by Brenda Novak
He dropped his head in his hand. Now why did I track them down in Ely?
Because he couldn’t abandon them, or Emma and Max would face the threat of Manuel alone.
“I can tell you’re excited to hear this,” she said wryly.
He peered up at her. “Ecstatic.”
“I won’t blame you if you want to go on without us.”
Maybe he should’ve asked some of these questions before. Maybe then he would’ve been able to go on without them.
But he doubted it. And it was too late now. He’d already met Manuel—and he wasn’t about to let him or anyone else harm Emma or Max. “What about the police?”
“You’d think they’d be able to help, wouldn’t you?”
He straightened. “Theoretically.”
“I guess the practical application poses a problem. Manuel has a big family, many of whom aren’t even U.S. citizens. And drug smuggling is a tough thing to prove, at least on his level. It’s usually only the carriers who are caught.”
This kept getting better and better. Yet they were alone in a hotel room with the memory of Ely between them. The sudden image of pressing Emma into the couch as he kissed her made Preston clear his throat before taking a sip of his juice.
Good thing he was a man who knew what was important.
Retrieving another bottle of juice from the refrigerator, he held it out to her. Emma should be eating more nutritiously. She was wearing herself too thin and needed to be healthy if she was eventually going to make it on her own.
“They charge six bucks each for these,” she protested.
“Don’t worry about it.” Opening the bottle, he carried it over to her and sat in the opposite chair. Ever since he’d noticed her burn, he’d been wondering about something, but he was almost afraid to ask. “You said Manuel expects Max to be perfect.”
“He does.”
“Is he abusive to him?”
“Not abusive. He’s hard on him, often demanding that he behave more like a ten-year-old than a five-year-old. He over-reacts when Max can’t perform, and he’s way too protective.”
“But he’s never hurt Max physically?”
“No. At least not yet.”
“Was he heading in that direction?”
She leaned her chin on her knees, which she still held to her chest, looking young and vulnerable in her dishevelment. “He was certainly heading in that direction with me.”
“Has he done more than burn you?”
“Only in the worst of our fights.”
Only. Preston wished he’d decked Manuel when he had the chance. “What did you fight about?”
“Me getting a job. Me pushing for more freedom. Me wanting some access to our money.”
“What were you fighting about when he burned you?”
“You can’t possibly want to hear the dirty details of—”
Actually, his interest surprised him. “Why not? I might as well know what we’re up against.”
She seemed to consider his words. “We were fighting about sex.”
Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have asked. Not if he wanted to stop fantasizing. But a statement like that absolutely begged a response. “What about it?”
A gleam of defiance entered her eyes. “I wouldn’t let him tie me up. I couldn’t do it anymore. I hate it.”
The vehemence in her voice told him how much. It made him go cold and lethal inside to imagine Manuel forcing her. “Did he hurt you when he tied you up?” he asked softly.
She stared at the carpet. “Sometimes he showed…flashes of cruelty.”
The knots in his stomach didn’t ease at her tempered reply. “By…”
She shook her head, refusing to get specific. He knew he was probably better off not hearing the details—but he did need some kind of reassurance that she was okay despite what Manuel had done.
Moving to the couch, he took her hands. Her fingers felt slim and cool, and he immediately wanted to warm them. “So he liked feeling powerful?”
She looked at his thumb as he made a small circle around the burn on her wrist. “He liked knowing I couldn’t say no, that he had free rein to do anything, regardless of how I felt.”
“Bastard!”
At his curse, she glanced up. “He is a bastard. And I couldn’t stay with him any longer.”
It was little wonder. From the sound of it, Manuel was one sick son of a bitch. “Max told me his real name is Dominick.”
“It is.”
“And yours is…”
“Vanessa.”
“Vanessa,” he repeated.
“I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” she said with a frown. “It’s not fair to you. I know that.”
He wanted to lean forward and press his lips to hers, to taste her as he’d done before. But after what she’d just told him, he doubted she’d enjoy it. “Manuel’s mother must really be something,” he said.
“She is. One minute, she’s praising him, the next she’s belittling him. They have an odd love-hate relationship. Sometimes I wondered if he wasn’t striking out at her through me. In any case, his brothers don’t treat their wives much better. And—”
Impulsively he brushed his lips across her knuckles. “And?”
She seemed to lose her train of thought for a second as she watched. “Um…I trigger some reaction that frustrates and infuriates him. Because of my refusal to love him the way he wants me to, I guess.”
“He could control every other aspect of your life, but he couldn’t control that.”
“It became almost a game, to withhold the one thing he wanted most.”
The more she talked, the more protective he felt. Preston supposed he should quit while he was ahead—but he couldn’t. “How long has it been since you considered yourself in love with him?”
“Years. So you can see how that emotional distance might drive someone crazy.” She gave him a hesitant smile, her eyes once again watching his lips move over her fingers.
“It sounds to me as though he didn’t deserve your love.”
She shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder which came first. Did he feel me pulling away and grow panicked and grasping? Or did he start to smother me first?”
Preston didn’t care which it was. If she wanted to break things off with Manuel, she had the right to do so. “Why didn’t you leave him years ago?”
“I tried once.”
“What happened?”
“He came after me, and—well, let’s just say it made him even more paranoid. After that, it was almost impossible to get any freedom or money. And I had Max to think about.”
“You mean Dominick?”
“I mean Max,” she said. “We’ve left Vanessa and Dominick behind for good.”
“You don’t think of yourself as Vanessa anymore?”
“No. I don’t want to look back. If I can help it,” she added softly.
He forced himself to release her and was somewhat surprised when she let her hand linger on his leg. “How long do you figure you’ll have to run?”
Her smile was sad. “Who knows? Manuel’s not a man who accepts failure easily.”
“But you’ll be okay in the midwest, right?” He needed to believe there was an end in sight.
“Sure. As safe as anywhere.”
Her answer wasn’t too comforting. Stifling a grimace, he got up so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her again. “Don’t you have any parents or siblings who can help you?”
“Only my mother and sister are left. They both live in Phoenix, but I can’t go to them.”
“Why not?”
“That’s where I went last time.”
“I see.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “And I suppose a restraining order wouldn’t work.”
“There isn’t a paper in the world with the power to stop Manuel. All he has to do is take Max and flee to Mexico, and there’s nothing the police can do.”
“Would he leave you here?”
“There’s no telling
what he’d do to me. The woman who helped me leave just went missing. I tried to call her last night, but I couldn’t get hold of her or her sister. I’m hoping they’re still alive.”
Still alive? Preston blew out a long sigh. He’d heard enough for one morning. “We’ll get to Iowa and decide what to do from there, okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
“I’m going to see if I can grab some more sleep.” He started past her for the bedroom but she caught his wrist. When he looked down, he felt another surge of desire but fought it back.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
“For what?”
“I…I should’ve told you about Max’s diabetes. I would have, but I was afraid you’d leave us. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.” He couldn’t resist running a finger down the side of her face.
She closed her eyes, as if she welcomed his touch. But he knew better than to take it any further. Their lives were screwed up enough already.
Dropping his hand, he walked away.
EMMA HEARD THE DOOR close and covered her eyes. She’d wanted Preston to hold her, to pull her tired body into his arms, enfold her in his strength. Because she hadn’t been able to reach Rosa, she was more worried than ever. But it wasn’t just that. She kept imagining what it might be like to kiss him again now that she trusted him a little more.
But she didn’t want to get involved with another man. She was going to establish her freedom, live in a little house, teach school and take care of Max—and never have to answer to anyone again.
Her heart raced at the memory of Max dashing across the pavement toward Manuel’s Hummer at the Gas-N-Go. If Preston hadn’t shown up when he did…
Why had he come back for them? She still hadn’t asked. And his behavior provided no clues. He hadn’t indicated that he expected anything in return for his help. So far, he hadn’t even accepted money for food or gas.
Did he still want what she’d offered him at the pool? At times she saw him looking at her and thought so. But he was sending conflicting signals. He’d just had the opportunity to make an advance, yet he’d walked away. Again.
She wondered if he knew that his reluctance to press her made her want him. It was a subtlety she and most other women could easily appreciate—and one Manuel would never understand.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LATER THAT MORNING, a small hand tapped Preston’s bare arm, making his heart feel light. He was in the bedroom of his home in Half Moon Bay, with Christy sleeping beside him, and Dallas standing by the edge of his bed—everything as it should be.
Blindly, he scooped his son into bed with him, as he had so many times before, and smiled contentedly when Dallas’s arms closed around his neck.
“Hi, Preston.”
Preston? He dragged his eyes open, and reality intruded with all the finesse of a sledgehammer.
Immediately he let go and slid to the other side of the bed, where he buried his head in the blankets. It wasn’t Max’s fault that he wasn’t Dallas. Max had responded sweetly, innocently, to Preston’s brief show of affection. But the disappointment tasted too bitter for Preston to swallow all at once. He wanted to push Max out of his bed, his life. He wanted to forget—
“Preston?” Max said.
Preston gritted his teeth as he wrestled with the emotions that had welled up, seemingly out of nowhere. Don’t move any closer to me. “What?”
“Where’s my mom?”
“Watching TV.”
“No, she’s not.”
Max’s response made Preston forget his inner battle long enough to prop himself up on one elbow. He listened but couldn’t hear the TV. He couldn’t see Emma anywhere in the room, either. Or the bathroom.
His pulse sped up. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
Had she left? Had Manuel found her?
Hell! Preston bolted out of bed, but just as he reached the living room, Emma came in, carrying a bag of groceries.
Her eyes went wide when she saw him. Then her gaze slid down his body, and he realized that he was standing there in his boxer briefs.
“You’re up.” The tinge of pink that stained her cheeks told him she’d noticed his state of undress, but he didn’t care if it made her uncomfortable. He would’ve been more discreet if she hadn’t scared the life out of him.
He drew a deep breath. “Where’d you go?”
“There’s a little grocery store down the street.”
Scratching his bare chest, he scowled. “You frightened Max.”
“Max?” she said, arching one eyebrow.
Preston felt his scowl darken at her knowing tone, but he didn’t have a chance to say anything before Max came bounding toward her from behind him.
“Mommy!”
Preston took the groceries in time for Emma to catch her son’s running leap.
“I expected to get back before either of you woke up,” she said. “The store’s literally two minutes away.”
“It’d be two minutes too long if something went wrong,” Preston grumbled, and headed back to the bedroom. The stock market opened at six o’clock. He was running late today, but he stubbornly decided to do what he could.
He booted up his computer but he couldn’t concentrate. Emma and Max’s voices filtered back to him. They were talking about aardvarks, for whatever reason, and Preston found himself straining to hear. Apparently aardvarks were nocturnal animals that lived in Africa and were good diggers. They burrowed into nests of termites or ants, then shoved their sticky tongues inside to eat the insects.
How long had it been since he’d thought about an aardvark? Or a triceratops? Or any of the other things a child typically loved? The simple curiosities that had nothing to do with anger and revenge and isolation?
He stared at his amber cursor. As much as Max reminded him of the past and the pain, there were moments Preston found his childish voice comforting.
“Preston!” Emma called. “Breakfast is ready.”
Preston told himself he should stay away from them and continue working. There was something about Emma and Max that threatened to break through all the layers of bitterness that had insulated him for two years. He found that almost as frightening as it was appealing. But the smell of eggs and bacon and homemade biscuits tipped the scale.
Getting up from the desk, he strode reluctantly into the kitchen, as if Emma’s invitation hadn’t just given him the very opportunity he’d been looking for.
“Hungry?” she said when she saw him.
He nodded, and she dished him up a plate. He carried it to the table while she recovered a small black bag from her purse.
Preston had seen her use this bag before, but only in a peripheral way while he was going off to the restroom or pumping gas. This was the first time he was actually close enough to examine its contents.
Picking up his fork, he pretended to concentrate on his breakfast, but couldn’t help watching Emma and Max. Especially when she drew insulin out of three different bottles and handed her son a filled syringe.
Max had to inject himself? At five years old?
“Can I do it in my stomach?” Max asked.
Emma frowned. “We decided not to do it there anymore, remember?”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
Preston didn’t. He wished she’d explain, but he was too busy faking preoccupation to ask.
“So? It’ll be okay,” Max said.
“It’s not okay. The doctor told us we have to rotate the site, and we decided it was best to listen, right?”
Preston saw some cottage-cheese-like deposits on Max’s stomach and thought he could probably guess why it was important to switch sites. Max had already done enough damage there.
“What about your leg?” Emma asked.
Max shook his head.
“I could put it in your bottom,” she suggested.
“Mo-om!” He flushed bright red as he glanced at Preston.
Prest
on tried not to smile at his embarrassment.
Emma sighed. “Do you want me to put it in your arm?”
“No, that’s only for little shots.”
“Little shots?” Preston asked, unable to remain silent.
“The ones at lunch and dinner have less insulin in them,” Emma explained. She turned back to Max. “If you won’t let me do it in your arm, you’re going to have to try your leg.”
“Not my leg.”
“Max…”
“Okay.” The way he puffed out his cheeks and stared at the needle made Preston wish he could take the shot for him. He could tell by the empathy in Emma’s voice that she felt the same.
Pulling up the right pant leg of his shorts, Max pinched a roll of flesh on the inside of his thigh. “Here?”
“That looks good,” Emma said.
Grim determination claimed his young face. He aimed the syringe at the site—but pulled back before the needle could pierce the skin. “I can’t,” he said.
The dejection in his voice made Preston burn with guilt for his earlier reaction to the little guy. Max was a good kid who coped with a lot. He didn’t deserve Preston’s resentment, hadn’t done anything to earn it.
“Go ahead and put it in your stomach, then,” Emma said, and went back to her cooking as if she couldn’t bear to watch. “Just…just try to find a new spot, okay?”
Preston’s fork dangled between his mouth and his plate as Max stuck the needle in his stomach and pushed the plunger. The boy counted to three, then pulled the needle out and carried the empty syringe to his mother.
“Good job,” she said, giving him a hug. “You’re so brave, Max. I’ve never met a boy so brave.”
Preston kept his eyes on his breakfast, but he had to agree. Max might not be Dallas. But he was no ordinary boy.
“WHERE ARE YOU?”
At the sound of Rosa’s voice, Manuel sank onto the bed in the motel room he’d rented in Wendover and used the towel he’d draped around his neck to mop up the sweat dripping from his hair. Because he wasn’t even sure he was traveling in the right direction, he’d stopped to sleep and work out, hoping Hector would find Vanessa in Vegas. But Hector hadn’t seen any sign of her.
