Thank you to LaRascasse for the review and editorial comments.
____________________________________________________
It was a little after ten in the morning, and Michael was already glued to the video feed from the front gate of the compound. Mariah was out there again, and she'd managed to attract a decent crowd today. He wondered how many of the men in the crowd had gathered just to watch her. An unseasonable breeze kept blowing a lock of her long brown hair across her face, and she kept tucking it back behind her ear. She had such delicate ears.
She turned her face into the wind, unknowingly looking into the hidden security camera. He tapped the controls to zoom in on her face. Her eyes were large and expressive with a fringe of dark lashes. They were the deepest, softest brown he'd ever seen. But today, instead of the gentleness Michael was accustomed to finding, her eyes flashed with anger. He chuckled. That kissable little mouth of hers was riling the crowd, urging them to force open the gate to the compound.
He zoomed back out to see how the crowd was reacting. That slob, Brad Hawley, the self-styled mayor of what was left of the town of Ashland, Colorado, was elbowing his way to the front. Michael could see at least three of Hawley's flunkies shoving their way through the crowd to catch up with their ringleader. It could only mean trouble, and Michael radioed security for reinforcements for the single guard behind the gate. The guard posts were hidden behind the walls of the compound and the gate was solid. The people outside couldn't see in. As far as they knew, the gate was unmanned. Security monitoring was primarily accomplished through cameras and microphones embedded in the walls surrounding the compound.
Hawley swaggered up to Mariah and looked her up and down with an exaggerated leer. "What do you think you're doing, little girl?" Mariah crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip, but said nothing. She stared at him silently until Hawley started to fidget. "I can't heeeaaar you," he intoned in a nasal singsong. She didn't answer. "Listen, you little bitch. As your mayor, I am ordering you to stop your rabble-rousing and get the fuck outta here."
That finally got a rise out of Mariah. "Mayor?" she sneered. "Nobody ever voted for you. Back when we still had elections, you couldn't have gotten yourself elected dog-catcher." Michael had no doubt Hawley had started the confrontation with Mariah because he just couldn't tolerate someone else being in the spotlight, and it was obvious the buffoon had no exit strategy. Michael grimaced. As much as he enjoyed watching Mariah shred Hawley's fragile ego, he was worried about what Hawley might do to save face. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he radioed security to be prepared to intervene.
Onscreen, Hawley sputtered, "Who the hell do you think you are? Mayor Jackson left an order appointing me as his lawful successor. Everybody knows that! What do you know about politics anyway, you stupid cunt?" Mariah smiled so sweetly that alarms went off in Michael's head.
"What do I know? Enough to know that there was never any legal provision allowing a mayor to appoint his successor. Enough to know that as a convicted felon, you weren't eligible to hold office anyway. Speaking of felonies, I hope you don't think anyone believes Mayor Jackson shot himself. Especially not with his right hand." Mariah smiled that saccharine smile again. "He was left-handed, you know."
Hawley snarled and lunged. Michael saw Mariah's head snap to the side as Hawley backhanded her. Michael yelled into the radio, "Now! Get her out of there NOW!" Three guards emerged through a door disguised in the wall, but not before Mariah flew at Hawley, stomping his instep as she drove her fist into his nose. Hawley's goons caught up to him and they were grabbing at her. Everyone but Mariah froze in shock when Michael's security team appeared, but Mariah's back was to them. She was focused on Hawley. Before she registered their presence, one of the guards grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back with them through the door in the compound's wall.
There weren't any cameras inside the guardhouse, but Michael could hear her protesting through the open radio channel. She was demanding to be put down. Then he heard a grunt and a curse from one of the men. She must have landed a blow before the guard had a chance to let go of her. His men remained calm. They were professionals. Now, he could hear her insisting that they let her out of the guardhouse. One of the men must have been blocking the guardhouse door. He heard Ezra, the guard who had brought Mariah in, trying to reassure her. The radio beeped and Nate's voice came through, "Orders, boss?"
"Bring her to house," Michael replied. "I'll see her in the main living room."
"Yes, sir," Nate acknowledged.
Michael sat back in his chair, his heart pounding in his throat. He was really going to meet Mariah. He'd been making plans to bring her into the compound, but he wasn't ready yet. Admittedly, most of the logistical arrangements for her arrival were complete, but he was still fine-tuning his plan to make sure she stayed. He had watched her for so long through cameras located around the town. Over the years, she had become something of an obsession for him. He knew her well, but she didn't know him at all. In a few minutes, she would be in his living room.
The flood of adrenaline and excitement left him on edge. He decided to give himself a few minutes to calm down. He had waited for this for years and he planned to have all the time in the world with her. He could wait a few minutes more. Michael used the time to make a call to Marcus in the kitchen with instructions for lunch.
In the living room, Mariah prepared for the unknown. The guards who rescued her told her very little. They wouldn't even tell her why they rescued her or how they knew she needed rescuing. She hated to use the word "rescued," especially since she was seconds away from laying Hawley out flat when she got snatched by the guards, but there was no denying that she wouldn't have lasted long against his goon squad. Still, she couldn't help wishing they'd given her just a minute longer before the rescue.
Mariah shook herself out of her uncharacteristically bloodthirsty thoughts. The adrenaline must not have worn off yet. Hawley was a worm and he wasn't worth getting killed over. She wasn't even that vindictive. The man was contemptible and a source of misery for a lot of people, but it would have been wiser not to provoke the altercation. When he hit her, she hadn't even tried to resist the invitation to lay into him.
And where had punching Hawley gotten her? Literally hauled off by guards who rescued her like a pathetic damsel in distress. It would be embarrassing if the whole thing wasn't so frightening. One moment she was moving in to land a blow to Hawley's throat, and the next moment, someone grabbed her from behind, lifted her off her feet, and carried her off. She hadn't even known there were guards behind the gate. As far as she knew, the only people in the compound were Mr. Kincaid and his staff. She'd always assumed that his staff would be more along the lines of people who cooked and cleaned for him, not guards patrolling the compound.
She had no idea what to expect from Mr. Kincaid. She hadn't ever met him, and nobody in town had seen him in over a decade. He must be in his sixties by now. All she knew about him was that he was very wealthy and not well-liked. Back in the guardhouse, she heard Mr. Kincaid tell the guard over the radio that he wanted her brought to the living room. She assumed it was because she had been trying to incite people to charge his gates. That was certainly going to be awkward.
She tried to view this meeting through the lens of opportunity. This compound held resources that could alleviate some of the town's hardship. Instead of trying to get to those resources by raiding his compound, she could use the opportunity to persuade Mr. Kincaid to help them. To stand any chance of succeeding, she was going to have to hide her disgust. She looked around the formal living room with its expensive finishes and expensive-looking knickknacks. She thought of the grand foyer she'd been led through, and the grand staircase she passed on the way to the living room. Keeping her attitude in check wouldn't be easy.
Not far outside this compound, people were suffering and dying. There was rarely enough for everyone to eat. Some people never had enough, and sometimes nobody had enough. It was hardest on the children. Poor nutrition left them susceptible to cholera, dysentery, and a host of other diseases. Two little babies died just last week, only hours apart. She was there with their mothers when the light went out of their eyes. They didn't even have names yet. Since the infant mortality rate spiked, some people stopped naming babies until they were a year old, believing the loss would be easier to bear that way if the child didn't survive. The anguish of the dead babies' parents suggested otherwise. In her own mind, Mariah had named them Tasha and Yuri. Nobody should die without a name.
The elderly were also hit hard by poor nutrition. Many families struggled to balance the needs of aging parents and young children. Most grandparents systemically starved themselves to avoid taking food out of the mouths of their grandchildren. It was worse when elderly relatives did not have that discipline, or worse, begged for food meant for the young children.
People like Mariah were lucky. With only herself to support, she could usually find enough food to share. The problem was choosing who to share it with. No matter how hard she worked to gather food, there was never enough to share with everyone who needed it. Nor could she deprive herself. She had to cover a lot of ground to visit all the places she found food. If she grew too ill or too weak to walk long distances, everyone who depended on her would also suffer. Her garden was an unreliable source. The flooding this year had killed most of her plants, especially the potatoes. She replanted, but she didn't have enough seeds left over for a large crop. Everyone else had the same problem.
Scarcity of food wasn't the only problem. Many houses were falling apart. Her own house had been spared so far because of its sheltered location outside of out of town, but the majority of Ashland got hit regularly by storms that ripped off roofs and collapsed walls. And here she was, sitting in the beautifully furnished formal living room of a ridiculously large mansion. It even had air conditioning, which meant there was electricity. This wasn't the time of day when the rest of the town had electricity.
Somehow, she needed to contain her anger at the inequity and channel it into something useful. It was hard to imagine that someone who had been living in luxury while people struggled and died would be interested in helping anyone. If Mr. Kincaid wasn't ready to do his part, it was up to her to figure out what he
was
willing to do. Maybe he would at least allow people to grow crops on his land behind the security of his fences. As it was, people spent an entire season growing crops, only to have their gardens raided by bandits before they were ready to harvest. Although she strongly suspected the "bandits" were the local variety, the restricted access of the compound should keep the crops safe until they were harvested by their rightful owners. Surely there was some concession Mr. Kincaid would be willing to make.
By the time Michael entered the living room, Mariah had calmed down considerably. She was examining an antique snuff box when he came in. He nodded to Ezra, who'd taken up a position outside the door. Ezra left without a word, but Michael thought he detected a hint of a smile on the man's face.
He approached Mariah. "I'm Michael Kincaid. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Williams."
Her smile faltered, and a little crease appeared between her eyebrows. "It's nice to meet you, Michael. Please, call me 'Mariah.' But, how do you know my name?"
Michael smiled and gestured toward a pair of armchairs arranged around a small coffee table near one of the windows. "I'm afraid I have a confession to make, Mariah. It's a long story, so please, make yourself comfortable."
Mariah eyed him for a moment, then accepted his invitation, settling into one of the chairs. He sat across from her with the table between them. He was not at all what she expected. For one thing, he was not in his sixties. He looked close to her own age. She didn't think he could be more than 35. He was also much more pleasant than she expected.
"Would you care for a drink?" he asked. "I know it's not even noon, but this has already been quite a day. Perhaps you could use something to settle your nerves?"
She replied quickly, "No, thank you." Michael could see that she was impatient for the explanation that he was eager to postpone. He picked up a house telephone and dialed Marcus in the kitchen. Marcus picked up at the first ring.
