A Chance in the Night

by Kimberly Van Meter

  “That happen a lot?”

  “What do you think? I’m in a group home. They don’t put kids in places like that ’cause they’re living like Disney.”

  “It’s not so bad, is it? Living at the group home with Ms. Hutchins?” he asked.

  Mathias kicked at a pebble on the split sidewalk and watched as it clattered down the way until it hit a trash can with a loud clink. “It’s okay, I guess. Better than most. Better than the last that’s for sure,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “But it still sucks to live with a bunch of strangers with no privacy and stuff.”

  “Yeah, I remember what that’s like,” he shared, nodding. He’d spent a year bouncing from one foster home to another before he landed with Mama Jo. And some of those homes were downright criminal. There were too many people in the foster care system who were in it purely for the money…or worse. “So, how’d the visit with your mom go? Ms. Hutchins said you won’t talk about it. What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Mathias said too quickly and with a short scowl, hunching his shoulders ever so slightly as if trying to make himself disappear. Damn, Christian recognized that posture, too.

  “Same kind of nothing that broke your tooth?” he asked, keeping his gaze focused straight ahead, not breaking stride. “Was it your mom?”

  “No.”

  “A boyfriend?” When Mathias remained silent Christian knew the answer. He bit back a hard curse word. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Mathias answered, his young voice struggling to sound flippant but instead to Christian’s ears sounded thin and small. Someone had kicked this kid around. It was no wonder he split, choosing a group home he hated over home. “It’s no big deal.”

  “You got any other bruises?” When Mathias shook his head, Christian braced himself for the answer to his next question. “Has your mom’s boyfriend hurt you anywhere else?” God, what a shitty thing to have to ask a kid but he had to know.

  “He ain’t jacking me if that’s what you’re getting at,” Mathias said but there was a tremor of fear hiding under the anger. What Christian heard was, “maybe.” Or “if not yet, soon.” He wanted to snarl at someone. He’d have to say something to Sally about his suspicion. Mathias looked up at Christian, his tongue snaking out to touch the jagged tooth. “Is it real noticeable?” he asked.

  “A bit. That’s why you haven’t been talking to anyone, isn’t it?”

  Mathias glanced away. “Yeah.”

  “It needs to get fixed. The state will pay for a trip to the dentist.”

  “Yeah, but they’ll cover it with that silver stuff or something and I’ll look like a hood rat. I’d rather just leave it the way it is. It’s not as sharp as it was.”

  “How about this…let me talk to Ms. Hutchins. I’ll make sure you don’t get that silver amalgam.”

  Mathias eyed him with suspicion, plainly not accustomed to someone doing something for him or keeping their word about it. “How?”

  “Let me worry about that. Just promise me you’ll talk to Ms. Hutchins about what happened.”

  “I don’t know,” Mathias said, unsure.

  “Look, I know you’re trying to protect your mom. But you gotta look out for you, too. Your mom—if she was thinking straight—would want you to be safe, right?”

  Mathias nodded, then looked away but not before Christian saw the shine in his eyes. Yeah, he remembered how it felt to be sandwiched between loyalty and fear, unsure of who to trust and totally clueless as to how to change the circumstances. What Christian knew now that he didn’t know then was no kid had the power to change their parents, no matter how much they loved them. He had Mama Jo to thank for that revelation.

  They came up on the brownstone just as the last of the day’s milky sunlight gave way to darkness. The streetlamps popped on but the light didn’t reach far. Sally opened the door, exasperation pursing her lips as she ushered the boy inside. “Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?” she admonished, prompting a sincere apology on his part. Sally forgave him quickly, though, when she saw a difference in Mathias. “Go upstairs and get cleaned up, Mathias. Dinner is waiting. I’ll just be a few minutes with Christian.”

  Sally waited for Mathias to disappear upstairs for a quick scrub and then turned to Christian, her sharp gaze missing nothing. “What did he tell you?” she asked.

  “The mom’s boyfriend broke his front tooth,” he began and when Sally gasped, he continued with grim certainty. “And my gut instinct tells me the guy is more than just physically abusive. Mathias said he hasn’t touched him but…I’m not sure. Maybe you could check into it?”

  “Absolutely,” Sally said, her mouth softening with concern for her young charge. That’s what Mathias loved about Sally. She cared. She didn’t look at the boys in her care as just another dollar sign. Each line in her face was put there from the countless smiles she gave to each kid. Christian knew people like Sally were a rarity, like Mama Jo. “Thank you, Christian. For being there for Mathias,” she said softly, causing Christian to shift in his shoes.

  “I don’t mind. He’s a good kid,” he said, moving to the door.

  “Yes, he is. But he’s lucky to have you on his side.”

  Christian smiled around his own memories crowding him. “No, I think I’m the lucky one,” he said. Christian knew the difference a positive influence made on a kid teetering on the edge of despair and ruin. “So, listen, Mathias is worried that the dentist will use the silver amalgam for his tooth. I want to pay for the repair myself. Make sure the dentist matches his teeth perfectly. I don’t want the kid to have one more thing to worry about, you know?”

  Sally smiled kindly. “You’re a sweetheart. I will find out how much it will cost and then you can make a donation to the home. I will see to it that the money is used for his dentistry. Bless you, Christian.”

  Yeah…well, he didn’t know about that but it felt good to do something for the kid. Even if it was just a tooth.

  SKYE HAD ONLY JUST TUCKED NICO into bed when she heard her apartment door open. Her mouth tightened as a rush of impotent anger followed. She had no control over who came and went in her own home because it belonged to Belleni. And likely, it was either Belleni or Vivian who had arrived unannounced and uninvited.

  She closed Nico’s door with a gentle click and braced herself for whatever was coming next.

  As expected, Belleni was in her living room, making himself comfortable on her sofa. Although a smile wreathed his lips, his eyes were calculating, shrewd.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, nearly gagging on the false hospitality. How many times had she imagined watching him fall dead to the floor? In the past year, too many to count. But the man was irritatingly healthy and not likely to oblige her with a nicely timed heart attack any time soon. She went to the bar and pulled his favorite brandy.

  He accepted the snifter with a faint smile. “It’s nice to see you haven’t forgotten all your manners, darling,” he said, sipping at the Mendis coconut brandy that cost more than a thousand dollars a bottle. She never touched the stuff but Belleni insisted that all his top girls, as in the women he housed personally, keep it in stock just for him. “Now tell me why you persist on being difficult? Vivian tells me you have been exceedingly rude and petulant, particularly when it comes to Nico.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat but she revealed nothing. To show fear was to give him an added advantage. There was precious little she could control except herself so she clung to it like a bull terrier. “Vivian and I had a disagreement. Nothing more, nothing less,” she said with a shrug. “And as it turned out, everything was fine. The weather was beautiful and we had a great day at the park.”

  “She said you are adamant that Nico will not attend Excelsior.”

  “He’s four. He’s too young to even talk about it,” she said evasively, moving to sit as far from him as possible but he thwarted her intention by purposefully patting the cushion beside him. Her heart thudded painfully bu
t she didn’t disobey. Marinating in the revulsion she felt now, it was hard to remember a time when she’d thought he was the kindest, most amazing man she’d ever met. When she’d been vulnerable and lost, he’d appeared like a guardian angel, showering her with gentle affection, expensive gifts and wooing her with promises that he never planned to keep. She swallowed the lump that had risen but she forced a smile, which seemed to appease him a bit. “Belleni, I know you want the best for Nico but he needs me right now. There will be plenty of time to consider the possibility of a private boarding school when he’s of age to attend. Right now, with everything…I think he needs stability.”

  “Perhaps,” he mused, but she could tell he wasn’t really listening. He was toying with her. “Or perhaps it would do you both some good to be apart for a while…”

  “We’re already kept apart,” she reminded him tightly. “Don’t you think you’ve punished me enough by keeping him from me?”

  “A son should be with his father,” Belleni remarked absently, more interested in her breasts than the topic of conversation but she wasn’t about to let it slide.

  “Nico doesn’t even know you’re his father,” she said in a low tone so as not to disturb Nico. “To him you’re a stranger who just happens to live in the same house. And Vivian…” She could barely manage the woman’s name without revealing her hostility. “She terrorizes him with impunity. You do nothing to stop her from hurting him and at the very least you ought to protect him because he’s your only flesh and blood.”

  Belleni’s stare narrowed at her impassioned statement and she knew she’d pushed too hard. “Perhaps Nico should not stay here tonight. You seem over-wrought,” he said harshly. “Vivian is right, you should be resting.”

  No! She slid her tongue across lips that had gone numb and fought the rising panic that Belleni might force her to rouse Nico from his dreams to drag him crying back to that house where he went to sleep afraid each night because Vivian refused to allow the boy a nightlight in spite of the fact that he was terrified of the dark. She told Skye a boy with Belleni’s blood should fear nothing, least of all a few shadows. Then she’d accused Skye of coddling him.

  “I misspoke,” she whispered, choking down what she really wanted to say which was that she wished with the power of a thousand suns that Belleni would die a miserable death alone and afraid so that he could reap all the misery he’d sown his entire life. Tears pricked her eyes and she tried to hide it but Belleni sensed her pain and drank it like ambrosia. His finger caught her chin and pulled her to him. “Please, Belleni, don’t take my son from me. He’s so little…he needs me,” she heard herself plead, hating his power over her.

  He smiled, true pleasure reflecting in his eyes. His gaze traveled the planes of her face as hunger gathered in his cold stare. “I need you, my darling,” he murmured, sliding his finger down her neck to the valley of her breasts. “You intoxicate me. Even pregnancy did not dull your beauty. In fact, you bloomed like a winter rose in a hothouse garden whereas most wither and become ugly. Your body is still ripe and your breasts are still lush and firm,” he said, his breathing quickening, nauseating her, as his hand reached over to cup and knead the flesh through her shirt. Don’t touch me. I hate you. She closed her eyes against the feel of his hands on her body. His touch became impatient as he withdrew and gestured for her to undress. “It’s time we get reacquainted, my love,” he said, beginning to unbuckle his pants.

  “I—I can’t,” she stammered, surprising him with her refusal. She knew if he touched her again she’d scream. “The doctor said I can’t have any physical activity until my rib heals or…I could be down for another few weeks.”

  She drew faint satisfaction in watching his lust fade as his business sense took over. He grunted his displeasure but righted his pants with a glower. “I will see that pig who did this to you punished beyond his worst nightmare. Vincent gave him but a taste of what will happen next,” he promised, though she held no illusions he was making a grand gesture on her part. He was angry at being denied and he needed an outlet.

  She nodded and smiled her relief, which was genuine. “Thank you, Belleni,” she murmured, her voice shaking a little as the adrenaline drained from her body. It was only a brief reprieve, she knew, but it was something. Belleni went through periods where he couldn’t get enough of her and then he would abandon her and put her back in the stable, almost as if he were punishing her for his obsession. It would seem his desire for her and her alone had returned, and she would only be able to put him off for so long. But she’d take the short respite wherever she could find it.

  He climbed to his feet, adjusting his clothes with short, clipped movements, betraying his simmering agitation. “This fighting between you and Vivian must stop,” he advised her sternly. “I don’t have time to referee your silly arguments.”

  “She hates Nico,” Skye said, unable to hold her tongue. “Nothing she says comes from a pure place in her heart. How am I supposed to trust her around him?”

  Belleni was silent for a moment, then said with something that almost sounded like regret and she couldn’t help but stare. “It is difficult for her…the child. I will speak with her,” he added with a sigh. “But in the meantime, do not borrow trouble.”

  She murmured something appropriately dutiful yet she was the farthest from compliant in her mind. She felt the pressure of time weighing on her. Her escape route had been effectively cut off and as soon as Belleni felt she was well enough for sex, he’d return. Or he’d take Nico from her. She felt the threat hovering in the air, filling the corners with malice even if he hadn’t actually uttered the words. She knew how he operated. Belleni took what mattered most in the world for leverage. And Belleni knew nothing mattered more to her than her precious boy.

  As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, he smiled and said, “Bring the boy back to me tomorrow.”

  She gritted her teeth but nodded. “Of course.”

  Approval gleamed in his stare but he wasn’t quite finished. He cocked his head at her. “Aren’t you going to kiss me good-night, perhaps thank me for my generosity?” She swallowed the bile that rose and pasted a benign smile on her lips. As she crossed to him, he pulled her in tight, until her breasts rubbed against his chest and his breath mingled with hers. She forced herself to relax, to appear consensual. “That’s better,” he murmured. “Now tell me how happy and grateful you are.”

  “Belleni,” she protested softly, eager to get this over with. But his grip tightened and she inhaled sharply. Her cheeks burned as she repeated, “I’m happy and grateful.”

  “As you should be. Don’t forget it.”

  And then he released her, nearly pushing her away, as he turned and let himself out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHRISTIAN KEPT ROLLING Skye’s name on his tongue from the time he returned Mathias to the group home and entered his loft.

  Skye…what a perfect name for her, he mused until he realized with a start that he was beginning to think a little too much about her. He wanted to help her but he couldn’t start thinking of anything else with her. She was a fine woman, no doubt, hell, a woman like her went beyond the term “trophy wife” if she were of a mind to walk away from the sordid business that was her life but, the fact remained that he’d never be able to look beyond the actions of her past. At least he was straight up about it, he thought. Other men might string her along for the sex and the pleasure of her company until they tired of the game. He’d never do that to her. He’d never do that to anyone but he knew men who did and would.

  She hadn’t called. He wasn’t surprised. He went to his computer and searched her name on Google just to see what popped up. He found a few playbills with her name and a picture or two of her dressed in her tutu. She had that rare quality that seemed to blossom with maturity rather than fade. He clicked on an old bio and read it with interest. Small town girl moved to the big city when she was only eighteen, made prima ballerina at nineteen and her career was ov
er by twenty. He drew back, a furrow in his forehead. Man, that must’ve sucked. By the looks of it her star had shot into the sky only to plummet a short time later. He imagined that had to sting even to this day. Making a living in the arts was a tough gig. He knew the odds were against most people from the moment they started. Still, he wished Skye’s story had ended differently.

  He clicked past a few more links and found an agent contact for the ballerina Skye D’Lane. He drew back in his chair, cocking his head in thought. What if the agent still had a number for her? The chances were beyond slim but hey, weirder things had happened lately. He grabbed his cell and dialed the number.

  “Barry Friedman,” the guy on the other line said in a distinctive New Yorker accent.

  “My name is Christian Holt. You don’t know me but I’m looking for a former client of yours, Skye D’Lane.”

  “She’s out of the business,” he replied, sounding disinterested in furthering the conversation. “I heard she moved back to the cornfields of Idaho or Iowa. Something like that.”

  “Do you have a contact number for her?”

  “Surely you know she’s been out of the scene for the past five years?”

  “I know. Do you have a contact number or not?” he asked, irritated at the guy’s dismissive tone.

  He sighed on the other line. “So pushy.” The sound of papers shuffling, and then he returned, saying, “You’re in luck. I have a number. Now, what do you want her number for?”

  “I’m a huge fan,” he answered.

  “Not a stalker I hope.”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Well, she’s not my client so I’m no longer bound by client confidentiality. Here, knock yourself out.” He rattled off the number and Christian jotted it down. “Listen, if you see her, tell her no hard feelings. Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

  “Yeah sure.” Barry Friedman was a fount of empathy and compassion. “Thanks,” he said, and hung up, eager to get off the phone. Staring at the number he wondered if he ought to call her. It was one thing to acquire the means, quite another to actually put something into motion.