Every Waking Moment

by Brenda Novak

  Hector pulled a semiautomatic out of his belt and checked the magazine. “You want me to take him out?”

  “No, that’s my pleasure. Bring him…”

  Where? In a few minutes, Manuel would have Emma and Max. And he certainly didn’t want to risk letting Preston get away.

  “Dead is dead,” Hector reminded him. “As long as he’s not around, he can’t cause any more problems.”

  They were wasting time. “Fine,” Manuel said carelessly. “Do it.” It was Vanessa who’d betrayed him; it was Vanessa who’d pay.

  “What do you want me to do with the body?”

  “Leave it. We’ll be in Mexico long before the cops figure out what happened. Maybe they never will.”

  “But if I take the Town Car, you’ll be on foot.”

  “That Monte Carlo in the lot must belong to Vanessa. I’ll use it.”

  “Where do you want to meet afterward?”

  “Nowhere. I’m going to take my wife and kid, and head to Chicago to catch a plane home.” He dug in his pocket and handed Hector a wad of cash. “Find your own way to San Diego. I’ll wait for you there.”

  Hector accepted the money and the keys, then hurried around the building.

  A moment later, Manuel heard the van start and watched Preston pull out of the lot. Across the street, Hector’s headlights came on, and Manuel knew he’d never have to worry about Preston again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  SOMEONE WAS at the door. Again. Emma heard the soft knock in her sleep but the sound blended with her dreams, until it grew louder. Knock, knock, knock.

  She opened her eyes and blinked at the darkness. Was Preston back? It felt as though he’d barely left. She could still smell him on the sheets, feel the strength of the arms that had held her.

  Rolling over, she squinted at the clock. It was three-thirty in the morning. He’d been gone only long enough for her to doze off.

  She kicked away the covers, then got up and shuffled through the living room. He must have forgotten something.

  “I’m coming,” she murmured so he wouldn’t wake Max. Preston had tested her son’s blood before he left. Max was a safe 142, which meant that Emma could catch up on her rest by sleeping late in the morning.

  “Preston?”

  No answer. Instinctively, she checked the peephole, but that didn’t do any good. She’d forgotten to take off the tape.

  Retrieving the bat she’d kept close at hand, she unlocked the dead bolt and started to open the door. “Preston? Is something wr—”

  A fist smacked the panel so hard it hit her in the head and knocked her back. She fell as a man’s hand slid up the inside of the door, trying to unlatch the security chain. A diamond ring on the fourth finger, barely visible in the dim light drifting in from the outside pole lights, told her who it was even before she heard his voice.

  “Open the door, Vanessa. It’s all over. You’re coming home.”

  Emma’s thoughts scattered in a thousand different directions as she scrambled to her feet. How had Manuel found her? What would he do if he got in? And how could she shield Max from what was coming? He was jostled about in the night so often, with all the testing of his blood and the shots, that he slept deeply. But she had no idea if he’d sleep through this.

  “Vanessa?” he said, his voice coaxing.

  Terror made her heart jackhammer against her chest as she grabbed the bat she’d dropped when she fell. Her hands were already starting to sweat. “What?”

  “Let me in.” His voice held a threatening note that promised things would get much worse if she didn’t. She was so frightened of Manuel, so accustomed to giving him whatever he demanded just to keep the peace, that she almost obeyed.

  Almost. Gripping the bat more tightly, she swallowed hard. “No. You’d better leave, Manuel. I’ve got a bat, and I’ll use it if I have to.”

  “A bat? You think you’re going to hit me with a bat?” The chain rattled as Manuel struggled to slide it off.

  Emma didn’t dare move any closer. She held her stance as sweat gathered on her upper lip and ran down her back.

  Suddenly, his voice softened. “I just want to talk to you, querida. This is crazy. What you’ve been doing doesn’t make sense. Why would you run from me? I love you.”

  He didn’t love her. He smothered her, wrung the joy from her life.

  “I—I want you to leave me alone. Please, Manuel. I don’t want to hurt you. Just go. Live your life and let me live mine.”

  “So you can spread your legs for that bastard who just came out of here?” he cried.

  Emma gasped and covered her mouth. Preston! If Manuel had seen him leaving…“Where is he?” she asked. “D-did you hurt him?”

  “Not yet, mi amor. I won’t do anything to loverboy if you’ll open the door. Come back to me and everything will be fine.”

  Fear squeezed her windpipe, made it almost impossible to breathe. Juanita’s dead. The police just found her body.

  Was Preston dead, too? Or was he lying on the ground outside, bleeding?

  That thought made her long to throw off the chain and charge outside, wielding her bat. She’d sacrifice anything to reach Preston. Anything except Max. If she let Manuel in, he might disarm her. Then there’d be absolutely nothing she could do.

  “Come on, querida. If you don’t want to be with me anymore, we’ll work something out,” he said, still groping for the chain. “You should live in San Diego. I want to see my son. I have that right.”

  Normally a man did have the right to see his children. Manuel knew how much she loved her son, knew she’d feel guilty about denying them a relationship. But she couldn’t let Manuel see Max. Manuel had killed Juanita, for God’s sake. He wasn’t sane.

  “Not anymore,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You gave up that right when you murdered Juanita.”

  “Open the damn door!”

  Panic stole Emma’s breath, but that split second brought clarity. She had only one choice. Letting Manuel in wouldn’t help Preston. If Manuel managed to reach her, it would be all over, despite the bat. She’d already sent the list to police. His family wouldn’t permit him to forgive her, even if he wanted to. He’d kill her and Preston, too.

  The chain was nearly off. In a few more seconds…

  Adrenaline had Emma shaking, but she gathered her strength and shoved as hard as she could against the door.

  Manuel cried out when the pressure crushed his hand, but she didn’t care. She wouldn’t let him in, no matter what she had to do. She no longer cared about the noise he was making or the fact that they might wake Max. She prayed the disturbance might rouse someone who could help her.

  But she had little hope of that. If Preston was still at the motel, still alive and capable of reacting, he’d be here by now. And there wasn’t another soul in the whole complex.

  Manuel’s screams echoed in Emma’s head. She wished she could block them out—along with the revolting feel of his hand in the door. The violence sickened her.

  Don’t think about it. Just hang on…. Don’t let him in…. Don’t let him in…. Don’t—

  Finally Manuel kicked the door, which opened just wide enough so he could retrieve his hand. When it slammed shut, Emma threw the bolt, but she knew Manuel wasn’t going to leave. He was cursing loudly, calling her some of the vilest names she’d ever heard.

  “You broke my hand, bitch! I’ll kill you for that. Do you hear me? You’re dead. You’re as good as dead! And this time I’ll enjoy it.”

  Emma rushed to the phone. The complex wasn’t supposed to receive telephone service until the day before it opened, but she couldn’t help hoping….

  No dial tone. And Manuel was no longer at the door. He’d moved to the window. She could see his silhouette through the blinds as he tested the lock. At first she thought he was trying to wiggle it open, so the sound of shattering glass surprised her. He was coming in.

  Grabbing the bat, she turned to run int
o Max’s room. She had to protect her son at all costs. But the noise had finally awakened him. She nearly tripped over him in the dark as he met her in the hall.

  “Mommy?” he said uncertainly.

  Emma’s eyes darted to the front door. She wanted to scoop her son into her arms and make a run for it, but Max was too heavy to carry far, and Manuel was too close. He’d cut her off before she could clear the portal.

  The bathroom! The bathroom had no windows. She’d lock them both inside and hope they could last until the construction workers arrived in the morning. If Manuel got in somehow, she’d use the bat. There wasn’t any other way.

  “Come on, Max,” she cried, and started pulling him into the master bedroom. But Manuel was already in the apartment.

  “Hurry!” The bathroom seemed miles away. Emma couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move fast enough. She felt as if she was running through quicksand, going nowhere….

  “What’s happening?” Max asked, confused, frightened.

  She was too busy dragging him along to answer.

  They were only three steps from the bathroom when footsteps pounded behind her. The way Manuel was cursing, the glass made her wonder if he’d been cut. But his injuries didn’t seem to hamper his strength when he seized her hair and yanked her back.

  VINCE’S HOME WAS two stories high and made of wood and stone. Large and rambling, it sat on a small creek and had one whole wall of glass. A copse of trees off to the side provided a great place to sit and watch what went on inside the house. But late as it was, everything was dark, so there wasn’t much to see.

  Preston turned off the flashlight he’d been using to weave through the trees and knocked gently on the boards separating the stone pillars of the fence. He heard nothing, but he threw a hamburger into the yard, just in case Vince had bought a Doberman in the past few days. He didn’t want to come face-to-face with the fangs of an angry dog. Not that he thought he would. Vince wasn’t a pet kind of man. He didn’t like anything that required much care. So Preston wasn’t surprised when he heard no barking.

  Scaling the fence, he dropped silently into the backyard. The grass sloped away from the house toward the creek. It was difficult to tell with the tall trees blocking the moonlight, but Preston was pretty sure he saw a little canoe or rowboat tied up down there. If the creek had been big enough, a river perhaps, Preston felt sure Vince would have owned a yacht. Vince was no slouch when it came to keeping up with the Joneses.

  Preston moved toward the French doors on the other side of an elaborate pool and patio area. He passed some fancy brickwork, a built-in grill, lawn furniture. Besides the wind chimes tinkling above him, the creek gurgled nearby and classical music floated from inside. Was Vince not alone?

  He probably had his little receptionist with him, Preston decided. Vince didn’t like pets, but neither did he like to be alone.

  The contrast between Vince’s house and Joanie’s apartment made Preston shake his head. Somehow Vince always came out ahead.

  Good thing that was all going to end tonight. Vince would confess, or his secrets would die with him.

  The door was locked. Preston considered the possibility that Vince might have installed an elaborate security system after Joanie moved out, but it wasn’t likely. Using the butt of his gun, he broke out a square of glass near the door handle, then waited to see if there’d be any response from inside.

  Nothing. Pulling his sweatshirt down to protect his hand, he reached in, turned the lock and opened the door.

  The house was clean and spacious and smelled like an Italian restaurant. The music came from a built-in stereo above a big-screen TV in the living room. Evidently, Vince had gone all out when he’d moved to Cedar Rapids. What he’d done to Dallas hadn’t set him back a bit.

  Preston flipped on his flashlight, then paused to examine the pictures on Vince’s shelves. Once there’d been photographs of the four of them going deep-sea fishing in San Francisco Bay, skiing in Park City, shopping in Carmel. Now the only photos Vince displayed were of his parents, who’d been significantly older and had died at least ten years ago.

  So where was he?

  Preston moved quietly through the house and into the garage. Joanie had said Vince kept a few of his old records out there. He wanted to have a look, just to rule out that possibility.

  The file cabinets along the back wall held plenty of folders. But most were empty. Preston couldn’t find anything that had to do with Melanie, Billy or Dallas.

  Another dead end. Preston’s gun pressed into his stomach as he rested his head on the cool metal of the filing cabinets. That was it, then. It was up to Vince to tell the truth. One way or another, the agony of the past two years would soon be over. At least there was relief in that.

  Striding purposefully into the house again, Preston climbed a flight of stairs that curved away from a vaulted entry. The carpet was so plush he couldn’t hear his own footsteps, and with the music playing, he wasn’t worried that Vince might be alerted to his presence.

  Several doors opened off one side of a long hallway. On the other side, a banister overlooked the living room. The first three bedrooms were empty. One room was obviously an office. At the end of the hall, Preston found a set of double doors that stood partway open. He’d located the master bedroom. And probably Vince, as well.

  Flicking off his flashlight, Preston nudged the door wider. He thought it’d take a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but inside was a huge lighted aquarium filled with dozens of tropical fish. Vaguely, Preston wondered who fed them and cleaned the tank. Probably the same person who did the cooking and housework.

  Preston turned his gaze to the lump in the middle of the bed and pulled his gun out of his waistband. To his surprise, Vince was alone. But it didn’t appear he’d been that way for long. Preston could smell a woman’s perfume.

  He strode toward the bed. “What’s the matter, Vince, you run out of Viagra?” he said, giving his old neighbor a nudge with the muzzle of his gun.

  Vince snorted and rolled over, then raised his head and squinted at him. “Who is it?”

  “Have you forgotten me already, old friend?”

  “P-Preston?” Suddenly wide awake, Vince sat up. The past two years hadn’t been kind to him physically. The blankets fell away to reveal a pudgy, white chest with a sprinkling of dark hair, certainly nothing to impress a cute young receptionist. But then, Preston hadn’t seen the receptionist.

  “W-what are you d-doing here?” Vince cried.

  Preston shrugged. “Thought I’d drop by to say hello. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  Vince had caught sight of the gun. He blinked as though he couldn’t believe what he saw. Then he inched back against the headboard. “You’re n-not the type to d-do this,” he said. “You’d n-never shoot anyone!”

  Preston tossed the hair out of his eyes. “I’d say that was true of the Preston you knew two years ago. It’s a funny thing, though, Vince. You wrong a man badly enough, you never know what he might do.”

  “B-but you have too much to l-lose.”

  “Not anymore, buddy. You took what I had away from me when you killed my son. I have no job, no house, no wife, no family.”

  Briefly, Preston thought of Emma and Max. He did have something to lose. Two people he cared about a great deal. But he couldn’t let them stand in his way. He had to do this.

  The color fled Vince’s face, leaving it so pale it nearly glowed. “W-where’s Diane?”

  “It’s past her curfew, evidently.”

  “D-did you make her leave?”

  “I would have asked nicely. But I didn’t have to. She was gone when I arrived. So get up. I want to have a conversation with you.”

  “Can you leave so I can get dressed?” he said, finally overcoming his stutter.

  “To be honest, I don’t think giving you time alone would be in my best interests, Vince.” Preston saw a pair of pants lying on the floor and tossed them over. “Here you go. You won’t need
a lot.”

  “What are you going to do?” Vince asked as he got out of bed and pulled on his pants.

  “We’re going downstairs.”

  Vince’s dark hair stood up on the sides like horns. He nervously smoothed it down as he started into the hallway.

  “You don’t have to look good for this,” Preston told him.

  “I know you won’t believe me, Preston,” he said. “But I didn’t do anything to Dallas. Septicemia can strike any child, anytime. I tried to save him. Lord knows I didn’t want him to die.”

  “What about Melanie Deets, Vince?”

  “She didn’t die. I saved her. They—they named a park after me. Ask anyone.”

  “She used to be a gifted student. Now she struggles to learn.”

  “Sometimes there are aftereffects,” he said. “Why are you blaming me?”

  “And Billy Duran?”

  “I didn’t want him to die, either. I’m—I’m a doctor, but I can’t save everyone.”

  “I’m not asking you to save everyone. I’d be happy if you didn’t kill them.” They’d reached the living room. “Turn on the lights,” Preston said.

  When Vince did as he asked, a ceiling fan came on at the same time and whipped softly around. “If you won’t listen to me, what are you going to do?” he asked fearfully.

  “Get out a piece of paper. You’re signing a full confession.”

  “Preston, please…”

  “Do it.”

  Vince retrieved a piece of paper and a pen from the built-in desk between the living room and the kitchen. “I—I can’t go to jail, Preston. It’d k-kill me. I’d d-die there. I know I would.”

  Preston grimaced at his whiny tone. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you made my son sick.”

  “Okay, Preston. You—you’re right. I might have…you know…made Dallas a little sicker than he was, but there’s something wrong with me.” Tears began to roll down his cheeks, but they elicited no sympathy from Preston. Vince was crying for himself, not for what he’d done. “After Billy died, I told myself I’d never take that risk again,” he continued. “I was doing well, too. W-we were happy, remember? We had fun together. Then Dallas got the flu, and you c-called me over, and…” He raised a shaky hand to his head. “The temptation. The temptation was terrible. I k-kept picturing how it would feel to do s-something really great for you.” He hiccuped as his tears turned to wracking sobs. “It—it got the best of me. I didn’t want to hurt him—”