CHAPTER 3—BACK TO WORK
She groaned in frustration. The light filtering in through the bed covers had managed to penetrate the barrier she had tried to set up. Her husband was an evil, evil man. He had kept her up half the night making love to her, and now that it was the crack of dawn, he decided to rise early and make her pay for something he had started. She found herself wondering why her mother had never told her about the aggravating aspects of marriage. Of course, she was used to this behavior. How many months had they lived together? Would she ever get used to this? She groaned again as she listened to the juvenile jerk chuckling. If she could find her shoes, she might pick one up and throw it at him. Naw, she thought, I wouldn't want to mar his face.
"Turn off the damn light," Loralei mumbled/groaned from beneath the covers.
He smiled as he popped off the light. Donovan stood near the bed and contemplated his next move. He really needed to finish dressing for his morning workout. Yet, staring down at Loralei, he wondered if the workout could possibly be skipped. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed beside her and hold her all day. Oh, the temptation. After a moment of hesitation, he crawled onto the bed toward the huddled form of his new wife. She had obviously fallen back asleep. We can't have that, now can we? He pulled back the covers and exposed the top half of her body. She was beautiful, glorious, and completely devoid of clothing. He pulled her hair back from her face and kissed her cheek, allowing his lips to wander to her ear, and then he slid his tongue over to the sensitive spot of flesh directly behind it. It was the weakest spot on her body. If he so much as breathed on it, she'd explode.
Her eyes came open suddenly as the sensation rippled through her like the aftershocks of an earthquake. She turned her head slightly, to get his mouth off that spot. His lips captured hers tenderly. "That's one hell of a wakeup call," she said softly after the kiss was broken.
"Come on," he whispered. "Come shower with me."
"Uh uh," she moaned, "I'd rather sleep."
"I won't have that," he said. "You can sleep all day if you want, but right now, I want you. I'll carry you in."
She smiled. "You're such a bastard."
"No. I just don't want to shower alone."
Neither of them gave the card a second thought.
* * *
Donovan walked into the darkened office a bit on the annoyed side. It seemed as if everyone intended to come in late. His two-week absence had apparently made them slack off a bit. The honeymoon is over, unfortunately, he thought distractedly. He hit the lights and was taken by surprise at the hanging sign screaming CONGRATULATIONS. Just a short time ago, he had all but forgotten the bizarre greeting card he and Loralei had received in the mail. The sign brought his mind back to it. Absently, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the crumpled pink envelope. Even though the team had obviously put up the dangling letters, they still weren't present. He wanted to get to the bottom of this card issue, not only for him, but for his wife as well. If he didn't call Loralei within the next couple of hours, he was certain that she'd make a special trip to the hospital to ask about the Black Heart face-to-face. He turned toward the door as the team entered the room one-by-one. They had been waiting outside and wanted to make a grand entrance.
Donovan looked upward toward the four feet high letters. "You did this," he asked with his usual poker face.
"Sure, Boss, who else," Cody said. "By the way, did you get much sun?" Donovan fixed his deadpan gaze on Cody's face. "Hmm, even an extended honeymoon did nothing for his personality," Cody stage-whispered to Alex.
Donovan shook his head and turned back toward the sign. He decided to ignore Cody this time. "Thank you," he said, his eyes fixed on the gigantic letters. He didn't realize he still held the envelope in his hand. "Oh yes," he said as he turned toward his team with the gaudy pink envelope clutched in his fist. "Were you responsible for this?"
For reasons unknown to him, Cody noticed that the boss had fixed his gaze on him again. "Uh uh, no way. Not me. Even my taste is better than that."
"None of you," he asked. There was a catch in his voice that he didn't like. He didn't want to have to break the news to Loralei. He was worried, and he definitely didn't like to worry. He watched in a bizarre kind of horror as each team member shook his or her head and denied it. Without a word, he approached his team and handed the bright pink horror to Monica. "I want all of you to look at this. It was in our mail when we came home."
Monica took the envelope from Donovan's hand and pulled the card out. He watched as her expression changed from curiosity to disgust. She handed it over to Cody. Like Loralei, she didn't even want to touch it. Silently, he watched as each member of his team looked at the card and the neon envelope. Their reactions were similar to Monica's. None of them said one word. However, he could easily read them. They all shared the same synergistic thought: Black Heart. He had to be told nothing further. He turned away from the group of agents, walked under the blaring sign, and went upstairs.
Not much had the power to throw Donovan into a panic, but this did. He grabbed the phone and dialed a number that he had committed to memory eight long months ago. He called it often, just to check out the situation. Loralei was vulnerable to the Black Heart, and there was no way he intended to put her in the line of danger again. "Yes," he said once the phone was answered. "This is Frank Donovan. I'm calling about Carly Butler."
* * *
She once again had to suffer the indignity of having her 'room' shaken down. It seemed as if the staff searched her room every week. She never had a clear idea of what they were looking for, but it was upsetting. How in the world could she hide anything? They wouldn't allow the 'patients' to have anything in their 'rooms' that might inflict harm on themselves or anyone else. The fucks even monitored their use of pens, pencils, and markers. One had to have a guard present just to write a damn letter. Of course, not many of the 'patients' were lucid enough to write their names, much less pen a letter. She wasn't stupid. She had never been stupid in her life. She knew who was behind the endless shakedowns: Frank and Loralei Donovan. She enjoyed the thought that she still held them captive and that they feared her. Yet, she didn't enjoy their interventions in her life [or what there was of it]. She often wondered what was going on to have them request shakedowns. She was angered that she wasn't a part of it, and she wanted in on it. Mostly, she stood back and acted psychotic while her 'room' was searched from one end to the other. The staff members would give her a pill [which she palmed on more than one occasion], and then go on to the next unlucky 'patient.' She wasn't sure if any other person there endured the endless shakedowns. She hated the Donovans and was envious of the power they held over her.
* * *
Black Heart was right about one thing. Not many of the other 'patients' had shakedowns. Perhaps it might have been a good thing if they did. The long ago ex-lover of a young Frank Donovan had free reign over writing instruments and paper. She also had unlimited visits from family members. On the day she had made the card, her matronly aunt had visited. The aunt barely knew her, and knew very little about her history. She had been told that her niece had always been off balance, but that was all she knew. So, when she asked her auntie to mail the card for her, she did not hesitate. She, in fact, jumped at the chance to please her disturbed niece. The aunt was ambivalent toward her niece, but she did feel sorry for the poor dear. She wasn't told the reason behind her committal, because it was a guarded family secret. She was a shame to the family name, and none of her brothers or sisters even attempted to visit. Auntie often obliged any request made, including mailing things for her. Staff members didn't find it necessary to search her. She was relatively harmless. Every few months, her niece's 'room' was to be shaken down, but most of the time, the staff was lax, and it sometimes went unchecked for a year at a stretch. Her niece was considered low risk. The poor dear did nothing more than gaze at bridal magazines day after day. She would tear out the pictures and hold them against her chest before asking how she looked in her wedding gown. It was very sad, and she didn't understand why the girl was fixated on weddings. She would never have a husband.
When the auntie was given the obscene homemade card, she wasn't sure she wanted to mail it. It seemed grotesque and a bit on the unnatural side. The exaggeration of the written address and names of the intended recipients bothered her. She had watched her niece write dozens of letters, and her handwriting had never been anything less than neat. This seemed wrong somehow. She gazed at the names. Frankie and Lori Donovan. Who were they? She didn't think they were relatives of the family, but she wasn't sure. After all, the family was large and spread out. Anything was possible. Despite her trepidations, the auntie slapped a first class stamp on the card and mailed it. It was probably harmless. She shook her head sadly. My poor dear niece, she thought. She wouldn't hurt a fly.
* * *
She slapped her palm flat down on the insect. Die you bastard die. She lifted her hand and peered at it curiously. The fly was a squashed mess in the palm of her hand. For more than an hour, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the insect's corpse. She stared at the bug and imagined it was Frankie's head. No, not Frankie, his wife. Yes, that was a much better image. She would squash the bitch as effectively as she had squashed the fly. Without hesitating, she scraped the dead bug off on the windowsill. She glanced at her hand and noticed that some of the fly remained. Ugh. She wiped her hand on the white pants that every 'patient' had to wear. She turned away from the window and went back to her little desk. It was almost time to make another card. She wanted to write him a long letter, but she thought better of it. She wasn't exactly ready for that. She wanted Frankie to respond to the cards, to remember her. A noise distracted her. A fly, another damn fly. She had no idea how so many bugs got inside. It landed gracefully on her desktop, buzzing contently. She balled her hand into a fist and slammed it down. Another pest gone. This time, she would choose green for the card, neon green. It would be absolutely lovely.
* * *
Donovan could have called Loralei, but he didn't really want to do that. What he had to tell her would be best said in her presence. As he made his way downstairs, he was a little surprised to see her standing in the middle of the room, musing with the others over the card. He recalled that last night, she hadn't wanted to look at it again. Today, she was seemingly fixated on it. He didn't like the wild expression on her face. It reminded him of a trapped animal, of the Loralei she used to be, the one who ended up shot and dying in his arms.
Loralei looked up as he approached. They exchanged a look between them, seemingly transmitting their inner feelings. He hadn't wanted her to come here to worry herself unnecessarily, and she hadn't wanted to stay away. She waited expectantly. Any moment now, he expected her to start tapping her foot. One thing he had learned very quickly about Loralei Kadin Donovan was that she didn't have a lot of patience.
"Did you call," she asked suddenly, "or should I do it right now?"
He gently took her by the arm. "I called. Maybe we should go upstairs?"
Stubbornly, she shook her head. "No. They witnessed it, they know all about it, and I'm well aware that they didn't do it. Whatever you have to say can be said anywhere."
He nodded. "Okay. There's nothing to worry about. She is still secure, and I requested a shake down of her cell. They found nothing. In fact, the inmates aren't supposed to have any type of writing instrument that can be used as a weapon unless they're under supervision. It didn't come from her." For the first time since he was aware of her presence, he noticed that she was clutching the card.
Her eyes searched his face. She was looking for signs of deception. She knew he was fiercely protective of her, even when she didn't need it. Finding nothing in his eyes or expression, she said, "If not her, then who, Frank? Who? It has to be someone we both know, and she is the only psycho we have in common." She sighed and tossed the card aside. Suddenly, she had forgotten the two of them had an audience. "I'm going to visit her," she said.
"Here comes World War 3," Cody mumbled behind them.
Donovan fixed a stern, cold stare on him for a brief moment. As he focused his eyes on his wife, he heard Cody mumbling again, saying something along the lines of 'saaaawwwwwry.' "I think we need to go upstairs," he said calmly.
She sighed. What was it about men that made them so viciously protective? It had to be something primitive and innate in the species. "Fine."
He led Loralei upstairs. Once they were in the office, he closed the door behind them. "What good will it do for you to go there," he asked.
"It will ease my mind more than a phone call. I need to see her, with my own eyes, to ensure that she is secure. After that, I'll drop it. But I have to do this."
Her words made perfect sense, but at the same time, they didn't. All he had to do was think back eight months ago when she stood before him and screamed like a banshee. It was enough to convince him that a visit would be a very bad idea, but he knew her, he knew her well. She wouldn't listen to him. "I know you'll do whatever you need to do despite how I feel about it. I know you'll go regardless of anything I say. Before I agree to this, there is one condition you must meet."
She stood back and gazed at Donovan. His poker face had returned, his jaw was set stubbornly, and his eyebrow was lifted in its usual 'challenge me' mode. The consummate negotiator, she thought. Loralei was irritated. He never failed to amaze her. At one moment, he could be as free-minded as a flower child. At the next, he would become a prehistoric caveman. Me man. You woman. Me boss. Yet, he never failed to see inside her. She often wondered if he had taken mind reading lessons before they married. "With you, my love, there's always a condition," she said as she struggled to keep her smile from surfacing. "What is it? Please share, Agent Donovan."
His stoic expression broke for a brief moment as a hint of a grin touched his lips. She could read him as well as he read her. "You will not go alone," he said without taking his eyes off hers. "We'll go together. Without me, there's no deal."
She shook her head and ran her tongue thoughtfully over her lips. "You're such a sexist jerk," she said, not unkindly.
He approached her and smoothed her silky hair back from her face. "What am I going to do with you," he asked softly as his eyes searched her face.
Her arms went around his waist. "You're going to suck it up and take it like a man."