by Ann Yost
“What kind of example are you setting for these children, Jake? Don’t you want them to know about forgiveness and second chances? Okay, so you have a history with Maxine but that’s in the past. You keep talking about how immature I am. Well, in this case, the situation is reversed. You need to grow up.”
The ruddy color in his cheeks deepened and his eyes flashed like lightning during a storm. Lucy half expected to see steam coming out of his head. She watched his fists clench and unclench. Was he angry enough to ruin the entire party?
Just then Hallie arrived and slid her hand through his arm. Jake looked into her hazel eyes and Lucy could literally see the tension seep out of him. Her own heart felt like the limpest of dishrags.
“Time to toast the happy couple,” Hallie said.
Chapter Thirteen
The interminable party finally ended. Sam and Lillie chattered in the backseat on the drive back to the house. Jake glared out the windshield and Lucy tried to focus on logistics. She wanted to get out as soon as they reached Cypress Street, hop in her Jeep and disappear but she couldn’t do that. She had to make the transition as smooth as possible for Sam and Lillie.
“Now that you’re ’gaged,” Sam said, “can we call Lucy, ‘mommy’?”
A knife sliced through her heart.
“You’d have to rename the mouse.”
“You mean Lucy, Junior has to be Mommy, Junior?”
“Right.”
“That’s dopey, Daddy,” Lillie said. “You know Lucy, Junior is a boy.”
Finally the children were settled in their beds. It was time for the showdown. Lucy knew Jake had a right to make decisions regarding the kids but he was showing no effort at all to accept her as an equal parent. She couldn’t afford to let this go. The parenting wouldn’t work if he persisted in treating her as an intern. The marriage wouldn’t work, either.
Underneath it all, the argument wasn’t about the ranch or Maxine or even the issue of co-parenting. Ultimately, this was about Jake and his wariness to make a commitment to a much-younger woman. He said he knew she wasn’t like Ariel and he probably meant it but lip service wasn’t enough. There was no chance of building a good marriage on the sand of his insecurities. Either he believed in Lucy or he didn’t.
That question had been answered definitely tonight.
She didn’t know whether he would apologize or insist, icily, that “we-have-to-talk” and she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was tired of being treated like a mindless embryo.
He met her in the hallway as she closed Sam’s door.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward her room. The words and his touch combined to make her heart pound crazily.
“What are you doing?”
He shrugged. “You need help getting out of that dress.”
Practical Jake. He was right, of course. She let him unzip the dress. This time his hands did not linger on the silky, form-hugging fabric.
“I think we should discuss some ground rules,” he said, “after you change.” He strode out of the room.
He’d iced over and Lucy’s heart plummeted. At least that made her own decision easier.
Lucy pulled on her jeans and a sweatshirt. She removed her jewelry and hung the emerald-green dress in its plastic bag then she threw her underwear and clothes into the suitcase she’d stored in the closet. This part of it seemed like adding insult to injury. A decision to separate was gut-wrenching enough. A person shouldn’t have to pack up and make fifty-five trips out to the car.
But then, this wasn’t a separation. She’d never intended to stay. Not really. Suddenly, she felt sick. Her heart was beating like a trapped bird and she felt lightheaded. In the end, she just couldn’t deal with the suitcase. She left it behind and walked out to the living room.
Jake frowned at her.
“I thought you’d get ready for bed.”
He’d changed into jeans and a tee shirt, too, but then he didn’t own any pajamas.
“I’m not planning to sleep here tonight.”
Shock registered on his handsome features. He flopped on the sofa and gazed, broodingly, at her face.
“You’re overreacting, Lucy. It was just an argument.”
She knew better but she couldn’t explain it to him, not tonight when there was a cannonball stuck in her throat.
“Step relations are always difficult,” he said, wearily. He pushed his fingers through his hair.
She felt a wave of sadness. She’d become a too-young, trouble-toting step relation. There was nothing left of Lucy in this engagement.
“Do you even want to be a mom, Lucy? Or do you want a career?”
She gaped at him. What had she expected? That he’d get down on one knee and plead with her to stay? Dang, he hadn’t even done the knee-bit to propose. He obviously agreed with her unspoken assessment that this wasn’t going to work. He’d taken her apparent rebellion and shoved it back in her teeth. He wanted her to walk out.
“I like being a reporter and I love you and the kids. I think I can wear two hats. What’s going on between us isn’t mom versus career. It’s about what I want.”
“Which is?”
She couldn’t believe he didn’t know.
“To be treated as an equal, Jake. It’s that simple. And that complicated.”
She walked toward the door, her keys in her hand.
“Where are you going?”
His voice sounded hoarse, raspy. He was exhausted. She ignored the wave of unwanted sympathy.
“I’m going home to get some sleep.”
“This is your home, Lucy.”
It was an excellent opportunity for a withering and final exit line; a perfect chance to rip off the engagement ring purchased for another woman and fling it in his face. She couldn’t bring herself to do either.
“I need some time alone.”
Lucy sat in the veterinary clinic parking lot half an hour later and stared at the darkened building. She couldn’t bear to climb the stairs to her lonely apartment. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep and if, by some miracle, she decided to wallow in the painful breakup, there wasn’t even any ice cream in the refrigerator.
She could let herself into the Outlaw family home but no one would be up to talk to and, anyway, she didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to think anymore, either.
Mostly, she didn’t want to feel.
It was after midnight and the temperature, in typical Maine fashion, had dropped to the low forties. Lucy shivered. She couldn’t just sit in the Jeep all night unless she could think of somewhere to drive it. Without making a conscious decision, she switched on the ignition and backed onto Walnut Street. Minutes later she was on the interstate driving east—to Bangor.
****
Jake stared at the blank screen of the television set. Somehow, he hadn’t expected her to walk out. At least her absence gave him plenty of time to critique his own behavior.
He’d treated her like one of those punching bag clowns, knocking her down over and over and every time she’d absorbed the blow, gotten back on her feet and forgiven him. She had seemed to understand his fear of getting burned again. But not this time. It had taken him too long to understand how important she was to him, too long to find the courage to risk another mistake.
He thrust his fingers through his hair. Okay, so he’d treated her badly and he was sorry for it but, dammit, she had no right to agree to send the children to Maxine’s. Christ. It was like shipping them off to a concentration camp—they might never come back.
Except to Lucy it wasn’t some grisly final solution but a chance for the twins to visit the grandparents who loved them.
He was the one with the problem, not Lucy. He was the one afraid of getting hurt. He was the one who was immature.
Dammit all to hell.
Lucy. He closed his eyes and dropped his head against the back of the sofa. He pictured the twinkling blue eyes, the animation in her face, the warmth of her smile
and his heart jerked. He felt the eager touch of her hands and his body throbbed. He heard her voice as she read a bedtime story, her breathy, little sounds as she accepted him into her tight, untried body. He felt a surge of lust followed by a surge of grief.
Jake had never been a man of indecision but he’d dithered with his temporary nanny. He hadn’t been able to decide whether he had the right to keep her or not and so, he’d lost her.
Emotions gathered in his throat and tears pricked the backs of his eyes. He hadn’t cried when his mother died or when Ariel left. He hadn’t cried since he was Sam and Lillie’s age.
He felt like crying now.
****
Clouds scudded across the sky so that crisp, clear moonscapes alternated with shadowed darkness. It felt odd to be out at night with no one around and no place to go. Sort of like a helium balloon cut loose from its tether. Sort of like soaring in a Cessna two-seater in an empty night sky.
It felt both empowering and lonely but mostly, it felt good not to be anywhere.
Lucy didn’t turn on the radio, partly because the only local station that stayed on the air all night played exclusively country western tunes and partly because the silence helped her feel more like part of the ghostly scrub-pines that lined the highway and less like Lucy.
She passed the exit to Overmyer, a tiny village three miles down a dirt road. It was exactly here that she’d met Jake that first time. She’d been heading home after Christmas and he’d stopped her for speeding. He hadn’t been interested in excuses and he hadn’t issued her a ticket. He’d just scowled at her and told her to grow up.
Even back then he’d been dictatorial. She should have known better than to fall for him but she’d taken one look at the glittering emerald eyes in his masculine face and she’d been a goner.
Silly girl.
A sign for Bangor routed her painful personal thoughts toward the murder investigation. She never had gotten back to Shirley Packer but she still thought the first wife, the spurned wife, was the key to the whole puzzle.
There was no time like the present to find out if she was right.
Lucy parked along the curb in front of the Cherrydale house. Enough neighbors had left their porch lights burning that she could see her way up the flagstone walkway even though Shirley’s house was dark as pitch. Mrs. Packer was probably upstairs asleep in her bed. If Lucy had a grain of common sense, she’d turn around and leave as quietly as possible.
But she didn’t have a grain. That was well-documented.
She stepped up on the porch and pushed at the front door. It creaked and opened a few inches. A shiver crawled down her spine.
Something was very wrong.
A part of her mind felt all the folly of entering the unlocked house of a murder suspect. Another part of her mind was caught up in the excitement. Was she about to discover the quintessential clue? The biggest part of her mind felt reckless. Whoever was inside the house couldn’t hurt her as much as she’d already been hurt tonight and she was a reporter. There was a story here and she intended to find it.
Even so, she took the precaution of sprinting back to the Jeep and extracting the long-handled flashlight Jake had given her after their snowbound night. He’d said, prophetically as it turned out, that he wouldn’t always be around to rescue her.
A gust of wind carried with it a splash of water against her cheek. She looked up, surprised. She hadn’t expected rain. Her heart thudded hard as she pushed the front door wide enough to enter the dark foyer. It occurred to her, belatedly, that Shirley Packer would never have gone to bed with her door unlocked. Lucy sprinted back down the path, found her cell, called 911 and reported the break-in. The dispatcher said they’d send a car.
The rain had picked up. Lucy could hear it dancing on the roof like quarters pouring out of a slot machine. At least it masked her footsteps. She didn’t turn on her flashlight but moved deeper and deeper into the thick blackness. The hair was standing up on the back of her neck now. She tried to decide on a plan. If she found no one downstairs, should she risk climbing to the second floor? Shirley Packer would probably be tucked in bed, with a loaded pistol under her pillow.
Lucy knew that wasn’t the real risk. The greater likelihood, was that she’d be a sitting duck, trapped on the second floor.
When she and Flynn had been here earlier, they had turned right at the end of the corridor into Shirley’s living room. This time she turned left and found herself in a small butler’s pantry. She opened two sets of swinging door and then she was in a kitchen. And the darkness had eased.
Lucy glanced at the window. There was some kind of light out in the yard. She tiptoed across the tiled floor and peered out. Slanting rain restricted her vision but she was able to make out the source of the glow. It was coming from the interior lights of a car.
A sports car.
A mauve Bugatti Veyron.
Not that she could see the color, but she’d have bet her fake engagement ring that she’d guessed right. Why was Claude Moore’s car parked in Shirley Packer’s driveway at one a.m.? Were they lovers? She dismissed the thought immediately. Impossible. Co-conspirators? Maybe. She peered into the backyard. Maybe she’d interrupted a getaway scene. She slipped her hand into her pocket intent on calling Jake but before she could punch in his number, she glanced out the window again.
This time the light reflected a cap of salt-and-pepper hair plastered against a woman’s skull. The woman moved jerkily and it didn’t take long to figure out why. Claude Moore’s slender figure came into view and Lucy watched him shove Shirley hard enough to make the woman stumble and hit her head on the doorframe. Lucy heard a faint cry and a masculine curse. For an instant, she froze. This wasn’t a getaway scene.
It was an abduction.
Claude was kidnapping his erstwhile partner.
Good grief!
There was no time to call Jake or anyone else. If Lucy didn’t act immediately Moore was going to get away with it. She had to do something—fast. If only she’d thought to park in the driveway. She hadn’t, though, and she couldn’t walk out the backdoor in full view of the villain. Lucy sprinted back through the house and exited through the front door. Then she ran through the rain, ducking behind bushes as she got closer. Claude was attempting, with limited success, to stuff Shirley’s lower body into the low-slung seat of the sports car. Lucy moved closer, trying to stay hidden as long as possible. It was difficult to see with the rain needling against her face. On the other hand, the downpour provided cover for any sound she might make. She worked her way to within a few feet of the pair. She heard a sudden harsh groan followed by growled words.
“Damn bitch.”
It sounded like Shirley had kicked him someplace where it counted. Lucy gave a mental cheer.
“I’m not going with you, Claude.” Shirley’s voice was calm and even and Lucy could hear it clearly in spite of the clattering rain. “If you want to kill me you’re going to have to do it here.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Moore panted. “You deserve a bullet, damn you. Get your feet into the car.”
Lucy caught the glint of metal an instant before she heard a sickening thud as whatever it was—a gun, probably—slammed into Shirley’s skull. The woman slumped and the attorney bent down out of sight. Suddenly, he cursed again.
“Goddammit, Shirl! You made me drop the gun.”
Lucy’s breath caught. She controlled the urge to turn on her flashlight to blind him. Light might confuse Claude but it wouldn’t stop him. He might be in pain but he was closer to the dropped weapon than she. On top of that, Lucy was beginning to develop a strong suspicion that he knew how to use the weapon. She slipped up behind him as he bent over to search for the gun. She saw him jerk with excitement and knew he’d spotted it. This was her best chance, possibly her only chance. She lifted her flashlight and launched herself at the attorney swinging frantically. Her first attempt whiffed and Claude looked up. Shoot-a-mile. Lucy settled for a shorter backswing. This
time she connected with a sickening crack, hard enough that her own body reverberated with the shock. Her fingers opened and the flashlight released onto the ground as Claude let out a howl.
“What the fuck!”
An instant later Lucy felt cold metal against the side of her neck. The gun barrel? His screeched directive not to move was unnecessary. She couldn’t even seem to breathe. She imagined Jake’s reaction to the sight of her cold dead body on the morgue slab.
Always was too impulsive. Should’ve waited for help.
No one in town would argue with that.
“I take it you’ve decided to join us, Ms. Outlaw.”
She wanted to challenge him. She wanted to ask him why he was terrorizing Shirley Packer.
“Not exactly,” she muttered.
“Not so full of questions tonight, are we?”
She saw his arm lift and she winced.
“Just wiping the blood off my face,” he said, conversationally. “I’m not at all pleased that you’ve ruined my suit. It’s one of my best, you know.”
She risked turning an inch and saw that blood was pouring out of a wound above his temple.
“You should get stitches.”
“Thank you for your input. Get in the car.”
Her heart sank. Well, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected that.
“There’s no room.” She pointed at the woman who was half in and half out of the Bugatti, like Winnie-the-Pooh and the honey tree.
“Shove her over.”
His voice sounded thin. She risked another glance. Was he turning chartreuse? It was hard to tell in the darkness. He doubled over, suddenly, and retched. Had she given him a concussion? Guilt warred with a sense of triumph. Maybe he’d pass out.
“On second thought,” he sputtered, “get in on the driver’s side.” He shoved the gun barrel harder against her neck. “Get in the fucking car before I put a bullet through Shirley.”
