Shadowfires

Rachael said quietly, “I didn't marry you for your money.”

“I wonder,” he said acidly and irrationally. His bold-featured face wasn't handsome at the moment. Anger had carved it into an ugly mask — all hard, deep, down-slashing lines.

Rachael spoke calmly, with no trace of bitterness, with no desire to put him in his place or to hurt him in any way. It was just over. She felt no rage. Only mild regret. “And now that it's finally over, I don't expect to be supported in high style and great luxury for the rest of my days. I don't want your millions. You earned them, not me. Your genius, your iron determination, your endless hours in the office and the lab. You built it all, you and you alone, and you alone deserve what you've built. You're an important man, maybe even a great man in your field, Eric, and I am only me, Rachael, and I'm not going to pretend I had anything to do with your triumphs.”

The lines of anger in his face deepened as she complimented him. He was accustomed to occupying the dominant role in all relationships, professional and private. From his position of absolute dominance, he relentlessly forced submission to his wishes — or crushed anyone who would not submit. Friends, employees, and business associates always did things Eric Leben's way, or they were history. Submit or be rejected and Destroyed — those were their only choices. He enjoyed the exercise of power, thrived on conquests as major as million-dollar deals and as minor as winning domestic arguments. Rachael had done as he wished for seven years, but she would not submit any longer.

The funny thing was that, by her docility and reasonableness, she had robbed him of the power on which he thrived. He had been looking forward to a protracted battle over the division of spoils, and she had walked away from it. He relished the prospect of acrimonious squabbling over alimony payments, but she thwarted him by rejecting all such assistance. He had pleasurably anticipated a court fight in which he would make her look like a gold-digging bitch and reduce her, at last, to a creature without dignity who would be willing to settle for far less than was her due. Then, although leaving her rich, he would have felt that the war had been won and he had beaten her into submission. But when she made it clear that his millions were of no importance to her, she had eliminated the one power he still had over her. She had cut him off at the knees, and his anger arose from his realization that, by her docility, she had somehow made herself his equal — if not his superior — in any further contact they might have.

She said, “Well, the way I see it, I've lost seven years, and all I want is reasonable compensation for that time. I'm twenty-nine, almost thirty, and in a way, I'm just beginning my life. Starting out later than other people. This settlement will give me a terrific start. If I lose the bundle, if someday I have reason to wish I'd gone for the whole thirteen million… well, then that's my tough luck, not yours. We've been through all this, Eric. It's finished.”

She stepped around him, trying to walk away, but he grabbed her arm, halting her.

“Please let me go,” she said evenly.

Glaring at her, he said, “How could I have been so wrong about you? I thought you were sweet, a bit shy, an unworldly little fluff of a girl. But you're a nasty little ball-buster, aren't you?”

“Really, this is an absolutely crazy attitude. And this crude behavior isn't worthy of you. Now let me go.”

He gripped her even tighter. “Or is this all just a negotiating ploy? Huh? When the papers are drawn up, when we come back to sign everything on Friday, will you suddenly have a change of heart? Will you want more?”

“No, I'm not playing any games.”

His grin was tight and mean. “I'll bet that's it. If we agree to such a ridiculously low settlement and draw up the papers, you'll refuse to sign them, but you'll use them in court to try to prove we were going to give you the shaft. You'll pretend the offer was ours and that we tried to strong-arm you into signing it. Make me look bad. Make me look as if I'm a real hard-hearted bastard. Huh? Is that the strategy? Is that the game?”

“I told you, there's no game. I'm sincere.”

He dug his fingers into her upper arm. “The truth, Rachael.”

“Stop it.”

“Is that the strategy?”

“You're hurting me.”

“And while you're at it, why don't you tell me all about Ben Shadway, too?”

She blinked in surprise, for she had never imagined that Eric knew about Benny.

His face seemed to harden in the hot sun, cracking with more deep lines of anger. “How long was he fucking you before you finally walked out on me?”

“You're disgusting, she said, immediately regretting the harsh words because she saw that he was pleased to have broken through her cool facade at last.

“How long?” he demanded, tightening his grip.

“I didn't meet Benny till six months after you and I separated,” she said, striving to keep a neutral tone that would deny him the noisy confrontation he apparently desired.

“How long was he poaching on,the Rachael?”

“If you know about Benny, you’ve had me watched, something you've no right to do.”

“Yeah, you want to keep your dirty little secrets.”

“If you have hired someone to watch me, you know I've been seeing Benny for just five months. Now let go. You're still hurting me.

A young bearded guy, passing by, hesitated, stepped toward them, and said, “You need help, lady?”

Eric turned on the stranger in such a rage that he seemed to spit the words out rather than speak them, “Butt out, mister. This is my wife, and it's none of your goddamn business.”

Rachael tried to wrench free of Eric's iron grip without success.

The bearded stranger said, “So she's your wife — that doesn't give you the right to hurt her.”

Letting go of Rachael, Eric fisted his hands and turned more directly toward the intruder.

Rachael spoke quickly to her would-be Galahad, eager to defuse the situation. “Thank you, but it's all right. Really. I'm fine. Just a minor disagreement.”

The young man shrugged and walked away, glancing back as he went.

The incident had at last made Eric aware that he was in danger of making a spectacle of himself, which a man of his high position and self-importance was loath to do. However, his temper had not cooled. His face was flushed, and his lips were bloodless. His eyes were the eyes of a dangerous man.

She said, “Be happy, Eric. You've saved millions of dollars and God knows how much more in attorneys fees. You won. You didn't get to crush me or muddy my reputation in court the way you had hoped to, but you still won. Be happy with that.”

With a seething hatred that shocked her, he said, “You stupid, rotten bitch. The day you walked out on me, I wanted to knock you down and kick your stupid face in. I should've done it. Wish I had. But I thought you'd come crawling back, so I didn't. I should've. Should've kicked your stupid face in.” He raised his hand as if to slap her. But he checked himself even as she flinched from the expected blow. Furious, he turned and hurried away.

As she watched him go, Rachael suddenly understood that his sick desire to dominate everyone was a far more fundamental need than she'd realized. By stripping him of his power over her, by turning her back on both him and his money, she had not merely reduced him to an equal but had, in his eyes, unmanned him. That had to he the case, for nothing else explained the degree of his rage or his urge to commit violence, an urge he had barely controlled.

She had grown to dislike him intensely, if not hate him, and she had feared him a little, too. But until now, she had not been fully aware of the immensity and intensity of the rage within him. She had not realized how thoroughly dangerous he was.

Although the golden sunshine still dazzled her eyes and forced her to squint, although it still baked her skin, she felt a cold shiver pass through her, spawned by the realization that she'd been wise to leave Eric when she had — and perhaps fortunate to escape with no more physical damage than the bruises his fingers were certain to have left on her arm.

Watching him step off the sidewalk into the street, she was relieved to see him go. A moment later, relief turned to horror.

He was heading toward his black Mercedes, which was parked along the other side of the avenue. Perhaps