Don't Tell

by Karen Rose

  Almost time. Crenshaw was cruising along, suspecting nothing, approaching the Tar River. It had been an incredibly wet spring and the Tar was ready to overflow its banks. He knew from his trip yesterday and the day before that the river rushed hard here.

  Almost … time. Winters reached for his light, rolled down the window and fixed it to the roof of his unmarked car. Let the siren squeal for a few seconds. She looked in her rearview mirror and realized in the same moment that he was signaling to her and that there was no place to pull over. She’d need to cross the bridge. Perfect.

  The white Taurus pulled over, like the good citizen she was. Nary a traffic ticket to her name. But she’d had a hard time with this baby, her neighbor had confided to him in low tones when he’d poked around her house while she and hubby dear were at work on Thursday. Post-partum blues. She’d rocked the baby and cried. But she really was a good mother, the neighbor had insisted.

  He pulled up behind her and turned off his light. Pushed it under the seat and got out of his car, his wig kit safely stowed in his trunk. Today he wore no disguise. He wanted her to recognize him. To remember what he was capable of. He wanted her to fear him like she’d never feared in her life.

  He approached the car and watched her window slide down. Watched her watch him from her side mirror. There was a nice place to pull over here. He’d chosen it carefully. The county was widening the road and the construction guys had cleared a wide space on this side of the bridge. She’d pulled over safely, out of traffic’s way. No one would need to slow down if they passed. Not that he expected anyone to pass. This time on a Saturday night this road was almost deserted.

  When he got close enough he paused just behind the driver’s door. She craned her neck to see him, but his face was in the shadows. She’d figure it out in due time.

  “Officer? What’s wrong?” She twisted around to look at him. “I know I wasn’t speeding.”

  No, she hadn’t been speeding. If anything, she’d been going too slow. Bugged the hell out him, drivers going too slow.

  Deliberately he pulled on the passenger door, directly behind her. It was unlocked, just as he’d assumed. It was an older car, made before the locks engaged automatically when the car exceeded fifteen miles per hour. God knew she wasn’t careful enough to lock her doors. By the time she’d launched herself from the front seat, enraged, he had Baby Red out of his car seat and snuggled comfortably in his arms and was walking toward the bridge.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she exploded. He glanced over his shoulder with what he hoped was his most patronizing look. What an idiot. He hoped he never was unlucky enough to get her as his nurse. She’d probably connect his leg bone to his head bone.

  She ran behind him, slipping a little on the red mud, slick from all the rain. “Wait! Stop! Give me back my baby! Please!” The last was uttered on a sob, as if she finally figured out what was happening.

  Winters continued his walk onto the bridge, stopping about ten feet from the edge. The water was higher today. Better still. He shifted the now squalling baby in his arms. Cute kid. Eight months old and dressed for spring. His lip curled. Definitely not dressed for swimming.

  She was crying now, reaching for her kid. He held the baby closer and shoved her back, just a little harder than necessary. He leaned against the bridge. It wasn’t a tall bridge, just an ordinary little bridge, built in the same style as the railroad trestle that crossed the river fifty feet upstream.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Her eyes had grown wide with fright and she was shivering. Good.

  “Susan Crenshaw.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes. What—who are you?”

  Actually her first question might be a little closer to the truth. What was he? Hopefully her worst nightmare come to life.

  This woman was responsible for his losing seven years of his son’s life. Hatred no longer burned. It was now stone cold.

  “You volunteered at Asheville General Hospital nine years ago. You worked with an old nurse.”

  She nodded, still not understanding. Idiot. Still not recognizing him. “Nancy Desmond. Yes, I volunteered that summer. Please give me back my baby. I’ll give you anything you want.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Please remember that offer, Miss Crenshaw.” She’d kept her maiden name. That always pissed him off when women did that. The guy was good enough to marry, to shackle for the rest of his life, but not good enough to take his name. They wanted to have their cake and eat it, too, these Feminists. It was enough to make him sick.

  “You want money? I’ll get my purse. Just don’t—don’t hurt my baby. Please.”

  “I don’t want money. I want information. Mary Grace Winters. Do you remember her?”

  He saw her eyes glaze. “No, I don’t remember. Please …”

  “Try to remember. She was the wife of a local police officer. She’d fallen down some stairs. She was in Asheville General recuperating.” He watched her closely, saw the moment she remembered Mary Grace. Saw the moment she remembered him. Elation flared high. She was terrified. His pulse took a swing upward as adrenaline surged.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “You … oh, God. Please, please, give me back my baby. He’s just a baby. What do you want from me?” It was a pitiful cry now. Progress.

  “Nurse Desmond. You assisted her.”

  Her arms reached for the baby and he smiled thinly.

  “Miss Crenshaw, the water is very high here today. It would be a shame if your child were to … fall.” Her face drained of any remaining color. “I see you now understand. Nurse Desmond. You assisted her.”

  “Yes. I was only eighteen. I don’t know what you want.”

  “What were your duties nine years ago, Miss Crenshaw?”

  “I …” Her hands flexed, trembled, reached for the bridge to hold her upright.

  “You followed Nurse Desmond around. All the time. You heard what she told the patients. You listened. You were there to learn. I want to know what you learned. You were also friendly with the patients. My wife specifically. You gave her a statue.”

  “Yes, I did ….” Crenshaw whispered. “I remember.”

  “Good. We’re making progress. My wife disappeared seven years ago.” He watched closely. “You remember the circumstances?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was hoarse. “Mr. Winters, please—”

  Winters jerked back from her reaching hands, holding Baby Red over the bridge’s edge for a split second. Long enough for Miss Crenshaw to scream. It didn’t matter. They were quite alone. “It’s Detective Winters. Nancy Desmond told my wife where to hide, didn’t she?”

  The woman opened her mouth, but no sounds came out.

  “Don’t even think of denying it, Miss Crenshaw. Your baby …” He glanced over the edge. “So much rain lately.”

  “You’ll be caught. Arrested.” Wildly she looked around for help. No one was around. It was Saturday evening. Anybody that lived along this road would be snug in bed about now. The factories that stretched from here to the next town were just starting into second shift. Nobody would be coming for some time.

  “I don’t think so, Miss Crenshaw. I’m not entirely patient. I’m waiting for you to answer my question.”

  “I’ll tell the police that you stole my baby.”

  He shook his head. Stupid bitch. Did she think this was a spur-of-the-moment impulse? Did she think he hadn’t planned this down to the last detail? “I don’t think so, Miss Crenshaw,” he repeated. “Your baby’s becoming heavy.”

  Her face went even paler. He hadn’t thought it possible. Excellent. “Nurse Desmond. Where did she tell Mary Grace to go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He brought his free hand around to her cheek, seeing the shock register as it connected with her jaw with a crack. “Don’t lie to me, Miss Crenshaw. That was a warning. The next time your baby takes a tumble into the river. What a shame that would be. Your neighbors will be all too willing to say you had post-par
tum depression. Poor Susan. Poor baby. Whatever will your husband say?”

  Her lips trembled. “You’re …”

  “Despicable? I suppose I can see your point of view. Back to Nurse Desmond. What did she tell my wife?”

  “I swear I don’t remember.”

  “You’d better try.” He turned and took a few steps closer to the center of the bridge. Heard her run to catch up with him. He stopped and turned to face her again. “Start by remembering Mary Grace. Remember her face. Her neck. Her back.”

  “I do.” He had to strain to hear the whisper, almost lost on the breeze.

  “Then you know I can and will do this.” He paused, watched her fight with herself. “The name of the place, Miss Crenshaw. You have ten seconds before the bough breaks and your baby falls.” Ten, nine, eight … He really hoped she wouldn’t make him do this. Baby Red was a cute kid. Five, four … “Three, two—” He moved the baby to the edge of the bridge. Held him over the edge, his hands firm around the baby’s ribcage.

  “Chicago,” she blurted. Her hands reached for the child. Stupid bitch. Chicago was a big town. He could look for a year and not find Mary Grace in Chicago. Especially if she were no longer there after all this time.

  Baby Red was squirming in his hands. “Okay. That’s a start. But there was a specific place, wasn’t there? Your baby’s becoming harder to hold. I’d hate to drop him. Ten seconds, Miss Crenshaw.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “It was a place called Hanover House. Please give me my baby now.”

  Hanover House. Success. Involuntarily his hands tightened and the baby shrieked in a pitch that would have shattered glass and he nearly let go. That would have been bad. He didn’t really want to hurt Baby Red. This little guy didn’t have anything to do with the disappearance of his son.

  It was Baby Red’s mamma that would pay. Winters stood looking at her, this interfering bitch that was responsible for him losing seven precious years of Robbie’s life. He stretched his mouth into a thoughtful frown. “I hardly think you’re in any position to make demands, Miss Crenshaw.”

  “You said …”

  Irritated, he threw a sharp glance over his shoulder. “I know what I said, Miss Crenshaw.” He walked to her car, placed the baby in his car seat and strapped him in. None the worse for the experience. Probably. Who the hell knew what babies heard and understood anyway? He straightened and turned to face the shaking woman. Her skin had taken on a greenish tinge. “I said I wouldn’t hurt your baby.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Chicago

  Monday, March 12

  10 A.M.

  “Mail call.” Evie Wilson plopped a stack of letters on Caroline’s desk.

  Caroline looked up to find her aide’s normal blue jeans replaced by a suit with a snazzy short skirt and a hip-length jacket. High heels made her long lanky legs look incredible. Caroline swallowed back the little surge of jealousy at Evie’s youthful grace, instead leaning back in her chair to blow a low whistle. “Nice threads, or whatever you kids are calling clothes these days.”

  Evie laughed even as her eyes brightened. She’d had such a hard life. She was just beginning to come out of her shell under the careful nurturing she and Dana had provided. And of course Eli. Eli had been instrumental in getting Evie back on her feet, in school, in a stable job—giving her a chance at a normal future even if her past had been anything but. “We call them clothes, Caro.”

  Caroline sniffed. “Smart aleck.”

  Evie practically skipped to the desk she used in her part-time hours. “Learned it all from you.”

  At that moment the door to Max’s office opened and he stuck his head out.

  “Evie, what time does the department meeting start?”

  “In an-an hour,” Evie stammered, her face going scarlet.

  Caroline rolled her eyes. Oh, Lordy, she thought. Evie’s crush on Max had snowballed into a full-fledged … giant crush.

  “Good. That gives me enough time to grade some tests.” He flashed a smile at Caroline and she felt her body melt like butter. Poor Evie. She’d be heartbroken when she found out about her relationship with Max. “Oh, nice suit, Evie,” Max added. He lifted a brow. “You’re not interviewing for a job somewhere else are you?”

  Evie shook her head violently. “N-no. Of c-course not.”

  “That’s a relief. See you later.” He pulled back far enough so that only Caroline could see him give her a bawdy wink that made her bury her burning face in her budget reports. She heard his door close and Evie give a tremendous sigh. Then Evie’s high heels clicked as she went to prepare the conference room for their department meeting.

  Caroline lifted her head when she heard the conference room door close. She’d racked her brain for a good way to break the news to Evie, but so far had come up with nothing.

  “That about sums up today’s department meeting. Unless anyone has new business.” Evie checked around the table and found all heads shaking.

  “I think that’s a no on new business,” Max commented. “

  Then the last order of business is the drawing for the tickets.” Evie said the words with reverence as she placed an envelope holding the coveted Chicago Bulls season tickets for the upcoming month’s games on the table. It was one of Eli’s legacies to the department.

  “I was wondering when it would be time to do that again.” Wade Grayson drummed his fingertips on the table. “Hurry up, Evie. It’s my turn, I just know it.”

  Evie reached deep into the hat they used to draw the winning name. Her face colored to a deep rose as she pulled out a scrap of paper and read the winning name. “Sorry, Wade. This month the Bulls tickets go to Max.”

  “No.”

  Evie turned with everyone else to gape at Max in surprise. His face had grown dark, his jaw so taut a muscle twitched. The pencil in his hand snapped, half-jumping to the middle of the table.

  Evie glanced at Caroline who was as shocked as everyone else. “But—”

  He interrupted her with the slamming of his books, one on top of the other. “No buts, Evie. I don’t want the damned tickets.” He stood, shoving his chair back as he reached for his cane. “And in the future, please ask my permission before including me in any of your little events.”

  Silence hung heavy and as a group they winced when the door slammed to his office.

  “Well.” Wade puckered his mouth. “That was different.”

  “That was rude,” George Foster, one of the other professors, sputtered. “Evie, don’t you worry about him. He must be a Celtics fan. I hear they’re even ruder than New Yorkers.”

  “But I should go apologize.”

  “No, honey.” Caroline laid a firm hand over Evie’s thin fingers. “George is right. For whatever reason, Max was insufferably rude. Why don’t you take the tickets this month.” With a last supportive squeeze, Caroline released her hand. “Meeting adjourned, everyone.”

  Caroline knocked once on Max’s office door before quickly slipping inside. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, watching him stand before the window, arms tightly crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his upper arms, the picture of bottled anger. Her eyes widened as she took in the debris covering the carpet. Papers, note-books, pencils and an assortment of paper clips lay strewn, knocked from his desk in a burst of tantrum. A framed photo lay face down between the door and the desk and she moved quietly to pick it up. With care she placed the picture of his parents on the empty corner of Eli’s desk.

  “Max?”

  “Go away, Caroline. I’m too angry to talk right now.”

  Her brows snapped together. “You’re too angry? I’d like to know what about.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  She was at his side before she knew she’d taken her first step. “It’s my business when you disrupt my office. It’s my business when you crush my aide.” It’s my business when I’m falling for you, she thought. It’s my business when I thought you weren’t capable of such
anger.

  “This is my office, not yours and she works for me. Not you.” His voice had an unpleasant note, unnoticed before.

  Momentarily nonplussed, she could only stare. It was like Jekyll and Hyde. He stood before her, a man carved from stone. A stranger. Certainly not the man who’d courted her with such tender intensity for the last week. Who’d held her with such sensitivity and affection. Who’d kissed her and made her feel like an important part of his life. A fire of her own began to bubble. “So that’s it? Go away, Caroline, you bother me? I don’t think so, Max.” She pulled at his arm. “At least look at me when you’re being rude.”

  He yanked his arm away, the force causing him to twist and stumble. Grasping the edge of his desk he looked up, his gray eyes filled with a mixture of anger and pain, his lips curled back in what could only be called a snarl. “Get out, Caroline. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Quietly, she bent down to retrieve his cane and held it out to him. “You still haven’t gotten past your forced change in career, have you? Still pissed about losing the shoe deal, aren’t you?” His hands clenched in fury but he said nothing. When he made no move to take the cane she stared at him for a moment, then she dropped his cane at his feet.

  “Grow up, Max. Get a life. And when you’ve done both of those things, give me a call.”

  Chicago

  Monday, March 12

  6 P.M.

  “Mom?” Tom came running at the sound of clashing metal. “What’s wrong?”

  Caroline tossed a pot on the stove, still muttering under her breath. “Nothing.”

  Tom blinked and cringed as a second pot followed the first. “Sounds like a pretty loud nothing. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Caroline heard the concern in his young voice and made herself stop. Taking her fury out on Tom was no better than Max venting on poor Evie. “I’m okay, hon. Just a little pissed off.”