Comes the Night (Entangled Suspense)

by Cathy Marlowe

  She suppressed a shudder and lifted her chin, refusing to be goaded again.

  “Thomas needs to turn his attention to Desiree, so we’re going to help him by making sure he thinks you and I are…intimate.”

  As his smile broadened, she looked away, her eyes drawn to the fireplace poker. Afraid he would read her intent, she turned back, but it was too late.

  He stroked his goatee with thumb and forefinger, his gaze thoughtful as he considered the poker. He chuckled. “Lizzie, Lizzie, how I love that spark of rebellion you try so hard to hide. Indeed, if circumstances were different, I would have been quite proud to call you my daughter.”

  He ran his hand along her bare arm. “Even prouder perhaps to claim you for myself.” He stepped closer, reaching out to capture her jaw. “Let’s see how dear Sam is today.”

  They watched video. Once again, she played happily at the park, bundled securely in a warm coat, hat, and gloves, her joyful laughter ringing out as she went round and round on a playground toy. Today she wore her boots as well, kicking the snow in delight as she walked. As always, Jameson appeared at the end, proof of the date in his hand, his cold grin mocking her.

  “It would be a shame if Sam were to disappear forever.”

  She turned frightened eyes to him. “Please, please let her go back to Grant. I’ll be good, I promise.” She wiped tears from her cheeks. “Please don’t give my little girl away to another family.”

  His laugh chilled her soul. “You are so delightful this evening. Who said anything about giving her to another family? There are other, much more unpleasant options for a girl like Sam. I expect you to remember that. If Sam disappears, she won’t be living a nice family life somewhere.” He slammed his hand down on his desk. She jumped at the harsh sound. “Do you understand?”

  When she choked on a sob and nodded, he reached for her and pulled her close.

  …

  Thomas tucked Ace into bed. Running his fingertips along the crib rail, he tried to draw solace from the sight of his young son. The boy dreamed the sweet dreams of innocence.

  But it was no use. His pulse raced with adrenaline. He was definitely in fight-or-flight mode, and his preference was fight.

  He left the nursery in search of Maggie. Long strides ate up the distance between the nursery and the far wing.

  Stopping outside his father’s door, he listened. The sounds of a woman weeping seeped through the thick wood. With a hard knock, he pushed the door open. He stopped, stunned.

  Maggie stood with her back to him, held closely in the circle of his father’s arms, crying. Her hands were tucked between their bodies, and Thomas thought he saw them clench his father’s shirt. Her forehead lay against Alistair’s chest, her lips resting in the vicinity of the old man’s heart. Alistair stroked her back reassuringly, his face buried in her hair as he whispered in her ear.

  He felt like a fool.

  Alistair raised his head, pressing a kiss against her temple. “Son, after one knocks, the accepted practice is to wait and be bid entry.”

  He continued to rub her back with long, slow strokes. Thomas fought the urge to slap the old man’s hand away and snatch her out of his arms. “As you can see, this is not a good time.”

  Thomas clenched and unclenched his fist. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine, except that you are intruding on a private moment.”

  He waited. Maybe he was a fool, but his father’s word wasn’t good enough. “Maggie?”

  She stirred, one hand dropping down to rest on the old man’s waist, and replied without looking at him, “Everything’s fine, Thomas. Please, just leave us alone.”

  He hesitated for a moment and then sighed. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

  He reached for the door, tapping his fingers restlessly on the knob, then turned back to them with a frown. “I almost forgot the reason I’m here. Ace is fussy and I don’t want to leave him alone, but I have questions about those financial projections you need for tomorrow.” He kept his voice deferential. “I am sorry for interrupting, Father.”

  “I fail to understand why you can’t just let the boy cry himself to sleep. If you continue to coddle him, you’ll make him weak.” When he continued to wait, Alistair dropped his arms and pushed Maggie away with a deep sigh. “Very well, son, wrong-minded though I think you are, I know you’ll be unable to concentrate if you’re worried about young Alistair.”

  Placing his hand under her chin, he lifted her face. “We’ll talk more tomorrow, dear.” He stared at her until she rose on her toes and kissed him, just enough off-center to miss his lips, causing Thomas’s gut to churn. Turning toward the door, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and hurried from the room, eyes downcast.

  As Thomas turned to leave, Alistair stopped him. “Thomas? I thought you needed my help.”

  “I do. I just need to get the file.”

  Gesturing toward the chair, Alistair smiled and moved to the other side of his desk. “Have a seat. I have a duplicate right here.”

  …

  Lizzie closed the nursery door and leaned back, seeking emotional balance. She frowned. Daniel slept soundly. She approached the crib to look for the telltale signs of tears on his face. His cheeks and eyelashes were dry, his breathing even, no hiccups to indicate recent distress. She rubbed small circles on his back, attempting to absorb his peacefulness.

  Desperately needing more contact, she picked him up and sat in the rocking chair, careful not to wake him. She held him close to her heart and took a shuddering breath. She inhaled his clean scent as she remembered how Alistair had wrapped her in a punishing embrace, whispering harshly in her ear, “Sam will be safe as long as you do exactly as you are told. If you betray me or if anything happens to me—say an unfortunate incident with the fireplace poker—Jameson’s orders stand whether I am alive or dead.”

  Squeezing her more tightly, he’d hissed, “Do you understand?”

  When she’d nodded, he’d loosened his hold and stroked her back, quietly but insistently continuing his threats against her daughter until a loud knock sounded on the door. When it burst open, Alistair had tightened his grip and rasped in her ear, “Showtime.”

  Her knees had nearly buckled when she realized it was Zach. She’d been so afraid he would leave when she’d insisted that everything was fine. But, thank God, he had stayed.

  Thank God that underneath the exterior of Alistair Forrester Jr. lived her husband, the man who noticed everything.

  …

  Thomas toyed with his pen as his father droned on. This meeting was taking forever as he pretended to seek his father’s advice on the financial projections he’d finished earlier in the day. By now Maggie would have realized that Ace was perfectly fine, sound asleep in his crib.

  His father. Thomas found it increasingly difficult to believe he was the offspring of this contemptible man, no matter how closely they resembled each other.

  “Thomas?” Alistair snapped a pen against his forearm, and tossed up his hands in frustration, upsetting a photograph that perched on the corner of the desk. “Are you listening?”

  No, he’d been thinking about Maggie. Thomas reached to set the frame upright, intending to clarify for the old man that he was not a child to be thunked when Alistair disapproved of his behavior. Instead, he froze when he saw the contents of the frame.

  A boys’ hockey team stared back at him. The coaches stood behind the team, Alistair in the middle. But it was the goalie who drew Thomas’s attention. So this was him as a young teen. By the somber look on his face, he imagined he’d just listened to a lecture from the old man.

  Without speaking, he set the photograph back on the edge of the desk, disturbed by this fresh evidence of his relationship to Alistair. He felt Alistair’s stare, but refused to ask about the photo. He wouldn’t trust the answers anyway.

  Maggie was a different matter altogether. The woman owed him some answers. He’d almost returned to the nursery when he found her
wrapped in his father’s arms, but thankfully some inner voice had stopped him. Because when he’d insisted on hearing from her that she was okay, one of her hands had crept down his father’s chest to rest where he could see it on the old man’s waist.

  She’d crossed her fingers as she told him everything was fine.

  …

  Alistair sat in the dark, thoughtfully stroking his goatee, the room silent except for the night sounds that drifted through the open window. Thomas had left over an hour ago, and still he contemplated the shadows. Things were not working according to plan.

  Lizzie was proving to be an irritation. He’d like to introduce her to the innocent-looking happy pills that Thomas took daily. Perhaps she’d be a bit more content—a bit more agreeable. Unfortunately, the effects on nursing infants were unknown. He raised his brow. The long-term effects on adults were a bit vague as well. He sighed. It was the price one paid for progress. He made a note to increase his son’s dosage.

  Thomas showed increasing signs of rebellion. And his attraction to Maggie annoyed him to no end. True, it was impossible to completely hide the woman’s beauty behind ugly clothes and hair, but Thomas should never have looked twice at her once the delectable Desiree arrived. Really, the woman’s incredible figure put Lizzie’s slight form to shame.

  Lizzie shouldn’t even be here! It had taken a few days, but Alistair had finally tracked down his dear friend Robert Bridges. The traitor. He finally had proof that Robert had sent Lizzie the telegram. It was only a matter of time before he discovered the good doctor’s location, and then Robert would regret ever crossing his old partner.

  Alistair rose and began to pace. Thomas had never shown him the respect a father deserved. Well, Alistair would break him and mold him into the Forrester he was meant to be. After all, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve, and if those failed…

  Walking over to his safe, he entered the combination and removed a small vial. He lovingly caressed its cool exterior. A knowing smile replaced the menacing frown that had furrowed his brow. Holding the vial up to the moonbeams, he enjoyed the way the liquid refracted the light. His slight smile grew into a full grin as he considered his options. He nodded, pleased with his own cleverness. Putting the vial back in the safe, he chuckled, and it seemed the night grew ominously silent at the sound.

  A Forrester always has a backup plan.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Throwing her arms wide, the woman laughed in delight, spinning in a slow circle, her glorious hair flowing in the winter breeze. How he longed to bury his hands in those curls and draw her close. Taste her lips and feel the softness of her skin. Just a few more steps until she was his.

  He reached for her…and grasped nothing but air. Spinning around, he searched frantically, but she was gone. For a moment he thought he heard her in the distance, calling his name, but the breeze whipped the sound away.

  In its place a harsh voice thundered, “You are not in charge! Not in charge…not…” He turned in rage toward the intruder…and tripped over the hockey stick that lay unexpectedly at his feet. The cruel voice faded into the night.

  Thomas jerked awake, drenched in sweat. He was exhausted, yet all too often sleep eluded him. When he did sleep, he dreamed. Amazing dreams that both beckoned and confused. Troubling dreams that drifted just out of his reach the moment he awoke.

  Tonight’s dream held something else, something evil.

  He lay there, staring at the ceiling. He hated it here. Hated this house, hated the furniture, the food, the work. Hated everything except his son…and Maggie.

  He supposed he didn’t actually hate Desiree, but he didn’t much like her, either. She wasn’t his type—at least not anymore.

  And his father. It shamed him to admit it, but he hated him, too. How would he feel if one day Ace felt the same way about him?

  He was slowly suffocating, day after tedious day. The need to be free of this prison of expectation had grown to the point where something was bound to break, and he was determined it wouldn’t be him. Ace needed him too much.

  Glancing at the clock, he sighed with relief—2:00 a.m. It was time for Ace’s late-night feeding. A duty, a privilege really, that he enjoyed.

  When he entered the nursery, he found that Maggie had beaten him to it. She sat in the rocking chair, her hair pulled into a haphazard bun from which so many wavy strands escaped that she might as well have worn it down. She quietly fed Ace a bottle as the pediatrician had directed with the intent of eventually decreasing the boy’s dependence on her milk altogether. Thomas realized it saddened him for Ace to lose this special connection.

  “Hey.” He nodded, feeling subdued. A few hours ago she’d been crying in his father’s arms. “How are you?”

  She smiled a rare smile of genuine happiness that contrasted sharply with her red-rimmed eyes. “I’m good. I’m always good when I’m with this little guy.”

  Looking closely at the bottle she held, he realized it contained breast milk instead of formula. Man, she was stubborn, a quality that drew him in almost as much as her love for his son.

  Or was it her love for her lost baby? The myriad questions he’d pushed aside began to gnaw at him again. “About what happened after dinner…”

  She stiffened, and her peaceful demeanor fled, filling the room with tension.

  Though he missed the peace, he was glad. He was finally going to get some answers.

  …

  Lizzie panicked, afraid he would mention her discreet message that she was lying when she said everything was fine. “You mean when you rudely interrupted a private moment between your father and me?” She glared at him, praying she communicated more than anger with her eyes. “I hope those financial projections were worth ruining my evening.” She tossed her messy hair in her best imitation of disdain, hoping to distract Alistair if he were observing their interaction.

  Zach stared at her and she felt the most inappropriate urge to laugh. If the situation weren’t so dire, she’d actually enjoy his look of what the hell?

  “So, you’re really involved with my father.”

  His head tilted as he observed her. She sensed his disbelief, further prompting her warped sense of humor. She feared her desire to laugh bordered on hysteria. Great, he already thought she might be a little crazy.

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “You’re involved in a physical relationship. Even though just the other day you called him that ‘miserable, controlling old man.’”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t think you’d approve of our relationship.”

  With a humorless laugh, he looked at the ceiling and gritted his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he looked back at her and enunciated each word, “You’re having sex with that old man.” He practically cringed as he said it.

  She pulled Daniel protectively to her, drawing his eyes to their son. “Ace is too young for this discussion, but, yes, your father and I are having an affair.” She was proud of herself for not choking on the words.

  As she adjusted Daniel in her arms, she hoped she was doing the right thing and subtly overlapped her index and middle fingers for a moment. Zach’s eyes shifted, and Lizzie saw brief acknowledgment in his face before he looked back at her.

  All he said was, “I see.”

  Now that he was watching for her signal, she allowed one hand to drop to a less conspicuous position, partially concealed by the blanket. She tried to control her excitement. They were communicating.

  She prayed that she could trust him.

  …

  Although Thomas didn’t really understand the reason for this truth-or-lie game, he was willing to play if it brought him closer to real understanding. She was either incredibly clever or a candidate for the psychiatric ward. He desperately hoped it was the former.

  Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he walked over to the sitting area and grabbed the ottoman. Maggie watched in silence as he carried it back across the room and placed it directly in front of her chair so that whe
n he sat, he was at eye level with her.

  “Is he forcing you into a physical relationship with him?” Although he tried to be analytical in his questioning, he felt anger seep into his query.

  “Oh, please.” She raised her eyebrows in disbelief, but her fingers lay separated alongside his son. “Do I look like the kind of woman who would allow a man to force her into a physical relationship?” When he failed to answer, she insisted, “Well, do I? Look at me.”

  He stared deeply into her eyes, searching for hidden meaning that, like his dreams, lay just beyond his grasp.

  Looking away, he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He turned his gaze back to her. “As long as you’re content…not frightened or anything.”

  “No, I’m not frightened. Do you have any more ridiculous questions?”

  Her fingers were crossed, clenched together so tightly that he saw the whites of her knuckles in the dim light. She relaxed her hand and ran it over Ace’s back.

  “As long as you’re not in danger.” Although stated in measured tones, it was clearly another question.

  She hesitated and turned her lips up in a semblance of a smile. “No,” she said with a noticeable attempt at nonchalance that couldn’t quite hide the fear in her eyes, “I’m not worried that I’m in danger.”

  The truth. He frowned. He wasn’t asking the right questions.

  “What would this Zach guy think about you being here…with my father?” He regretted the flicker of hurt in her eyes at the question.

  A hollow laugh forced its way past her lips. “He wouldn’t be very happy about it, but he would understand.”

  Thomas scowled. “What kind of man could possibly be okay with this situation?” When she failed to respond, he pushed. “Why are you here? Where is this paragon of a husband?”

  He stood and began to pace, disgusted with himself for echoing his father’s sentiment. Getting his temper under control, he stopped in front of her and waited.

  Anger burned in her eyes. He watched, fascinated as she banked the fire and spoke calmly, never breaking the rhythm of the rocking chair. “Don’t insult the man when you can’t possibly understand.”