It was mostly in plain sight. The kind of thing he wouldn’t need a warrant to see. It also seemed silly to worry about looking at a photo when he’d fantasized about Beth’s panties just a few seconds before.
Jack held the flashlight on a picture of man and a little boy of about four or five years old, standing in front of a fire truck. Jack assumed the boy was Ben. He was standing in an enormous pair of fireman’s boots that engulfed his legs all the way up his skinny thighs. A large, dark-haired man hunkered down on one knee next to the child. Both man and boy smiled for the camera. It was a happy moment, a slice of time captured forever before the family’s life imploded with tragedy.
Jack swallowed the lump in his throat as a wave of sadness passed over him. He couldn’t imagine losing his father, and he was forty-seven. How did a five-year-old boy deal with it? With sad determination, he replaced the photo and exited the room.
Jack limped toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. He opened the linen closet behind the door and shone the light inside. A small figure huddled on the cold tile. Katie’s knees were drawn up to her chest. She hugged her legs and rocked. Looking up at Jack, she opened her mouth to scream, but she was so frightened her throat only emitted a small squeak.
Jack’s heart squeezed. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he set the light on the floor and leaned down as far as he could.
“Come on out, honey, I won’t hurt you.” Jack kept his voice calm and soothing, like he was talking her off a ledge. “Ben’s waiting downstairs for us. He’s worried about you.” Katie didn’t respond. She rocked back and forth, staring straight ahead at the wall with an alarming, blank expression on her pale face.
“Henry is really scared of storms. I’ll bet he’d feel a lot better if you sat with him.”
The little girl swallowed and blinked, slowly shifting her gaze to Jack. She scooted forward a couple inches. Jack bent closer and held out his hand. Katie hesitated for one more second, then set her tiny hand in his palm. Jack curled his fingers around hers. When he started to straighten, she catapulted herself into his arms and wrapped all four limbs around him, sobbing.
Knocked off balance, Jack stumbled backward and leaned against the vanity. He held her close. “It’s OK, baby. It’s only a storm. Nature’s fireworks. You’re safe with me.”
Smoothing the damp hair away from her face, he squinted down at her in the peripheral glow of the flashlight. She leaned against his chest. Her hands clenched his shirt in tight fists, and she hiccupped between ragged breaths. Christ, she couldn’t weigh more than forty pounds.
With a death grip on the railing, Jack carried her down the stairs. A flash of lightning illuminated the foyer, followed by a loud clap of thunder. Katie jumped in Jack’s arms. Holding her hands against her ears, she buried her face in his shirt. Hot tears soaked through his T-shirt. “Shh. It’s OK. I’ve got you.”
“Hey, Ben. I found Katie,” Jack called out, trying to keep his voice casual and relaxed.
“Great. Thanks, Jack.” Ben’s relieved voice came from the kitchen. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to look.”
“Your mother make it back yet?” Jack glanced out the French doors. Rain pounded against the glass. He carried Katie into the room, pulled a camp lantern out of the cabinet, and switched it on.
“She was closing up the barn. I hope she’s OK. It’s raining sideways.” Ben raised a hand to his mouth and chewed on a ragged edge of nail.
The kitchen door burst open and Beth surged through, leaning on the door to force it closed. Dripping, she turned to face the group. Wide-eyed, Beth froze and stared at her daughter. Katie was still wrapped around Jack like a spider monkey. His knee threatened to explode from her extra weight, but he didn’t have the heart to forcibly dislodge her. And even if he could disentangle himself from her embrace, his heart squeezed at the thought of wrenching her off of him.
Beth’s hair was plastered to her head, and her jeans and T-shirt clung to her body like a second skin, outlining her slim legs and rounded breasts. What he wouldn’t give to help her peel those wet clothes off, then maybe lick the raindrops from her skin.
Sigh. That wasn’t going to happen. If he knew only one thing about Beth, it was that she didn’t want to be touched, especially by him.
A puddle spread around her feet, and Jack bit his cheek to keep from laughing. “You’re soaked. Why don’t you go upstairs and get out of those wet clothes? When you come back down, I’ll go out and try to start the emergency generator.”
He couldn’t help himself. His gaze dropped to her breasts again. Not too large or small, he noticed once again how perfectly they’d fill his palms. Beth caught his look and blushed. She dropped her gaze from his face to the floor, and Jack decided that, although his chances of ever seeing her naked were only slightly greater than winning the Pick-6, he liked her face all flushed and flustered. Ten different ways to get it that way popped into his head simultaneously. They all required her to be naked, which seemed to have become a recurring theme in Jack’s imagination.
Beth cleared her throat and spoke in a firm, back-to-business voice. “I sent them up here as soon as I saw the storm coming. I didn’t want them outside when it started. Good thing, too. By the time I finished closing up, it was coming down in sheets. I was soaked through in less than a minute.” She didn’t run out of the room or even back up a step. She didn’t seem at all intimidated by his blatant leer.
Score. Maybe it wasn’t such a long shot after all.
“You’re dripping,” Jack prompted. “We’re all fine here. Please go change into something dry before you get sick.” He handed her a camp lantern and tried not to laugh at the slapping sound her sodden socks made on the floor as she walked past.
OK. Now he had two problems. Not only was he obligated to protect this small family, via Uncle Danny, but they were starting to grow on him. All of them. So much for any confrontations with Beth. Now that he knew they were in danger, he couldn’t take the risk that she’d leave.
Shit.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Beth scanned the short grocery list Mrs. Harris had given her and started down the produce aisle. She crossed off several items, and then threw a bag of Granny Smith apples into the cart. The store was empty this early in the morning, and she moved up and down the aisles at breakneck speed. She needed to get back in time to meet with the landscaper. As she turned the corner of the last row and grabbed two gallons of milk, someone bumped into her from behind.
“Excuse me,” she said automatically and turned around.
“Hello, hot stuff.” Will Martin loomed over her, his big body crowding her in the open refrigerator case. The moisture in Beth’s throat evaporated.
“I thought that was O’Malley’s pickup outside. I was hopin’ to run into you.”
She tried to back up, but her legs hit the ledge of the cooler behind her. Swallowing her fear, she took a deep breath. The smells of man, sweat, and animals saturated her nostrils. Beth glanced up and down the aisle, but there was no one else in sight.
“Please move out of my way.” She tilted her head up to look him squarely in the eye, disguising her fear with a rigid spine. Sweat trickled down her back, turning cold in the frigid air blowing from the open dairy case.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, princess.” Martin’s expression turned smug. “I’m not going to drag you to the floor right here in the grocery store. I’d be glad to show you a good time somewhere else, though. You don’t know what you’re missin’.” He stepped closer and pressed his hips into her belly. The hard ridge in his jeans ground into her stomach.
She froze. Bile rose in her throat but she swallowed it. Her heart tripped as she overcame her paralysis and raised her knee between his legs. With little room to maneuver, she barely bumped his groin, but he stepped back with a grunt. His face flushed, and veins protruded from his neck and temple.
Beth attempted to step sideways, but he shifted his weight forward again. His eyes glitter
ed with excitement.
“Beth, are you all right?”
Beth’s body almost went limp with relief at the sound of Jeff Stevens’s voice.
Martin tensed, then leaned closer. Hot breath whispered down her neck. “I’ll have you yet, you little cock tease. You think you’re better than everybody else. But you’re a slut like every other woman.” His voice was raspy with anger. “You wait. I’ll have you on your knees, yet, bitch.”
“Take your hands off her, Will.” Jeff approached with a brisk stride. Martin had at least forty pounds of bulk on Jeff, but something beyond anger glittered in her neighbor’s eyes, something Beth had never seen before, something dark that made Martin back off despite his size advantage.
Martin turned and strode off, leaving her shaking in the cold draft.
Jeff hurried to her side and placed his hand on her elbow. Beth searched his eyes but saw no trace of darkness. She’d probably imagined it. Still, his touch turned her already-nauseous stomach over again.
“Everything OK here?” A portly, middle-aged man in an employees’ green apron pushed a cart loaded with cases of ice cream. His eyes narrowed at Martin’s back as it disappeared around the corner. “Was he bothering you, ma’am?”
With a throat too tight for words, Beth shook her head.
“I think she’s OK now,” Jeff answered for her. “Thanks, Ray.”
Ray frowned. “Let me know if you need anything.” He turned and continued down the aisle to the freezer section at the far end.
Embarrassed, Beth straightened. “I’m fine. Thank you, Jeff.” She took a step back and willed her knees to stop trembling.
“It’s OK. Nobody likes Will. He’s a jerk.” After a quick squeeze, Jeff released her arm and stood back to give her some room. Beth exhaled in relief. He nodded toward her cart. “You want some help with that?”
“No. I’ve got it.” Beth smiled. It was weak, but it was the best she could muster at the moment.
“You going to be OK driving home?”
Beth managed a short nod. She just wanted to get out of there.
Operating on automatic pilot, and keeping an eye out for Will Martin, she went through the checkout, loaded the bags into the rear seat of the truck, and climbed in.
She sat in the quiet truck interior without starting the engine. What would have happened if Martin had caught her alone in a more private place? Would he really hurt her, or did he just enjoy frightening her? Regardless, she couldn’t afford to make trouble, couldn’t go to the police for help—or even to Jack for that matter. If Jack found out about this episode with Martin, he’d want her to file a report, but she didn’t dare risk the scrutiny. From now on, her jaunts off the estate would be few and far between. She’d have to make whatever excuses were necessary to avoid going into town.
She was reminded once again how completely alone she was—and that she needed to reevaluate her options.
What would James do? She pictured the pay phone in the vestibule of the grocery store. He’d said it was too dangerous for her to contact him, but surely a pay phone was safe. She got out of the car and hurried back into the store, where she was relieved to find the phone intact and working. After plugging coins into the slot, she dialed James’s number. The receiver emitted a high-pitched peal, then a digitized message played: “The number you have reached has been disconnected.”
Disappointed, she headed back to the pickup. As she climbed into the cab, a car in the far corner of the near-empty lot caught her eye, a shiny black sedan that looked out of place on the cracked, weedy asphalt of the Stop ‘N Shop parking lot. The way the sunlight glinted off the darkened glass, Beth couldn’t tell if anyone was inside the vehicle.
OK. Now she was being totally paranoid. This was a farming community, but that didn’t mean everyone drove a truck. The car probably belonged to the store manager, which would explain why it was parked all the way in the back.
Beth started the pickup and pulled out onto Main Street into what passed for morning rush-hour traffic in Westbury. As she passed through an intersection, she glanced in the rearview mirror. She sucked in a gasp, and her heart leaped into her throat. Six cars behind her was a shiny black car.
Will Martin? A black sedan didn’t fit his image.
All Richard’s men drove shiny black vehicles.
The houses and the traffic thinned as she approached the end of the town proper, a good ten miles from the estate. Playing it safe, she made three right turns and circled the block. When she eased back onto Main Street, there was no sign of the black car.
The air whooshed out of her lungs. It hadn’t been following her.
Her paranoia was giving her a run for her money this morning. She supposed the altercation with Will Martin had set her nerves on edge. As she steered the truck toward the country road that led to the estate, her heart was still beating too quickly, like an over-wound metronome.
And her gaze kept straying to the rearview mirror.
Interrupted by the sound a single knock, Beth raised her eyes from the computer screen. Mrs. Harris stepped through the doorway of the study. In jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers she looked much younger than her sixty-plus years. “I’m off to the salon. Gotta keep the gray at bay. Be back in a couple of hours. Jack just left for physical therapy, so the house is all yours. The kids are watching TV.” She turned away, then hesitated, one hand on the doorjamb, and glanced over her shoulder at Beth. “Are you OK here by yourself?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” Beth smiled and pointed at the keyboard. “I have enough bookkeeping to keep me busy for the rest of the morning.”
Mrs. Harris laughed. “Considering how Danny kept records, I think you have enough there to keep you going till Christmas.”
“You’re probably right.” Beth grinned.
“Well then, I’ll see you around lunchtime.” With a wave, Mrs. Harris withdrew. Her quick steps in the hall rapidly faded away.
Beth listened for the slam of the back door. As soon as she heard it, she moved to the window to watch the housekeeper drive off a few minutes later. The yellow car disappeared into the late morning sunlight. Beth hurried upstairs to her room and pulled a duffel from the top of the closet. Setting the bag on the floor, she unzipped it and lifted out a small lockbox. The dials of the combination lock spun smoothly, despite the trembling of her fingers. The lock clicked, and Beth opened the door.
Sunbeams from the window glinted off the blue steel of a Sig Sauer P232. Beth stared at the nine-millimeter handgun for a long minute. A wave of nausea rolled through her stomach, and her heart ached with crushing intensity. With one forefinger, she tentatively stroked the cold metal. Guns and children did not mix. This she knew for a fact. She’d seen it with her own eyes.
Her parents were probably rolling over in their graves at this very moment.
Beth shook off the memory. She lifted the key on the chain around her neck from under her shirt and removed the trigger lock. Her brother had been dead for twenty years. But she’d do whatever it took to keep her children safe, even if that meant embracing the very instrument that had killed him. Besides, she was obsessive-compulsive about keeping the gun on her person or unloaded and locked in the safe. Richard posed a much greater threat than a handgun accident.
Straightening her shoulders, she strapped on the ankle holster and secured the gun before shoving a box of ammunition into her pocket. A third sock concealed the black nylon. She pulled her boot-cut jeans down over her leg.
Stepping into her sneakers, she took a few tentative steps. She’d never get used to the weight dragging at her leg, but awkward and uncomfortable was way better than dead. And in summer clothes, the ankle holster had been the only realistic option. Sure, that left her in long pants all the time, but a little sweat was a small price to pay for her family’s safety.
James would be furious if he knew she hadn’t been carrying the Sig day and night and practicing regularly. She could practically hear him chastising her: No sense i
n having a gun if you don’t carry it or can’t use it.
The gun wouldn’t have done her much good in the grocery store this morning, but if Richard ever did find her, a bullet was the only thing that would prevent him from orphaning her children. And claiming them. Although he’d never formally adopted them, they had no other family besides their stepfather. Richard didn’t like children, but his PR people would love having two orphans to trot out for the media anytime he started to slip in the polls.
So, no excuses this morning. She was alone on the estate. Time to get back to the routine designed to save her life. She jogged down the stairs, ignoring the cumbersome weight of the steel strapped to her foot.
On her way out of the house, she stopped at the threshold of the living room. “Ben, I’m going outside for a little while. You two stay in the house, OK?”
“OK, Mommy.” Katie turned back to Sponge Bob.
Beth pointed at her ankle and raised her eyebrows. Ben nodded. His gaze flicked to her foot. Not only did Ben know about the handgun, James had taught him to handle the weapon as well, just in case.
She glanced down and mouthed, “Can you see it?”
“No. You’re cool.” He shook his head and went back to reading the copy of Huckleberry Finn he’d found in the study.
She borrowed Jack’s golf cart. After a quick stop at the barn for a couple of bales of straw, she drove into the stand of pines behind the garage. Occasionally Jack showed up at the barn, but he never came back here. No reason to. Nothing but trees.
Birds and squirrels chattered over the distant babble of the creek as she stacked the bales and clipped a piece of paper to the center of the one on top to serve as a target. After loading the weapon, she inserted her earplugs. The silence was disconcerting; her pulse echoed like drumbeats.
The gun was cold and heavy in her hand. With a deep breath she assumed her stance, raised her weapon, then squeezed off a shot. The Sig jerked in her hand. The bullet hit the bale two feet to the left of the paper target. She exhaled and tried again.
She Can Run Page 11