by Lucia Sinn
John was waiting at the entrance when they arrived. At the sight of him, she felt a surge of relief.
“How did you know I was coming?” she asked. She had never seen him look so distraught. His olive skin, normally robust and full of color, was a strange shade of pale green beneath a stubble of beard, and his dark eyes were ringed with shadow.
“McAuliffe called,” he said. “Thank God you’re alive.”
An orderly wheeled her into an exam room, and a nurse helped remove her clothes, replaced by a thin cotton gown. X-rays were taken. John came in and sat beside her while an ER doctor prodded and pressed every soft spot on her body, apparently not finding anything alarming.
When they were alone, John bent to kiss her forehead. “This is all my fault. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you run off like that.”
Cara pressed her hand against his chest and felt the pounding of his heart. “It was meant to be,” she said. “If I hadn’t come back to town this afternoon, I wouldn’t have seen Doug. Have they found them yet?”
John tilted his head, massaging his throat. “No, and it worries me, having a killer on the loose like that. There’s an Amber Alert, of course, and road blocks everywhere.”
“How could he have slipped away so quickly?”
“From what I’ve heard, he had at least an hour before you called the police. That’s enough time to get a long way away.”
“Damn, I shouldn’t have waited for those two to finish up.”
“Finish what?”
Cara remembered her promise. She suppressed a pang of guilt at lying to John, but she had given the lovers her word. “There were a couple of old guys out fishing in the lake,” she continued. “But I waited a while to flag them down, thinking Tim might be hanging around with his pistol in hand. I should have known he’d be smart enough to get on the road as soon as possible.”
“You did the right thing, Cara. Protecting yourself and those men.”
“I suppose it’s been on the news?”
“Yes, you’re being given a lot of credit for finding Doug and clawing your way out of a death trap.”
“So, I’m redeemed, temporarily. Finally getting some good press. Have they found out anything else about this Tim?”
“He’s thirty five years old. Not married. No criminal record. Lives with his mother in a house up the road from where they held you.”
“What does she have to say about all this?”
“Says Tim would never do such a thing. That you’re making it all up. “
“Well, naturally. But the point is, Tim’s gone. That should be proof enough he’s involved.”
John leaned over and took her hand in his, covering it with his warmth. “I hope this is the last time you do a favor for Tony Cabella. And before you say a word, it’s not because I’m jealous. Well, actually, I am—or was. But after the way they turned on you and practically blamed you for Doug’s disappearance, I hope you’ve learned a lesson.”
“I agree,” Cara said. “That was rotten.” And yet, even as she said the words, all she could think of was Angie’s small hand grasping hers on the way to the bathroom, and her shy, sweet smile. The child has touched her heart in some deep and abiding way, and nothing her father had done was going to change that feeling.
“All right, now that we’ve settled that, I have some good news. I’ve talked them into discharging you—into my care, of course.”
At that moment, a nurse came into their room. “I hate to tell you this,” she said. “But there are two television trucks outside, along with a reporter from the Lewiston Star, and a photographer. They asked if they could talk to you.”
John shot up from his chair. “I don’t believe this. How did they even know she was here? I thought we enforced patient privacy rules.”
“They probably heard about it over the police scanner.”
Cara felt her face stiffen as bad memories flooded her brain. Her picture had been all over the media last year, with headlines holding her responsible for the salmonella poisoning of thirteen patients. And even though it was later found that the outbreak came from contaminated cantaloupes, she knew there would always be people who believed it was her fault. “Please, no media,” she said.
“We’ll go out a back way,” John said.
“There’s someone else someone else asking if she can see you,” the nurse said.
“She?” Cara wondered if Lydia had come up from downstairs. But somehow, she didn’t think Lydia would want to intrude on her privacy. “Who is it?” she asked.
“Mrs. Cabella.”
“My God, I haven’t seen Tony’s mother for ten years. What could she possibly want with me?” Cara’s heart raced at the thought of this woman who’d so emphatically opposed their relationship.
“Well, naturally, she’s worried about her son. She wants to hear what happened, how he was holding up.”
Cara’s brain went on overload for a few seconds; then it hit her. Tony’s wife would, of course, be Mrs. Cabella. Gail. The very same woman who had complained on television that Cara hadn’t taken good care of her son. She gripped John’s hand. “I don’t know if I’m ready for a chewing out from Doug’s mother.”
The nurse gave John a helpless look. “What am I supposed to do now? The Cabella’s have done so much for the hospital. I sure don’t want them complaining about me to administration.”
“All right, then,” John said. “I’ll go out and tell her myself that Cara isn’t available. That’ll take you off the hook.”
“Wait a minute,” Cara said. “Sooner or later, she’s going to confront me. I think maybe I’d rather see her now, with you beside me and all the nurses hovering around, than worry about her showing up at my office or my house unexpectedly. I may as well get it over with.”
The nurse wiped her forehead in relief, and left the room to get Gail.
“You don’t have to do this,” John said, “after all you’ve been through.”
“I’m not going to take any of her crap,” Cara said. “Don’t worry, if she’s starts in on me, I’ll…”
“You’ll do nothing. I, personally, will kick her out of here if she blames you.”
Cara finger combed her hair, aware that she looked about as glamorous as a bag lady. She wasn’t at all in the mood for the beauteous Gail. “Send her in.” she said.
For the first time since Cara had met Gail, her legs were covered. She wore black slacks and a white cotton blouse that billowed out over her hips, making her appear smaller, lost in its folds. Her suntanned skin looked sallow against red rimmed eyes, and her chewed lips looked dry and colorless without her usual bright lipstick.
Gail’s eyes filled with tears. “You saw my baby, how was he?”
“He was fine. He wasn’t being mistreated, and he was even out playing basketball with this Tim person.”
“So he’s not in a whole lot of danger, you don’t think?”
Cara closed her eyes, groping for words of comfort. She thought of saying that Tim wasn’t very bright, and wouldn’t be able to outwit the police. But she had learned the hard way that his demeanor was deceiving. He was cunning and street smart and Cara had no doubt he would kill Doug in a heartbeat if it suited his purposes.
Cara tried to say something positive, without giving false hope. “I understand there’s an Amber Alert, so they should find them soon. Anyone could spot a tall blond boy in a red shirt. And I gave McAuliffe a good description of Tim.”
“I can’t imagine why Doug trusted this guy enough to run off with him.”
“No, I can’t either.” Cara could have told Gail that Doug had said he was unhappy at the Cabella house, but that would only make Gail feel guilty. Didn’t parents have a right to make mistakes?
“I want to apologize,” Gail said. “I should never have said what I did on the television. I was upset, and it wasn’t fair to blame you for what happened.”
Cara said. “I know you were under a lot of stress.”
Ga
il paced back and forth, wringing her hands. “I’ve been stressed out ever since Tony and I were married.”
Cara and John locked eyes. Why in the world was Gail saying such a thing now, at this time and place?
Cara tried to brush off her comment. “I’m sure it was a culture shock, moving here from California.”
Gail shook her head. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Actually, I like the changing seasons, and Tony and I take a lot of trips. It’s his family, mainly his mother. She doesn’t like me at all, and she makes it very clear. “
So old Mrs. Cabella hadn’t changed a bit. Cara smiled. “Well, if it’s any comfort, she didn’t like me either.”
“Yes, but you weren’t taking care of her diabetic grandchild. Either she or Tony’s sister, Janie, are in my house every single day, babying Angie, criticizing everything I do, treating Doug like he’s invisible.”
“It will all work out,” Cara said, although she wasn’t really sure it would.
Gail exhaled a shaky breath. “Look, I know you need your rest, so I’ll leave. But I felt so terrible when I heard what happened, I had to come and apologize for my behavior, and thank you for trying to find my son.”
“We’ll keep in touch,” Cara said, avoiding the look of disapproval on John’s face.
When she was out of ear shot, she turned to him. “What did you think of all that?”
“I have to give her credit for coming here,” John said. “But as far as keeping in touch, I can’t see where that would be a good idea. You don’t owe the Cabellas a thing. Now, about your clothes. Everything you had on was wet and dirty, so I asked one of the volunteers to go out and find you something to wear. If you don’t mind jeans and a T-shirt from Wal-Mart, I’ll wait while you get dressed. We’re going home.”
Cara swallowed past the lump in her throat while hot tears spilled from her eyes.
John’s voice rose in alarm. “What is it Cara? Don’t you want to come?”
“Of course I do. But there were several hours today when I thought I’d never see you or the farm again.” She held out her hand. “Please, hand me a Kleenex. I can’t believe I’m crying now. I thought I’d been pretty tough.”
“You’re a strong woman, Cara. I have to admit, I didn’t know you had it in you to go after a kidnapper and outwit his attempt to murder you.”
“I guess you never know until you’ve been tested,” Cara said. “But it pisses me off that Tim is still out there. I won’t be satisfied until he’s sitting in a jail cell and Doug is safe.”
“That’s kind of you, to care about a boy who’s been nothing a pain in the ass to everyone.”
“My opinion of Doug has changed, somewhat. I hope I’m not wrong.” Cara said.
Late that afternoon, John and Cara reunited in the sweet way that lovers often do after a major quarrel. John insisted she should have homemade soup. While she rested upstairs in his feather bed, he stirred up a pot of rich, creamy chicken and noodles with bits of carrot and celery, and sprinkled with fresh parsley.
He offered to bring her up a tray, but she wasn’t about to let him ease his guilty conscience by allowing him treat her like an invalid. She eased her way downstairs, grimacing as each step summoned up a new ache or pain.
Outside the kitchen window, they watched a brilliant sunset slipping behind the tree row down by the creek, with streaks of pink and orange stretched out across a violet sky. But John vetoed eating on the deck, saying the chilly air wouldn’t be good for a person who’d narrowly escaped a drowning.
They sat at the old oak dining room table where his grandmother’s three pronged candelabra, dripping with crystals, cast a soft glow over the gleaming china soup bowls. He poured chilled Chardonnay with a fancy label into old fashioned wine glasses. Flickering shadows danced on the walls.
“This is very romantic, but it’s somewhat disheartening,” Cara teased. “I’m a dietitian, and you’re a better cook than I am.”
“Your culinary skills aren’t what attracted me,” he said.
Later, John was gentle when making love to her, although the adrenalin surge from the day’s brush with death had left Cara’s nerve endings on fire, craving him.
And yet, long after John was breathing steadily in a peaceful sleep, she lay staring at the ceiling. Tim’s pockmarked face floated in and out of her consciousness; along with the chilling sound of his voice “Bye, honey.”
He had wanted her to die. What would happen when he discovered she was alive?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ERIC KRUEGER
ERIC HAD DRIVEN past the old Spanish lighthouse at the end of Port Isabel and was approaching the causeway to South Padre Island when he got the call.
He recognized the number—one he knew well. Looking out over the shimmering expanse of turquoise water and the tall pale high rises curving around the Laguna Madre, he debated about answering at all. His father had no patience with Eric’s passion for surfboarding, and there was always the danger that it could affect his monthly stipend if it looked like he wasn’t at least trying to do something useful.
Right now, he was supposed to be in Austin, doing a gig. But he’d been dropped from his latest group last week, the reason being that he’d showed up late for rehearsal and they said he’d played off key. He also had the feeling they wanted a younger man on bass.
The phone rang for the third time. Well, he didn’t have to tell them where he was. He picked up.
“Eric? It’s Hazel.” John Krueger’s secretary was tough and frisky as the rodeo rider she once had been. With muscular arms and legs too short for her long body, she wore swirling skirts, fringed blouses, and changed hair color every other week. She’d worked for the Krueger Corporation for twenty-five years and, Eric suspected, still slept with the boss on occasion. “Where are you?” she asked.
“I’m on my way to the ranch,” he lied. Actually, he’d passed the Circle K about one hundred miles back. But he was close enough to get back there if the situation demanded.
He heard Hazel inhale sharply; could almost see the smoke rolling out of her nostrils. “We’ve got trouble,” she said. “It’s about Doug.”
Eric slammed on his brakes, nearly rear ending an RV from Nebraska. “What’s up?” Eric hoped it was something bad, which would be good. Then maybe Gail would let the kid come back home where he belonged.
“The police aren’t sure if he’s run away with some bums or been kidnapped.”
“When did you find out?”
“Gail called a few minutes ago. She thought maybe he’d gotten in touch with you.”
The family had wanted Eric to get at least partial custody, but Gail had gone to court saying he was unstable, and had the records to prove it: some DUI’s, and several stints in rehab. No matter that Doug was a Krueger, and would have been well taken care of if he’d stayed in Houston. And he wouldn’t have to put up with a step family. “I haven’t heard from Doug in about a week,” he said. “Where was he when this happened?”
“He disappeared from a McDonald’s in broad daylight. The place is right across from the courthouse and there were cops everywhere.”
“Where the hell was Gail?”
“She wasn’t there; he was with a family friend.”
“He’s probably just run away again, like last summer.” Eric exhaled in relief. What better proof could they have that Gail wasn’t a good mother? “How’s she handling this?” he asked.
“How do you think? Gail’s a wreck.”
“Has anyone called about ransom?”
“Not a word. Now look, Eric. You call Gail right away and find out what’s going on. It’s been on the local TV in Lewiston, but so far, the Indianapolis media hasn’t got wind of it. This Tony Cabellas’s a big duck in a little puddle. But if someone finds out who Doug’s grand dad is, the stakes are going to be a lot higher. Doug will be in serious danger.”
“Where is good old Dad?”
“He’s in Frankfort. They’re putting together a big
real estate deal.”
“Too busy to talk to me?”
“Now, Eric, stop. He's just trying to protect the family assets, and the rest of the grandkids. He wants this handled privately.”
“No embarrassing publicity, right? Doesn’t want anyone to know his son’s a loser.” In a family of high achievers—people who prided themselves on living up to their heritage, Eric was tolerated but not respected. At holiday dinners and family events, the conversations circled over his head as if he were a small child seated in a youth chair at the end of the table. It had gotten worse when Gail left him.
“This is not the time for that, Eric.” Hazel’s voice was like a spur in his butt.
“You’ll be at the ranch tonight, right?”
He decided to tell her the truth. “I’ll be there in a couple of days. Right now, I’m at South Padre.”
“What happened to Austin?”
Eric had turned right and was approaching the Gulf of Mexico. “Gig got canceled. Just decided to do a little surfing.”
“Fine, but first call Gail. Hear?”
“Sure, I’ll let you know if he’s turned up. And Hazel, don’t tell Dad where I am.”
Eric turned off his phone and threw it on the seat beside him. He parked near a large wooden beach shelter, which today was empty of the usual picnickers from the RV park nearby. When the wind was over 20 mph, sand scratched your eyes if you faced it, and threw off your balance when it was at your back. Then the beachcombers scurried home and the surfers took over. Beyond the shelter, he spotted several guys bobbing up and down between the mammoth waves. Eric knew that most of them were young, probably in their twenties.
At thirty-five, he was a bit old to be taking up the sport. But it was the only thing that worked for him right now. The litany of drugs the doctors had prescribed over the years for his dysthymic disorder had lost their potency. Alcohol offered temporary relief and left him more depressed than ever. And when Gail dumped him for Tony Cabella, he’d known that sexually, he was a dud. Nothing gave him a high like riding the waves. It was the one thing he hadn’t failed at—yet.