Born in Mystery

by Susan Kearney

  “You’re sure Gran is okay? How’s her ankle?”

  Harry sighed. “I’ll put her on, and she can tell you herself.”

  “I’m just making a living will,” her grandmother said. “No cause for alarm, dear.”

  At Gran’s reassurance, her racing heart resumed a normal beat. “How’s the ankle?”

  “I’ll be up to snuff in a few more days.”

  “If that nurse didn’t work out, why didn’t you hire another one?”

  “Now, Bianca, I may be an old bat, but I’m not senile. The nurse was stealing.” Gran sniffed. “I won’t use that firm again. I found the Wedgwood in her purse and fired her on the spot.”

  “Why were you looking in her purse?”

  “That’s neither here nor there. The important thing is that I’m fine.” Gran scolded Bianca as if she were still a child who had forgotten her manners, making her feel foolish for her worries. “Freddy, the dear boy, stops in once a day to look in on me. The ankle is almost as good as new. I may be dancing by tomorrow night at Harry’s party.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Inviting Gran was nice of Harry, but then she was a client of his firm, and although she didn’t throw him much business, she’d employed Harry for her legal affairs ever since Bianca’s parents had died. Back then, Harry’s business had been foundering, and losing just one client could have bankrupted the teetering company.

  “We’ll pick you up about seven.”

  “No need, dear. I have my own date.”

  Bianca grinned. “You do?”

  “Freddy’s going to take me. I can’t wait to see the look on Mabel’s face when I introduce him,” Gran crowed gleefully.

  Gran and Harry’s wife, Mabel, had been in first grade together. Trouble had started when both women had dated the same boy in seventh grade. Bianca thought that after all these years the women would have put aside their rivalry, but they relished the chance to show each other up. Mabel was forever bragging about her “young” husband, who was at least a decade younger than Mabel. Now Gran would show up with a man even younger. Bianca sighed. Who was she to interfere in their fun?

  “Great. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  CRAIG AND BIANCA sat side by side in the front of a bus that reeked of stale air. As soon as the driver started the motor and turned on the air-conditioning, the slight nausea in her stomach vanished.

  Craig sat with his laptop across his knees, but so far he’d been ignoring the machine ever since he’d used it at his house. Instead, he tilted their seats back, draped one arm over her shoulder and encouraged her to use his chest for a headrest.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  “I should be. I’m too keyed up to sleep.” Her body was pumped with adrenaline—first from learning the stalker had watched her shower, then from the flight from Craig’s home, and finally her worry over Gran.

  The bus driver pulled out of the terminal. After a glance in the driver’s rearview mirror didn’t reveal even one set of headlights in pursuit, the tension eased from her shoulders. “How long until we reach Anaheim?”

  “About an hour and fifteen minutes. If you’re not tired, I’d like to hear about your previous run-ins with the stalker.”

  She hated discussing her past, but she must. Although she knew her privacy was once again about to be plundered, she shoved her feelings to a back corner. The babies’ safety was more important than maintaining her privacy or her pride.

  Turning sideways, she looked at him in the dim light of the passing streetlights. “The first time I noticed something wrong was after I’d returned from a visit to Gran’s house. I opened my refrigerator. It was empty. Totally cleaned out without even so much as an ice cube in the freezer.”

  Puzzlement entered his tone. “You’d been robbed?”

  “That would have been preferable to the mess I found in my bathroom. Every item from the fridge had been opened and tossed, smashed or broken in the tub, sink and commode. Eggshells stuck to the walls and ceiling. Ketchup sprayed on the mirror, broken glass bottles strewn on the floor with meat, cheese, veggies, fruit. You name it—pieces or chunks were smeared across my bathroom. The entire apartment reeked for days.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  She shook her head, thinking how calmly she could speak when her heart still rattled with fear. “Maybe I should have. The incident was so bizarre I was sure some crackhead had broken in. And wouldn’t be back.” She licked her lips. “I was wrong.”

  “What happened next?”

  The bus stopped. No one got on, but she waited for people to get off before she continued, her palms clammy at the memory. “I went into my bedroom several weeks later. A bloody message dripped from the wall above my bed.”

  “What did it say?”

  Her stomach tied into a thick knot. “Loser!”

  “That’s all?”

  “It didn’t make any sense to me, either. This time, I called the cops.” Goosebumps stippled her arms, and she shivered. Waiting for the police to come had been frightening. “They took about an hour to show up. When they arrived, I took them to the bedroom to show them the wall. But the writing was gone.”

  He scratched his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither did the cops. The officers thought I was nuts. I called Kendrick. He said that there are substances that disappear after they’ve been in contact with air—like the disappearing ink kids use to stain clothes and fool their moms before it disappears.”

  Craig rubbed his hand up and down her arm, banishing the worst of her chill. “What else did Kendrick say?”

  “He offered to come over, but he really wanted me to go to his place. He even offered to sleep on the couch until we got used to one another again—he meant until he wormed his way back into my good graces. I didn’t go.”

  He took her hand and squeezed. She relished the solid warmth of him, the genuine comfort he gave her. That he didn’t pressure her gave her the courage to go on. “I moved after I found chicken blood all over my sheets.”

  “Chicken blood?”

  She shuddered. “That’s what forensics said. Finding the blood was the last straw. I was petrified. The cops told me moving and changing jobs might be the only way to lose the stalker. So I quit working for Harry, went to work for your attorney’s firm and moved into another apartment.”

  “He found you again?”

  “Not right away. I thought I was safe. When I went home and found my pillow shredded and feathers glued to my television screen, I knew I had to do something drastic.”

  “You went to the clinic and let the doctors plant the embryos inside you.”

  She squeezed his hand tight, willing him to follow and understand her reasoning. “I was desperate to disappear. With the money you provided, I wouldn’t have to work. I could hide. I was so careful. I used a fake name, wore wigs and never went to my usual haunts. I intended to lie on a couch, get fat with the twins and rest. Just in case he did find me, I stored a bag in the locker at the bus station. I didn’t tell anyone where I’d moved except the police, who insisted on knowing my address. I didn’t even tell Gran.”

  He didn’t pull his hand from hers—an encouraging sign. When he spoke, she braced for the fire-breathing anger he’d displayed the last time they’d discussed her putting his babies in jeopardy.

  His tone remained calm, thoughtful. “That’s why you think the stalker is working with the police?”

  She nodded, wondering if he had any idea how frightened she’d been. “The first time and place I saw him since I moved was in the park.” A shiver slid up her spine and wedged in her neck until the hair there prickled. “I knew then that he wouldn’t stop looking until he found me.”

  “He never physically threatened you before, did he?”

  “In the park, he r
aised a baton over my head like he meant to bash my skull. I’d consider that physically threatening.”

  Craig wasn’t being argumentative. He sounded as if he believed her but was puzzled by something he couldn’t quite figure out. “If he wanted you dead, why would he watch you take a shower—”

  “While he cut up my underwear? I don’t know. He’s sick. Nothing makes sense.”

  Despite the chills weaving a web of ice down her spine, she sensed his thoughts churning. Did he think Kendrick had tried to scare her into returning? Deep down, she knew Craig didn’t buy her faith in Kendrick, and perhaps he was right. He’d made her see her past in new ways that made her question her past judgment.

  They switched to the car at the mall without any trouble, and she dozed while Craig drove up the coast to Malibu. When he shut off the car’s engine, she opened her eyes. A balmy breeze wafted the sharp tangy scent of the sea her way. Invigorated, she stepped from the car, her gaze sweeping past the three-story contemporary house to the more spectacular view below.

  Moonlight disappeared in the inky waves that lapped the rocky shoreline. Several huge boulders rose up from the sloshing waters, their dark shadows a stain on the flat sea.

  “The house key is supposed to be under a flowerpot beside the front door.” Craig popped the trunk and set their bags on the stoop. A gust of wind whipped around the house. The front door, which should have been locked, blew open.

  A pair of sandy footprints led inside.

  Chapter Seven

  CRAIG’S FINGERS tightened into fists, matching the knot in her stomach. His voice was brusque, authoritative. “Wait here. I’ll check out the house.”

  A chill shimmied over her skin. The cold seeped into her bones. “No way am I staying out here in the dark alone.” From the fury on Craig’s face, the tense set of his shoulders and the hard clench of his jaw, she figured the safest place to be was right behind him.

  “But—”

  “I’m going with you.”

  He spun on his heel to face her, clearly furious she’d given him an argument, but fear rather than defiance must have shown in her expression, because he relented. “Stay close behind me.” He handed her the car keys. “At the first sign of trouble, run for the car and lean on the horn to draw the neighbors’ attention.”

  “Got it.” She edged closer, using his bulk to protect her from the wind.

  As they walked through the front door, a light in the living room flickered on. Bianca sucked in her breath, willing the pounding of her heart to subside so she could listen above the roaring in her ears.

  Had her stalker gotten here ahead of them? That wasn’t possible unless Craig’s computer messages had been tracked. She had no idea if such sophisticated technology existed or had just been made up for the movies.

  She crossed the threshold on shaking legs and lost her balance on the slippery marble floor. Only Craig’s firm grip kept her from falling. At the sound of hurried footsteps and a thump ahead, she peered around Craig into a magnificent living room. Fifteen-foot-high windows gave a wall-to-wall view of the ocean. Leather furniture, free-form sculptures and a Picasso over a massive stone fireplace lent the house a modem ambience.

  Off to one side of the room stood a huge fish tank with colorful saltwater fish, and as Bianca shifted her gaze past the tank, a slender silhouette moved from behind the leather sofa. Too short. Too slender.

  “It’s not him,” she said, knowing the silhouette didn’t match the man who’d attacked her in the park. She didn’t know whether she felt disappointment or relief. While she wanted to catch the stalker and put an end to her fear, confronting whoever was following her was scary, too.

  “Don’t hurt me.” The high-pitched voice came from the shadows.

  “He’s only a kid,” Craig said.

  “What are you doing here?” Bianca and the boy asked each other at the same time.

  “I came to feed the fish. Mark, I mean Mr. Hanson, is in Europe. I take care of the pool, too.”

  “In the middle of the night?” Craig asked wryly, amusement coloring his tone.

  “Hey, man, I just got in from a party.” Fish swam to the top of the tank, almost attacking the food. The kid’s eyes darted nervously from the fish back to them. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have stopped in earlier.” The boy edged around the tank as if he wasn’t quite sure if they’d come to rob the place or not, but he was clearly reluctant to take unnecessary chances.

  Craig accompanied the boy out.

  After the boy left, weariness caught up with Bianca. She was so tired she couldn’t contain her yawns and stumbled off to a downstairs guest room. The stunning brass bed with white cotton sheets and a luxuriant satin comforter proved irresistible. Sleeping on a different floor from Craig somehow made sharing the house less intimate.

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, Craig put his laptop to use, dividing his time between the computer and the phone. Bianca took a walk along the beach and catnapped by the pool, resting for the party at Harry’s while she tried not to think about how much Craig appealed to her and how much he’d objected to her accepting Harry’s invitation. But he’d finally agreed to accompany her.

  Throughout the day, Craig spoke on the phone, using his voice like a carver used his hands, shaping wood until he’d created what he desired. He cajoled, he praised, he ordered, and once he even got angry—all without raising his voice. The command in his tone was always there, demanding obedience, yet he spoke with polite consideration and respect.

  She found herself not so much listening to the meaning of his words as he bought products overseas, arranged for shipping and distribution, but letting his rhythmic speech soothe her with his strength, his sincerity and candor. That a man who exuded such power could so easily admit several times during the day that he didn’t know something, she found not only admirable, but sexy.

  But when he spoke to his parents he really got to her. The love in his tone and the careful way he spoke to them without lying, yet omitting anything that might cause them to worry, made her see what a good guy he was. The relationships with his brothers was full of sarcastic comments, but she couldn’t miss the love beneath.

  Okay, so she liked the guy. More than liked him. She was beginning to care for Craig in a way that was new to her. And every time she remembered his kiss, excitement zinged through her. The passion added another dimension to her genuine admiration of the man to whom she’d brought so much trouble.

  She’d turned his life on end. He’d only gone to the office to work one time since the day she’d arrived. He’d gone to bat at court for her. Had paid for Gran’s care. Had moved out of his home to hide with her. All without complaint.

  She knew that the even temper he showed to the world obscured the depth of his emotions. That he’d loved his first wife deeply was evident in the pictures of her on the walls of his home and the fact he’d remained single. She’d never heard of another man going to the extremes he had to have children. There were millions of single parents struggling to raise their children—but how many of them would have started the task knowing they would be the children’s sole support and provider? How many men wanted children so badly they’d go to the trouble and expense of hiring a surrogate to bear them?

  Not many. Craig was a rarity among men. The more time she spent with him, the more she appreciated his uncommon qualities.

  Although she repeatedly told herself his kiss had meant nothing, he stirred within her burgeoning emotions like caring and concern. And desire. Belatedly, she’d realized with frustration she was setting herself up for another rejection.

  Sure, he treated her with courtesy, but he treated strangers and business acquaintances with equal politeness. He hadn’t complained about the inconveniences because that wasn’t his nature—but silence didn’t mean he didn’t mind what she’d done to him.

 
; No doubt as soon as the twins were born, and once he became wrapped up in caring for the babies, he’d forget about her. She’d go back to her life—what was left of it. But she wouldn’t be the same. If she was already attached to him after such a short time, how much worse off would she be after seven or eight months?

  She dozed fitfully throughout the late afternoon and awakened without feeling refreshed. The skies clouded, and a fog rolled in with the rain, isolating the house, leaving her restless and vulnerable. The rain fell irritatingly on the roof, slashing the windows, the droplets blocking the view. She wished they didn’t have to go out in the storm.

  Although she’d insisted on attending, she couldn’t shake an ominous premonition about the party. A leisurely shower didn’t change her mind. She might have avoided Harry’s party, but most of the people she’d known when she’d worked at his law firm would be there. Craig could eyeball everyone, and they’d both ask questions. They couldn’t afford to miss an opportunity like this. Besides, Gran would be there, and they could visit.

  Craig had told Bianca to borrow one of Mark Hanson’s wife’s dresses from the closet since she had nothing appropriate to wear. The plain black cocktail dress was a bit snug in the bust but otherwise fitted perfectly. She spread the wigs out on the bed, deciding which one to wear, wondering which one Craig preferred. Her gaze was drawn to a cascade of platinum, but she skipped over it to her sentimental favorite, the red, waist-length wig she’d worn the day she’d first met Craig.

  She picked up the red wig but reluctantly set it down. She didn’t want to stand out in a crowd. Instead, she placed the more sedate dark auburn wig with straight, shoulder-length strands on her head since it most closely matched the style and color of her own hair, and she’d used this wig while she’d worked for Harry. And since the stalker had found her while she’d worn this wig in the park, he’d easily recognize her, also. Moving to the vanity, she brushed on bold cosmetics, outlining her eyes, dabbing just a hint of color on her cheeks and finishing with a bright and brazen apricot on her lips.