by Brenda Novak
“Call the police again,” Emma told her. “Right away.”
“What good will that do? They won’t even file a missing person’s report until—”
“Tell them you believe Manuel’s responsible for what happened.”
“Do you think he killed her?” Rosa asked, her voice hoarse with fear.
Emma couldn’t accept the possibility that the man she’d lived with could be capable of something that heinous. She remembered sitting outside on the lawn, talking to him for half the night when they first met. He’d been so charismatic, such a charmer. But he’d changed….
Please, God, protect my sweet friend. Don’t let her be hurt.
“No. No, of course not. I’ll call you in the morning to see if you’ve heard anything,” she said, and hung up.
WHEN PRESTON HEARD Max’s childish voice, he lifted his head from the rim of the Jacuzzi and blinked in surprise. Darkness prevailed in his corner of the pool area, but the floodlight attached to the building confirmed that he wasn’t merely hearing an echo of the two people he couldn’t seem to forget. The boy rushing toward the water was definitely Max, and the slender woman with him, setting two towels on a chaise, was Emma.
“Mom, watch me dive in,” Max hollered. “Watch me, okay? Are you watching?”
“Shh…” she replied. “I’m watching.”
“Here I go.”
She stood at the edge of the pool while he made a big splash, then glanced around as though she feared someone might notice him. Her gaze touched on the people talking just outside the office, the car turning into the driveway, a man carrying something to his car. She even focused briefly on Preston in the Jacuzzi, but he could tell she didn’t recognize him. Two other men relaxed across from him, so he wasn’t alone. And he was sitting so low in the water he knew she’d be lucky to see all of his face, especially amid the steam and the shadows.
“Come on, Mom. Get in,” Max said.
Emma removed the T-shirt she’d worn over her swimming suit and walked to the far end of the pool, where she stood on the steps.
“Aren’t you going to swim with me?”
“Maybe in a minute.”
She didn’t seem nearly as enthusiastic about this outing as he did. She seemed nervous, distracted. Preston wondered if she could be that worked up about the possibility of being caught in the wrong pool, or if the tension she’d felt all day was simply getting to her.
The guilt that had plagued him earlier for dumping her and Max threatened to reassert itself. But the man across from him drew his attention before he could beat himself up too badly.
“Would you get a load of that?” the man said with a low, soft whistle.
His friend turned to see what “that” was and spotted Emma in her black bikini. “She’s got one heck of a body, doesn’t she?” he said, and began to elaborate on the attributes he particularly admired, beginning with her “gorgeous tits.”
Preston hadn’t ogled a woman since he was a randy teenager. The conversation sounded almost foreign to him. Inconsequential. He’d been too busy with more important things, things that had changed or could change his life. Dallas. Vince. The truth. Occasionally, he had dreams about making love to Christy, but his physical appetites always took a back seat to the goal that consumed him from the moment he woke up.
Now that he allowed himself to think about sex, however, Preston realized he missed Christy’s warm body in his bed, her welcoming embrace. If he’d been less bitter, he knew he would have missed her more, maybe even a lot. Until Dallas died, their marriage had been a good one, full of comfortable companionship and peace.
But all good things come to an end….
Whoever said that was a freakin’ genius, he decided.
Shifting in the hot water, he leaned a little to the left to get a better view of Emma. The men across from him, truckers judging by their conversation, had already moved on to other topics. An encounter with a porn star. Long legs. High heels. A hooker in Memphis. The women they talked about seemed interchangeable. But women weren’t interchangeable to Preston. They never had been. Maybe that was why he’d scarcely thought of sex since he’d split with Christy.
He closed his eyes and laid his head back, but Emma in that black bikini made it impossible to relax. Evidently his libido was making a comeback.
Opening his eyes, he studied her legs, the perfect breasts his companions had already noted, her smooth golden skin—and felt his body react almost instantly.
You have a sort of stark beauty…. Your face, your body. He’d felt a definite sexual undercurrent during that exchange, but he’d also known he’d never take advantage of a woman with a kid. So he’d told himself she hadn’t meant anything by the compliment and immediately squashed his reaction.
But things were different now. They’d parted ways and, after tonight, would probably never see each other again. Which meant he was safe to let his imagination wander where it would. Considering his arousal, he couldn’t get out of the Jacuzzi right now anyway.
Hooking his arms over the sides, he hauled himself up a few inches so he could see her move deeper into the pool. She gathered Max into her arms, brushed his wet hair off his forehead and kissed him. Then she gave him a ride on her back.
The domesticity of the scene made Preston uncomfortable about the fact that, in his mind, he’d just pulled off her swimsuit. But not uncomfortable enough to stop the fantasy now that it was getting exciting. It seemed like an absolute eternity since he’d felt a woman beneath him.
He imagined Emma inviting him to her room. Conveniently, Max wasn’t anywhere around, which was the beauty of dreams. People could appear and disappear at will. And they could react in ways that were exactly opposite to what they’d do in reality.
He pictured her offering him a teasing smile as she slowly untied her swimsuit top and dropped it on the ground. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back when he stepped over to her—touched her. Suddenly Preston felt no guilt at all for leaving Emma and her son at the shabby motel down the street. Considering how badly he wanted her legs around him, she and Max were much better off without him.
THE OUTSIDE AIR and the water in the pool were warm, but Emma still felt chilled inside—too chilled to enjoy swimming. She tried to entertain Max, to act somewhat normal, for his sake. He’d already been through so much in the past two days. But she was too wound up, she could barely move or even speak.
Juanita’s gone. Do you think Manuel’s killed her?
Emma wished she could say no to that question with real confidence instead of the thin veneer she’d put on for Juanita’s sister’s sake. But the glint of excitement in Manuel’s eyes the night of their last argument, when he’d grabbed her hand and purposely burned her, was truly frightening. His expression in that moment, his lack of remorse later, had left an indelible impression. Although he hadn’t been physically abusive in the early years, the power his money afforded him seemed to be turning him into some kind of monster, a monster that fed on power and control.
And the more control Manuel achieved, the more he wanted. But was he capable of murder? The man she’d once loved? The father of her child?
She remembered the way he used to be when they first met, when he was apart from his family and they were on their own. He’d been sexy, confident, outgoing—a natural leader. Everyone had liked him, especially women. He still had those traits, but they were exaggerated now, stretched so far out of proportion they made him into someone dark and twisted, someone too warped to function normally. He acted as if he were above the law, as if he reigned supreme….
He said they’d have you back within a day.
“Mommy, watch me!”
She nodded absently at Max, still struggling to put her thoughts in order. Even if Manuel knew she was in Nevada, he wouldn’t be able to find her.
Or would he? There were only two main highways, and she hadn’t moved far enough, fast enough.
“Mo-om, are you looking?”
/> Emma forced herself to turn and focus, and that was when she noticed the men sitting in the Jacuzzi in the far corner. She’d made a mental note of them before, of course, when she’d first arrived. She was too afraid that she’d run into someone working for Manuel not to pay attention to the people around her. But something had changed.
The two who’d been talking were still talking. Their voices came to her as a low murmur. Nothing different there. It was the other man. He watched her a little too closely. She could feel his acute interest like the sun scorching her skin on a hot beach.
Throwing back her shoulders, she challenged his gaze—and finally recognized the eyes staring back at her. They belonged to Preston Holman.
Max’s hand swept against her as he swam by, and she pulled him to the surface.
“Hey, why’d you stop me? I was going to touch the side of the pool without taking a breath, like Daddy does.”
“We’re going back to our motel now,” she said.
“I don’t want to! We just got here.”
“It’s late, time for bed.”
“Already?”
“We have to get up early.” She had no idea what might happen tomorrow, but she knew she’d better think of some way to get them out of Ely as soon as possible, even if she had to spend the rest of her money on a car.
She glanced over at Preston once again. Now that she’d caught him staring at her, she expected him to scowl and turn away. But he didn’t. He flung the wet hair out of his eyes as his lips curved in a sexy grin.
How many women had felt their hearts pound at the sight of that devastating smile? she wondered. And why was he suddenly flashing it at her? He couldn’t be making any overtures of friendship. He’d already let her know, in a million ways, that he wasn’t interested in anything to do with her.
Climbing out of the water, she gathered her son and grabbed her towel. Then she threw Preston a look that said “Good riddance,” and left.
But just as she and Max were about to cross the street to the Feel Good Motel, Emma spotted a tall man with long straggling hair going into the office. She knew immediately that it wasn’t Manuel. But something about him seemed familiar.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHERE HAD SHE SEEN him before? Emma couldn’t remember. He was tall, probably six-four, but thin, almost gaunt. As he spoke to the motel manager, he raised a hand to his waist as if to say “The boy’s about so tall.” At least her imagination insisted on that interpretation. But he was wearing a bandanna around his head and a leather vest, and he looked dirty, rough, which wasn’t Manuel’s style at all. Manuel was slick and sophisticated, wily and articulate.
“Why did we stop?” Max asked.
Emma didn’t know how to explain the hair standing up on the back of her neck or the strange sense of familiarity that had washed over her.
“Mom?” Finally Max sounded tired.
“We’re waiting for traffic to clear,” she said. But the street had been wide-open for the past three or four minutes, and she couldn’t bring herself to cross it, to move any closer to that man.
Max tugged on her arm. “Come on.”
Who was he? Had he been to the house before? Occasionally men stopped by to speak briefly to Manuel in his office. This could definitely be one of them. Or maybe she was imagining the danger, jumping at shadows, like she had with that red Toyota on Highway 5.
That had to be it, she decided and, taking Max’s hand, she stepped off the curb. This guy was only renting a room. Any minute, he’d sign a charge slip and stride out of the office with a key in his hand.
But the manager’s wife ushered him outside right away before he could sign anything. So Emma hopped back onto the sidewalk and drew Max into the shadow of the overhang on the gift shop.
The manager’s wife led the man across the parking lot. They paused every so often to speak, but it wasn’t difficult to see where they were heading. When they stopped in front of Room 21 and knocked, Emma knew her worst fears had come true. Room 21 was her room. Manuel, or rather someone connected to him, had found her.
“Mommy, can I have my eight-thirty snack?”
“In a minute.” A lot could happen in a minute. In this minute. She and Max couldn’t keep standing where they were, staring in shock and terror.
It looked as though the manager’s wife was taking out a master key.
Emma searched her mind for what they’d see as soon as they opened the door, and barely managed to stifle a whimper. Max’s biohazard container was sitting on top of the TV. The moment the tall man saw it, he’d know for sure that he’d found her. How many other women in Ely, who’d just rented a room, had a young diabetic son?
A horrible realization brought Emma’s hand up to her mouth. Max’s diabetes supplies! The backpack she’d packed so carefully before leaving San Diego was in the room, along with the biohazard dispenser.
“Can I have some ice cream?” Max asked.
Emma shook her head vaguely, distracted. Max needed the things in that backpack to survive. What was she going to do?
She had to get Max’s meds.
She couldn’t return to the room.
She had to think. Think, think, think!
Slowly, her brain started functioning again. Max’s tester kit was in her purse. She carried it everywhere. Provided she had enough needles, test strips and insulin in that small black pouch to get him through the night, she could buy more supplies in the morning, when the local pharmacy opened.
After rummaging in her purse, she came up with his kit and confirmed that she had a bottle of test strips, all three types of insulin and a needle. Then she told herself to breathe. She had a plan. With any luck, she could replenish what they’d lost.
But it was a risk she didn’t like taking. Buying the other products again would cost more than two hundred dollars. And it wasn’t only Max’s diabetes supplies they’d lost. They’d walked to the pool with only T-shirts over their swimsuits. They didn’t even have pants….
Clarity suddenly cut through her panic. Money didn’t matter. Clothes didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except Max. And he was what she stood to lose if she didn’t pull herself together and start moving.
Whirling, she hurried her son back toward the Starlight Motel.
“I thought we were going to bed,” Max said, frowning in confusion.
“Maybe later,” Emma murmured.
“Are we swimming again?”
“No.” Emma pictured the small police station they’d passed when they came into town and wished she could go there for help. She’d almost called the cops a million different times. But she had only one burn mark to prove Manuel could be cruel. The emotional scars didn’t show. He looked and acted the part of the consummate businessman, the perfect father, the considerate neighbor. And he was such a convincing liar. He’d blame everything on her, make her appear so emotionally unstable that the police wouldn’t do anything.
She could already hear what they’d tell her: I’m sorry, ma’am. We can’t very well arrest him before he does something wrong, can we? And she could also imagine her own helpless response: But afterward it’ll be too late.
She couldn’t count on the police. She could count only on herself. She had to be strong for Max.
Max was jogging to keep up with her. “Where are we going?”
Emma slowed as they reached the pool area. “Here.”
“Why?”
Because she couldn’t rent another room, not in such a small town. Once Manuel and the men working for him realized she wasn’t coming back to the Feel Good Motel, as they probably expected, he’d keep hunting for her. He’d ask every motel manager in Ely if a woman with a boy about five years old had checked in. Simply renting another room wouldn’t buy enough time; she needed somewhere to hide for the night.
“I want to watch TV,” Max said.
“Good.”
“What are we doing?”
“Looking for Mr. Holman.”
“Why?”
/>
“To see if he’d like to have a slumber party.”
“With us?” The prospect of a party left Max excited and not tired at all, but the fact that her son might be up for a while longer was the least of Emma’s worries.
She located Preston still sitting in the Jacuzzi, his head barely visible above the steam coming off the hot water. Thank God he hasn’t left. But the sight of him didn’t raise her hopes by much. She had to figure out how to convince him to help her. She’d already offered him money, friendship, assistance. He didn’t want any of it. To make matters worse, ten minutes earlier she’d given him a look synonymous with flipping him the finger.
She searched frantically for possibilities, none of which would work. Then she remembered the quality of the smile Preston had worn when she’d caught him watching her in the pool, and felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She did have one thing to trade. She’d never dreamed she’d ever consider what was going through her mind right now, but as she gazed down at her son, she knew she’d do anything. Squeezing Max’s hand, she only prayed it would be enough to provide what they so desperately needed.
“Mommy, a slumber party with us?” Max repeated, insisting on an answer.
Pasting a smile on her face, she nodded. Fortunately, her son would be fast asleep when the real party began.
“MR. HOLMAN!” a young voice cried.
Preston turned to see Emma and her son standing at the fence a few feet away.
“C-can I talk to you for a moment?” Emma asked when she caught his eye.
One of the other men in the Jacuzzi murmured to his friend, “You can talk to me, sweet thing,” and they chuckled together. But Preston didn’t view Max and Emma’s return as a good thing. Whether she looked like a pinup model in that bikini or not, he was glad to be rid of her. He didn’t want to worry about hiding his gun, didn’t want the extra trouble. He’d fought too long and too hard to find Vincent Wendell, made too many promises to Dallas, to allow himself to be distracted, even momentarily.
But he couldn’t leave her standing at the fence.
