Deceived Page 9

  Once inside, Kate shut the door. “My PI had a lead on the little boy, and I went with him to do some surveillance early this morning. I didn’t sleep well, and I’ve been up since four-thirty. Plus, we were in a car without air-conditioning.”

  “Ah. That would explain why you seem a bit discombobulated. Any success?”

  “No.” She already knew neither of the youngsters Connor had photographed was the boy she’d seen at the mall. “But he’s going to go back for a couple more days.”

  “Are you tagging along again?”

  “Can’t. I have meetings.” She stowed her daypack in the credenza behind her desk. “He’ll take photos of anyone who resembles the boy and run them by me.”

  Pauline perched on the edge of her desk. “So now that you’ve spent some extended time with this man, what do you think of him?”

  She lifted one shoulder in what she hoped came across as nonchalance. “He’s very nice. Empathetic, strong communication skills, an excellent listener. And he has a remarkable ability to instill trust and confidence. I suppose that could be a result of his training, but I have a feeling it’s innate. He’s one of those people who makes a very strong impression and is hard to forget, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do.” Pauline’s eyes twinkled. “To be honest, I was looking more for a professional evaluation. But this was much more enlightening. I take it the man’s not married?”

  Once more, heat flooded Kate’s cheeks. “No—but don’t get any ideas, Pauline.”

  “Like what?”

  Kate massaged the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. And yes, Connor Sullivan is an attractive, appealing man. But my heart still belongs to John. He was the love of a lifetime—and a woman doesn’t get that lucky twice.”

  “Don’t be too sure. My sister married again several years after she was widowed, and both her husbands were wonderful men who claimed their own spot in her heart, neither taking anything away from the other. She never thought she’d find love a second time, either.”

  “But I’m not in the market for a second marriage.”

  “Neither was she. That’s how it happens sometimes. We have one plan for our life, but God often has another.”

  “Not this time, Pauline. I still love John.”

  “And you always will. But the ache does ease in time. You can trust me on that.” She crossed to the door and grasped the knob. “I don’t know how the story that began last Friday in the mall will end, but even if the door closes on finding that boy, perhaps God’s opened a window. Think about it.”

  As Pauline exited, Kate moved behind her desk and sank into her chair. She had only a few minutes before her client arrived, and she needed to prep, not ponder Pauline’s comment.

  But even with the file in front of her, she couldn’t concentrate.

  Was the older woman right? Could this whole sequence of events be leading her not to Kevin but to a new direction in her life?

  Her stomach rumbled, and she pressed a hand against it. She’d had no appetite in the wee hours of the morning, and Connor hadn’t suggested stopping for breakfast on the way back to the office. Maybe she could scrounge up some food in the break room, if their receptionist had brought in one of the home-baked treats she liked to share with the volunteers and staff.

  She rose and headed down the hall. A quick bite would take the edge off her physical hunger.

  But it wasn’t going to do a thing to fill the empty spot in her heart that now ached with a different kind of hunger, thanks to a tall, handsome PI who’d stirred up a yearning that would be far more difficult to satisfy.

  7

  Diane tiptoed down the hall in Greg’s house, cracked the bedroom door a bit wider, and peeked in.

  Todd was still sleeping, covers thrown back, face flushed, hugging that cute bear he’d made at the birthday party last week. Poor kid. He’d been passed out most of the morning. The summer flu was no picnic, but hopefully the bug would pass in a day or two—for his sake.

  From a selfish perspective, however, she wouldn’t mind if he needed looking after for a few more days. It gave her something worthwhile to do—plus a chance to see Greg. The fact he’d called to ask for her help when Todd got sick last night had to mean he cared for her, didn’t it?

  Or maybe he’d just been desperate. Being new in town, he didn’t have a whole lot of resources at his disposal to deal with a sick child—and she was handy.

  Spirits plummeting, she closed Todd’s door and wandered back down the hall toward the kitchen. What would she do if he dumped her? In the two short months they’d been dating, he’d banished the darkness from her life—though he had no idea how dark it had been. Sharing the story of her husband’s philandering and abuse hadn’t been easy, but admitting the extent of his ill-treatment had been impossible. The shame was too great. Only the women in her support group knew those stories in detail, and they understood the hold Rich had exerted on her. But Greg, with his kind heart and gentle ways, would think she was crazy for staying with a man who reveled in creating terror.

  He might be right.

  Except she wasn’t crazy anymore. After one particularly nasty attack had put a support group friend in the hospital, her fear of staying with Rich had finally surpassed her fear of leaving.

  And she was never going back.

  Grabbing a can of soup from the cabinet, she tried to apply logic to the situation with Greg. It was possible she was overreacting to his withdrawal this past week. He’d complained of stomach problems when he’d cancelled their standing pizza date last Saturday, so he could be fighting the same bug that had felled Todd.

  On the other hand, if he was well enough to go to work every day, why couldn’t he squeeze in a few minutes for her? She’d tried to make it convenient for him by offering to drop by with cookies. Accommodation was her middle name, thanks to the survival skills she’d developed during her years with Rich.

  She jammed the chicken noodle soup can into the electric opener and watched the blade slice through the lid. At least her ex was out of her life now. Had been for six months. And while the adjustment had been challenging, her bruises had healed, her fear was receding, and her outlook was improving.

  Thanks in large part to Greg.

  After dumping the contents of the can into a bowl, she crossed to the microwave, set the soup inside, pressed the reheat button, and leaned against the counter.

  It was strange how life worked. She’d been as low as a person could get the day Greg had offered to change her flat tire in the grocery store parking lot. If he hadn’t had Todd in tow, she’d have refused, but the little boy was a charmer and they’d been in a public place. It didn’t get much safer than that.

  And Greg had been so polite. Almost shy. A widower, she’d learned, as he went about the task. And when he’d asked her if she’d like to meet him sometime for coffee—and promised to bring his son along—she’d taken the leap . . . and never looked back.

  Until these past few days.

  Her spirits drooped as uncertainty once again reared its ugly head. Was he pulling away because he’d found someone new, despite his claim to the contrary? He’d seemed sincere . . . but Rich had too, at the beginning. Had she done something to displease him? Made some mistake? Crossed some line she didn’t even know existed? Brought this on herself by . . .

  No!

  Sudden anger coursing through her, she strode toward the cabinet, retrieved a glass, and slammed the door. Whatever Greg’s problem, it wasn’t about her. Just like it hadn’t been about her with Rich. She hadn’t done anything wrong, then or now. She wasn’t going to play the victim again, wasn’t going to . . .

  A muffled summons from her cell phone sounded inside her purse, and she stalked across the room. She’d made too much progress to let any guy control how she felt about herself, no matter how much she liked him. With or without Greg Sanders, she’d be just fine. She had a whole new network of allies now apart from him.

&n
bsp; And this was one of them, according to caller ID. Her support group friends might be new, but they were loyal.

  She put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Sarah. What’s up?”

  “I got it!”

  Diane frowned, trying to switch gears as her friend’s almost palpable excitement came over the line. “Got what?”

  “The job! At the art gallery, as administrative assistant to the manager. He offered me the position before I even left!”

  Everything clicked. Sarah had shared the news about her upcoming interview at the support group last week, then called over the weekend to talk about it. Diane had been more than happy to offer encouragement. Bad as her own situation had been, Sarah’s had been worse.

  Diane set the glass down and leaned back against the counter. “I knew you would. You have the smarts, plus all the right qualifications.”

  “That’s what Kate kept telling me. But I couldn’t have done it without her. She’s amazing. If you ever decide to get that job you keep talking about, you have to go to New Start. And they have a sliding fee scale, if money’s an issue.”

  It wasn’t. Rich was paying her enough to support the upscale lifestyle she’d become accustomed to as his wife—but she’d never shared how well off she was with the other members of the group. Some were financially secure, like her. Others were barely scraping by, Sarah among them. Proving that abuse knew no socioeconomic boundaries.

  “Believe it or not, I’ve been giving that more thought in the past few weeks.” Being a mother would be a fine full-time job, and she was growing very fond of Todd, but if things went south with Greg, she wasn’t going to sit around the rest of her life waiting for some other guy to come along. She had a college degree; there was no reason she couldn’t use it. “The idle life was fine while I decompressed, but I’m beginning to get bored.”

  “Then take the plunge. It worked for me! Let me know if you want Kate’s number.”

  “I will. But today let’s focus on you. When do you start?”

  “Monday. It sounds as if the last assistant was seriously incompetent and left the office in complete disarray. No one can find a thing.”

  “In that case, we have to celebrate this weekend. Why don’t I treat you and Isabel to dinner on Saturday night?” Since Greg hadn’t said anything about getting together, and Todd was sick, why not make her own plans? Send a message that she didn’t intend to hold her Saturday nights open for him just in case he decided he wanted to spend them with her.

  “You don’t have to do that, Diane.”

  “I want to—and I know the perfect place.”

  When she mentioned the high-end restaurant, Sarah gasped. “That’s really expensive.”

  “Rich is paying for it.”

  The other woman gave a soft laugh. “In that case . . .”

  “Be ready. Six o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”

  “I will. And thank you.”

  “Not necessary. Besides, you can do the same for me if I decide to get a job.”

  “That’s a promise.”

  The microwave began to beep, and Diane pushed off from the counter. “I’ve got to run. Congratulations again . . . and see you Saturday.”

  As they said their good-byes, a muffled cry filtered down the hall. She couldn’t make out Todd’s words, but he sounded scared.

  Leaving the phone on the counter, she half jogged toward his room.

  His cries grew louder as she approached, and when she paused at the threshold, she found him thrashing on the bed, the covers bunched in his fists.

  “No! Come back!” Distress choked his voice as he muttered a string of unintelligible words, legs kicking, arms flailing.

  This had to be one of those bad dreams Greg had mentioned.

  As she crossed toward the bed, Diane wiped her palms down her slacks. Was there a correct way to wake a child from a nightmare? If there was, she’d never heard of it, and she had zip experience with kids.

  Dropping down on the side of the bed, she reached out a tentative hand and stroked Todd’s arm. “It’s okay, honey. Shh. I’m here.”

  He continued to thrash.

  Now what?

  Music. Perhaps an old familiar lullaby would soothe him. Too bad she didn’t know any except “Rock-a-bye Baby,” a song for infants. But it would have to do.

  Very softly, she began to hum the tune.

  At first, Todd didn’t respond. But slowly, as she continued to stroke his arm and croon the melody, he grew calmer. At last, with a shuddering sigh, he opened his eyes and peered up through the shadows created by the room-darkening shades. “Are you . . . the lady from the escalator?”

  She stared at him. Where in the world had that question come from?

  “It’s Diane, sweetie. Your dad’s friend.” She placed a hand on his forehead. Still too warm.

  His face sagged. “I thought you were her. She was here a minute ago.”

  “No, honey, no one’s here but us. You were having a dream.”

  “Are you sure?” He raised up on one elbow, once more growing agitated as he scanned the room.

  “Very sure.” She pressed him back onto the pillow. “Sometimes our dreams seem real, but they’re all make-believe.”

  “Not the lady! She’s real. I saw her at the mall!”

  Why not play along? Better to keep him calm and quiet. “Well, we can dream about real people too. Is she a friend of yours?”

  He felt around for his Cardinals bear. “I don’t think so. Dad says we don’t know her, but she looked right at me, like she knew who I was.” He hugged the bear close. “She was pretty and seemed nice. I was trying hard in my dream to run to her, but people got in my way and hands kept pulling me back. I wish I could see her again.” His voice quavered.

  “Maybe you will someday.” Even as she reassured him, a tingle of unease ran through her. Wasn’t it odd for a young child to be so fixated on a chance encounter with a stranger? She’d have to run this by Greg. He might have an explanation for it.

  In the meantime, diversionary tactics were in order.

  “I heated up some chicken noodle soup. Why don’t you rest while I go get it?”

  Instead of responding as she rose, he snuggled deeper under the covers with his bear.

  Once back in the kitchen, she pulled the soup out of the microwave, filled the glass with water, and set both on a tray along with a few crackers and the bottle of children’s aspirin.

  Todd remained curled up under the covers when she returned, so she set the tray on the bedside stand and crossed to the window, raising the shade a few inches to let in some sunlight. She turned to find him watching her.

  “Feeling better now that you’re wide awake?” She circled the bed toward the nightstand.

  He scrubbed at his eyes. “No. My legs and arms hurt.”

  “That’s because you have the flu. Some soup might help.”

  He made a face. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Would you try a little if I sit here and keep you company?”

  “I might throw up.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about that. If you had that kind of flu, you’d have thrown up already.”

  He gave her a wary look. “Are you sure? ’Cause I got the flu in Montana last year, and throwing up is yucky.”

  “You’re right, it is. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you try a few spoons, and if your stomach starts to feel sick, you can stop.”

  Before he could offer any further protests, she helped him scoot up and arranged two pillows behind him. Then she set a third one on his lap, placed the tray on top, and sat beside him.

  He picked up the spoon and poked at a few of the noodles. “The lady on the escalator had hair the same color as mine.”

  So much for her diversionary tactics.

  “A lot of people have blond hair. I do too.” From a bottle, but that was true of most blondes.

  He eyed her as he slurped up a spoonful of soup. “Yours is different than mine.”

 
; She couldn’t argue with that. His was the color of burnished wheat, while hers had a brassy sheen. Chalk one up for his observation skills.

  “That’s true. There are a lot of different colors of blond.”

  He chased a noodle around the bowl. “Did you know I’m adopted?”

  At the abrupt change of subject, she blinked. “Um, yes. Your father mentioned that to me once. But didn’t you get a great dad?”

  “Yeah.” He stirred the soup. “Sometimes I wish I had a mom too, though.”

  As she tried to come up with an appropriate response, the landline rang.

  Saved by the bell.

  “You keep eating while I grab the phone—and drink some water too.”

  She dashed down the hall, snatching up the phone on the third ring when Greg’s name appeared in caller ID. “Hi.”

  “You sound out of breath.”

  “I was in Todd’s room, trying to persuade him to eat some soup.”

  “How is he? I’ve been worried sick all morning.”

  “He’s been sleeping a lot, and he’s still running a temperature, but when I left him just now to grab the phone, he was eating. That’s a positive sign.”

  A sigh came over the line. “I don’t know. Maybe I should call the doctor. I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “If you want my opinion, you aren’t. Not that I’m an expert on children, but he’s got all the classic flu symptoms, and a friend of mine’s daughter had a very similar virus last week. My guess is he’ll be feeling much better in a day or so. And I can stay with him again on Monday if he isn’t ready to go back to daycare. He’s not a demanding patient.”

  “I hate to impose.”

  “You’re not. Honestly . . . I don’t mind doing a favor for friends. I like Todd—as well as his father.” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t reject her overture.

  “I’m glad to hear that—because his father likes you too.”

  At the warmth in his tone, she exhaled. Unless the man was a great actor, he was being sincere. “Nice to hear.”