Eric was the worst thing that ever happened to her.
That was a lie. One that she couldn't tell herself without knowing it was a lie. She thought about the night at the Iroquois; dancing with Eric was the most sensual experience of her life. She could not think of that night without shivering a little bit. The heady mix of danger and safety, the music and being so close to him set her body on fire. Add a few beers, some heady kisses and she was swept off her feet.
Almost swept off her feet. Eric was still an unemployed biker passing through town. He'd been put in jail for assault. He was violent and bitter from the war.
Jake was the one who loved her. Jake was her soul-mate – wasn't he?
"It's not fair." Her one true love was a ghost.
Her cell phone rang. June had to hunt for it. A quick glance as she flipped it open told her that it was Eric.
"Hello."
"Hey, girl," his voice was low and sexy.
He might not be Mr. Right, but Eric was a very hot Mr. Wrong.
"Hi." She made her voice soft and seductive right back.
"How was your day?"
"Shitty doesn't even cover it."
"What happened?"
Some note of concern in his voice made her throat close and her nose burn. To her embarrassment she started to cry, barely able to get the words out.
"I got fired," she choked out.
"I'll be right there." His voice calmed her. "Just hold on until I get there."
"I will," June whispered, choking on the lump in her throat. How was she going to survive? She felt a stab of renewed terror, how would she keep her house?
The answer was simple – she couldn't.
The thought brought a surge of anger. How dare they fire her after she covered for them? It was time to get back at the people who had just ruined her life.
June rummaged through her purse for her thumb drive. This was her opportunity to get even with Phillips, Tiffany and Avon. Revenge was foremost in her mind as she took the thumb drive to the office, setting it next to the computer as she picked up her cell phone.
She dialed the number for the DEA, picked her way through the phone system.
When an agent answered the phone, she told him her name, then she told him everything.
~^~
When June heard Eric arrive on the bike, she flew out of the house. His helmet was off and he had just unzipped his jacket when she threw herself into his arms. When he hugged her it was like a dam breaking; she burst into tears.
"Hey, what's this? Leather's not waterproof." He gathered her close in spite of his teasing tone.
"Sorry." She snuggled closer for a moment, feeling safe and protected. It felt so good to be held against his warm, strong body. Just like the night in the Iroquois, the scent of leather and cologne eased her mind. This warm hug was something Jake could not give her, ever.
"Get a grip, sweetheart." He rubbed his cold, scratchy cheek against her hair. "You have to tell me what happened." Eric guided her into the house. "Let's go inside."
June sat at the counter, grabbing a handful of tissues. Her face was a mess.
"Tell me what happened." He stayed in the kitchen. "I'll make you some tea."
What a typical guy gesture to avoid a weeping female. Miffed, June blew her nose and wiped the tears from her face.
"Okay." Her voice was still shaking as she told him how she'd been fired. She
didn't
tell Eric about Jake. There was no telling what he might say if she did. Better safe than sorry.
"After I talked to you, I called the DEA."
"Was calling the DEA your idea or Jake's?" The tense lines of his shoulders warned her of his rising temper.
"Does it matter?" How did he know? Had Cora told him? That was just her style, the sneaky bitch.
"Damn straight!" Eric took her tea from the microwave, shutting the door with a bang.
June winced. This was what she wanted to avoid.
Eric set the cup in front of her, leaning on the kitchen side of the counter. His lips were pressed together as he waited for her to answer.
"Mine," June lied.
"Bullshit," he kept his voice low. "This has 'Jake' written all over it." Anger radiated from him – an aura of darkness that intimidated her.
June fidgeted with her tea. Did Cora whisper in his ear like Jake did hers? Had Cora told him about Jake? She should have cleared the house with white light.
"I've had it with Jake and Cora." He covered his mouth with one hand, the other arm crossed over his chest. He looked past her with narrow eyes.
"Will this ritual of yours get rid of both of them?"
"It depends on you." June struggled to keep from stammering.
"What does that mean?" Eric's face was expressionless, except for his eyes.
"You have to
want
it to work." June thought of the shadows from his past. "If you aren't willing to let go of the past, it won't be enough to just go through the motions."
"Can we do it tonight?"
"No, I have to get ready. It will take…" she thought hard, "…all day tomorrow."
"Let's do it." There was anger in his eyes. "What do I have to do?"
~^~
June spent all day getting ready for the ritual. The day was sunny and very warm, a final day of Indian summer before the first bite of winter. She groomed the clearing, pulling weeds and trimming the grass. She tidied her sacred space, the altar and skimmed leaves from the pool.
Back at the house, she gathered incense and her ritual items, making sure everything was polished. She bathed in scented salts, then meditated, focused on what she intended to do, dressed in a loose muslin caftan and wrote the ritual. She carried her ritual items to the spring, where they would remain.
The moon would be full tonight – a good omen.
Eric arrived in late afternoon. He was tense and watchful as she explained his part of the ritual. They waited as night fell, Eric pacing the floor, June busy straightening the house and memorizing the ritual. It took all her patience to keep from snapping at Eric. She finally retired to the garage to meditate some more.
Well before midnight they walked out together, hand in hand.
June closed the circle around them, calling the angels to guard the compass points. She consecrated her ritual items with moonlight. She lit five floating candles from a taper, set each one into the pool, anchoring them in place with a touch of light. The ritual items she set on the altar, then she called the white light.
It came slowly, a soft glow that built until she stood in a fountain of light. She dropped her wrap to stand sky-clad before the altar. June stepped in the pool. She could see her reflection – pale skin with a tumbling shawl of dark hair; her aura was a nimbus of white light.
She beckoned to Eric on the opposite side of the pool.
Eric looked at her. The hunger in his eyes had everything to do with her nearness and her nakedness. The sexual tension in the air ratcheted up until she could hear it like a background noise. He hesitated, then dropped his robe. He stood God to her Goddess, nude, by the shallow pool. She chanted, entreating the Goddess, the angels and the elements to be with them, to lend her power.
She took up the pitcher. She held the pitcher over her head, offering it to the moon as she offered herself as a vessel for the Goddess.
She could feel the power of the Goddess, the static electric charge that lifted her hair like a breeze. She let it in, breathing in power and exhaling light. She
was
Light, she
was
Power.
She
was
the Goddess.
"Come."
Eric waded through the pool to stand in its center. June dipped the pitcher into the water to fill it. Then she looked at Eric; she saw him as if through a veil. She raised the full pitcher, chanting an appeal for cleansing and healing.
"Are you ready to receive this gift?"
"I am."
"Kneel."
Eric sucked in a breath as he sank to his knees in the chilly water. He looked up at the sky, at the full harvest moon, then at June. She held the pitcher over his head, about to pour the contents over him.
"Wait."
The Goddess stayed her hand.
"I want – I have to – confess – I've seen – terrible things."
"Speak." She watched him clench and unclench his fists.
"I killed a lot of men." He dropped his head, his voice a bare whisper. "I helped torture prisoners more than once." He took a deep breath. "And – and I – I shot a woman." He shuddered. "It was war – but the nightmares – I want..."
The wind stilled, the crickets were silenced. The Goddess in her burned cold and terrible in the light of the moon. Eric licked his lips and shivered in the cold water.
"I need more than healing."
"What do you need?"
Eric looked up at the Goddess.
"Forgiveness." Tears gathered in his eyes and spilled down his face.
"Ask, you will be answered."
"Please, forgive me." He wept, his head bowed. "Please, whoever you are, forgive me. I can't live with what I did."