by Alice Sharpe
He held out a hand, but she turned her back on him.
“Kate,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She whirled around to face him again. “You’re sorry? That’s it? Sorry?”
“What happened to you tonight?”
“Nothing,” she stated in a way that very clearly said whatever had happened to her was none of his business.
“Listen, Grace—”
“Kate,” she corrected him. “My name is Katrina Priestly. Why can’t you remember that?”
“Maybe because in some ways, I wish you were still Grace,” he mumbled.
“Well, I’m not Grace,” she said, eyes blazing. “Furthermore, I’ve never been Grace. You made Grace up, you made her be what you wanted her to be. I’m just Kate. Okay, I hustled drinks in Vegas. I dealt cards. I was too short to be a show-girl, so I tried stripping. Once. I hated it, so I quit. But on that one lousy night, who should happen to waltz through the door but Danny Priestly. Danny wanted a sexy, wild adventure. What he got was a wife. He didn’t want children, either, but he got those, too. I bought the fancy underwear for myself, and by the way, it’s a whole lot cheaper than your aunt’s friend led her to believe. And my portrait came about when an artist Danny played poker with paid off an old debt with a painting.”
“Kate—”
“Furthermore, for the record, I left my boys with his folks twice, and both times, they knew exactly where I was going. They knew that I was trying to get their son to come home to his kids and I was never even away overnight. I have never used drugs. Period. End of story. I bet I have better morals than half the people you know.”
“I never said—”
“But you thought it,” she fumed.
“You didn’t help matters,” he said. “You could have told me the truth right from the beginning.”
“I did tell you the truth. I just didn’t tell you every detail. It’s none of your business if what I used to do for a living embarrasses me now. What is your business is helping me get my children back. I’m paying you for that, not for judging me.”
He stared at her in stunned silence. She lowered her gaze as though considering the impact of her words. He finally mumbled, “I am not judging your past,” he said. “I couldn’t give a damn about your past. You’re more than a client to me and you know it.”
“And maybe that’s the crux of the problem,” she said softly.
“Maybe it is.”
She met his gaze again, defiantly. He wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t a quitter, and he still felt there was a whole lot more story here than he knew. But he didn’t know if he had the heart to stick around and ferret out the truth.
More than ever, he felt that once this issue was resolved in her favor, if it was, Kate would take her children and disappear from his life. He had disappointed her just as much as she had disappointed him.
He finally repeated, “What happened to you tonight?”
“Someone tried to stab me,” she said, her voice weary.
“What!”
“While I was walking home from the Priestly house, someone tried to kill me. I escaped by dodging into the water and swimming up the coast to a rotten fishing pier. An old man and his wife happened to be parked nearby. They gave me the picnic tablecloth out of their trunk so I could cover up and drove me to your motel because, quite frankly, I was afraid to go home alone.”
Mac rubbed the back of his neck and tried to put one coherent thought next to another as he stared at Kate.
His Kate.
She added, “Doesn’t that prove Dr. Priestly is involved?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“I wasn’t attacked until after I visited the doctor’s house. And I don’t think he went to that Orlando conference, either, Mac. Maybe you could check. I think he drove me up to Billington—”
“I made a few phone calls today,” he interrupted. “Dr. Priestly did go to the conference. He gave the keynote speech on the evening of January ninth and he led a workshop on the tenth. He was back here by the eleventh, seeing patients. In fact, he was here every night until two days ago, when he and his wife took your kids to Fort Myers.”
She seemed to wilt.
“I checked on Paula Priestly, too. She never left town.”
“How did you—”
“Nellie. I questioned her when I was at your house this evening, looking for you. She saw Paula Priestly every day of the week last week, Kate. She was over there a lot, helping Gloria with your kids.”
“Well, I never really suspected Paula,” Kate said.
“The point is, neither of these people had the opportunity to take you to Indiana.”
Mac sat down on the edge of the mattress and gestured at the one chair the small room provided. Kate sank onto the seat. “Remember when the Elvis impersonator told you someone named B.O. wanted you to go home?” he asked her.
She mumbled, “Yes. So?”
“Remember how you felt he seemed comfortable with the fact that he could grope you?”
Rubbing her hands along the wooden arms of the chair in a restless gesture he could only assume mirrored the state of her nerves, she stared at him. She finally said, “I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”
“You don’t remember this Elvis guy from a couple of years ago?”
“No.”
“He’s not someone from your past, Kate? Someone from Vegas? B.O. isn’t an old boyfriend or boss—”
She stood so abruptly that the picnic spread fell to the floor and, once again, as she had so many times before, she stood in front of him wearing nothing but very fancy underwear.
“So you think someone from my past is trying to get rid of me for some Hollywood-type reason? Maybe I was a mobster’s girlfriend and witnessed a murder? Maybe I’m a runaway call girl—”
“Kate,” he said, standing. He leaned down, picked up the cloth and held it out. She refused to take it, as though accepting even this would put her in his debt and she no longer wanted to owe him anything. “I’m just asking if it’s possible you may have brought this trouble with you. Officer Dryer said—”
“No,” she said emphatically. “I can’t believe you would believe the word of a stranger over me.”
“You’ve been confused,” he said. He didn’t add that she’d already lied to him.
“Is that how you do it?” she said, tilting her head.
“Do what?”
“Push women away? Do you lure them into feeling secure with you and then start doubting them when your head gets in the way of your heart?”
“That’s not fair,” he grumbled, wishing she’d cover herself up. How was he supposed to think straight?
Part of him wondered what she’d do if he pulled her against his chest. Would she come, reluctantly at first, then willingly? He didn’t think so. He said, “My love life is not the point. Did you get a look at the guy with the knife? Was it our friend from Macon?”
“I think so. He had the right build, kind of tall and spindly. He kept one arm real close to his body.”
Mac rubbed his neck again. The tension across his shoulders seemed to throb exponentially to his powerlessness to help the one woman in the world he…cared about.
“I want to go home,” she said. “Will you please drive me home?”
“I don’t think it’s wise for you to go back to your house. We need to call the police. I checked that path and didn’t see any sign of trouble, but they’ll have more men and better lights—”
“Oh, yeah. Let’s get them out here right now so I can show them my undies and give them all something else to hold against me. No way. The Priestlys will be home tomorrow. Maybe they’ll hand over the kids without a fuss.”
He stared at her for a moment, unsure if she’d just said what he thought she’d said. “Are you implying that you’re not sure your father-in-law is behind all this?”
She blinked rapidly, obviously holding back tears. “I don’t know. I remember Paula b
eing upset, I remember the surprise of my father-in-law still being home, I seem to remember his eyes as he leaned over me…” Shivering, her voice petered out and she finally took the tablecloth and wrapped it around her body. “He told the police I left there by myself?”
“Yes,” Mac said. “Is it possible, Kate? Even remotely possible?”
She shook her head, unshed tears making her eyes glisten. She said, “I don’t know. But I have never, ever heard of someone called B.O.”
“Stay here tonight,” Mac said, surprised at how much he hoped she’d agree. He needed to tell her about the Priestlys taking her to court and he just couldn’t think of a way to do it that wouldn’t devastate her. Plus, what she’d said about him pushing women away was beginning to prickle. He wanted time with her—time to talk, to reconnect. He wanted to trust her again. And he didn’t want anyone else trying to hurt her. “You’ll be safer here. We can talk.”
“I have to go home. I’ll set the alarm system and stay inside, but I have to go home.” She glanced at her muddy arms and hands, and added, “I need to clean up and get ready for tomorrow. If I stay in this motel with you, it will confirm everything everyone thinks about me.”
“Then I’ll stay with you—”
“No, you were right to refuse that offer. Best if we sleep a mile apart from each other. It’ll look better.”
“You’re in danger,” he said bluntly.
“I know. But I have to prioritize things. Number one—get my boys back. Number two—trap the jerk who’s trying to kill me and make him spill his guts.”
Mac shook his head. He hadn’t made it on to her list. His hands itched with the need to hold her. Hold on to her. One thing for certain. He wasn’t going to let her face the Priestlys without warning her about their intentions. He said, “Kate, there’s no pleasant way to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. Your in-laws are taking you to court.”
She stared at him without blinking.
“Kate?”
“They didn’t waste any time, did they?”
“If somehow they’re innocent of all this, then maybe they really are concerned. I’ll help you talk to them, I’ll help them understand what you’ve been through—”
“Let’s get real,” she told him, the edginess back in her voice. She began pacing again as she spoke. “If Dr. Priestly didn’t orchestrate all this, he’ll never believe I’m suitable for raising his grandchildren until I can prove in court that what happened to me was not my fault. And if we can’t trap that jerk with the knife, maybe I’ll never be able to prove it, I don’t know. At the moment, it all seems kind of hopeless to me. But I am going to get my babies back.”
She stared defiantly at him and he understood the unspoken message. In the end, to keep her children, Kate might have to steal them. Was he ready to help her do such a thing?
The honest-to-God answer was that he wasn’t sure.
“When we get back to my house, I’ll write you a check,” she added. “For services rendered. For services yet to be rendered.”
“Not yet,” he told her, feeling as though he hadn’t rendered a single service other than falling for her, which was definitely a questionable one. “Don’t pay me until this is over.”
She stared at him a long time before saying, “I see.”
He took her home, discouraged by the way she hugged the passenger door. He thought about her accusation that he was pushing her away. It seemed patently unfair to him that she couldn’t understand his position. He was a man used to lining up his ducks. Experience told him facts didn’t lead a man astray, whereas feelings were as trustworthy as a mirage.
He searched her house, Nellie on his heels, and stayed until the housekeeper had locked every door and window and punched in the security code. Back at the motel, he performed a few housecleaning chores, blotting the dry mud stains on a carpet no one cared about, then wiping down the chair Kate had used. He stared at the muddy bath towel in his hands. There was a hole the size of a beach ball in his stomach.
Why hadn’t he asked Kate about her father-in-law’s accusation that their last argument stemmed from Kate demanding money? It hadn’t even crossed his mind to say anything to her about that. He’d been so focused on blaming her for everything that he hadn’t even looked for ways to prove her right.
God, what a jerk he was.
Throwing himself down on top of the bedspread, he laid awake half the night thinking about Kate and her two cute little boys. Blond and blue-eyed, smiling in the photo on Kate’s pillow, Kate’s arms wrapped around their torsos in that oil painting above her sofa. Though he had never met the kids, their plight was as real to him as his own misgivings.
What if, way back when, Mac’s own father had handed him over to his mother? Would he have spent his life wandering the city streets with her, helping her look for her next fix?
The difference hit him hard. His mother hadn’t wanted him. Kate was desperate for her kids.
And he was desperate for Kate.
UPSET BY the conversation with Mac, Kate paced her bedroom and watched the clock. She kept going over and over what Mac had said.
Was it possible something had happened to her after she left the Priestly house? Was it possible she’d turned her dislike and distrust of Daniel Priestly into a subconscious vendetta against him? Were the memories of a needle and gray eyes as undependable as Mac said they might be? Or was she right? Was Mac trying to push her away?
She could always find another detective to help her, hopefully one more impressed with money and less anxious to understand every little detail. But hiring help wasn’t the problem.
What she couldn’t so easily replace was the way she felt about Mac. The way she trusted him and yearned for him to trust her. The way she would have given just about anything for him to unflinchingly back her up.
Even when your own memory is foggy and incomplete? Is it fair to ask the man to trust you more than you trust yourself?
She had to put Mac out of her mind and concentrate on her boys. Toward that goal, she tried to remember everything she could about the habits of Daniel and Paula Priestly—in her opinion, two of the most predictable people on the face of the earth.
Or so she had thought until she took her boys to their house for a visit and woke up half a dozen states away.
She reviewed their traveling habits. Dr. Priestly attended many in-state conferences and meetings. He didn’t like to drive after dark, so he always stayed over an extra night and traveled first thing in the morning. Fort Myers was only about two hours away.
She could expect them home before noon.
MAC WOKE with a start, sensing at once that he wasn’t alone. He fumbled on the nightstand for his gun until he remembered that it was still locked in the glove box of the Coopers’ car. There was a cache of ammo in his duffel bag, which sat two feet away, but ammo without a gun amounted to pretty much nothing. A noise from a dark corner by the drapes jerked him upright.
“Morning,” a voice said, as a shadow detached itself and moved toward the chair.
Grateful he’d gone to sleep fully clothed, Mac threw his legs over the side of the bed and switched on the lamp. The digital clock blinked 10:13. The room was warm, despite the fan twirling lazily overhead. A small man holding a gun sat down in the chair across from him.
Mac said, “Do I know you?”
The man sat back and crossed his legs, resting his right ankle on his left knee. He wore white socks covered with black squares, along with black trousers, a black shirt and a white vest. Snappy clothing for a run-of-the-mill thief, which Mac really didn’t take this guy for. His thin lips and hollow cheeks looked vaguely familiar. The bald head looked wrong.
“I guess you know me best as Elvis,” the man said.
Mac stared at him for a while before saying, “I should have expected you. Mind my asking how you got in here?”
“Piece of cake,” Elvis said. “Don’t be too hard on the management, though. They actually have fairl
y decent locks, but they’re no match for Betsy.” With this, he patted his vest pocket. Mac assumed it held a lock pick.
“And you’re here because…”
“You have a problem with that lady friend of yours. Almost got herself killed last night.”
“She’s got a mind of her own,” Mac admitted.
“Lucky for both of you I was following her back in Macon. Have to admit, I was a little surprised to see her waltz out of that room alone. Could have knocked me over with a feather when she started trying on clothes, and then she sashays into a bar? I couldn’t wait to see what she’d do next.”
Curiosity got the best of Mac. “How did you wind up dressed like Elvis?”
He flashed a smile. “I admit it, I have a weakness for performing. When the bartender started spouting off about a no-show Elvis, I thought what better way to keep an eye on the little lady than to stand smack-dab in front of her. She’d just ordered a bottle of wine, so I knew she planned on sticking around for a while. Things were going great until I picked up on the fact that the guy who’d been tailing you since Billington had sneaked in behind her and was sitting off in a corner. I thought for sure all your fancy driving coming into town had thrown him off. What probably happened was he made me, too, by then. He probably followed me following you! What a gas, huh?”
“A real hoot,” Mac said.
“Then you showed up, and I took matters into my own hands.”
“By groping Kate?”
“I wanted her to get mad at me and run to you. Instead, she pushes the table over. Next thing I know, the tail nabbed her. This is one creepy dude. Not the kind you want touching your woman.”
Mac regarded the smaller man. The unflinching self-regard he found staring back at him appeared as straightforward as it was outlandish.
Elvis seemed to sense his skepticism. “What can I say?” he mumbled, shrugging spindly shoulders. “I have a flamboyant streak.”