Needing Nicole (The Cantrelle Family Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  Needing Nicole

  Book #2, Cantrelle Family Trilogy

  By

  Patricia Kay

  Copyright © 2013 by Patricia Kay

  PatriciaKay.com

  These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Patricia Kay.

  Cover art by Web Crafters

  www.webcraftersdesign.com

  Editing by Patricia Kay

  [email protected]

  Dedication:

  This book is dedicated to my long-time "PAL" Patricia O'Day Rosen, who has, for many years, been reading and reviewing and, in the last five years, giving me critical feedback and support, on my books -- both newly published and in their creative process. Pat, you'll never know what your friendship has meant to me. You truly are my "fourth" sister and the second Mama to my cats, who love you, too. I hope we'll be friends forever.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Sample: Excerpt from Embracing Elise

  Sample: With This Ring

  Chapter 1

  New Orleans, late January, 1997 . . .

  That man was watching her.

  Nicole Cantrelle hated it when men stared at her, and usually she just ignored them. But something about the way this man watched her gave her a creepy feeling, and she couldn’t dismiss him so easily.

  He stood sheltered from the heavy rain in the recessed doorway of one of the many pricey antique shops on Royal Street. He was tall and broad-shouldered and wore some kind of army green all-weather jacket. On his head was a camouflage hat, and the front brim was pulled down over his face.

  She knew his eyes followed her as she walked past him; she could feel them even when she could no longer see them. Because it was early morning, and there were dozens of other people walking the streets of the French Quarter— most on their way to work as she was—she wasn’t really nervous.

  Still... she frowned, clutched her big totebag more securely against her body, and walked faster through the deluge. For three days New Orleans had been subjected to a steady downpour, and the early-morning sky looked leaden.

  A half-block past the antique shop, Nicole’s spine prickled. He was following her. She stopped so abruptly that a woman walking behind her plowed right into her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said.

  Nicole looked back at the shop, but she didn’t see the man. She searched the faces of the people on the street. He wasn’t among them. What had happened to him? Shivering, she continued on her way.

  When she reached St. Peter’s, she turned left. She couldn’t rid herself of that peculiar sensation of being followed. Her heart pumped erratically, and she whipped around. An older man with a cane shuffled slowly about six feet behind her. There was no one else on the street.

  “You’re getting paranoid,” she muttered aloud. “Maybe he was just admiring your legs.”

  Pulling the hood of her yellow slicker closer to her head, she sprinted the last block and a half to her office, careful to avoid the puddles. She was wearing new boots, and she didn’t want to ruin them.

  She didn’t look back again.

  * * *

  “Nicole, have you finished the Menard brief?”

  Nicole tapped the Save button on her keyboard, then turned to face her boss, Julianne Belizaire. “It’s printing now.”

  “Good.” Julianne, a petite brunette with hazel eyes that blazed with intelligence, stood at Nicole’s desk and sorted through the mail Nicole hadn’t yet distributed. “Oh, swell,” she muttered, tearing open an envelope. “Another letter from Dr. Puckett. Wouldn’t you think the guy would get tired of his own hyperbole?” Still muttering to herself, she stalked off.

  Nicole smothered a smile. She liked being Julianne’s secretary. Julianne always amused her, even when she was angry. Although Nicole at thirty was four years younger than her boss, she often felt motherly toward the only female lawyer in the old French Quarter law firm.

  For the next hour Nicole worked diligently. When one of the other secretaries stopped by her desk to chat, Nicole waved her off. “I can’t talk. Julianne’s letting me leave at lunchtime today, so I’m trying to get everything done this morning.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home for the weekend.”

  “Well, have a good one.”

  Nicole bent back to her work. At eleven forty-five she backed up her files, printed the morning’s work and turned off her computer. She cleaned up her desk, then picked up the stack of letters that were ready for Julianne’s signature. When a glance into Julianne’s office showed it was unoccupied, Nicole headed down the hall to look for her boss.

  She searched the other offices. Still no Julianne. Deciding she was probably in the big conference room, Nicole headed in that direction. Just before reaching the reception area, she bumped into Guy D’Amato.

  His gray eyes lit up when he saw her, and he smiled. “Hi. I was on my way to your office to see if I could take you to lunch.” Guy was a partner in the firm, and she’d been dating him off and on for a few months.

  Nicole suppressed the twinge of guilt she felt at his obvious pleasure in seeing her. She suspected Guy was in love with her, that if she encouraged him at all, he’d propose. The sensible part of her knew he was perfect husband material: hardworking, ambitious, considerate, dependable, solvent—all those qualities any mother wants for her daughter.

  But there was no excitement, no sizzle between them. And the romantic, adventurous part of Nicole wanted that, even though it had gotten her into trouble before.

  She’d tried to convince herself that sizzle was the least important element in marriage. She’d told herself that by its very nature, sizzle didn’t last. She’d reminded herself that she was a grown-up woman with a three-year-old daughter, and Guy could give them a wonderful and secure future.

  But she still wanted sizzle.

  “I’m sorry, Guy. I can’t go to lunch with you today. I’m heading out to Patinville for the weekend, and Julianne’s letting me go at noon.”

  He couldn’t hide his disappointment, and once more, guilt nudged at her. Guy D’Amato was very nice. She was very stupid.

  “When are you coming back? Sunday?”

  She nodded.

  “Early?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe I could take you and Aimee to dinner Sunday night.”

  “I don’t think so, Guy. Aimee is usually worn out after a weekend with her doting grandparents, and I’ll probably be tired, too. Maybe next weekend, okay?”

  “All right.” He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up on his nose. “Be careful driving.”

  “I will.” She hurried off toward the reception area. Just as she entered the small room, she caught a glimpse of army green as a man went out the front door. Her heart leaped up into a throat suddenly dry. She gasped.

  Was that the man from the antique shop?
r />   Kathy, the receptionist, turned. “Oh, hi, Nic.” She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Kathy, who was that man?”

  Kathy’s frown deepened. “Why? Do you know him?”

  “No. Who was he, Kathy? What did he want?”

  Kathy flinched. “Uh, well, that’s the funny thing. He was asking about someone I thought was you.”

  Fear jacknifed through her. “What did he say?”

  Kathy’s puzzled gaze met hers. “When he came in he was very polite, said he was looking for someone he’d been told worked here. He described her, and I thought he meant you, but then he said the woman’s name was Elise Arnold, so I told him we didn’t have anyone by that name working here.”

  “That’s all he said?”

  “ Well... uh... no.”

  Nicole gritted her teeth. Kathy was new and young and she looked as if she were rattled by Nicole’s questions. Nicole took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. “Kathy, that man was following me this morning. I’m sure of it. Try to remember everything he said, okay?”

  Kathy’s big eyes got even bigger. “Okay, uh, after I told him there wasn’t anyone by that name here, he said he was sure the woman he wanted worked here, because he’d seen her come into our office earlier today.”

  Nicole could feel goose-bumps pop out on her arms. She hadn’t been imagining things. He had been following her!

  “Anyway,” Kathy continued, wetting her lips nervously, “I said I was sorry, but he must have been wrong, and then he said it was very important that he talk to the woman because someone was trying to reach her.” She gave Nicole an apologetic half smile. “I’m sorry, Nic. He... he said it was an emergency and I—”

  “You what?”

  “I told him your name!”

  “You told him my name? Why?”Good God. He knew her name!

  “It... I don’t know... it just happened. You know how sometimes you say something and the minute it’s out of your mouth you know it’s a mistake?”

  Nicole wanted to shake Kathy, but she forced herself to be calm and speak quietly. “What exactly did he say to cause you to tell him my name?”

  “He said it was vitally important—an emergency situation—that he reach this Elise Arnold.” Kathy winced. “And I...I said, well, I really wished I could help him, but the only woman answering his description was one of our secretaries—Nicole Cantrelle—so I couldn’t help him.”

  Oh, God. Was that the reason he’d come into the office? To try to find out her name? Was his story about this woman just a clever ploy to obtain his real objective? But why was he stalking her?

  “Nic, I’m so sorry. I really am. But he seemed so nice,and... oh, dear, I hope I didn’t do something terrible.”

  “Well,” Nicole said, trying vainly to push her fear away, “I can’t say I’m happy about this, but what’s done is done. I just hope—”

  “Please don’t tell Mr. Villac,” Kathy said, naming her boss, the office administrator.

  “I wouldn’t do that, but Kathy, don’t ever give out information like that again. To anyone. I don’t care what they tell you.”

  “I won’t. I promise. Oh, God, I’m sorry. Do...do you think you should call the police?”

  “And say what? I don’t even know who this guy is, and I hardly think his coming in here asking questions constitutes a crime.” She made herself talk in a normal voice. “No, let’s just forget it. Maybe now he’ll realize he has the wrong person, and I’ll never see him again. Well,” she continued briskly, “have you seen Julianne? I need her to sign these letters before I take off.”

  “She’s in the conference room.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Nicole was on her way out the door. She’d tried to put thoughts of the man out of her mind, but she was still on edge. She walked down the stairs to the first floor and let herself out into the courtyard. Rain dripped from the branches of a shiny-leafed magnolia tree.

  She opened the wrought-iron gate and quickly scanned the street. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she let it out, relief washing over her. She’d been half afraid she’d see him on the sidewalk, but he was gone.

  Walking rapidly over to Royal Street, she turned right. When she reached Canal Street, she crossed and walked to the corner of St. Charles Avenue and Common Street, where she would catch the streetcar. The rain had stopped, but the sky still looked like somebody had taken huge balls of cotton and dipped them in dirty dishwater.

  Nicole surreptitiously studied the faces of the people around her. None of the men wore army green jackets or camouflage hats. She breathed more easily. Yes, she was sure she had nothing more to worry about. Whoever the man was, he surely realized she was not the woman he wanted. She’d definitely seen the last of him. She even laughed at herself for getting so upset over nothing.

  The streetcar rumbled into view, and Nicole counted out her eighty cents. She glanced at her watch. Already twelve-thirty. She’d hoped to be home by now, but looking for Julianne, then the episode in the reception area had slowed her down. She hoped Margaret had already given Aimee her lunch. If she had, they could be on their way by one o’clock because Nicole had packed before leaving for work this morning.

  Nicole smiled. She was looking forward to visiting her family in Patinville this weekend. Although she loved New Orleans and loved being independent, out from under the watchful eyes of her two brothers, who had a tendency to treat her as if she were still a child, she missed her family. She wondered if other families were as close-knit as Cajuns were. Somehow she doubted it. Her family was wonderful—supportive, loving and understanding. Well, at least most of the time.

  Aimee loved going to Patinville, too. She loved her Grandma and Grandpa Cantrelle and all her cousins, especially her cousin Celeste, the daughter of Nicole’s brother Neil and his wife Laura. Celeste was only eight months older than Aimee, and the two little girls were as close as sisters.

  Still smiling as she thought about her family, Nicole absentmindedly climbed onto the streetcar and found a seat about halfway back. She slid over the slatted wooden seat to the window, which was partially opened for ventilation, and watched as the last stragglers climbed on. Just as the streetcar was ready to leave, a man hopped on and strode down the aisle toward her.

  Her eyes took in the army green jacket and the camouflage hat.

  Her heart stopped.

  She stared at him, but he didn’t meet her gaze. He walked on past her and when she turned, she saw him take a seat a couple of rows behind her on the opposite side.

  By now her heart was going like a trip-hammer. Bam. Bam. Bam. She almost bolted from her seat, but with a lurch and a creak of metal on metal, the streetcar started up.

  Calm down. What can happen to you here among all these people, in the middle of the day?

  She had to force herself not to turn around again. But she could feel him back there. Watching her. She knew he was following her. He had to be following her. It was too coincidental that they both just happened to get on the same streetcar.

  What should she do? Should she tell the driver? Should she stay on the streetcar?

  She fingered her big totebag. There was a can of Mace in the bag, along with about fifty other things she never left home without. Julianne constantly teased her about carrying so much junk around in her bag.

  Wait’ll I tell her.

  All too soon Nicole had to make a decision. First Street was coming up, and it was her stop. She waited until the last minute, then clambered to her feet, her totebag slung over her left shoulder and clutched securely in her left hand. The streetcar driver gave her a curious look as she sped past him and practically threw herself off the car in her haste to exit.

  She dashed across St. Charles Avenue, recklessly cutting in front of an oncoming car whose driver hit the horn in an angry blast. Water splashed around her feet, but she was no longer worried about her new boots.

  Her breath came in short spurts, and her heart thudded
against her chest as she ran. She was afraid to look behind her.

  Only two blocks to go before she reached Coliseum Street and home. Two blocks. Two blocks.

  Should she turn around? Had he gotten off the streetcar, too? The sound of rapid footsteps behind her made up her mind for her. Still half running, half walking, she pulled her totebag around to the front of her. She yanked the zipper open and shoved her right hand inside the enormous handbag until she found the slick, round shape of her can of Mace.

  Simultaneously, she pulled the can out of her bag and whirled around to confront her pursuer.

  “What do you want with me?” she demanded, all caution forgotten. She lifted the can of Mace and held it in front of her, ready to spray it at the least sign of aggression.

  “Hey, whoa, quit waving that thing around!” He lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

  “You have an odd way of showing it,” she said, her breath still coming fast. “You’ve been following me! Asking questions about me!” She kept her finger on the spray button. “Don’t come another step closer!”

  He stopped about four feet away from her, still holding his hands up, palms facing her. She narrowed her eyes and stared at him, her gaze daring him to move one inch closer.

  “I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said, his voice strong and low-timbered.

  Now that she could see what he looked like, Nicole realized he didn’t look very scary. What was visible of his hair under the cap looked thick and either light brown or dark blond. It was a bit too long, and curled over the collar of his jacket. He had a square face with a deep tan—as if he spent a lot of time outdoors—and a slightly off-center nose. He also had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

  “You’ve got exactly two minutes,” she said through clenched teeth. “And your explanation had better be good!”

  “Will you please lower that can of Mace?” her would-be assailant asked.

  Although her instincts told her she had nothing to fear from him, Nicole held on to the can even as she abandoned her threatening stance.