He would put out the eyes of anyone who witnessed it, but he fondled those articles of clothing and slept with one of her favorites under his pillow every night. The deep purple gossamer thing with the little straps that set off her warm, tanned skin and matched her amazing, expressive eyes before he took it off her. Witch eyes, his mother called them, all seeing, his bitch mother even then trying to foul what he and Amy were building. Well, Amy hadn’t seen his shit coming, so couldn’t guard against it. Goddamn it.
He itched to feel her thick blond hair beneath his hands, itched to push his fingers into it and hold her head steady, the better to plunder her lips and feel them around his cock. He missed his woman, with curves and some heft to her. A woman to lie on and lose oneself in. And she took everything he had to give her then gave it back. Loved him. She said it, didn’t hold back, didn’t play those games. Dean only ever said it to her that once, and she’d been asleep. He told her he didn’t know what love was before, though, and what a message he’d given.
But it was the stuff in the bathroom trash making him crazy. He’d told Lois to stay away, not wanting anyone to touch Amy’s things or interfere with her essence. So the garbage had piled up over the weeks and he hadn’t noticed, wouldn’t have picked up on it except he booted the can sideways in a fit of pique when he dropped his razor and it fell behind it. The contents spilled across the floor, tissues, an empty toothpaste tube, floss, the usual detritus. Amy hadn’t managed to empty it before she left. Correction. Amy hadn’t left, he’d thrown her out.
The home pregnancy test stood out like a beacon. He cursed and shovelled all the other crap away from it, his fingers snatching up the box, the label burning its message into his brain. Dean didn’t know how long he crouched over the mess on the floor, staring at the innocuous box for further enlightenment. He’d crushed it in his hand and found himself wandering the condo, casting about for further sign. He didn’t find any little white stick but he knew the truth anyhow.
Dean never ate in the dining room before Amy came into his life, and certainly not after he threw her out of it, so had no occasion to enter the damn space. He remembered staring at the place settings, and now knew Amy was going to share something momentous that fateful day. An announcement to be served up with that prime rib she’d prepared for him, left to moulder on the counter.
The revelation took his breath away. They’d made a baby together. He could have made her pregnant that first irresponsible, but oh-so-spontaneous time when he forgot to use protection for the first time in his life, and had thought to do by right by her. Taking her into his home, telling her they’d deal. Such a fucking cavalier attitude, because he really hadn’t allowed himself to go there. But now she was indeed carrying his baby. It was no longer a case of if—and an unfathomable sense of utter delight, tempered by sheer terror, nearly put him on his knees.
Amy was God knew where, with little money and no job, a junker car, and his baby growing inside her. His personal punishment wasn’t swift and just. It was slow, torturous and just. And nothing compared to what Amy had suffered, he was certain.
Cudgeling his brain and memory for any sign about her pregnancy came up empty. Maybe her breasts had been a little fuller, the nipples more sensitive, but he could be grasping at straws. She’d been really tired, and he had heard somewhere that was a sign. How could he have not noticed? Because you never concerned yourself with her cycle, trusting her to take care of protection against pregnancy, lost in your lust and desire for her all the fucking time. Fucking irresponsible again.
The idea of a baby in their lives, his son or daughter growing inside Amy, terrified him, while creating such excitement and anticipation he was vaguely nauseated with the mix of emotions. He decided he could approach it like he did everything else, with determination and great will. He’d do the job right, rise about his past and upbringing, be the best father possible. He didn’t even stop to wonder if Amy would make a great mom. Nothing to wonder about. He’d never let her know he was anxious about being a good dad. He’d given her enough to worry about.
It hovered in the back of his mind, that brutally salient fact of why she was hiding from him. Amy was afraid he’d come looking for her, so she covered her tracks. Afraid he would find out her secret and come for her, not out of love but obligation. God help him. He’d progressed enough in this affair of the heart to understand that nuance.
Shoving his feet into his boots, Dean yanked the laces tight with barely suppressed violence. He couldn’t just sit at home and do nothing no matter how exhausted he was. He needed to do something, anything. Fuck taking a day to regroup. He was going to rattle some cages. What he had just learned made it even more imperative. Calling Randy, he first confided the news, to his lieutenant’s low whistle, muttered regret, and cautious congratulations. Then Dean told the man to pull in the trackers.
****
“There’s no sign!” Forrest’s attitude was actually tinged with a hint of resentment and Dean recognized he’d pushed too hard. The other man never failed to track his quarry and he was taking this loss with less than good grace. “I can’t even find the fucking car she bought. She drove it off the lot and went north, or maybe northwest, depending on the day that shithead dealer is asked. The road splits just beyond his property and the only reason he even thinks Amy turned right is because he thought she was hot and paid attention.”
Dean growled audibly and Forrest shut up. Dean pinned him with his eyes and asked, again, “And she didn’t tell him anything? Not a slight, fucking idea about where she was headed?”
“She didn’t seem to know. Seriously, Chambray. That little worm tried to hit on her and she wasn’t evasive, or he’d be covering to save his pride. He said it was like she was sick or something, spacy, and just wanted to get it done. I told you.”
Turning to Enrico, Dean fixed him with a stare, trying to ignore the sick reference. Amy had good reason to be sick. “You get anything else from Sandra?”
The slight, handsome young man shrugged with Latin grace, his dark eyes heating. “That one is formidable, sir. She cannot be read unless she chooses. But I do sense something, as of today.”
“And you fucking well kept it to yourself?” Dean was on his feet, gripping the edge of his desk to suppress his need to vault over it and throttle Enrico.
Another shrug. “I have been trying, boss, but you have been interrogating us in order, it would appear.”
True. He had started with the trackers. Getting soft, because he’d heard that women who truly connected managed to keep that connection. Amy taught him that, with her intense loyalty to Sandra that was fully returned. “Tell me.”
“I have nothing but a feeling.”
“How long since you asked?”
“I stayed away for a week. Told her I was working.” A look twisted Enrico’s lips, almost too quick for Dean to read, but he intuited it. His best interrogator was fucking the source, and Dean’s conscience flickered. Sandra was a good person, a good friend to Amy, and neither would take kindly to Enrico using her. He quashed his guilt. Means to an end.
“So you got back into her bed and had this feeling?” He noted how Enrico’s eyes narrowed. Maybe something more going on there, than a means to an end.
“I asked her how her best friend was after a … a moment when she was more likely to … share.” A shift in the air surrounding Enrico made Dean choose his words carefully. He gestured for the other men to leave and Randy took Forrest away with a hand on his arm, talking about reimbursement and other jobs. He hadn’t lost sight of Dean’s position and the need to project confidence and stability. Brooks followed along.
“I’ll go see Sandra personally.”
Enrico nodded, his right fist clenching at his side, although he instantly loosened it. Dean studied him. The other man’s position should be reassessed. Lots of potential there. He balanced loyalty to Dean against an asunto del corazón with Sandra and Dean wouldn’t fuck him over. He stepped around the desk and spok
e close to Enrico’s ear.
“An affair of the heart?”
“Si.”
“She won’t know from me.”
“My thanks, sir.”
Dean hustled after Forrest and Brooks. “Both of you stay close. If I get a hint, a direction, I want you both on it. Understand?”
Cautious nods. He wondered what his face looked like to garner such caution and if it reflected the molten anguish he battled within. He didn’t give a shit. But then no one but he and Randy knew Amy was pregnant. And probably Sandra. If she was still pregnant. His gait stuttered, and the horrific pain in his chest took his breath, thinking that he might have lost their yet unborn child.
Dean couldn’t imagine Amy terminating their baby, but he supposed she couldn’t have imagined he’d kick her to the curb either. Shit. Just another self-administered form of torment for him to endure until he found her. Not when. Until. He had a clue and was putting every single fucking one of his eggs in this particular basket because there seemed no other leads.
“Randy.”
His lieutenant materialized at the door. “I’ll get the truck. It’s in the lot. All the construction for the new curbs.”
Dean snapped his attention to the faint sounds of pavement shattering beneath the pile drivers. “I’ll get the truck. You call the city. This block was done last year.”
“Fuck me.” Randy narrowed his eyes. “Glad you came down today.”
Of late, the mostly legal businesses he ran in this corner of the city were doing really well, despite the economy, but his other services remained unfavorably looked upon by either the law or the competition. The police were usually predictable despite the distance he had to keep, and the competition varied with every coup. Right now, his rivals were a loose cabal of wannabe wiseguys trying to move in where Burnett had failed. Dean’s sources kept him abreast of their efforts and he’d need to step on a couple in a while, but they weren’t yet a real threat. He wondered if that shadowy head man was still circling.
But no way did the city replace curbs twice in two years, so it was the law putting its nose in. Shit. He didn’t have time for this. He thought he’d sorted things when he moved Burnett along. Pulling his cell out of his pocket he found Minor’s contact and pressed it, heading back into his office, shutting the door.
“Yeah.”
“No name, don’t talk. I doubt they’ve had time to set up to snoop, but somebody reneged.”
Silence. Two beats. Dean continued. “I have something to take care of, but my second’s here. Text him when you know.” There was no question Minor wouldn’t do as he was asked. He owed Dean big, forever, and Dean didn’t ask much of him. The bigger worry was if the other man had been cut out of the loop, or was being set up. Well, Minor was smart and wouldn’t get caught easily, witnessed by his rise through the ranks. And if he’d been burned, then they’d soon know. Dean severed the connection and went to collect the truck keys. Randy was already on the phone, complaining to some clerk about the noise and inconvenience, demanding to be shuttled to a supervisor. He nodded and went out the door, leaving his lieutenant to sort it out.
Was it his imagination or did the hard hats pause in their tasks to survey him? Did the cacophony of noise ease a trifle? Dean dismissed the thoughts. If they put someone on him he’d know. The truck locks clicked open in blind obedience to the remote and he swung into the sun warmed interior, the hot leather seat cradling him, the cold, empty feeling deep inside his gut such a marked contrast. No. He was going to find her. Nobody stayed hidden forever.
****
The motel was like a way station in her life. While the nagging pain in her heart was omnipresent and the burgeoning life in her belly, with all its impact on her day-to-day living, an inescapable reminder of her recent past, Amy put her head in the sand of kindness and acceptance and got on with it. She took great pains with her diet and took prenatal vitamins after seeing a doctor at a walk-in clinic. He was kind, if harried, and after confirming the pregnancy, offered to refer her to an OB-GYN. She’d declined the referral for the moment, not knowing where she hoped to be in the next while, and took a handful of pamphlets outlining prenatal care.
She remembered calling Sandra before the full month’s timeline was up, maybe a week ago. Playing chauffeur for Francine, first to the doctor for a follow up visit, and then to a lunch date with a small group of friends, Amy was overcome with the intense need to check in. Francine and her cronies laughed and talked and giggled, drank and ate with joy and abandon, the camaraderie of the sisterhood. It was too much for Amy to bear.
Sitting in the car, she’d placed the call, desperate for the connection, closing her eyes with happiness at the sound of her friend’s voice. She had caught Sandra going out the door to work, but the five minutes of catching up a little was worth its weight in gold, and the risk of using her cell minimal. They were miles from the motel.
“I’m so relieved to hear from you, Amy! I’ve been worried sick. Are you sure you’re okay? And the baby?”
“I’m good, Sandra, honestly. Landed on my feet for sure. This little critter is doing some stuff to me, but according to the information out there, it’s to be expected. All normal. I’m taking good care. Diet, vitamins, lots of rest. I have to see a baby doctor, I know it. Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just missing you. Work is good.” Sandra hesitated and Amy waited.
“Dean is looking for you, honey. He apparently figured out he screwed up and wants to talk to you.”
Choosing her words carefully, not wanting to ask Sandra how Dean looked, if he was okay, Amy replied. “Can’t go there, Sandra. I won’t be able to trust him again and now there’s more than just me to consider. I might let him use me as an emotional punching bag, but not the baby.”
“You think he’d be cruel to the baby?”
“No. But he’d lash out against me and shit rolls down hill. I’m not allowing it. Somebody has to consider the vulnerable.” Unlike what both she and Dean had experienced in childhood.
“Well, you’ll have to make that decision, honey. Better you than me. He’s apparently anxious, though. And he doesn’t know you’re pregnant so…”
Amy believed she’d convinced her friend she was well and content, coping with life, and she daren’t rip the gossamer bandage off her broken heart. She avoided giving any hint of her whereabouts to spare Sandra further subterfuge, promising to call again. She was homesick, and admitted to feeling some relief that Dean was anxious, that his memory of her wasn’t besmirched by betrayal. Unlike hers of him. And she’d taken the battery out of her phone again, successfully managing not to check her voice mail.
Running the hotel, engaging in the routine while Harold and Francine were away, soothed her. Up early to fix a non stomach-upsetting breakfast, checking for reservations, helping Joyce if the need arose, welcoming and checking in guests, ensuring the lobby was tidy and appealing. She ate her other meals whenever it made sense, and when she was hungry, in between the parts of the job, like ordering supplies and taking phone calls. It was steady work, not onerous, and wasn’t really boring with the exception of the long periods of time between guests arriving and departing. People watching became her thing, from behind the boundary of the counter. There were a few late calls, fewer in the night, and for minor things, like batteries for the remote.
Her bosses called every day, but Amy didn’t get the sense they were checking up on her. Their brief holiday was marred by inclement weather, but Harold was determined Francine rest and use the time away wisely. She found herself missing them, like the family she didn’t remember. Joyce didn’t have much time to chat, but sometimes they’d have a coffee, tea for Amy now. The other woman was overtly curious, but not in a malicious way and was easily diverted. All in all, it was a wonderful opportunity to regroup.
The ping of the bell over the door jarred her from her reverie, yanking her into the present. A young man in a dark uniform pushed through into the lobby, hefting a toolbox. “Tom,
from Western Cable and Ethernet.”
It didn’t seem possible so much time had passed while she was off in her head. Amy showed him the rough map she’d drawn of the motel property, complete with measurements obtained from Harold before he left. It was an easy install, so Tom assured her, and set to work. Amy organized the paperwork and entered it into the old computer. She hoped to encourage her bosses to invest in a new one after the carpet installation, but attempted to throttle back on her involvement. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Harold and Francine saw her as a pseudo-daughter, seeing as their only child, Louise, died of cancer years ago. You should never outlive your children, she mused, feeling badly for the pair. She was honored to have them as adoptive parents, albeit for a short time.
Her own child wasn’t yet really noticeable, at least not to people who hadn’t known her before. Amy noticed her waist thickening a trifle, her breasts a bit larger, the nipples certainly more sensitive, and her stomach often dipped and roiled in reaction to certain foods and teeth brushing, but she wasn’t quite three months along. Close though. The purchased prenatal vitamins were tucked out of sight in a drawer, as she wasn’t yet ready to share with Harold and Francine. And Joyce would shriek the news to the heavens. In any event, she soon needed to find a place to live more permanently in order to find a doctor. Lots of things to consider. She was cautiously examining the combined fear and elation of impending motherhood. Alone.
“Miss? Want to test signal strength? I’ve tied in with the phone service.”
Amy logged on and was pleased with the result. “Hang on a second.” Poking her head out the lobby door, she spied Joyce’s cart two units down. It took barely a minute to rap on the door and for Joyce to pull it open.
“Hey, Amy!”
“Keep an eye on the desk, Joyce, please. I’m going to take my laptop to the last unit and test signal strength. It’s empty right?”
Forever (Eternity #1) Page 18