A knock at the door sounded as she reached the corner. Cassie’s timing was perfect, she thought with satisfaction as she balanced the brush on the edge of the paint can, then got to her feet.
Instead of her young assistant, she found Alicia Gutierrez on the veranda. Her eyes were damp, her expression distraught, her clothes disheveled. Noticing the dark red splotch that extended across one cheek, Karen felt an old familiar sickness deep inside. How many times had she seen Kathy looking like this? How many times had she ignored it because that was what her sister had wanted? How many times had she lost a chance to do something because she’d been too polite to call her sister a liar, too afraid of endangering their relationship, too sure that if she forced Kathy to face the truth, she would lose, not her bastard brother-in-law?
“I see Ryan’s back in the neighborhood.”
Alicia’s hand went to her cheek. “No, no, this is nothing. I just—”
“Walked into a door? Got clumsy? Didn’t see that fist aimed at your face?”
The girl sighed. “Can I come in?”
Karen unlatched the screen door, then stepped back. As soon as Alicia cleared the threshold, she closed and locked the door. “What happened?”
Tugging her clothes into place, Alicia wandered into the broad doorway of the parlor. “This is pretty.”
“I bet he used to punch you in the stomach or the chest so it wouldn’t show, didn’t he? But he can’t do that anymore because of the baby.”
Alicia faced her, her manner defensive bordering on belligerent. “He doesn’t hit me. I forgot I left a cabinet door open when I was fixing dinner. I turned and walked into it.”
Karen crossed the foyer to her, tilting her face to the light. “That’s one solid door. My cabinet doors aren’t anything like that. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
The girl shook her head. Turning away from the parlor and its strong odor of paint, she went to the stairs and carefully sat down on the third one. She drew her feet close and leaned forward, huddling as much as a heavily pregnant woman could. “You know the police are looking for him. He says it’s your fault.”
“I’m the one who called them,” Karen said with a shrug. “But if he hadn’t broken the law, they wouldn’t have a warrant for his arrest. He has no one to blame but himself.”
Alicia’s smile was rueful. “Ryan doesn’t think that way. He thinks you’re a problem that’s gotten out of control. Mr. Falcone—the man he works for—he’s wondering if maybe Ryan can’t take care of things the way he used to. He heard about the cookout last week, about your plans and about the cops coming down here Sunday.”
“Tell Ryan to tell Mr. Falcone that there’ll be another cookout Saturday. Tell him he can come and meet the neighborhood he’s trying to run, as long as he leaves his goons at home. Same time, same place. You come, too, Alicia.” Until that moment she hadn’t made any such plans, but why not? There were dozens of hamburger buns, patties and brownies in her freezer, dozens more in Cassie’s freezer, and frankly, she was getting a little tired of salads and burgers every day. Even Jethro was starting to turn up at his nose in disdain at the mere scent of a hamburger.
Seeking a more comfortable seat, Alicia moved closer to the wall so she could lean against it. “Some of my friends who didn’t come wished they had. They said maybe next time they could drop by. And my grandmother said she would make a pot of her special chili to bring.”
The words brought Karen pleasure. Change came slowly, but it did come. Some of the other young women on the street would come, and maybe they would bring their friends or, better, their families. And Rosa Gutierrez, who had sat quietly and hardly spoken to anyone, was not only willing to come again but also to contribute. In the long run, that was her goal: everyone bringing a dish or two, sharing food and good times with their neighbors. That was a real community party.
“Tell your grandmother I would appreciate that.” She sat down on the bottom step and leaned against the railing where it started its fancy finishing curve. “She seems like a very sweet lady.”
“She is.”
“What does she think of the baby?”
“She’s happy, but she wishes I had a husband...just not Ryan. She thinks he’s no good.”
A smart lady, too, Karen thought privately. “Do you live with her?”
“Most of the time. Sometimes I stay at Ryan’s, but four people in two rooms gets cramped. There’s no privacy. People are always coming over...lately the cops.”
“Does your grandmother know that he hits you?”
Her question was met with silence—no denial, no argument. Rosa knew, Karen suspected, and didn’t approve. Those were probably the times—when she bore bruises or other evidence of his abuse—that Alicia stayed at his place. Maybe she preferred not to lie to her grandmother, or maybe staying away until her face healed was simply a way of avoiding the issue with the old lady altogether.
“Ryan loves me,” Alicia said at last. “He just loses his temper sometimes. I do stupid things that make him mad. He doesn’t mean to hurt me. He just forgets that I’m smaller and weaker than him.”
“He forgets? Have you ever seen him confront someone who wasn’t smaller and weaker than him?”
The girl remained silent.
“I told you when we met about my sister, Kathy. She used to say the same things. ‘It isn’t Davis’s fault. He loves me. I screwed up. I made a mistake. I did something stupid. I deserved to be punished. He just lost his temper. He didn’t mean to, and he swears it won’t happen again.’ But it did happen again and again, until he killed her. She was my sister—his wife, the woman he claimed to love more than life itself—and he beat her to death.” She paused. “Strange love, huh?”
“Ryan’s not like that,” Alicia said, her voice muted, her lips barely moving. “He loves me. He loves our baby. We’re going to be a real family.”
“And what if he gets tired of hitting you, Alicia? What if he hits your baby?”
She looked appalled. “That won’t happen. He would never hit a little girl.”
“You’re a little girl,” Karen pointed out softly, “and he hits you.”
For a long still moment, they stared at each other, then Alicia struggled to her feet. “I’ve got to go.”
“Go where? Back to Ryan so he can treat you like a piece of property until he gets mad and punches you again?”
“I’m going home. It’s been a long day.”
“Are you still working?”
She nodded, her long hair swinging around her.
“What does your doctor think of that?”
The touchy look came back. “I don’t have a doctor.”
There were no doctors’ offices located nearby. Transportation to the nearest clinic was often a problem; so was the time needed for the interminable wait at low-cost or free clinics. No one had health insurance or the money to pay up front. Health care wasn’t a regular part of their lives; when they got sick or injured, getting medical help wasn’t their first, second or even tenth thought. Being pregnant wasn’t the same as being sick; why waste precious money on a doctor? Karen had heard all the reasons before. Which, she wondered, was Alicia’s?
“I don’t need a doctor,” the girl said, challenging Karen to disagree. “I’m healthy, and my baby is healthy.”
“Probably so. But listen, Alicia, I have a friend who’s a nurse-midwife—a nurse who delivers babies. If you have any questions about labor, giving birth and taking care of your baby, she’d be happy to answer them for you. Just let me know, and I’ll give her a call.” Elly had already agreed to donate her services one day a week once Kathy’s House was up and running. Karen was positive she wouldn’t mind getting a little head start.
“I’ll think about it.” Alicia unlocked the door and opened it, then breathed deeply. “It’s raining.”
Karen stood beside her and mimicked her inhalation. “It smells good, doesn’t it? This house stinks of paint all the time. Even in my sleep, I smell it.�
�
“Just keep reminding yourself how nice it will be when it’s finished.”
Karen accompanied Alicia onto the veranda, stopping at the top of the steps and watching as the girl started across the yard. At the front gate, she turned back. “About that friend of yours...”
“The nurse?”
“Yeah. All I know is what my friends say, and none of them has ever had a baby. Maybe if she just has something I could read explaining what happens...”
“I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
She passed through the gate, then started toward Serenity’s dead end. Karen watched for a moment before directing her gaze across the street. What little she could see of O’Shea’s seemed busy, and why shouldn’t it be? In the bar with people who cared—at least with a bartender who cared—was a better place than most to spend a rainy August night. In fact, if Cassie didn’t show up in another minute, she just might lock up, leave a note on the door and head that way herself.
Sixty seconds passed with no sign of the young woman. Karen was turning away toward the door when a sound down the street caught her attention. Half cry, half groan, it resonated equal measures of pain and fear. Returning to the top of the steps, she peered in that direction but saw nothing. Maybe it was nothing...but it had certainly sounded like something. It had sounded like a wounded animal, like someone in pain. Maybe a very pregnant woman.
Without hesitation, she left the veranda, crossing the yard in the rain, letting herself out the gate onto the sidewalk. The street was deserted except for a figure in the next block, supporting herself against the abandoned storefront there. Karen started that way, walking at first, then picking up the pace until she was running. “Alicia!”
The girl was leaning against the rusty security gate that covered broken plate-glass windows, her head bowed, her hands pressed to the sides of her belly. Looking up, she pushed to her feet, shook her head vehemently and extended one hand, palm out. “No! I’m all right,” she insisted. “Go home. Go back home and lock your doors.”
Out of breath, Karen slowed to a walk again a dozen yards away, but she didn’t stop. “You’re not all right. Is it the baby? Are you having cramps?”
“Please,” Alicia cried, her voice taut with desperation. “Go home now, please, before it’s too—”
Late. That was how she would have finished it, if she’d been given a chance. If Ryan Morgan hadn’t stepped out of the shadows of the recessed doorway halfway between the two women.
Karen stopped short. It was only a block or so to O’Shea’s, but it was a long block. Covering it the first time had left her breathless. There was no way she could run it again, no way in the world she could run it faster than Ryan Morgan could. He would catch her before she’d gone thirty feet.
“What’s up, Karen?” he asked with a grin, so handsome and so damned evil. Tall, dark and dangerous, she had teasingly referred to him her first day on Serenity. There was nothing even slightly funny about the thought now. “I understand you’ve had people out looking for me all week, but now that you’ve found me, you look like you want to run the other way.”
She forced air into her lungs and prayed that her voice would be steady. “The police are still looking for you, Ryan. You mess with me, they’ll never stop.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, bitch. You’ve been messing with me. I don’t like that. I don’t like people coming in causing trouble for me.”
“Makes you look like you’re not in control anymore, doesn’t it?” she asked mildly. “I understand that Mr. Falcone doesn’t like that.”
His expression turned colder, darker, more dangerous. “No, he doesn’t,” he agreed, his tone just as mild but a million times more menacing. “But I assured him that I would take care of this little problem.”
“You feel confident taking care of little problems, don’t you? Hitting your little pregnant girlfriend. Threatening me.”
He came closer. She backed away, but he followed until a post that had held a rusted No Parking sign was at her back. Catching her chin in a cruel grip, he leaned close. “Someday your mouth is going to get you killed, bitch...and today just might be the day.”
Choosing one of the chairs nearest the doors, Jamey sprawled comfortably, his spine rounded, his legs stretched out all the way to the next table, and gazed out the door toward Decatur. It was only about seven, but it seemed later, thanks to the dark skies and the rain that was falling a little harder with each passing moment, bringing with it a little relief from the day’s heat. This week had been particularly miserable. Karen had complained every night about not being able to open the doors or slide the windows all the way to the top. He didn’t blame her. Painting, sanding and patching holes was miserable work in this weather.
Headlights sliced through the rain as a car approached from outside. He wished it would be Ryan Morgan, so he could pick up the phone, call the police and watch them take him away. More likely, it was the cops themselves, come by in another futile attempt to locate the little bastard, or Karen’s young friend, Cassie. She was usually here by six and gone by nine, but he’d seen no sign of her car this evening.
“Jamey!”
He didn’t recognize the voice that called from outside, but he did recognize the alarm. Jumping to his feet, he stepped outside as Cassie pulled into the driveway across the street. It wasn’t Cassie who’d yelled, though, but Alicia Gutierrez, hurrying up the street as quickly as her unaccustomed heaviness allowed.
“Jamey, my God, hurry...!”
He glanced toward Karen’s house, saw that the front door was open, the interior lights shining brightly onto the empty porch. His nerves tightening, he started toward Alicia, meeting her in the middle of the street, catching her as she stumbled forward. Her words were almost unintelligible, shaky with fear and punctuated with great, heaving gasps for air. “It’s Ryan! He’s mad about the police, and he blames Karen. He says it’s all her fault that he’s in trouble, that Mr. Falcone is losing faith in him. He says she’s got to be stopped, got to be punished. I tried to stop him, I tried to talk to him, but when he gets like this, he doesn’t listen, he doesn’t—”
Jamey gave her a little shake as Cassie came toward them. “Where is Karen?” he demanded.
Alicia abruptly became still, then drew a deep breath and burst into tears. “With Ryan,” she sobbed. “Down the street, by the Laundromat. He was hurting her...”
Jamey shoved her into Cassie’s arms. “Take her to the bar and stay there. Call the police and tell them to get in touch with Michael Bennett. Tell him what happened.” Breaking free of Alicia’s grasp, he headed down the center of the street at a full run. His heart pounded in his chest, and his lungs ached, but neither response was due to physical exertion. It was fear. Pure, relentless fear.
There was no activity around the old laundry. The street was quiet, the shadows empty. Slowing to a jerky walk, he looked around the area, then shouted Karen’s name. There was an instant of silence, then a sound—soft, familiar, flesh hitting flesh. It was followed by a grunt, another bonecrunching punch, then a curse and the sound of running feet. He headed toward the alley on the far side of the building just as his call was answered, though not in the voice he was expecting, hoping—praying—to hear. “Over here.”
Jamey paused in the darkness, letting his eyes adjust; then he saw them. Karen was on the ground, on her side, her knees drawn up protectively, and the other figure—the man who had spoken—was kneeling over her. His back was to Jamey, but even in the darkness he could recognize Reid’s blond hair. Even in his panic, he had recognized his son’s voice.
As Jamey dropped to his knees beside her, Reid moved away, getting to his feet, simply standing and watching. Reaching for her hand, Jamey checked the pulse in her wrist, more thankful than he’d ever been in his life to find it strong and steady. Bending low, he whispered, “Karen, it’s Jamey. You’re going to be okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay.”
&nbs
p; She offered no response. She was mercifully unconscious.
Without debating the wisdom of what he was doing, he carefully scooped her into his arms, rocked back on his heels and stood up. He knew it could be risky moving her when he had no idea what injuries she’d suffered, but it could be just as risky leaving her there to wait for an ambulance. The paramedics had quit answering calls on Serenity before the cops had.
“Come with us,” he commanded Reid, his voice as cold as the anger inside him. He had never been so frightened, so furious. He had never felt so dangerously close to losing control. He had never felt so murderous.
Barely feeling the burden of Karen’s weight, he carried her out of the alley and toward home. In the light from the streetlamps, he could see that her lip was split, that one eye was already swelling and turning darker shades, that one cheek was scraped raw as if it had come into hard contact with a brick wall. Judging by the shallowness of her breathing, there were other injuries as well.
“I’m going to kill him.” His low words were a fierce promise. He was going to get Karen taken care of, make sure that she was safe, and then he was going to come back here, find Ryan Morgan and beat the very life out of the bastard. Let him see what it felt like to be used as a punching bag. Acquaint him with the sort of pain, fear and helplessness she must have felt. Make him suffer before he ended it, before he left the punk dead or dying.
“I wasn’t part of this.” Reid’s voice was as low as Jamey’s, as empty of emotion. “I didn’t know he was back.”
Jamey glanced at him. Fear hadn’t allowed him a moment to wonder about Reid’s presence in the alley. Even now he didn’t. A month ago, even a few weeks ago, he would have automatically suspected that the kid was involved, but not this time. While he hoped his son was too much a man to ever physically harm a woman, he knew Reid was too fond of—too attracted to? too affected by?—Karen ever to hurt her, ever to stand by and let someone else hurt her.
Convincing Jamey Page 20