The voice turned ugly. “He says you better not screw him over.”
Kate felt a wave of dizziness. It had not occurred to her that Mario would have confederates, or that he constituted a physical threat. Terror blossomed in her anew, and her heart pounded. Her throat went dry. The headlights caught Kate in their glare, and she turned instinctively to glance at the oncoming car. To her surprise, instead of sweeping past, the headlights arced across her yard, and she realized that this car was pulling into her driveway. The swish of tires on pavement reached her ears even as she looked toward the stranger again. But she could no longer see him. As far as she could tell he was gone, faded away into the shadows.
Oh my God.
Her eyes cut to the car now parking in her driveway. Its headlights illuminated Ben, who had turned to look at the car as it pulled in, and the slowly rising garage door behind him. Ben was wide-eyed and pale in the bright beams, obviously scared, a small blond boy in jeans and a dark green hoodie who was clutching the garage door opener like it could somehow save him from whatever threatened.
“I’m coming, sweetie,” she called, and his eyes, huge with uncertainty, turned in her direction.
Sick at the fear in Ben’s face, she jogged across the yard toward him. Whoever this was, friend, neighbor, reporter, anyone, she could only be thankful that they’d come when they had. Though no violence had been threatened to her or Ben, the taste of fear was tinny in her mouth, and her pulse raced out of control.
We could have been hurt. Or worse.
The car stopped just outside the circle of light. Swathed in shadows, it was impossible to identify.
When the headlights went dead, it occurred to her that this, too, might be someone connected with Mario. Her eyes widened. Her pulse leaped. Her jog turned into a mad dash toward her son.
“Mom!” Ben’s eyes searched for her in the dark. Behind him, the garage was opening into a black, cavelike maw as the door passed the midway mark. He could duck inside—but the door wouldn’t close in time to keep whoever this was out. He would have to keep on running, into the house with its flimsy lock on the door that led in from the garage, then, with luck, if he remembered, to the phone to dial 911. . . .
“I’m right here.” She just reached the circle of light when the driver’s door opened. Looking fearfully in the direction of the sound, she reached Ben just as a man got out and straightened to his full height. He was tall. . . .
Heart in throat, she grabbed Ben by the arm and prepared to dart with him through the garage and into the house. Then the man turned his head, and a shaft of moonlight struck hair as shiny black as a crow’s wing.
In an instant, his height and build and that black hair all came together for her: Detective Braga.
As she recognized him, he said, “Ms. White?”
“Who is he, Mom?” Ben’s voice was urgent. He clutched the door opener, clearly frightened and ready to run into the garage.
“It’s all right,” Kate told him as relief washed over her, leaving her feeling weak all over in its wake. Earlier today, the sight of the detective had nearly given her a nervous breakdown. Now she was ready to fall at his feet. “I know him. He’s a police officer. He’s safe.”
“Is something wrong?” The sound of the car door slamming was followed by a tiny beep as Braga locked it. Then he came toward them, frowning as he walked out of the darkness into the circle of fuzzy yellow light where they still stood. Kate realized that Ben was pressed against her side and she was clutching his forearm and, if her expression was anything like his, they both looked like they had just escaped a near-death encounter.
Trying to pretend that nothing had happened would be stupid. It was obvious from his expression that Braga could tell something bad had just gone down. Unable to help herself, Kate compulsively glanced toward the oak, visually searching the shadows around the tree and beyond. Was Mario’s emissary still there? Was he watching?
The thought made her dizzy.
“Kate?” Braga’s frown deepened as he reached them.
His head turned, his gaze following hers to probe the encroaching darkness.
Get a grip. Downplay this.
“It’s nothing. Just . . . oh, come inside, would you, please?”
He was looking at her now, the frown still in place.
Her voice sounded croaky, because she was still shaken to the core. Her heart pounded, her pulse raced, and adrenaline rushed through her veins. Their eyes met, and Braga’s frown deepened. But he didn’t argue.
“Thanks.”
Kate didn’t wait for more. Instead, she turned away and headed inside.
“Are you sure he’s okay, Mom?” Ben whispered urgently as she pulled him with her through the dark garage.
“I’m sure,” Kate whispered back.
Braga was right behind them, and she thought he probably heard what they said, but she didn’t care. Reassuring Ben had to be her first priority. The thought that her son didn’t feel safe was almost unbearable.
Not that she felt safe, either, even with a presumably armed homicide detective who she knew would protect them with his life just a step behind them. She felt hideously, unexpectedly vulnerable. Even her own familiar belongings seemed ominous at the moment. The garbage cans and bicycles and even her good old reliable Camry took on a shadowy life of their own when viewed through a prism of newly awakened fear. Anyone could hide in those shadows. Anyone could appear when she least expected it, just like that thug had popped out from behind the oak in her front yard.
Kate realized that gradually, over the past eight and a half years, ever since she’d run from Atlantic City with Ben, she had forgotten what it was like to be afraid.
Now she remembered.
“Close the garage door, please,” she said to Ben in as calm a tone as she could muster as they reached the door that led into the house. He obediently pushed the button on the remote, and the grinding sound of the garage door going down followed them into the kitchen.
Warmth and bright light and the lingering smell of the hamburger patties with beef gravy and canned green beans they’d had for dinner greeted them. The supper dishes piled in the sink and the notebook paper and calculator and pencils strewn haphazardly on the table—detritus from Ben’s homework—greeted them, too. As did the half-empty brown grocery bag on the counter—she’d put away the perishables, but peanut butter and bananas and bread were still inside. A big yellow box of Cheerios perennially lived on the counter beside the refrigerator, because they both ate a bowl for breakfast every morning and she never quite got around to putting it back in the cabinet. Her purse and cell phone and Ben’s backpack were on the counter, too, crowded together near the door. The kitchen was messy, no doubt about it, and it bothered her because she was suddenly seeing it as she imagined Braga, who had stepped past her and was now glancing around, would.
Which was stupid. Keeping an immaculate house was not and had never been one of her priorities. At least the place was clean (well, reasonably), if not entirely tidy.
“Who was that man, Mom?” Ben asked as she closed and locked the kitchen door, then turned back into the kitchen. She folded her arms over her chest, rubbing her upper arms with her hands to ward off the sudden chill that beset her despite the supposed warmth-giving properties of the oversized sweatshirt. Braga was watching her. Hoping to hide as much of her agitation as she could from his too-keen gaze, she dropped her arms to her sides as she forced a smile for Ben. Her little boy’s eyes were big on his face; his small mouth was tight with anxiety. His expression killed her, but with Braga watching, she tried not to let it show.
“I don’t know.” Shaking her head, she took the garage door opener from him and put it in their catchall place on the counter by the door along with all the other things they would need before they dashed out in the morning.
“So, you want to tell me what’s going on?”
Braga’s eyes were on her face. They were almost black in the unforgiving light, and n
arrowed with speculation. He looked even more tired than he had earlier, she thought, and on edge. His lean jaw was dark with stubble, and the set of his mouth verged on grim. The lines bracketing his nose and mouth had deepened, and there were fine lines around his eyes and shadows beneath them that she hadn’t noticed before. The top button of his white shirt was undone, and the knot of his dark red tie had been loosened. He wore the same worn tan blazer—minus its top button now—and navy slacks as before.
“There was a man outside,” Ben said, before Kate could reply. Of course Ben was going to tell what he knew; she wouldn’t expect, or want, him to do anything else. Unlike her, her son had no reason to lie. “He was scary.”
“Just now?” Braga stiffened and glanced past Kate toward the door, as if he was prepared to head back outside. “When I pulled up?”
“He left,” Kate said. “It really wasn’t anything.”
“What did he do?”
“He came out from behind the tree and said, ‘Are you Ben?’” Ben told him. “And then my mom came.”
The idea that the stranger had known she had a son named Ben took Kate’s breath away. She felt dizzy all over again. But she couldn’t let it show, not now, not with Braga there. He was too perceptive, and she had too much to hide.
“He just said my name,” Kate said. “Like this: ‘Kate—White.’ ”
She imitated the ominous tone. Then, for Braga’s benefit, she shivered ostentatiously. As if that alone had been enough to terrify her silly.
Braga frowned. “That’s all?”
“Mom told me to run into the house. That’s what I was doing when you came.”
Braga’s gaze shifted back to Kate. She nodded agreement.
“Who was it? Did you know him?”
Kate shook her head. “No.”
“Can you give me a description?”
Kate complied.
“I thought he was going to kill us.” Unzipping his hoodie as he spoke, Ben looked earnestly up at Braga.
“So did my mom.” He glanced at her for confirmation, and when she didn’t say anything, he added, “You know you did. I could tell.”
Braga’s gaze fixed once again on her face.
“It was . . . a little unnerving,” she admitted. That had to be one of the great understatements of her life. “I think it scared us so much because it was dark and . . . he just appeared out of the blue.” She followed up with a small smile and a shrug, diminishing the importance of the event. “It was kind of bizarre.”
Braga evidently did not read body language very well, because he was moving purposefully toward her—and the door—even before she finished. His jacket parted to give her a glimpse of a businesslike black shoulder holster and gun lying flat against the left side of his chest.
“Where are you going?” She still stood in his path.
But unless she meant to physically block his exit, there wasn’t anything she could do to keep him in the kitchen. Bowing to the inevitable as he kept coming, she stepped aside to let him pass.
“Outside to look around.” Reaching for the knob, he glanced back at her as he spoke. “In case this joker’s still close by. You can fill me in on any details I missed when I come back in.”
“He’s long gone.” Kate was certain of that. Besides, if he wasn’t, she certainly didn’t want Braga to find him. She didn’t want this veteran detective grilling any acquaintance of Mario’s about anything. The thought was almost as scary as the stranger’s sudden appearance had been.
Almost.
“I’ll just check.” He picked up the garage door opener and left the kitchen, closing the door behind him.
Pressing her lips together, trying to slow the still-frantic racing of her pulse, Kate was left staring at the white-painted panels of the closed kitchen door. While she listened to the muffled growl of the garage door rising, she said a little prayer that the thug was indeed long gone.
“Are you okay, Mom?” Ben asked from behind her.
Kate jumped, caught herself, then turned to smile at him. The last thing she wanted was to frighten her child any more.
“Of course I’m okay. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” He regarded her critically.
“You look really upset.”
“I am upset,” she admitted, because there wasn’t any point in denying something he already knew. “But I’m getting over it. Just having somebody pop up like that would upset anybody. But he didn’t really do anything.”
“It was like something out of a horror movie,” Ben said. “I thought he was going to start slashing us up or something. Like in Halloween.”
Kate was starting to feel a little more normal, normal enough at least to put up a front of normalcy for Ben. She narrowed her eyes at him. He wasn’t allowed to watch R-rated movies, and he knew it.
“Which you saw when?”
He looked guilty. “Uh . . . Samantha was watching it one time.”
“Uh-huh.” But Ben seeing a forbidden movie was near the bottom of her list of worries at the moment. She shook her head reprovingly at him, then moved toward him and wrapped her arms around his thin body, hugging him tight. What would her life be like without Ben in it? She didn’t want to find out. “You were so brave out there. You did exactly what I told you to do, too. Good job.”
Instead of protesting or trying to wriggle away, which ordinarily he would do, Ben hugged her back, quick and hard. Kate knew from that that he was still shaken by the encounter.
They heard the rattle of the garage door closing a split second before the kitchen door opened. Ben was already pulling out of her arms as Braga walked in.
“Nobody,” he said in response to Kate’s questioning look. “I have a black-and-white looking around the neighborhood, though, just in case.” He glanced at Ben, who stood by Kate’s side regarding him with some caution, then smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Tom Braga, by the way.”
“Ben White.” Ben shook hands, looking and sounding so grown up suddenly that Kate felt a tightness in her throat. There was such a man-to-man air about the exchange, and again she felt she was being given a glimpse of the man her son would someday become.
If she could just keep the monsters at bay long enough.
That thought was enough to make her tense all over again.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Moving toward the table, she started to gather the remains of their homework session as she frowned at Braga over her shoulder. As an aside, she added, “Ben, would you put these away?”
She passed the two pencils they had used to Ben, who took them without comment and put them in the cup by the microwave where they kept writing implements of various descriptions. It was a measure of how rattled she had been that it was just now occurring to her that Braga’s opportune arrival couldn’t simply be chalked up to good fortune.
“I wanted to talk to you.” His tone was easy. But there was something, some expression, in his eyes as he watched her move around the table that made her apprehensive in a whole new way.
She tried to keep her tone and her expression casual. “About what?”
“Nothing that important. Just a few details about what you told my partner and me earlier.”
Kate’s heart lurched. She wondered if he was acting like it was no big deal for Ben’s benefit, and decided he was.
“If it wasn’t important, I’m surprised it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”
He shrugged, and she turned away, crouching down to put the notebook paper and calculator away in the cabinet where she kept school supplies, glad for a chance to hide her face until she could school her expression. The whole time, she could feel his gaze on her back.
“So, are you a friend of my mom’s or what?” Ben’s question came out of nowhere, bristling with sudden protectiveness.
Kate took a quick—and she hoped unseen—breath, stood up, and turned around. There had been just the two of them for so long that they naturally took care of each other, but s
he didn’t want Ben thinking he had to fight her battles for her. Her son had paused in the act of stripping off his hoodie to look at Braga with clear challenge, she saw. Obviously, he had sensed something in the atmosphere that worried him.
Braga answered before she could say anything.
“I’m a friend,” he said. With a quick glance at Kate, who nodded confirmation, Ben relaxed. Braga’s gaze shifted to Kate. His lips stretched into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to have any coffee available, by any chance, would you?”
Actually, she did. The last two days had been long and exhausting, and she couldn’t have gotten through them without massive infusions of caffeine.
Her eyes narrowed at him. She appreciated the fact that he had scared away Mario’s henchman, and reassured Ben just now, but she completely recognized his present show of relaxed affability for what it was—a show. Clearly, he had a question about something she had told him, and just trying to imagine what it might be made her stomach knot. Not that she meant to let him know it.
“Detective, would you like a cup of coffee?” A healthy dose of irony underlaid the question.
“Thank you. That would be great.” He responded with aplomb. “And please call me Tom.” There was the tiniest of pauses. “Kate.”
So we’re Tom and Kate now, are we? Just so you know, that doesn’t fool me into thinking we’re friends.
“Milk or sugar, Tom?” There might well have been bite in her tone if Ben hadn’t been standing there listening.
“Black,” Braga answered, then turned to Ben.
“Maybe you and I could go sit down somewhere, and you could tell me exactly what happened outside again. Just to make sure I’ve got it straight.”
“Okay.” Ben finished taking off his hoodie and dropped it on the table. “You want to come in the living room?” Suddenly uncertain, he glanced at Kate, probably picking up on something she was subconsciously projecting in her face or stance. “It’s all right, isn’t it?”
Kate just barely managed not to purse her lips. She suspected that Braga thought that without her presence he could get more information out of Ben. Which was probably true, except for the fact that, minus a few unimportant details, Ben had already told Braga everything he knew.
Guilty Page 16
