The Hidden Woman
Chapter 3
The phone call was terminated, and Ophelia, who had been pushed past her limits, sank into the couch next to Colby. The tech spoke up first. "She kept him on the phone long enough I got a very clear reading on where he is and I can track him as long as his phone is on. Even if it is turned off, I got enough of a signature that I can pick it up. He wasn't very smart." They all got up to look at the screen at the location. Colby squeeze Ophelia's knee next to him and got up to look as well.
"That is a warehouse district, mostly abandoned. It would be easy to sneak in and take them out. Let's suit up and get SWAT moving. Colby, " Don looked at Ophelia and how fragile she seemed, especially after the phone call, "can you stay here with Ophelia and run things from operations? Keep us up to date on the next phone call. We should have this taken care of before that call."
Colby and Bobby both looked at Don gratefully, while Ophelia just stared ahead, almost comatose. The people who were leaving, left, and Rosa came over with some ice water and one of Ophelia's pills. She took it without thinking and then suddenly stood and ran to the bathroom vomiting until there was nothing but dry heaves. When she came out she walked straight up the stairs to her bedroom to brush her teeth and brush her thick golden tresses. She did all this on auto pilot. She changed shirts, putting on a long sleeve special forces t-shirt, then came downstairs and into the library where she lit up a clove cigarette. She wished it tasted like clove, but she would just have to settle for the wonderful smell. She sat in a huge oversized leather chair, making her look even tinier and more fragile than she was.
Colby silently walked in. She had left the door open a few inches, so he took a risk that if not welcome, he would not be screamed at.
"I always loved the smell of clove cigarettes. Don't you wish they tasted that good?"
Ophelia laughed slightly, "I was just thinking that very thing. But I supposed if it tasted like pumpkin pie all the time, everyone would have such a nasty habit."
"If you think it is a nasty habit, why do you do it?"
"I only do so at times like this. If I didn't need every brain cell I have, I'd be having a scotch too. When operations like this are over, what do you do?"
"Usually go home, have a beer or three and watch sports on TV. Sometimes there is the bar I go to where I can country and western dance."
"Not married? No girlfriend?" She still hadn't taken her eyes of the downtown landscape and the ocean far away.
"No, neither."
"It must be lonely to go home after a big adrenaline day to the TV set."
"Yeah."
"A man a few words, huh Colby Granger?"
"I guess so. Where is the kid's father?"
Ophelia was silent for a bit and just when he thought she wouldn't answer, she finally whispered, "He was killed in a plane crash a month before Jenny's first birthday."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry."
She finally turned and looked at him, sadness in her eyes, but a slight smile on her face, "Colby, I don't consider it as prying. It is an innocent enough question. I am an extraordinarily wealth widow with two small children. I am not as emotionally stable as I would like to be, but I have a terrific amount of support that helps me stay sane and allows me to focus on what keeps me sane. What you saw today was a glimpse of how I used to be, strong, capable, focused, and intolerant of either stupidity or of any harm to my children. Then Michael was killed and life sort of went on its own little bender. I have never been that person again. I can 'fake it 'till I make it' in this case, but then I become very ill and it takes me a while to recover. Once we get my children back I will probably spend days, maybe weeks in bed."
"I'm sorry. You don't deserve any of that. You are too nice of a person."
"That is very sweet Colby, but you met me this morning. I try to be nice, but I can be suicidal and I can be manic. When I am suicidal, the depression is overwhelming and if I speak at all it is usually not very pleasant and very scary for the people around me. Mostly I cry for no reason and every reason. When I am manic, which often am I write or spend money like crazy. I have terrific amounts of energy and feel like I can conquer the world. Once I finally got diagnosed properly and on the right meds at the right amounts, my life has sort of shifted into varying shades of gray. Not many highs, the lows are not as low, I guess it is more like what a normal person's life is like. But I liked when I saw in colors, and not just gray. But either the breakdown or the meds broke my color maker. That makes me sadder than anything."
"You said this morning you don't date, really not much at all. It sounded like you were withdrawing more and more from the world."
"I don't date. I certainly don't seek out a relationship. I've been celibate since my husband died. What decent man would want to be saddled with a woman with bipolar mood disorder that is constantly swinging, who has two children by another man. Granted I can function, I teach Master's and PhD level classes, and I write bestselling novels, some that get turned into movies. And I have more money than Oprah. But I have yet to meet a man who is interested in and honestly cares about my children, is patient enough with me to swing with my moods and ground me so that I don't swing to far either way, and doesn't just want my money or my body. That is what they all want, money and sex. I mean really Colby, why bother?"
"There are men out there that aren't just after your money or your body. But if you hide in your gorgeous Penthouse that is virtually impenetrable, you will never meet them. They would have to accidently stumble upon you, like I did." He stopped suddenly, realizing what he had revealed. He wouldn't take it back and he wouldn't apologize, so the two of them just sat there looking into each other's eyes. Their eyes were almost the same color Cerulean blue. She reached across the huge leather chair to touch his powerful arm.
Without breaking eye contact, she smiled at him, "Thank you Colby. I am not ready to leave my self-imposed prison, but perhaps when this is over you will come and visit. We should probably check on what is happening. The next call will be coming soon."
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