Running Scared

by Lisa Jackson

  Jon shot her a look that called her a fool. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, but…people have families.”

  “Not him, I bet. He’s a loner.” He sank his fork into thick crust. “So, is it okay? Can I ask him?”

  Knowing she was playing with hot emotional fire, Kate lifted a shoulder. “Sure,” she heard herself saying. “I guess it doesn’t hurt to ask.”

  But deep down, she wasn’t so sure.

  Bibi Sullivan Porter was a damned good liar. But so was Neils VanHorn and he could feel it when someone was straying from the truth. Bibi was straying all over the globe. And she was anxious as hell.

  Watching her nervously light another cigarette and recross those long legs he found so distracting, Neils sat on the edge of a gold-and-white-striped couch in the middle of her gold-plated condominium.

  When all else had failed, he’d called on her despite her father’s warnings. If Robert wanted to find his grandson, he’d have to let Neils work all the angles.

  Bibi had been undone from the moment he’d stepped into her condominium on the fourteenth floor. He’d taken in the surroundings: acres of plush mauve carpet covered here and there by sheepskin rugs, weirdo abstract art, sculptures in black and purple, paintings of inanimate objects all out of proportion, and tables and chairs—mostly black and Oriental—clustered around potted plants in odd little groupings throughout the rooms.

  She’d tried to mask her anxiety, of course, and had offered him a drink. She’d even kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs under her on the couch as they’d talked and the lights of the city had become visible as night had fallen.

  She’d stuck to her story claiming that a sailor named Roy Panaker had been her lover. It had been a whirlwind affair lasting no more than two weeks and she’d never seen his wallet, never snooped to see if he’d given her a phony name, never once thought that he might be lying to her. He’d told her he was originally from Phoenix, that he’d moved around a lot as a kid, and that he was just about finished with his hitch in the navy. She didn’t even think that he might have used an alias, or that he could have had a wife and children tucked away somewhere, or that he could have been scamming her. She’d been young and naive at the time, and when he’d said good-bye, that he was shipping out, she’d never expected to see him again. She’d found out she was pregnant the next month.

  It was all too neat and convenient in VanHorn’s opinion, and even though she met his stare, eye to eye, she seemed to be holding back. Beatrice, he surmised, was used to adjusting the truth and living with lies. It all seemed so easy for her.

  But he wasn’t buying. She’d kept a cigarette burning during the entire interview. When she’d squashed one out, the next minute she was delving into her gold case for a replacement. It was as if nicotine was helping her stay the course, calming her nerves, keeping the lies un-tangled as he grilled her.

  It didn’t matter. She could lie until she was blue in her pretty little face. He’d figure it out. He’d just start with her phone records, then her credit card bills, find out if she was in contact with anyone suspicious. He’d check her fax machine calls, her e-mail, her credit card receipts. He had people in all phases of the industry, those who were totally legitimate and those who made a practice of breaking the law.

  “Look, VanHorn, if you want to know the truth, I’d just as soon not start all this. I know Dad thinks he needs to find my baby, but I disagree. It wouldn’t be fair to the child.”

  “Nor to you.”

  “Right.”

  He spread his hands. “It’s just a job to me,” he said, matching her lie with one of his. “Your father hired me to find the boy and I intend to do the best that I can.” He sipped from the expensive scotch she’d poured for him. “You know, I thought you’d be curious about your son.”

  She closed her eyes a second. “It’s too late.”

  “But he’s your flesh and blood.”

  “I know and there was a time when I wanted to find him, especially once I had the operation…when I knew I couldn’t have any other kids. But then my life changed, I went through the divorce and now I’ve met a man who doesn’t want to be reminded that I had a past before I met him.”

  “Don’t you think that’s unreasonable?”

  She swirled her drink and considered. “I…I think it’s necessary, if Kyle and I are going to make things work. Look, this really isn’t any of your business, is it?”

  “No, but I’d hate to think that you were working against me or hiding information.”

  She laughed brittlely and glared at him over the rim of her glass. “The last time I saw my son was on the day he was born. His father never knew a thing about him.”

  “Ever?”

  “Right. So you’re barking up the wrong tree, Mr. VanHorn, wasting my father’s money. Even if you do locate Roy, he’ll think you’re nuts. He probably doesn’t even remember me. It’s been a long time.”

  Neils smiled, his gaze moving over her bare calves. “I doubt that any man could forget you.”

  “Well, he did a fine disappearing act.”

  “Isn’t that something?” VanHorn said, then drained his drink and set it on the corner of a glass and brass table. “It’s almost as if the guy never existed.”

  “If he didn’t exist, then how could I have a son?” she asked, tilting up her pointed chin. She looked older than she was then, her hair, mahogany that shimmered as if it had been professionally colored, her blue eyes enhanced with aqua contacts. She wore a short sarong of sorts, black and gold threads woven into some gauzy fabric that showed off a hint of cleavage as well as revealed shapely, well-muscled legs.

  “Maybe you’re protecting someone else.”

  “Someone else?” she repeated with a humorless laugh. “Who would that be?”

  “You tell me. A married man, perhaps? One with a family? Or…someone unsavory—a thug with a criminal record? A boy underage? Lots of possibilities.”

  “Well, you keep checking them out, Mr. VanHorn, that’s a good idea. My father’s a very wealthy man and I don’t think you’re above stretching out this investigation to get as much of Daddy’s money as you can. Go ahead. But as I said, you’re wasting his money and my time. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She stretched out her legs and rolled her bare feet into black velvet slippers, then ushered him to the door.

  As he rode the elevator to the first floor, he wondered exactly what her secrets were. At the time of the baby’s conception, she’d been living at home with her folks, and the Sullivans had proved to be a clannish lot. There were lots of family get-togethers and even her brother Stuart and her cousin Collin were best friends when they could have easily been rivals. Bibi hung out with the boys when she could and had few girlfriends, but there was one, Tina Petricelli, who had moved away from Boston a few years back and Bibi’s first husband, Arnold Porter, who, though remarried, might provide some insight into Bibi’s previous love life. Sooner or later VanHorn would find out what secrets she thought she’d buried long ago.

  He made mental notes to call on those close to Bibi, and to check on the events of Stuart Sullivan’s death, which had to have happened, according to the chronological order of events, right around the time that the kid was conceived. He’d thought for a second that maybe Stuart had been the boy’s father—it would explain so much about the secrecy surrounding the birth and Stuart’s untimely murder—but he’d tossed the notion aside. If that was the case and Robert had the slightest inkling about the kid’s parentage, he would never have hired Neils—or would he have? The old coot was weird and talked about Stuart as if he were some kind of saint.

  The elevator bell chimed softly and he landed on the first floor. A woman draped in red leather and walking two greyhounds entered the car as he turned up the collar of his coat and edged through the revolving door.

  Bitter cold ripped into him as he hit the street. Snow was still piled along the curb and the wind tore by in a frigid rush that burned his cheeks
. Hands deep in his pockets, he headed for a little Irish pub a few blocks away. He’d have a couple of drinks and meet his silent partner again.

  One way or another he’d find the truth about the boy’s father, discover where the kid was, and then sell all this vital information to the highest bidder.

  “Take the kid and run as far and as fast as you can!” Bibi said, her voice nearly strangled with hysteria. “VanHorn’s on to us, I just know it.”

  Daegan felt his jaw tighten to the point of pain. “He will be if he figures out you called me.”

  “He won’t. I’m in a phone booth and I wasn’t followed, now, do you hear me, I don’t trust VanHorn. He’s a slimy little bastard if there ever was one and he’s going to find you and the boy so you’d better pack up and leave right away.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “For a month? Christ, Daegan, it’s almost Thanksgiving! How long are you going to draw this out?” Standing in his small, dingy kitchen, he could imagine the lines of strain on her face, the worry in her eye. “He’s even talked to Arnold.”

  “Arnold?”

  “My ex! Arnold called me yesterday and read me the riot act about VanHorn showing up on his doorstep, asking all sorts of questions, making him late for his damned squash game. He acted as if it was my fault.”

  “Bibi, for God’s sake, get a grip—”

  “A grip? A grip?” she repeated. “Jesus, don’t you understand anything, Daegan? VanHorn’s going to find you!”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Then grab the kid and take off.”

  As if it were all that simple. “And be up on charges for kidnapping?”

  “You’re the boy’s father!”

  “Not legally, Bibi, now just calm down,” Daegan insisted, though his own pulse was pounding with dread. It was time for the truth. Kate deserved to know what was happening.

  “Oh, for the love of God, Daegan, I can’t calm down! I’m freezing my butt off out here! Just do the job you were paid to do and get the hell out of Dodge!”

  “Cute, Bibi.”

  “Not meant to be. It’s not just VanHorn, you know. Daddy’s putting the screws to me. VanHorn’s convinced him there was no Roy Panaker, so now Daddy’s asking questions, not just of me, but of everyone else in the family, even my girlfriends.”

  “And Arnold.”

  “Yes, and that’s not the worst of it. Collin called to make sure I was going to Frank’s house for dinner, said he wanted to talk to me about something. Do you know how long it’s been since Collin spoke to me? Years, Daegan, years! He’s never started a conversation with me since Stu was killed and you left Boston. It’s almost as if he blamed me for all the problems, and now, now he wants to chat over roast turkey and damned cranberries!”

  “Stop it! You’re working yourself into a lather about nothing,” he said though his own stomach twisted at the mention of his half brother—Collin the blond, the beautiful, the chosen. Oh, shit. “Just slow down, take a deep breath—”

  “Don’t patronize me, Daegan. I put up with that all my life from Stuart, Daddy, and Collin. I don’t need or expect it from you! Okay?”

  He ground his back teeth together and suddenly knew what it would be like to be a wounded animal, cornered with nowhere to run. “I’ll handle things on this end.”

  “You’d better,” she said, “because Daegan, if this all blows up in my face, I’ll hold you responsible!”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he drawled before hanging up and running a hand over his face. Bibi was losing it, but she did have a point. What was the reason he was hanging around? Why not put an end to this insanity?

  Because he didn’t want to. The damnedest thing had happened. In the weeks since Jon’s run-in with Todd Neider, the boy had been coming over, not just for boxing lessons, but to learn to ride a horse, shoot a rifle, shore up the old fence line. Even the dog had started coming out from under the porch, sleeping on a mat just inside the door as the nights had grown colder and once in a great while thumping his mangy tail at the sight of Daegan. No more growls from old Roscoe or suspicious stares from the kid. Jon seemed to find him fascinating, and Daegan was hard-pressed to destroy a relationship so tenuously woven.

  In the beginning, because of the boy’s gift, he’d expected Jon to divine a lot more about him, but if the boy had figured out that Daegan had ulterior motives for moving in next door, he hadn’t said a word. In fact, all that talk about seeing into the future or the past seemed to have disappeared. Or the kid was just keeping it to himself, as Daegan had.

  But Bibi was right. Sooner or later this whole mess was going to blow sky-high. He had to figure out what he was going to do. With Roscoe tagging reluctantly behind him, he made his way to the barn, where he spent the next couple of hours cleaning some of the tack and machinery, then spreading oats and hay into the mangers of his two horses. As he used his jack knife to cut the twine of bales he’d bought from a rancher who lived fifteen miles up the road, Daegan thought about his ranch in the Bitterroots and wondered why he didn’t miss the place—the one spot on earth he’d once considered home. He called every week and his foreman assured him that everything was running as well as could be expected. They’d lost a pregnant cow to black leg, but had inoculated the rest of the herd and no other animals had been stricken. He should return, should find his life again, but he was beginning to think that the rest of his miserable existence was tied to Kate Summers, her son, and Hopewell-damned-Oregon.

  Bibi’s call disturbed him. As long as he was here, close to Kate and Jon, he was like a campfire on the prairie, a beacon that would lead VanHorn to Kate’s front door. On the other hand, he was the only chance of protection they had. No telling what VanHorn’s plan was. Robert Sullivan’s intentions were clear—he’d do anything to get the boy back in the family. He didn’t give a damn about Kate or her son’s feelings. Then there was the Neider family to consider. Todd wasn’t about to stop harassing Jon unless his father stepped in and the old man had made his viewpoint pretty clear.

  “Son of a bitch,” he growled, kicking a bag of oats in frustration and sending a rat scurrying through a hole in the floorboards. Roscoe barked uneasily and Buckshot snorted.

  Daegan had no choice but to put his cards on the table and tell Kate the truth. She’d be furious and hurt and probably tell him to go straight to hell, a place he’d visited more than once before in his lifetime. But the thought of not seeing her again, being separated from his boy, drove a stake of pain through his heart. He could fight her for custody, he supposed, and consequences be damned, but then she’d be sure to hate him with a blinding ferocity that would tear at him for the rest of his days.

  Charging out of the barn, he felt the breath of the coming winter, fierce and unforgiving, in the wind at his back. A few flakes of snow swirled in the air, and ice had formed in the mud puddles from the rain they’d had earlier in the week.

  He heard Kate’s car before he saw it, and dread pounded in his heart. Since that night on the porch when he’d kissed her and made mental love to her, they’d kept their distance, at least physically. She seemed to have been as shaken as he, and the few times they’d run into each other, they’d been polite, even friendly, but hadn’t come close to the same intimacy they’d shared in those few minutes of passion. But it had lurked there, just below the surface of their civility to each other, that simmering desire that created a raw ache deep in his soul and kept him awake at night for the feel of her beside him.

  Her car ground to a stop and she flew out the door, her hair streaming behind her as her boots crunched furiously on the gravel. “Who do you think you are?” she demanded, her eyes snapping gold fire.

  His heart nearly stopped. She knew. Somehow, some way, she’d figured out why he was here.

  She advanced on him and jabbed a finger at his chest. “You had no right, do you hear me, no right to bulldoze your way into my business.”

  “Hey, whoa—slow down,” he said, ready to
defend himself. Whether she believed it or not, Jon was his son as much as, probably more than, hers.

  “I know you went over to Carl Neider’s place!”

  That’s what this furious tirade was all about? Daegan nearly laughed with relief, but the consternation gripping her beautiful features stopped him short. “Weeks ago.”

  “Doesn’t matter when it happened.”

  “I figured old man Neider needed to know what his kid was up to.”

  “And so you took it upon yourself to tell him to keep Todd away from Jon.”

  “I just suggested he might not want to let his boy keep bullying other, smaller kids.”

  “But—”

  He lifted a dark, curious brow and watched as she snapped her mouth closed then threw her arms in the air and turned away from him, as if staring into his eyes was too distracting. “Jon’s my son, not yours,” she said finally and he felt a rip in his heart. Oh, lady, if you only knew. “I guess this might be all my fault, the way I let him come over here all the time to pester you and—”

  “He doesn’t pester me. I enjoy having him around.” The honesty in his words caused her shoulders to stiffen.

  She let out a long, slow breath, which formed a cloud in the frigid air. “Listen, Daegan, I appreciate all you’re doing for Jon. And…well, to be honest, I thought it was kind of nice—pushy, but nice—that you watched over the place at night. Jon…he needs someone other than me that he can look up to or depend on or whatever you want to call it, but you have no right to go up to Carl Neider or anyone else and threaten him and oh—”

  He grabbed her wrist and spun her around, his fingers tightening like a manacle. “Something had to be done, Kate. Sheriff Sit-On-His-Ass wasn’t going to lift a finger and we both know it. He was hoping the situation would just fade away, but that’s impossible with Neider’s kind.”

  “There hasn’t been any more trouble…”

  “Don’t you wonder why?”

  “No, I—”

  “Because Carl Neider understands that I mean business!”