Kay David - Obsession

“What in hell do you think you’re doing?” He clutched the pistol, holding it out of her reach.

“You damn near killed me!”

“That was my plan!” Her chest heaved, her breath coming fast. “Did you think I would let you blackmail me, threaten my children-ruin my life-and get away with it?”

“Ruin your life? What do you call what you’ve done to me?”

He was panting with the effort of disarming her, yet his glare was so cold, so chilling, she felt a shiver go up her back. If she’d needed any confirmation, this was it. He knew what she had done.

“I can’t be responsible for changes in the market.”

He shook his head like an angry bull. “The market didn’t change. You deliberately traded that money the wrong way. You bought dollars, and you should have bought bolivianos. You knew what was going on, and you went the wrong way on purpose.”

“Not according to the change order you signed. You told me to buy dollars. I have it in writing.” She stared at him steadily, while inside she was quivering.

His eyes narrowed into two angry slits. “I didn’t sign any such order and you know it.”

“Maybe I do,” she said slowly, “but no one else will. I have a signed order, and it’s locked in my desk.”

Her words took up all the space between them and filled the tense silence. After a moment, he shook his head, a gleam approaching admiration coming into his cold gaze.

“You planned this, didn’t you? The trade, my anger…this.” He lifted the gun, and the metal caught the light and glinted malevolently. “You were going to tell the police I was angry over the trade and broke in here. That you killed me in self-defense.” He shook his head. “I’d almost be impressed, Emma, except it didn’t quite pan out, did it?”

“The night’s not over yet,” she said.

“That’s the first thing you’ve been right about all evening.”

He smiled, and something skittered down her back again, something cold and truly fearful. Refusing to give him the pleasure of seeing her fright, Emma held herself stiff and gazed back.

“Let’s go upstairs.” He looked at the gun and tossed it onto the sofa, clearly having other plans.

“It’s time for this farce to end…”

HE WASN’T OUT but a second; the smell of dirt brought him quickly to his senses. Rolling over, then standing in one quick motion, Raul came up fighting, his fist connecting solidly with his very first punch.

A grunt sounded, then a whoosh of air flew by his jaw as a swing was delivered. It came a moment too late to land, and Raul ducked instinctively. He was fighting a shadow, but he didn’t really care. Whoever it was, he meant to stop Raul, and Raul couldn’t let that happen. He feinted left and struck right. Again the hit connected, and the dark outline of a man pitched backward. Raul threw himself on top of his attacker and struck out blindly, his knuckles scraping over the thick whiskered jaw time and time again. The man cried out and raised his arms, but it was a useless attempt to protect himself. Raul continued to pummel until his fist gleamed wetly in the darkness and the other man whimpered, curling into a ball in the grass at his feet.

Raul pulled back, his chest heaving, his gasps loud and painful in the pitch-black garden. He took three deep breaths, then scrambled to his feet and pulled the man up with him by his collar. Dragging him to the front of the yard, Raul recognized him instantly.

It was Kelman’s drunk, the man who’d put the bug in Emma’s purse. Raul cursed soundly. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.” He jerked the man around and started to pat him down. In his pocket he found an ancient.38, a replacement for the one Raul had taken from him before. With another curse, Raul pulled the weapon out and stuck it in the waistband of his pants. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

The minute his mind cleared, Raul understood, not needing an answer to his question. Kelman had brought the man with him as a precaution in case someone unexpected showed up at Emma’s. Someone like Raul. A flash of white rage swept through him as the implication sunk in.

The drunk read Raul’s expression and his face collapsed with fear. He cried out and reached up to pry Raul’s fingers from his shirt collar, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Cocking his fist, Raul reared back then smashed his knuckles into the man’s jaw, every ounce of force and rage he had stored up for Kelman behind the punch. It landed squarely with a loud crack, pain ricocheting up Raul’s arm and into his shoulder. He never even noticed. Instantly the drunk’s body went slack, and Raul let it drop like the useless bag of garbage it was. He never looked back as he ran.

KELMAN’S PRONOUNCEMENT took a moment to soak in. When it did, Emma started shaking her head and backing up. He took a step toward her and grabbed her by the elbow, his fingers biting into her flesh. He pulled her into the hall and said roughly, “You don’t have a choice in this one. You’ve used up all your chances.”

She struggled against him, kicking and lashing out, but it did no good. He was strong and he was angry. Hauling her toward the stairs, he started upward, and she had to follow or fall down and be dragged. They reached the top and he turned right to go into her bedroom. He pushed her into the room and slammed the door shut, a finality to the action that made her turn weak.

“Get in there,” he said, tilting his head toward her bathroom.

Again, she didn’t move, and this time when he grabbed her, he was even more violent. His fingers locked around her upper arm with a bruising force, and swearing loudly, he pushed her into the bathroom, throwing her to the hard marble floor once they stepped inside. She watched as he reached into his pocket.

When he yanked his hand back out, he held a small plastic bottle. He pitched it at her, and she raised her hands in defense, catching it at the very last minute.

It was a common medicine vial from the farmacia around the corner. Like all the pharmaceutical shops located on every street in Santa Cruz, you could walk in and buy any drug you wanted. Most required no prescription. The label was written in Spanish, but a single word leaped out to Emma’s startled gaze. Valium.

From his coat pocket, he pulled out another bottle, and this one she recognized even before he tossed it to her. She dropped the pills into her lap and caught the bottle as it sailed toward her. It was a pint of vodka. She looked at him questioningly.

“You’ve been very depressed. Everyone at the office has noticed your weight loss, the bags under your eyes, the mistakes you’ve been making. They haven’t known why, but tomorrow, when the police ask, they’ll point out that you weren’t looking well.”

His eyes glittered in the darkness and his voice went deeper. “Your ex-husband will confirm everything. He knows how unstable you’ve been lately. The drugs and the alcohol won’t surprise him a bit.” Kelman shook his head. “It’ll be a shame, but everyone will understand since you had a little problem before. You didn’t have a choice. You missed your children and hated your job. Your only answer was suicide.”

ONCE THE SHOCK of his words wore off, a cold, stark image came to Emma, worming into her brain like some kind of insidious bug, tunneling its way in and bringing with it all the pain, all the horror, all the truth she’d been trying to escape. For a second, for just one single second, she actually thought she might agree. Everything would be over that way, wouldn’t it? Facing the consequences of what she’d done here, facing the fact that she’d never have her children, even facing the truth of Raul’s betrayal, it would all be in the past, part of her history.

She’d be dead; she wouldn’t care.

Then she thought again, and the truth of what her death would really mean came to her. It would mean he won. And no one, except Raul, would know the truth. Within a very short time, he would probably be dead, too. Kelman would find a way to murder him, or almost worse, lock him up again, and then Kelman would be free to do whatever he wanted.

Suddenly she understood the depth of Raul’s commitment to this evil man’s destruction. If she’d been Raul, she would have been equally committed. She would have used him just as he’d used her, if it meant stopping this man. She closed her eyes and forgave Raul, forgave him and accepted that she loved him-even though he’d never know that either.

“Drink up, Emma. Wash down the pills.” Kelman spoke almost compassionately. “All of them.”

She locked her eyes on his. “When hell freezes over.”

He waited, as if thinking about what to do, then all at once, he was at her side. In a heartbeat, he had both bottles open and her jaw in his hand. Slapping his other hand over her nose, he cut off her breath. She lasted as long as she could, her vision growing dim, until nature took over and she opened her mouth to gasp in air. Instantly, he poured in the pills and liquor, then he snapped her mouth shut and held her face tight.

“Swallow,” he said, all pretense gone. He shook her face. “Now!”

Choking and gagging, Emma tossed her head violently but after a few seconds, the inevitable happened. She swallowed. Then swallowed again. The vodka burned, the taste of it unbelievably strong as it mixed with the pills and began to dissolve them. He kept her jaws clamped together and she continued to fight. In a moment it was over and he released her.

Still on all fours and coughing uselessly, Emma scrambled to the opposite corner of the room, her breathing ragged and hoarse. She opened her mouth and tried to spit. There was nothing left, though. She’d swallowed all of it. She lifted her head, her stomach churning. She wanted to curse him, to scream, to attack him as she’d planned, but all she could do was stare at him blankly.