Facets. Part 26

She shook her head. "I'm seeing him."

"Over my dead body."

"What is it you hate so about him? He's good, and he's kind. He works hard. He keeps up the morale of the others. Is it because of that that you hate him? Or are you still sore because Daddy liked him?"

"The man is a waste."

"Daddy didn't think so. He wanted to leave him Little Lincoln."

She scored with that one, if the muscle that twitched in John's jaw meant anything. "What are you talking about?"

"I heard the two of you talking once. Arguing. Daddy wanted Cutter to have Little Lincoln. Why didn't he get it?"

"The old man must have changed his mind," John said. He didn't blink, but came close before catching himself. "He must have realized what a mistake it would have been. Cutter Reid is trash. He's nothing, he's going nowhere, and I'll be d.a.m.ned if he'll have you."

Pam was infuriated by the insults. "He already has," she informed John, uncaring when his eyes grew darker and more vicious.

He was very quiet for a minute. "Is that true?"

"Yes."

"I'll get him on rape."

"It wasn't rape."

"You're a minor. I'll get him on a corruption charge."

"I begged him for it."

"The court won't give a d.a.m.n. You're a minor. He violated you."

"What he did was beautiful. What you did was the violation."

John went rigid. Pam had never seen him quite so angry. "Don't you ever," he muttered, "ever say that again."

But she was fighting for her life. "I'll say that and more if you bring Cutter to court. I'll embarra.s.s you, John. It'll all come out."

He gave her a look of pure hatred, and for a minute she wondered if he'd lose control. In the next minute, though, he straightened his shoulders and started for the door.

She had fought fire with fire. Suddenly she wondered if she'd played her cards wrong. Nothing was settled. She went after him. "Where are you going?"

"Someplace where I don't have to look at you. You disgust me."

"That's nothing new-"

He whirled on her so quickly that she fell back a step. "What's new is that I've sold the house."

She sucked in a breath. "You didn't."

"As soon as I heard you were seeing him."

"To who? Who did you sell it to?" She'd just buy it back.

"It's none of your affair. Nothing about Timiny Cove is your affair anymore."

"It is!" she cried, her heart hammering wildly. "I loved that house! It was mine!"

"At my discretion. But you blew it. I gave you fair warning, and you blew it."

Her eyes brimmed with tears. "You hated it. You wanted to sell it all along. You waited until you knew it would hurt the most, then you used me as an excuse. You're a s.a.d.i.s.t, John."

"s.a.d.i.s.t or not, I'm your legal guardian."

"Not for much longer," she argued, and the meaning of that hit her. "I'm nearly eighteen. That's why you did it, isn't it? Once I'm of age, I can fight you."

"You can try, but you won't get very far. I run things around here. What I say is law." He raised a finger in front of her nose. "And I say that you'll keep your G.o.dd.a.m.ned mouth shut and behave. You won't call Cutter Reid. You won't see Cutter Reid. Because selling the house is for starters. If I catch you anywhere near Timiny Cove or Cutter Reid, I'll can him from the mine."

Pam swallowed the thick knot in her throat. "You wouldn't do that. He's a leader there. He sticks up for the others. They respect him. Fire him, and you'll have a rebellion on your hands."

"Not," he said, punctuating his words with jabs to her chest, "if I fire every G.o.dd.a.m.ned miner he's ever championed right along with him." His hand formed a fist and fell to his side. "And I'll do it, Pam. Times are hard. The old guys are dead weight. For every one of them, there's another able-bodied man dying to work. Don't think I don't control the hiring and firing. And don't think you can sneak off and see Cutter Reid without my knowing, because I'll be watching. I'll have people listening in to his phone calls-"

"That's illegal."

"Keep your mouth shut!" he roared, then quickly lowered his voice. "Judge Nowell, in Bangor, is a friend. He'll make it legal with few questions asked. And it's perfectly legal to hire a private investigator. You'll have someone on your tail every time you leave this dorm."

"You're bluffing."

"Try me."

She didn't know if she dared, which made the agony that much worse. "Don't do this," she cried softly.

"Don't see Cutter."

Desperate, she clutched at his arm. "But I love him."

He shook her off. "Then you're a fool. He's only after the name, don't you see? He tried to get what he could from the old man, but he came up short, so now he's shooting for you."

"That's not true," she said without any doubt. "He loves me."

"He loves who and what you are."

"He loves me."

"You're his ticket out, Pam, only you're too stupid to see it." He was in control again, speaking with the voice of authority. "I know how guys like that work. They latch on to a good thing, get what they can, then move on to greener pastures."

"But he hasn't gotten a thing from me."

With a sneer, John looked her up and down. "That wasn't what you said a minute ago."

She didn't have to remember Palm Beach to feel dirty again. His look was lewd enough to do it. She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the feeling. "I've never given him money or tried to get a promotion for him. I haven't given him a thing. So why's he hanging around?"

"Because this is all part of the plan. First he seduces you, then he makes you dependent on him physically, then he starts. .h.i.tting you up for favors."

"Is that how you work?" she blurted.

He slapped her hard across the face.

Her hand flew to the spot, but she was more aware of the tears in her eyes. They were a sign of weakness, which was the last thing she wanted to show John. So she said, "Did I hit it right?"

"You have a fresh mouth. I should have done that years ago."

"If you had, I'd have reported you for child abuse."

"For a slap across the face? I think not."

"But you've got it in you for more," she lashed back, "and we both know it. You have a mean streak. Deep down, under that expensive suit of yours, you're no better than a street fighter."

Before she could move from his reach, he closed a large hand around a fistful of her sweatshirt and hauled her close.

"And you," he said in a fury of clenched teeth, "are a b.i.t.c.h. I don't want to hear what you have to say. I don't want to see you. Just stay here and study. Stay away from Maine. And stay away from Cutter Reid. If you don't, you'll have yourself to blame for what happens. Do I make myself clear?"

"Let go of me."

He hoisted her higher. "Do I make myself clear?"

"I hate you."

"The feeling's mutual. Now, are we in agreement about the other? Do you understand what I expect of you?"

"I understand that as soon as I'm legally of age, I can tell you to f.u.c.k off."

His nostrils flared at her choice of words, but that was the only satisfaction she got. "Wrong, sweetheart." He twisted his hand to lift her even higher, while he put his mouth by her cheek and spoke with lethal quiet. "What I'm saying has nothing to do with age. It has to do with power. I have it, you don't. I control the trust fund, I control the stock. You won't have a voting seat on the board until you're twenty-five, and by that time I'll have the board stacked my way. So the best you can do when you turn eighteen is run away, and I won't be able to bring you back." He took a deep breath, seeming to inhale her essence before spitting it out in a contemptuous snarl. "If you want to run away, be my guest. I don't want you." Releasing her forcefully, he turned on his heel and left.

Pam went to see her mother the next day. She sat quietly with her, not saying much, staring blindly out at the gray December landscape. After a time, she took her hand. It was pale and delicate, not quite limp, not quite directed, an apt representation of Patricia herself. The longer Pam looked at it, the more carefully she traced the fragile webwork of veins, the more devastated she felt. She was thirteen again, lost and alone and frightened because everything that had been good in her life was being taken away. And suddenly it didn't matter that she was nearly eighteen or that Patricia was to be protected. Unable to hold it in any longer, Pam bent over that hand and began to cry.

"I don't know-what to do-things are so wrong-I need help-Mommy."

She wept softly, losing track of time in her grief. Somewhere in its midst, she felt Patricia's fingers close around hers, and she held on for dear life.

Chapter 15.

CUTTER PUT HIS BACK TO THE phone booth door and lowered his head over the receiver. "Pamela St. George, please."

"Just a minute." The voice was that of another of the students in Pam's dorm and was accommodating enough. Whether the girl could produce Pam was another story. He had already tried twice without luck and was uneasy. They hadn't talked in five days, which wasn't unusual, but he had expected her in Timiny Cove that morning, and she hadn't shown. He had checked the big brick house and found it locked tight. He wasn't waiting to get back to his place to try her again at the dorm.

"I'm sorry," the voice came back, "but she isn't here."

"Do you know where she is?"

"No."

"Do you know when she'll be back?"

"Has she signed out?"

"I don't know."

"Can you check?" he asked impatiently, then sighed. "I was supposed to meet her this morning. I'm worried."

"She was here a little while ago. I saw her myself, and she looked fine. Do you want to leave a message?"

The words echoed in his brain. She wasn't sick. Or in a car crash. He'd already left two cryptic messages that only Pam would understand. "No," he murmured and hung up the phone.

Leaving the booth, he slid into his truck and sat for a long time staring out the windshield. He was scared to death. He loved Pam so much that she was his first thought in the morning and his last thought at night. She was with him wherever he went, was everything poetic in a life that was otherwise ordinary.

He didn't know what in the h.e.l.l was wrong. It wasn't like Pam not to call if she couldn't come. Or not to answer his calls.

Starting the pickup, he backed away from the phone booth and headed out of town toward the highway. Minutes later he was pushing the speed limit, heading south, toward Boston.

He'd find her. If he had to wait all night and all of Sunday outside her dorm, he'd find her. He had to know what was wrong. She meant far too much to him not to worry, and it was even worse since they'd made love. Her body was perfect. It was fresh and clean, and it responded to his body as if it had been created especially for him. When he was hugged tightly inside her, he felt securely loved.

It was an illusion, of course. Pam did love him, but there was nothing secure about it in the sense of longevity. She argued that they had a future, but he didn't believe it. He was a townie, she was a city girl. He was born to dirt, she was born to money. He knew he'd have to give her up one day, but he just wasn't ready for it yet. He hadn't had her long enough. He wanted more time.

In the fall she'd go off to college, and her world would open up. He could follow her, could leave the mine and take a job where she was, but that would only be worse because then she'd see him out of the context of Timiny Cove. In comparison to the college guys, he would seem a dud.

Flashing lights suddenly filled his rearview mirror. He didn't have to look at his gauge to know he'd been speeding. Muttering a choice epithet, he slowed down and moved out of the fast lane. When the cruiser sped past him after another target, he stayed where he was. Someone had given him a reprieve.

He prayed for another one when he reached Boston, but it wasn't to be. Pam wasn't at her dorm. She had signed out to a friend's house, which meant she could be anywhere. Leaving another cryptic message, he checked in to a nearby motel. Pam never showed. He stayed there, watching the phone, until midday Sunday, then staked out a position within viewing distance of the brick-flanked drive to her school. It was cold and dark at 6:00 P.M. when the Cougar finally turned in. He quickly followed, pulled into the parking s.p.a.ce beside hers, and caught her as she got out of her car.

She screamed with fright, then with anguish. "Cutter! Oh G.o.d." She covered her face with shaky hands, but rather than falling into his arms as he thought she would, she shrank back against her car. "Go away, Cutter! Go quickly!"

He didn't like the sound of that at all. "What's wrong?"

"Leave! Please, leave!" She parted her hands and shot a frantic look around. "If we're seen together, there'll be awful trouble." She grabbed hold of his heavy jacket. Not even the darkness could hide the fear in her eyes. "Go now, before someone sees!"

He'd never seen her this way, and it was making him more nervous by the minute. "Not until I find out what's wrong. You were supposed to drive up yesterday morning."

"I couldn't. He said he'd have me watched."

Cutter felt a ripple of cold fear. "John?"

"He knows about us. Everything. And he'll do awful things if he catches us together." She glanced worriedly over her shoulder.