Evil Lntent

By Marilyn King

Dawn Preston, known as the richest girl in town, is well aware that being wealthy doesn’t always make life easy. But living is easy, and happiness prevails in Preston City for almost a year.

Then life gets complicated again. With Dawn’s marriage in a peril of her own making, Christi is struggling to survive an attack that has left her and Billy devastated. As Dawn and Christi strive through dark days and difficult times, the friends have each other, as they have in the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796045666

Marilyn King

Marilyn has written six cookbooks for Atlantic Monthly Press. She has self-published one cookbook and one how-to text. Marilyn and her husband, Joe, split their time between homes in Michigan and Florida. Sisters is her first work of fiction.

Book preview

Evil Intent

Marilyn King

Copyright © 2019 by Marilyn King.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2019909367

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-7960-4568-0

                Softcover        978-1-7960-4567-3

                eBook             978-1-7960-4566-6

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.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/03/2019

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgement

Prologue

Evil Intent

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 Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

There are so many people I would like to thank for encouraging me. My nephew Ronnie Lowe—so many memories of when I first started writing. Thank you for those memories, Ronnie! Honorable mention to his wife, Karen, and their daughters LeAnna and Brittany. And I want to thank my son, Danny, for the cover of my first novel, since I didn’t have much to say when I published my first, The Edge of Panic.

Thank you Shonda for what you said and you’re right. Everyone should read, at least the last chapter of The Edge of Panic again, if not the whole book. Thank you my nieces and nephews, cousins—oh yes! My two cousins Dina and Carol, especially. Thank you for your inspiration. And thank you so much, Rachael Montemayor for helping me decide ‘this or that’

Thank you, Rachael Rouse, Dori, Tricia, Karen, Sally and Kelly, Miranda Smith, Dave and Vickie Kerns. I appreciate all of you for your encouragement. And my cousin Billy Carpenter who used to come to my house, drink coffee, and read on those snowy winter days.

Thank you all!

And I could never have a book published without acknowledging my daughter, for Susie.

PROLOGUE

Van Morrison lifted the receiver of his private phone, an odd foreboding settling over him. Not a gut feeling. He’d had enough of that sensation to recognize— this was different, chillingly diverse.

He glimpsed the regal wall clock to his right, an accustomed habit when his phone rang. Hi, Chris.

Hey guy! How’d you know it was me?

You know I get it dead-on once in a while, he teased.

But it was unexpected. He customarily called her because she had no way of knowing when he’d be home.

Van tried to ignore unsettling sensations, telling himself Christi may have called to wish him an early Happy New Year. He met her while on assignment in Preston California in the ‘60s. The sixteen year old little sweetie captured his heart, and she brought unqualified joy to his life.

A shame he and Mike, her twin brother, couldn’t share that closeness.

Conflict rose over a girl. He had an ill-fated weakness. He called it love for Dawn. To disperse his unease, or at least mask it, he forced a light manner. Good to hear from you, kiddo. How are you?

I’m fine, Van. I took a chance you’d be home. How are you?

I’m good.

Glad to hear it. Um, a visit would’ve been nice while you were here.

Christi’s tone, more accusatory than disappointed, upped his wariness.

Can’t imagine why you didn’t stop by, she added, tossing in a smidgeon of sarcasm for good measure.

He discarded an attempt to mask anything. She knew, no doubt. But how?

How did you know?

Dawn told me.

She told you? He didn’t say the words aloud. Van repressed a moan, no inkling on how to respond to her disclosure. You still love me, golden girl? he asked, in a pitiable attempt to dismiss awkwardness through casual innuendo.

You know I do, Van.

Detecting a subdued note in Christi’s characteristically sunny disposition, he lit a cigarette, leaned back in his chair, heels crossed on his desk. Damn. Had she called just to inform him she was aware of his clandestine visit?

I was hoping you’d be home, Van. She hesitated. I called to tell you Mike and Dawn are getting married.

Her words floored him. His world tilted at a crazy angle. If he’d been in a regular chair he would have landed flat on the floor.

Although alarming apprehension had settled around him before he lifted the receiver, the information delivered with heartfelt sympathy, hit with blunt force trauma. When are they getting married?

"She’s on her way to the church, Van. You knew they were engaged."

Her words cut to his core. Yes, he’d known, but if memory served, typical wedding dates landed somewhere between spring and early fall, not on fucking New Year’s Eve.

Van, please. She paused, possibly to assess her words. Accept that she loves Mike. She loves him, Christi reiterated. And she needs him.

Thankful a response wasn’t required as he was too dumbfounded to reply, he covered the mouthpiece to clear his throat. His mind battled to reject grim certainty. In spite of conferring solemn compassion, her words sliced deep into his heart.

Who gets married on New Year’s Eve, Chris? Are you sure?

People get married every day of the year, she calmly replied.

But I know Mike. This must be his bright idea. Just like him, the little punk.

She released a tolerant sigh. Does it really matter, whose idea it was?

He registered her tangible concern and tried to shake off frustration.

Despair, panic, and disenchantment bombarded his senses. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t! Denial didn’t alleviate his disappointment or hostility.

Empty seconds ticked by as he struggled to accept irrefutable truth. It was Christi who informed him. He couldn’t, in all honesty, deny the blessed event’s certainty.

Memories amid regret abounded. Dammit.

Devastated by the appalling news, he couldn’t convey suitable gratitude for the call. Struggling to conceal his extensive reaction, he barely managed to withhold an audible moan.

His eyes flitted to the neglected Preston Review newspapers stacked on his desk. Somewhere in the midst, he would find the damning announcement in undeniable black and white.

Van clutched the phone so tight his hand ached. Dawn hadn’t given a hint that the future marriage was so damned soon impending.

If he’d perused the Community News sections when he first arrived, and flown to Preston, could he have prevented their marriage? Would he have done it? For his own selfish reasons?

I thought you might prefer to hear it from me, Van. I have to go now, she said, her tone sad. I understand you love her in your own way.

How did she view ‘his own way’? At any rate, her soft intrusion drew him away from difficult contemplations, forced him to relax and gain self-control.

Thanks, Chris. I wouldn’t have wanted to hear it from anyone else.

I’m sorry it’s so hard for you, she sympathized.

I appreciate you took the time. It means a lot, he answered, his voice low and troubled. Christi, would it be wrong to call her?

Yes, it would be wrong. Don’t you dare!

Expressly dejected, he tried again. Okay, I won’t. But tell her—

"Please don’t, she interrupted, unless you want to break her heart into little pieces."

Very well, he conceded, though it wasn’t ‘very well’ at all. I’ll convey my regards when it’s all said and done. Someday when we’re just friends.

Do you believe that can happen?

He couldn’t answer. In all honesty, he didn’t have a clue. Van swallowed his misery. He couldn’t even wish her happiness. It would result in a sorrowful impact on someone he couldn’t bear to hurt again.

And he couldn’t reveal his surging anger and frustration.

Go on, Chris, he said, amazingly projecting a calm facet. Go witness your brother wed the love of his life.

I love you, Van.

Love you too, sweetie.

Please, Van, call me real soon.

I will, promise.

Van hung up. He’d handled it well, reasonably well, anyway.

Hopefully he didn’t humiliate himself too horribly, in Christi’s valuable opinion. He’d bottled-up his worst obtuse attitudes and kept his most outrageous discrepancies inside his tortured mind.

If Dawn loved Mike enough to walk down that momentous aisle to him, he wouldn’t interfere. But he ached all over, having kept the simple truth hidden in the dark recesses of his mind, where he didn’t have to face the inevitable.

She loves him Van. Christi’s solemn words echoed hauntingly through his mind. And she needs him.

A preacher would soon pronounce them husband and wife, while he sat in solitary despair, discovering truth hurts and reality sucks.

Memories drifted to the summer of ‘68.

Dawn Preston: vulnerable, spirited, and sexy; wild innocence glowing in vibrant green eyes.

EVIL INTENT

Contemplating a dive into cool water, Dawn wiped away a drop of perspiration that tickled her ear. She’d had enough sun today, but lethargic serenity held her in semi-conscious bliss.

Stretching leisurely in an attempt to shake her apathy, she bolted upright, rudely awakened and gasping as ice cold water dripped on her tummy.

She heard familiar laughter and turned. Van?

Hey, sexy. He set the iced tea glass back on the side table.

Sunglasses shaded his dark eyes, but his look touched her, intimate as a physical caress. How are you, sweetheart?

Dawn smiled, warmed by the pet name. You caught me off guard with the icy drip. Otherwise, I’m fine.

Sorry, couldn’t resist.

Taking in his male physique, tall and lean, muscles clad in black tee shirt and soft denims, she took on a nonchalant façade. I’ll forgive you once.

She slid her sunglasses on. What brings you to Preston, Van? Were you in the neighborhood and decided to drop by? … or are you here to clean-up our mean streets again?

He chuckled. No, I’m on vacation, a much needed vacation, he added. I thought of Preston, and you. I’ve missed you, Dawn.

He missed her? Her heart took a perilous leap, but she hid her pleasure in his disclosure. When would you find time to miss me, Van?

Dawn swung her legs to the side and stood. Taking a slow breath to calm her wildly beating heart sent it into full gallop as Van’s seductive scent filled her senses. Managing not to swoon, she patted moisture from her face and chest.

It’s good to see you, Van. Let’s go inside, she suggested, casual in spite of heightened sensations.

Van cupped her face in his palm, an unexpected, solemn facet surprising her. I’m sorry, he said softly.

Her countenance fell as his did, uncomfortable and curious by his unusual mindset. What prompted such serious contemplation? Dawn’s thoughts rambled aimlessly, searching for answers.

She couldn’t imagine why he apologized out of the blue for no reason.

Van’s hand dropped, and he lifted his shoulder in a gesture specific to dislodge tight muscles.

Why are you sorry, Van? What was that about?

His left eyebrow raised a fraction. It was about me being an idiot.

Well, I won’t argue with that. Dawn feigned casualness she didn’t quite feel. Let’s go inside, she said again.

They removed their sunglasses as they entered through the patio doors.

They strolled to the bar, and Van slid onto a stool while Dawn traveled around the curved counter. She set out glasses and filled them with ice from the mini fridge under the bar. What’s your pleasure, Van? Realizing her erroneous phrasing, she said, I mean—the usual?

He didn’t comment on her word choice, but his expression sorta did. His intense gaze on her tanned skin, too revealing in her bikini, jolted her cautious instincts. Yes, the usual, please. . .

Dawn poured bourbon over ice for Van, mixed a screwdriver for herself and placed their drinks on coasters. He lifted his drink and tasted. So, do you have a good little homebody routine going on these days?

Yes, I do. And a happy wife and mother routine. Why didn’t she say the words aloud? Why didn’t she verify her love and accountability?

His lips twitched amusedly. I admit for your ears only, Dawn, you’re the loveliest homebody I’ve ever had the pleasure to come across.

Her heart fluttered with excitement in response to his powerful appeal, both thrilling and dangerous. Admittedly, she hadn’t outgrown his allure, which wasn’t a plausible excuse for her immature reaction to his sexual innuendo.

Now you’re just being silly.

No, Dawn it’s unreal. You’re more gorgeous than I remember.

Thank you, my fine sweet-talking friend.

But it’s true.

I accept the compliment, she said, telling herself his easy flattery was harmless, good natured fun. I suppose any woman would appreciate that she’s grown more beautiful, but I won’t take it to heart. Make yourself comfortable, Van. I’ll get my robe and join you.

He spread his hands, simulating bafflement. Is that necessary? he asked casually. I just wanna look. Why deny me such a simple treat?

Dawn smirked at his feigned pout maneuvering to dodge a useless attempt to grab her, stepping further behind the counter, pleased he’d turned playful, no longer portraying the solemnity depicted earlier.

Van slid his tongue across his lower lip, sexy and provocative. Whether inherent or an insidious urge to entice, it reflected his passionate nature.

Denying you isn’t easy, my incorrigible friend.

Her attempt at humor fell short, ringing too true to hold a witty aspect.

His expression held a bold challenge, subtly predatory, sending her impassioned nature into a tailspin.

You are incorrigible, you know, Dawn said, over her shoulder, his suave ambiance touching too effectively on her sensuality.

In her room upstairs, she snatched her swimsuit cover off a hook in the walk-in closet, slipped it on and hesitated, staring. Her mirror image revealed the delicate garment, meant for style, merely enhanced her form.

Good sense mandated her mid-thigh, terrycloth, comfy robe, would be a wise choice. But Dawn shook off the cautionary twinge, electing not to appear too conservative. They were friends.

The rationalization played through her mind easily. Descending the stairs, her conscience didn’t let it slide, posing a disturbing question.

Had anything changed since she last saw him? His slow smile, enticing eyes, and charming demeanor incited naïve, youthful aspirations, excitement too real to ignore.

Van had set their drinks on the coffee table. He sat laidback on the soft leather sofa. His searing glimpse swept her skimpily clad body.

Remind me to never object to your robe, he said.

Dawn gravitated toward him, recognizing her attire had been deliberately hopeful of his appreciation, denying the impact of his provocative appraisal and disarming magnetism.

Mike did a decent job decorating, he said as she settled beside him.

What do you mean? she said, bemused.

He lifted his glass. Leather and hardwood floors are easy tells. You’re fabric and plush carpet, baby, barefoot in ankle deep carpet.

I do love my carpet, she said agreeably.

And you wouldn’t choose to display your pictures.

He gestured to a sidewall, a select family and friends grouping. That’s more your style. Tell me I’m wrong.

"You’re not wrong, Van. The sidewall is mine. The rest is Mike’s décor. You do know me."

I made it a point.

Dawn watched as he fell into contemplative silence, once more leaving her to wonder.

He realized his mistake. Acknowledged he should get up and leave right now, but he couldn’t—or he wouldn’t. What was he doing here? Why couldn’t he accept she was married and let it be? Did he actually believe he could come to her home, enjoy a sociable chitchat and go on his merry way?

The instant he saw her lying on the chaise lounge, he’d lost all reason.

He couldn’t defend coming here, or wanting to touch her, hold her, make love to the woman he shouldn’t have let go.

How is Mike? he asked.

Dawn attempted a smile, failed in the effort, and bit her lip feeling a conscientious ripple of unease.

He’s fine.

Is he good to you?

His words surprised her. Powerless to fathom such an illogical question, she downed an unrefined gulp of her screwdriver.

Van wasn’t a stranger to Mike’s character.

She meant to give him an inquisitive glance, but she couldn’t pull away as their eyes met. Yes, he’s good to me. Why do you ask?

"Is he good for you?"

Swept away in his wake, Dawn’s heartbeat quickened. Yes, he’s good for me. I love him, Van.

At last, she managed to look away. Staring into her glass didn’t alleviate mystifying complexities. Placing a hand under her chin, Van urged her to turn toward him.

They were face to face again, and he leaned even closer. His sweet breath teased her, the faint whiskey essence titillating, awakening aspirations that held an immoral distinction. His musing regard weakened her defenses

I have too many memories. I haven’t forgotten a single one. I let you slip away. Love doesn’t come easy, and I let it slip through my fingers.

His lips brushed hers, the subtle persuasion enticing.

Unbidden memories emerged to fan the flame as he took her mouth in firm possession, teasing, tasting, and achingly familiar, demanding response.

Dawn responded unfalteringly … to his revealing words as much as his kiss. And innocent flirtation lunged into delicious forbidden acts.

His urgent yearning propelled spirals of ecstasy tingling along her nerves. Thrilled by his disclosure, dormant passions revived, she surrendered to hungry kisses, her mouth clinging to his, the present lost to the past.

I tried like hell, he mumbled, between fervent kisses. I tried to put you behind me.

His hand caressed her thigh, and resistance collapsed. Vulnerable to his desire, her conscience drowned amid ardent kisses. Separating the robe, Van’s rousing touch tempted her body.

His mouth left hers to burn against her flesh. Let me, Dawn.

With three little words he stole the right to intimacy. Her limbs weak, she acceded without any pretext to justify her actions.

The delicate nylon slid away from her breast. He possessed the firm nipple, his lips stimulating her to exquisite delight. Stripped of willpower her safe world shattered to a sheer illusionary mist.

Longing flowed through her drugged senses, his raw sexuality carrying her away. Dawn moaned in protest against the ache to open her legs to him, craving what he wanted to give, disgusted by her weakness.

Identifying the disgrace in her actions mediated a portion of sanity.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. Please stop. If you ever cared about me, Van, please stop. This is no good, no good at all. It’s not what I want.

Liar! The accusation echoed clearly within her mind.

She’d lost herself in his arms but she couldn’t let desire for him override what she had left of her morality.

His wistful eyes met hers, and she crumbled at the raw hunger within—she might have given in if he hadn’t backed down, adeptly adjusted her bikini top. He tugged the robe around her shoulders. Forgive me. I didn’t mean for this to happen. That isn’t why I came here.

She’d hoped he would be angry with indignation at her refusal to finish what they started. But Van didn’t give her an easy way out. Instead of hostility he revealed only sadness and regret.

He picked up his drink. It’s way too easy to lose control.

Disturbed by an impulse to reach out to him, to comfort him, she didn’t ignore the necessity to put distance between them. Dawn stood on weak legs and wandered over to the patio doors.

The sunlit day mocked her vulnerability as guilt stirred.

Standing behind her, Van interrupted her grim reveries. I must have been insane to let my inconceivable hate for Burton come between us. It’s so damned insignificant.

Insignificant? How could Van dismiss the reason for so much sorrow with a single word? His warm hands on her shoulders, he firmly massaged her tense muscles, upsetting any balance she had left.

He turned her around. Too close.

I’d appreciate a neat shot of your best bourbon.

Thankful for any distraction to escape his sensuous aura, she sidestepped Van and headed for the bar. She filled a shot glass with Rare Eagle Bourbon and carried it to him. He stared at the amber liquid, frowning into the glass.

Then his eyes rose to meet hers. I fell in love somewhere along the way, Dawn. His mouth curved in a wry grin. And I never stopped loving you.

Too stunned to speak, she walked away. Weakened by the irony, she made her way back to the sofa. Why did he say he loved her now? He hadn’t said those pretty words, even when he asked her to accompany him to New York.

Lost in confusion and misery, she imagined he did. It was difficult to face the harsh truth.

I understand why you turned away, he said. You have every right.

No, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t possibly.

Van sat beside her. Thankfully he didn’t move to touch her in any way, to hold her hand or console her. Christi phoned the day you married Mike. When she told me I lost it. It took all my will not to make a complete fool of myself. I didn’t want to believe it. I don’t want to now.

Unable to reject the longing he created, her chest tightened with emerging hostilities and dispirited joy. His return to Preston years ago, when he offered her the world, then ripped it away, had devastated her. Now he had the nerve to proclaim his love?

She desperately wanted him to take it back. You don’t love me, Van.

Ah Dawn. His expression a stark image of remorse, he stroked her arm. I didn’t expect to tell you how I feel.

But you did! Inflamed sentiments left her speechless.

Did he think expressing regret would lessen the impact? She searched for words to deny the obvious. Denial wouldn’t accomplish a thing. Any effort to disavow would highlight the adoration she couldn’t refute.

You were engaged, but I convinced myself you wouldn’t marry him, that you would be here for me.

The unreasonable words hung in the air between them.

As he took her left hand in his, one finger stroking the modest diamond and band she fought to keep her heart cold and still.

I’ve lived in ignorant denial for almost a year, too busy to actually dwell on it, but you’re wearing the proverbial little golden band.

His gaze pierced her heart, smoldering hunger lying in wait.

Was he the least bit aware of the turmoil he’d triggered? Or the fantasies she didn’t dare contemplate? The whole exchange had a surreal quality.

Van passed his thumb across the golden band again before he released her hand. You have a good life, Dawn?

I have more than a good life.

I bet he’s a great dad.

Yes, he is. I couldn’t ask for more.

It was true, all true. Tears flooded her eyes.

Where is Jamie? Napping?

He goes to his grandma’s on Friday.

He nodded, tipped the shot glass to his lips and downed the contents.

Why did you wait to profess your love now, Van, when you had every opportunity before?

I have a lot of regrets. I’m afraid I made a huge mistake coming here, but I couldn’t have stayed away forever.

Cupping her chin tenderly in his warm hand, his lips brushed hers, gentled by inhibited passion. Desire simmered, the fire unquenched. I’d better go.

Dawn closed her eyes, troubled beyond measure. Will I see you again?

Count on it. . . Dawn, are you okay?

No, she wasn’t anywhere near ‘okay’.

His sensitive fingers stroked her cheek. Believe me, I didn’t come here to—I didn’t mean to complicate your life again.

Her head swam in disillusion. How could he not have known the upheaval it would cause, when passion burned hauntingly within his compelling eyes?

Dawn accompanied him to the door, but they parted without an embrace, afraid to trust hers arms around him, afraid she wouldn’t be able to let go.

Dawn locked the door and paused.

Her hand on the knob, she revisited the painful scene at Lindsey’s Bar, the heartache and humiliation a vivid memory. Van apologized before he left town, but his apology eluded her son, referring to no more than his senseless, extreme reaction.

He visited Preston for a weekend, a month before she married Mike and afforded no indication that his outlook had changed. What motivated his unusual penitence and unexpected vow of unconditional love?

The confession warmed her for a risky moment, but she didn’t deceive herself. Whatever they had, if they ever had anything truly meaningful, ended a year ago; pursuance led nowhere. Technically it ended long before then.

Her love for Mike prevailed. She renewed her conviction to become Mrs. Jonathan Michael Temple, released the past, and stepped into a positive future. Now her positivity quaked in peril. And it was unfair—she didn’t ask for this desolate explosion of wrecked emotions and feeling of immorality.

Their first night out, Mike asked if she know Van was jealous.

After breezing into the Cactus Flower, an elegant young woman fawning over him, he crudely indicated rancorous derision that she had an escort for New Year’s Eve.

Oblivious to jealousy, she merely registered Van’s hostility, certain any amorous sentiments for her died at Lindsey’s when his cruel words and actions broke her heart and shattered her dreams.

At one point, he ambushed her in the back of the lounge, demoralizing her with rude accusations and disrespect bordering on contempt.

No, it was a classic he didn’t want her, but he didn’t want someone else to have her scenario. He was angry because she was with another man. She decided to have a good time in spite of him.

But she hadn’t intended to fall in love with Mike.

They’d known each other for years. She appreciated his ideal qualities, and she’d had a schoolgirl crush, but considered him her ‘best friend’s brother’.

As they became better acquainted, she discovered they shared preferences in movies, books and music, intimate dinners out, or joining friends at the beach, roasting marshmallows over a bonfire.

Why had she placed her incomparable life in jeopardy? Mike personified everything she could hope for in a man: the security of a stable relationship, a friend, an exciting, devoted lover.

She’d walked back through the house lost in contemplation.

Entering the den, Van’s enticing scent engulfed her. Reminiscing stolen embraces, Dawn panicked. What had she done? Pure delight and total absurdity, the risk she’d taken scared her half to death.

The mess on the coffee table prompted a sharp stab of guilt. Dawn emptied the decorative ashtray, changed the small trashcan liner, and carried away the stale cigarette odors to the outside receptacle.

The air purifier cleared his telltale, delectable scent from the den, while she washed, rinsed and dried the ashtray and glasses.

The day’s events were behind her.

She brushed her teeth and tongue, and thoroughly rinsed with mouthwash, replacing his taste with peppermint. Soaking in a tepid bath, luxurious lavender scented soap helped calm her frazzled nerves. She kept her focus on Mike, on their remarkable, sacred, appropriate love.

If Van should call, she’d tell him, as he’d expressed, it had been a huge mistake, to please go back to wherever he came from and leave her in peace.

She toweled off, wrapped her hair turban style, pulled on her comfy robe, and sat at the vanity unenthused. Ignoring the lethargic mind-set, she applied her makeup with adept expertise.

Unshed tears caused her chest to ache over lost loyalty. She couldn’t face the consequences if Mike perceived she’d allowed risky intimacy. She refused to even entertain the possibility. It would be fine. It had to be!

Dawn appraised her solemn reflection for any perceptible indiscretion.

Not a trace. Hazy melancholy behind her customarily bright green eyes hardly revealed her secret.

Clearly besieged in the bewildered volatility of yesterday’s young girl, she emulated innocence, the faithful wife who kissed her husband before he left for work this morning.

CHAPTER TWO

Leaning against the doorframe, Christi surveyed her efforts. She’d created a setting that emanated warm ambiance. A delicate, white, crocheted tablecloth spread over the simple round dining table, transformed it to elegance.

The ‘special occasions’ bone china, and gleaming silverware, the crystal wine decanter holding Cabernet Sauvignon, coordinated glasses and candlestick holders, were gifts from Dawn on birthdays and Christmas.

If Billy happened to inquire about a forgotten anniversary, curious due to the exceptional preparations, she would merely present a sly grin, igniting more interest and speculation.

While Billy tended to the steaks sizzling on the grill, she would finish the salad, mash potatoes, and set out rolls and condiments.

After a candlelit dinner, Billy might be duly suspicious as she escorted him arm-in-arm to the den. But she wouldn’t tell him until they finished their gala evening with mood lighting, more romantic music, and slow dancing.

Of course, he probably would have figured it out by then.

Christi pressed her hands against her still-flat tummy, basking in dreamy aspirations. When she quit birth control two years ago, she acceded when she didn’t conceive within six months, that it might take longer than she imagined.

Her doctor’s reassurance helped at first, but as she turned the calendar pages month-by-month, panic closing in, it became far more difficult to accept encouragement.

Two years of wishing and hoping for a baby passed slowly by as they waited, facing disappointment as months passed, imagining various improbable reasons why she couldn’t get pregnant. Today Dr. Hart confirmed their dream, congratulating her on the long-awaited pregnancy.

When she was dating Billy, terrorized by John Burton, and forced to keep their relationship a secret from Dave, her sadly misled brother, she’d doubted on occasion if they could ever have the life she imagined.

Positive attitude aside, deception and fear instigated disillusion, creating a roadblock to a totally optimistic attitude.

Besieged by memories, Christi poured a cup of coffee.

She sat at the breakfast bar, absorbed in sorrow, musing over the ’68 drug bust that stunned Preston. An overall success except it cost her brother’s life—taken too young—his future stolen. Thankfully, Dave and Billy became friends, differences relinquished before that awful night.

It took years for Van Morrison, undercover cop,