by Mary Burton
“Only nine years old.”
They followed her into a side parlor, but the instant Eva stepped inside, she regretted it. A huge portrait of Josiah Cross greeted her. He stood by a black stallion, holding the bridle and staring boldly at the artist and the world. A smug smile tipped the edge of his mouth as it had done that night he’d backed her up against a wall and held his hand to her throat. She’d been afraid and he’d drunk in her fear like a tonic.
“You little upstart, bitch. Where the hell is Kristen?” His breath smelled of beer and cigarettes.
“I don’t know,” she lied.
He’d reached for the waistband of her pants. She’d flinched and he’d laughed and grown bolder.
“You don’t have to be so cruel.”
“I drank cruelty from my mother’s breast. It’s like honey to me.”
“You okay?” Garrison said.
Eva started and turned. It took a second for the emotions to clear and for her to see Garrison and the young coed standing by the door. “I’m fine.”
The girl pretended to shiver. “Don’t let Mr. Creepy put you off.”
A laugh bubbled inside Eva. “Mr. Creepy?”
“Yeah, he came with the house. None of the girls like him, but he’s a condition of the house. We tolerate him for state-of-the-art wireless and flat-panel televisions.”
Eva leaned forward and pretended to read the plaque, “Josiah Louis Cross?”
“Some guy that was murdered. I know, weird. But, like I said, his old man wanted to build a house in his honor. We call him Mr. Creepy but I guess he’s not that bad. Besides it’s just a painting.”
It was a painting of the devil. “Right.”
Pain all but dulled her mind to any clear thought as she looked up and saw Josiah standing over her. He was smiling. And then just as quickly, he staggered forward as blood rushed from his head.
Eva’s fingers tensed around the strap of her backpack. She tried to hold on to the flash of memory, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
“I got to say, Mr. Creepy has had his share of visitors this week.”
“Who else has been here?” Garrison said.
“Well, there was that guy just the other day. He was asking questions about the girl that killed Mr. Creepy. He kept asking if we knew were she lived now. Very weird. I called security on him.”
“He leave?”
“Oh, yeah. Ran out of here quick.”
“You said there was someone else?” Garrison prompted.
“Yeah. A weird old guy. Our week for weird guys, I guess. I didn’t see him but Missy down the hallway did. This guy kept talking about sinners must atone. Again, we called security, but he ran off.”
“What did she say about him?” Garrison said.
“Hey, I don’t want to creep your sister out with tales of creepy guys. Price is really a nice school. People care about you here.”
Garrison pulled out his badge. “She’s not my sister and I’d like to talk to Missy.”
Chapter 17
Monday, April 10, 4:00 P.M.
Eva and Garrison drove back to Alexandria. On the way, he called his partner and told him to meet with Missy and a police sketch artist.
They drove to the police station where Eva’s truck was parked. Garrison got out with her and walked her to her truck. She unlocked it and opened the front door, pausing as he stood by her. Heat and energy radiated from him and the urge to touch him toyed with her. What would those arms feel like wrapped around her?
Dark sunglasses tossed back her reflection as she stared up at him. “Thanks.”
“Thank you.” He leaned forward a fraction, one hand resting on the open door and the other on the roof of the truck. “I want you to be careful, Eva. I’m going to put a patrol car out in front of King’s, but I want you to be cautious. ”
“Hey, I’ll be fine. I’m an ex-con and I’ve got eyes in the back of my head.”
His jaw tensed. “I’ll be by to see you as soon as we get a sketch. I want you to look at it.”
“Okay.” She wanted to lean forward and kiss him. Not a chaste simple kiss but a full on-the-mouth kiss. She wanted to know what he felt and tasted like. Instead, she nodded and slipped behind the wheel of her truck. He closed her door and watched and waited as she drove away.
Garrison standing in the parking lot was the last image she had in the rearview mirror before she rounded the corner.
Eva arrived back at the pub just after four and was behind the bar and ready to work fifteen minutes after that. As much as she tried to immerse herself in the work, her mind kept drifting back to Price. Who was so interested in her and Josiah?
When she heard the bells above the threshold jingle, she glanced up and tossed the customer a smile as King always asked: Greet ‘em. They won’t forget you when you do.
The tall, lean man entered the pub, scanning the crowd until his gaze settled on her. She raised a hand, signaling she’d be right over.
He nodded and waited, cool and relaxed as he surveyed the room. When she’d refilled drinks at table six and given change to table five, she hurried up to him. “Here for dinner?”
“I am.”
“How many?”
“Just one.”
“Follow me.” She grabbed a menu and guided him to a corner booth. When he’d sat, she took his drink order and promised to return. When she set his drink down in front of him, she pulled out her pad. “So what can I get you?”
“Reuben on rye will do it.” He closed the menu and looked up at her, his gaze skimming her name tag. “Doris. You don’t look like a Doris.”
“I get that a lot.”
“No seriously, I know people and names and you are not a Doris.”
“Blame it on my folks.” Chatty customers were fine on slow days but the late evening crowd had grown and she didn’t have time for small talk. “Be right back with that Reuben.”
She moved around the pub, filling drink orders, collecting tabs and wiping up spills. Nonstop motion didn’t ease the feeling that the corner booth’s customer’s gaze was on her.
Be careful.
Garrison’s words rattled in her head. When his order was up she moved toward him more carefully and mindfully this time. He was blond. Attractive. Button-down rolled up to his forearm. Smooth fingers. She’d never seen him before.
When she set the plate in front of him, she paused. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so.” His eyes danced with a good humor that undermined her suspicion. “Maybe I just have one of those faces.”
“Yeah, maybe. Can I get you anything else? More beer? Mustard?”
“No thanks, Eva.” His gaze pinned hers as if waiting for a reaction.
Energy bolted through her limbs. “What did you call me?”
“Eva.” His grin widened. “It’s your name.”
“I never told you my name.”
“I know.” He picked up a chip and popped it in his mouth.
“Were you at Price asking questions about me?”
He nodded, pleased with himself. “I do get around.”
She clutched her round serving tray close to her chest. “Who told you about me?”
“Your sister, Angie. She told me all about you.” He winked and glanced down at the plate. “Looks delicious.”
A sudden chill cooled her body. “Who are you?”
“I’m Connor Donovan. I’m a writer. I wrote a lot of articles about you a decade ago.”
She took a step back. “I don’t talk to reporters.”
“I know. You refused all my interview requests when you were in jail.”
The earth seemed to shift under her feet.
“Did you kill those two women because they fingered you as Josiah’s killer?”
Pain squeezed her heart and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Angie wouldn’t do this to her. Would she? “I don’t have anything to say.”
He stood abruptly and blocked her retreat. “Come on, Eva, help me
write a follow-up. You were a hot item back in the day. This is your chance to tell your side of the story. I’ve read the transcript of the trial and all the old articles. I can see that you were railroaded.”
The bait dangled on the tip of his hook and she knew if she bit, she’d suffer. “Go to hell, Mr. Donovan. Leave now or I’m calling the cops.”
“I’m not breaking any laws.”
“You are now a trespasser. King’s reserves the right to refuse service and we are refusing you service. Leave.” Her hands trembled as she grabbed his plate from the table and marched across the room to the bar. Unmindful of the customers trying to catch her eye, she pushed through the swinging door that led into the kitchen. “King!”
He glanced up from a pot of stew. She recapped what had happened. “You say he’s got to go, then he’s got to go.”
She dumped the sandwich in the trash. “Deduct the cost out of my paycheck.”
“No need for that, kid.”
“God, I can’t believe she’d do this to me.”
“Who?”
“My sister, Angie. She told that Connor guy all about me and where to find me.”
King looked startled, and as if remembering pulled a crumpled slip of paper from his pocket. “You got a call today. From your sister.”
She glanced at the scrawled words. “Angie. Shit.” No time on the note. “What time did she call?”
“About one. Sorry, I just forgot.”
Some of her anger vanished. “I can’t read your handwriting, King. Is the last digit of her phone number a seven or a five?”
He shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
She groaned. “King.”
“Baby, I got alligators biting on my ass right now. I don’t know. And I got three orders you need to serve before they get cold.”
Frustrated, she shoved the slip of paper in her pocket. Bobby came down the backstairs, a new book in hand. “Eva, what is this word?”
Her head spun and she glanced at the word marked by his pudgy fingertip. “Sound it out like I showed you.”
“Te. Te. Technology.”
“That’s right.”
He smiled up at her, such trust in his eyes. And again, she feared for Bobby. With someone like Connor Donovan snooping around, no telling how long she could keep the boy safe.
King barely noticed the heat from his stove, the noise of the exhaust fan or the rumble of the crowd in his restaurant. For a moment, he stood as still as stone, replaying what Eva had just told him. A reporter had tracked Eva down to his restaurant. Reporters meant attention and attention often led to trouble.
Slowly, he stirred the stew. He’d spent a lot of time and resources pulling events together and now that shit head Donovan was going to muck it up. His first inclination was to track the guy down and beat the piss out of him.
Which might provide King with a moment’s satisfaction but in the long run would only cause him trouble.
King shoved out a breath. He’d weathered a lot of shit in his life. So had Eva. So had Bobby. They all could survive an article or two. And then when the chaos died down again, people would forget about them and he could follow through with the next step.
Kristen sat in the park by the river staring at the slow, meandering waters of the Potomac. A gentle spring breeze flowed past. Couples strolled the path. Kids on bikes rolled past. Laughter swirled around her head.
She’d been thrown off by Eva Rayburn’s visit but had planned to fly to New York, more determined than ever to get out of town and forget all about Alexandria. But a few hours ago, she’d gotten a call on her private cell.
“Do you want to see your baby?” the caller had said.
Your baby.
“How’d you get this number?”
Laughter crackled. “Friends. Do you want to know about the baby?”
“I don’t have a baby,” she’d said.
“Yes, you do. Only, he’s not a baby now, is he?”
She’d gripped the phone silent, unable to speak and unable to hang up.
“He’ll be in the Riverside Park tomorrow about two if you want to see him.”
The caller had hung up, leaving her dazed and rattled. As much as she’d wanted to leave town, she’d been unable to get on that plane.
Now, here she sat on a park bench staring at the old worn photo in her hand. She’d carried the picture tucked deep inside her wallet for over a decade and the frayed edges reflected the wear and tear.
She traced the lines of the newborn’s face.
Kristen would have been so much better off if she’d never met Josiah Cross.
During that year she’d made a series of bad decisions, starting with pursuing Josiah Cross. He’d been considered the catch and she’d wanted what she’d perceived as the best. “Be careful what you wish for,” her mother used to say. They’d been dating four months when she’d found out she was pregnant. She’d hated and resented a lot of things in her life, but she’d loved her son from the moment she’d known he was inside her. She’d have dealt with the devil to save him.
“Sign the paper, Kristen. “ Her mother’s urgent whisper still echoed in her head. “Sign it!”
“Mom, he’s my son,” she’d said, crying.
“That baby is going to ruin your life, Kristen. Honey, we want you to go to graduate school, to marry well and to have a promising career. ”
“A lot of women have babies out of wedlock and raise them.” And with Josiah dead, she’d be free to raise her son.
Her mother gently stroked her hair. “That’s not an option for people like us. More is expected of us.”
Through watery eyes she looked up at her mother, feeling her father’s intense stare from across the room. “He’s your grandson.”
“I’ll cut you off completely if you keep him,” her father said. “Sign the papers.”
Her mother smiled weakly. “He’ll be better off. You’re making the right decision.”
Better off.
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Kristen.” The voice came from behind her.
Swiping away the tears, she turned. “You’re the one that called me.”
“I have news of your son.”
Kristen rose. “Tell me.”
“He’s over here. Follow me.”
“You found him?”
“Yes. I’ve got to take him to his parents, but you can see him before I do.”
Oh, God, but she wanted to just see him. How many nights had she lain awake wondering what he looked like? Did he have her nose? How much of Josiah was in him? She’d moved heaven and earth to see that Josiah would never be in the child’s life.
Kristen had done so much to keep her son safe.
Since Eva’s visit, she’d been plagued with worries that Eva would remember the details of the fire.
Had Eva figured it out?
Kristen stood, her legs unsteady and her heart pounding in her chest. Her hands trembled with a heady excitement. Worries about her secret, the murders, even her upcoming marriage all faded as she thought about her son.
“He’s in the van by the playground,” the caller said, pointing.
Kristen looked ahead to the black van. “What’s his name?”
The van door automatically opened. “Ask him yourself.”
Kristen moved toward the van and leaned into it, searching the seats for her son. At first she thought she might be missing something, and then she realized he wasn’t there. Anger burned through her. “What kind of game are you playing? ”
A sharp needle jabbed into her back and she could feel the hot rush of fluid into her body. In a matter of seconds, her mind slipped into blackness.
Chapter 18
Tuesday, April 11, 8:00 A.M.
Eva arrived at the law offices of Wellington and James just after eight. She’d opted to walk the ten blocks, hoping she’d have time to soothe her temper. She buzzed the front bell.
The receptionist looked at her on the video monitor.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m delivering a subpoena for Luke Fraser, LTF Processing.” The white lie would get her inside.
“Sure.”
The door buzzed once and Eva yanked open the front door. In the reception area, she immediately felt out of her depth. Rich carpets, old world paintings on the wall and crystal lamps created the impression of money.
“What do I need to sign?” the receptionist said.
Eva lifted her chin, not bothering to slow her pace. “I’m actually here to see Angie Carlson.”
The woman shook her head. “I’ll sign for her.”
“No worries. I’m her sister.” She moved toward the hallway that led to the back. “Which office is hers?”
The woman arched a brow. “Angie doesn’t have a sister. And if you don’t stop right now I’m calling the cops.”
“You do that.” She glanced in an office on her left.
“Look, I’ve known Angie for a year and she’s never mentioned a sister.”
“She’s got one and she’s just about ready to find out how pissed she really is.”
“That’s it,” the woman said, bustling ahead of Eva. “Get out.”
“Nope. Angie!”
The older woman hustled into a side office and picked up a phone. The cops would no doubt be here in minutes.
“Angie!”
Seconds later Angie emerged from the office at the back of the hallway. Hope and confusion flickered in her eyes. “Eva.”
“You might want to talk to your receptionist. She’s calling the cops on me.”
Angie rolled her eyes. “Iris! Don’t call the cops.”
Iris hung up her phone and appeared at the end of the hallway. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“She says she’s your sister.”
Angie nodded. “She is.”
Iris arched a brow as her gaze shifted to Eva and then back to Angie. She didn’t say anything but Eva guessed that Angie had some explaining to do.
Angie motioned Eva toward her office. “Come in here.”
Eva moved inside the office, clutching the strap of her backpack. Angie’s office was just as elegant as the front office. “I know you’re pissed about me not calling you, but did you have to dish dirt to your writer boyfriend?”