Too Many Bosses

by Jan Freed

  Laura made a swipe for the ring, her hand closing over warm fingers and cool metal. Their gazes locked. Awareness crackled between them. Still gripping the key, he focused on her mouth. “Thanks, Laura.”

  His gaze slid lower, lower, lower...then slowly back up to her eyes, gaining voltage as it traveled.

  “New suit?”

  Lost in his thousand-watt gaze, she nodded.

  “I like it,” he said, relinquishing his hold.

  The keys dropped and clattered onto the desk. Cheeks burning, she picked them up and backed away. “Th-thanks. I’ll go as fast as I can.” Ducking her head, she fled the office.

  The drive passed in a blur, obscured by more vivid images. He likes my new suit. Pulling into Alec’s driveway, she glimpsed her dreamy smile in the rearview mirror.

  What a dork. She’d better get her mind on the job. If she found the report in Jason’s room, she could be back on the road in minutes and salvage the meeting.

  Yanking the key from the ignition, she scrambled out and slammed the truck door. The house stood silent. And cold, despite the redbrick shimmering in the rising heat.

  Shaking off the fanciful thought, Laura slipped through the backyard gate and rounded the corner. The shaded flagstone patio was lovely. Did Alec sip his morning coffee out here? No, not a chance. He’d gulp a cup on his way to the office. Pity.

  Continuing toward the back door, she inserted the square key and pushed with her shoulder. The door soundlessly swung open. She bustled into the shadowed room, kicked the door shut and waited for her eyes to adjust. Where was the light switch? She needed to get mov—

  A high keening moan in the distance raised the hairs on the back of her neck. It was a sound of terror. A distress call. A signal from a child in trouble.

  Oh, God. Oh, God...

  * * *

  I‘M NOT AFRAID of the dark. There’s nothin’ in here. Nothin’ breathin’ behind me with big sharp teeth. Nanny Howard said there’s no such thing as monsters, and she wouldn’t lie. I’m not scared. I’m not...

  Jason hugged his shins more tightly and ground his face into his knees. The bony pressure felt good against his puffy eyes.

  His dad wouldn’t cry. His dad would turn around and grab the monster and kill it! If Jason had his ninja sword, he’d kill it, too. Then he’d chop his way out of the dark and kill her. Well, maybe not kill. But he’d beat up her mean ugly face, so she’d go away and never come back.

  The thought made him feel better. He scooted his bottom a little to one side and made a face at the tingling feeling. She didn’t think he could sit his butt still for two seconds, but he’d been here longer than that. Way longer.

  He’d missed the school van again. He should’ve climbed his tree right away, instead of trying to snitch a few cookies. But he’d gotten so hungry last time waiting for his dad.

  She’d caught him sneaking out of the pantry. Before he could run away, she’d dragged him by the ear and closed him in the dark so he could think long and hard about what a bad little boy he was. If he sat quiet until she got good and ready to let him out, maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t tell his father what a horrible brat he was.

  Mean old witch!

  He’d stuck his tongue out so she wouldn’t know how scared he was. He sort of wished he hadn’t done that now.

  I’m not afraid of the dark.

  If he’d made it to his tree, maybe his dad would’ve brought that nice lady Laura home again. Jason squeezed his eyes shut hard until he could see her face.

  She was pretty. Not don’t-touch-my-hair pretty like his mom had been. But pretty like...Joey’s new puppy down the street. Laura had eyes like Biscuit’s, warm and friendly and goldish brown in the sunlight. She’d tickled his leg and smiled at him with her whole face, not just her teeth—like she didn’t think he was a brat at all. She could climb real good, too—for a girl. Jason almost smiled against his knees. Almost.

  She sure was nice. He bet if he hugged her, she wouldn’t care if he messed up her hair or the gunk on her face.

  He tightened his arms and rubbed one cheek against his knees. His chest ached on the inside, like it was bruised or something. I won’t think about hugging. I won’t think about bein’ alone. I won’t think about the dark.

  Nobody wanted him. Not his mom, who’d left him with Nanny Howard to go to heaven. Not Nanny Howard, who’d sent him away to his dad’s. Not his dad, who’d left him with the witch to go to work. Nobody.

  Except the thing behind him.

  Jason could hear it breathing, feel its big, bulgy eyes staring at his back. He had to be quiet. She wouldn’t let him out if he made a noise. Fear rose in his throat. He stuffed a fist into his mouth. The muffled, high moan seeped around his knuckles and filled the dark.

  * * *

  EVERY MATERNAL CELL in Laura’s body strained toward the sound. The cry faded into eerie silence.

  She cocked her head and listened. If she charged into an unknown situation recklessly, she might do Jason more harm than good. Slipping off her pumps, she crept across the tiles, her gaze scanning the shadowed breakfast nook as she passed. Pans and utensils hung like bats in ghostly silhouette. Surfaces gleamed and winked. Not a bogeyman in sight.

  In the kitchen.

  Pausing at the entrance to the vast living room, she heard the faint drone of a television coming from upstairs. She crossed white carpet to the marble foyer. Alec’s front door appeared bolted from the inside. Was that good or bad? She swung around and faced a sweeping staircase.

  With each step, the frenzied noises of a popular game show jangled her nerves. At the top stair, she hesitated. A large open area to the right held a pool table and wet bar. Nothing else. She turned left.

  Three doors lined the hallway. Two were closed. The last one stood cracked open, emitting the unmistakable squawks of a TV. Her heart racing, she tiptoed forward and peered through the gap.

  A chest of drawers and protruding bed frame flickered in blue-green light. Splayed feet encased in sturdy black shoes stretched out from a chair beyond the bed. She’d seen those shoes before.

  Laura pushed the door wide, allowing light to spill from the hall into the bedroom. Mrs. Pennington sat slumped in a rocking chair facing the television, her eyes closed and head lolling to one side. Something about her utter stillness and slack mouth warned Laura this wasn’t a simple nap.

  Alarmed, she swept past the rocker to the window and yanked open the heavy floral draperie. Sunlight flooded over Mrs. Pennington’s sagging face, sallow but for the red veins webbing her prominent nose. Rehearsing CPR techniques in her mind, Laura bent over to search for signs of a stroke. Fetid whiskey-fumed breath sent her reeling backward.

  The woman was sauced!

  Dear God, where was Jason?

  Laura whirled around and switched off the television. “Jason? Where are you?” Her voice echoed in the silence.

  Mrs. Pennington groaned. Laura threw her a furious glance before running into the hallway.

  “Jason, it’s Laura. Please answer me.”

  A small sound caught her attention. She strained to pinpoint its location. There it was again—a choked pitiful sob coming from the other end of the house. She rushed toward the empty games room. The crying strengthened in volume.

  “That’s right, Jason. Nice and loud, so I can find you.”

  Tracking his voice to the east wall, she flung open a series of cabinet doors containing stereo equipment, CDs and games.

  “Laura?” Jason croaked.

  Her head snapped to the right. “Say something else, honey, so I can find you.” She approached a large bar, complete with brass foot rail and dozens of bottles against a mirrored back wall.

  “It’s so d-dark.”

  There. Laura ran around an oak countertop and crouched on the floor. A side wall papered in wine-and-forest-green pheasants revealed a cleverly concealed door, about three by four feet, papered in the same pattern. She grabbed a brass knob and pulled.

  Dam
n! A small part of her had clung to the hope he’d just been hiding. “I’m here, honey. Do you know where the key is?”

  “She has it.”

  “Mrs. Pennington locked you in here?” Laura’s nostrils flared. “Hang on another minute, and I’ll get you out.” She started to rise.

  “Wait.”

  At his panicked tone, Laura knelt back down. “Don’t worry about Mrs. Pennington. She’s not going to hurt you, I promise. Let me get the k—”

  “Wait! She’s a witch!”

  Laura leaned her forehead against the cabinet and squeezed her eyes shut. What kind of woman would do this to a child? She forced the anger from her voice. “I know, sweetheart. But you’re safe now. I’ll be right back, I prom—”

  “Waaait!” His anguished panting breaths could be heard through the wood barrier. “She’ll get mad at you for helpin’ me. You gotta go.”

  Laura blinked.

  His breathing slowed. He sniffed hard. “I’m okay, Laura, honest. I won’t cry anymore.”

  Stunned, she sat back on her heels. He was worried about her safety, not his own. Swallowing thickly, she narrowed her eyes.

  That woman is dead meat.

  “I’ll be right back,” Laura repeated, rising to march down the hallway and into the last bedroom.

  Mrs. Pennington sat hunched forward in the rocker, her eyes and forehead cupped in both hands. The neck of a whiskey bottle peeked out from under the ivory dust ruffle near her feet.

  “Where’s the key?” Laura demanded.

  Lifting the heel of one palm, Mrs. Pennington delivered a hostile bloodshot glare before deliberately covering her eye again.

  Laura charged the rocker and grabbed a thick wrist in each of her hands. The housekeeper was built like a linebacker, but Laura’s younger athletic muscles were fueled by fury.

  She pried Mrs. Pennington’s hands apart and leaned forward. “Listen to me, woman, and you listen good. Either you tell me where that key is now, or I won’t just see that you never work near children again, I’ll file criminal charges with the police! Just try to get any job with a record, lady.”

  Head weaving, the housekeeper sneered. “The boysh a crybaby, thash what. Lucky I didn’ take a shtrap to hish back.”

  Laura thought of the six-year-old “crybaby” who’d exhibited more courage and chivalry than any grown man she’d known. Very slowly, she increased the pressure of her hold on each wrist. “Did you know, Mrs. Pennington, that it’s very common for drunks to accidentally injure themselves?” She felt a savage glee as the woman pulled and jerked to no avail. Laura’s viselike grip twisted in a wrestling maneuver she’d learned from Scott. “For instance, if a woman your age tried to break a fall with her hands, she could fracture her wrists.”

  Fear sobered as nothing else could. Mrs. Pennington flung her head back. “You’re crazy. Let me go!”

  “Where’s the key?” Laura looked long and deep into the other woman’s eyes, hiding none of her rage.

  Mrs. Pennington blanched. “In the top chest drawer. Under the handkerchiefs,” she whispered.

  Laura found the small key with no difficulty, thank heavens. At the doorway she paused and turned. “Pack your things. Now. There’ll be a cab out front in thirty minutes.”

  Mrs. Pennington slumped forward, a pitiful drunken old woman.

  A woman who’d locked a small child in a storage cabinet, Laura reminded herself.

  Running back to the bar, she slipped behind the counter. “I’m back, Jason. Just a minute and I’ll have you out of there.” How long had he been locked inside? Hands shaking, she inserted the key and pulled open the door.

  Jason sat huddled in a space the size of a small doghouse. He squinted against the light, his pale cheeks tracked with tears, his swollen eyes searching her face.

  “You okay?” he whispered.

  His concern was her undoing. Laura reached inside, grabbed his hands and pulled. He flew into her lap, wrapping thin little arms around her neck and burying his face in her shoulder. She rocked him and crooned words of comfort, treasuring the feel of his warm sturdy body. Long soothing minutes passed.

  When Laura finally moved to get up, Jason clung to her torso like a tree frog. She relaxed again and stroked his hair. “Jason, sweetheart, I’ve got to call your father now and let him know you’re all right.” And tell him to reschedule the meeting with Sam. “Have you had any breakfast, yet?”

  The boy shook his head, the action burrowing his face deeper into her shoulder. Laura struggled to keep her voice light. “Let’s go see what we can rustle up for you to eat while I make the call.”

  She eased him off her lap, stood up and stretched out a hand. As his small palm slipped into hers, Laura knew Jason McDonald had slipped just as firmly into her heart. She accepted his trust and all accompanying responsibilities without question. He needed love, and she had plenty to spare. Especially for such a brave dear little boy.

  Laura led Jason to the pantry, then settled him at the breakfast table with a glass of milk and a plate of Oreos. There was a time for good nutrition, and this wasn’t it. As she walked to the kitchen phone, he rewarded her with a chocolate-toothed grin.

  Shaking her head at the resiliency of children, she picked up the receiver and dialed the office. There was so much to say—and so much to hear. How could this nightmare have happened in the first place? She would try and withhold judgment about Alec’s negligence until she’d heard his explanation.

  But for his future health, it had better be a damn good one.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ALEC BROODED over his glass of beer, oblivious to the crowd of uptown professionals sharing the restaurant bar where he waited. Sam wasn’t due for another ten minutes. Alec hoped like hell he could salvage yesterday’s fiasco.

  After Laura had called with her shocking report on his housekeeper, he’d charged out of the office without a word. He’d reached the parking garage before remembering Laura had borrowed his truck.

  When he’d finally pulled up at his house in Harold’s Jaguar, Alec had already flayed himself bloody for not checking Mrs. Pennington’s falsified references personally. His ex-wife had been an indifferent mother at best. Yet Susan at her worst wasn’t as bad as that monster he’d unknowingly hired.

  He sipped his beer, wishing he could chase it down with whiskey. Maybe then he could forget the tongue-lashing Laura had given him.

  To her credit, she’d allowed him a chance to explain his irresponsibility. But hell, it was so...complicated. He didn’t know north from south anymore. Only one thing was clear.

  He loved his son. Always had, from the moment those tiny day-old fingers had fisted around his thumb and clogged his throat with emotion. He’d stared into unfocused blue eyes and sworn to be worthy of such complete innocence and trust. And for two years he’d kept his promise.

  Bad seeds grow weeds, boy. You’re just like me, and not a goddamn thing’ll change that. Blood will tell, wait and see.

  Would he never get his old man’s sneering voice out of his head?

  A red-jacketed bartender picked up Alec’s water-beaded glass, wiped the ring underneath and set it back down on the bar. “Like another beer, sir?”

  Alec shook his head and pulled the glass toward him, nursing his last few sips. He’d proved Pop right, after all. And two-year-old Jason had been snatched from Alec’s life to be raised by nannies, while Susan traveled the world’s glamour circuit. Monte Carlo, Paris, Acapulco—wherever the hottest celebrity house party led her. Her tour had ended three months ago on an autobahn at 110 miles an hour. A fitting end. Fast and dramatic, like the woman herself. Alec snorted into his glass before draining the final golden inch.

  He’d mourned his father-in-law’s death six months ago far more than Susan’s. Some thought it odd that his relationship with John had remained friendly even after the divorce. But Alec’s mentor had loved Susan unconditionally—not blindly. Her excesses and emotionalism had made Alec’s own rigid control seem adm
irable in John’s eyes.

  A brunette two bar stools away tossed her hair. Recrossed her legs. Laughed too loud. He knew the routine. If he looked her in the eye, she’d close in like a black widow spider.

  He shifted toward a bank of harmless ferns and checked his watch. Three minutes left. Three minutes to get his mind on Regency Hotels and off Jason’s haunted expression.

  I’m sorry, son. I thought I was protecting you.

  After Susan’s death, authorities had returned Jason to Alec in the States. There’d been no other living relatives. No other choice. And damn his selfish soul, he’d been glad.

  Fate had dropped Jason back into Alec’s life for some cosmic reason. Not daring to push his luck, he’d supplied a room full of toys, a closet full of clothes and had kept his distance. Distance was the key to appeasing the gods, he’d determined. As long as he avoided Jason, the boy would be safe—and allowed to stay. So far the strategy had worked.

  But suppose, just suppose, Laura was right? What if Jason truly was reaching out for love and affection with his acts of rebellion? Alec couldn’t relate. He and his mom had tiptoed around Pop as if he was nitroglycerin. Hell, pulling stunts to get his attention would have been suicidal.

  Alec straightened his spine and pressed a fist into his lower back. Lord, what a mess. He didn’t like tempting fate, but he sure as hell wouldn’t risk another Mrs. Pennington. He didn’t know beans about being a father, but he’d watched his share of reruns. If Bill Cosby could do it, so could he.

  After all, how hard could raising a six-year-old be?

  * * *

  SAM PLOWED his way across the posh restaurant bar, leaving a wake of grumbling patrons behind. Were all these people waiting for tables? He couldn’t see why. Ten to one this place wouldn’t know a Corona from sparkling water.

  Glimpsing a sultry brunette through the crowd, he perked up. She did great things for a bar stool. And she wanted someone sitting to her right to notice.