Just Say Yes (Escape to New Zealand Book 10)

by Rosalind James

  There was a bit of mischief in her eyes when she looked up at him. “What?”

  “Can’t help it. I like it best when your body’s close to mine.”

  “Mm,” she said. “Maybe I like it too. Could be.”

  When they were eating lunch—two poached eggs on toast with spinach and mushrooms for him, the program as usual, and a salad for her—she asked, “How have the rituals been going?”

  “Ah. Well. Funny you should ask. You know these sisters of mine?”

  “Giving you trouble?”

  “Giving each other trouble, more like. If I’m meant to do something about it, I don’t know what it is. Boys fight. Girls just ...”

  “Well, maybe you need to make them fight,” Chloe said.

  He stared at her, the yolk dripping from his fork. “Geez, you’re helpful. I can barely stand them now.”

  She laughed. “Get it out in the open, I mean. Girls snipe. Little cutting comments, little pokes at each other.”

  “Geez, thanks. I hadn’t noticed.”

  Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Her phone vibrated on the table like an angry insect, and she picked it up. Tension in her expression, and then not. She made a face at Kevin, said, “My mum,” and sent it to voicemail. “So ... your sisters.”

  He started to explain.

  Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. She sighed and picked up the phone again.

  “Go on,” he said.

  She hesitated a moment, then pressed the button and said, “I’m at lunch, Mum. Can I call you after work?” And then he watched her face change, go taut. “When?” she asked. “Where?” And finally, “No. I’m doing it. I’ve got it. But call the police and tell them, Mum. Call them now.”

  When she lowered the hand with the phone, it was shaking. Kevin was already up. “What?” he asked. “What happened?”

  “I’m ... it’ll be all right. But I need to go.” She was on her feet, headed to the door, but she misjudged and hit the corner of a table with her hip, hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to bruise. Something was very wrong.

  “Chloe.” He grabbed her elbow, and when she tried to shake him off, he didn’t let her. “What’s going on?”

  She was scrabbling in her bag, grabbing for her keys. A bra fell out onto the floor, and he picked it up and handed it back to her, but she barely seemed to notice. “Zavy,” she said. “Rich ... he locked him in the car.”

  She was hurrying, now, out of the café and onto the pavement, and Kevin kept pace with her. “Where?”

  “I know it’s all right,” she said, then repeated it. “It’s all right. In Ponsonby. Not too far from my mum’s, but she’s ... he’s ... I’m going to ...”

  “I’ll take you,” he said. What the hell had happened? He was having some trouble getting his breath, and “confused” wasn’t even the word. He focused, cleared his mind, and started again. “Let’s go. I’m driving.”

  “No,” she said. “You have a game. A match. Whatever. I’m going.”

  They were nearly at the Arts Centre carpark, and he took her by the arm again until she faced him, then said, “Tell me now. Bugger my game. Tell me.”

  “He locked Zavy in the car,” she said. “And it didn’t just happen. He rang Mum after he tried ringing somebody else, I guess, asking her to get into his ... his house, get his spare key, and bring it. But she doesn’t have the car. Dad does. Golf. So she can’t go. She can’t ... she can’t get it.”

  It made no sense. None of it. But the back of his neck was prickling. “Surely he could just ring AA and have them come get the door open. If they knew there was a child in the car, they’d come straight away. Or the police, of course. Why wouldn’t he do that?”

  “I don’t know why.” Chloe’s voice was a monotone. Flat, but her eyes were darting from side to side. She was holding herself together by sheer effort of will. “But I’m going. I told Mum to ring the police, but I don’t know if she’ll do it. I’m going, and if he’s gone, I’m going to his house. I need to see Zavy. I need to know he’s all right. I need to bring him home.”

  He had his car keys out of his pocket. “I’ll drive you.”

  “You can’t. Car seat. I need to bring him home. If he’s upset, if he’s ...” It was still that same robot voice, and it frightened him more than if she’d wailed or made a scene.

  “Then I’ll drive your car.”

  “Your game, though.”

  He took the keys straight out of her hand and led the way to her car, stopping on the way to grab his bag out of his own. “You may need to talk to your mum, or to Rich, or to the police. Or to somebody here, explain why you’re leaving. I’ll drive you.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated another moment, then climbed into the passenger side of her little white Toyota and dropped her bag at her feet. “I didn’t think about ringing him. Or the studio. I’m just ...” Finally, she’d lost the robotic sound. But there was absolutely no way she could be driving. Maybe Zavy was fine and maybe he wasn’t, but Chloe wasn’t going to be fine until she saw him. And he couldn’t let her do that alone.

  “Give me the address,” he said, and when she did, he punched it into the GPS on his phone and took off.

  It’s all right, Chloe told herself as Kevin inched through the Saturday traffic and onto the bridge approach. I told Mum to call the police. It’s taken care of. And at the same moment, her fingers were pressing the button to ring her mother back.

  “Yes? Have you seen him?” her mother asked, not even saying “Hello.”

  “No. We’re on the bridge. Are the police on their way?”

  “No. I rang Rich back, and he said somebody else was coming. A friend. He said he was sorry he bothered me, and Zavy was fine. It’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “Mum. It’s not fine! It’s. Not. Fine.”

  “Darling,” her mother said firmly. “Now, listen to me. Of course he’s fine. Rich is right there, and it’s cool out. It’s a mista—”

  Chloe didn’t answer. She couldn’t have. She’d rung off and dialed 111. But when she tried to explain, the dispatcher said, “Let me confirm. This is your ex. He’s locked the keys in the car, but somebody’s coming to open the car?”

  “Yes,” Chloe said, “that’s what he says. But it’s been ...” She pressed her fingers to her forehead and tried to think. “Twenty ... minutes? More? And he’s locked in. My son. He’s three.”

  “Has his father remained with him?”

  “Yes. I told you.”

  “Right. We’ll dispatch somebody to take a look.”

  “That’s not good enough.” Chloe could feel the hysteria trying to climb up her throat. “‘Take a look?’ No. He’s locked in. His dad hasn’t even called AA! The police need to go now.” She looked out the window and registered that they were most of the way across the bridge. Kevin switched lanes, switched back again. Driving aggressively. Driving hard.

  “I’ve put it in,” the maddeningly calm voice on the other end said. “Somebody will be there soon to check it out.”

  By the time she rang off, Chloe’s breath was so shallow, she was nearly panting. Kevin didn’t look at her. He changed lanes again, preparing to take the exit, and said, “Breathe. Deep breath.”

  She wanted to ask him, How can I? She wanted to scream. She wanted to lose control. But he was right, so she did it. Two deep breaths, three.

  Kevin didn’t tell her to calm down. He said, “Do you have his number? Rich?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Ring him, then. Ask him.”

  Oh. Of course she should do that. She focused, though it was getting harder, as Kevin took the exit and was once more stuck in a sea of red taillights, inching forward.

  Rich didn’t answer. Voicemail. She rang off, then tried again. Voicemail again.

  “He’s not answering,” she told Kevin.

  “Doesn’t want to have to tell you, probably. Doesn’t know you know. We’re nearly there. Five minutes. Do you need to call your work?”

  How could she have forgotten? She nev
er forgot, and she never left her students hanging. You couldn’t do that and run a business. “I ... um ...” Her fingers were at her forehead again.

  “D’you have a class this afternoon?”

  “At two.”

  “After one-thirty now.”

  “Right,” she said. “Right.” She rang Jennifer, her lead teacher, and when she got off the phone, Kevin was making a turn, and then another one. Onto Ponsonby Road, which was, as usual, crammed with pedestrians and parked cars, and then making a right turn onto a residential street lined with historic iron-roofed bungalows. It was lined with cars as well—no easy parking on the main street—and one of them was a black Mercedes. And there was a man standing on the pavement beside it, tapping his mobile against his palm.

  Rich.

  No mate. No police. No AA. Rich standing beside a closed car, and Chloe thought she was going to pass out.

  Kevin didn’t bother with any niceties like parking. He pulled to a stop in the street just behind Rich’s car and was out before Chloe had her seatbelt unbuckled. By the time she got there, Kevin was peering into the rear window of the black car, saying something.

  Talking to Zavy.

  Rich said, his voice rising with every word, “Oi. What are you doing? Get away from my car.”

  Chloe wasn’t talking to him either, because she was looking through the window herself now, and Zavy was in there. Crying. Sobbing. She wanted to claw her way inside. She needed to ... she had to ...

  Kevin had put a hand on the front fender, and then he was swinging up, jumping onto the car and walking straight up it as if it were a road.

  Rich was shouting now. “Oi! Oi! You can’t do that!” And Kevin wasn’t listening. He crouched, then raised one foot in a movement so fast, Chloe barely saw it.

  He kicked the windscreen out.

  Zavy screamed, and Chloe did too, and then the car alarm did. A wail of siren, a blast from the horn, followed by a disembodied male voice barking out menacing orders to “step away from the vehicle.”

  Kevin wasn’t. He was, in fact, stomping the windscreen into a hailstorm of safety-glass pebbles. The second he’d finished, Chloe was rolling straight in through it, punching wildly at the locks, diving between the seats. Back to Zavy.

  Kevin had the rear door open now. The moment Chloe got Zavy’s harness undone, Kevin was lifting him out, leaving Chloe to scramble out the front door and run around to join them.

  Out. Safe. He was out.

  “It’s all right, mate,” Kevin was saying, holding a sobbing, red-faced Zavy, his hair plastered to his head with sweat. “All right now. Your mum’s here, see?”

  Chloe had Zavy, was sinking straight to the pavement with him, her arms wrapped around him, rocking him against her breast. His clothes were damp, too. Sweat, and tears. She only realized she was crying, too, when she felt the wetness on her cheeks. Zavy’s body shook, he clung to her like a monkey, and finally, his sobs turned to hiccups and gasps.

  That was when she started to pay attention to what was happening around her. To Rich, who was practically dancing with fury, running a hand over the no-longer-pristine bonnet of his car. And to Kevin, standing solid and immovable as rock, as still as Rich wasn’t.

  “Do you know what that’ll cost to replace?” Rich was demanding. “And look at this. This is going to be thousands.”

  Chloe didn’t look. She didn’t have to, because Kevin was saying, not loud and not fast, “Yeh, I put a dent in. Maybe two or three. I kicked out your windscreen as well. And I’m pretty rapt about it.”

  Flashing lights, now. The police arriving at last, the whoop of a siren competing with the intermittent shrieks and muttered warnings from the car alarm. A good five minutes too late, but at least Zavy wasn’t crying anymore. He was still holding onto her, but he was watching as the cop climbed out of the car. Big, Maori, and serious.

  Chloe got to her feet, taking Zavy with her, as the cop came around the car, looked between the two men, then at Chloe and Zavy, and said, “You’ve got the baby out, then.”

  “I’d like to make a complaint,” Rich said. He pointed at Kevin. “This man destroyed my car. I want photos taken. I want to lay charges. Malicious destruction of property.”

  “Sir?” the cop asked Kevin. Chloe couldn’t tell if he recognized him or not, but she’d bet the answer was ‘yes.’”

  “I did,” Kevin said. “And I’d do it again.” He told Chloe, “You may want to give Zavy some water, if you’ve got it. It was warm in there. Or there’s some in my bag, if not.”

  She thought, Stupid. Stupid. Water, and headed over to her car to get it. She was processing too slowly, her body wanting to shake, her mind insisting on going to that worst-case scenario. She kept having to yank it back, and it was making her stupid.

  The car alarm stopped at last, and her tense muscles relaxed a bit. She was in her car grabbing the water bottle, but she still heard what Kevin said next. And that he said it to Rich. “You’re lucky my boot was just in your windscreen and not in your face. You could think about that.”

  “That’s assault,” Rich said. “Intent to injure. Do you hear that?” he demanded of the officer.

  “No, sir,” the cop said. “Not what I heard. I heard the gentleman say what he didn’t do. No law against that. How were you planning to get the boy out of the car, then?”

  Zavy was drinking thirstily, great gulps of water. Chloe put her cheek against the top of his head, tightened her hold on him, and listened some more.

  “My mate was coming with a key,” Rich said, sounding stiff as a poker and mad as fire. Looking like he would’ve loved nothing more than to take Kevin on, and Chloe wished he would. She wished he’d try it. Right now.

  “Next time,” the cop said, “call AA. It’s dangerous to leave a child in a closed vehicle.”

  “I would have,” Rich said through his teeth, “except that it’s less then twenty degrees out, and I had another method to get into the car. And I didn’t just need to get in. I needed the key.”

  The cop stared at him without expression. “Looks like that didn’t work out so well.” He pulled out a pad and pen and said, “And you’re the child’s father? Name, sir? How did this happen?”

  Rich didn’t answer for a moment, but finally said, “Richard Clemmons.” He gave his address when the cop asked him, then said reluctantly, “I opened the boot to put in a few groceries, and I was distracted, because the boy was crying. I locked the key in there. That’s why it wouldn’t have mattered if somebody had opened the car. I wouldn’t have been able to drive it anyway, not without the key.”

  “Would’ve mattered to the wee boy, though,” the cop said. “Very dangerous, sir.”

  “I. Was. Here,” Rich said icily. “He was fine. It’s nowhere near hot, and he’s not a baby. He’s three. He could’ve sat in there for a few minutes and waited.”

  “How many minutes?” the cop asked.

  Chloe spoke up this time. “More than half an hour. Since Rich called my mum and asked her to go to his house.”

  “And you’re the mother?” the cop asked.

  “Yes.” Chloe gave her name and address as well. The cop wrote something further in his notebook, closed it again, looked at Rich, and said, “That’s it, then. I’d say, sir, that you were lucky all the way around.”

  “Lucky?” Rich said. “Lucky?” He was still handsome. He wasn’t one bit cool.

  “Yes, sir,” the cop said. “First that your son wasn’t injured. And second, that Kevin McNicholl’s known for his self-control.”

  If the bastard kept standing there, Kevin was going to hit him. No matter what the cop said. No matter that the cop was here, and watching. His fist needed to be in Rich’s face.

  “You’ll want to get the boy home,” the cop said. Not to Rich. To Kevin, with a level gaze that told Kevin he knew exactly how close that “famous self-control” was to snapping. “Got a match tonight, haven’t you?”

  “Yeh,” Kevin said, then thought to che
ck his watch. Two-fifteen. He was late.

  You weren’t late. Ever. Except he was. And that, too, he’d do again.

  The cop was still standing there, probably guarding Rich. Probably smart. Kevin said, “Cheers, mate,” didn’t look at Rich, and headed over to Chloe’s car, a satisfying crunch under his shoe reminding him that Rich’s drive home would be a drafty one. And would be happening now, because another car was pulling up, a man getting out of it, staring at the glass, at the mess, at the cop.

  Kevin turned his back on all of it.

  Chloe wasn’t sitting like he’d have expected. Instead, she was standing beside her car, swaying back and forth, rocking Zavy in her arms as if he were still a baby, the expression on her face all the way closed down. He felt the fear in her as if it were in him. He felt the places she couldn’t bear to go, and he went there with her.

  She’d lost so much, but there was one thing that would be so much worse than any other. One loss that would break her. He stopped in front of her, heedless of the cop, of Rich, of Rich’s gaping mate, put a hand on her cheek, and said, “Baby. All right?”

  He saw the movement of her throat as she swallowed, the shadow in her eyes as she nodded, and something twisted hard inside him. He said, “I have to go. I don’t want to leave you, but I have to go.”

  Distress in her eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re late.”

  “Yeh. I am.” He didn’t lie, because she’d had enough lying. Enough hurting, and enough coping. “That won’t be fun, and I don’t care. You could drop me, if you don’t mind.”

  “How will you get home?”

  “Oh, I expect I can find a way.”

  “Right.” She tried to laugh. “Hugh. Of course.”

  “Or somebody else. That’s the way a team works, eh. Like a team.”

  She said, “You’re talking to settle me down. But you’re late. You need to go. We need to ...”

  He had a hand on Zavy’s back, rubbing over it, and the other one was still on Chloe’s cheek. And right there, in front of her ex, the man who’d given her up, who’d given Zavy up like they were nothing special, like you’d ever find a woman or a boy like this in the world ... he bent and kissed her softly on the forehead, and then on the mouth. “We do,” he said, still standing close, wishing he could keep doing it, could stand that close to both of them always, could keep the bad things away. “I’ve got a suggestion, though. You sit in the back with Zavy, and I’ll drive to the park, and by then, you’ll feel well enough to drive home.”