by Chevon Gael
She paused while she sipped on the water from his glass.
"Go on."
"Living with Roman, in his house, carrying his child. It wasn't the life I expected. I was a prisoner most of the time. I started to ask questions and he got angry. Naturally, it didn't take me too long to figure out who or what he was. By then it was too late. I was a Mafia trophy-wife. Chained to a life I didn't want, to a man who didn't really love me but married me because he wanted me and I wouldn't sleep with him or anyone until I got married. That's the way I wanted it. I was isolated and lonely, depressed and fat, and eight and a half months pregnant when I came up to visit Rachel. I sort of snuck out. When Roman came up here to get me, there was such a horrible scene between him and Carter. I was standing on Rachel's porch and Carter took a swing at Roman for trying to drag me out to the car. Roman went down, but grabbed me and I fell down the cement stairs. Twenty hours later Patrick was born in a Winnipeg hospital. I'd hemorrhaged and thought I was going to lose him. When I was well enough to travel, I went home with Roman. I'd hoped that having the baby would straighten him out, get him out of organized crime. Wow, was I wrong!"
She paused to take another drink of water. Her hands trembled around the glass. She shook as if in the grip of a rapid chill. Brett wrapped a blanket around her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. Tara smiled her thanks. Once she regained her composure, she continued.
"Things got worse. His temper became more and more violent. When Roman thought I was spending too much time with the baby and not enough time with him, he hired nannies and housekeepers and private tutors—do you know my son has never seen the inside of a school? I wanted to go back to work, but that was out of the question. I wanted to go back to school, but that never happened. So I bought books and a sewing machine and I started designing on my own. Soon the wives of his ‘friends’ got wind of what I was doing and I began making clothes for them. They paid me cash money under the table and I saved and saved.
"By this time, Roman had other girlfriends. When Patrick turned six, Roman decided I should have another baby. I wouldn't let him near me. I locked myself in my room. I'd moved into a separate bedroom by this time. He destroyed my sewing room, all my designs. Found my money and took it. I was desperate, destitute. I begged for a divorce. He refused. He used his money and position and influence if anyone tried to help me. Most of all, he used my son. Threatened constantly to take him away from me. Bragged that no one could stop him.
"Finally, one night, I packed a bag for Patrick and left everything else behind. I stole money—oh God—I stole from Consuello, Patrick's nanny. A poor, Puerto Rican widow who barely spoke English. I bought a bus ticket to Winnipeg and went to Rachel. She said I could have a place to stay as long as I wanted. I thought I'd be safe staying with them. I started divorce proceedings and was granted temporary custody of Patrick, but a U.S. judge wanted him back with his father. The lawyers were so expensive. I eventually did get my divorce but I refused to give up Patrick. Carter said he'd do everything in his power to help me but..."
She stopped then and asked for another glass of water. Brett knew there was more, much more, but what she'd told him already had taken everything out of her. Her voice was a dead calm, no sobbing, no hysterics. But tears rained down her face the entire time. He knew he had to learn the rest but Tara needed a break.
"Just one more question, Tara, I promise. Then no more for now, okay?"
She nodded.
"The judge tomorrow. What's the deal?"
"Because Patrick was born here, Carter and I have been working for a couple of years now to get a hearing for him to stay here with his legal guardians."
"What?"
"When he was born, I knew that the only way to protect him was to make Carter and Rachel his legal guardians. So I did. I listed his father as unknown and right after he was born, we got a lawyer and I made them Patrick's legal guardians. All I have to do is get Patrick up here. The hearing was based on the fact that Roman was abusing both of us and that Patrick's health and welfare were in danger."
"Was he?” Brett was vaguely aware that his fists were clenched in the bedcovers. A knot of fury wound its way into his stomach. The idea that a low-life punk like DeMarco would not only harm Tara, but his own son as well was almost more than his temper could handle.
"Days before the first hearing, nearly four years ago, Carter was in the hospital recovering from a gunshot wound. Rachel went to visit him one night and left us alone. Roman ... found us and ... and...” Her voice died out completely and she shut her eyes tight.
Brett knew she was replaying some terrible event over and over in her mind. He tried to take her hand, but she pulled away from him and buried her face in her hands, sobbing. “She's never forgiven herself for that, for leaving us alone."
Brett hugged her whether she wanted him to or not. He felt her arms sneak around him. She'd settled her wet face in the crook of his neck. She all but climbed into his lap, and he held her close and rocked her gently while she cried out the terror that had become her life that night. Brett was desperate to know exactly what else happened, but he didn't want to push her. Her nerves seemed too fragile right now. Gradually Tara calmed down long enough to finish reconstructing the events of that night. What he imagined was nothing like the end of the nightmare she described.
"There was a knock at the door. I thought Rachel forgot something she was going to take to Carter and she'd given me her key. So I opened the door expecting to find her. Roman and two of his thugs were there. They burst in. Roman grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into the living room. I remember screaming at Patrick to get out of the house and run to the neighbors, but it was too late. I heard footsteps upstairs. They went to his room and snatched him right out of bed. He fought them all the way. Kicking, screaming, ‘Mommy, Mommy, help me.’ But I couldn't. They were gone before I knew what was happening. I was alone with Roman. He told me he was going to teach me a lesson I'd never forget. That what happened to Carter was only a warning if I ever tried to send anyone after him or tried to take back Patrick. I hit him. I threw anything at him that wasn't nailed down. I fought like bloody hell. Then he started beating me. I must have lost consciousness, because when I woke up I was in the hospital. They ... they told me I'd been raped."
"Kerry?” Brett ventured a guess.
Tara nodded. “I wanted to get rid of the baby as soon as I knew, but by then I'd lost all hope I'd ever see Patrick again."
"You said what happened to Carter was only a warning. Was Roman DeMarco directly responsible?"
"We ... we're only going by what happened with Carter and Mike the night Carter was shot. Carter got an anonymous call about a warehouse full of drugs and guns. He and Mike went to check it out. They were ambushed, of course. The investigation that followed turned up the warehouse being leased by one of Roman's numbered companies. That's the kind of soulless monster he is. He sacrificed some of his own men just so he could send us all a warning about trying to take Patrick away from him. Those men died. And Carter almost. His career was gone. Roman succeeded in taking my son. And it was all for vengeance and spite, to prove he had power over me no matter where I was or what I did."
She turned tear-filled eyes on him. “Don't you see? That's why I don't want you to get involved. If Roman finds out he'll...” She paused to stifle a hiccupping sob. “He'll hurt you, too!” She buried her head in her hands and began to cry in earnest.
Brett folded her into his embrace. He tried to comfort her as best he could. “Shh, now. Don't worry. No one is going to hurt me. Or you. Or anyone. I promise.” And he meant it, he realized now, as held this trembling, fragile female in his arms. He knew she'd never believe him, not after what she'd been through. Still, she trusted him enough to tell him the truth behind her flight to freedom. The least he could do was assure her now that he was on her side.
"I'll take you to the judge myself first thing in the morning. We'll leave here this afternoon, and you and Kerry w
ill be eating supper together tonight. I can arrange to put you in a safe house for a while. Everything will be fine, Tara. You'll see."
He rocked her gently and soothed her fears. He realized then that it was more than sympathy that inspired his tenderness toward her. It didn't quite gel until a few moments ago when she'd fretted so fearfully for his life. With everything she'd been through, and the long road she had ahead of her, she didn't hesitate to concern herself over his safety. She cared. Not just about her children or her family. She cared about him. For that reason, it was hard to stay mad at her even when she did crazy-assed things like steal trucks and try to seduce him.
Brett glanced up and saw their reflection in the large mirror over the dresser, himself wrapped around her, protecting her from the evils outside the motel door. Lightning continued to light up the dark, morning sky. The storm rolled across the prairies. He listened to the rain pound the roof. It came to him then in a clap of thunder that she had one more crazy-assed trick to atone for.
Somehow, cool-cop, by-the-book, Constable Brett Sinclair had managed to fall in love with Tara Morgan.
CHAPTER 9
It was a silent, somber group who gathered outside the judge's chambers early Monday morning. Carter clearly looked uncomfortable in his suit. Rachel beside him looked very matronly in a gray coatdress. Brett thought Tara looked spectacular, if somewhat nervous. She wore a light peach-colored suit with a soft white blouse underneath. She looked more like a business executive than a wronged mother pleading her case. Only Kerry was above it all, her small, busy fingers alternating between clutching her mother's hand and Buster the Bear. She was giving her white patent shoes a doubtful inspection and shaking her middle to watch the eyelet frills of her netted slip slide under the hem of her pink cotton jumper. Brett tried to bolster everyone by telling the story of Tara's confusion about the magazine in the bathroom. Only Carter was amused.
At last they were called into the chambers of Judge Elsie Dixon. Both Carter and Brett took it as a good sign that the judge was a woman and therefore liable to be sympathetic to Tara's plight.
Short, plump Judge Dixon turned out not only to be sympathetic, but also no nonsense as she presided over the top of her bifocals. “It says here Miss Morgan that your divorce was final almost four years ago and that you were granted custody. Why isn't your son here in this court with you?"
"My son was taken from me by force by his father. I have a court order enabling me to full custody, but first I have to find him."
"And once you find him, you intend to bring him here to live in the country of his birth."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Miss Morgan, I am aware your son is a Canadian citizen. You, however, are not. I expect you will have to apply to immigration and be granted temporary landed status. The wheels of government tend to move slowly. Where and how will you live and who will care for the boy in the meantime?"
Carter stood and addressed the judge. “We will, your Honor. My wife is Miss Morgan's sister. We are the boy's aunt and uncle and his legal guardians."
The judge laced her fingers together and rested her hands on her desk. “I am aware of Miss Morgan's past difficulties, her unfortunate experiences with her ex-husband, and the apparent evidence of continuing abuse. Certainly the boy has a legal right to be here in this country, but I hesitate turning him over to his relatives with the issue of his mother's residency in question.” She turned to Tara. “I understand you have made living arrangements and will be employed by Mrs. O'Conner. But I received some information this morning which disturbs me greatly. And apparently from your detachment, Constable Sinclair. Am I to understand correctly, Miss Morgan, that you stole a truck?"
"Ah, perhaps I can clarify the misunderstanding, your Honor."
"Yes, Constable?"
"We borrowed the vehicle in question from a friend of mine after my own car became disabled."
The judge continued to peruse the papers on her desk. “And just how did your vehicle become disabled, Constable Sinclair?"
"Faulty wiring, your Honor."
"Miss Morgan, did you steal a car in Illinois?"
"No, ma'am. I rented a car which ran out of gas and I was forced to abandon it."
"Miss Morgan, has there ever been a crisis in your life that didn't involve an automobile?"
"I have decided that taking Winnipeg City Transit will be a far more economical way to travel, now that I will be living here."
"Very well. I am issuing temporary residency to you, Miss Morgan, on the grounds that you wish to establish a home for your two children, both of whom are Canadian citizens. I am also authorizing a federal court order for you to be able to travel to the United States for the purposes of recovering your son and that you be allowed to re-enter this country with him. You shall have complete cooperation with the Canadian consulate."
"And myself, your Honor. I have taken a personal interest in this case. You can be sure that I will keep an eye on her."
Judge Elsie cast a discerning look at Brett. “Very well, Constable. If you are willing to accept responsibility for Miss Morgan's behavior while on Canadian soil, then I leave the matter with you.” She turned and addressed Tara. “Best of luck to you, dear. And if you are successful, I'd like to see both you and the boy back here at a later date to determine your permanent status. This hearing is adjourned."
* * * *
"It seemed too easy,” Tara said later over lunch. Brett sat beside her, sipping a cola and devouring a club sandwich. Kerry pouted at being denied a hot dog and had to be coaxed to eat bits of her cut-up grilled cheese and then, only the persuasion of both Brett and Buster would make her open her mouth.
"You've got to loosen up Tara or you'll never get through the next week,” Rachel admonished through bites of her cheeseburger. “And for heaven's sake, eat some more of that pasta. You're far too thin. That suit just hangs on you. You'll lose your bust and then we'll have to hire another girl to model bras, which we can't afford!"
Tara looked at her own plate with distaste, then over at Rachel's. Rachel was eating like a horse, which she always did when she was upset about something. But for the life of her, Tara could never remember Rachel eating a hamburger with hot peppers and sliced beets yet! Rachel was the vegetarian-type as long as Tara could remember. And mayonnaise on fries? Tara just shook her head in astonishment.
But Rachel was right about one thing. Even Kerry was eating more than she was. “Listen everyone. I know you're trying to cheer me up, but I can't think of anything right now except Patrick.” She plucked the lunch napkin off her lap and laid it on the table. “I'll be right back.” Although her voice held a despondent tone, she bent and kissed her daughter's head and caressed her grimy, cheese-streaked face.
"I'm going with you,” declared Rachel and practically climbed over Carter who sat on the outside seat of their booth. “Brett, lift her out of that booster seat, will you? I'll take her with us and we'll hose her down. And, Carter, order me a milkshake please. Chocolate."
Brett handed the child to Rachel. Carter cast a doubtful glance at his wife's retreating back and shook his head. “I just don't know what's gotten into her lately. Eat and sleep. Sleep and eat. That's all she does."
Brett shrugged. “Don't look at me, I'm not even married."
When the women had gone, Brett was left alone with Carter. Carter raised his glass of beer and saluted Brett. “Thank you."
"For what?"
"For letting Tara keep her appointment today."
"She told me about Patrick and about ... some other things.” He watched Carter nod in understanding. The half-formed smile, that had been there a moment before, faded. Painful memories clouded the man's face. Brett tried to put himself in Carter's place, but couldn't. The only thing he could do was what any cop did. Hope and pray it never happened to him. But if it did, then at least to be as lucky as Carter O'Conner who still had his life, a way to earn a living and a wife who loved him enough to help see him through it.
And she had love to give. Her devotion to her children proved that. She loved them above all, enough to risk being apart from them if it meant someday giving them a better life. Now she had the court's blessing to do whatever legal means necessary to get her son back. Whatever happened now, he knew he had to be a part of it. He had to see her through it. He was in love with her. He was sure of it.
He raised his glass to answer Carter's salute. “So, what's our plan?"
"Our plan?” Carter's crooked smile was back. Then his face burst into a wide grin and Brett suspected he was going to say something that Brett wasn't going to like.
"She got to you, didn't she,” he exclaimed gleefully.
Brett wanted to wipe that I-told-you-so smirk off the man's face. “She needs help,” he defended. “I have an investment in her. Time, money, not to mention my car.” My job, he added silently. “Besides, you heard what the judge said. I have to keep an eye on her."
"Is that all?"
Carter was probing and Brett didn't like it. He sounded more like an overprotective father than a helpful brother-in-law.
"The rest is none of your business."
"As in you're not going to tell me what happened in that motel room. Okay. I'll accept that, for now. Just as long as Tara doesn't get hurt. Because when Tara gets hurt, then Rachel gets hurt. When Rachel gets hurt, I have to live with her."
"The plan,” Brett reminded him.