Bakra Bride (2 page)

Richard was a demanding boss, but a fair one. And from her very first day, he’d insisted that she call him by his first name, at least when it was just the two of them working together. In front of clients and other staff, she was always careful to call him Mr. Trenton. In fact, he’d told her to go home an hour ago and she’d really meant to, but one thing had led to another and she was still here. She knew he was still in the building because she’d seen his car parked out back when she’d gone to the vending machine for a chocolate bar, which she’d devoured in quick order. It had surprised her because he had his own parking spot out front and was usually very careful with his imported European sports car.

She’d chased down the problem they’d been having with one of their suppliers and if she could catch Richard before he left, she’d be able to find out how he wanted to handle the problem. Reaching into her shoulder bag, she shoved aside the empty candy bar wrapper, dug out her mini recorder and slid it into her jacket pocket. It was a godsend to her everyday work. After working for over three years as Richard’s assistant, she found it was easier to tape his reply and transcribe it later. Once he started, he might think of five or six other things he wanted her to take care of. This way, she kept everything straight.

Her sensible pumps made no sound on the carpet as she hurried down the hall. She heard voices as she neared Bob Simpson’s office. As head of the finance department, his hours were as erratic as hers were. Seems she wasn’t the only one working late.

The closer she got the louder the voices got. Obviously there was some kind of disagreement. She slowed down but didn’t announce herself. She didn’t want to get involved, but she decided she should know what the trouble was just in case it was something Richard needed to be informed about.

“You won’t get away with it.” She recognized Bob’s voice even though it sounded shaky. “You can’t embezzle millions from a company without someone finding out.”

She froze near the door. Embezzle? Millions? This was definitely something her boss needed to know. She hesitated, torn between going for security and staying and listening. That choice disappeared the moment the other person spoke.

“But I will get away with it, Bob. That’s the beauty of it. All the evidence points to you.” Jane couldn’t believe what she was hearing and crept closer so she could see through the partially open door. “In a moment of remorse you committed suicide. I will be suitably distraught, along with everyone else, and the company will be seen as a victim of your greed.”

Bob was tied to his chair. Sweat rolling down his temples as he struggled against his bonds. He was a slight man who wore wire-rimmed glasses and had thinning hair. The man standing next to him holding a gun in his hand was younger, stronger and wore a smile that chilled her. Her fingers tightened around the phone she held clasped in her hand. She looked down at it and stared. Before she could even think about what she was doing, she’d raised it and clicked a picture.

It was time to call the police. This was bigger than security could handle. She turned but stopped when Bob began pleading. While she watched, the man with the gun put the gun to Bob’s temple and fired. It made hardly any sound at all. Just a little pop. Bob jerked back in the chair and then slumped forward.

Jane froze at the sight of the blood and the gore, but somehow she automatically snapped another picture. The other man calmly untied Bob, pocketed the restraints and wrapped Bob’s fingers around the gun. It was only then that she realized he was wearing gloves.

Her stomach lurched and she knew that she was going to be sick. It was a miracle that she hadn’t even cried out. It felt as if her whole body was frozen. It was the slight clicking noise that shook her out of her stupor. She looked at her hand, amazed to see that she was still taking pictures. Her head jerked up as she heard the man getting closer.

Apparently self-preservation was stronger than fear because her feet were moving before she could tell them what to do. Quickly and silently, she hurried down the hall and ducked into the ladies room. The door had barely closed behind her when she heard the sound of a door closing down the hall. Almost afraid to breathe, she stood there and waited. The sound of the heavy door of the stairwell opening and closing seemed loud in the almost unnatural quiet.

As if her body had been just waiting for that moment to set her free, her legs gave out and she slid down the wall and sat down hard on the floor. Her stomach lurched and she scrambled on her hands and knees to the toilet, barely making it before she retched. Shaken, she sank back onto the cool tiled floor and curled up into a tight ball.

The phone was still clutched tight in her fingers. Taking a deep breath, she raised her phone to eye level and checked her pictures. Sure enough, there were several of them that were very good. The police would definitely need them. Rolling up onto her knees, she tucked the phone in her pocket. Her hand hit the recorder and she sucked in a breath. Was it possible? Pulling out the small device, she hit the rewind and then the play button. It was low, but she could just make out the conversation.

Her mind started working frantically now as an unnatural calm descended upon her. Pushing to her feet, she swiftly and quietly walked to her office, packed up her belongings and left the building. She wouldn’t be back. After all, once she’d turned her boss in for murder, she doubted she’d have a job.

*

Jane gazed at the woman staring back at her from the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing her. She’d changed so much in the last six months. Her hair was still shoulder-length, straight and black, and her eyes were still dark blue. But there was pain and cynicism in those eyes that hadn’t been there before. Her face had always been thin, but now it was gaunt and pale. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her bathrobe around her and left the room, snapping off the light behind her.

In two steps she was in her living room, which was also her bedroom. Her life had changed in many ways since the night she witnessed the murder. The police had been skeptical at first, until she’d produced the evidence. Then they’d been thrilled. She’d become their star witness and since then her life had been little more than a media circus.

Her posh apartment had been a job perk and she’d lost that the moment she’d accused Richard Trenton of murder. Most of the furniture had come with the place, so she’d rented a van and loaded up her personal belongings. The media had descended on her apartment about the same time security had come to kick her out. She’d just managed to get the last box out in time. Jobless, homeless and hunted by reporters, she’d headed to the one place she felt safe—the apartment building she’d grown up in. The place she still considered home.

Her father had worked the docks his entire life, running a forklift, loading and unloading the cargo ships that came into the harbor. She remembered a time when they’d had a small house. But after her mother left when Jane was six, her father had sold it when the courts had ordered him to pay his soon-to-be ex-wife a settlement. They’d moved into a large, old brick apartment building near the docks and her father had lived there until he’d died of a heart attack three years ago.

He’d been the best father a girl could ever want and he’d always wanted more for her then he could provide. She’d worked hard to make him proud of her. When she’d been promoted to personal assistant to the CEO of Trenton Industries, he’d been so happy and excited, telling all his friends about her accomplishments. He’d only lived a scant two months after that. It was as if he felt she was settled in life and he could let go. Jane knew he’d never got over her mother leaving them. She was glad he didn’t have to witness the life she’d built, the one that he was so proud of, crumbling around her.

She’d run back to the old apartment building, back to the friends she’d known her whole life, and they’d taken her in. The landlady, Shelly Abbott, was a no-nonsense, hard-talking woman in her early fifties, but Jane knew that behind the façade was a heart of gold. There had been no vacant apartments but Shelly and some of her father’s friends had cleared out an unused bachelor apartment in the basement, helped her paint it and found a few pieces of furniture to put in it.

This one room was all she had, but at least she had it. It was better than being homeless. Her ex-boyfriend had ditched her immediately. He didn’t want to be tainted by the scandal surrounding her. After all, he still worked for Trenton Industries. She’d thought they were building something special. They were compatible enough and the sex was good, but obviously their relationship hadn’t meant anything to him other than the fact that she’d worked closely with the boss.

Snorting, she crossed the small room, removed her robe to reveal the thin, short nightgown beneath and crawled onto the old iron daybed that sat against the far wall. It doubled as both bed and sofa and she’d covered it with a quilt she’d made years ago. All her art and valuables were gone, sold at pawn shops and consignment stores to raise money. She hadn’t known how long the trial was going to take, but she did know that no one would hire her until this was over. And maybe not even then.

Having grown up without money, Jane was quite good at sewing and needlework. She had bought a used sewing machine yesterday, determined to start taking in small sewing jobs to supplement her dwindling savings. Plus she enjoyed sewing, which was a bonus.

Reaching down to the end of the daybed, she smiled for the first time today as she pulled the piece of fabric towards her. She couldn’t believe she’d found such a treasure in a thrift shop. But there it had been, rolled up next to the sewing machine. At first, she’d passed it over, too excited about the possibility of owning her own sewing machine again to bother with it. But something had pulled her interest back to it time and again until she’d walked back over to it, picked it up and unrolled it.

She’d forgotten to breathe as she stared at it. The tapestry was about two feet wide by three feet long and was obviously very old. The rich colors created a picture unlike anything she’d ever seen in her life. A large stone castle stood in the background surrounded by a forest. There were pine trees, their needles a green so deep they looked almost black in places, and other trees covered with leaves of various shapes and sizes, in every shade of green imaginable, from dark and lush to bright and brilliant.

The longer she looked, the more she saw in the intricate design. Various birds and animals were hidden in the depths of the trees. There were flowers of every shape and color, many of which she didn’t recognize. But they were all beautifully framed against the castle and filled the meadow beyond it. The tapestry was truly a work of art. You could almost see the trees sway and smell the flowers on the air. It was breathtaking.

But it was the three warriors standing in front of the castle that captivated her. Their chests and arms rippled and bulged with muscles, even though they were standing with their arms folded across their chests. Only vests covered their torsos, leaving most of their chests and all of their arms bare. What looked to be wide metal bands, the color of bronze, were clasped around their upper arms and wrists.

Form-fitting pants molded strong thighs and cupped rather impressive bulges in the front. She licked her lips as she stared. They really were impressive and definitely created right out of the artist’s mind. No men could look that good. Leather boots that came to just below their knees completed their outfits. They all gave off an aura of barely leashed power that could explode at a moment’s notice.

They all had long blond straight hair. Strands of it flew out behind them as if it was being whipped around by an unseen wind. Proud and strong, they were the protectors of the castle and its inhabitants.

Their features seemed to take on a sharper definition the longer she’d stared at them. They looked similar enough to be related, probably brothers. They looked like Nordic gods with their long hair and pale blue eyes. The one in the center looked older than the other two, harder. His lips were thinner and his eyes were filled with carnal knowledge and sensual promise. If she shifted the tapestry slightly, she could almost make out the form of yet another warrior, but like a shadow, he seemed to fade in and out of the fabric, not quite there.

She shivered as she’d done in the thrift shop. Her reaction to it unnerved her. It drew her in and made her feel hot and achy. Her breasts had swelled and her nipples had pebbled against the cups of her bra. Between her thighs, she could feel her sex getting damp as she stared at them.

Closing her eyes, she could almost hear their voices, deep and slightly rough, promising all kinds of sexual delights. They would whisper in her ear, telling her in explicit detail what they wanted to do to her separately and together. Her eyes shot back open when she whimpered aloud. Pressing her legs together, she tried to ease the growing ache deep within. But that only seemed to make it worse.

She’d had to have the tapestry. Clutching it tight in her arms, she’d hurried to the cash register to find out how much it cost. She’d almost cried, the relief was so great, when the older white-haired lady running the shop had told her it was ten dollars. Deep in her soul, she knew it belonged to her and she knew she would have beggared herself to own it. She was just glad that she didn’t have to.

Pulling the tapestry up over her, she turned off the light and drifted off to sleep. She could almost imagine the hands of the warriors touching her. The skin on their hands would be rough as they caressed her skin.

Jane rolled over in bed, trying to get comfortable. Sighing, she thought about getting up and putting on the kettle to boil and making herself a cup of tea. That had become her nightly ritual. She hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in six months. With grim determination, she kept her eyes closed and tried to will herself back to sleep…

Something gnawed at the back of her brain. Had she heard a noise? Had something awakened her? Lying still, she listened carefully. Silence. That was the problem. It was too quiet. Down here in the basement, she could usually hear the sounds of the traffic on the street and the clanking of the ancient water pipes.