by Lola White
6
Nolan pressed his nose against the window of their taxi and scanned the crowd swarming the doors of the station. It seemed everyone in Chicago wanted to take the overnight train east. “Are you sure you don’t want to fly?”
“It makes me sick,” Moon muttered.
“I’ll lend you my medicine.” Nolan winced. He wasn’t all that fond of planes either, and it usually took a toll on him to sit calmly in a flying tin can, knowing he was trapped, breathing the same air as other people while children screamed and drunks got sloppy. Planes were much faster, but at least the train to Vermont had private sleeper cars.
“The train will be better for the baby,” Weslyn finally said. “The change in altitude can’t be good for a fetus.”
“Lots of other women do it.”
“Different circumstances though, right? Everything might be fine now, but it could change, considering…”
“Considering what?”
“I’m under a lot of stress, Agent Findley.”
Nolan turned away from the view of the train station’s main doors to scan Moon’s face. She looked tense, but that didn’t appear to be unusual for her. He shifted back in the seat of the taxi as they inched forward in line—he could have gotten out at any time, but he thought it best to get his prisoner as close to the doors as possible. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one willing to trade time for convenience at that hour of the night.
He nodded. “Different circumstances, yeah. Sperm theft, artificial insemination, blackmail… And your birth certificate says you’re older than I had first thought, Moon. What happened? Biological clock became deafening?”
Her chin lifted slightly. “I wanted a baby.”
“You wanted a baby before it got too late, though, right? Coming up on your thirty-fifth birthday, Moon, and the odds of something going wrong increase every year after that, don’t they?”
“Lots of women have children later in life now. I just felt it was time.”
“It was time, but you didn’t want to touch anyone. Okay.”
She closed her eyes, and Nolan suddenly realized that she’d done the same thing every time she didn’t want to admit to something. A childish way to hide, but so telling, now that he’d figured it out. Nolan watched her face closely.
“You’re thinner than is healthy for a baby, Moon, so if it was just a matter of good timing, wouldn’t you have more weight on you? Prepared yourself with cheeseburgers and milkshakes, or something?”
Her lips pressed together as tightly as her eyelids. Nolan had re-cuffed her wrists in front of her for the taxi ride from the clinic, knowing it would be easier all around to have her hands more accessible for their travels. Her fingers were currently curled and just a little restless on her lap, as if she were fighting a reaction.
“I don’t envy you,” he told her quietly. “Growing up with an abusive father, probably an abusive brother, too. Then your boyfriend, the only boyfriend I could find in your life, put you in the hospital.”
“What do you know about it?”
“I know everything about you.” Overcompensating for his snarl, Nolan injected more warmth into his tone than he wanted to admit to, when he said, “Took real courage to testify against him, Moon.”
“What is your point?”
“You didn’t want to touch anyone in order to conceive the old-fashioned way.” Nolan exited the taxi as they finally reached the station doors. He leaned back in to help Moon out as he said, “I already know you’re lonely, and I know that’s why you wanted a baby. But why now, why me?”
“I didn’t want to wait anymore and I already told you why I picked you.”
Nolan grabbed Moon’s elbow and paid the driver. Holding tight to her and the small bag he’d allowed her to bring, he tugged her all the way to the ticket counter, where he then asked Moon to hold the bag.
Three seconds. That was the entire length of time he’d let her go to dig out his badge for the ticket agent. Three seconds, and Moon disappeared. He hadn’t expected that, after she’d been so meek in his company.
Nolan spun in a circle, scanning the crowd as panic tried to choke him. Travelers mobbed the lobby, everyone rushing for their train or a taxi to take them elsewhere. The people jostled each other, and Nolan bit his lip against the knowledge that such a place was perfectly suited to letting people lose themselves in the crowd—a skill Moon exceled at.
But she’d drilled into the meat of his brain. Everything about her was familiar to him, after months of investigation. He knew he could find her anywhere.
At the far end of the lobby, Nolan caught a glimpse of a woman with light brown hair, free now when Moon had been wearing a braid before, yet he knew. He could feel her, calling to him with a silent pull on every one of his senses and hot, electrical surges over his skin. Predatory awareness. His little mouse didn’t stand a chance.
He dove into the crowd, pushing and shoving, slipping into every available gap in foot traffic until he’d reached the exit. Nolan burst out onto the taxi stand and realized immediately that Moon couldn’t have taken one without antagonizing the long line of people waiting. No one seemed disgruntled, so he ran toward the corner of the station closest to the bus stop.
He didn’t make it that far. He passed a narrow access alley leading back toward the platforms and heard a male mumble. He couldn’t understand the words, and normally wouldn’t have paid attention anyway, as the passageway was clearly marked for employees only. But the tone of the man’s voice and the gripping sense of urgency at the base of Nolan’s nape had him turning down the access, away from the lights.
“Give me the bag, bitch.”
In the shadows, Moon held on to her backpack as if it were all that she had in the world. Nolan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Between two men, his little mouse was pressed to the wall, but her chin was lifted and defiance stiffened her spine.
She was insane.
The one man grabbed for the backpack’s strap. Moon bared her teeth and twisted, but Nolan was already moving in. His heart stopping completely, the rest of his muscles worked entirely under the influence of scorching adrenaline.
Nolan slammed his fist into the back of the first guy’s head, dropping him like a stone. The second man spun and staggered, still half-determined to take Moon’s bag, but wholly determined to save his own life. Nolan whipped his gun from his ankle holster.
“Federal agent!” Nolan gave a short, sharp wave of his gun. “Get down on the ground. Now!”
The man did as he was told. He fell to his knees, hands on his head, with a quick look at his partner in crime.
“Don’t fucking move, Moon!” Nolan snapped. “I’m not in the mood to chase you further.”
“You didn’t have to chase me this time,” she whispered.
Nolan didn’t spare her a glance as he pulled out his cell phone and called the police. “I hope you’re happy,” he told her. “We’re going to miss our train, so that means you and I will be going by car.”
“Car, Agent Findley? To Vermont?”
“Yes.” He smiled, strangely satisfied. “It’s going to take a while. We’ll stay in hotels and avoid the crowds. That way, I won’t lose you again. It’ll be just you and me, Moon.”
7
There was no way she could sleep. Weslyn was bleary-eyed, but the passenger seat of the sedan Findley had rented was too confining to be comfortable. The way she’d been handcuffed to the seat belt made her feel awkward, and forced to sit so close to another person, trapped in a car with a man, a federal agent at that, didn’t give her the warm fuzzies—though she did feel too warm, and even a little fuzzy deep inside. Deep and low.
Weslyn was used to sleeping alone, in a safe place. Every time she closed her eyes on the nearly six-hour drive to Cleveland, she’d jolted awake, her heart racing and her body confused. She hardly knew where she was or who she was with, until she got a whiff of Findley’s somewhat-stale cologne.
He was probably more tired than her, she co
nceded. Grudgingly. Coming from Buffalo, he had to have been up all day too, and then had gotten into the scuffle at the train station. Weslyn felt bad about that. She knew better than to put herself in questionable circumstances, but the access to the platforms was unblocked—for once—and it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d hopped on a train without a ticket…or a destination.
A perfect plan, an unexpected escape. Findley never would have looked for her on a train. It was simple bad luck that those guys had tried to mug her.
Findley to the rescue. He’d been right, they’d missed the train east. However, the police were helpful enough to get him a rental car at that hour of night, and Weslyn and Findley were on the road in no time at all. Alone and together.
Six hours to Cleveland. Weslyn was counting the miles. She needed to pee and she’d love to have a shower, and Findley had sworn they would stop long enough they could both get some sleep. So far, in spite of herself, she believed him. He hadn’t lied, and he hadn’t hurt her. Based on those two things, she had to admit that Findley was doing better than half the men she’d ever met.
With two hours left until Cleveland, Weslyn glanced over at her federal escort. She could just make out a few of his features by the dashboard lights, as the sky only held the promise of day, just then. Nolan Findley was a handsome bastard. She’d spent the past four months thinking about that, hoping her child would inherit the kindness she’d seen in his face, just as now she hoped it inherited its father’s gentleness.
Remembering the way his lips had brushed her belly in the doctor’s office brought a round of goose bumps rising up in the same place as before. Thinking about the way she’d struggled in his grip, and had still come away without a single bruise, set her back on her heels somehow. Looking at him then, the fuzzy warmth inside her grew into a tingly heat.
As if he sensed her staring at him, Findley glanced her way. “You all right, Moon?”
“I need to pee.”
“There’s a rest stop a few miles on. We can pull over there for a few minutes.”
“Will you have to come in with me?”
“Yes.” His grin flashed in the dark. “I’ll turn my back, I swear.”
“A woman prefers privacy,” she grumbled, shifting in her seat to face fully forward again. She watched the yellow lines on the asphalt race toward them and had a flashback of bitter days gone by. “Not that privacy exists on road trips.”
“You’ve proven yourself a runner, Moon.” A moment went by before Findley asked, “Been on a lot of road trips, have you?”
She opened her eyes wide, no matter that he probably couldn’t see her do it. “What, that wasn’t in my file?”
“Lots of things were in your file. Not everything, though. This is your chance to share, make me feel for you, babe. Maybe I’ll even get you a lawyer better than whatever Vermont’s got in the way of public defenders.”
Weslyn thought of the way Findley looked at her. She never claimed to be an expert when it came to men, and she’d never been the type of woman who drew male admiration, but she did recognize the look on Nolan’s face.
A deep, feminine part of her recognized that look, that expression, that gentleness… The way he’d seemed to lay claim to both her and their baby in the emergency clinic.
“You’re going to get me a lawyer, anyway,” she whispered, confident. “You think I’ll serve time for getting pregnant?”
“Extortion, Moon. The Barre Birth and Reproductive Center is on the hook for the sample you stole, because I never gave them permission to store it. My ex forged my name, but Doctor Milliken is telling the State’s Attorney that you blackmailed him.”
Weslyn shrugged. “He’s responsible for stealing a semen sample from the Center’s storage. Why should the state care what that criminal says?”
“An excellent point,” Nolan drawled in such a way Weslyn’s stomach cramped. “You see, Milliken is also copping to knowingly selling a fake Lepine painting. He’s even admitted to commissioning the painting with the intention of duping the buyer.”
“Mmm.” Weslyn cleared her throat delicately. “That sounds like one of those things nobody really cares about. I doubt the great state of Vermont would—”
“But Uncle Sam does care, Moon.”
“He does?”
“Oh, yeah. He does, and that’s gonna catch you between state and federal punishment. So help me help you, Moon. Tell me something I can use to make the jury go easier on you.”
She shook her head. “Easier on me? What does Milliken’s art have to do with me?”
“Do you like landscapes? Do you like forging them with signatures of the greats, long past? Lepine, Hobbema, Corot—”
“Everybody and their monkey’s uncle forged a Corot. Except me.” Weslyn lifted her nose and sniffed. She knew the gig was up, that Milliken would hand her over to the state of Vermont without even a second’s hesitation, so it wouldn’t matter if Findley knew how she’d supported herself. It might even help.
“You haven’t?”
“What was the point? There are thousands of them, driving down the price.”
“But, you are admitting to art forgery?”
She turned to him, suddenly nervous. “Are you admitting that you didn’t know?”
“I knew.” Findley nodded slowly. “So far, we’ve tracked down five Moon forgeries. All landscapes.”
“Not a Corot, though. That would be a forgery of a Moon forgery that Moon never did.” Weslyn laughed. “Fake fakes. Go figure.”
“It happens. You’ve got quite a reputation in the underground art world, in spite of not being very prolific.” Findley looked her way long enough to make Weslyn wonder if he’d drive them off the road before putting his attention back on the asphalt in front of them.
“I’m very good.”
“I know. One of your forgeries sold for nearly half a million dollars.”
Weslyn shook her shoulders, a little irritated at hearing that. She was certain she knew which painting had gotten such a sum too, and it broke her heart. “I’m very good, Agent Findley. No one can tell my work from the masters, except by carbon dating the paint. I mimic brush strokes exactly, spend hours matching perfect hues…”
“I know that, too.” He breathed audibly. “Why, though, Moon? Of all the things you could have done, why this? The money?”
Weslyn was suddenly furious. All the years she’d spent with nothing, begging for a crust of bread, and the years when they’d had enough, but her father and brother took the lion’s share and drank it. The nights she’d gone to sleep hungry, the times her sister had tried to give her extra and was slapped down for it.
And then, after finally getting freedom from her sadistic father, Moon had been dependent on the kindness of strangers, and she’d hated it. Some of her foster parents were decent people, true, but they weren’t her people, and they weren’t interested in helping her reach her goals. They weren’t willing to support her beyond her seventeenth birthday, they wouldn’t fund her artistic pursuits and they wouldn’t even help her figure out how to do it herself.
“Of course the money!” she raged. “I had to eat. I had to live! God, and after Brian put me in the hospital, what did you think I should do? I didn’t want to stay with him. I didn’t want to forgive him.”
“Because of your father?”
“That sick bastard,” Weslyn hissed. “I swore I would never let myself stay in a place where someone hit me ever again. I even left one of my foster homes because of that.”
“I know. I’m proud of you too.” Findley’s voice did, in fact, sound as if he was bursting with pride. “It’s hard for a woman to get out of an abusive relationship, and triply so for a woman raised in an abusive household. But you had courage and grit.”
“My father used to call me stubborn.”
Findley laughed. “That too.”
“You asked about road trips.” Weslyn took a deep breath. “Growing up, we were always on the move. This town, tha
t campground. Never in one place for too long.”
“Your father kidnapped you. He had to keep moving.”
“Yeah, that’s what the state said when they took me away. After that, I still moved around. I came from nothing, Agent Findley, and I had nothing.”
“Tell me, Moon.”
She stared at the patch of road illuminated by the headlights, estimating the time until they wouldn’t need them anymore, even as she thought back to how life used to be. “Everyone wanted me to be a cashier, or get a job as a waitress, or do some other boring, normal thing that would make some money. But the money wasn’t enough. I mean, it was, until Brian hit me.”
“But you left him and had to start over. You needed money to go, to set up a new life.”
“That’s when I painted the Monet.” She nodded, her head suddenly feeling too heavy. She leaned back and lifted her gaze to the top of the windshield, taking in the sight of the lightening horizon through the line of tint. “Half-done, like he’d abandoned the project. I sold it, and my soul, for twenty thousand dollars.”
“The guy you sold it to eventually put it up for auction. Told everybody it had been in a private collection. Got a half mil for it.”
Weslyn put her hand to her stomach. “That’s hard to hear. I tried to sell my own artwork, but nobody bought it. I tried to get a job at various museums across the country, but I only finished high school, and they wanted art degrees from big-name universities. The money runs out, you know?”
“So you painted another.” Findley shot her a strange look.
“Lesser known artist, though. Less money, but less chance of getting picked up for it, too.”
“Still a crime.”
“Yup.” Weslyn closed her eyes. “I painted seven, in all. For the record, I could have painted a hundred, flooded the market with Moon fakes, made billions of dollars and bought my own island, where no one would ever find me again.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“The old masters don’t deserve that.”
“And that, Moon,” Findley said, “is the reason why I’ll get you a lawyer in Vermont.”