"She's fine," Liz said hastily. "She's just stranded. Her car won't start."
"It's a wonder that thing ever starts." Sam relaxed back in his chair. He tuned out the bustle around him with practiced ease. Nearly fifteen years on the job had given him the ability to concentrate on the matter at hand, regardless of what was going on around him.
"That's what Bill says. But Barney is more reliable than he looks."
"Barney?" Sam's eyebrows rose. Barney who?
"Nikki's car. Michael named him."
"The car has a name?" That rolling junk pile is named Barney? "Isn't there a puppet or something named Barney?"
"A dinosaur. The most irritatingly happy creature you've ever seen. He's purple. Nikki's car is purple."
"So your son named the car Barney," Sam finished for her.
"Children aren't always as imaginative as they're cracked up to be," Liz said dryly. "Anyway, Barney has the croup, and Nikki's stuck for a ride.1 She called me and I told her Bill would pick her up, but it turns out Bill's working late tonight, and I really don't want her there after dark."
"Want her where?" It seemed as if he'd spent most of the conversation asking questions.
"At Rainbow Place," Liz said, sounding surprised that he had to ask.
"Of course." What the hell was Rainbow Place? A shopping mall? A restaurant? And why would Liz assume that he'd know what it was?
"I was hoping you might be able to pick her up. If you can't, I'm sure she can get a cab."
Sam glanced at his watch. He'd put in a good ten hours and there was nothing urgent pending—at least, no more than there usually was.
"I'll pick her up. Can you give me the address? I don't have it handy." Which was true enough, since he didn't have it at all.
"I have it right here."
Sam's brows shot up at the address she was giving him. He suddenly understood Liz's concern about Nikki being there after dark. He wasn't sure he wanted to be there after dark. So what was Nicole Beauvisage Walker, pampered rich girl, doing in a neighborhood like that?
"I know Nikki will appreciate this, Sam," Liz said, obviously relieved to have the problem solved.
"No problem."
He hung up the phone and stared at the address scribbled on the outside of a fast-food bag that had been lying on his desk. What was Rainbow Place? And what was his wife doing there? There was one way to find out. He got up and reached for the coat draped over the back of his chair.
Half an hour later, he pulled the Bronco up to the curb in front of the address Liz had given him. There had to be a mistake. This couldn't be the right address. But painted across the front of the building, in bright, crayon colors were the words Rainbow Place, complete with rainbow arcing across the wall.
Sam shut off the engine and got out, careful to lock the truck. The neighborhood wasn't as bad as he'd expected it to be, a small pocket of tattered respectability in the midst of urban blight. The houses nearby were shabby but neat-it was obvious that the occupants might not have much money, but they hadn't stopped caring about their homes.
He stopped in front of the tall chain-link fence that surrounded Rainbow Place and studied the assortment of playground equipment that filled the small yard. The fence itself had been painted in a variety of bright colors, which made it look a little less starkly functional. The scene was bright and welcoming. And completely bewildering.
A nursery school? What was Nikki doing at a nursery school?
The gate was locked, but there was a bell with a hand-lettered sign that read Ring Me. Sam took the suggestion and pressed his finger on the bell. A moment later, the door of the house opened and a slender young African-American woman came out. She stopped on the other side of the fence and eyed him suspiciously. Seeing her up close, Sam realized she was younger than he'd thought—probably not more than seventeen or eighteen.
"We don't allow solicitors," she told him firmly.
"I'm not a solicitor. I'm here to pick up Nikki. I'm her husband." It struck him that the words came more easily than he might have expected. More than he'd have liked?
"Nikki doesn't have a husband," the girl said flatly.
Obviously Nikki hadn't felt it necessary to tell everyone in her life about her marriage. Sam was surprised by the sharp little pinch of annoyance he felt.
"Yes she does, and I'm it." He tried a smile and got nothing but a cool look in response. "How about if you tell her I'm here and we'll see if she admits to knowing me?"
"What name shall I give her?"
He thought of pointing out that it was unlikely Nikki had more than one husband, but remembered that even that was under dispute. "Sam Walker."
"Wait here."
"I'm not planning on scaling the fence," he muttered as she turned and walked back up the path.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket and hunched his shoulders a little against the chill in the air. Thick gray clouds hovered overhead, blocking the late afternoon sun. Rain was predicted sometime before midnight.
But Sam wasn't concerned with the weather, present or future. He kept looking at the cheerful playground and the brightly painted stucco building. Just where did Nikki fit into this picture?
A few minutes later, the teenager returned. "Nikki says you can come in," she told him. Her expression was slightly more welcoming than it had been before his identity had been confirmed. "I'm Jade Freeman. I'm sorry about making you wait, but Nikki hadn't told us about getting married."
"We've only been married a little while." Sam stepped through the gate, waiting while she relocked it.
"Still seems odd she didn't say anything."
It seemed odd to him, too, but he couldn't say as much. He smiled and tried to look unconcerned. The look Jade gave him suggested she was wondering if Nikki had had a reason for concealing his existence. Under other circumstances, Sam might have been tempted to drag his knuckles on the ground and maybe drool a little to confirm her obvious suspicions, but at the moment he was more interested in finding out what Nikki was up to.
Jade pushed open the front door, which was painted an eye-searing shade of pink, and led him into a narrow front hall. The walls were a soft white, the better to show off the rows of crayon drawings and finger-painted masterpieces that covered them like one-of-a-kind wallpaper.
"Nikki said you could wait in the office," Jade told him.
Sam glanced through the door at the tiny room, which was nearly filled by a bartered wooden desk. A personal computer and stacks of paper concealed its surface. There were more examples of children's artwork tacked to the walls and several boxes of disposable diapers stacked in one corner.
"Where's Nikki?" he asked.
Jade had already started to walk away, but she turned back at his question. "She's with the children, but she said you should wait here."
"I'd like to see her, please." Seeing the refusal in her expression, Sam tried a coaxing smile. "I gave up devouring small children years ago."
There was a flicker of humor in her dark eyes. "Found a new hobby, did you?"
"Hanging by my heels from rafters."
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "We don't have any rafters handy."
"Then you don't have anything to worry about."
She studied him a moment longer, and then, with a half shrug, turned away. It wasn't exactly the warmest invitation Sam had ever had, but he wasn't complaining. He heard Nikki's voice even before Jade stopped in the doorway of another room. She looked over her shoulder and put her finger to her lips.
The warning was unnecessary. Sam didn't think he could have found his voice if his life depended on it. There were a dozen children in the room, ranging in age from toddlers to perhaps five-year-olds. They were sprawled on the floor or seated in child-size chairs, their attention firmly directed toward the woman sitting cross-legged on the floor at the front of the room.
Sam found his own attention similarly riveted. This was a Nikki he'd never seen, never even imagined. She was wea
ring a pair of faded jeans and a jade green cotton shirt, both decorated with assorted smears, courtesy of over-exuberant young artists. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, but a few pale gold tendrils had escaped confinement and lay against her forehead and neck.
This was not the woman he'd married. That woman wore silk suits, tailored trousers and impeccable makeup. She didn't wear jeans and sneakers and have a smear of red paint along her jawline. And she didn't sit on floors, reading to a group of fascinated children.
While Sam was staring at her, the story came to an end. Immediately, young voices were raised in a babble of comment and demands for her to read another story. She answered questions, told them that two stories were more than enough and fished a tissue from her pocket to wipe a runny nose, all the while looking cool and unflustered, as if she did this every day. Which, for all he knew, she did.
It occurred to him that maybe he didn't know as much about the woman he'd married as he thought he did.
❧
"I had a hard time convincing your watchdog to let me in the gate," Sam said.
"Jade is very protective of the children." Nikki moved a stack of papers from one corner of the desk to the other. Her office was far from spacious at the best of times, but with Sam in it, the room suddenly seemed claustrophobically small. In fact, from the moment she'd looked up and seen him standing in the doorway, she'd felt as if there wasn't quite enough air in the building.
"She seemed surprised when I told her we were married."
His tone was neutral, but Nikki felt a surge of guilt. It was completely irrational. She didn't owe him any explanations, but she heard herself giving one, anyway. "I thought it would be easier if I didn't mention it. It might confuse the children when we... when the year is up, I mean."
It sounded weak even to her own ears. Her marriage and divorce would be nothing more than an abstract idea to a four-year-old, causing not even a blip in their lives. But she didn't feel comfortable telling him the truth, which was that she'd wanted—needed—this one place to remain untouched by the charade her life had become. Ironic, really, since the charade had begun because of this place.
But Sam nodded as if it wasn't a completely ridiculous excuse. "Makes sense," he said. "If I'd known, I could have said I was your uncle from Australia or something."
"It's all right. It was a silly idea, anyway." She picked up the same stack of papers and straightened them by tapping them against the desk, concentrating on the task as if her life depended on having the edges perfectly aligned.
"You volunteer here?" Sam asked, probing carefully.
Nikki considered saying yes and leaving it at that. It was the truth—she did volunteer here. But she didn't want any more lies, even those of omission. Lately, it seemed as if her entire life was a tissue of lies.
"Actually, Rainbow Place is mine. Jade's mother manages the place, but I work here three or four days a week."
She wasn't sure whether or not to be insulted by the surprise in Sam's expression. Obviously, it had never occurred to him that she might do something useful.
"It looks like a great place," he said slowly, still trying to get his mind around the idea of her as a businesswoman.
"The kids like it." She set the slightly mauled stack of papers down. "I'm ready to go."
"If s not the greatest neighborhood," Sam commented as they walked to the gate. "Couldn't you have found a better location?"
"This is where there's need," she said simply. "Most of the children come from single-parent homes. Having a safe place to leave them makes it possible for their parents to work and stay out of the welfare trap. Some of our mothers are going to school full-time, getting a better education so they'll qualify for better jobs.''
"Is this why you wanted the money your grandfather left you?" Sam asked slowly. That was a question that had lingered in the back of his mind—why Nikki would want the money so much that she was willing to marry him to get it.
She hesitated a moment and then nodded. "Yes. Inheriting that money means I don't have to spend my time fund-raising to keep Rainbow Place open. I may even be able to open a second day-care center somewhere else."
Sam considered what she'd told him while she unlocked the gate, relocking it after they'd stepped through. It was a new facet to the woman he'd married, one he'd never expected.
"It's a lot of work," he commented, trying to shift his thinking to encompass Nikki as a philanthropist.
"It needs to be done. Do you know how hard it is to raise a child alone? If you don't have family or friends who can help, you're virtually forced onto the welfare rolls, and once you're there, if s almost impossible to get back on your feet again."
She stopped abruptly, aware that she'd been all but lecturing him. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound off like that. It's just so frustrating to me when I think of all the people who fall through the cracks in the system."
"I don't mind. Most cops have more than a few complaints about the system."
"I suppose you do. But at least you know you're doing something to help."
"Are we?" Sam's mouth twisted in a mournful half smile. "Sometimes I'm not so sure. What's wrong with your car?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject before she could comment.
"It won't start."
"Now, that's a good, detailed description." His grin took any criticism from the words. "Give me the keys and I'll see if I can come up with a more specific diagnosis."
Nikki handed him the keys, then stood on the sidewalk while he slid onto the front seat and tried to start the car. The engine turned over, almost caught, sputtered and coughed, but refused to start.
"I think it might be the fuel pump," he said as he got out and shut the door.
"Can it be fixed?"
"Sure." He stared down at the battered purple vehicle. "It might be kinder to shoot it and put it out of its misery, though."
"Absolutely not," she said indignantly. "Barney is perfectly dependable most of the time."
"Except when it doesn't start," he pointed out dryly. He lifted his head and glanced around the neighborhood. "Of course, no self-respecting car thief would be caught dead trying to steal something this old. In that respect, it may be the smartest thing you could drive."
"That had occurred to me. I know I can park Barney just about anywhere and find him still there when I come out."
"It would be safer still if you didn't come here at all," he said as he handed her back the keys.
"It's not as bad as it looks."
As if on cue, a car full of tough-looking youths drove by, radio blasting out a drumbeat so loud the ground seemed to shake under Nikki's feet. As they passed, a beer can sailed out the window, bounced off Barney's hood and landed on the grass between Sam and Nikki. He waited until the car had disappeared down the street before giving Nikki a dry look.
"An example of some fine, upstanding citizens, I presume."
"There are a few troublemakers," she admitted. "But most of the people around here are fine, upstanding citizens."
He glanced at the tidy houses across the street. "That doesn't make it any safer for you to be here. I don't like the idea of you coming down here alone."
Nikki started to tell him that it was none of his business, when an extraordinary thought occurred to her. He's worried about me. She tried to remember the last time someone had been protective of her, but nothing came to mind. Lena, certainly, when she was a child. But no one since then. The realization softened her response.
"I've been doing it for three years and nothing has happened to me."
"It only takes once."
"Do they teach you that positive attitude at the academy?"
"Yeah. Reality 101. Come on. Let's go home. We can call your friend Bill and arrange for him to pick up this junk heap and tow it to a shop. If you need a ride tomorrow, I'll bring you."
"Thanks, but I wasn't planning on coming here tomorrow. I just had some shopping to do, and that can wait."
She c
limbed into the Bronco, aware of a warm feeling in her chest and the vague thought that if she'd had to get married, she could have done worse in choosing a husband.
❧
Sam woke suddenly, hearing the sound of a crash echoing in his head, like something half-remembered from a dream. Only the sound hadn't been part of a dream. He stood, grabbing a pair of jeans from the foot of the bed and dragging them over his legs. He had no particular desire to deal with a burglar in the nude. Lifting his gun from the night table, he pulled it from the holster on the way to the door.
The house had a good security system—not the most sophisticated, but more than enough to encourage the average burglar to seek out an easier target. Since he hadn't heard the alarm, if there was someone in the house, they were professional enough to have bypassed it. It couldn't be Nikki--she'd gone to bed hours ago.
Sam headed for the stairs with long, silent strides. He held the .45 beside his head, pointed at the ceiling, where he could bring it into action quickly if necessary.
A quick scan of the darkened living room revealed everything apparently in order. He stepped into the foyer and immediately heard a sound from the direction of the kitchen. A few seconds later, he'd found the intruder, as well as the cause of the noise'that had awakened him.
Nikki stood in the middle of the kitchen. The tile floor in front of her was covered with a pool of sugar and a powdery brown substance he couldn't immediately place. In one hand she held a stainless-steel canister, slightly dented. In the other she held a dark brown box which, after a moment, he identified as having once held cocoa— until very recently, judging by the mess at her feet.
He lowered the gun to his side. Apparently, he wasn't going to need it. "If you're planning on stealing that canister, I should warn you that I'm a police officer."
At the sound of Sam's voice, Nikki jumped and jerked her head toward him. Great. Just what she needed. Not only had she made a world-class mess but now there was someone to witness it. And not just someone, but Sam
Walker—the man who was and wasn't her husband, the cause of the sleeplessness that had brought her down to the kitchen in the middle of the night.
A Family Circle 1 - A Very Convenient Marriage Page 14