Chapter 50

Shauna didn't go to work for the next three days. She couldn't.

Every half hour or so, she would have difficulty breathing and feel as if she was going to suffocate to death. She had to remind herself to breathe, and when she did, she hyperventilated and felt like jumping out the window.

The coffee didn't help. She was so keyed up by evening, she didn't know if she was coming or going. On the second day, she began to add dollops of brandy to the black java.

This numbed the anxiety a little, but it made her hopelessly drunk by afternoon, and when she tried to sleep it off, the coffee kept her awake and restless, tossing and turning all afternoon on her bed, ignoring the incessant ringing of the phone, her mobile and the doorbell. At work, they must have thought she was seriously ill because Shauna was the kind of person who would get her jobs done even if she was in an ICU.

After trying unsuccessfully to get through to her for three days, they finally figured out somehow that she was at home but not answering the phone or the door, and someone slipped a note through the mail slot in the front door. It asked what was so serious that she couldn't even call, hoped she was okay, and urged her to get in touch and talk to somebody about it at least.

She snorted, reeling with the gin. She had switched to gin today just to see if it made any difference.

Tomorrow she would probably try vodka and graduate from there. At this rate, in less than two weeks, she would be on coke.

Then she began to cry again. This was the problem. No matter what she took, what she did, the tears came.

They ambushed her at the most unexpected moments, taking her completely by surprise, rendering her totally helpless.

"Damn you!" She spilled gin over herself and didn't care. "Why don't you just drop dead!" She hated Milan. Hated that tall, beautifully built, devilishly good-looking man who had come between her and her twin sister. Nothing had ever been able to shake the bond she and Sherie shared. Not for almost thirty years. Until now. Until Milan.

Struggling to come to terms with the tears, she came to a decision. There was one thing she could do. Had to do. The only way she had been able to think of in these three days to try and set things right between Sherie and herself.

She picked up her mobile and dialled a number. Sherie had changed her numbers but there was no reason why Milan would have changed his. Shauna prayed he hadn't. Milan's cell number rang. Once, twice, thrice ... four times. Shauna was just about to give up and disconnect -- and then probably throw the Ericcson through the window -- when the call went through and the familiar voice of Milan Wardhe spoke in her ear.