Blue Clouds Mass market paperbound - 1998

Excerpt

"Believe me, Phillippa, this hurts me as much as you."

Pippa heard Abigail's voice through a fog of disbelief. She recognized her
supervisor's compassionate expression, but the words weren't sinking in.

"I fought against it every step of the way," Abigail continued. "You're a
good worker; we have no complaints at all. We'll give you excellent
references, call other hospitals in the chain if you wish to relocate,
anything you ask. It's just that we're downsizing like everyone else in
the business today, keeping our margins intact, and the administrative
staff is the first to go. We can't cut back on essential care."

The words pounded against Pippa's skull. Any time someone said it hurt
them as much as it hurt her, she knew they lied. Nothing would ever hurt
as much as the blows that always followed. She just couldn't believe the
blows came from this direction. She'd worked at the hospital for ten
years. It had been her mainstay through her mother's illness. Her friends
were here. Her family. The support network she needed for survival. How
could they strip away her life and call it something so inexplicable as
"downsizing"?

Especially now. They knew how her life had fallen apart this past year.
How could they take away the one certainty she possessed? She had awards
hanging on her office wall. She had letters of appreciation. Even those
grim vultures in the administrative offices smiled at her when they passed
her in the halls. She felt accepted here, wanted, needed. Her job was all
she had left.

Abigail fell silent and awaited Pippa's response. What could she say?
Quaking inside, Pippa stood up. To her horror, tears burned her eyes. She
wouldn't go out weeping and wailing. She wouldn't. Her mother had taught
her to keep a stiff upper lip. Chin up. Persevere. Don't let anyone get
you down.

She wanted to throw up.

Scraping the chair back, she avoided Abigail's gaze as she nodded and
mumbled something about finishing the Carlson case, then turned to make
her escape.

"Pippa, I'm sorry." Abigail sounded as shaken as Pippa felt. "I know
you've just lost your mother. If there had been any other way ..."

Pippa waved a careless hand, keeping her face averted. "I've needed to get
away anyway. I'll see you later."

Practically running, she fled the room. Despite all her efforts to contain
them, tears streamed down her face, and she hurried into the closest
ladies' room, the public one where the staff wouldn't go. She didn't want
anyone seeing her like this, not Pollyanna Pippa. She'd always had an
uplifting phrase, a word of encouragement when things looked blackest.
She'd always managed a smile no matter how much the stress piled up.
People relied on her when the going got tough.

She locked the stall door, yanked off a length of toilet paper, and rubbed
at the tears, cursing the fact that her purse and Kleenex were back at her
desk. Panic welled inside her; she wished she could think straight, but
she could only wipe at her running nose. She had to get control, her
mother would say. But her mother was dead.

That returned the tears in cascades. She hadn't cried like this since the
doctor first diagnosed her mother's inoperable cancer. She hadn't cried
like this at the funeral. After that initial burst of tears over the shock
of the diagnosis, she'd cheerfully made her mother's last years as
peaceful as could be. She'd rejoiced that she'd worked at a hospital where
she could learn the names of all the top physicians, knew the very best,
most modern treatments. Her mother had lived comfortably for years, and
Pippa had thrived on knowing she had helped.

Her brother, Mitchell, hadn't been able to contribute much. He lived too
far away and had a family to support. He'd flown in occasionally for a
weekend, but he really didn't have the resources to do that often, or to
help financially. And her sister, Barbara, was the same. She'd called
frequently, sent cards, and wished she could get away to help, but she had
small children at home. They'd both married and moved away to big cities
long ago, leaving Pippa, the youngest, at home. Pippa hadn't complained.
She'd only felt grateful that she hadn't been otherwise attached when the
doctor diagnosed the cancer. Mitchell and Barbara had been grateful to
her. She'd felt needed, important, a part of everyone's lives.

Then her mother had died.

Now, she had no one who needed her, nothing to go home for. Mitchell and
Barbara had their spouses and children and in-laws. They didn't need
Pippa's help. She had denied the emptiness, the pain of loss, for months,
and now that Abigail had ripped her open, she couldn't stop crying. She
sobbed at the nothingness her life had become as much as for the loss of
her mother.

She was thirty years old, with no job, no family, and no future. She was a
useless piece of furniture ready for the garage sale. She didn't
understand it. She'd done everything right, done everything she was
supposed to do. She'd been a dutiful daughter, a hardworking employee, a
good, churchgoing, responsible citizen. What had gone wrong?

She couldn't even think about the worst of it. She wouldn't think of
Billy. She didn't need terror on top of tears. She needed to get control,
march back to her desk, finish up the case she was working on, pack up her
things, and go, without looking back. She couldn't handle the farewells
and the tears and the pity. She wouldn't tell anyone. She would just
leave. She could do that. She could lift her chin, straighten her
backbone, and do what had to be done. Her mother had taught her that. She
wouldn't lose a lifetime of lessons over a stupid job.

Blowing her nose, Pippa unlocked the stall door.

She could find another job. She was good. She knew she was good. She
didn't have a family to support, so she could look around and be choosy.
The house was paid for. The insurance was paid up. She'd never drawn
unemployment, but she supposed she was entitled now. That should take care
of the utilities and groceries. Her mother's illness had drained every
last drop of savings, so she couldn't fall back on any nest egg, but she
would survive. She had set aside part of her checks these last months
since the funeral, hoping to buy a new car, but she could get along with
the old one for a while longer.

She would just keep looking at the positive side of things. All clouds had
silver linings.

Washing her face, she dried it with a rough paper towel and glared at the
mirror. The red-rimmed eyes didn't help. Chubby cherub cheeks had given
everyone the impression that she was as cheerful as her nickname, and
she'd always done her best to live up to everyone's expectations. But she
didn't feel like Pollyanna right now. Her mouse-brown hair escaped the
clamp she'd yanked it into this morning. She really should get it cut, but
Billy liked it long. It was a damned nuisance. She resolved to make a hair
appointment tomorrow.

The day had no end. The phone rang incessantly, making it impossible to
finish the Carlson case. Word had apparently leaked, and she endured the
well-meaning consolations of people she'd thought of as family these past
years. The worry on the faces of others not yet informed if their
positions would get the ax hurt more than anything. So many of them were
the sole support for their families. Pippa congratulated herself on not
having children. In this uncertain world, how could one take care of them?

Clinging to that note of thanksgiving, she finally finished the Carlson
case, closed the file, ignored the ringing phone, and grabbed her old
high-school overcoat.

Icy sleet hit her face as soon as she walked out the door. It was April,
dammit! Would spring never get here? Did the whole world weep with her,
then? Well, it could just stop right now. She wasn't weeping anymore. She
was getting angry. Furious. She'd worked her damned butt off for ten
years, and for what? For a lousy note of gratitude and a polite reference?

The car door was stuck, of course. She'd run out of de-icer after that
last storm and hadn't bothered to restock, foolishly thinking spring was
just around the corner. Curse and drat it. This was Kentucky, for heaven's
sake. Surely God knew they didn't have winter here.

She checked two of the other three doors. The back passenger door hadn't
worked in years, so there was no use in trying that. The original shiny
brown of the aging Escort had faded until she could no longer distinguish
dirt from paint. Rust corroded both rear fenders. She had often
contemplated shoving the car into the river, but it got her to the
hospital and back. She hadn't needed more.

Kicking the driver-side door and adding another dent, Pippa loosened some
of the ice.

The sleet slashed down heavier, obscuring much of the parking lot in the
dusky grayness of late evening. She'd left early, so she didn't hear any
of the cheerful chatter of staff departing for the day.

A shadow emerged from the murky veil, startling her. She yanked the door
harder, this time in panic.

The voice accompanying the shadow failed to provide reassurance.

Billy.

"I've got my car here, Phillippa. I'll take you home."

Once, she had looked on that masculine reliability as reassuring. She had
gratefully accepted his help all those times the car had broken down, the
plumbing froze, or her mother took a turn for the worse. But the price she
paid for that reassurance was way too high. Shivering, as much from fear
as cold, Pippa jerked on the door again.

"Go away, Billy, I'm fine. I'll take my own car home." She knew she
taunted trouble speaking to him that way. He hated it when she did that.
She knew what happened when she did things he hated. But right now, the
anger and frustration inside her begged for the fight that would follow.
Maybe somewhere in her subconscious, she thought she deserved it. She'd
taken enough psychology classes to know the complexities of the human
psyche.



She wished she had a can of Mace in her purse.

"I've been waiting for you, Phillippa. You're off early. We need to talk.
Let's go over to Shoney's and get something to eat."

He took her elbow, using his greater strength as a lever, forcing her away
from the car. In his blue police uniform, he seemed taller and broader
than most men. Wildly, Pippa imagined people thinking he was arresting her
as he tugged her away like that.

"Let me go, Billy, or I'll scream." She jammed her elbow backward,
striking his midsection, but there was nothing soft about Billy. He
grunted but didn't loosen his grip.

"Don't, Phillippa. Don't make me mad. I want to make things up to you. I
didn't mean to hurt you. You know that. I love you. I just want to take
care of you and make you happy. We'll talk, and you'll see. Things will
change. We can get married now. Everything will be all right."

Sometimes, Pippa wondered if he was in his right mind. Didn't policemen
undergo some kind of psychological exam before acceptance? She stamped on
his toe as hard as she could, but he wore steel-reinforced boots and
probably didn't even notice.

"Billy, I've told you, it just won't work. I don't love you. I don't want
to marry you. And I don't want to go to dinner with you. I've had a really
rotten day and I want to go home. Alone. Do you understand anything I'm
saying at all?"

Once, she'd believed his warm reassurances, his words of love and
commitment. She'd planned their dream home, the number of children they
would have, the loving partnership they would share. She'd longed for it
with all her heart, given him everything he asked for and more, relying on
him for everything. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. She would never let that
happen again.

"I hear you, Phillippa, but you're not listening. I'm going to change.
You're the woman I love, and I'm not letting you go. You're mine. We both
know it. Now, come along and stop this foolishness. You can't even get in
your car."

She knew this was where it would start, just as soon as he started calling
her "his." Without bothering to reason any further, she screamed. She
opened her mouth and let fly every frustration, every ounce of rage, every
instance of self-pity, desperation, and destroyed trust she'd suffered
today and every day before that. She screamed and kicked and pounded and
bit until he hauled her like a howling whirlwind across the parking lot.

She aimed for his testicles when he adjusted his grip.

He let her go, then backhanded her so hard she stumbled and hit the
pavement. Pain shot through Pippa's elbow as it connected with the
blacktop. Her hip slammed into a concrete separator. She tried scrambling
away, knowing what would follow, but his steel-toed boot caught her leg.

She kept screaming. She'd warned Billy she would report him. She'd
threatened to get a court order and humiliate him in front of the entire
force. He'd stayed away this past week. She'd thought herself safe.

Even as he leaned over to grab her by her hair--the long hair that he'd
ordered her not to cut--a voice shouted from somewhere beyond the veil of
sleet and blood and panic.

"Let her alone, you bastard! Let her alone, or I'll shoot!"

Henry. Thank God for Henry. Pippa whimpered with relief. As a night
security guard, Henry looked harmless. She'd offered him plenty of cups of
coffee those nights she'd stayed late. They'd exchanged pleasantries as
she checked out in the evenings. He must be in his sixties, no bigger than
herself, and hunched with arthritis, but he had a gun. She prayed Billy
hadn't gone beyond caring. Billy carried a gun, too.

"Pippa, can you stand up? We're here. Just back away from him. Henry's got
him covered."

Tears welled in her eyes once more. Quickly, Pippa backed away from
Billy's dangerous feet, pushing herself up with her hands, letting other
hands grab her and heave her up. She didn't know how many of them were
there. She didn't care. Shaking, she kept backing away, letting the people
swarming out of the building surround her, protect her, separate her from
Billy and his rage. Her friends had come to her rescue. She still had
friends. Weeping at the knowledge, she allowed them to lead her away.




Her scrapes and bruises neatly cleaned and bandaged, her spirits
temporarily mended by hugs and reassurances, Pippa finally arrived home,
only to discover the front door unlocked.

She never forgot to lock the door. Her chest tightened in the familiar
sensation of fear. Mentally, she knew Billy couldn't be here. She'd called
the police this time. She had witnesses. Surely he was behind bars now.

Emotionally, Pippa still felt Billy's blows. Her hand shook as she pushed
open the door.

It took only one step inside before her knees crumpled under her. On the
floor, she covered her mouth with her hands to hold back her cries.

He'd shredded her cozy nest into straw. Family photographs lay in tatters,
ripped from the walls, glass and frames shattered. As if a tornado had
swept through, the old furniture had been overturned and flung against
walls, damaging plaster and delicate bric-a-brac.

Picking herself up, stumbling across the debris to the phone, Pippa nearly
fell over the kitchen table before she looked down. In shock and horror,
she stared at Clio Kitty lying in a pool of blood.

It was one straw too many.

Pippa threw up.