Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  And as she gave the man a blow job, she realized she’d come full circle. Three years ago she’d become a whore the night she’d taken Roman into her mouth. Today, she was no better than she was when she’d been living on the streets. But at least then she’d had her pride. Now, she had nothing. No home, no money, no job. No way to eat or afford the heroin she needed to make it through the day. She had a couple of months before the baby was born. Until then, she was screwed.

  With her jaw growing tired from sucking off Roman, she massaged his testicles hoping to speed along his orgasm. Minutes later, the man released himself into her mouth, then quickly pulled up his jeans.

  “Because that was frickin’ awesome, and because you’ve made me a lot of money, I’m going to give you a break.”

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You’re going to let me stay?” she asked, hopeful.

  “Hell, no,” he said, and looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I told you. You don’t work, you don’t live here.”

  “It’ll be born in a couple of months. That’s not so long.”

  “A couple— Gemini, your brain’s turned to shit. Don’t you remember what that clinic doc told you?”

  The clinic doc? What the hell was Roman talking— Wait. A fuzzy image emerged. Her lying on a table with goopy stuff all over her belly. Yes, the ultrasound. Now she remembered, but she’d been so friggin’ high that day, she couldn’t recall what that doctor had said.

  “Can you tell me again?”

  “God, you’re fucking stupid.” He shook his head and finished buckling his belt. “You’re having a boy, and you’re due August eleventh or some shit like that.”

  “See, I’ll be ready to work sooner than I thought.”

  “And then what?”

  She shoved her hand through her hair, but her fingers caught on the tangles. “I…I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Dumbass. What are you going to do with the baby?”

  “Oh.” God, her head hurt. She needed caffeine, nicotine and a hit of H—and not necessarily in that order. “I figured I’d just leave it at the hospital.”

  He chuckled and snatched his car keys off the kitchen counter. “Whatever.”

  She stared at the keys in his hands. “So, that’s it?”

  “That’s it.” He opened the cupboard above the refrigerator and brought down a cigar box. After opening it, he handed her a needle and a small plastic bag filled with heroin. “Here. If you’re smart, you’ll make this last for a couple of days. And don’t think about coming back looking for more. I don’t want to see you again. If I find you at my door, I’ll let The Bull have you. Understand?”

  A shudder rushed through her. The Bull, as he was known on the streets, was a mean son of a bitch who took pleasure in giving pain—and lots of it. Roman had never let him have her, not because the pig cared, but because he hadn’t wanted The Bull to beat her so badly she’d be unable to work.

  “I understand,” she said, and took the heroin from him. She stared at the bag, her skin tingling with eagerness.

  “Good. Get in the van.”

  With the backpack she’d been carrying when Roman had taken her in that cold November night over three years ago, she left the only real home she’d had since running off to Chicago. Unlike the scared fifteen-year-old girl she’d been back then, she was now more streetwise. But she was still scared. She had another six weeks before the baby was born and she could find another pimp to take care of her.

  Six weeks.

  That was a long time to go without money. Food, a place to stay…like Roman suggested, she could go to a shelter. But what if those do-gooders took one look at her stomach and somehow forced her into staying. If that happened, they’d watch her. Make sure she was eating. Take away her cigarettes. Keep her locked inside so she couldn’t find more drugs. She didn’t know if that could happen or not, but unless she became desperate, she’d try managing on her own before turning to a shelter.

  When Roman pulled his van into the parking lot of the Cumberland Blue Line Station, fear of the unknown settled in the pit of her stomach. Her belly tightened. The baby gave her a hard kick. She pressed down on the spot where he’d kicked her, and thought about the heroin and needle stuffed in her backpack. A couple of hits and everything would be good. The rainbows and sunshine would return and block out the darkness. The world wouldn’t look as bleak. She wouldn’t be a whore. She certainly wouldn’t be pregnant and homeless. No, she’d go back to being Chloe Young, straight A student at Worthington High School, cheerleader, a well-demanded babysitter, a daughter and sister. People would actually give a shit about her. They would love her and take care of her.

  She ignored the hopelessness and despair weighing heavy on her shoulders. Without a word to Roman, she stepped out of the van.

  “After all I did for you, I don’t even get a goodbye?” he asked with a snort.

  After all I did for you.

  She looked at him. He’d made her a whore and a drug addict. He’d treated her like shit and used her to make money. He didn’t deserve a thank you or a goodbye. He deserved to rot in hell.

  “Go fuck yourself,” she said, slamming the van door.

  The tires squealed as he drove off, leaving the van’s exhaust fumes in its wake. She stared at the train station, the baby moved again and her stomach grumbled. Slinging the backpack over her shoulder, she began walking. She needed that dollar hamburger, Mountain Dew, cigarettes and to find a place to sleep for the night.

  As the fear returned, the bag of heroin in the backpack taunted her.

  No. What she needed was rainbows and sunshine.

  *

  Jessica drove her SUV through the familiar streets leading to the neighborhood she’d called home before moving to the apartment. When they’d arrived back in Chicago, Dante had insisted that he wait inside her apartment while she’d packed a few things to take to their house. After she’d changed out of the clothes she’d been wearing the past two days, she’d shoved her toiletries and an outfit for work tomorrow into a bag. The rest of her clothes remained in the closet and drawers. She’d wanted an excuse to return to the apartment. Unsure how tonight would go, she’d needed that safety net.

  As she drove behind Dante’s Camaro and neared their street, she realized she needed more than a safety net to protect her. This weekend, they’d reached a pinnacle point in their relationship, and she was either going to nose dive off that precarious peak, or hang on to his hand and remain on top. And that was exactly where she was right now. On top of the world, waiting for the other shoe to plummet. She loved Dante, had finally been able to tell him and show him, and in return, he’d done the same. He’d given her the strength and confidence to push past her doubts and insecurities, and try again. Loving Dante was as easy as breathing and had never been the problem. Until her daughter had been taken, living with him hadn’t been an issue, either. After falling asleep last night, then waking up in his arms this morning, she couldn’t imagine going back to her crappy apartment and twin bed. Yet, sleeping in their bed, down the hall from their baby’s room, scared the hell out of her.

  For months after she’d been abducted, Jessica would awaken during the night and rush to her daughter’s room, hoping to find her sleeping in her crib, hoping it had all been nothing but a bad dream. What she’d found was that she was living a nightmare. She still was, and worried staying in the house and surrounding herself with memories would only make the pain worse.

  When she parked behind Dante in their driveway, she reminded herself that he’d be with her. He’d stand by her side and help her work through the fear and anxiety. She had to believe it, she had to find the courage to move past her doubts. She couldn’t allow herself to take the easy road and run from him again, and didn’t want to. Losing their child had devastated her, losing her husband had nearly destroyed her.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she exited her SUV, then grabbed her bag from the back end. As she closed the door, s
he noticed the crows circling the house and counted four.

  One for sorrow,

  Two for mirth;

  Three for a wedding,

  Four for birth…

  If she were superstitious, she wouldn’t take the birds as an ominous omen like she’d joked with Dante yesterday about the thunder and lightning. No, she’d look at the four crows as a positive sign. The house represented sorrow and mirth. It held agonizing and also happy memories. Now she was returning home, not as the new bride she’d been fifteen years ago, but as the wife she hadn’t been since they’d lost their daughter. In a way, this past weekend, today, this moment was a rebirth. Not only of their marriage, but also a reawakening of the woman she’d once been.

  “Let me take your bag,” Dante said after grabbing his from the trunk of the Camaro.

  “That’s okay.” She pulled the strap over her shoulder, and followed him up the walkway to the front door. “It was too dark to notice the lilac bush the other night. It’s really taken over the front bed.” They’d planted the bush about ten years ago. She used to love to open the front windows and let the breeze bring in its soothing scent.

  “I know,” he said, unlocking the front door. “I couldn’t bring myself to trim it back, though. It was always one of your favorite things in the yard, and reminds me of you whenever I catch a whiff of it.”

  Leave it to Dante to consider her feelings. And as she stared at his back, she realized he was so much braver than she could ever be. He’d lived, slept and eaten surrounded by memories that had both haunted and taunted her, and he’d done it alone. Guilt enveloped her. She’d left him to deal with the house and all that it represented, while she’d run away with the hope of forgetting.

  She touched his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  He opened the door and tossed his bag inside, then turned to her. “For what?”

  “For not giving up on me.”

  The warmth in his eyes, along with his reassuring smile, gave her the courage she’d been searching for. “I wouldn’t even know how,” he said, then gave her a quick kiss. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll make us some dinner. Any requests?”

  She followed him into the foyer. “I regret not eating the lasagna you made the other night.”

  “You’re in luck,” he said, moving into the living room. “I froze it. While I warm it up, I’ll make a salad.” When she remained in the foyer, he stopped in the middle of the living room and faced her. “Remember, they’re just things.”

  She drew in a shaky breath and, taking a step toward him, glanced to the pictures on the fireplace mantle. A barrage of mental images hit her all at once. Her and Dante’s wedding, their honeymoon, the knowing smiles, the passionate kisses…making love. The laughter and good times they’d had making their house a home for their family. She zeroed in on the pictures of her daughter and fought back the tears.

  The joy of bringing a child, their child, into the world.

  “Things that hold a lot of memories,” she said.

  In two strides, he was holding her hands. “Happy memories, Jess. If I sat here day in and day out, dwelling on all of the bad, those happy times would become lost. I don’t want to lose them, and I don’t want to lose you. Say the word and we can leave.”

  She gripped his hands. “No. I think I need to be here. It’s where I belong.”

  “Always,” he said, before giving her another kiss. “Leave your bag. I’ll take it upstairs later. How about a glass of wine?”

  “That sounds perfect,” she said, and let him lead her through the living room and into the kitchen-dining room they’d painstakingly remodeled a few years before she’d given birth. She looked to the corner, near the French doors leading to their deck. The highchair used to sit there. The Exersaucer had taken up space near the table so that she and Dante could keep an eye on their baby girl while they were cooking. As she remembered all of her sweet and precious sounds, the banging of toys against the Exersaucer or the walls, and the way their daughter had loved to crawl along the hardwood floors, Jessica smiled. Those were great memories and she did need to hold on to them.

  Think about the good, not the bad.

  She looked to the dining room wall. Instead of the newspaper clippings and missing children posters like she’d coated her dining room with, Dante had kept the watercolor paintings she’d created hanging on the pale yellow walls. One of the paintings had been how she’d remembered her grandparents’ farm—the golden fields, the old wooden fence and aging barn. The other was of Dante and their daughter. Drawn to the painting, she slowly walked toward it. As she did, she was taken back to the weeks she’d spent painstakingly trying to portray their likenesses from a photograph she’d taken of them. Standing before the painting, she swore she heard baby babble and giggles, smelled fresh, baby-soft scent, felt chubby arms wrap around her neck. Instead of sadness, the memory gave her contentment and comfort. Her daughter might be gone, but no one could take those wonderful memories away from her.

  When she looked from her daughter’s dark eyes to Dante’s, her smile grew and pride settled in her chest. She’d been able to capture his happiness and the love he’d felt for their child. Sighing, she touched the painting. Ran her fingers over her baby’s toothless grin, then brushed along Dante’s smile. How could she have denied herself him for so long? How could she have thought that she could live the rest of her life without him?

  “Hey,” he said, his tone, reserved, tentative. “Here’s your wine.”

  With a smile, she turned and took the glass. “Thanks.”

  He looked at the picture. “This is my favorite.”

  “Mine too,” she said with a wistful sigh.

  “You’re okay with me keeping it up?”

  “Absolutely. It deserves to be displayed.”

  “It does, I just wish you were part of the picture.”

  “I’m in every stroke of the paint brush.”

  He kissed her cheek, then the crook of her neck. “So true. You’re love for Sophia shows in your talent.”

  She barely even winced at the sound of her daughter’s name. She set the glass on the table and turned into his arms. “My love for you, too.”

  “That’s why I could never take it down.”

  Tears filled her. “I’m sorry I left you.”

  “You’re back now. That’s all that matters.” He kissed her forehead. “Whatever time you need to get used to being back, is yours. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Unable to find the right words to express herself, she brushed her lips against his. When he opened his mouth, she deepened the kiss. Danced her tongue along his, ran her fingers through his thick hair, pressed her breast against—

  Dante’s cell phone rang. He pulled away with a frustrated groan and took the phone out of his pocket. “It’s Phil,” he said, glancing at the screen. “He probably wants to know how it went in Montour.”

  “Or maybe Mark called him with new information.” Mark Tanner, the detective with Marshalltown PD, had been a great liaison between them and the Iowa DCI investigators. He’d made sure they were able to walk the crime scene, and that they were given whatever information the forensics investigators had discovered.

  “Either way, when we’re finished with Phil, we’re going back to that kiss,” he said, then answered the phone and put it on speaker. “Hey, Phil. I have Jessica with me. How’s it going?”

  “Awesome,” Phil said, excited. “You’re not going to believe this, but Elton’s parents are on their way to Lamoni.”

  “Oh, my God.” She hugged Dante. “That is awesome. How’d it happen?”

  “Detective Brent Hargrove with Charlotte, North Carolina PD, saw the Attempt to Identify bulletin and contacted me this morning after you guys left for Montour. Hargrove said he had a DNA sample of a baby boy that had gone missing two years ago last April and wanted to compare it to Elton. My captain, in turn, contacted Iowa DCI and asked them to rush the DNA sample we’d taken from Elton. DCI called about thirty
minutes ago to confirm the match.”

  “Oh, my God,” she repeated, tears spilling down her cheeks. “When will the parents see him?”

  “They’re catching a flight within the hour and will be flying into Des Moines. Between a quick layover in Atlanta and the hour plus drive from Des Moines to Lamoni, they should be in town just before midnight.”

  If only they could be there for the reunion. She would love to live vicariously through the boy’s parents and share the relief and joy of finding their son.

  Dante brushed a tear from her cheek. “What’s the boy’s real name?” he asked.

  “Quinn Joyce.”

  “Was the detective able to give you any details about the disappearance?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” The shuffling of paper echoed in the dining room. “The Joyces both work. They’d hired a nanny to take care of Quinn. The day he was abducted was a nice one. While the baby was napping in his crib, the nanny had gone out on the back deck to let the dogs out and had decided to sit on the patio and read a book. The Joyces have a service door off the garage that leads into their mudroom. Hargrove said the window on the service door had been smashed. He thinks the kidnappers broke it, unlocked the door and made their way into the house. Took the baby and that was that. Poof. Gone.”

  Jessica shuddered. “Why wouldn’t the babysitter keep the door from the garage into the mudroom locked?”

  “I asked the same thing,” Phil said. “Turns out it was a matter of the babysitter forgetting to lock up.”

  That slip up had cost the Joyces two years without their son. Jessica reached for Dante’s hand and squeezed. “What else?” she asked.

  “That’s it. Hargrove said they checked for prints, DNA, anything and everything they could to find the baby. Until now, they’d had nothing.”

  “And now they have their son back,” Dante said, bringing their joined hands to his mouth and kissing the inside of her wrist.

  Phil released a nervous laugh. “I’m…I can’t believe it. I can’t wait to see the Joyces meet their son.”