Sarah's Secrets

by Lisa Childs

  “The owner. He’s staying in an apartment in Traverse City right now when he’s not traveling.” She’d lived in the town twenty minutes away, too, before her husband’s fatal heart attack. Afterwards the house they’d shared had seemed too big and empty, especially for Jeremy. Knowing Winter Falls was a good place to raise a child, she’d wrestled her bad memories, buried her pride and returned to her hometown.

  He nodded. “Well, Evan bought last year’s security system.”

  “Of course…he built this house a year ago.” She wanted to remain in the hall, anywhere but near him. Yet, she needed to see what he saw. Her heels clicked as she crossed the floor to the patio doors. The scent of butterscotch wafted over her when he turned his head.

  “The pros have already figured out how to bypass last year’s security system.” He stared into her eyes, his intense.

  Her breath hitched. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s too late. I’m already scared. And I’m mad. And I’m confused. And I want answers!”

  He stepped back to lean wearily against the glass doors. “I’m not trying to scare you.”

  And perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps he was just telling the truth. Could she expect that from Dylan? Someone who cared about her might try to cushion the blow. But Royce Graham? What did he care about? This client who had brought him to Winter Falls?

  “So tell me exactly what happened at the parlor,” she urged.

  He rubbed his hand along his unshaven jaw. “I don’t know.”

  She expelled a ragged sigh of frustration. “I thought you were into telling it like it is.”

  He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I don’t know what it is, Sarah. I wish I did. It’d sure make things a lot simpler.”

  The next sigh to break the silence was his.

  She reached out, brushing her fingers across the tensed muscles of his forearm. “But you’re familiar with…”

  She couldn’t say crimes against children. Not when one of those children could be her son. And somehow she was reluctant to bring back what seemed like painful memories for Royce. Perhaps it wasn’t that he didn’t care about anything but that he cared too much.

  She let her fingers slide away, wishing she could shake off the wistfulness as quickly. She was pragmatic. She’d learned that at an early age. If a man acted as though he cared about nothing, he probably did.

  Like Jeremy’s father. He hadn’t been the wounded soul she had thought him. He hadn’t needed her youthful, healing touch. At least not after he had gotten her pregnant.

  “Sarah?”

  She glanced up and into those light-brown eyes. She wouldn’t believe they were filled with concern. She wouldn’t be that gullible again. “You know what it means,” she stated flatly, “that someone stole Jeremy’s medical records.”

  “And yours.”

  She nodded. “What does that mean?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. She could almost hear his internal debate.

  “Dylan should be the one to tell you.”

  “But he probably won’t because he’ll try to protect me. And I need to know.”

  Royce nodded. “There are no guarantees, but it could mean that someone was checking Jeremy’s medical history to see if he has any special needs. Meds, that type of thing.”

  Panic streaked through her stomach, churning it upside down. “So they’ll be prepared when they kidnap him.”

  Softly he answered, “Yes, probably.”

  Even whispered, the words shattered her. She shuddered.

  Royce jammed his hands in his pockets. “Sarah, we don’t know that for sure.”

  She jerked her chin up and down. “Yes, we do. The note. The medical records. And whatever happened at the parlor. Why would someone pay that kid to slash your tires?”

  Realization dawned with a renewed throbbing behind her eyes. “So you wouldn’t be able to follow them once they grabbed him.”

  Her knees weakened, threatening to fold beneath her. He reached out then, his hands on her shoulders all that held her up.

  “That’s why…so they could make a clean getaway.”

  His throat moved as he swallowed hard. “Sarah…”

  “Don’t try to spare my feelings now.”

  “Let’s not think about how they planned it. Let’s think about why.” His deep voice held the same desperation swirling in her heart and head.

  She shrugged, but his hands remained, the heat of them burning through the silk of her blouse. “I don’t know why. I can’t believe this is happening. It has to be some sick joke. You saw the townspeople. They don’t like me.”

  “But not liking a person and threatening her child…”

  She blinked away the first hint of tears. She wouldn’t cry in front of a stranger. She didn’t even cry in front of those few friends she had. “I don’t know, Royce. I have money. Maybe that’s all it’s about.”

  “Money?”

  She glanced up at the questioning tone. “Yes, if it’s not about revenge or jealousy, couldn’t it be simple, impersonal? Couldn’t it just be about money?”

  His eyes narrowed. “It could. But usually the targets for those type of kidnappings come from extremely affluent families.”

  She lifted a brow. “I thought you’d formed an opinion about me, Mr. Graham.”

  “A minute ago it was Royce.” He pulled his hands from her shoulders. But he didn’t lean against the patio doors again, his body was too tense.

  “You know I’m a widow. You never asked how my husband died.” Why hadn’t he asked more questions about her? Because he already knew the answers? She suppressed a shiver.

  He rubbed a hand along his unshaven jaw. “I know how. Old man with a bad ticker and a young wife. Heart attack.”

  Foreboding cold seeped so deep into her bones that rubbing her hands up and down her arms did nothing to dispel the chill. “It wasn’t like that. But how do you know that much?”

  His teeth flashed in a quick, unamused smile. “Small towns. People talk.”

  She nodded. People had always talked about that Sarah Mars. She knew that and hated it. “Why did you listen?”

  “Wouldn’t have made much sense to ask the questions if I didn’t listen to the answers.”

  She cleared the bitter taste of fear from her throat. “Why ask?”

  Drawing a butterscotch candy from his pocket, he toyed with the wrapper.

  “Want one?”

  “Not candy. Answers.”

  “I intended to wait until Dylan got here before I got into any of this.”

  Fear rose again. “Then maybe you should. And maybe you should wait outside until he does.”

  “Sarah, don’t be scared of me.”

  She eyed the panic button on the security panel. “I don’t like that someone I don’t know has been asking questions about me, not now, not when someone’s making threats to kidnap my son.”

  Hurt flashed in his eyes. “Not me. I would never harm a child.”

  He dragged in a deep breath. “You know what I used to do for a living and what I do now. You know I’m a friend of your son’s uncle.”

  She nodded, unable to argue his friendship with Dylan, the easy camaraderie between them. And something more. Respect. Dylan respected this man. Most of the world respected this man. She released the breath she’d been holding, but some of the fear remained.

  He popped the hard candy into his mouth. “I don’t quite understand that connection. You’re not Dylan’s sister. And your last name and his are different.”

  “Since you’ve been asking questions, I’m sure you already know that I was never married to Dylan’s brother, Jeremy’s father.”

  “I didn’t know that. You don’t consider him a suspect?” he asked.

  “I think being dead would make it a little difficult for him to be behind this threat. Jimmy died before Jeremy was born.” She bristled, anger sweeping away the last of her fear. “Not that my life is any of your business. I want to know why you’ve been
asking about me.”

  “Because you’re the reason I came to Winter Falls.”

  Stunned, she swayed on her heels.

  “Are you all right?”

  She wasn’t all right. Hadn’t been since this afternoon when her world had fallen apart. She lifted her hand and inspected the red spot on her finger where she’d pulled out the sliver early that afternoon. She’d thought that was the low point of her day—until she’d found the note threatening her son.

  Until Royce Graham had come to Winter Falls. For her.

  He leaned close, taking her hand in his. “You’re hurt.” His breath washed over her skin, raising disturbing tingles of awareness.

  She tugged free and stepped back, gaining some breathing distance between them. “No, I’m confused. Why did you come here looking for me?”

  “Because someone I care very much about asked me to find you.”

  “Your non-paying client.” At the parlor, he’d told her his trip to Winter Falls was personal. She hadn’t guessed how personal. To her.

  “My father’s business partner and best friend. My godfather.” A wealth of emotion deepened his husky voice on those last two words.

  She shook her head, her hair tickling her cheek and neck. “I don’t understand why he wants to see me.”

  Royce lifted a broad shoulder and let it drop. “Bart didn’t say.”

  “Bart?”

  “Bartholomew McCarthy.”

  She searched her memory, but the name didn’t strike any chords, not the way Royce’s had. “I don’t know him.”

  “He knows you, and he wants to see you, Sarah.” And from his determined tone, Royce would do his damnedest to precipitate a meeting between them.

  “So ask him why.”

  The candy crunched between his teeth. “I can’t. He’s in a coma.”

  She closed her eyes, shutting out his serious face and the naked pain in his pale eyes. She had no time for him, no time for his mission. She had one of her own. To keep her son safe.

  “My son might be in danger. That’s all I can think about now. Jeremy is my total focus. I don’t have time for anything else. I’m sorry if that sounds selfish, but for a lot of years it’s been just Jeremy and me.”

  And if something happened to him… No, she couldn’t even entertain such a horrific notion. He was her life. Without him…

  “You offered to help Dylan’s wife.”

  She shook her head. “I wanted to offer. I feel horrible that I can’t, but Jeremy…”

  She dragged in a deep breath. “That note, what happened at the parlor, this all has to be just someone’s sick idea of a joke. I can’t believe that anyone would really want to threaten Jeremy.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  She couldn’t mistake the sincerity in his deep voice. Royce Graham did care about something. Kids. And this man named Bart McCarthy.

  She nodded, accepting his concern.

  “And I hope it has nothing to do with whatever Bart wants to tell you…”

  “What?”

  He sighed and pushed a hand through his overly long hair. “I’d like to think it’s just a coincidence that this all started as soon as I arrived in town. But I stopped believing in coincidence long ago.”

  Her pulse tripped. “So you are involved?”

  “God, I hope not!”

  The same panic she’d felt when she’d found that note stole over her again. “Leave! Leave this house! Leave Winter Falls! Now!”

  He winced and shook his head. “I can’t, Sarah, not without you.”

  “If you think I’m going anywhere with—”

  “Milwaukee.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  He sighed and closed his eyes, thick lashes lying over the dark circles beneath them. “No, I’m desperate. He’s dying, Sarah. And his last wish is to see you.”

  HE LEFT HER ALONE for a while. If he had any decency, he’d leave her alone forever and return to Milwaukee without her. But Royce had made a promise, decency be damned.

  Due to an ache in his shoulder blade, he shifted against the front wall, the brick biting through his knit shirt. The early-evening wind rippled through the fresh, new leaves, but no car motors carried on the breeze. Where was Dylan? Could his friend convince her to trust him?

  But with the threats against the boy coinciding with his arrival, Royce didn’t trust himself anymore. Who had followed him to her?

  Behind him the door opened, the trill of a ringing phone carrying outside behind the lanky body of the kid. “Did you rat me out?”

  Despite his burdens and his aversion to children, he found himself grinning. “I’m no stinkin’ rat.”

  “Funny. Did you?”

  “About what?”

  The kid’s face reddened from more than a spring day’s sunburn. “You know.”

  “You told me you weren’t smoking. Did you lie to me?” The echo of his father’s stern voice in his question had Royce wincing.

  The kid straightened. “No, sir.”

  “Then there’s nothing to tell your mother.”

  “Thanks. You know how mothers get.”

  No, he didn’t. He’d dealt with some mothers in the course of his work, but from a kid’s standpoint, he knew nothing about mothers. He knew about women like his mother. Women like Sarah who married older, wealthy men.

  She’d betrayed nothing when he’d said Bart’s name. No flicker of recognition. Could it be that she really didn’t know him? That she had nothing to gain by visiting the dying man but everything to lose?

  Her son.

  How could he ask her to choose between the two? Peace of mind for one or safety for the other.

  Through the thick wood door Sarah’s scream penetrated. “Jeremy! Jeremy!”

  The boy shot him an accusing glance then threw open the door. “Mom! I’m right here, with Mr. Graham.”

  Her heels tapped a frantic rhythm down the hall, and she wrapped her arms tight around her boy. “Okay, okay…”

  But the words were more than an assurance to her son. She chanted them to soothe her obviously frayed nerves.

  “Mom? What’s going on?”

  The transformation Royce had witnessed at the park happened again as she pulled on her mask of composure. “Nothing. Nothing. Go wash your hands. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  The boy hesitated, studying her face intently.

  “Go! Upstairs!”

  With a questioning glance in Royce’s direction, he darted toward the stainless-steel stairs in the two-story great room.

  He waited until the boy’s footsteps pounded on the second-floor landing. “Sarah—”

  “The note wasn’t enough…” Sobs choked her voice, but she steadied it with a visible effort. “They called.”

  “What?”

  “The kidnappers called. They want me to have the money ready because next time…next time they’ll get him. They’ll get my son, Royce!”

  He wanted to offer her promises. But he knew firsthand how empty they were. All he could do was en-fold her trembling body in his arms and hold her while she wept tears of frustration and fear.

  And he had no answer for the one-word question she whispered again and again, her soft lips moving against his throat. “Why? Why?”

  Chapter Four

  With a slightly steadier hand, Sarah replaced the receiver on the phone in the den. Earlier that day she had vowed to learn from her mistakes and plan ahead. But she hoped her fervent prayers would be answered, and the planning would prove unnecessary.

  Ever since the would-be kidnapper’s call, she hadn’t stopped praying or trembling. What small comfort she’d found in Royce Graham’s arms had been stolen when he’d asked her to repeat exactly what the kidnappers had told her.

  That was when she’d remembered that he’d been mentioned…by name, or nickname, at least. The last of the request for money had been for him. “Tell the Tracker he won’t get in our way…again…” Like he had at the ice cream parlor.
>
  The words had visibly shaken him as much as they had her. His tanned skin had blanched, and he’d set her away from him, his hands unsteady on her shoulders.

  And damn her weak soul, she’d missed the warmth and comfort of his strong embrace. “Royce…”

  And she’d reached for him again.

  His response? “Call Dylan. I’m going to check the perimeters.”

  And he’d walked away from her. No more questions. No more comfort.

  She’d appreciated that. Really. Alone, she’d had to pull herself together. She’d had to take action.

  She slid her fingers from the phone across the polished mahogany surface of the desk. The borrowed desk. The borrowed den. The borrowed house. Her son was all that was hers. And he was threatened.

  “Mom?”

  She lifted her gaze to where he stood in the doorway, rocking nervously from one long foot to the other. His golden hair gleamed next to the dark paneled walls. His bright-blue eyes overflowed with questions, and he would expect answers.

  Despite being only twelve in years, he was so much older in maturity…on some levels. On others, he was still her baby boy. She resisted the urge to rush to him and drag him into her arms again. “Jeremy, dinner’s not ready quite yet…”

  “Mom, where’s Mr. Graham?”

  She expelled a soft sigh of relief. An easy question. “He’s outside.”

  “I know who he is, Mom.”

  She nodded. “Of course, you do. He’s your Uncle Dylan’s friend.”

  “He’s that FBI agent.”

  “Yes, they told you he had been before he became a private investigator—”

  “No, Mom. I’m not stupid. He’s that FBI agent. The one who’s famous for…”

  His breath caught, and he bounced from one foot to the other again. “He’s famous for finding kids that were kidnapped.”

  She pushed the leather chair back from the desk and stood, legs trembling. “Jeremy…”

  “I’m not stupid, Mom!”

  “Nobody said…nobody thought…”

  “You aren’t acting this way because of volunteering at the hospital today. Sick kids haven’t made you this—”

  “Jeremy!”

  Tears surfaced in his bright eyes, but he blinked them back, lashes madly batting them away. Pride. He was filled with it.