There was only one thing to do. “Kyle?” Dylan said softly, then louder. “Kyle!”
A rustling down the hall was followed by a slamming door and a cynical, “What?”
“Mind your manners,” Dylan warned, immensely relieved to see the boy. “Are you alone?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I was worried something had happened to you, that’s all.”
“What could happen to me here?” Kyle countered, maintaining distance as if his father were the real foe.
“Did I hear you talking to somebody?”
“No.”
Dylan sighed. Capitulated. “Okay. Never mind. I’m going to see if your mother has any cookies left and then Brandon and I are going to share them over at my place. Want to join us?”
Without comment, the older boy dashed through the connecting door to the other apartment. Dylan stared after him, shaking his head and raking his fingers through his hair. That kid might be as intelligent as they came but he was sure hard to figure out.
Happily, Dylan located a cellophane-wrapped package of cookies. When he joined the boys, he found Kyle whispering something to his baby brother. Being an only child, Dylan had never had siblings to share his deep dark secrets with, but he could still tell when kids were up to something.
Arching an eyebrow he put the cookies on the kitchen table and studied his offspring. “What’s up, guys?”
“Nothing,” Kyle said quickly.
His brother echoed, “Nothin’” and giggled as if privy to a wonderful confidence.
That was okay with Dylan. He could wait. As long as the boys were getting along well he was satisfied. In view of Brandon’s age he probably hadn’t understood most of whatever his brother had said, anyway. And if he had, he’d be sure to inadvertently blab sooner or later—probably sooner.
Dylan began to smile, then grin, when he envisioned the other members of his family and thought, Too bad Kyle didn’t tell Beth or Grace. They’d never be able to keep a secret for long.
He chuckled, silently reminding himself he’d better not express that opinion in front of his wife if he hoped to mend broken fences and restore their marriage.
As far as he was concerned privately, however, there was nothing wrong with stereotyping as long as the observations were patently true.
Take the marshals he’d met, for instance. Every one had had the demeanor of a law officer, yet each was nevertheless unique. Summers and McCall, the two who had arranged their transfer to Houston, were clearly at odds with each other over some upsetting incident in their shared pasts. Trier, who had traveled with them on the plane to Texas, was different, too. He had a ready smile and an offbeat sense of humor that actually made him easier to talk to in tense situations.
Dylan poured and served his children glasses of milk, then opened the package of cookies before leaving them and walking to the window to stare out at the empty, sterile backyard and let his mind ramble.
What a pitiful place his sins had delivered them to. How was he ever going to make things right again?
The negative answer that instantly popped up was unacceptable. There had to be a way to fix this. There simply had to be. Hadn’t he already seen improvement in the way Grace was treating him?
Or had he? Was he fooling himself because that was what he yearned for?
He slowly closed his eyes, picturing the past and the way he and his wife had once loved each other. Did love like that really die or was it simply laying dormant, waiting for him to carry out his promise to testify and take a stand against evil?
Although he had strong suspicions regarding the higher-ups in the baby-stealing ring, he had no concrete proof of who else might actually be guilty. Ferreting out those men or women was going to be up to the police and federal marshals. He would do all he could and then step back to wait for the end result, praying that his efforts would be sufficient.
That was going to be the hardest part; wanting to help and not having adequate information to carry the investigation through to its climax.
Would his willing participation be enough to influence Grace on his behalf? he wondered. Or was she simply hanging around for the sake of the kids? He knew concern for their welfare was the reason she’d agreed to relocate. He also knew that she might eventually convince the powers-that-be to place her and the kids separately with more between them than a thin door. That was Dylan’s greatest fear.
His family was what gave him a reason for living, for continuing to strive. He could see that clearly now. If he lost Grace and his children, his life would be over just as surely as if his enemies had succeeded in putting a bullet through his heart.
The ringing of his cell phone startled him out of his reverie. He scanned the kitchen counter where he expected to see it and frowned, then followed the noise to the pocket of a denim jacket hanging on a peg by the back door.
Strange. He would have sworn he’d left the little phone lying out so he’d be sure to hear it ring if Grace called. Even if he’d absentmindedly picked it up to keep it with him when he’d gone outside to play with Brandon, surely he’d have slipped it into the pocket of his jeans rather than the jacket. Or would he? The way constant stress had worn him down lately, there was no telling.
“Hello?” was spoken with trepidation.
“It’s me, honey,” Grace said, instantly allaying his fears. “I thought I should call if I was going to be late. Miranda has invited me to stay for lunch instead of driving all the way home and then having to turn around in a few hours and come back out here. Do you mind?”
Dylan breathed a heavy sigh. “Of course not. Enjoy yourself. We’ll be fine, at least until we run out of cookies.”
Her soft laugh made him smile as she bid him goodbye.
“That was your mother, boys. She’s going to stay with Beth and have lunch so we’re on our own. What do you say we order a pizza?”
Brandon cheered and clapped his hands.
All Kyle said was, “Yeah, whatever,” before he got up and left the room.
“It’d serve you right if I ordered mushrooms,” Dylan called after him. If this was a sample of what was in store for them during Kyle’s teens, he could hardly wait.
TWELVE
The Smithfield house was more than impressive, as was everything inside it. From the first step through the front door into the entry with its high ceiling and crystal chandelier, Grace was awed. By the time Miranda had showed her the main floor she was practically speechless.
They made themselves comfortable in the modern metal chairs around a glass-topped table near the pool and watched their daughters splashing and squealing happily.
“So, Beth tells me you haven’t lived here long. Where did you come from?” Miranda asked.
“Um, Arizona.” This was the worst part of being in witness protection. You had to lie or die, as one of the marshals had phrased it. Under the circumstances, Grace figured since God had delivered her into their hands for safekeeping, He wouldn’t mind if she followed their rules for survival.
“I’ve always preferred Texas,” Miranda offered with a smile, thereby relieving the pressure on Grace to explain her own pseudo life. “My dad’s in politics and my uncle is a judge. How about your family?”
“It’s just...John...and me and our three children, two boys and a girl,” Grace replied, chagrined to have almost mentioned the wrong first name. That kind of mistake was unacceptable. Above all, she must never relax her guard, never forget who she was supposed to be. And why. Especially why.
“That’s too bad. My dad doesn’t have a lot of time for Jaclyn, of course, but he makes the most of his infrequent visits from Jeff City.”
“Jeff?” Grace squeaked.
“Sorry. That’s the Missouri nickname for the state capital, Jefferson City. It was named after Tho
mas Jefferson. There’s an impressive statue of him standing at the entrance to the capital building.”
“Oh?” Grace had to play dumb or take the chance of revealing why she had blurted out the question. She knew full well what city Miranda was citing. It had been the shock of hearing where the woman’s relatives were that had caused Grace’s slip of the tongue. The good part about the state capital was that it was located far from St. Louis.
Miranda smiled nostalgically. “I wasn’t born until Dad was already in his forties. I think that helps him appreciate my daughter more, too.”
“Probably so.” Turning to watch the children playing safely in the shallows, Grace didn’t elaborate. The less she said, the better, although it was hard to keep from chatting amiably when her hostess was so gracious.
An older woman wearing a starched white apron over a pale blue uniform-like dress appeared on the patio bearing a tray with tall glasses and liquid refreshments. Actual lemon slices floated among the ice cubes in a cut-glass pitcher and drops of condensation were running down its frosty sides.
“Oh, that looks delicious.” Grace fanned herself with an open hand. “I am thirsty.”
“Then you and I will share this while the girls are swimming. When they get tired we’ll dry them off and all have lunch together.” She addressed the apron-clad woman. “I’ll call you when we’re ready for the salads, Louisa.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Grace wanted to drink heartily because nervousness had left her parched. Instead she took dainty sips and played the part of a dignified, refined guest.
Which I actually am, she reminded herself. If she’d met Miranda when she’d lived in St. Louis they might have become friends. They certainly would have had a lot more in common then.
And now? Now, Grace couldn’t help feeling as if she belonged in the kitchen with the hired help rather than hobnobbing under a canvas umbrella and sipping lemonade.
The spacious patio floor was decorated with bright ceramic tiles set in an intricate mosaic pattern that harmonized with that of the pool. Enormous potted plants, some so exotic Grace had never seen anything like them, were grouped at strategic spots to provide color and appropriate accents.
“You have a lovely home,” Grace remarked, meaning it sincerely.
“Thank you. We like it.” She was fingering a large diamond ring as she gazed proudly at her suburban domain.
I’ll just bet you do, Grace thought, immediately chastising herself for jealousy. Coveting was wrong on so many levels; she was ashamed. This woman was simply being polite and trying to fill the conversational voids with pleasant chatter, rather than sit there mute.
“Let’s talk about our girls,” Grace suggested, smiling at the two in the pool. “What does Jaclyn like to do for fun, other than swimming?”
“She’s taking dressage lessons from an excellent teacher,” Miranda said. “You know how young girls love horses. Perhaps Beth can join her sometime.”
“We’ll see.” Grace didn’t know how much private horsemanship tutoring cost but she was pretty sure they could never afford it, let alone support an expensive equine—or even rent one from time to time.
“Beth was getting interested in team sports before we moved. I was hoping she’d continue that here, but now that school’s about to end for the summer I guess she’ll have to wait.”
“Children aren’t very good at that, are they?”
“They certainly aren’t.” Grace saw the girls giggling and hanging on to the opposite edge of the pool while they took turns whispering into each other’s ears. If it were Kyle she was looking at she’d be concerned that he might be telling family secrets. Beth, she wasn’t worried about. The girl was very sensible for a seven-year-old and far easier to reason with than her older brother ever thought of being.
Still, something about the way the children were huddled together gave her pause and spurred her to call, “Beth? Are you and Jaclyn about done? It’s almost time to eat and this lemonade is delicious.”
“In a sec,” the dark-haired girl answered for her guest. Then she cupped her hand around her mouth and renewed their apparently intimate conversation.
Grace was starting to get very nervous. Rather than shout and perhaps reveal her agitation, she rose with a smile, picked up a towel and strolled around the end of the pool until she was standing next to her daughter. “Beth, honey. Come and dry off. It’s time to eat.”
“But, Mom...”
“You’re already getting goose bumps. If you don’t want to end up looking like a prune you’d better get out of the water,” Grace teased in the hope a lighthearted plea would be more convincing.
She kept pace with the children as they waded to the steps, then wrapped the fluffy bath towel around her daughter’s shoulders and began to rub her dry.
Arms folded, the child shivered in spite of the warm air temperature. “Brrr.”
“See? I told you it was time to get out.”
As Jaclyn ran to her own mother, Grace bent over Beth. “What were you girls talking about just now? It looked like you were telling secrets.”
“Uh-uh,” the girl said with a shake of her head that sent droplets flying and left polka dots of moisture on Grace’s light blue T-shirt.
“Okay, honey. Just remember what Daddy and the marshals told us. We’re not supposed to tell anybody who we really are or where we’re really from.”
“I know.”
Judging by the way the child was twisting to get free of the towel, she was done listening. Grace released her to follow Jaclyn and get back into dry clothing before they ate.
She draped the damp towel over the back of a chaise longue next to the pool, then joined Miranda. “Kids.”
The other woman laughed delicately. “I know what you mean. They are so imaginative. If I’ve told Jaclyn once to always tell the truth, I’ve told her a hundred times, but she keeps inventing wild stories to impress me. I suppose she’ll grow up to be a famous novelist. Her creativity is absolutely out of this world.”
Wild stories? Grace had to sit before her trembling knees gave out. “Beth is the same way. The tales that girl can tell.”
Continuing to grin, Miranda gave her a wink. “So, you and your husband aren’t CIA spies on the run from international terrorists?”
“Not hardly.” Grace recognized the fear in her weak chuckle, yet persevered. “What other crazy things did Beth say?”
“I didn’t catch it all. Jaclyn was babbling something about stolen babies and bad guys. I told you. My daughter has the amazing mind of a fiction writer. It sounds as if both our girls do.”
“Right.” Grace forced herself to stand again. “I think I’ll go see what’s taking them so long. I’d hate to find out Jaclyn was showing Beth your makeup or cologne.”
“All right. I’ll order lunch brought out and set up while you’re gone. We’re having chicken salad on a bed of baby greens, fresh fruit cups and sorbet for dessert. Would you like sweet tea, too?”
“The lemonade is fine, thanks.” All Grace wanted to do was to get away, far away, yet she knew if she left the Smithfield home too abruptly her hostess might suspect that some of the tall tales the girls had shared were true.
The way she saw it, there was only one thing to do. She’d have to play up the spy story and make it sound so ludicrous that none of the rest was believable, either.
Teeth gritted, she stepped through the French doors and followed the trail of drops and footprints Jaclyn and Beth had left behind on the hardwood floors. Knowing that some poor maid was going to have extra work today made Grace want to pause and dry the floor.
Instead she hurried after her disobedient daughter. If they ended up having to change their names and move again because of Beth’s carelessness, that child was going to be sorry.
“We all are,”
Grace whispered to herself, looking left and right as if she were about to be attacked by invisible enemies. “I already am.”
* * *
Dylan was so relieved to see Grace drive up to the duplex he wanted to race out the door and greet her with a hug. He didn’t, of course. That would have been too revealing.
Therefore he waited on the porch with Brandon until Beth and Grace had started toward the house, then let the little boy go.
“Mama!”
“Hi, sweetie.” She bent to kiss the top of his head, then cupped his cheeks and tilted his face. “Looks like somebody had pizza for lunch. Either that or spaghetti.”
“Pizza,” Brandon shouted. “Daddy made it.”
Smiling, Dylan sauntered up to them. “Actually, Daddy had it delivered. How was your lunch?”
“Um, fine.”
He wasn’t comfortable with her answer or the way she averted her gaze when she spoke. “Grace?”
“We’ll talk inside.”
“Something went wrong?”
“Probably not. I’m not sure.” Passing him she led the way into the house.
By the time Dylan, Brandon and Beth entered, Grace had paused in the center of the living room, obviously waiting for something or someone.
Dylan halted. “Do you want to talk to me alone or should the kids listen, too.”
“Oh, they need to listen, all right,” she said, her tone and somber expression sending a shiver up his spine.
Grace was wringing her hands as she perched on the edge of the sagging sofa. “Beth made a big mistake today and if I hadn’t been there to fix things it could have been very, very bad. We might even have had to move again.”
Kyle blurted, “No way,” before beginning to stare at the toes of his tennis shoes as if they were the most fascinating objects he had ever seen.
Beside Dylan, Beth was looking from one parent to the other, apparently realizing that she was about to be scolded. “I didn’t do anything bad.”
Family in Hiding Page 12
