by Kara Lennox
“Maybe she does.” Bree seemed to be struggling to hold herself together, and Eric realized he shouldn’t be lurking here, watching and eavesdropping when neither party had noticed him.
He knocked briskly on the doorframe. “Knock knock, anybody home?”
“Daddy!” MacKenzie popped out of her chair and launched herself into Eric’s arms. “Dr. Bree and me is doing—”
“Dr. Bree and I are...” he corrected her gently.
“Bree and I is—are doing homework.”
Bree was hastily dashing her eyes with the back of one hand. “One of MacKenzie’s classmates dropped by with the day’s worksheets.”
“That was nice of Ms. Brown to make sure you didn’t miss anything important.”
“Uh-huh. Dr. Bree says big kids do homework after school.”
“Well, you’re getting to be a pretty big girl.”
Bree stood up. “I’ll just— Um, bathroom.” She made a hasty escape.
Eric let MacKenzie show him all the day’s “worksheets,” which consisted of coloring, connect-the-dots puzzles, spelling and math. She had done them all except for that last problem with the stick-figure family. He gently returned her attention to the family, and she gave the correct answer of four and wrote in the numeral with no extraneous emotion this time.
Meanwhile, Eric was absorbing the fact that not only had Bree given birth to a child, but that the child had died. Losing his mother had been heart-wrenching; losing his wife had been excruciating. How much worse to lose your child, your flesh and blood?
How did anyone survive it?
His respect for Bree and her strength of spirit rose another notch.
“Daddy, look, I colored a puppy.”
Eric looked at the paper his daughter so proudly showed him and was mildly surprised. The puppy was pink and purple. How ironic that the one thing she probably should have colored brown or black had turned into her breakout art project. “That’s beautiful, sweetheart. I love the colors.”
“Except puppies aren’t really purple,” she said with a giggle.
Again Eric was struck by how much he missed MacKenzie’s laughter. He remembered when she was a baby how she would laugh and laugh when he made funny faces at her. He didn’t know what Bree was doing, but MacKenzie was showing some definite improvement. Or maybe it was simply that time was healing her, and Bree’s presence was purely coincidental.
Still, obviously MacKenzie liked “Dr. Bree,” who seemed to have a natural affinity for kids. What a tragedy that she didn’t have her own. It must be hard to see other little girls and wonder what hers might have turned out like, if only.
“Since you’ve done such a good job finishing your homework, would you like to watch TV?”
MacKenzie nodded.
“You can watch in the living room. And maybe you can help Elena fold laundry.”
“Okay.” She slid off her chair and walked to her bookcase, where her toys were lined up with meticulous care. She checked to make sure they were all present and accounted for, then chose a hand puppet of a giraffe to take downstairs with her. She was still worried someone would take her toys away. He wondered if that was an insecurity that would follow her to adulthood.
Bree returned from the bathroom and looked around. “Where’s MacKenzie?”
“I told her she could watch TV for a little while. I figured you might want to talk in private. Or did you come just to see my daughter?”
She smiled ruefully. “It’s certainly no hardship spending time with her. She’s so sweet.” Bree dropped her gaze. “You were listening to our conversation.”
“Guilty. I didn’t want to interrupt. I love seeing her happy and engaged, talking to someone. For a while I worried that she was hopelessly introverted. So yes, I did hear you. And I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine...”
“I think maybe you can. You did almost lose your little girl. Isn’t that what happened? She was almost adopted?”
“Yeah, by the son of a bitch who killed her mother. That was horrible. But not the same.” He wanted to know more. Like when had this happened? And who had the father been? Was it Ralston’s? But he figured she would open up about it when she felt comfortable, not before. Meanwhile, he had no business trying to drag it out of her.
“Yes, she was Kelly’s,” she said abruptly. “I was eighteen when she was born. We were planning to get married. Her name was Casey, after Kelly’s mother. She was born premature, weighed four and a half pounds and lived six hours and twenty-five minutes.”
Eric had nothing to say. Any platitude he came up with would be stupid. So he just put his arms around her.
“Mostly I’ve learned to deal with it.” Her voice was thick with tears. “But every once in a while, something will set me off.”
“Like my daughter asking intrusive questions.”
“Actually, Casey was already on my mind. She would have been a little older than MacKenzie. I was just feeling sorry for myself that I couldn’t help my own little girl with her schoolwork.” She pulled away. “I’m okay, really.” She cleared her throat. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
“I guess it’s too much to hope that you couldn’t stay away from me?”
She smiled beguilingly but then quickly grew serious. “Eric, someone is watching me. Stalking me.”
Eric’s pulse jumped. “Jesus. Who?”
“I have no idea who it is. It’s just a car with tinted windows, and I see it everywhere—near the hospital’s staff parking lot, on my street, at the grocery store.” Bree was obviously shaken.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked sharply.
“You mean, do you think I’m imagining things?” She shook her head. “It’s the same car. He even tried to follow me out of town.”
“He didn’t—” Eric swallowed back the panic.
“No, no, I made sure there were no cars behind me when I got off the freeway.”
But plenty of people had seen them together recently. If someone was really stalking Bree, he or she might think to check Eric’s address. It wouldn’t be that hard to find, especially if the stalker was law enforcement. Bree wouldn’t be safe anywhere. And if they followed her here, MacKenzie wouldn’t be safe.
“You believe me, right? I’m not delusional.”
“Of course I believe you. And I’m glad you came here. I won’t let anything happen to you, Bree. We’re going to get to the bottom of this. And we don’t have to do it alone. The Kelly Ralston case is officially on the roster at Project Justice.”
Bree smiled through the last of her tears. “That’s wonderful news!”
“The case is getting priority consideration, given Philomene’s precarious situation.”
“I’ve tried calling and texting her. I’ve reassured her that I just want to be sure she’s okay, that I won’t pressure her to do anything she’s uncomfortable with.”
“And?”
“No response. Also, there’s something else. I looked at that last text message supposedly from her. The spelling and grammar are perfect. I compared it to another text she left. She used shortcuts like T-H-X for thanks and the numeral four to mean F-O-R. It seems pretty clear to me she didn’t write that text.”
“I agree. Joe Kinkaid is the investigator assigned to the case. This afternoon he and I went over everything we know and came up with a strategy. Obviously, finding Philomene is near the top of our list. We used satellite maps to examine the area around where her car was found. There are lots of places to hide a body—woods, water. We’re going to bring in searchers and dogs.”
“I want to help search.”
“Of course. We’ll need all the people we can round up. There’s a lot of ground to cover.”
Bree stood, suddenly filled with nervous energy. “When is this goi
ng to happen?”
“Wednesday.”
She paused and pressed her lips together. “Sheriff DeVille isn’t going to like this.”
“He was the first person we contacted. He’ll be in charge of the search. Or at least, he’ll think he is.”
Bree’s look of surprise would have been comical if the situation weren’t so grim. “But why...?”
“He has to at least pretend to be grateful that an organization with the resources of Project Justice is trying to help locate a woman missing from his town. With the finding of the blood, he has to at least admit the possibility Philomene met with foul play.”
“Plus, if he’s involved, he might be able to orchestrate the search to his advantage.”
“Or he might already know her body isn’t there, so what’s the harm of pretending cooperation?”
She laughed unexpectedly. “I’m so relieved not to be in this alone anymore. I should call Kelly and let him know.” She whipped out her phone from her pocket, but Eric stopped her.
“It’s taken care of. Thanks to his existing appeals attorney, I’ve been put on the list as part of his legal defense team. I can get access to him when necessary.”
“Did you talk to him?”
Eric nodded. Dealing with the man who had nearly killed him wasn’t his favorite part of the current situation. But it was his job now. “He was grateful.” So grateful, in fact, that Eric had found it hard to remember who this guy was. What if it was all an act? What if Ralston didn’t believe Eric when he said he hadn’t ratted him out? What if Eric ended up being the one responsible for securing Ralston’s release, and his efforts caused some harm to befall MacKenzie?
Eric knew how counterproductive it was to live in a state of fear and paranoia. He had to believe he was doing the right thing. He had to believe in Bree and her faith in the man who had fathered her child.
“And everything’s okay between you?”
“Bree, if I seriously believed he intended harm to me or mine, I wouldn’t have taken up his cause.” That was the bottom line, he supposed. Even if Ralston was pure evil, Eric doubted he’d be stupid enough to finally get out of prison, then do something to put himself right back in.
“I’m glad.”
Eric sensed that she wanted to say more, maybe do more—like put her arms around him. But in the end she clasped her hands behind her back.
“So I brought a carload of groceries with me. Since I’m too freaked out to stay at home by myself, I’m throwing myself on your mercy and offering to feed you in exchange for a safe haven.”
“You don’t even need to ask, and no payment is necessary.”
“How does everyone feel about hamburgers?” she asked as if he hadn’t spoken.
He smiled and nodded. “Sure. Want me to fire up the grill?”
“As long as you let me do the cooking. I want you and MacKenzie to spend quality time together and leave everything else to me.” She whisked past him out the door and trotted down the stairs.
Eric frankly enjoyed the thought of Bree preparing their dinner. As though they were friends. Family, even. It was an intimate thing to do, even if it was only hamburgers for the whole gang.
He went out onto the patio to make sure the grill was clean and showed Bree how to light it. Then he joined Elena and MacKenzie in the living room, where MacKenzie and her giraffe puppet were purportedly helping Elena fold laundry. In reality they were probably a hindrance. MacKenzie hadn’t bothered to turn on the TV—she was engaging with Elena, another positive sign.
When Eric had first been reunited with MacKenzie, she’d spent a lot of time in front of the TV, watching cartoons she’d seen a million times. Her therapist had said she was comforted by the familiar and to let her soothe herself that way. As she’d become more secure with her new living situation and caregivers, she had gradually cut back on TV all on her own, as the therapist had hoped. Dr. Fredricks was considered something of a miracle worker when it came to helping traumatized kids, and with MacKenzie he hadn’t disappointed.
“Need more help?” Eric asked. “Bree offered to fix dinner, so I’m off the hook.”
Elena laughed. “Think again. You’ll cook tomorrow night. It’s so your turn.”
“I’ll do it anytime. But my cooking sucks when compared to Travis’s.” Travis had practically raised him and had learned to stretch the grocery money by cooking meals from scratch rather than buying TV dinners and frozen pizza. He’d found their mom’s recipe box, which had come from their grandmother, and taught himself.
“Well, the laundry is pretty much done. So you can just...play.”
“Gee, thanks, Mom.” He would be forever grateful to Trav and Elena for everything they’d done, but he was going to have to fly on his own, sooner rather than later. He could cash in a couple of bonds and get enough money to put down a deposit and pay first and last month’s rent. If he lived nearby, Elena would most likely still be available for after-school care. Then he would just have to find a backup babysitter.
When he’d first gotten out of prison, logistic tasks such as finding childcare had seemed a huge challenge. Even shopping for groceries or fixing a meal had taxed him. Now Eric wasn’t bothered by the prospect at all. Maybe MacKenzie wasn’t the only one coming out of her shell.
Following Elena’s directive, he sat down next to MacKenzie. “How about we play Go Fish?”
MacKenzie nodded enthusiastically and ran upstairs to get the deck of cards.
“Okay, what’s the deal?” Elena asked. She sounded curious, not confrontational.
Eric gave her the Reader’s Digest condensed version of recent events. “Bree is really spooked, and I don’t blame her. You don’t mind if she bunks here a couple of nights, do you?”
“Of course not. Especially if she’s going to buy groceries and cook. Where’s she going to sleep?”
The deceptively innocent question took him by surprise. “I’ll take the sofa, of course.” Much as he might like Bree to share his bed, he wasn’t ready to send mixed signals to MacKenzie—or to Bree herself, for that matter. He certainly wasn’t ready for a live-in girlfriend, not that Bree had given any indication she wanted to play that role.
As he and MacKenzie played cards, Eric’s mind wandered, and he found himself imagining what it would be like going to sleep with Bree in his arms, waking up with her next to him. He had enjoyed being married. He missed simple domestic pleasures. He missed having that one person he thought he could rely on.
But it would be a long time before he trusted any woman the way he’d trusted Tammy.
* * *
BREE WOKE UP disoriented in almost total darkness, and it took her a few moments to remember that she was staying with Eric—sleeping on the lumpy living room sofa at her own insistence. But her thoughts kept drifting to Eric’s comfy double bed with its down comforter and the hot guy that came with it.
She knew why they weren’t sleeping together, and she was okay with it. She was the one who had thrown up barricades to begin with, so she could hardly complain that Eric was being a complete gentleman. But two nights spent on this sofa seemed an eternity.
She had to forget about the amazing sex and move on. She had her priorities—first, to not get herself killed. Then she had to find Philomene and get Kelly’s conviction overturned. Anything else was just a distraction, especially when she had to work fifty hours a week. The E.R. supervisor hadn’t been all that happy that she wanted a couple of days off, but at least he hadn’t said no.
What time was it, anyway? She was snuggled way down deep under her blankets. As she reached out to find her phone, which she’d left on the coffee table, she realized she had more blankets than when she’d started. Someone—Eric, no doubt—had placed a down comforter over her. Her heart warmed at the thoughtful gesture. When was the last time any man cared abo
ut something so trivial as whether she was chilled?
It was four-thirty—almost time to get up if she and Eric planned to make it to Tuckerville by sunrise, around seven-thirty. That was when all of the searchers were gathering out on Curry Road.
The sound of rustling in the kitchen brought Bree to full attention. She sat up straight. No lights were on, yet someone was definitely moving around.
All senses on alert, Bree quietly slipped out from under the covers. She grabbed the first thing she saw that might ostensibly be used as a weapon—a glass bowl full of papier-mâché fruit on the coffee table—and crept toward the kitchen. As she reached the open doorway, she moved the bowl to her right hand, ready to lob it at the intruder and run, then switched on the light.
The shirtless intruder whirled around with a yelp of surprise and Bree issued an abbreviated shriek.
“Jesus, Bree, you scared me half to death.” It was Eric.
“I thought you were a burglar.”
He nodded toward the bowl in her hands. “And what were you going to do, pummel me with paper fruit?”
“I was going to throw the whole bowl at you and run,” she confessed. “It was all I could find on the spur of the moment.” Now that she’d spoken it aloud, her plan seemed pretty lame.
Eric stepped closer and relieved her of the bowl, setting it on the counter. He put his arm around her shoulders. “For the record, if you think there’s a burglar in the house, you scream bloody murder and then get out of the house. You don’t throw stuff at him.”
“Oh, right, and leave the rest of you to deal with him? How cowardly would that be?”
“Then call 911 and hide.”
She could have done that, she supposed. Her phone had been right there. “Guess I wasn’t quite awake or thinking clearly.” She still wasn’t thinking clearly, not with him standing so close and not wearing a shirt, just a pair of jeans that rode low on his slim hips.
Just when she was about to turn toward him and snuggle into his light embrace, he released her. “I was trying not to wake you. I thought I’d put together some kind of breakfast to eat in the car.”
