by Sheryl Lynn
“Shut up!” She scrubbed at her upper arms.
“I’ve seen it done, Tink. With your name, birth date and social security number, he can ruin your credit and even get you in trouble with the law. You can find yourself flooded with pornography or have your mail forwarded to another address. You might end up as the pen pal for half the prison population in Canon City.”
Unable to bear it, she rushed into the back room she used for an office. She jerked open the top drawer of a file cabinet Being a self-employed artist, her taxes were a nightmare. She saved every receipt and billing statement. The file drawers were crammed full of folders, stuffed to overflowing with bits of paper.
She slammed the drawer shut. Easy leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. His somber expression upset her as much as his words. “What if he did get all my account numbers? What do I do?”
“We can take some preventive measures. It’ll be a pain in the butt, but it’s better than doing nothing. Cancel the credit cards. Contact your bank. Utilities. Credit bureaus. Change your telephone number.”
Catherine sagged against the wall and covered her eyes with a hand. “I don’t have time for this. My first deadline for the Science Brain books is in four months. I have a ton of research to do. Doc Halladay’s film crew will be here in less than a month.” Emotion rose, choking her throat. Appalled by her weakness, she pushed away from the wall.
“The first thing you need is sleep,” Easy said, his voice turned gentle. “You don’t look so good.”
“I don’t feel so good.” At the moment she felt as if a giant vacuum cleaner had sucked all the strength from her bones. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and shut out the world.
“Got an extra pillow? I’ll sack out on your sofa.”
She opened her mouth to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that there was no way, no how, he was spending the night at her house. Gratefulness rose instead. She fetched a pillow and a blanket. She made up the camelback sofa in the parlor, knowing it was too small for him, and the cushion was hard, but his only other choice was the dog’s sofa.
He caught her arm before she could turn away. “Chances are,” he said, “when he’s arrested, he’ll have so many legal problems he won’t have time to harass you.”
“He’s going to blame me for those legal problems.”
“There isn’t much he can do to you from prison.” His hold on her arm transformed into a caress that made its lazy way over her shoulder to her neck. He placed a hand flat against her cheek. “I’ll take care of you.” His promise caressed her, too, enveloping her in warmth.
She knew he shouldn’t kiss her, but could not resist. She lifted her face to his, her eyelids drifted closed. In his arms, protected by his embrace, she felt whole and strong again. He kissed her sweetly, the pressure of his lips tender. She sensed his tenuous control, knowing he wanted more.
So did she.
She turned her face away. He pressed hot kisses over her cheek and brow. She clutched his biceps, wanting to cling to him, but needing to drive him away.
“I’ll be careful, Tink,” he said. “We don’t have to do anything. I just want to hold you. Kiss you.”
Mustering every ounce of strength she possessed, she stepped out of his arms. She hugged herself, squeezing her own arms painfully. “No.”
“I’ll keep my pants on.”
She loosed a dry, weary laugh. “As if I can resist you? Get real.”
He offered a hand, palm up. “If you want me, and I want you, then what’s stopping you? We’re not kids anymore. We’re grown-ups, we can do what we want. We belong together.”
Torture couldn’t have made her refute his words. They did belong together. Why or how, she hadn’t a clue, but in her heart, she knew he was the only man she’d ever love. She cleared her aching throat. “I made a promise.”
“To whom?” The struggle to control his anger, or frustration, showed clearly on his expressive face.
“To myself…to Elizabeth. I promised I will never, under any circumstances play Russian roulette with a child’s life again. I will not risk having another baby unless I am in a solid, committed, stable marriage. Two parents, loving home and the means and time to be a good mother. Nothing less. I don’t know what happened to me before, but I won’t do it again.”
“I’m committed to you.”
She shook her head hard. “You’re horny. There’s a difference.”
“You’re horny, too.”
“So?” She backed away. “Like you said, we’re grownups. We can control ourselves.” One more second of his beautiful eyes boring into hers, and she’d lose what little control she had. She spun about and fled.
CATHERINE SAT on the edge of the tub. Bent over, with her elbows on her knees, she waited for the nausea to pass. She reminded herself that she’d always had a queasy stomach. Part of her weight problem as a child had been because she overate to soothe chronic stomach aches. Whenever she was upset or stressed, she felt it first in her stomach. Jeffrey breaking into her house was enough to upset anybody. Besides, she rationalized, she hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday.
Liar, said a quiet little voice in her mind. You’re late.
She walked out of the bathroom and straight to the rain forest-animals calendar hanging on the wall next to the bedroom door. She stared at the numbered squares, hoping a clue would occur to her. Hard as she tried, she could not recall the date of her last menstrual period. She padded back to the bathroom and peered closely at her reflection in the mirror. Every month, like a little cuckoo bird announcing the hormonal shift, a pimple popped up in the middle of her chin. She searched her chin carefully. She poked and prodded with a fingertip for any sign of an impending skin eruption.
Except for bruised-looking smudges under her eyes, her complexion had never looked better.
“I am not pregnant,” she told her reflection. “It’s stress. I haven’t been eating right.”
Tapping on her bedroom door made her jump. She caught the sink with both hands and moved only her eyes. The doorknob rattled. She’d locked the door last night
“Tink?” Easy called softly. “Are you awake?”
She pressed a hand to her flat belly. “Just a minute!” She grabbed her robe off the back of the bathroom door and shoved her arms into the sleeves.
“Your dogs want out.”
She tied the terry-cloth robe shut. She opened the door. Tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed, Easy stood bare-footed before her door. Her joints did a slow melt. Even needing a shave, he was beautiful.
“Are you okay?” He cocked his head and peered at her with suspicion.
“I didn’t sleep well.” She wasn’t that late, she assured herself. No more than a week at most. Her periods glitched on occasion. She only noticed because she felt guilty about having sex.
“Is it okay to let the dogs out?”
“I’ll do it.” Head down, she eased around him, taking care not to touch him.
“Tink?”
His worried note drove home how well he did know her. She clutched her throat. He touched her back.
“What’s the matter?”
The past flashed before her eyes. All the fear, the shame, and the heartache felt as real now as it had been twelve years ago. The agony of her empty arms and empty soul after she signed the papers and knew she’d never see Elizabeth again. Weeping every night, grieving for her baby, missing Easy…hating herself. Never again. She turned around slowly. The past became the present and the future. She heard herself telling Easy she was pregnant. He’d be noble, insisting on marrying her. How well did they know each other, really? The foundation of their relationship had been laid when they were little more than children. So much had changed since then. She needed more than a shotgun marriage, more than a father for her child—she needed love, true commitment and stability. She needed to know her husband married her because he wanted to, not because of guilt.
She forced a smile. “I’m so hu
ngry I’m about to die. I can’t go that long without eating.” She rubbed her now-grumbling belly. “We skipped dinner.”
The tension eased from his brow. “I could do with some bacon and eggs.”
“How about an omelette and oatmeal?”
“Omelette, yes, oatmeal, not on your life.”
“It’s good for your heart.”
He tweaked a strand of her hair. “You’re good for my heart.” He kept up the teasing banter while they went upstairs. His good mood relaxed her.
That the nausea didn’t return while she tended the dogs and prepared breakfast, relaxed her even more. Perhaps she wasn’t late after all. Between the spider book deadline, Doc Halladay negotiations, Jeffrey and Easy, she’d been a mental space case. She pushed thoughts of pregnancy out of her mind—for now.
Over breakfast, Catherine asked, if they successfully prosecuted Jeffrey for fraud, would that prove he’d pushed Roberta off the rocks? Easy’s optimism flagged.
“I don’t know,” he said. “A good defense attorney will argue that Roberta was part of the fraud. She knew she couldn’t get a policy because of her asthma. That she died was merely a tragic coincidence.”
“What about Jeffrey’s lies? His conflicting stories? If he isn’t guilty, why all the subterfuge?”
“Could be a character issue. He’s a compulsive liar. Lots of people will testify Livman lies for the sake of lying.”
“We know he did it.”
“Knowing it and proving it to a jury are two different things.” He drank coffee. “Toni is a good prosecutor. If she thinks she can win, then we have to trust her. In any case, he’s for sure going to jail on the fraud charge, and he’ll have to reimburse Romoco.”
She looked around the studio, seeking clues as to why Jeffrey had broken into her home. The sight of shiny new locks on the doors made her angry. He’d coldly, in a calculating manner, kept a set of keys to her home. Which could only mean that months ago, he’d targeted her. Jeffrey had no right to disrupt her life and attempt to victimize her. “I wish he’d confessed to me.”
“So do L” He patted her hand. “But hey, you gave it your best shot.”
She began clearing the table. She carried dirty dishes to the kitchen sink. “At least I have so much to do, I don’t have time to worry about him. I’m sure you have plenty to do, as well.”
“Are you throwing me out?” He put away honey, milk and jelly.
“I appreciate you keeping an eye on me last night. I appreciate you putting new locks on the doors.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “But you’re throwing me out.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
He huffed a martyred-sounding sigh. “If Livman turns up, you won’t—”
“Do anything stupid,” she finished for him. “I won’t talk to him or let him in the house. I’ll call the police. You’re the one who needs to be careful. I bet No-neck is really mad at you.”
He chuckled wickedly, his eyes gleaming. He ground a fist against his palm. “The bigger they are…”
“You got in a lucky shot. I doubt if he’ll let you get lucky again.” She shooed him with both hands. “Now go on. I have a million things to do.”
“All right, all right, I’m going.” He took a step, then paused. “I’m supposed to go to my folks’ house tonight for dinner. Come with me. They’d love to see you again.”
It felt as though a great fist squeezed her heart. Over the years, she’d sometimes found herself missing Mr. and Mrs. Martel almost as much as she missed Easy. The Martels had always represented the ideal family to her, a close-knit, warmhearted group who stuck together through thick and thin.
“Call me later. If I’ve made enough progress, I’ll go.”
“Great.” He took another step, again paused, then swooped in a graceful turn and caught her around the waist with one powerful arm.
Too surprised to protest, she stared wide-eyed at his endearing face. He kissed her, quick and hard and deep. When he released her, she staggered in a daze, her mouth burning and her blood pulsing like lava through her veins. He tossed her a wink and sauntered out of her house.
Later that day, Easy called to ask her about dinner with his parents. Time alone had given her the chance to worry about being pregnant. She couldn’t face Easy or his parents. He tried to wheedle her into changing her mind, but she stood her ground. He sounded disappointed, but promised to call her tomorrow with news about Jeffrey.
The next day she refused to think about Easy, except to follow his advice. She contacted the utility companies and told them she had a problem with a stalker. Under no circumstances were her accounts to be altered unless she made the request in person. She canceled her credit cards and contacted credit bureaus. Dealing with endless voice mail and bureaucrats exhausted her. It had never occurred to her before how very vulnerable a person was when almost every transaction could be completed on the telephone. All any crook needed was a name, birth date and social security number.
Mail delivery drove that point home in spades. Her mailbox was full of offers from credit card companies, mortgage companies, book clubs and catalogs. Jeffrey could amuse himself with filling out applications and ordering merchandise by phone—all in her name.
She wrote a note reminding herself to ask Easy what else she could do to protect herself, then tackled the house cleaning. She decided the best way to present her studio would be to strip it down to bare essentials. She’d turn the parlor into a gallery to display her best work. She spent most of the day carrying boxes of supplies to the garage.
Easy called her late in the afternoon. At the sound of his voice, she beamed in relief. Jeffrey must be in custody.
“Are your doors locked?” he asked.
“What’s the matter? What’s going on?”
“Noreen Dawson disappeared. No one can find her anyplace.”
Chapter Fourteen
Easy watched Catherine pace. She hugged her elbows and muttered to herself. Her complexion looked sallow under her suntan. Even her hair seemed to have lost some of its shine. He felt rather sick himself.
Catherine whirled on him. “They have to arrest him! Jeffrey kidnapped Noreen. Maybe he’s killed her. Why won’t the police do anything?”
“What do you expect them to do? Pick him up off a street corner and beat him with rubber hoses until he confesses? Noreen is gone, but it doesn’t mean Livman took her. None of her neighbors heard anything. Nobody called the cops. Her car is missing. For all we know, she got scared and took off on her own.”
“You said she wouldn’t run! Did the police talk to Jeffrey?”
Easy rubbed his eyelids with the pads of his fingers. He’d blown this case. In hindsight, he saw he was not only the wrong man for the job, but the worst man. He’d let his emotions rule his actions and he’d consistently underestimated Livman. Because of him, Livman knew Catherine had helped John Tupper. Because he couldn’t bear staying away from Catherine, he’d probably tipped off Livman about Noreen’s involvement.
“Well? Did they?” Catherine stalked to the door and pulled back the curtain over the window. She glared at the darkness beyond the house.
“He declined to talk to them.”
“What is that supposed to mean? He can’t decline.”
“He has rights, Tink. The police can ask questions, but he doesn’t have to answer. So he didn’t. The man knows the law.”
“So why don’t they arrest him? They know he committed fraud.”
He knew her anger had less to do with him than with her own fear. If Livman could make Noreen disappear, he could do the same thing to Catherine. “Without Noreen, the insurance fraud case falls apart. Livman can argue that Noreen didn’t impersonate Roberta. He’ll say Romoco is pursuing a vendetta against him in order to recoup the claim. The only witnesses are Romoco employees, who stand to gain if the company wins. Without the fraud to prove premeditation, there is no murder case.”
“They have to find Noreen.”
&nb
sp; “She’s over twenty-one, and there’s no sign of foul play. The best the cops can do is treat her as a missing person.”
Her eyes reddened. Tears glimmered on her lower lids. Unable to bear her pain any longer, Easy went to her. For a moment she resisted his embrace, but then sagged in his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder. He stroked her soft hair and gently kissed her forehead.
The telephone rang. Catherine stiffened in his arms and pressed her cheek hard against his shoulder.
“Answer,” Easy said.
“What if it’s him.”
“I want it to be him. Answer the phone.”
Dry-eyed, but paler than before, Catherine reached for the telephone. “Hello?” Her eyes widened. “Jeffrey.”
Catherine’s heart thumped painfully against her chest wall. Bile rose in her throat, filling her mouth with the taste of pennies.
“You sound surprised to hear from me, darling. What’s the matter?”
Easy hurried to the answering machine. His facial contortions and wild hand gestures told her to keep talking. He studied the answering machine, hesitated with his hand over the bank of buttons, then finally pushed the memo button. A loud beep announced the action. The recording indicator began to flash.
“What’s that noise?” Jeffrey asked.
“What noise?” Catherine asked. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Are you taping this call?”
“No, I’m hanging up on this call. Goodbye—”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me. We have matters to discuss.”
Easy grabbed an envelope and scribbled on the back. He showed her the message: Ask him why he broke into your house.
Flustered, wishing she’d had time to prepare for this, she decided blunt truthfulness was her only option. “Okay, let’s discuss why you broke into my house. You kept a set of house keys.”
“Whatever are you talking about, darling? I never go where I’m not invited.”
“Liar! I know you broke in here. I saw you. I saw your friends, too.”
“You creative types, such imagination. The matter I wish to discuss is the engagement ring. I’d like it returned, please.”
