After half an hour of self-pity and resentment, I realized that I was starving. I hadn’t eaten anything since a drive-thru at lunchtime, and I was starting to get nauseous from the combination of hunger and baby hormones. Cristina didn’t keep much food in the house, so I turned off the TV and grabbed the car keys. Without bothering to change out of my pajama pants, I went down to the Volvo, intent on going through the drive-through at In-N-Out burger. Granted, eating In-N-Out Burger two days in a row was probably not my healthiest idea. But I was past caring.
The line for the drive-through was seven cars long, even at 10:30 at night, but there were only two cars parked in the lot. Americans. I was too hungry to wait, so I shrugged to myself and parked the car to walk inside. Being seen in public in my pajama pants would have sent Rory into palpitations of shame, but I just couldn’t work up the energy to give a shit what the In-N-Out employees thought of me. They should just be grateful that I’d remembered to put on flip-flops. And a bra.
The food calmed my stomach a little, and by the time I left the restaurant and headed back for Cristina’s car, I was trying to focus my thoughts on the future. First thing in the morning, I needed to call Nate. I figured he’d want to stop the investigation, since finding Jason Anderson’s killer wouldn’t help his situation at this point. Which meant that the case was over. Which also meant that as soon as I got home, I needed to talk to Toby. It was time to face the fact that I was going to have a baby, Cleary’s anniversary or not.
The LA night was cool and dry, and a little breeze played on the raised goosebumps that covered my arms. I didn’t mind the chill – it was probably thirty degrees cooler in Chicago just then. Because I had circled the lot to check out the drive-through, I had parked in an awkward spot behind the garbage area, away from the main door. I went around the fenced-in dumpster and started digging in my messenger bag for Cristina’s keys.
I never did find them.
As I walked around the corner of the fence, a blur of motion on my right caught my eye, a shape moving towards me. Years of reflexes helped me throw up my right arm, but it was too late. The man in the black ski mask grabbed my raised arm and whirled me around the fence in one move, slamming me against the dumpster once, twice. I dropped my purse and got my hands up to defend my face, but my arms tangled in the long strap of my messenger bag, and while I was still pulling my right arm free to strike him he grabbed me around the neck.
I opened my mouth to scream, and he slapped my face so hard that my vision went fuzzy at the edges. His fingers closed harder against my windpipe, and I was running on autopilot now, my hands scrabbling at his fingers. When that didn’t work I shifted my weight to kick him in the groin, but he saw it coming and shifted his lower body to take it in the hip. I sobbed air as he pulled me forward just far enough to slam me back against the Dumpster again.
I blacked out for a moment, and when my vision cleared again he had thrown me down onto the blacktop.
This was bad. This was so bad. I tried to remember where my arms and legs were, but by the time I figured it out he had climbed onto of me, pinning my arms to the ground as he knelt on my midsection. He’d momentarily let go of my throat, so I took in another breath to scream, but he calmly punched a tight fist into my neck. “Be quiet,” he ordered, in a low, gravelly voice. I got my first real look at him, but other than a slim build and ears that probably stuck out a little under the ski mask, there wasn’t much that would help me identify him. “Or you will die right here, in the dirt, like an animal.”
I stilled, and for the first time I remembered the baby. His weight was on my arms and sides right now, but holy shit, had he hit my stomach? I tried to remember the blows I’d taken, but my head was still swimming.
I jerked as he slapped me hard across the face – again. “Focus, Selena.”
“Asshole, if you don’t stop slapping me I’m going to throw up on you,” I whispered hoarsely.
He smiled cruelly, his lips perfectly framed by the ski mask. “Listen carefully. You will drop Jason Anderson’s case. Go back to Chicago, tell whomever you’d like that Anderson is dead, and let the matter drop. I would hate to have to kill you-” he released my neck, sitting back on his heels—“especially in your condition.”
My eyes widened despite myself, and some primal unthinking part of me began to struggle anew. He cursed as I freed my right arm, ducking too late to miss the damn good uppercut I laid on his chin. Before I could plant another, though, he reeled back out of my grasp, releasing my arm. I was too out of it, too slow, to stop him as he backhanded me hard. Then it was dark.
20. She Was My Hero
Nate was breaking one of his own rules, big time. He woke up Tuesday morning and actually called himself in sick. Tom probably would have done it if he’d asked, but then Tom would want to know why, and Nate didn’t feel like getting into how tired he was – or how much he wanted a break from school. From his life, really.
He slept in a delicious two hours late, and then dressed quietly and tiptoed guiltily from the house before the home nurse would arrive to check on Tom.
After an hour on the bus, Nate arrived at the comic book store. There was a different woman sitting at the front desk when he walked in, and he almost gasped. This woman looked so much like Lena, only with different hair and a little extra weight, not to mention a nose that hadn’t been broken. And a very different wardrobe – Nate couldn’t really remember what Lena wore when they met, but she always dressed so...herself. This woman was wearing a dark green corduroy jacket-thing, a cream turtleneck, and brown corduroy pants. Nate couldn’t really picture Lena in that outfit.
The woman who was not Lena looked up and smiled at him welcomely, and the smile was Lena’s, too, with maybe a little less mischief in it, Nate decided. He smiled back automatically, and said, “I’m looking for Mr. Dane...um, Peter?”
“No problem,” she said, and then her voice rose as she hollered, “Dad!”
Peter Dane came charging out of the DC section, and Nate grinned just to see him. Today Lena’s father was wearing khaki pants, blue suspenders, and a red t-shirt that said Faster than a speeding bullet! “Nate!” Peter said happily, slowing his pace. “How are you?” Peter stretched out his hand, and, surprised at this adult gesture, Nate shook it.
“This,” Peter continued, “is Rory, my other daughter. She’s usually the one with better manners, but I believe she thinks I’m going deaf.” He turned to the woman who was not Lena, and she grinned back at him.
“Can I help it if you’re getting elderly?” she teased him. Turning to to smile at Nate again, she added, “Hi, Nate. My father and sister have both told me about you. I’m Rory.” She frowned then, and looked at the sensible watch on her wrist. “Um, shouldn’t you actually be in school now?”
“Uh...well, I’m-” Nate couldn’t believe that he, the reigning master of lies and cover-ups, hadn’t prepared a story for this moment.
“Taking a mental health day?” Lena’s father supplied.
Nate grinned in relief. “Um...yeah.”
Rory opened her mouth, as if to say something else, but Nate saw Peter Dane shoot her a look that clearly said “shut up” in a loving, parental way. Tom gave him that look all the time.
“Well, Nate,” Peter continued genially, “What are your plans for the day?”
“I hadn’t really gotten that far,” Nate admitted. “I just kind of came here first.”
“I’m glad you did,” Peter looked up at Rory. “Rory, Aaron has a midterm tomorrow. Call him and tell him he can have the afternoon off after all.”
Nate spent the rest of the morning helping Peter with inventory. They carried around price guns and scanned item after item, with Peter checking each shelf section off a computer-generated lists. And all the while, Nate was learning more and more about comic books, as Peter kept up a running commentary on the comics they were handling.
“Now, Superman, he has a lot of problems as a comic book,” Peter lectured, as they went thr
ough an entire shelf of Superman trade paperbacks. “But as a hero he represents the heart of what makes these stories great: a character who uses his strength and innate goodness to try to heal the world, to make it better.” Peter paused in his scanning, smiling fondly as he stared at something Nate couldn’t see. “Lena’s mother was like that, come to think of it. Cassandra was just...good. She was a police officer so she could put more good out into the world. I think that’s why I fell in love with her.” He smiled, a little sad. “She was my hero.”
Nate thought that was kind of heartbreaking. He wondered if Peter had dated anyone after Lena’s mom. Tom had seen a couple of women in the years since Nate’s mom had died, but he’d never even gotten serious enough to introduce them to Nate. And then he’d gotten sick.
“Dad?” Rory called from the register. “I’m gonna run out and get us some lunch, okay?”
“Sure,” Peter replied. He quickly finished the shelf he was on and laid the last book he’d scanned down sideways, so it stuck out from the shelf. “Come on, we’ll go up front until she gets back.”
“Okay.” Nate turned down his last book, too, and obediently followed Peter towards the cash register.
Before Peter had even sat down, the phone that was bolted to the wall above the counter began to trill. Peter picked it up. “Great Dane Comics.”
Nate wasn’t paying attention at first; he’d started fiddling with some of the novelty toys near the register, but when the silence stretched out, he looked up and saw that Peter’s face had gone pale. The older man clenched the counter for support.
“Peter? What happened?” Nate asked, panicked. For a second he thought it was Tom, that something had happened and they’d tracked him down, but Peter moved his mouth away from the receiver and whispered, “Lena was just brought into the emergency room in Los Angeles. She’s critical.”
Nate’s mind jump-started, putting it together. Another boy might have hesitated, but hospitals and doctors were Nate’s home court, and without even thinking about it he reached over and took the phone out of Peter’s hand.
“Hello? Are you still there?” Nate’s voice was urgent, but still calm and even. “Listen, you need to get a message to Lena’s doctor right away.” Nate looked up at Peter, still bent over in shock, and prayed that he was doing the right thing. “She’s pregnant.”
21. Out There for the Taking
Surely she should be awake by now. What did the doctor say?”
Cristina’s voice was demanding and worried. Why is she so worried? I wondered idly as my vision drifted lazily into focus. I saw Cristina on my left, looking at another figure in the room. It seemed to take forever to get my eyes to go over there. Toby. Oh...fuck.
I opened my mouth to speak, to draw their attention, but nothing came out, and as soon as I started paying attention I realized how much I hurt...everywhere.
“Did you see that?” Toby said suddenly. I couldn’t follow moving things so well yet, so his four steps over to my bed looked like a blur.
When my eyes focused on my husband, he had no expression on his face. “How bad?” I whispered.
“Two broken ribs, deep contusions all over your arms and legs, a mild concussion, your throat was damaged, and your shoulder was dislocated, but they put it back already.” Toby told me, his voice flat and cold. “And your face is a mess.”
“Permanent?”
“No. But your nose was broken again. They reset it.”
“‘Kay,” I managed to say. Whispering still seemed possible, although my throat burned from where he’d punched me.
I hesitated, afraid to ask. My eyes slid desperately to Cristina, but Toby saw right through that, contempt on his face. “The baby,” he said coldly, “is fine. Somehow.”
I sighed in relief, and immediately gasped again at the pain in my ribs.
“Lena,” Cristina said gently, “what happened?”
Tears welled in my eyes. “I went for In-N-Out,” I whispered. “I just-I thought the case was over for me, I didn’t expect—” My voice broke, and I cried through the pain in my ribs. “I was so stupid.”
Her face softened, and she took my hand in both of hers. “It’s okay, Baby Girl. Do you remember what he looked like?”
I automatically started to shake my head, winced at the movement, went back to the whisper. “He was wearing a ski mask, and he talked really low, like he was disguising his voice.” I tried to concentrate. “White skin, a little lighter than mine. Brown eyes. Brown eyebrows. Gravelly voice. Maybe five-eleven or six feet.”
Cristina was in professional mode now. “Anything else? Tattoos? Accent?”
I shook my head slightly, wincing at the pain. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Baby Girl.” She squeezed my hand gently and stood up. “I have to take this description the officers.”
“Cristina-” She turned to look at me inquiringly.
“He knew.” My eyes darted to Toby, still seething, and back to my friend. “About the baby. He knew.”
Her brow furrowed. “How?”
That was one thing I’d had time to think about as I laid in the parking lot, waiting for the ambulance. “The restaurant last night...does it have security cameras?”
Cristina went to talk to the other cops, and a nurse came in to check my vitals and give me some orange juice to sip. As she fussed over me Toby paced back and forth on the other side of the small room, arms clenched to his sides, fingers driven into fists. Then the nurse left, and I was alone with my husband.
Toby is a pretty contained guy, and I had never seen him like this, so close to losing control. After a long, gut-wrenching moment he wheeled to glare at me. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and nearly throbbing with the effort not to shout at me.
“What, in all of hell,” he said quietly, “did you think you were doing?”
“I don’t know,” I said miserably, close to tears. I had no defense. This one time, I knew with absolute certainty that he was right and I was wrong.
“Is it me?” Toby continued matter-of-factly. “Do you not want to be with me, to have a family with me?”
“No!” I said, shocked. “That’s not it!”
“Well, God help me, Selena, I don’t understand you. Why you would lie to me and then take our baby into combat without a second thought. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t.” That was just the plain truth, wasn’t it? I’d been working overtime to not think about the baby, not remember the pregnancy test or Matt Cleary.
“That’s not good enough,” he snapped. “I don’t get the way your brain works, I really don’t. You told your fourteen-year-old client before you told your husband? Who does that?”
I blinked in surprise. “Can we leave Nate out of this? It’s not his fault.”
“Oh, I’m not mad at Nate,” he retorted. “On the contrary, that kid seems to be the only one who gives a shit about our kid.”
“Huh?” I said stupidly.
“You still have your dad listed as your emergency contact, in your wallet,” Toby explained, his anger just a little more subdued. “Nate took the phone at the store and told them about the baby. They completely changed your treatment because of it, and they did an ultrasound to check on the baby. Nate might have saved its life.”
“Oh.”
He glared at me, taking in the bruises on my face. I swear, I wasn’t trying to manipulate him with how I looked—I didn’t have the energy, even if I’d wanted to—but suddenly a little of the fight went out of him. He sighed and finally sat down in the visitor’s chair next to my bed. “I just...don’t understand how you could keep something like this from me.”
I struggled for words. “I didn’t want to be just...someone’s mommy. I want to be more than that with my life.”
“Bullshit, Selena,” he spat back. “Maybe that’s part of it, but that’s not enough to stop you. You know better than to think you will ever be anything less than extraordinary.”
Tears began
to trail a slow path down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
“Well, God, Selena, I would fucking hope so,” he said tiredly.
We sat in silence for a time, while tears continued their slow course down my cheeks. Finally Toby cursed, sliding carefully onto the bed to take my face in his hands. Mindful of my bruises, he gently pushed my hair out of my eyes with a warm thumb.
“I need to know why, Selena,” he said softly. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you want this?”
It was time. Of course I knew it was time. I took a deep breath. “Five years ago,” I whispered, “The morning of Matt Cleary. I took a pregnancy test.” I explained the whole thing; the positive test, the way Cleary had hit me in the stomach, the blood test at the hospital.
As I spoke Toby’s eyes got bigger and bigger. When I was done he hugged me tightly. It hurt, but I didn’t make a sound. “Why didn’t you tell me this?” he said into my hair.
“What would be the point?” I sniffled. “It would have just hurt you.”
“I could have been there for you,” he reminded me.
“You were,” I told him, sitting up straight so I could look at him. “Things were so crazy after Cleary, remember? And then with me quitting the department, and you followed me, and that was so sweet—” my voice broke, and it took me a second to start again. “And it wasn’t like it was even a real baby, it was just a stupid fucking test, a maybe.”
Toby didn’t respond, just held me for a long time, waiting me out. We’d been together long enough for him to know when I had more to say. “I can’t keep it safe,” I whispered finally.
The Big Keep: A Lena Dane Mystery (Lena Dane Mysteries) Page 13