When Eric had held her tonight, those feelings had come back as if she'd just woken up in that trunk.
She'd wept onto Eric's chest. Eventually, he'd lifted her, sat on the sofa, and held her on his lap like a child. And she'd felt safe for the first time in a decade. She must have, because she'd drifted off to sleep right there in his arms. She had a vague memory of him carrying her up the stairs, laying her in bed. He'd sat beside her, stroked her hair at the hairline. Those words he'd spoken—had she dreamed them?
"I love you, my sweet Kelsey."
And then he'd kissed her gently before he tucked the blankets around her and slipped out of the room.
She reached up, touched her lips, remembered that tender kiss. She squeezed her eyes shut against the painful prickling. Oh, what had she done? How could she hurt him again?
Her eyes adjusted to the dark enough that she could make out some shapes in the room. Beside her rested a clock, one of those old-fashioned analog types that wound up and ticked. It even had a bell on top and glow-in-the-dark numbers and hands. It was just after three a.m.
How much time since she'd first seen Eric that afternoon? Twelve hours? Not enough. Not nearly enough.
She stood, realized she was still wearing her clothes from the day before. Not the boots, though. She'd taken those off downstairs. He'd set them by the front door, and he'd draped her coat over the chair nearest there. Her backpack was in the room. She tiptoed to where he'd left it on top of the bureau and unzipped it. She found her toiletries then looked at the three closed doors. One went to the hallway. She opened the next one and found a closet. Then she opened the third.
A bathroom. Thank heavens.
When she'd finished cleaning up, she put her things in her backpack, zipped it up, and eased open the door to the hall.
She paused, stared at the other closed doors upstairs. Which room was his? She'd give anything to peek at him one last time. But Magic was probably in there. The dog would likely wake up if she opened the door. It wasn't worth the risk.
She had to leave. Despite the threat Chief Thomas had made, she had to leave. Maybe when she left, Eric and his boss would put her name in the system like they'd threatened. Maybe she'd be arrested the next town over. But she didn't think so. And even if the chief insisted, Eric would give her time. He knew something terrible had happened to her, and he knew she was running from someone. He'd give her time to get away before he reported her gone.
Either way, it wasn't like she had a choice. It was her life or her son's. Though it killed her to do it, she had to sacrifice her happiness in order to ensure Daniel's safety, his future. If Eric knew, he wouldn't blame her a bit. If only she could tell him now. But that would only make leaving harder.
And once she knew Daniel was safe, she'd find a way to bring Carlos down. And if she didn't get herself killed in the process, then maybe, maybe she could come back. Maybe they'd take her back. Maybe she could have a life here. All she knew for certain was that she couldn't keep running. She wouldn't spend her life on the run, and she sure as the sun rose in the east wasn't going to make Daniel live like that.
She'd sneak out. She'd take Eric's car to the house she'd broken into the other day and retrieve her tablet, wallet, and phone. From there, she'd go to Manchester. Leave his car at the airport. She could be there before five. Surely he'd sleep until then. From the airport, she'd take a taxi to the bus station. As soon as she was out of the state, she'd make the call that would ensure Daniel's protection. The call she'd intended to make on Tuesday.
She wouldn't return to Nutfield until she knew she could bring Carlos down. Until then, she had to get away. Let Daniel get settled.
She didn't have a choice.
She didn't.
She tiptoed down the stairs, careful on her sore ankle, and paused at the bottom near the front door, where he'd left her boots and coat. Except they weren't there. She looked on the other side of the door, then glanced in the room she'd assumed was a dining room. No table. Just a grand piano.
The sight of it, the memories it brought, had her eyes filling with tears.
She shook off the emotions. Her coat and boots weren't there, either. Where could he have left them?
She tiptoed back to the living room.
"Looking for these?"
She gasped, swiveled at the noise, put too much weight on her ankle, and winced.
A light flipped on, and when she adjusted to the brightness, she saw Eric on the sofa, holding her boots in one hand, her coat in the other.
"Figured you might try to escape."
She opened her mouth, tried to think of something to say. Closed it again.
He set her things on the floor beside him. He'd changed into sleep pants but wore the same T-shirt he'd put on earlier. His hair was messy like he'd been sleeping on it, and blankets and a pillow were on the sofa. Had she woken him, or had he ever closed his eyes? "Thing is," he said, "I can't let you go."
"I..." She swallowed. "You have to."
"I don't."
"Eric—"
"Don't."
"I don't want to go."
He crossed the room and took the backpack from her hand. He tossed it on the floor near the fireplace, where embers still glowed from the evening's fire. He turned back, lifted her before she could protest, and started for the stairs.
"Put me down."
"Nope."
She thought about struggling, but what would be the point? Hadn't she learned years before that her strength was no match against a man's? She could fight her hardest and she'd barely make a scratch.
He carried her and dumped her on the bed where she'd woken up.
"You can't force me to stay."
"You want to go back to jail?"
"You wouldn't dare."
He stepped back, crossed his arms, and glared at her. "You ruined my personal life a decade ago. Did you come back to ruin my career? Haven't done enough damage? Is that it?"
"What? No. I wouldn't—"
"I vouched for you. I promised Brady you'd stay in town. You're not going to make me break that promise."
"He wouldn't take it out on you. He'd..." She had no idea what his boss would do. Hadn't considered it for a moment.
"He's the chief, and he has a job. How would it look for him to have released you, a suspect in a felony, to a detective, only to have you disappear? It's more than that. He vouched for me, promoted me over guys who've been there longer, because he trusts me. Brady's a good guy, but he's by the book, and letting you go today was anything but by the book."
"I didn't..." She didn't know what to say. She hadn't even considered what this might do to Eric.
"Yeah. I know. I never crossed your mind."
"No, that's not it. It's just...I have to go."
"Why?"
She could tell him everything but that. She couldn't tell him about Daniel. Not now, not like this.
"Tell me."
"It's the middle of the night."
"Not too late for you to go for a nice long walk, though. Or maybe you weren't going to walk. Maybe you have a friend looking for you. Somebody planning to come pick you up?"
"I don't have anybody, Eric."
"Right. Ten years you've been gone. In all that time, you've been all alone."
"What are you accusing me of?"
"Accusing you?" His face turned bright red, and his hands balled into fists. "Accusing you?" The words were roared, and she shrunk back, hid her face, waited. Every man had a breaking point. Had she just found his?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Eric couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Kelsey, his hot-tempered beauty, a woman who'd never shrunk from a fight in her life, shriveled before his eyes. Her arms came up to protect her face and head. Her body folded to protect her vital organs. She turned away from him, curled into the fetal position.
It happened so fast.
As if she'd done it before.
His anger drained. He stepped forward
, silently. She didn't move.
"Hey, it's okay."
He stepped closer still, and she tensed. Her hands, already balls of fear, tightened until the knuckles turned white.
He touched he shoulder, and she flinched.
"Kelsey." He brushed her hair back, touched those white knuckles, and ran his hand over her shoulder. He softened his voice. "I would never hurt you."
One silent sob racked her shoulders. He sat behind her, wrapped his arm around her balled-up form, and held her. "I would never hurt you. You know that. Please tell me you know that."
She moved her head, maybe a nod. She was terrified, and he was only making it worse. He was making everything worse.
He whispered in her ear. "If you want to leave, then you can leave. I won't force you to stay. But sweetheart, all I want is to protect you. Maybe..." He swallowed the frustration that was trying to seep into his voice. "Maybe you could trust me. Maybe you can tell me the rest of your story like you promised, and if I can't help you, then you can go. I'll take you to...wherever. The airport. The bus station. Drive you to Boston, if that's what you want. But not until you tell me the story."
She didn't say anything.
"I have to know." He tried to temper the urgency in his voice. "I need to understand why you feel you need to leave me. If that's what you want...I won't stop you." He would not cry. He waited until that feeling passed. If she was determined to leave him, he wouldn't make her stay. "I have to know the truth. I'll never be able to go on with my life if I don't."
He stood up. Stepped back. Waited.
She still didn't move.
"Will you please look at me?"
Kelsey unwound from her ball. She kept her head lowered but glanced at him quickly. Like maybe she was embarrassed. Or maybe she was still afraid.
He took another step back, bumped into the bureau in the small spare room. "Please look at me?"
She did, finally. Fear lingered in her eyes, and shame. If this weren't his beautiful wife, he'd say she looked haunted.
He made a vow then. Even if she left him, even if he never saw her again, whoever put that look in his wife's eyes, Eric would hunt him down and kill him.
But he couldn't do that until she told him the rest of the story.
He tried a smile. "I guess I should have made you finish your story earlier. Then maybe at least I could understand."
"Maybe." But the skepticism he saw in her gaze said she doubted he'd ever understand. Well, she was probably right. Like she'd never understand what it had been like for him. Not the same, obviously, but its own kind of torture to know his wife was out there, that something terrible had happened, and that there was nothing he could do.
Sort of like how he felt right now.
"You want to tell me tonight?"
She shook her head, looked away.
"Will you tell me tomorrow?"
She shrugged. "I guess."
"And then, if you want to leave, I'll drive you myself. Okay?"
She glanced at him, shrugged again. "Okay."
Maybe he'd get some answers the next day. Or maybe she'd spend the rest of the night spinning a tale for him.
Maybe he was still a fool.
No maybe about that one.
He approached her slowly, waited for her to protest. When she didn't, he brushed her hair back, kissed her on the forehead, and tossed his heart out like a soft pitch. "I love you, my sweet."
Before she could answer, he walked out and closed the door.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kelsey awoke to the sound of piano music filtering through the house, a mournful tune she didn't recognize. She kept her eyes closed and listened, imagining Eric's fingers on the keys, his head bowed over the instrument. How she'd loved to watch him play, to join him, adding her voice to his music.
The song shifted to something different, also unknown to her, also sad. She opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed in the window. She glanced at the clock to find it was after ten. Wow. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept that late. Of course, the day before had been draining at best. The days at the cabin on the lake, she'd only slept fitfully, jerking awake at every sound, always alert for danger.
Here, she felt safe.
And foolish for her reaction the night before. Of course Eric would never hurt her. Seemed obvious in the light of day. But any man's rage, any man's passion, sent her scurrying for cover like spooked rabbit.
She missed the old Kelsey. But years after those agonizing months in captivity, and the old Kelsey still hadn't returned. As mousy and skittish and terrified as ever, she at least hid it well. Most people didn't see what Eric had witnessed the night before. The strange bed, the strange events of the day, the story she'd started to tell had brought out her deepest vulnerabilities and exposed her to the man she respected most.
She was such a fool.
The music started again. Kelsey tiptoed out the door and down the hall. She sat on the top step, but that wasn't close enough. Silently, she descended the stairs and sat on the bottom one, out of his view but close enough to hear every note.
The song wasn't familiar, but it was beautiful. It spoke of love and loss and regret—the song of her very soul.
And maybe Eric's too.
She had to see him. She stood, peeked around the corner. And there he was, just as she'd pictured him. But his eyes were closed. A single tear shone on his cheek and caused her own eyes to fill.
If only she could cross the room, kiss him like he'd kissed her. If only she could sit beside him like she used to in the music room in college, add her voice to his melody. They'd always made glorious music together.
He looked up, and the tune stopped. He dropped the lid over the keys, angled away, and swiped that tear off his cheek. "I hope I didn't wake you."
"It was a wonderful way to wake up."
He stood, headed through a door she hadn't seen the day before. "You hungry?"
She followed, stopped in the kitchen on the far side. "I can fix myself something."
He stared into the refrigerator. "I know." He looked at her over the door. "It'd be my pleasure to feed you."
Her cheeks warmed at the kindness. "I wouldn't want to disappoint you."
He smiled, an expression she hadn't seen in years. She smiled back. They stared at each other, trying out this new thing between them, this very old thing between them. Enjoyment. Pleasure. Comfort.
She looked away first. She couldn't let herself fall into that. She'd never be able to leave.
He cleared his throat. "I could make you an omelet, and I've gotten fairly decent at pancakes. I have English muffins. I could make a breakfast sandwich."
Normally, she'd scarf down a piece of toast for breakfast. Single parenting didn't leave a lot of time for leisurely meals. Not that she'd ever minded. A stab of pain and longing for her son stole any words she might have formed. She endured it, waited for it to pass. She had to focus on the here and now.
Breakfast. Right. There was no rush this morning. And it had been a long time since dinner in the jail cell. "A breakfast sandwich sounds good."
"Ham, bacon, or sausage?"
"I feel like I'm at Denny's."
He pulled eggs and cheese from the fridge and set them on the counter. "I like to eat a big breakfast. So...?"
"No meat. Just egg and cheese."
"You sure? I'm going to have ham."
"I'm sure."
He nodded to the barstools on the other side of the kitchen. "Why don't you sit over there and let the master work."
"Master, huh? This I've gotta see." She limped across the kitchen and took the seat he'd indicated.
"How's your ankle?"
"Better. Another day or two, and it'll be good as new."
"If you stay off it."
Magic was lying in front of the fire, which was burning merrily behind a screen. The dog stood, stretched, and crossed the room. She leaned against Kelsey's leg, and Kelsey rewarded her with a scratch behind h
er ears.
"If she bothers you," Eric said, "just shove her away."
"She's fine. I like her."
"Coffee? Or do you still prefer tea?"
"I prefer tea, but I can drink coffee."
"No need." He opened a door on the far side, next to the door leading to the piano room. Beyond his wide back, she saw the pantry was filled with food. He pulled something out and set it in front of her.
It was a box of assorted teas.
"Will one of those do?"
She selected the Irish Breakfast. "I didn't know you were such a fan."
He took the little package from her and grabbed a mug. "I learned to like it. It reminds me of you."
"Oh."
After he set the steaming cup and the sugar dish in front of her, he worked on breakfast while she watched, mesmerized. The scents of toast and eggs filled the room. This...this kid she'd known in college—a teenager, gruff, goofy—had turned into a man. A handsome man with a good job, a beautiful home, and skills in the kitchen.
She hated that she hadn't witnessed it, his growing up. It was like coming in late to a movie and knowing you'd missed the best part.
He sure hadn't missed the best part of her life. But without her, he'd done what he'd always wanted. Well, perhaps not exactly. He'd dreamed of working on the police force in a good-sized city. They'd talked about where they'd live after they graduated from college. She'd already decided she didn't want to return to Georgia. Not that she didn't have good memories there, but she'd left home for a reason, and she didn't want to go back. His home state of Texas had been an option, of course, and she'd been willing. But they'd both liked Boston, too, and they'd both fallen in love with this area of New Hampshire. The few short days she'd spent in Nutfield had been the very best of her life.
He set the plate in front of her, another in front of the other bar stool. "Juice? I just have orange."
"The tea is fine."
He poured himself a glass of orange juice and sat beside her.
She lifted her sandwich, then set it down when Eric bowed his head over his meal.
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