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October
So much for the honeymoon.
Kelly Atwood bent down and pressed her fingertips against her husband's neck to see if he was still alive. His pulse thumped against her touch. How about that, she thought. Raymond takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'. Even though she was mad enough to have done him in, it was a relief that she hadn't.
Out cold . Kelly had never knocked anyone out cold before. For that matter, she'd never hit anyone at all. Raymond's slow-motion descent backward onto the glass coffee table and the thousands of little shattered safety glass cubes glittering around him had a cartoon-like quality. His head had made the most amazing thud. She was almost as stunned as he was. Almost.
She rubbed her cheek where Raymond had slapped her. Her return punch had been a purely spontaneous act of self-defense. She'd do it again in a heartbeat.
Raymond clearly hadn't expected her to throw a left hook. He'd probably forgotten she was left-handed, which was funny, because he was a stickler for details. Something she'd found rather endearing a few hours ago when she'd married him.
That was before she'd found the little detail of a large bag of cocaine in the lining of his suitcase, all packed for their Jamaican honeymoon, and confronted him. Leave it to her to feel around the bottom of a bag for more shoe room.
Kelly noticed her one-carat marquise wedding ring had made quite a dent in Raymond's nose, which was still bleeding. Echhh. She twisted the ring off her finger and flung it on his chest. Jerk!
The ring clattered to the floor. She felt hot anger rise inside her. She had trusted Raymond. He was the one who made her feel so secure. Oh, yeah, mature, hardworking Raymond.
Once Ray's hand had made contact with her cheek, Kelly had known the truth. She'd been taken in by a truly talented con man. The other truth was that thirty seconds was too long to stay with any man that laid a hand on her.
A faint moaning sound came out of Raymond and startled her into action. He'd probably be mighty upset when he came to. She'd better get out of here - and fast.
Kelly ran into the bedroom, grabbed the car keys, half the wad of traveler's checks, and her six cashmere sweaters. Like hell she was leaving her cashmere sweaters. She dumped out some of the tropical beach clothes and stuffed the sweaters into her honeymoon suitcase.
From the living room she heard another moan. This time it had more life in it. Panic hit her like a 7.3 L.A. earthquake. She snatched up her best Italian boots, her suitcase, her purse, and bolted for the front door. No time to think now, just run !
Kelly ran down the hall, took one turn, and plowed right into a short, round, dark-suited man. She and the man went sprawling, her suitcase popped open, and its contents flew in every direction.
She mumbled an apology from the floor, untangled herself, and started gathering up her sweaters. The man growled like a dog, got up, and flung her purple and black satin Frederick's of Hollywood honeymoon bustier off his face.
"Let me help you there, ma'am," came another voice. A man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall and thin but looked very muscular. Great, she thought, Laurel and Hardy. Instead of lending her a hand, Laurel picked up the suitcase, emptied it again, and ripped out the side pockets with his big muscles.
"Hey, you moron!" Kelly shrieked. She clutched her purse close to her. No one was taking her money. Ignoring her, Laurel chucked her belongings on the carpet and stalked away, followed closely by Hardy.
"Thanks a bunch, guys!" Kelly yelled again. Stuffing things back into the bag, she sat down hard on the top to get the clasp closed, then dragged everything with her the six feet to the elevator. Hitting the button with a stray high-heel shoe, she threw the rest of her loose clothes and the suitcase in when the doors opened.
This day was getting worse by the minute. As the doors whooshed shut, she whacked the parking-level button, took a deep breath in, and let out a long, searing, cleansing scream.
That felt better. Sort of. At least she was safe in here. It would take Ray at least twenty minutes to get his brain back in gear, and Laurel and Hardy were headed in the other direction looking for their next hall mug victim, no doubt.
Staring at her dark reflection in the bronze glass elevator walls, she began to laugh - a sort of hysterical, I've-lost-my-mind laugh - at the comical picture she was seeing. Most of her abundantly caked-on makeup was streaked on her cheeks. Her short, modern, off-white leather and lace wedding gown was completely disheveled, and a ripped veil hung sideways on her jet-black dyed hair. Yep, she looked about as attractive as a psychotic crow.
To top it off, here she was on the run. Just like when she was a kid. She'd run away so many times, fed up with her mother's terminally bad taste in men. Fed up with the drinking and drugs that finally ended up killing her mom.
Her suitcase had been permanently packed under her bed since she was about twelve. She'd slept in train stations and fast-food rest rooms, and learned how to beg strangers for money.
Kelly closed her eyes and felt the pain of memories ache in her chest. She'd gone back to her mom, or been returned, a dozen times ...
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Talk of the Town by Suzanne Macpherson Copyright © 2003 by Suzanne Macpherson
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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