by Karen Rose
“Why?”
Dana walked around her desk and perched on the edge, trying to lessen any feelings of intimidation. “Jane, Hanover House isn’t a place you can stay forever. Women come, get their bearings, then they leave. We have a policy of a three-week maximum stay.” Which they routinely broke, of course. Somehow Dana felt loath to mention that fact.
“But I’m afraid to leave,” she whispered. “He’ll find me and make me go back.”
Me. Not us. Me. “Back to where, Jane?” she asked and the woman stiffened.
“You don’t understand. You’re the only one I can trust. This is the only place I’ll be safe.”
I’ll be safe. Not we’ll. Not my son. Me. I. There was a pattern here Dana didn’t like. “Back where, Jane?” she repeated.
Her brows bunched stubbornly. “It don’t matter. I’m never going back there anyways.”
“That’s good for you and Erik. But Erik needs a stable home. To make that happen, we need to find you a job. Did you have a job before Erik was born?”
“I was seventeen.” It was said defensively, Jane’s arms coming up to cross over her chest. And it was in that movement that Dana saw Jane’s scars. Small and light, they crisscrossed the inside of her arms wrist to elbow. It was just a glimpse. But it told Dana a great deal about the woman sitting before her.
At one time Jane had cut herself. Not as an attempt at suicide, but an initial cry for attention. Later to exert control over the only thing she’d had control of at the time. Her own body. Dana had seen this more than once over her years as a therapist. Now Jane’s world was upside down again. Stress often caused people to fall back to familiar ways of coping. They’d need to watch both Jane and Erik more closely.
Dana focused on the present. Jane did not want to think about a job, which was not unusual. Most women needed some time to process all the things they needed to do now that they were truly alone in the world, many for the first time in their lives.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you go through the want ads in the paper, then later this afternoon, join us for our group therapy session? Jane, you took the biggest step in walking away from your husband. That was braver than what most people do in a lifetime. It’s my job to help you make the most of the second chance you’ve given yourself.”
Jane’s nod was brief. “Can I go back now? I hate to leave Erik for so long.”
“Certainly.” Dana handed her the newspaper, fighting the urge to shove it in her hand when Jane just sat looking at it. Finally Jane took the paper, stood up, walked out.
Dana stared after her, instinct screaming that something was very wrong. But she’d also learned that no two women responded to abuse the same way. She sat down and finished making her notes, deep in thought when she was jerked back to reality.
“Good morning,” Caroline said from the doorway. “Can I come in?”
“Could I stop you?” Dana asked dryly.
Closing the door, Caroline chuckled. “Probably not.” She sank into a chair. “So what happened last night?” she asked with no further preamble.
Dana gave her best bland look. “You could have just called and asked.”
Caroline grinned. “And miss the way you’re blushing right now? No way.”
“I’m not blushing.”
Caroline raised her eyes to the ceiling. “First stage is denial.”
Dana shrugged, trying for careless, knowing she couldn’t pull it off. “You’re right.”
Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Did he do something wrong?”
“No, nothing like that. He was a perfect gentleman.” Except when his hands covered my breasts. And it was the most incredible thrill. Dana propped her elbows on her desk, her chin on her fists. “We had dinner and he told me about his accident. His friend died and he’s still grieving, but talking seemed to help. We had hot wings. I ate vegetables.”
Caroline arched a brow. “One sad little celery stalk doesn’t count, Dana. Then what?”
“He wanted to take me home, but I said no.”
“Prudent,” Caroline said.
“But he didn’t give up, so I had to let him walk me to my apartment.”
Caroline grimaced. “I bet that was a real eye-opener.”
“He was less than impressed. We chatted a bit more. Then he left.”
“He left.” Caroline ran her tongue over her teeth. “You’re going to make me pull every little detail out of you with a crochet hook, aren’t you?”
Dana dragged her fingers through her hair. “Dammit, Caroline. We talked. He kissed my forehead. That’s it. No rabid romance.” No hot sweaty sex to top off my tank. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” You have no idea how much.
“Okay. So when do you see him again?”
Dana looked at the ceiling. “Two hours ago.”
Caroline’s grin lit up the room. “Now we’re cookin’, Dupinsky. So what happened then?”
Dana had to laugh at her friend’s glee. “We talked some more. Then he walked me to my car. And he kissed me. On the lips.”
“And?”
Dana closed her eyes, her cheeks burning, her heart pounding at the memory of that kiss, her lips still tingling hours later. “Oh, my God.”
“So he really didn’t lose anything he couldn’t live without,” Caroline said wryly.
Dana thought about that hard ridge, pulsing just where she’d needed it. “Oh, no.”
“So when do you see him again?”
“Tonight at seven. If Evie’s busy, can you spend an hour or two here?”
“For you, for this? Absolutely. Now, I did have another reason for coming this morning besides the Buchanan report.” She glanced at the door and dropped her voice. “Jane.”
Dana frowned down at her notes. “What about her?”
“She really worries me, Dana. Yesterday, I caught her smoking in the bathroom. I wasn’t angry, I just asked her not to do it again. But she was furious. Had this controlled little explosion. I could tell she hadn’t meant to do it, and that she was fighting to calm herself back down.” Caroline frowned. “For just a second, she reminded me of Rob.”
Dana blinked. Caroline’s ex-husband had been a monster. “Oh, Caroline, really.”
“I’m serious. Then later, when David came to fix the roof? She’d gone out back to smoke and I saw her staring at David.”
“David’s a handsome man. Most women stare at him.”
“Not like this. This was nasty. Lascivious. Calculating.” She shivered. “I didn’t like it.”
Dana sighed. Her own instinct was one thing, but Caroline’s concurrence was something she couldn’t just ignore. “What do you think we should do, Caroline? Those bruises she came here wearing were real. Erik’s been through some serious trauma.”
“I don’t know what to do. Her boy breaks my heart. Just . . . watch her for now, okay?”
“I will.”
Sue shut the door to her room, breathless, having skipped up the stairs an instant before Caroline opened the door to Dupinsky’s office. She eyed the kid sitting up on the bed, groggy but aware. Dupinsky better come through soon with the refill. She needed to keep the boy uncommunicative, as she had no doubt that Dupinsky would try to talk to him. It was a typical social worker response—talk, talk, talk. That Dupinsky was forcing her to look for a job so soon had been a bit of a shock. She’d expected some pampering, a little kindness. She threw the newspaper, barely missing the kid’s head, watched him flinch.
At least she could use the job search to her advantage. This morning she’d sneaked out to get her latest e-mail to the Vaughns and to kill good old Leroy Vickers. But if she were out looking for work, well, she wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. She’d still have to be careful, still need to be sure she stayed far away from old haunts, from where anyone could recognize her. James was still out there, hovering. Of that she had no doubt.
She’d forced the kid to take another of his pills and was chasing it with Benadryl when a movement caught her eye,
out the window, down on the street. It was Caroline, walking to her car. That woman was dangerous. Sue had heard every word they’d said. Sooner or later Dupinsky would listen to those disturbing observations, and lack of pampering or not, this was a pretty good place to hide. Caroline needed to be dealt with.
She pulled her cell from her backpack. Fred answered on the third ring. “I was getting a little concerned, SusieQ. I didn’t think you’d call me back.”
“Well, I did. Look, I’ll do what you want me to do, but I have another favor for you.”
“Stackin’ up the favors, Susie? I don’t know.”
“Trust me. This one you’ll enjoy.”
Chicago, Monday, August 2, 4:30 P.M.
She was hot and wet and constant fluid motion, rising to meet him like a wave of the sea. Her long, long legs wrapped around him, her husky voice whispered his name, her brown eyes filled with lust. He pushed deeper and she moaned and—
Ethan jerked awake, instantly lifting his head from the pillow. The clock was beeping obnoxiously. He dropped his face back into the pillow with a groan. His head still ached, but his body ached worse, certain vicinities more than others. It had been a dream. Just a dream. But so damn real and so damn good. He was rock-hard and ready to go from just a dream. What would it be like when he touched her for real? Because he would. He’d thought it when she first looked up at him in the bus station yesterday morning, but knew it after that kiss up against her car. She’d come alive in his arms and it had been like . . . Like she was made just for me. And I’ll see her again in a few hours. His stomach rumbled, but he wouldn’t eat. Not until he met her at the hot dog stand. He had to eat. He had to see her. Doing both at the same time was the only way to satisfy his conscience because as he’d told Clay, he did understand his priorities.
Which now included assembling the equipment he’d bought and checking out that copy store surveillance video. Dragging himself out of bed, he flipped on ESPN to catch the tail end of the Orioles game while he opened boxes and connected cords, wondering if Dana was listening to the Cubs play while she took pictures of mothers and babies.
The O’s were up by two when he’d finished converting the copy store’s video to digital and he switched his concentration to the image on his computer screen, magnifying the woman’s shoulder, playing with contrast and color, trying to see what the makeup covered.
A half hour later he sat back. Her left shoulder had a tattoo, but all he could see was an uppercase A, stylized similar to the first letter of a medieval hand-drawn text. The rest stubbornly remained hidden beneath the thick makeup. “Better than we had this morning, but still not enough,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He needed a shower and a shave. And food. But food would have to wait for the best dogs in town. And Dana.
He still had work to do before he met her tonight. He’d only stay a few minutes, because he did know his priorities and right now his priority was a twelve-year-old boy who needed every waking moment he could give.
Chicago, Monday, August 2, 5:45 P.M.
Mom. Alec was home. His mom was stroking his hair and he was home. It had all been an awful, awful dream. He’d tell her about it, make it into a joke. But she’d stay with him anyway, stroking his hair until he went back to sleep. She always did.
He’d tell her all about it, when he opened his eyes. But it was hard to do. Hard to open his eyes. He fought, so hard. He wanted to see her, needed to see her. She was stroking his hair and nothing had ever felt so good.
He struggled with his eyelids, felt them flutter. Lifted them enough to see her face. Blurry pictures ran together, then apart, then slowly together again. Mom.
The scream caught in his throat. It wasn’t her. Wasn’t his mother. His mother’s face was smooth and beautiful. This face . . . A long red scar ran down this face. The mouth didn’t smile. He fought to breathe. Mom.
But the hand continued to stroke his hair and he drew a breath. Not his mom. Not a dream. Who was she? Her unsmiling mouth moved strangely and he knew she was talking to him. Still her hand soothed. His eyes fluttered back down. He fought hard, fought the current that pulled him under. It was black and dark. No. Not again. Mom.
Evie looked up when a shadow fell over the boy. “He’s asleep again,” she murmured.
Jane’s eyes narrowed, then she relaxed when she saw all was well with her son. “He woke up?” she whispered hopefully.
“No, not really. He was thrashing around in his sleep.” Evie had been sitting with Erik for a full hour, stroking his hair, hoping he’d give her some indication that he was all right. He’d opened his eyes at one point, and there’d almost been a spark of recognition, an indication that he knew where he was. She gave a final parting stroke to Erik’s hair and stood up. “I just wanted to be sure he was all right. So how was group?”
Jane shrugged tightly. “It was okay.”
Evie patted her arm. “Don’t worry, it’ll all come together for you and Erik.”
“That’s what Dana said in group, just now.” The woman braved a smile that tore at Evie’s heart. “It’s hard to believe people can be so nice, after . . .”
“I know. I remember when I first came here. You wonder when the other shoe’s going to fall. But here it doesn’t. There’s nothing to fear here. Look, if you want me to come sit with Erik, to give you a break, just let me know.”
“You’re very kind,” Jane murmured, dropping her eyes to the floor. “Thank you.”
Evie hesitated, then put her arm around Jane for a short, hard hug. “You’re welcome.”
From beneath her lashes, Sue watched the scarred woman’s bare feet pad out of the room. These women had better learn to leave well enough alone. Dupinsky with her constant talking, Caroline with her damn rules, and now Scarface who had way too much interest in the kid. Sue closed the door to her room, then took the two steps to the bed and grabbed the kid’s shoulders, lifting him off the bed. She shook him savagely, and for a moment his eyes opened. But there was no spark, no defiance. Just stupor. Which was exactly what she wanted him to have. She’d planted the seeds of the kid’s mental deficiency with Dupinsky several times now. Erik was epileptic and autistic. No one had seemed to doubt her and if they did, well, then, hell, she wasn’t a doctor, just a poor country woman running from her bastard husband. Here, the story rang true.
She dropped the kid back on the bed. Still no response. Good. For just a moment she stood and looked at him. Waited for a flicker of compassion for the boy she’d taken from his bed, drugged out of his mind for days.
Then gave a brisk nod when the flicker never materialized. She’d been a little worried that all this bleeding heart shit would rub off. She shouldn’t have been. Because retribution was within her grasp and the kid was the carrot. The lure. The prize.
The sound of voices down in the alley behind the shelter caught her ear. Caroline and Dana were getting into separate cars. Dana apparently was off to her date. Caroline was planning to make her fashion worthy. Then Dupinsky would go off to her date and Caroline would go off to meet Fred. But she wouldn’t know it. Not until it was too late.
Chapter Ten
Chicago, Monday, August 2, 6:15 P.M.
With a curse Ethan jumped out of the shower. The hotel phone was ringing. “Yeah.”
“I called your cell and you didn’t answer,” Clay complained.
“I was in the shower. What’s happened?” Ethan asked, toweling off.
“No new e-mails, but I have some info on Stan. I’ve been going through his books.”
“What books? Stan’s never kept the books. That was always Randi’s job at the store.”
“Not anymore. Stan hired an accountant . . . and started keeping his own books.”
“Hell.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s all on his laptop, which he initially wouldn’t let me see.”
Ethan pulled a pair of boxers from the dresser. “So what’s on his laptop?”
“Appears to be classic money-laundering. L
ooks like Stan is just a go-between. He makes a sale to one client, takes in a whole lot of cash, then turns around and buys from another. I need you to tap into the legit books on his company’s server to confirm.”
Ethan shrugged into a shirt. “Can’t Randi get you in?”
“I don’t want to ask her until I know for sure. Besides, she’s kind of . . . tranq’d.”
Ethan sighed. “Let me get dressed and change phones. Then I’ll tap in.”
Ten minutes later Ethan was in Stan’s company server courtesy of the file Clay had found on Stan’s laptop listing his account log-ons and passwords. Apparently Stan didn’t trust his memory. It was appalling, but all too common. Ethan saw CEOs of major corporations writing their passwords down so they wouldn’t forget them. When that happened, security was compromised. Like this moment as Ethan easily breached Stan’s company’s computer system. “I’m in. Give me transaction dates from Stan’s records.”
Clay did, but not one of Stan’s dealings matched the official company books. Ethan sighed. “How long has this been going on?”
“It started right about the time he opened the third store in Philly three years ago.”
“When Alec had his surgery. Dammit. Now we know where he got the money.”
“It doesn’t appear to have become a habit until he expanded into New York State.”
“Which is when he became so successful,” Ethan said grimly. “I guess he liked having the cash even after the surgery was paid for. This will kill Randi, with Alec missing, not knowing if Stan had a part in it. He’s going to jail.” Ethan pressed his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Is it possible Stan wanted out and this is a ploy to convince him otherwise?”
“If it is, he’s not saying. But I think it’s pretty obvious now why he didn’t want us going to the police. This all would have come out and he didn’t want that to happen.”
Ethan blew out a breath. “I’d still like to think that was secondary. That his primary intent was to keep Alec safe. I can’t believe he knows anything about Alec’s kidnapping.”
“I know, E, but we can’t afford to ignore this. All his transactions are with people in the New York/New Jersey area. He does have a few contacts in Chicago, but no money’s changed hands with them. I’ll keep looking. Any progress on the Hooter’s girl?”
