Deceived Page 31
Perhaps she’d been foolish, buying things she didn’t even know if Kevin would like. But if he didn’t, she’d return them and redo the room to suit the tastes of the little boy he’d become.
Leaning a shoulder against the wall, she folded her arms tightly against her chest, drew an unsteady breath—and imagined.
Kevin, back in her home.
Kevin, back in her arms.
Kevin, alive not just in her heart but in the flesh.
All thanks to a chance encounter on an escalator.
Coincidence is a small miracle in which God chooses to remain anonymous.
Connor’s words echoed in her mind, ringing with truth.
Except if Kevin was restored to her, the miracle wasn’t small. It was huge—and God’s hand was all over it. He’d graced her with compassion the day she’d agreed to run an errand for her neighbor in the mall, despite her busy schedule. He’d timed her exit so she’d caught a glimpse of the son she’d thought long dead. And he’d led her to the perfect man to help her sort out the mystery—a competent, professional PI with a boatload of integrity . . . and charm.
A man who also appeared to be destined to play more than a professional role in her future.
God was, indeed, good.
But much as he’d done for her up to this point, she needed him now more than ever for the daunting challenge ahead—earning back the love of the son who’d stolen her heart in the maternity ward when he’d locked those big blue eyes on hers and grasped her index finger with a grip so strong even the nurse couldn’t pry it loose.
Closing her eyes, Kate took a shaky breath and sent a silent prayer heavenward for strength, courage, and wisdom to deal with the challenges she and Kevin would face once they were together again.
Assuming, of course, there were no glitches on the way to their reunion. Connor seemed confident a positive end was near, however. That it was just a matter of waiting for the test results and keeping Sanders in their sights. She was the one who was antsy. Anxious. Impatient. Worried.
But she needed to do her best to chill. To put her trust in the PI who’d earned it—and in God.
Besides, after coming this far and getting this close, what could possibly go wrong?
“Haircut time, champ. We can’t have you starting school looking like a shaggy dog.” Greg waved the scissors at his son from the kitchen doorway.
“Aw, Dad, do I have to?” Todd sent him a pained look from the living room floor, where he was engrossed in building an airplane with Diane’s erector set.
“I know it’s not your favorite Sunday afternoon activity, but you’re overdue.”
“You never cut my hair this often in Montana.”
“That’s because we lived in the mountains and didn’t see a lot of other people.”
Todd rose slowly, dragging his feet as he walked toward the kitchen. “Sometimes I wish we’d stayed there.”
That made two of them.
“Well, we’re here now. And it will be good for you to make a whole bunch of new friends in first grade.” That was still the plan—unless Kate Marshall botched it up for them.
He tightened his grip on the scissors and gritted his teeth. After all these years, who could have guessed danger would be lurking on an escalator in a new town from a woman he’d never expected to see again?
The whole thing was surreal.
Unfortunately, it was also very real.
“I wish you could just teach me stuff, like you used to in Montana.” Todd climbed onto the two phone books piled on the kitchen chair and sighed.
“I have a job away from the house now.” Forcing thoughts of Kate from his mind, he draped a towel around Todd’s shoulders and began trimming the fine hair that reminded him of David’s. Sometimes, the tactile sensation was so similar he could almost pretend his first son was still with him.
“Didn’t you like taking care of Mr. Lodge’s ranch?”
“Yeah. I liked it a lot. It was a beautiful place. But I like construction too—and I wanted you to go to a bigger school. Learn from teachers who know a whole lot more than me.” As he snipped, a few matted strands near Todd’s ear caught his attention. He tried without success to comb through them, then looked closer. “You’ve got some snarled-up hair back here. Did you get glue in it at school?”
“That must be from the bubble gum. Diane gave me a piece the day she picked me up from school, when you hurt your arm.”
He poked at the tangled hair. “But how did it get on the back of your head?”
“We had a bubble-blowing contest. Hers was a really big one, but it broke and some of it got in my hair. She had to cut a little out in the back. Can you tell?”
Frowning, Greg leaned closer to scrutinize his son’s scalp. In the end, he located the small section where the hair was cut close to the scalp more by the bristly feel than by sight. “Yeah, I found it.” But he wouldn’t have if Todd hadn’t mentioned it.
Why hadn’t Diane brought it up?
Then again, there hadn’t been much opportunity. After telling him burgers were in the broiler and offering him an indifferent thank-you for the flowers he’d sent, she’d hotfooted it out of the house as fast as she could, stopping only long enough to give Todd a fierce hug.
The kind of hug you’d give someone you didn’t expect to see again for a long time, now that he thought about it.
All at once, fear congealed in his belly, and a wave of nausea rolled through him.
Something was up.
“Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you done cutting my hair?”
He refocused. “Almost.” He lifted the scissors, the slight tremble in his fingers mirroring the quiver in his stomach.
It was possible the gum incident was innocent . . . but his instincts said otherwise. Diane liked Kate Marshall. Kate was searching for her son—most likely with professional help—and Diane knew the picture the woman had was a dead ringer for Todd. Miffed as she’d been with him, might she have told them about Todd, offered to assist them in establishing a concrete connection? With all the testing labs could do today, a hair sample would be devastating.
“Todd . . . what did Diane do with the hair she cut off?” He moved in front of his son to trim his bangs, doing his best to keep his tone casual.
The boy shrugged. “I dunno. I guess she threw it away.”
Easy to confirm. He’d taken a bag of trash out to the can in the carport Wednesday night. If there was a matted clump of hair and gum in there, it should be near the top.
He finished up the bangs and pulled the towel from around Todd’s shoulders. “All done.”
“Finally. Can I go finish building my plane now?”
“Sure.”
The boy scampered off.
After sweeping up the hair on the kitchen floor and depositing it in the trash can beside the cabinet, Greg went out to the carport. Only one small plastic bag was in the metal trash can, and he pulled it out—along with some newspapers from the recycle bin.
Once back inside, he crossed to the door on the side of the kitchen. “I’ll be in the basement for a few minutes, Todd.”
“Okay.” The boy’s distracted voice floated back to him.
Ten minutes later, after a painstaking search through the trash he’d spread out on the newspapers, beads of sweat popped out on his forehead.
No blond hair.
Diane hadn’t thrown it away.
He muttered a curse and began to pace.
There was a small chance—very small—she’d disposed of it some other way. But based on the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, the explanation wasn’t that simple.
And if she’d given Kate Marshall and her cohorts a sample, he had just one option.
Run.
Fast.
Meaning he needed those documents from Emilio’s contact.
Now.
The man had promised to have them in his hands by Tuesday—but would that be soon enough?
He’d have to wait.
At least he could make optimal use of the time, firm up the plan he’d begun formulating in case things went south. It was a solid plan, simple and straightforward. And it would work.
Favoring the arm sporting a dozen stitches, he began gathering up the garbage he’d strewn about the floor as he mentally walked through the steps he’d take.
First, rent a car, using his real ID. Tell the clerk he needed it for two weeks, to buy him some breathing space to disappear before the rental people missed it.
Second, pack up the camping gear he’d used after he’d driven away from Braddock Bay with Todd asleep in the backseat. Camping had been an inspired idea; by the time they’d spent three months at a variety of state parks before continuing on to Montana, his son had stopped crying for his mother at night and begun to respond to the care he’d lavished on him. They wouldn’t need nearly that long now, however. Ten days, max, to let Todd get comfortable with his new identity. Michigan would be a perfect spot for that. There were plenty of places to camp there.
Third, after they were done camping he’d ditch the car near the Greyhound terminal in Detroit and take the bus to Chicago, using their new identities.
And finally, in that metropolis, they’d disappear among the throngs of people who called the Windy City home and start over yet again.
Greg folded up the newspapers and stuffed them into a plastic bag, averting his head when the foul odor of the garbage invaded his nostrils.
The plan was sound—but there was one complication. He had to assume Diane had told Kate and her people who he was. So unlike the last time, there was a high probability he was being watched.
He’d lucked out with the location of this house, though. While he hadn’t liked backing up to a strip mall initially, the lower rent had persuaded him he could live with the noise.
Now his frugality was going to pay dividends he’d never expected.
Garbage bag in hand, he climbed the stairs back to the kitchen, detouring to the carport to dispose of it. Fists on hips, he inspected the privacy hedge at the back of the property. It would be an easy matter for him and Todd to slip through and walk a couple of miles to a rental car office. He’d driven past the Enterprise location on Lindbergh and the Hertz place at the Holiday Inn near South County Center dozens of times.
When he returned, he could park the rental car in the strip mall, cut through the hedge, and enter through the back door—while his own car stayed in the carport, giving no clue he’d left the property.
It was brilliant.
Tonight, after Todd went to bed, he’d sort through his camping equipment, setting aside only the bare essentials. He’d pack a few necessities for both of them. And if the documents arrived Tuesday as promised, in seventy-two hours he and Todd would be long gone.
But before he slipped away, he had one last piece of business to take care of. A final debt to settle.
A wasp buzzed near his ear, stinger poised, and he ducked, swatting the insect away with his hand. Getting stung—by bees or people—wasn’t in his plans.
Entering the house, he detoured to the fridge for a beer. He had to dot all the i’s, cross all the t’s. There could be no slipups. He had to pull off the plan for retribution that had formed and jelled in his mind in the dark hours of the night as perfectly as he’d carried out the Braddock Bay mission.
He grabbed a beer and twisted off the cap, jaw tightening. He hadn’t felt one iota of remorse as he’d watched John Marshall sink into the murky depths of the bay. The man who’d played God, who’d made the decision to cut his son’s life short, had deserved his watery end.
Nor would he have any regrets about meting out punishment to the man’s wife. If Kate Marshall succeeded in her quest, she’d kill something as dear to his heart as David had been—the life he’d created with Todd.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Guzzling the beer, he walked down the hall to his bedroom. Opened the top drawer of his dresser. Pulled out the bottle of Valium and weighed it in his hand. Once again, that prescription was going to come in handy for a whole lot more than his doctor had intended.
He took another drink, and despite the anger churning in his gut, his lips lifted in a grim smile. There was a certain beauty to the end he had planned for Kate Marshall. A sense of continuity. Of irony, even.
And this little bottle was the key that would set everything in motion in just over forty-eight hours.
The countdown had begun.
24
I don’t know why you bothered to take off last Thursday and Friday if you were going to work late yesterday and today.” Nancy hoisted her shoulder purse into position and jingled her keys from the doorway of Kate’s office. “It’s past quitting time. Five-twenty to be exact. Can’t whatever you’re working on wait until tomorrow?”
“Yes, it can.” Kate rotated her neck to loosen the kinks. “I’m planning to shut down soon.”
“That’s what you said when I left last night, but scuttlebutt has it your Monday didn’t end until after eight.”
Kate finished off the last of her lukewarm soda, eyeing the New Start receptionist. “Who’s your source?”
She arched an eyebrow, folded her arms—and remained silent.
Must be one of the cleaning people. Or the security patrol who cruised through the parking lot. Or . . . who knew? Nancy always seemed to have the inside information on everything. “I’m not staying that late tonight.”
“Glad to hear it. Why don’t you call up that to-die-for guy who stopped by a couple of weeks ago and go to dinner or get an ice cream or something? You never did tell me who he was, by the way.”
“I know.” Nor did she intend to. It would only raise questions she wasn’t ready to answer. And despite their receptionist’s inside sources, she doubted Nancy was well-connected enough to dig up any info on her favorite PI.
“Maybe someday?” Nancy gave her a hopeful look.
“Maybe.”
She huffed out a breath. “I think you carry this confidentiality stuff too far—but I’ll get it out of you eventually. In the meantime, don’t work too hard.” With an impudent grin and a lift of her hand, she disappeared down the hall.
When the faint click of the office-suite door sounded a few moments later, Kate leaned back in her chair and reached around to rub the sore muscle in her shoulder—a souvenir of her redecorating spree and mega furniture juggling over the weekend. The twin bed and mattress weighed a ton. But the results were worth it. The room was ready and waiting to welcome her son—perhaps as soon as tomorrow, if the lab delivered the DNA results on schedule.
A shaft of panic darted through her, just as it did whenever she allowed herself to think about their approaching reunion—the very reason she’d loaded up her schedule for the past two days. Staying busy helped keep anxiety—and impatience—at bay.
Besides, it wasn’t as if there was anything else she could do to prepare. She’d already stocked the kitchen with food she hoped Kevin would like. Created a warm and welcoming haven for him. Lined up a top-notch child psychologist to help him work through the transition. And she’d prayed. A lot.
The only thing left to do was wait—a herculean task, when every instinct in her body screamed at her to do something. Now!
At the sudden jangle of her desk phone in the silent office, she jerked, hand flying to her chest. Her nerves weren’t just frayed—they were in shreds.
Willing her heart rate to slow, she glanced at caller ID, planning to let the after-hours call roll to voice mail—but when she saw Connor’s name, she grabbed the handset. Her daily dose of his calm, everything’s-under-control voice was the only thing keeping her sane.
On the other hand, if he’d heard from the lab, this might be the big call.
Her pulse thundered into fast-forward as she gave him a shaky hello.
As if reading her mind, he ad
dressed her concern as soon as he greeted her. “Nothing on the DNA yet, but I talked with the president of the firm twenty minutes ago. We go way back, and he promised to call me with the results the instant they come in—first thing tomorrow, he hopes. How are you holding up?”
“Okay.” Liar, liar.
“I used to have a habit of working longer hours when I wanted to distract myself too.”
He must have caught the quiver in her lame response.
She fingered the edge of the file containing the age-progressed photo of Kevin. “Are you sure you’re not the one with the counseling degree?”
“Nope. I got my people skills in the school of hard knocks. So do you want to let me in? I’m parked out front, but I assumed your offices would be locked up tight and I didn’t want to alarm you by banging on the door.”
She sat up straighter, a rush of gratitude calming her jitters a few notches. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on afternoon/evening surveillance today.”
“I am. But I conned Dev into covering for me for an hour. I come bearing Panera chicken Cobb salads and chocolate cookies.”
How like him to tune in to her nervousness. It was almost as if he knew she’d spent most of last night tossing and done nothing more than nibble at a sandwich today.
“Sold. I’ll open the door.”
“Look for me in three minutes.”
By the time she ran a comb through her hair and touched up her makeup, he was waiting.
When she pulled open the door and ushered him in, he gave her a quick scrutiny. With that sharp eye of his, there wasn’t much chance he’d miss the shadows under her lower lashes or the pallor that blush couldn’t disguise.
“You look tired.” His words were soft, as was the touch of his thumb as it grazed her cheek.
Her breath hitched, and the urge to move into his arms and claim part of the space occupied by the large bag he was carrying was strong. Very strong.
Wrestling it into submission, she retreated a step on the pretense of surveying his cutoffs and T-shirt. “And you look hot.”