Behind the Mask (MIRA)

by Metsy Hingle

  After another long pause, Webster said, “No. I want you to stay on the case.”

  “All right,” Michael replied, reasoning that at least as long as Webster thought he was looking for Lily and Timmy then no one else would be.

  “And you’re sure this woman you found in New Orleans isn’t Elisabeth?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Michael lied.

  “That’s too bad.”

  “But I got another lead and it looks like she might headed back to Mississippi. I’m going there now to see if I can pick up her trail.”

  “Be sure to call me tomorrow and give me an update,” Webster said and then severed the connection.

  But not before Michael picked up something in the man’s voice. Something that told him he hadn’t pulled it off, that Webster was suspicious of him.

  “He’s lying,” Adam Webster told Bernie after hitting the off button on the speakerphone in his office. “I want you to take a couple of men and go to New Orleans, find Sullivan and find out why he’s lying.”

  “All right. But why would the man lie to you, boss?” Bernie asked him. “If the guy’s found the dame…uh, er, your wife, all he has to do is tell you where she is and he collects the rest of the money. A million bucks is a lot of dough.”

  Adam saw no point in telling Bernie that he’d never had any intention of paying Sullivan a million dollars. As it was, the bastard had managed to get two hundred fifty thousand dollars out of him already—a great deal more than he’d anticipated paying him. “Perhaps Mr. Sullivan believes he can improve his fee,” Adam suggested as he sat back in the plush chair and turned on the massage feature.

  “You think he’s going to try to hold you up for more money?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Adam replied. For Sullivan’s sake he hoped greed for more money was the reason the man had lied to him and not because he’d become infatuated with Elisabeth.

  “I don’t know, boss. Sullivan’s a smart guy. Too smart to think he could pull a fast one like that on you.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right, Bernie. Sullivan will be making a big mistake if he tries to double-cross me,” Adam told him. He picked up the crystal paperweight shaped like a golf club and closed his fist around it as he contemplated Sullivan taking a liking to Elisabeth. Suddenly a red haze came over his vision as he imagined Elisabeth with the other man, of any other man touching what was his. Fury sent blood pumping hot and fast through his veins. Adam hurled the paperweight across the room where it struck the picture of Elisabeth that sat on the credenza. Bernie leaped back as the glass on the fourteen-by-seventeen framed photo shattered. “Because if he does, Sullivan’s a dead man.”

  Ten

  Lily sat up in bed, her breaths coming fast. Another bad dream, she realized as she took stock of her surroundings. A glance at the clock told her that it was after seven in the morning. She started to scramble from the bed, worried she’d be late for work, when she remembered she had the day off. She leaned back against the pillows and thought about the dream. This dream had been worse than the others. More frightening. More real.

  She’d been running again—this time racing down a dark street searching for a place to hide. She could see herself turning the corner, panting as she tried to catch her breath, trying to decide which way to go. And then she’d heard the footsteps behind her, heard voices shouting…

  “There she is! Get her!”

  Lily took off running again. Her feet slapped against the damp pavement as she raced through the Vieux Carré, dashing down street after street of the historic French Quarter of the city. She turned down another street, caught glimpses of the old buildings that rose on either side of her, the balconies lined with plants, the secreted courtyards at the rear. She could hear the barkers urging customers to come inside over on Bourbon Street. A street-corner musician wailed out “Come to the Mardi Gras” on his sax. She hurried past a mime who’d sprayed himself with silver paint and stood atop a milk crate while people gathered around and dumped coins in his cup.

  Moving farther away from the tourists who crowded the streets for the Mardi Gras celebration, Lily dashed past a corner where two boys who couldn’t have been more than ten tapped out a lively jig for the onlookers while their father passed a hat for tips. Her legs ached. Her mouth was dry. But she didn’t dare stop running. If she stopped running, Adam would find her. And if he found her, he would kill Timmy. The sounds and sights of revelers grew faint as she continued toward the outskirts of the Quarter. The lights and music and laughter dwindled. The whiffs of spicy foods cooking gave way to the dank, sour stench of urine and beer. The voices faded until all she could hear was the sound of her own feet hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm.

  Did I lose him back there in the crowd? Oh please, God, don’t let him find me. Don’t let him hurt Timmy.

  She eased her pace a bit, slowed at the next corner, searching for a street sign so she could figure out where she was. She turned around in a circle, unsure of where she was or which way to go. Gertie had warned her to be careful. One wrong turn and she could find herself in a troubled section of the city where even the police were reluctant to patrol.

  “Where’d she go?”

  The sound of Adam’s voice sent fear ripping through her. And Lily didn’t care what danger might be around the next corner if she made a wrong turn. Because nothing could be as terrible as what awaited her if Adam found her. She ran, demanded her legs move faster. Her lungs and chest burned with the effort she exerted. Despite the cool temperatures and humidity, sweat beaded her forehead, clung to her upper lip. The muscles in her legs screamed as she pumped faster and cut around the next corner. And she ran straight into a heavy, cloying mist.

  Terrified, Lily raced blindly into the shroud that hung over the street. She was afraid to go forward, but even more afraid to go back. When the mist gave way and she barreled around the next corner, she hit something solid and screamed.

  “It’s me. Lily, it’s me.”

  “M-Michael? Michael,” she cried in relief as his arms closed around her. “Oh my God, Michael. I was so afraid. I thought he’d found me,” she babbled as she clung to him.

  He stroked her head. “Shh. Shh. It’s all right, Elisabeth. I promised I’d always take care of you, didn’t I?”

  Lily jerked her head up at the words, and she froze as the mist cleared and she saw his face. Not Michael’s face. Adam’s face.

  He smiled at her, and even in the dim lighting, she recognized that maniacal gleam in his dark eyes. “You were a naughty girl, Elisabeth. Drugging me like that, running away. You do realize I’m going to have to punish you, don’t you? But first, I need to take care of the boy. I brought him a new gun to play with. You do remember how much he liked playing with my gun, don’t you?”

  “Adam, please,” she pleaded as he removed a pistol from his pocket and waved it in front of her face. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I’ll send him away. I swear it. I’ll send him away. Just please don’t hurt him, don’t hurt my baby.”

  He grabbed her by the hair, yanked her head back until she saw stars in front of her eyes. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. Sending him away won’t work now. You’ve become much too attached to him. It’s my own fault really for not being more firm with you and insisting you get rid of him while you were pregnant,” he said as calmly as if he were discussing the disposal of a pair of old shoes. “But then I’ve always been far too indulgent with you, haven’t I?”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry for not being more appreciative,” she told him, praying that she could somehow soften him. “I’ll do better in the future. I promise.”

  “Of course you will.” He stroked the side of her face with the barrel of the gun, and Lily shivered. “You’ll be able to devote yourself totally to being my wife again without any more distractions—once I’ve gotten rid of the boy.”

  “No!”

  “No,” Lily said aloud. Shuddering, she clutched her throat and tried to shake off t
he remnants of the dream. Wide awake now, she tried to make sense of the dream, wondered why this one had been so much worse than the others. Adam still didn’t know where they were. It had been months since his men had tracked her down in Arkansas. So why was she so spooked?

  She pushed the hair from her face. And that’s when she spied the bandage on her hand. Michael. Suddenly the events of the previous afternoon came tumbling back, and she remembered how shaken she’d been when he’d told her he’d been a policeman. Her first thought had been that Adam had sent him to find her. She’d learned long ago how far-reaching Adam’s influence was and that it extended to the highest ranks of law enforcement and politics in Florida.

  That’s what had triggered the dream, she reasoned. And she was probably being paranoid again. Just as she’d been paranoid that someone had been watching her and Timmy on Friday. But try as she might, she couldn’t quite shake the fear that lingered from the dream. Unable to go back to sleep, she climbed out of bed and started toward Timmy’s room to assure herself he was okay, when she heard a soft tapping at the front door.

  Lily froze, listened again.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  She swallowed. Unsure what to do, she glanced around her for a weapon and was about to go to the kitchen for a knife, when the taps came again.

  “Lily?” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Lily, it’s Michael.”

  Michael?

  Abandoning thoughts of arming herself, she hurried to the front of the house before he woke Timmy. Still wary, she pushed aside the half curtain that covered the glass section of the door and peeked out. It was Michael. And he was alone. She unlatched the door, opened it a crack and demanded in a whisper, “What are you doing here?”

  “I come bearing gifts,” he replied in a matching whisper and held up a shopping bag in one hand and a pastry bag in the other. “I bought you a new coffeepot.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to,” he informed her. When she said nothing, but simply stood there making no move to invite him in, he asked, “Can I come inside?”

  “It’s a little early for visitors,” she said warily.

  “I realize that, but I pegged you for an early riser, and I didn’t want you to have to start your day without a cup of coffee.” He waved the pastry bag in front of her. “I’ll give you a beignet if you let me in,” he promised.

  “Michael, this really isn’t a good idea. I—”

  “Mommy,” Timmy cried out.

  “I have to go.”

  “Wait! At least let me leave you these.” He started to put both bags down in front of the door.

  “Mommy,” Timmy began crying harder.

  “I…all right. Oh, you might as well come in. I need to go see about Timmy.”

  Leaving Michael to himself, she hurried to the back of the house to Timmy’s room. “Mommy’s here, sweetheart,” she said as she went to her son and sat down at the edge of his bed. He clung to her, sobbing. “What’s wrong, baby? Did you have a bad dream?”

  “Couldn’t f-find T-Teddy.”

  “Teddy’s right here,” she told her son. She picked up the stuffed bear from the floor and handed it to her son.

  “H-him l-left me. And I was s-scared. Y-you wouldn’t come.”

  It broke her heart to hear him cry so hard. Lily thought back to that night when she’d found Timmy missing from his bed. Frantic, she’d searched the house, and when she couldn’t find him, she’d gone into the one room in the house forbidden to her—Adam’s study. She’d died a thousand deaths that night when she’d opened the door and seen her precious son sitting on the floor with the end of the pistol in his mouth, sucking on it like it was a lollipop. Her heart lodged in her throat as she recalled going to Timmy, taking the gun from him with trembling fingers and discovering it was loaded. When Adam had come back into the room and started toward them, her maternal instinct to protect her child had kicked in and she’d aimed the gun at him…

  “What do you think you’re doing, Elisabeth?”

  “Protecting my son.”

  “From his father? I was only doing what you’re always harping on me to do—paying attention to him. Now put down that gun and come here.”

  “No,” she told him. “Don’t come any closer.”

  He laughed. “You know you’re not going to shoot me. Now put down the gun and do as you’re told. Otherwise, this time I won’t punish you. I’ll punish him.”

  “No you won’t,” she said, and though she’d wanted to shoot him, she hadn’t been able to pull the trigger…

  She’d known then that she had to get Timmy out of there, and that she’d have to do it soon. So she’d plotted and planned, trying to get Adam to lower his guard, making him believe she was going along with his plans. Then she’d drugged him, taken her son with only the clothes on their backs, some cash from the safe and escaped.

  “Hey, cowboy. What’s the problem?”

  Lily blinked and realized Michael was standing in the doorway watching them with those laser-sharp eyes. “He had a bad dream. That, and he lost his teddy,” Lily explained as she stroked her sobbing son’s head. Out of the corner of her eye, she continued to watch Michael, waiting for him to retreat, recalling all too well how Timmy’s crying had irritated Adam.

  But instead of retreating, Michael came into the room and knelt down beside the bed. “Is that right, cowboy? You thought old Teddy here got lost?”

  Still sniffling, Timmy nodded and hugged his teddy tighter.

  “Tell you what. How about if we give him an ID tag?”

  “What’s ID tag?”

  “Something like this,” Michael explained, taking a silver chain and tag from around his neck and handing it to Timmy. “This was mine from when I did a stint in the navy. See these little numbers? If you punch them into a big computer, it tells everyone who you are and where you live.”

  “Weally?”

  “Uh-huh. So how about we give this to Teddy? I’ll fix it so the records show it belongs to him. That way if he ever gets lost, all anyone has to do is put the numbers in the computer and it will tell them his name is Teddy and he belongs to Timmy. Would you like that?”

  “Yes,” Timmy said, his brown eyes, still bright with tears, watched as Michael fastened the silver chain around the bear’s neck and handed it back to Timmy.

  “Michael, you don’t have to do that,” Lily objected.

  “It’s done,” he told her firmly.

  “Tank you,” Timmy said, and launched himself at Michael.

  Lily stood, ready to retrieve her son from Michael, but the man shook his head. So she stood there and looked at them, and something inside her shifted, softened, at the sight of her son in Michael’s arms.

  “You and Teddy hungry, cowboy?”

  “Yes,” Timmy replied.

  “Then what do you say I rustle us up some breakfast while your mom goes and gets dressed?”

  At his remark, Lily looked down and realized she was standing there in her nightgown. In her shaken state from the dream and her hurry to answer the door, she hadn’t even bothered with a robe. She shifted her gaze back up to Michael’s and her breath caught at the desire she read in his eyes.

  He grinned at her. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” he told her. “I like the look of you in that nightgown, but for the sake of my blood pressure it might be better if you put some clothes on before I serve breakfast.” Then, hoisting her son up onto his shoulders, he turned and walked out of the room.

  As she watched him walk away, Lily felt a fluttering in her stomach, a rush of heat that ran from her heart down her middle. And she realized that for the first time that she could remember, she felt real desire for a man. No, not for just a man, she amended. For Michael Sullivan.

  He was running out of time, Michael admitted.

  He had made up his mind last night that he was going to help Lily. After seeing her again this morning, he’d known he’d made the right decision. She was in trouble. And he needed to
help her. He’d wanted to tell her the truth, came close to doing so that morning. Only she was still too damn wary of him. If he’d confessed that Webster had hired him to find her, she’d run. Somehow, someway, he had to get her to trust him. And he had to do it fast because his gut told him Webster was already suspicious. He rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to shake the feeling that things were going to blow up in his face at any second.

  Michael paced the length of his hotel room, checking his watch again. He still had almost two hours before he was scheduled to go back to Lily’s. At least he’d been able to convince her, with Timmy’s help, to go to the parade that afternoon. Maybe, just maybe, he could get her to open up and tell the truth—who she was and why she was running—and why she had called the FBI.

  Thoughts of the Bureau made him think of his brother. Michael frowned. It wasn’t like Travis not to return his calls. Picking up his cell phone, he dialed his brother’s home number again. And once again, he got an answering machine.

  This time he didn’t bother leaving a message. After ending the call, he dialed another number—one that he had only called three times a year since he’d left Houston. The last time had been at Christmas to wish his mother a happy holiday. Where the devil was his mother? Michael wondered when the phone began to ring for a fifth time.

  “Hello.”

  Michael hesitated at the sound of his father’s voice.

  “Hello,” he said again.

  “Dad, it’s Michael.”

  “Michael,” Big Mike repeated and from the sound of his voice, he was as shocked to find him on the other end of the line as Michael had been to hear his dad’s voice.

  “Is Mom there?”

  “No. She took a ride over to Mrs. Cusimano’s to bring her some chicken soup. The old gal came down with a late-winter cold, and you know your mother. She swears by her chicken soup whenever anybody gets sick.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Michael said, a flood of memories coming to mind of his mother ministering to family, friends and even casual acquaintances with her cure-all chicken soup.

  After an awful silence that stretched endlessly, his father said, “Guess your mother told you I retired last year.”