Every Waking Moment
Page 1
Praise for Brenda Novak
“Novak’s story is richly dramatic, with a stark setting that distinguishes it nicely from the lusher world of other romances.”
—Publishers Weekly on Taking the Heat
“Readers will be quickly drawn in to this well-written, multi-faceted story that is an engrossing, compelling read.”
—Library Journal on Taking the Heat
“Cold Feet left me breathless. Any book by Brenda Novak is a must-buy for me.”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
“Novak’s Cold Feet is a nail-biter…. The plot is riveting, the ending delightfully unpredictable and the characters compelling.”
—Romantic Times
“This story should appeal to readers who like their romances with a sophisticated touch.”
—Library Journal on Snow Baby
“A one-sitting read! Kudos to Brenda Novak for an insightful and emotional story that tore at my heartstrings.”
—The Best Reviews on A Baby of Her Own
“Novak is an expert at creating emotionally driven romances full of heat, sensual tension and conflict that not only satisfy her characters but her readers as well.”
—Writers Unlimited on A Husband of Her Own
“Once again, Brenda Novak delivers a stunningly magical performance…. Novak’s fans will easily recognize her unforgettable style and characterization from the first chapter.”
—Wordweaving on A Family of Her Own
“[A Home of Her Own] kept me on the edge of my seat, Kleenex in hand, totally enthralled to the last page. This is a forget-about-dinner, just-order-a-pizza kind of read.”
—Romantic Times
Books by Brenda Novak
HQN Books
EVERY WAKING MOMENT
HARLEQUIN SINGLE TITLES
TAKING THE HEAT
COLD FEET
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
899—EXPECTATIONS
939—SNOW BABY
955—BABY BUSINESS
987—DEAR MAGGIE
1021—WE SAW MOMMY KISSING SANTA CLAUS
1058—SHOOTING THE MOON
1083—A BABY OF HER OWN*
1130—A HUSBAND OF HER OWN*
1158—SANCTUARY
1195—A FAMILY OF HER OWN*
1242—A HOME OF HER OWN*
1278—STRANGER IN TOWN*
HARLEQUIN ANTHOLOGIES
MOTHER, PLEASE!
“What a Girl Wants”
MORE THAN WORDS (Volume 1)
“Small Packages”
BRENDA NOVAK
EVERY WAKING MOMENT
To my husband, Ted,
who’s stood behind me for twenty years. Even in the beginning, through the lean times, he supported me financially when I started flying off to every writers’ conference I could feasibly attend. He’s constantly searching for the next computer, software, keyboard, chair and anything else that might make my job easier. He listens to every story I write and tells me, even when I’m sure he’s wrong, that what I’ve written is good. And he props me up when I get too tired or overwhelmed. What more can a wife ask? I’ve always been able to depend on his love. For that, I’m eternally grateful.
Dear Reader,
When I’m not writing romantic-suspense novels, I’m writing relationship stories for Harlequin’s Superromance line (the longest and most mainstream of the various series). I’ve found it to be a great mix. If I’m craving danger and intrigue, I dig into one of my “bigger” books, like this one. If I miss the cozy comfort of a good relationship novel, where there’s rarely any threat of physical danger, I write another story set in the fictional town of Dundee, Idaho. They’re different styles of books—and yet they’re similar in many respects. I like creating characters who have an interesting past, a conflicted present and the hope of a fabulous future.
But back to this story…. I’ve long found it fascinating how some people feel compelled to control others. I’ve never really understood that compulsion, which is part of the reason for my fascination. It can become such a driving need, one that causes all kinds of trouble, sometimes resulting in murder. In Every Waking Moment we have two villains who can think only of fulfilling their own desires. They set off a chain of events that change the hero and heroine forever. But some characters really deserve a “happily ever after” and, after you read this story, I think you’ll agree with me that Preston and Emma fall into that category. I enjoyed seeing how they’d react when faced with certain daunting challenges, but I especially enjoyed seeing them triumph in the end.
I love to hear from readers. Please feel free to contact me through my Web site, www.brendanovak.com, where you can enter to win a $500 shopping spree at the store of your choice, check out excerpts and reviews for this and other books, see what’s coming in the future, or help me reach my juvenile diabetes fund-raising goal. If you don’t have an Internet service, write to P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 95611.
Stay safe!
Brenda Novak
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
VANESSA BEACON’S HANDS SHOOK as she stared down at the California driver’s license she’d had her gardener purchase for her several months ago. The photo was hers, along with the physical characteristics. Hair: Bld; Eyes: Bl; HT: 5-06; WT: 120. The name, birth date and address, however, were not. The name read Emma Wright. Vanessa had chosen “Emma” because it was her mother’s middle name. “Wright” she’d selected as a reminder. She was doing the right thing. She had to believe that wholeheartedly or she would never have the courage to take such a risk.
The clock ticked loudly on the wall of her expansive chrome-and-marble kitchen. It seemed even louder than Manuel’s new plasma television, which she’d turned on in the living room to occupy their son, Dominick. She’d gone through her and Dominick’s suitcases, checked for his new birth certificate, her driver’s license and the two prepaid credit cards she’d purchased as additional identification, plus the teaching credential in her new name. She also counted her cash and packed her maps. But she couldn’t help worrying that she’d forgotten something.
God, she couldn’t make a mistake. Dominick’s life might depend on what she’d forgotten.
Mumbling a silent prayer that she could think straight despite her racing heart, she once again sorted through the backpack she’d hidden in the attic for the past three weeks. A small, handheld cooler contained three types of insulin—NPH, Regular and the fast-acting Humalog. Outside the cooler and loose in the backpack, she’d packed two hundred Ultra-Fine needles for Dominick’s three or more daily injections, two blood-glucose monitors, arm and finger pokers with plenty of test strips and two boxes of extra lancets. There was also a biohazard sharps collector, which was so large and bulky she’d almost taken it out a number of times but didn’t in the end because she had to have somewhere safe to toss the needles. She’d included KetoStrips to test for protein in Dominick’s urin
e, an emergency glucagon kit—in case he ever passed out, God forbid—and a tube of oral glucose gel for use in smaller emergencies. Besides all that, she’d packed his logbook to record his blood-sugar readings, and plenty of carbohydrates disguised as granola bars, trail mix, fruit and individually packaged chips for her son’s mid-morning and mid-afternoon snacks. She’d nearly required a small suitcase just to transport his diabetes supplies. But every item was absolutely essential. One missed insulin injection could quickly result in ketoacidosis, a life-threatening condition.
I have everything. There’s nothing to worry about…. Vanessa closed the bag. A glance at the clock made her feel weak in the knees. It was after ten. Juanita should’ve been here fifteen minutes ago. Would she come at all? Or had Manuel gotten to her?
Vanessa cautioned herself against the paranoia that threatened. Manuel always watched her closely, but she was sure he had no idea she was about to disappear. She could trust the gardener. Carlos had proved himself with his secrecy on the false ID and the car he’d bought for her. Juanita would come through, too—if her loyalties were what Vanessa believed they were, and if she clearly understood what Vanessa wanted her to do. Vanessa thought she did. Manuel had insisted on hiring a nanny who could speak only Spanish, so his son would learn his native tongue, he said. But there were plenty of bilingual nannies, especially in San Diego where they lived. No, it wasn’t solely for Dominick that Manuel had selected Juanita. Manuel liked the idea that Vanessa wouldn’t be able to communicate with her. Isolating Vanessa gave him that much more power and control.
Fortunately, it wasn’t quite that simple. He didn’t know it, but during the four years they’d been living together, she’d taught herself enough Spanish to speak and understand most of what she heard. At first, she’d done it to help while away the empty hours of her day, since Manuel wouldn’t let her return to school or get a job. Later, she’d wanted to understand the strange phone calls he received at night and to decipher what the Rodriguez family discussed during the frequent meetings they held in the conference room off Manuel’s home office.
But she didn’t want to know about Manuel’s business dealings anymore. Or his family’s. His family was the main reason Manuel had never married her, even after she’d had Dominick. His mother refused to accept her, ostensibly because of her nationality, but Vanessa knew it went a little deeper than that. Mama Rodriguez couldn’t tolerate the thought of another woman in her favorite son’s life. Period. It was a fact Vanessa had once lamented, but no more. She’d learned enough about Manuel’s mother, his whole family, to be thankful for their rejection.
Dominick came in from the living room, his round face a picture of impatience. He’d just turned five two months ago and would’ve been starting kindergarten in a few weeks. She hoped she’d be able to get them situated soon so he could go to school this year. “Mo-om, I thought you said we were going to leave!” he said.
Vanessa attempted a reassuring smile, even though she was sweating profusely and feeling as though she might faint. Juanita had to come. She had the car Carlos had bought. And if she didn’t appear soon, it meant Manuel had figured out what was happening. He’d take Dominick to Mexico and Vanessa would probably never see her son again. Manuel had certainly threatened that often enough—whenever she tried to establish some independence. He’d made his point when she’d tried to leave the first time. Her father had passed away several years before she met Manuel, and her brother had been killed in a motorcycle accident not long after, but her mother and married sister lived in Phoenix. She’d gone to them, and wished she could do so again.
But she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Manuel had tracked her down and dragged her back—then let her know, in no uncertain terms, that he wouldn’t tolerate her leaving in the future.
Don’t think of that. Don’t remember….
“We’re waiting for Juanita,” she said, aching to pull her child into her arms. She didn’t know what she’d do if she could never hear Dominick laugh again or tell her how much he loved her. But she knew a clingy, desperate hug wasn’t what he needed at the moment. She didn’t want to communicate her anxiety to him any more than she already had.
“You said she was coming a long time ago,” he complained. “Where is she?”
Vanessa had no idea. Juanita had worked for them for nearly a year and was never late. Where could she be today? Without her support—and the car—Vanessa and Dominick would never get away.
“Maybe she had a flat tire.” Please let it be that. “I’m sure she’s coming.”
The phone rang. Vanessa quickly gave Dominick some markers so he could write on the dry-erase board attached to the fridge, and approached the desk in the corner.
Anxiety stabbed through her when she recognized Manuel’s cell-phone number on the caller ID. He was supposed to be on a plane to Mexico. He left the country often and stayed sometimes for several days, sometimes for a couple of weeks. He claimed to import marble from Culiacán, but Vanessa had long suspected that he imported more than marble.
The steady bursts of noise jangled her already frayed nerves. Should she answer it?
She wasn’t sure she could keep her voice level. Hoping that his plane had simply been delayed, that he’d be gone soon, she decided to let the answering machine take it. But she should’ve known she couldn’t avoid him so easily. Her cell phone, which was sitting on the counter, started ringing only a few seconds later. Manuel hated it when he couldn’t reach her. She knew he’d keep trying, again and again and again, until she finally picked up, even if it meant missing his flight.
She couldn’t let him miss his flight.
When she continued to hesitate, Dominick glanced up from his drawing. “Mommy?”
Spurred by the curiosity in her son’s voice, Vanessa arranged her expression in a blank mask to hide the fear and loathing Manuel elicited, and retrieved her cell. “Hello?”
“What’s going on?” Manuel demanded without a greeting.
“Nothing. Why?”
“You didn’t answer the house phone.”
“I told you last night that I might run a few errands this morning.”
“You haven’t left the house.”
A prickly unease crept up Vanessa’s spine. He’d spoken with such certainty. “How do you know?”
“A good guess.”
She didn’t believe it was a guess at all, and judging by his flippant tone, he didn’t care whether he’d convinced her. Somehow he always knew where she was. She’d scoured every inch of the house and been unable to find any type of listening device or video camera, so he must have hired someone to watch her. Which made Juanita absolutely integral to her plan.
Dominick went back to drawing, and Vanessa moved to the sink to stare out the kitchen window at the perfect summer day, wondering for the millionth time who was out there.
“Why didn’t you pick up?” Manuel pressed, unwilling to let the subject go.
“I was—” she swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat “—in the bathroom.”
“I had a phone installed there, remember? For your convenience.”
Not for her convenience. So she wouldn’t have even the bathroom as an escape from him. “I refuse to answer the phone while I’m in the bathroom,” she said. “I haven’t used that extension since you put it in. You know that.”
He chuckled softly. “Querida, you can be so stubborn.”
Manuel had no idea. But he was about to find out—if only Juanita would arrive as promised.
“What do you need?” she asked.
“I’m calling to check on you.”
Check on her? Not in a loving way. Vanessa could hardly tolerate the sound of Manuel’s voice or the pretense of his caring. When she’d first met him, at twenty-two, she’d just graduated with a teaching degree. He’d been older, twenty-five, and had seemed energetic and ambitious—but loving and kind, too. He’d changed so fast….
Maybe she’d never really known him. Maybe
the man he used to be was simply a persona he adopted when it suited him. In any case, she barely recognized him anymore. His dark eyes, once the color of melted chocolate to her, watched her too carefully, frightening in their obsessive intensity. And the thick black hair she used to love, especially when it fell across his brow, he now slicked back in a dramatic style that added to the impression he gave of being as hyperaware as he was hypercritical.
She brought a hand to her chest, preparing herself for the answer to her next question. “Aren’t you going to Mexico today?”
“The trip’s been postponed.”
Her muscles tightened. No! Not when I’m so close. “Until when?” The knocking of her heart against her ribs made it difficult to speak.
“Come on, mi amor. You know better than to bother your pretty head with business.”
A dodge. Typical of him. As was the condescension in his voice. He didn’t like her knowing his schedule. Except for the odd occasion, he typically sprang news of an impending trip only the night before.
But Juanita still wasn’t here, and Manuel hadn’t said why his trip had been postponed. Did he realize she was planning to leave him?
“Will you be home for dinner, then?” she asked.
“Of course. I always spend my evenings with you, if I’m available.”
Bile rose in Vanessa’s throat at the thought of postponing her escape until Manuel’s next trip to Mexico. Holding out until he was far from home would be the wisest course. She and Dominick needed the lead time. But everything was already arranged. And staying meant she’d have to suffer through more nights in Manuel’s company, nights that always ended, at some point, with her lying beneath him. Manuel had an insatiable sexual appetite and demanded she perform some kind of sex act for him daily, often two or more.