Cast a Dark Shadow

By S.C. Rackes

Do you realize how long its been? Dallas spoke, trying to keep her voice as unemotional as possible. Bart hated scenes.
Dallas knew she should back off, drop the subject, and leave Bart alone. It was the only safe way to deal with him lately.
Tonight was a final, desperate effort on her part. It was their wedding anniversary. If anything was left between them, she should be able to reach it on what was supposed to be a day of celebration. Early returns werent promising.
Lets face it, Dallas thought. Your carefully constructed web of pretense is fraying, and fraying fast, with a whole lot of help from your husband. Why cant you admit its over and just take your losses and get out? Because I hate to give up and throw twenty years down the rabbit hole. At least without giving it one last shot.
Bart didnt answer Dallas, didnt even acknowledge the question. He was staring past her, at a spot somewhere over and slightly to the right of her head. His moods had gotten increasingly dark and difficult lately, his patience with her nonexistent.
As Dallas watched him lift the glass he held and drain its contents, she thought, Hes drinking way too much.
Dallas looked away, feeling totally defeated. As she did, she heard Bart rattle the ice cubes in his glass. That was her cue to get him a refill.
Let him get his own damned refill, she decided, with a rare burst of irritation and rebellion. He has feet.
Tonight, as soon as shed given him his anniversary gift, she knew shed made a mistake. His face closed up, his jaw tensed, and he acted like shed handed him a bomb he expected would go off at any minute. The gift still sat, unopened, on the table.
At first, Dallas hoped it was because he forgot about the anniversary and didnt have anything for her. But it was more than that. There was something different about Bart tonight, something Dallas couldnt identify, something that intensified the uneasy feelings shed had for the last six months. More and more, she felt like she was living with a stranger.
Doesnt twenty years of marriage mean a thing to you, Bart? Dallas asked.
At last, Bart decided to acknowledge her presence. He let his gaze drop to her slender ankles and work its way up to her face. His hazel eyes were cold, and his mouth was set in a thin line.
I fail to see twenty years of marriage as an excuse for you to run around dressed like a cheap tramp, Dallas, he said.
Im not dressed like a tramp.
Dallas wore a white lace teddy she bought especially for the occasion. It was about as successful as the fancy dinner she cooked and Bart barely touched.
Another mistake, obviously, she decided. My whole life seems to be a mistake lately. She sighed. I wanted you to make love to me. Thats all. Nothing else works. I thought this was worth a try.
Barts silence and the unyielding intensity of his gaze made Dallas look away again. She stared past him, out the sliding glass patio doors, where a crescent moon floated on the horizon. It washed the night with pale light and made it look as cold and empty as Dallas felt.
I will make love to you when I want to, Bart finally said. Do you understand? And if I never want to again, that part of your life will be over. Whether you like it or not.
Dallas swallowed hard, bit her lip, and fought back the tears of resignation and defeat that gathered on her lower lids. If there was anything her husband hated worse than emotional scenes, it was tears.
You are no different from any other tramp in the world, are you, Dallas? Always willing to get some poor slob to do what you want him to do. Then, when he does, you turn on him. You all turn on him.
Barts words, and the vehemence behind them, dried Dallass tears up before they had a chance to spill over.
What in Gods name is he talking about now? Dallas wondered. Not for the first time in her dealings with Bart lately had she tried to label uneasiness that crossed the line and became somet

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483676821

S.C. Rackes

I was born Sonja C. Crawford, the daughter of Welch and Alma Plemmons Crawford. I have one sister, Linda. I have been blessed with one child, Stacy Carol. My maternal grandparents were Isham H. Plemmons and Sarah. He was a hit songwriter in the 1919 to 1935 era. He wrote numerous poems that were used by many famous entertainers: Tennessee Ernie Ford, Porter Wagoner, Dolly Parton, Jimmy Dean. Most of them were inspirational poems. I started writing poems and short stories around the age of eleven. The novels started appearing around the age of twenty-seven. I am also an award-winning artist using the mediums of oils and water colors. I did a few in pastels and pen ink (not to my liking). I was one of the three first women who passed the Kentucky auctioneers test. I held at one time a North Carolina and Kentucky Real Estate license, the Kentucky Auctioneers Apprentice license, and the Certified Appraisers license. I studied sign language and use it in Gospel songs. I was married to E. Ray Warren, and we lived in Kentucky for many years. After his passing, I returned to my hometown in Asheville, North Carolina. I married Joseph V. Rackes, and we live in a wonderful two-story home in Michigan. Between the two of us, we have five children and ten grandchildren. With him, my life has become one of wonder.

Book preview

Cast a Dark Shadow

title%20page.jpg

by

S.C. Rackes

Copyright © 2013 by S.C. Rackes.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2013913783

ISBN:                  Hardcover                          978-1-4836-7681-4

                            Softcover                            978-1-4836-7680-7

                            Ebook                                 978-1-4836-7682-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 08/05/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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www.Xlibris.com

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129156

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

Do you realize how long it’s been? Dallas spoke, trying to keep her voice as unemotional as possible. Bart hated scenes.

Dallas knew she should back off, drop the subject, and leave Bart alone. It was the only safe way to deal with him lately.

Tonight was a final, desperate effort on her part. It was their wedding anniversary. If anything was left between them, she should be able to reach it on what was supposed to be a day of celebration. Early returns weren’t promising.

Let’s face it, Dallas thought. Your carefully constructed web of pretense is fraying, and fraying fast, with a whole lot of help from your husband. Why can’t you admit it’s over and just take your losses and get out? Because I hate to give up and throw twenty years down the rabbit hole. At least without giving it one last shot.

Bart didn’t answer Dallas, didn’t even acknowledge the question. He was staring past her, at a spot somewhere over and slightly to the right of her head. His moods had gotten increasingly dark and difficult lately, his patience with her nonexistent.

As Dallas watched him lift the glass he held and drain its contents, she thought, He’s drinking way too much.

Dallas looked away, feeling totally defeated. As she did, she heard Bart rattle the ice cubes in his glass. That was her cue to get him a refill.

Let him get his own damned refill, she decided, with a rare burst of irritation and rebellion. He has feet.

Tonight, as soon as she’d given him his anniversary gift, she knew she’d made a mistake. His face closed up, his jaw tensed, and he acted like she’d handed him a bomb he expected would go off at any minute. The gift still sat, unopened, on the table.

At first, Dallas hoped it was because he forgot about the anniversary and didn’t have anything for her. But it was more than that. There was something different about Bart tonight, something Dallas couldn’t identify, something that intensified the uneasy feelings she’d had for the last six months. More and more, she felt like she was living with a stranger.

Doesn’t twenty years of marriage mean a thing to you, Bart? Dallas asked.

At last, Bart decided to acknowledge her presence. He let his gaze drop to her slender ankles and work its way up to her face. His hazel eyes were cold, and his mouth was set in a thin line.

I fail to see twenty years of marriage as an excuse for you to run around dressed like a cheap tramp, Dallas, he said.

I’m not dressed like a tramp.

Dallas wore a white lace teddy she bought especially for the occasion. It was about as successful as the fancy dinner she cooked and Bart barely touched.

Another mistake, obviously, she decided. My whole life seems to be a mistake lately. She sighed. I wanted you to make love to me. That’s all. Nothing else works. I thought this was worth a try.

Bart’s silence and the unyielding intensity of his gaze made Dallas look away again. She stared past him, out the sliding glass patio doors, where a crescent moon floated on the horizon. It washed the night with pale light and made it look as cold and empty as Dallas felt.

I will make love to you when I want to, Bart finally said. Do you understand? And if I never want to again, that part of your life will be over. Whether you like it or not.

Dallas swallowed hard, bit her lip, and fought back the tears of resignation and defeat that gathered on her lower lids. If there was anything her husband hated worse than emotional scenes, it was tears.

You are no different from any other tramp in the world, are you, Dallas? Always willing to get some poor slob to do what you want him to do. Then, when he does, you turn on him. You all turn on him.

Bart’s words, and the vehemence behind them, dried Dallas’s tears up before they had a chance to spill over.

What in God’s name is he talking about now? Dallas wondered. Not for the first time in her dealings with Bart lately had she tried to label uneasiness that crossed the line and became something very close to fear.

I don’t know what you mean, Dallas said, purposely keeping her voice soothing and noncombative. You’re my husband, it’s our anniversary, and I wanted us to make love. It’s that simple. It’s been over a year, Bart, she finished softly.

Bart stood up and leaned over Dallas, one hand on either arm of her chair. His position pinned her in place, yes, but it was the fanatical light in his eyes that held Dallas motionless.

Forget the uneasy. She was definitely frightened now.

And it will be another year, or two, or three. It will be when I say, Dallas. Not a minute sooner. You have nothing to do with it. I control that part of your life. Bart straightened up but continued to stare at her.

Dallas saw disgust and something much more dangerous in his expression. It made her wish, desperately, she could just disappear. If there are black holes in the universe, where are they when you really need them? she wondered. Why doesn’t one of them swallow me up? I shouldn’t have started this. I should have ignored the anniversary. Like he now obviously intended to do. I should have just packed up and left, without this last fawning attempt to salvage the last twenty years of my life.

As Dallas shrank back against the chair, her fear growing with every new twist in the strange behavior Bart had exhibited lately, he brought his hands up even with her throat.

Mesmerized, like a fly froze in a spider’s web, Dallas watched as they opened and closed convulsively, once, twice, three times. She got the distinct impression it took all the strength Bart had not to wrap them around her neck and strangle her.

The fear closed in for real then and paralyzed Dallas. The house held its breath expectantly, a silent witness to sudden violence. Dallas’s whole body reacted. Her pulse raced wildly, and she could feel the adrenaline racing through her system.

Just when she was sure Bart was going to reach for her and she would feel his strong hands squeezing her constricted throat until there was no life left in her trembling body, Bart realized what he was doing.

With a great effort, he pulled himself back from some frightening abyss that Dallas could only imagine. Bart stood, immobile, menacing, and glared at Dallas for what felt like an eternity. At last, he gave her a look of unmistakable hatred, turned on his heel, and left the room.

Dallas held her breath, afraid to even move, while she silently, fervently prayed he wouldn’t change his mind and come back.

Thank God, she thought, when she heard him pick his keys up off the hall table.

Moments later, the front door slammed with enough force to rattle every window in the house. Dallas heard Bart’s car start up and screech off into the Florida night. Slowly, with him gone, her fear subsided.

There was no doubt left in her mind. Dallas barely escaped physical violence this time. And what about next time? she asked herself. Will you be so lucky? There won’t be a next time, she decided. There can’t be.

Dallas got up, not at all surprised to find her knees were weak and shaky, and went into the bedroom. Her suitcases were stored at the back of her walk-in closet. She took them out and set them down on the carpeted floor then began to take her clothes off their padded hangers. She willed herself not to cry, not to think about the might-have-beens, the dreams, the hopes.

Boo, the Great Dane she had rescued from the pound, was asleep on Dallas’s side of the king-size bed. He opened one eye, looked at her, and boofed. Even that soft noise was jarring in the silent house.

It’s over, Boo, Dallas whispered. There’s nothing to salvage. Nothing left. We have to get out of here while we still can.

Dallas threw on some clothes then packed quickly, taking only the bare necessities, anxious to get away before Bart came back. Finished, she sat the bags by the garage door and hurried through the house to her study. She gathered up the tote bag containing the scripts and lessons she’d need for the classes she taught, and then she took a moment to look around the pleasant room. It was, she realized, the only thing she would really miss.

And isn’t that a sad commentary, Dallas thought. The date on her desk calendar read October 1. It was circled in red. She stopped and stared at it before she reached over and turned the brass desk lamp off. The pent-up tears finally burned their way back to the surface and overflowed her pale, stone-washed blue eyes.

Happy anniversary, she whispered.

You’re late, JJ said. She gave Dallas an accusing look then flicked a crumb off the table with one bright-red, perfectly manicured nail. The collection of bracelets on her tanned wrist sparkled in the sunlight coming through the window beside her. Four of the five fingers on each hand wore a ring of some description. JJ loved jewelry, especially if it was real. All of JJ’s jewelry was real.

Dallas pulled out a chair and dropped into it and then gave a tired sigh. Long night, she admitted, glancing around Franky’s Restaurant. The morning sun that came in the window behind JJ partially blinded Dallas. The noise from the kitchen blended with the sounds of the customers and accosted her ears. Her head threatened to give birth to a truly awful headache. Normally, the small neighborhood restaurant where Dallas and JJ met for breakfast before they went to work was a friendly haven. It was a break before Dallas had to face the rigors of teaching her class and then shepherding them through rehearsals for whatever play was in the works at Coast Community College. JJ had it a little easier. She was Dallas’s assistant director and closest friend. Over the past year, Dallas and JJ had become regulars at Franky’s. They knew most of the other regulars by name and were friends with the owner, Franky, and his brother Mel. The customers had learned to enjoy the greasy eggs and buttered toast with gusto. Cholesterol be damned. Today, all the confusion was almost more than Dallas could take.

JJ raised an arched eyebrow. Late night, how?

I left Bart, Dallas said. Last night.

Well, hallelujah. It’s about time.

Dallas waved away the menu the waitress offered and declined the raised coffee pot. Iced tea, she said.

The waitress nodded and left.

So talk, JJ said, picking up her cup and sipping the steaming liquid in it.

Something’s wrong, JJ, Dallas said shaking her head, her blonde hair, streaked almost white by the Florida sun, settling softly on her shoulders. Something bad. And I don’t know what it is. He’s changed. I mean, really changed.

JJ gave her a cynical look. How can you tell? He’s always been a horse’s ass if you ask me.

Dallas waited while the waitress put her tea down on the table before she answered JJ.

It’s more than that, JJ. The last six, eight, months, Bart’s gotten stranger and stranger. He’s so damned angry, worse than I’ve ever seen him. And Lord knows I’ve seen him angry enough times to be an expert. I thought I could reach him, make it all better, you know, like always. But I can’t. Whatever it is, it’s grown into something I can’t fix this time.

Do you think he’s having an affair?

I don’t know, especially after last night.

What do you mean?

He said something about all women being tramps, including me. How we used men and then threw them away.

Maybe somebody jilted him. From the twinkle in her eyes, Dallas knew JJ found that amusing.

It could be. Strange thing is I really don’t care. He can do anything he wants to do. I just want out. I can’t take anymore, JJ, Dallas said. Twenty damned years down the drain.

Not quite. You got Dooley out of it.

True. Right now, she seems like the only good thing the marriage brought about too. God, I’m glad she’s away at school. I thought Bart was going to hit me, JJ, or choke me or worse. Briefly, Dallas related the whole story to her friend. So I packed up after he left and took Boo to a hotel.

A hotel let that big monster in?

I had to pay a pet deposit, but yes. The Holiday Inn did, finally, after I assured them he wouldn’t eat the maids or the furniture.

Now what?

Dallas shrugged. Find an apartment, I guess.

Need a loan?

No. I can afford it. Bart never let me contribute to anything around that place. He’s too proud to accept my money, and all that macho bullshit. I have a solid little nest egg squirreled away. That’ll get me started, and my teaching salary will support us. Plus the theatre work.

Dallas sipped at her tea and felt JJ study her. She knew there were deep-blue circles under her eyes. Even her dark tan and carefully applied make-up wouldn’t hide them this morning.

I’m sorry, JJ finally said. But I’m also glad. Now I can quit worrying about you.

I hope. Lord knows how he’ll react when he finds out I’ve left.

Again, JJ’s eyebrows shot up. You’re still frightened, aren’t you?

Yes, Dallas admitted. I am.

So get a restraining order.

Do you know how many women get killed clutching that silly little piece of paper called a restraining order?

JJ gave her a strange look. Killed? Do you really think Bart’s capable of that?

I don’t know. After last night, I don’t have a clue in the world as to who he is anymore. He’s a stranger, JJ. A stranger I don’t like and don’t trust. I don’t want to be around him at all for any reason. I was always so afraid to cross him, you know. I was afraid he’d leave me and I’d be alone. Now, being alone seems like a glorious indulgence. It’s what I want more than anything.

In your case, alone can only be better. Besides, it’s a big world. JJ grinned. You’ll find somebody else.

Dallas shook her head. Trust me, I’m not looking. Not for a long, long, time. She checked her watch. Listen, Irma called yesterday afternoon. She’s agreed to see me this morning. Can you handle rehearsals until I get there?

Ah, yes, JJ said. Trying to get the old folk to support a project involving the kids of the community? She gave a snort that was supposed to pass for a laugh. Good luck.

I know, I know. But I have to try. Dallas pushed her chair back, stood up, rummaged in her skirt pocket, and then dropped two bills on the table. Later, she said picking up her bag and heading for the door.

Outside, the heat was like some palpable thing. It wrapped itself around Dallas’s face and choked off her breath, like breathing through a steaming, wet sponge. She crossed the lot to her car, opened the door, leaned in and hit the power button rolling the windows down so the heat could escape, and then sat down gingerly and started the engine. She turned the air conditioner on then stepped back outside to wait for it to cool the car down before she sentenced herself to its inferno.

While she waited, she looked at the brilliant, blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, no relief from the heat anywhere on the horizon. All around the parking lot, flowers wilted in the dusty ground. A sprinkler swished back and forth over parched, brown grass. Even through her sandals, Dallas could feel the blistering heat of the asphalt.

Dallas.

It was a single word uttered into the peace of the morning, but it made Dallas’s pulse race. She whirled around and stared into Bart’s eyes. They were cold and lifeless, a startling contrast to the sunny morning. He still wore the clothes he’d worn when he left last night. They were rumpled and dirty and looked like he’d slept in them. That surprised Dallas. Bart was normally fanatical about his appearance.

When I got home this morning, you were gone. I checked your closet. You’ve left, haven’t you? He stood ramrod straight and threatening, blocking off any chance of escape.

Yes, I have.

Why?

I can’t take it anymore, Bart. It’s over.

Nothing’s over until I say it is.

Dallas searched his face for any sign of the man she’d married so long ago. There was none. The fear began to send tentative fingers through her slender body again.

I’m sorry, she stammered. Really sorry.

She backed toward the open door of the car and managed to slide in, and then she closed the door before he could stop her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t fast enough to hit the power button on the windows, and he leaned in toward her. She could see the knuckles of his right hand, gripping the glass so hard they were white.

I want you home when I get back from this trip, Dallas. Is that clear?

Dallas shivered despite the heat. Yes, Bart, very clear, but I won’t be there.

Her heart pounded as she watched his hand on the window. It opened and closed just like it had last night. Once again, she imagined it around her throat, and the fingers of fear became a deep, bottomless pit.

She suddenly hit the power button to roll the window up, which caught Bart off guard. He tried to jerk his hand away but wasn’t fast enough. She heard his shocked expletive as his hand was squeezed between the glass and the door frame.

Tramp, he screamed, extricating his hand and cradling it against his chest. You’ll pay for that."

Dallas threw the small car into gear and accelerated past him. The last thing she saw in her rearview mirror was his tall, frightening form, standing deathly still and watching her retreat.

Dallas thought it reminded her of a dark and menacing shadow wavering in the bright sunlight.

CHAPTER TWO

The meeting with Irma wasn’t going well. Dallas realized she’d lost the older woman’s attention completely, so she stopped talking and watched as the Irma looked past her to the lobby. Irma’s wizened face went from grudging acknowledgment to barely concealed discomfort at whatever it was she saw there. She reminded Dallas of a child caught doing something questionable by an exceedingly tyrannical parent.

Dallas turned around in her chair to see what Irma was staring at. She silently prayed Bart hadn’t followed her out here to the island. She didn’t think she could take another scene this morning.

To Dallas’s relief, it wasn’t Bart. Instead, a man in a wheelchair sat just inside the door of the elegant lobby, backlit by the sun. It cast him in shadow yet made his silhouette glow with a strange light.

He seemed larger than life sitting there, like a product of Hollywood special effects. Best Dallas could tell, he was in his mid- to late sixties. Even in the chair, he gave the impression of strength and power. His face and hands glowed with a deep tanned bronze, making a striking contrast to his thick wavy silver hair. He had the most piercing blue eyes she’d ever seen, and they watched her intently.

Dallas stared back coolly. She saw a flash of amusement in the man’s bright and intelligent eyes; there was a slight upturn to his full mouth.

She couldn’t help noticing the residents, gathered around the tables for their midmorning coffee, had suddenly quit talking. It had all happened about the same time she lost Irma to the apparition in the doorway. Dallas mentally shrugged and turned back around, intending to ignore him and get on with the business at hand.

The lobby of the senior citizen’s high-rise, with its white-clothed tables and profusion of green plants, was cool and shaded. The elderly waiter wheeled a cart from table to table, offering coffee and pastries to its privileged occupants. Across from her, Irma stirred her coffee, looking nervous and distracted.

I don’t know how you drink coffee in this Florida heat, Dallas said. It was said more to drag Irma’s attention back to their meeting than out of any real interest in her choice of beverages.

You get used to it, Irma assured her.

The ploy worked. Remembering her duty, Irma picked up the proposal on the table between them and briefly scanned it again. With a sigh, she closed the folder and looked across the table.

Dallas searched for a reaction on her leathery face. There wasn’t anything there, except a few new lines of tension around her mouth, which Dallas attributed to the appearance of the stranger.

I don’t know, Dallas, whether you can sell this idea or not. Look around you. We’re well past the age where children are a major concern to us.

I know that. I also know you’re the chairman of the board of directors at the community center, Irma. In my mind, it should have something for everyone since it is a community center, which should include the kids that are moving into the community.

When the place was built, there were no children, Irma argued. This was a retirement community, and that’s all it was. A lot of these folks don’t want to see that change.

Dallas gave a sigh of resignation. They’d been round and round the subject for almost an hour, and she was tired. Then change the damned sign, she said as her voice rose while gathering up her papers. Change it to read Senior Citizens’ Center. In fact, have the whole town rezoned to keep everyone under sixty-five out of here. You could put a Keep Out sign at the city limits.

Looking up, Dallas realized her little tantrum was wasted. Irma had quit listening again. Her attention was focused back to the man at the door.

Dallas turned around again and watched as the man wheeled himself across the polished floor to a vacant table. He was dressed casually, even elegantly, in white linen pants and a blue linen shirt open at the neck only, which intensified the light in his eyes. There were soft white moccasins on his feet. No socks. Only tan ankles showed above the leather shoes.

Once at the table, he surveyed the room and its occupants with a proprietary air.

Dallas continued to watch the man intently, wondering about the effect he had on the older woman at her table. Some sort of history here? she mused. She couldn’t quite imagine the elegant man interested in the wizened Irma. But then, what did she know? She was still married to Bart.

Stay away from that man, Irma said quietly. He’s dangerous.

Dallas looked around in surprise. Irma’s dyed-red curls were quivering. This time, the fear in her eyes, behind the large, tinted glasses, was unmistakable. One wrinkled hand nervously rubbed the other.

What do you mean dangerous? Dallas was thinking he looked wealthy and important, not dangerous.

Just what I said, Irma insisted. He’s connected. Things happen to people who cross him. Bad things.

Rather than feeling warned, Dallas was intrigued. She focused her attention back on the man.

He returned her gaze with a level one of his own. As she watched, he snapped his fingers, and the darkly handsome young man with him motioned the old waiter to hurry up with the coffee.

Around her, the conversation was still muted. She had to admit to a grudging respect for anyone who could shut the gaggle of seniors up, even for a minute.

Who is he? She turned back to Irma.

Vic, Mr. Victor DeAngelo. Irma’s voice was reluctant, as if she was afraid saying the name might conjure the man up at their table. Her next words were uttered in a hushed tone, as if they should explain everything. He’s from New York City.

DeAngelo, huh? Dallas had heard that name mentioned on occasion since they’d moved to town but had never seen or met him. She hadn’t really paid much attention to the casual references. She chuckled softly. Are you trying to tell me he’s Mafia, Irma? That, if he decides he doesn’t like me, I’ll end up in the Intracoastal wearing cement booties? The idea amused Dallas, and a grin spread across her delicate features. My lord, nobody believes in that stuff anymore.

Around here they do. They have a reason to, and that man’s it. He runs this place, Dallas. I mean it. You had better stay well clear of him.

Dallas suppressed her grin when she saw how serious Irma was. "By this place, do you mean this overpriced collection of condos you manage, the community center, or the whole town?"

All of it, Irma answered quietly. And a lot more.

Dallas looked over at Vic again, this time with open speculation.

He looked back, the amused twinkle still in his eyes.

Then maybe I should be talking to him about funding for the children instead of wasting my time with you.

Don’t joke, Dallas. Nothing about Mr. DeAngelo is funny. Absolutely nothing. Irma stood, still looking visibly shaken. I’m not going to say anymore. You’ve been warned. She nodded curtly and retreated to the back of the lobby, where her resident manager’s office was located. Her coffee sat unfinished on the sparkling, starched cloth.

Warned, Dallas thought. I’ve been warned? How ridiculous. She gathered up her proposal and stuffed it back into her tote bag, resigning herself to another wasted morning. Even her slightest chance of convincing Irma to let her use the community center for a children’s theater had disappeared when DeAngelo showed up.

Dallas stood up, grabbed her tote, and headed to the door, very aware of DeAngelo’s intense eyes still watching her. When she was even with him, she inclined her head, just with a slight nod, and smiled. It was an unspoken acknowledgment the force of his personality and her respect for what he did upon entering a room.

I don’t know who or what you really are, she thought, still acutely aware of his gaze on her retreating back. But you sure do have a way of letting your presence be known. I like that, I like that very much.

Outside, she went through the routine with her car again, this time watching the lot around her nervously, half expecting another surprise visit from Bart. When the car’s interior was cool, she got in and drove down the winding drive past a sign that read The Presidio at Port St. Lucie. An Experience in Managed Senior Living.

Port St. Lousy is closer, she muttered, as she made a right turn and gunned the little car down the sun-dazzled street.

Behind her, the doors to the building slid soundlessly open. The man in the wheelchair had come out into the sweltering heat and watched her car make the turn out onto Port St. Lucie Boulevard.

The young man beside him dutifully wrote her tag number down in a leather-bound pad.

Get the car, Vic said. Follow her.

CHAPTER THREE

There wasn’t enough of the afternoon left to look for an apartment after Dallas took over rehearsals from JJ and finished them up. Instead, she left Coast Community College, where she and JJ both taught, and drove back to the Holiday Inn.

She walked Boo, fed him, gave him fresh water, and then promised to bring him a treat from the restaurant.

On her way in to eat, Dallas got an evening paper out of the box in the lobby then waited by the hostess desk. She would mark apartment possibilities during her solitary dinner.

Once seated, she opened the paper, took out her pen, and started reading the ads. She was only vaguely aware of the clink of ice against heavy glasses, the soft turning of the ceiling fan, and the drone of muted conversations around her.

Dallas.

Dallas felt her pulse race as soon as she heard the voice. She looked up to see Bart slide smoothly into the chair opposite her. She quickly put the paper down and hid her hands in her lap so he wouldn’t see how badly they were shaking.

Go away, Bart, she said. Please, just leave me alone.

Bart shook his head and motioned the waitress over. I can’t do that. He ordered a Beefeater’s martini, very dry, on the rocks; shaken, not stirred; and with a twist, put the olive on the side, not in the drink.

The words anal retentive came to Dallas’s mind as she listened. She brushed them away.

Bart watched the twitch of the young waitress hips until she disappeared into the bar, an unreadable expression on his brooding face.

When he turned back to her, Dallas decided she felt like a bug under a microscope, a bug he found particularly disgusting and would start pulling the legs off any minute. God, she thought, why did I ever think I loved him, much less, that he loved me?

You see, Bart continued, as if there’d been no break at all in his conversation. I own you, Dallas. I rescued you when your mother died, took care of you all these years, and now you belong to me. It’s really that simple. You can’t leave.

Dallas’s initial fear quickly flared into anger with Bart’s comment.

"Nobody owns