by Kylie Brant
Then he said, "Why didn't your mother raise you?"
Jaida gave a sigh and settled back into her seat. He had a lot to learn about following rules. But they had miles ahead of them in which she could teach him the rudiments.
"You're not going to answer?"
"It's my turn to ask you a question," she responded patiently. "Remember?"
"But I asked you before… Ah, damn," he sputtered out frustratedly. "What do you want to ask?"
Better start out with something easy, she thought. He really wasn't much for reciprocal arrangements. Smooth coercion was much more his style, or outright demands. And finding himself thwarted hadn't done much for his mood.
"Where did you and Lauren grow up?"
"Kansas City. Now tell me why your mother let your grandmother raise you."
It was easy to see that his capitulation was merely to further his own end. He was as tenacious as a pit bull when it came to getting what he wanted. "She was only eighteen, and her husband had deserted her. She had nowhere to go, no money and no way to get a job and care for me at the same time. Not," she added wryly, "that caring for me was high on her list. Anyway, she called Granny, who wired her money, and she went back home. But it wasn't long before she started looking for a way out again. She'd spent her whole life dreaming of leaving Dixon Falls. She wasn't about to let a baby put an end to her aspirations."
"So she dumped you and took off again?"
"Ah-ah-ah, Garrison. That's two questions. It's my turn again. Do you have any other family?"
"No. What happened to you when your mother took off again?"
Jaida paused to consider the inequities in their answers. His were unsatisfyingly brief, to the point of rudeness. The trick seemed to be in the way their questions were worded, but she was annoyed nonetheless.
"I was left with my grandmother while my mother went to Savannah to find work. I joined her occasionally over the years, in Savannah, Mobile, wherever she was calling home at the time. Things never worked out." That was the understatement of the world, Jaida thought. She'd spent her first few years wishing fiercely for her mother to send for her, not for a visit, but to live with her for good. And then later, when it became clear just how Marilee felt about her, Jaida had wished just as fiercely to stay with Granny forever.
"What were your parents like?" She asked the question after a great deal of thought, attempting to word it in a way that would prevent a monosyllabic answer. But the silence that followed was filled with tension. She turned to look at him, puzzled.
A grim smile played across his lips. It hadn't taken her long to catch on to the little game, and somehow she'd managed to stumble onto his least favorite subject. "My mother was … fragile," he answered with irony.
Weak. That was the word to describe Patricia Garrison. Too weak to stand up to her husband, to protect herself or her children. Trey had taken many a beating trying to intervene on her behalf. She'd been too weak to stay alive long enough to be any kind of mother. The only thing she'd ever done for Trey was give him Lauren. And when Patricia Garrison died, he'd eventually even lost his sister. "My father … used his hands a lot." He turned off the old memories. "Hand me the map, will you?"
Jaida obeyed, and he folded it so he could hold it before him on the steering wheel to study it. "We're getting close to Scusset State Beach. Does that sound familiar at all to you?"
"It doesn't matter if it sounds familiar," she retorted. "It will have to feel familiar. And I won't know until we get there. I've told you that before."
He started to hand the map back to her and almost lost it in the wind. Involuntarily Jaida leaned over to catch it, and found her fingers touching his. The now-familiar current sparked to life at the inadvertent touch and then a scene flashed into her mind, so quick and ugly that she caught her breath. It vanished as suddenly as it had come, swirling away like mists of fog.
She refolded the map with trembling fingers. She had to be more careful. She couldn't afford to touch him, even by accident. Each time set off too many disturbing reactions, on too many levels.
My father used his hands a lot. She shivered, still responding to the short violent scene she'd experienced at their brief brushing of hands. An interesting way to describe a man who had used his fists on his family and drunk with indiscriminate fervor.
The inadvertent peek into his past left her with the need to reassure him. "Benjy is still okay," she told him softly. "He hasn't been…" Hurt, she was going to say, and then stopped when she remembered the stinging slap to the toddler's cheek. She bit her lip. She would never relay that information to Trey, especially in light of what she'd just learned about him.
"He's safe. They have plans for him, though. This wasn't a random snatching."
Her words snared his attention. "Why do you say that?"
"You said Lauren was drugged so that the kidnappers could grab Benjy. People don't normally just walk around armed with drug-filled syringes in their pockets. The kidnappers were prepared to snatch him that day."
"Yes, but that still doesn't mean that Benjy had been singled out. A sicko could have gone to the park that day with the intention of picking out a child, any child. There's no way to be certain whether he'd been specifically targeted."
"Oh, he was specifically targeted," she said. "I don't know how, but I know it."
"But if you're right, and Penning isn't involved…" he started, dubiously.
"He isn't," she said surely. She shivered suddenly. "I'm certain he isn't."
"Then we're still no closer to the answer than we were before. Benjy could have become the target once the kidnapper saw him. He's a cute little guy…" There was a pause, and when he continued, Trey's voice was gruff. "There are any number of reasons someone would pick him out of a crowd if he was looking for a kid."
Habit had him dodging the emotions that threatened to well up and choke him. He'd come a long way from the explosive teenager he'd been to the man he was today. In humid jungles and searing deserts he'd learned to practice patience, to be as still as his surroundings while waiting for his prey. His stint in the army had seemed peculiarly suited to his nature. A childhood spent growing up on the streets had taught him survival skills and cunning, natural tools for the work he'd done in covert operations. There had been a time when he'd wondered if he would be suited for anything else.
But something had irrevocably changed inside him the day he'd dragged Mac from that bombed hotel, sure that his friend was dying at his feet. He'd started to envision himself suffering such a fate, half a world away from the only family he had in the world. He'd kept his past tightly sealed away, rarely allowing himself to think about it. But once he allowed the vault door of those memories to crack open, their power was impossible to deny.
Once Mac had left the military, it really hadn't taken much to coax Trey into joining him in his security company. It had presented Trey with the opportunity to search for the only family he had left.
It had taken him better than two years, but when he'd found Lauren again, a part deep inside him, a part he would have thought was dead, had come back to life. And Benjy's birth had nurtured that element. He couldn't bear to think that Benjy had entered their lives, only to be snatched away so quickly, so completely.
He glanced at the woman next to him, who was quietly humming along with the radio. Anyone seeing the two of them would think they were just another vacationing couple. They'd never guess the desperation behind their search. Or the tenuous hold Jaida was exerting over him, despite every effort he made to fight it.
The fragile bond of hope.
* * *
"I trust I didn't rush you." Trey's voice was a little too polite when Jaida finally strolled out of the truck stop, carrying a grocery bag.
"Not at all," she answered airily. "While you were getting gas and checking the map again, I had time to grab a sandwich and a few things for us to munch on."
He eyed the stuffed bag before pulling out of the truck-stop parking l
ot. "A few things?"
Jaida rummaged through the sack. "I convinced them to make you a hot roast beef to go." She held it out to him.
He took it from her, peeling the wrapping back and eating with one hand while he drove with the other. He made short work of the sandwich, then reached for the soda she'd put in the container holder next to him. After a few minutes he glanced over at her. "What else do you have in that bag?"
Jaida peered inside it, drawing out one item after another. "Cheese popcorn, pretzels, red licorice and a couple packages of sandwich cookies."
"I see you're not concerned with the current low-fat craze."
"Not really," she replied, opening the bag of licorice and selecting some. She offered the bag to him, and he shook his head. "My mother thinks my appetite is quite unladylike. I guess she thinks I should hide in a corner to eat when I'm hungry."
"You'd have to spend most of your time there," Trey observed blandly. He held out his hand. "Give me a few cookies, will you?" He watched with sharp interest the way she opened the package and held it out to him, rather than take some cookies out to drop in his hand. It could have been fastidiousness on her part, but he didn't think so. Jaida seemed to go to extreme lengths to avoid touching people, although he might not have noticed it if he hadn't been watching her so closely in the past few days.
As a matter of fact, he tried to recall whether he had ever seen her touch someone voluntarily, and couldn't recall that he had. He vividly remembered the times she'd been unable to avoid his touch, however. The shocking connection that had leaped to life each of those times was fascinating and hard to forget. An unbidden thought flashed across his mind then, and he wondered if the current would fade or intensify under a more intimate touch.
"Where does your mother live now?" he asked a few miles later.
"She lives in New Orleans with her fifth or is it sixth," she wondered aloud, "husband."
"Do you visit her frequently?"
She cast him an amused look. Was he resurrecting their "game" from this morning or merely bored? "As infrequently as possible, at her request. I'm a major source of embarrassment to Marilee, you see."
"Embarrassment?" His tone was sharp. He well knew that all mothers weren't blessed with a nurturing instinct, but the thought that Jaida had been as unwanted as he and Lauren had been was curiously disturbing.
"I did the unacceptable and grew up. It became very hard to explain to her high-society friends and potential husbands that she had a daughter only a few years younger than she was pretending to be." She shrugged. Her mother's shallowness had long ceased to be a source of pain for her. "The best thing she ever did was let Granny raise me. I had a normal childhood, as normal as possible. The worst times I remember are the experiences when I did live with Marilee, or went for a prolonged visit."
"Why, what happened then?"
Jaida paused to rip open the bag of cheese popcorn. "I wasn't the easiest child to have around. Even when she could keep me cleaned up long enough to introduce to her friends, I had an unfortunate penchant for blurting out personal remarks about them after shaking their hands." She smiled in vague amusement as she remembered a few of the choice tidbits that had transferred to her at a casual touch. She'd been too young to guard her tongue and too naive to realize the embarrassing nature of some of the information she'd blurted out—information that ranged from the price of a woman's dress to an indiscreet disclosure of a lover's name. She shook her head in silent sympathy for the young, confused girl she'd been. It had been a painful period in her life; she'd tried as hard as she could to fit in and be the kind of daughter that Marilee would be proud of, one she would finally love.
A fierce scowl came over Trey's face. A picture was forming in his mind of Jaida's childhood, and he didn't like what he was hearing. In a perfect world children should be protected, sheltered and loved. He knew better than most that the world some children lived in was far from perfect. He never would have dreamed that he had an idealistic side to him, but Benjy's birth had shown him otherwise. He'd vowed that his nephew would grow up never knowing what it meant to be hungry, afraid or unwanted. It should mean nothing to him that Jaida West had grown up with problems. Problems were, after all, what people were best at manufacturing. But the realization was troubling nonetheless.
He glanced at her then, but her revelations hadn't seemed to upset her. She was lounging next to him, with her feet up on the dash in front of her, her head tilted back to catch the breeze. She'd braided her long hair into a loose plait that reached below her shoulders, to keep it from becoming tangled in the wind. He decided swiftly that he didn't like the style. It might be practical, but he would much prefer her hair tumbling in disarray around her shoulders or whipping past her profile at the capricious mercy of the wind.
He returned his attention to the road, irritated at his mental wanderings. Jaida West was only a tool in the search for Benjy, and he'd do well to remember that. No useful purpose would be served by learning more about her or by beginning to understand her.
And there was no purpose at all in wanting her.
* * *
"Don't be such a grouch," Jaida snapped hours later as she struggled to get her luggage out of the trunk. "I was ready to stop hours ago. You're the one who insisted on driving farther."
Trey slammed down the trunk lid with barely restrained force. "I thought that the point of this little excursion was to drive until you felt something." His voice was mocking. "I'm beginning to believe that the only thing you're capable of feeling is constant hunger and the overwhelming urge to drive me crazy."
"Now, that would be a short trip," she muttered. She went only a few steps before she stumbled over the uneven pavement. "You refused to stop while it was still daylight. Is it too much to ask that you find a motel with a better lit parking lot?"
"You're lucky I found us a room at all," he grunted, his long legs striding past her. He was holding a flashlight, so he wasn't having trouble finding his way. "You never thought of the fact that we're traveling down the coast during the height of tourist season. Maybe the next time you go into one of your trances, you can make us some reservations."
She made a face at his back, her childish reaction lost in the darkness. She followed almost blindly in his path as he led her past the string of motel rooms and down a hill. Something furry ran in front of her, and she shrieked lightly.
"What?" Trey barked.
"You aren't by any chance planning a camping trip for us, are you? Because I'll tell you right now, I'm not real fond of sharing my bed with wildlife."
"Oh, you'll get a roof over your head," he promised. "Here we are. This must be it."
Trey played his light over the front of a rustic cabin that had obviously seen better days. She had a feeling that darkness did a small kindness to the cabin's appearance. "This is it?" she asked dubiously.
"This is all the motel had. Apparently there used to be a string of these, but the rest of them were torn down as they added rooms to the newer complex. This one was left because it was in the best shape." At least, that's what he'd been told by the motel clerk. He put the key in the lock and pushed the door open, reaching in to flip on the lights.
The room would be suitable. The dim lighting didn't reveal anything that crawled or flew, and that was always a bonus. He'd slept in far worse, of course, but in his time out of the military he'd quickly grown accustomed to more luxurious surroundings. He was tired enough right now, however, not to care overmuch about the amenities.
Jaida followed him to the doorway and peered into the room. It looked clean, although it was apparent no one had used it in a while. There was an old-fashioned dial telephone sitting on a small desk, but no television or radio. "It has running water, doesn't it?" she asked suspiciously.
Trey walked into the room and opened a door. "Right in here."
"Okay, this is fine, then," she said. A nice warm shower would be all she needed to fall asleep almost immediately. She had no doubt that
they'd be back on the road at daybreak. "Where will you be staying?"
"Oh, I'll be close by," he drawled. "As a matter of fact, I'll be sleeping right beside you."
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Surely her ears had deceived her. Jaida looked at him, blinked, then swallowed hard. Her heart responded by accelerating its rhythm. "You mean … you have a room in the motel?" she asked hopefully.
Trey crossed over to the suitcase he'd dropped by the door, and slung it onto a bed. Clicking open the locks, he replied, "No, I mean here. In this bed."
It was impossible to miss the taunting gleam in his eyes. "Is that going to be a problem?"
Spending the night with Trey Garrison? It didn't qualify as a problem, exactly. Calamity came closer to describing it. Disaster. Or plain, old-fashioned catastrophe. "No." Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat, hastening to add, "No problem."
A faint smile crossed his lips and he turned back to his suitcase. "Good. Because there's not another place within thirty miles and I'm not in the mood for arguing. I haven't had a lot of sleep in the past few nights, and I'm beat."
"Yes. Well…" Her voice tapered off, and she just stared at him. He was making himself at home already, taking his shaving kit out of his suitcase and pulling his shirt free from his pants. What was the protocol in a situation like this? Her experience was depressingly limited. "Would you … do you want to use the bathroom first?"
He shook his head. "Go ahead. I have some phone calls to make." He walked over to the phone, his back to her, and started dialing.
Jaida stared hard at him. Already he seemed to have forgotten her. She had a feeling it was going to be a bit harder for her to forget his presence, however. He seemed to fill the room, to command it. Her imagination had the walls shrinking in even further on the two of them, until she found it difficult to breathe. She forced herself to turn away and moved jerkily to her own suitcase, giving him a wide berth. He didn't even glance up from his conversation. His call had gone through, and it sounded as if he had Mac on the line.