Not.
Still purring and pointedly ignoring Ethan, Sweetums attacked his food like a cat who didn’t know when his next meal was coming, which was exactly what he’d been until last summer. His throaty rumble sputtered as if his transmission had dropped a gear.
Ethan tossed his wet uniform in the washer. His shoes weren’t salvageable. He headed for the master bedroom on the second floor. His mom’s arthritis made climbing stairs painful. Ethan had converted the downstairs den into a bedroom and handicapped-accessible bath, complete with grab bars and every other piece of safety equipment available.
Separate floors gave them the privacy they both appreciated. Thirty-year-old men weren’t supposed to live with their mothers, but with the twins’ college tuition on top of the farm upkeep, Ethan wasn’t moving out anytime soon. His mom had suffered so much, he’d be damned if she’d lose the house she loved on top of it all.
His muscles relaxed as he stepped under the hot spray, his thoughts turning toward the intriguing woman he’d rescued earlier. Was Abby Foster at home? Had she warmed her skin with a hot shower? And how the hell had she ended up in the creek this afternoon? Images of the pretty blonde losing her struggle with the frigid water sent pot roast tumbling through his gut and eliminated all his woe-is-me thoughts.
He left the shower and dressed in thick sweats, then stretched out on his bed and grabbed his electronic tablet from the nightstand. He’d get the official reports on Abby Foster tomorrow at the station, but everyone was on the Internet. Or so he’d thought.
Foster was a common name. He found a few results in this geographical area: mentions of her name in a local newspaper when the high school track team she helped coach won a big meet. A couple of school photographs came up with Abby and Brooke flanking the kids. There were no other pictures or mentions. He couldn’t find a single social media account that fit his Abby Foster—correction—the Abigail Foster he was seeking. Frustrated with the scant results, Ethan shut down his device.
How could a thirty-year-old avoid the Internet to that extent?
Fatigue seeped through his muscles. Despite his exhaustion, sleep was fitful, disturbed by visions of a beautiful woman sinking beneath the surface of the water. This time Ethan didn’t reach her in time. Her brown eyes pleaded with him to save her while ice crystallized over her face. Ethan hammered on the thickening ice, but she sank deeper until she completely disappeared.
CHAPTER FOUR
The crystal paperweight shattered against the wall, but Ryland got no satisfaction from its destruction. It was just one more beautiful object acquired, then ruined by his hand.
Damn it. What was he going to do?
He spun his chair to face the floor-to-ceiling window of the penthouse office suite. The overcast night sky loomed over a white-topped expanse of ocean. Below, lights illuminated the windswept Atlantic City boardwalk. In winter, both beach and boardwalk were empty, the stark beauty of the New Jersey shoreline unmarred by tourists. Ryland had mixed feelings about winter in Atlantic City. On one hand, summer tourists brought revenue to his casino. On the other, they littered the beaches and destroyed his view.
As usual, money won the debate. This wasn’t Vegas, with the glitter of a high-priced call girl. Atlantic City had to spend a lot more time on her back to pay her bills. The Jersey Shore lived and breathed for summer. Packing a year’s worth of business into three short months took work. Unlike the smaller businesses, the casinos had off-season traffic, but the place came alive from June through August.
Swiveling his chair from the dark and turbulent seascape, he read the alert on his computer screen again: PENNSYLVANIA HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER BARELY SURVIVES PLUNGE INTO ICY RIVER. For the second time that evening, a measure of anger rolled through his gut with a momentum that rivaled the ocean.
His hand sought another heavy object to break, but he resisted, finding his last thread of self-control.
He’d been keeping track of Abigail Foster from a distance, but this new development could not be ignored. A decision must be made. Truth be told, he’d let the situation with her go on much too long. He should have taken care of her three years ago. But he’d failed, and as a result, loose ends fluttered all over his life.
It was time to see this through to the end, as painful as it might be to all involved.
His decision both relieved and distressed him, but everything gained came at a cost.
He turned away from the laptop on his desk and pressed the intercom button on his phone. “Kenneth, I need to see you.”
Ryland’s assistant opened the door that separated their offices.
“Yes, Mr. Valentine.” Tall, slim, and impeccably dressed in a European-cut suit, Kenneth looked more like a gay urban lawyer than a killer.
Actually, Ryland had no idea if the thirtysomething was straight or gay, but he suspected his assistant got off more on violence than sex and might not be all that choosy when it came to the gender of his partners.
“There’s been a development.” He pointed to the laptop.
Kenneth crossed the plush carpeting. He leaned over and silently scanned the article.
“I need you to fix this,” Ryland said. He aimed for authoritative, but instead, his voice rang with a needy plea that grated against his pride.
Kenneth looked up. Nothing flickered in his pale gray eyes. Absolutely nothing. As a teen in Sarajevo during the Bosnian War, he’d witnessed atrocities that short-circuited the empathetic part of his brain. A section of Kenneth’s soul had been severed as neatly as pruning shears snipped off fingertips. Some things, once seen, could never be unseen.
“Yes, sir.” Kenneth straightened. “Consider it handled.”
“I should have let you handle it three years ago.”
“I agree.” Kenneth sliced through bullshit as smoothly as one of the knives concealed under his custom-tailored suit. One of his best attributes was his ability to be faithful without cowing. In Ryland’s opinion, a sniveler could never be trusted. After twenty years in Ryland’s service, his assistant was the only person who knew everything. “Is there anything else?”
“No,” Ryland said. He wanted 100 percent of Kenneth’s hyper focus on this task. Abigail Foster was a factor he’d long neglected. But that couldn’t continue. Three years ago he’d gotten a pass. Now events were unfolding that required him to clean up his past, and she was part of the mess. Why had he let it go this long? “Only you this time. I can’t trust anyone else with it.”
Kenneth’s head tilted in a small, acknowledging nod. Another man might puff up in vanity at such a compliment, but not him. He was a man of careful thought and, once he’d considered his options and chosen one, definitive action.
“Keep me apprised of your progress.” Ryland’s problem would disappear in a methodical and orderly fashion, as if his assistant was following a precise recipe or a chemical equation.
Unlike the rest of Ryland’s employees, Kenneth’s trustworthiness was absolute. Ryland had given the lost and broken young man a job as a favor to a dead friend. He’d given Kenneth purpose, and in doing so had given him new life. His assistant had repaid him with nearly medieval fealty, and like an ancient knight, he had no issue with mowing down Ryland’s enemies like stalks of wheat. He handled the most sensitive tasks with admirable completion and discretion. Ryland had to admit, the skills Kenneth learned in Bosnia had come in handy on a number of occasions.
“I’ll be on my way then.” Kenneth withdrew from the room. In some ways, Ryland was closer to his assistant than his own family. He liked to keep his personal and business lives separate. Only Kenneth knew all the facts about both.
Ryland’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the display. Marlene. He ignored his wife’s call. She’d be pissed, but he needed a few minutes to compose himself before he spoke with her. The decisions he made tonight would change the lives of everyone he loved. He glanced at his watch.
Tonight was their oldest grandson’s fifth birthday party. They’d be a few minutes late, but nothing short of death would induce Ryland to miss it.
Did Marlene know he’d cheated on her? Probably. She was a smart woman.
Ryland reached for the china cup at his elbow. He sipped his coffee, now cold, and spun his chair back to the view. The churning sea stretched black to the horizon, seemingly endless. As CEO, president, and major stockholder of Valentine Entertainment Group, he controlled the casino that occupied the fifty-story building below him, in addition to several resort hotels and a few residential towers. Last year he’d bought a golf course. Someday his sons would take over. Between now and then, there were other loose ends that needed to be severed or tied. He’d built his business with decades of scratching and clawing, fighting his way to the top of the dog pile. He’d done the dirty work so his sons wouldn’t have to. When the time was at hand, Ryland would pass down a legitimate business. His legacy wouldn’t come with strings. His children wouldn’t be burdened with the consequences of decisions Ryland had made decades ago.
And neither should his wife.
Ryland hadn’t always been a good husband. Like in his business, he’d taken what he wanted without regard for the repercussions. Success built ego. Once a man’s head swelled, he thought he was entitled to everything.
Would pride be his downfall?
For thirty-five years, Marlene had been an excellent wife and mother. She’d married him before his success was realized. She didn’t deserve to have Abby Foster rubbed in her face. In fact, how long had it been since he’d bought Marlene a gift? If he couldn’t remember, it had been too long. He’d stop at the jewelers on the way home. It seemed to him that the mother of his children should be rewarded at the celebration of the grandchild’s birthday, though no bracelet could make up for his breach of their marital vows. He couldn’t undo his past mistakes.
Unlocking his phone, he returned his wife’s call, confident that Kenneth would handle the situation with Abby Foster.
Ryland had made some mistakes in his sixty-five years. Unfortunately, many of his transgressions were of a most permanent nature that couldn’t be undone.
But this was a problem he could fix, though the solution might cost him everything.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sunlight sparkled on fresh snow. On the cement apron in front of the hospital, Abby squinted at the glare. She zipped up her jacket against the midmorning chill.
“Are you all right?” Brooke stopped next to her car, parked at the curb in the pickup zone. “Do I need to take you back inside?”
“No.” Abby lifted her head and inhaled. Crisp winter air filled her lungs. “I’m fine. I just want to go home.”
“OK.”
They settled in the car. Brooke drove slowly out of the parking lot and headed toward town. Early traffic on a post-storm Saturday was light. The road had been plowed, but a thin film of white still dusted the surface. Patches of black ice lurked underneath. The shiny areas and the fuzzy throb in Abby’s head were a reminder to drive carefully in bad weather.
Brooke turned onto Main Street. Stately Colonials and Victorians on large lots lined the road, some converted to offices, apartments, or stores. Fresh snow, plowed after last night’s storm, edged the road. Dwellings shrank in size as they drove away from the business district. By the time they reached Abby’s development, tired houses crowded together on tiny lots. With some of the lowest-priced homes in town, the neighborhood was a mixed bag of senior citizens who’d lived there forever and young owners willing to renovate, like Abby.
“I dropped Zeus off earlier.” Brooke had kept Abby’s dog overnight. They pulled up in front of Abby’s narrow house.
“Thanks.” Relief swept through Abby. Security systems could be breached, not that she could afford one, but no criminal could fool her dog’s senses. As long as Zeus was there, she knew the house was safe. No one was in the closet. Ready to—
Stop it.
There was zero similarity between yesterday’s accident and what happened to her three years ago. She remembered every single second of that nightmare. If only she could rid herself of those memories instead of yesterday’s.
“Thanks for shoveling.” Abby’s mind was still racing with missing time as she trudged up the cleared walk.
“Wasn’t me,” Brooke said. “The snow was gone when I got here this morning.”
Abby glanced at the Tanners’ house next door. Twelve-year-old Derek must have shoveled both properties this morning. Today was Saturday. He’d be off from school. A rusted sedan pulled into the driveway. Derek’s mother, Krista, got out. She wore a thin jacket unzipped over a black polyester waitress uniform. She must have worked the breakfast shift.
Abby waved. “Thank Derek for shoveling my walk, will you?”
“Sure.” Krista smiled through an exhausted face, turned, and went into a house that looked as tired as its owner. Or was Krista hungover? The new boyfriend’s pickup wasn’t at the curb. For Derek’s sake Abby hoped the guy had moved on. Krista had crappy taste in men, and she invariably started drinking whenever she picked up a new loser. Her affairs didn’t usually last long, but Derek would spend a lot of time at Abby’s house for the duration. Worry churned in Abby’s still unsettled stomach, but there wasn’t anything she could do about the situation. Derek was street smart. He’d gotten by long before Abby moved in.
Brooke stayed close as Abby slipped her key in the lock. The familiar smell of damp dog greeted her nostrils as she stepped over the threshold. The mastiff greeted her with a high-pitched whine and rubbed against her legs like an enormous cat. Abby’s knees buckled, and she grabbed for the hall table to steady herself. “Hello, Zeus.”
“He missed you,” Brooke laughed.
Abby didn’t have to lean down to scratch his massive square head, but today, she knelt and wrapped both arms around his neck. Burrowing her face in his fur, she sighed. Abby didn’t trust many things, but Zeus made the short list. “I missed you too. How about a cookie?”
She released him, straightened, and walked to the kitchen in the back of the house. Zeus padded at her side. Abby fished in the cookie jar for an extra-large dog biscuit, which Zeus took with care from her hand.
Brooke tilted the blinds. Sunlight flooded the small room. “I’m told I’m not the best cook, but can I make you some toast?”
“No, thanks.” Abby dropped into a chair. Small aches in her body transmitted faint warnings of developing bruises. Her head still pounded. “I’m not hungry. I’d love some coffee, though.”
“That I can do.” Brooke reached for the canister.
Zeus padded to his bowl. He looked back at them and cocked his head hopefully.
“I fed you breakfast earlier, buddy.” Brooke filled his sink-sized stainless steel water bowl and set it in front of him. Zeus drank endlessly. With a sloppy snort, he wiped his mouth against Abby’s leg and lay down on the rug next to her feet with a grunt, a sigh, and the thunk of dense bones hitting hardwood. He rested his broad chin on her foot and closed his eyes. His head was as big as a Thanksgiving turkey. The weight of it would put Abby’s foot to sleep within fifteen minutes, but she found the dog’s touch comforting. For his uncomplicated companionship, she could deal with the lack of blood flow to her toes.
Brooke flipped the coffeepot switch. Turning, she leveled Abby with a hard stare. “Now, you want to tell me what the doctor said this morning?”
“The gap in my memory is probably a symptom of the concussion. The CAT scan and blood work all came back normal.” Fear and helplessness spread cold through Abby’s belly. Tears burned the corners of her eyes. Her lack of emotional control and impulsive sharing were nearly as disturbing as the memory loss. “I don’t understand. What did I do all afternoon?”
“Ethan will figure it out.” Brooke grabbed mugs from the cabinet.
“I hope so
.” The neurologist had also said it was possible she’d remember everything with rest and time. Or she wouldn’t.
The coffee machine beeped, and Brooke poured. She dumped a packet of sweetener in each mug, gave them a quick stir, and carried them to the table. She set one in front of Abby. “It’ll be all right.”
Abby sipped her coffee, hoping the hot brew would wash away the haze of helplessness she couldn’t shake.
Zeus’s head popped up. He leaped to his feet and trotted out of the room with a deep woof. Either someone was at the door, or the cat from up the street was taunting him at the window again.
Panic inched up Abby’s throat. “The cop said he’d be here this morning. He keeps asking questions I can’t answer.”
“It’ll be fine,” Brooke soothed. “Just be honest. The police are there to help.”
“How do I know I can trust them?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Brooke gave her a quizzical look. She opened the fridge and shook a quart of milk.
Abby glanced out the back window. Zeus’s giant paw prints already obliterated the clean layer of snow. The yard was small, the house old, and the neighborhood not the best, but the place was hers. She’d bought it cheaply and renovated it with her own sweat. There were no bad memories here. Not yet.
She’d moved to Westbury for a fresh start. She was no doubt just being paranoid. Yesterday’s accident was just that. An accident. Why did she have to make it complicated?
“What’s wrong?” Brooke’s voice went serious. “Talk to me, Abby.”
But Abby couldn’t share her horror story. Talking about it brought on a panic attack every time. Plus, there were other aspects about her that no one in her new life knew, and she wanted to keep it that way. Her fresh start depended on a blank slate. She’d scraped the scars from her life with the same ruthlessness she’d applied to the wood floors and molding. Every inch was stripped to its core and refinished until it barely resembled its original state. But lying to Brooke gave her a lump behind her solar plexus. “You’re right. The concussion must be affecting my mood. The neurologist said it could do that.”
She Can Hide (She Can Series) Page 4