CLOSE TO YOU: Enhanced (Lost Hearts)

by Dodd, Christina

  She hung up, stared at the phone in her hand, and realized the shoe was actually on the other foot. She had hoped Teague would be worried about her. But now she was worried about Teague.

  She dialed Teague again. He still didn't pick up; when she heard his message, she said, "Call me back and tell me you're okay. I'm, um, concerned."

  The skinniest little old lady in the world sat facing her at a table across the restaurant. Her stooped shoulders and white hair showed the burden of her age, her ebony-skinned face sagged, but she smiled cheerfully at Kate.

  Kate smiled back.

  The old woman's companion turned to glance at Kate, then shook her head. Kate glanced at the menu and figured she'd better stick with something basic to go with her milk shake.

  The waitress who'd pointed out this booth to her and wore a name tag that said CATHY, stopped by and asked, "What can I get you?"

  "A French dip sandwich with fries and a chocolate shake."

  "That shake in the window gets 'em every time." Cathy grinned as she scribbled down the order. "It's made with Bluebell ice cream, you know."

  "I should just plaster it to my thighs," Kate told her. "That's where it's going to end up anyway."

  "It's more fun going in the top." Cathy winked.

  The old lady still smiled at Kate, and, when Kate caught her eye, she waved.

  Kate waved back.

  The old woman's smile grew.

  The waitress glanced over. "That's Mrs. Parker. Sweet thing, but she's slipped a few gears, if you know what I mean. Her daughter was living in California. She moved back to take care of Mrs. Parker at home, but Maureen is no spring chicken herself. I don't know what they're going to do." Cathy shook her head. "It's a shame when the mind goes first."

  "She seems happy," Kate said.

  "She was my second-grade teacher. It's . . . hard when she doesn't recognize me." Cathy cocked her head and studied Kate. "You look familiar, yourself."

  Kate saw Mrs. Parker get to her feet and reach for her walker. "Does KTTV out of Austin reach this far?" Kate asked. "I'm a reporter there."

  "No, most of our stations are out of San Antone, but maybe that's it. Last year we went to Austin for our anniversary." Before Kate could explain she hadn't been there last year, Cathy went to pick up an order and to yell at the other waitress for malingering.

  With a helpless, apologetic glance at Kate, Maureen helped her mother make a slow progress across the floor. They reached Kate's table, and the daughter said, "Mama's a little confused today. She thinks she knows you."

  "I do know her." The old lady sank down in the booth and reached across the table. Taking Kate's hands in her fragile, crippled fingers, she asked, "Where have you been keeping yourself? I've missed you."

  "I'm glad to see you, too." Mrs. Parker had made a harmless mistake, and Kate didn't try to correct her.

  "How are the children? Last time I saw Hope, she had gotten so big! Why, I remember when she was just a baby and the sweetest thing I ever laid eyes on. And driven! Not like that rascal Pepper."

  Kate played along. "No, not like Pepper at all."

  "I warned you about naming a child Pepper, didn't I? That little girl is as smart as a whip, but she'd rather run and chatter with her friends than do math. She's a trial, that one." Mrs. Parker laughed a long, clear laugh. "I can't quite remember. How old are the girls now?"

  Kate didn't know how to answer. As she dawdled, Mrs. Parker's merriment faded. Tears filled her eyes.

  "Who would have thought those children would disappear like that? One minute they were here, the next minute they were gone, and everything in Hobart changed."

  "Oh, Mama." Maureen handed her mother a handkerchief.

  Except for the whir of the milk shake machine, the restaurant was unusually quiet.

  Kate glanced around. Everyone in the restaurant observed them.

  "Even the foster boy vanished, and you had really gentled him." A tear dropped off Mrs. Parker's wrinkled cheek.

  "But the girls are fine." Gently, Kate squeezed Mrs. Parker's fingers.

  "Are they? Well, good. Good. I was worried about them, I can tell you." Mrs. Parker dabbed her eyes.

  The other waitress—the odd, frightened one—ventured out of the kitchen and stood behind the counter, filling coffee cups and staring at Kate as if she'd grown a second head. Kate began to feel as if she'd fallen into the Twilight Zone.

  "You had a baby, too. What was that child's name? Caitlin. Caitlin Prescott. Such a pretty child. I always said she would grow up to look like you." Mrs. Parker scrutinized Kate. "My goodness, I don't know how you do it, but you are looking younger every day. You haven't gone off and had one of those extreme makeovers, have you? So foolish to meddle with God's work. But no, you're the minister's wife. You wouldn't do that."

  "Mama, here comes Cathy with this lady's order." Maureen touched her mother's shoulder. "We'd better go back to our table and let her eat."

  "Of course." With the help of her walker, Mrs. Parker hefted herself to her feet. "Don't be such a stranger! I get lonely since I've quit work. Come for a visit. I'll make you a pear pie. You know, Lana, you've always loved my pear pie."

  Lana.

  "Thank you," Kate faltered. "It was wonderful to see you, too."

  Lana. Evelyn Oberlin had looked into space, called Lana's name, said she was sorry. . . .

  As the mother and daughter walked away, Kate wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on her napkin.

  Mrs. Parker had given details, names. She had insisted Kate was Lana, a minister's wife . . . and she had suffered that moment of sadness.

  What was it she said? Who would have thought those children would disappear . . .

  Cathy slid a huge platter with the French dip and the fries onto the table, then returned with a glassful of milk shake and the rest in the metal shake container. "It's as good as it looks," she advised, and whipped off to pour coffee at the next table.

  Who would have thought those children would disappear . . .

  Kate stared at the food. She glanced around the diner. The people now hunched over their plates and examined her out of the corners of their eyes.

  Who would have thought those children would disappear . . .

  Dear God. Kate's whole life had changed today. This minute. Now.

  She picked up her phone and dialed Teague. "Damn it!" she whispered when he didn't answer. The signal still cut out, so she left the message three times. "I found my family. I found my family. I found my family. Come to Hobart, Teague. I think he killed them all."

  Someone stepped up to the table. "He didn't kill them all."

  Kate glanced up.

  A woman of maybe forty stood there. She had an hourglass figure with a little too much sand in the bottom, hair dyed flame red, and wore a Hawaiian shirt, pink shorts, and running shoes without socks.

  "He didn't?" Should Kate get in her car and drive away as fast as she could, or stay to find out who she was and what had happened?

  How could she walk away from her past when she'd found it?

  "I'm Melissa Cunningham." The woman smiled and stuck out her hand. "I was wondering when one of you all would come back."

  Kate shook hands. "So you recognize me?"

  "Of course I do." Melissa leaned across the table and looked into Kate's eyes. "You're one of the minister's kids. You're Lana Prescott's baby daughter."

  TWENTY-TWO

  As he drove toward Hobart, the phone rang in George's car. He glanced at the number.

  Jason Urbano.

  Today, George had his revenge, his money . . . and when he got to Hobart, he would have his woman. One way or another, he would have Kate.

  With absolute composure, he opened the connection. "It's about time."

  "Senator Oberlin?" It was a woman's voice. It contained the faintest hint of Texas in its accent.

  George frowned. Urbano should not have had his secretary call. "Yes?"

  "This is Hope Givens."

  Hope Giv
ens? George stared at the highway as it wound through the Hill Country. The blood buzzed in his head.

  "Hope Prescott Givens," she added helpfully.

  Had Urbano failed him? Had Urbano screwed him?

  "Senator, are you there?" She sounded exactly as she had twenty-three years ago—perky, composed, very much the minister's daughter.

  Well, she'd sounded that way most of the time. Except when she'd found out that her parents were thieves, that no one wanted her and her siblings. Then she had shouted and cried. Poor, stupid, pathetic child.

  "I'm here." That poor child had grown up to be the bane of his existence.

  Not like his sweet Kate. Kate, who was sticking her nose where it did not belong. "Good. I wouldn't want to lose you now." Hope managed to make simple words sound like intimidation.

  She was threatening him, Senator George Oberlin. "Why are you calling me?" "Why am I contacting you instead of Jason Urbano, do you mean?"

  "What are you talking about?" George clutched the wheel.

  "I mean, you were expecting a call from Jason telling you that Givens Industries had collapsed, that your investment in our competitors resulted in a fortune, and that I would never bother you again."

  George heard his own breath. How did she know? Urbano had told her. He must have told her.

  "Just in case you're making plans to release the information you've collected about Jason, I wouldn't. It's all phony, and it'll make you look like a fool." In a reflective tone, she added, "A bigger fool."

  Comprehension struck George like a well-wielded baseball bat. He didn't even have to listen to know what she was going to say next. But he did. He listened very closely. He needed to know how many people would suffer his revenge.

  "More than a year ago, my husband and I made a plan. We decided that if we couldn't convince you to tell us what had happened to my sister Caitlin, we would motivate you to cooperate by"—she pretended to think—"what's the word?"

  George heard a man's crisp Boston voice on the line. "Blackmail."

  "Yes, that's it. We would blackmail you into cooperating with us. So we set up a sting operation that involved Griswald—you know him as Freddy."

  "Present." Freddy's crisp British accent.

  "And Jason Urbano."

  "Hello, Senator." Urbano sounded so smug. So superior.

  "Also, Gabriel is a part of this—remember Gabriel, Senator? My foster brother?" Hope taunted Oberlin with his failure. "The muscle in our group is Dan Graham, my brother-in-law."

  "Brother-in-law?" George couldn't believe what Hope was saying. "My sister's husband." Kate spelled it out so he couldn't be mistaken.

  "Yes, it's true, I'm here, too." Another woman spoke in a firm, no-nonsense tone, one that reminded him so much of Lana a cold shiver slid down his spine. "Do you remember me? I'm the middle daughter. I'm Pepper."

  "Quite the family reunion." He imagined them all standing there around a speaker phone, gloating. Then a horrific thought struck him. "Where are you?"

  "We all came to Austin to be close to you," Hope said.

  "Not so very close to me." Thank God, they weren't in Hobart. Even when they figured out where he had gone, he was two hours ahead of them. Two hours closer to Kate. "Why are you calling me?"

  "You're an intelligent man, Senator. You know why we're calling you." Pepper's voice again, still with that stern, authoritative tone that sounded so much like Lana directing the Sunday School.

  "It's not true that Givens Industries is going to fall, but it is true that we have sufficient taped evidence of your intention to commit industrial sabotage." Hope paused. "We can ruin you."

  As George realized the magnitude of the sting, he swerved onto the shoulder of the road. The right wheels hit gravel. But he managed to correct before he spun out. He was a good driver. He was in control. "Tapes can be falsified."

  "True. But your large investment in competitors' stocks proves your intention to destroy the corporation and defraud the stockholders." The nasty little bitch added, "I believe you overextended your credit, also. You can sell your investments, of course, but I don't think you're going to recoup your outlay. You see, we know how to play the market ourselves. The price you paid for the stocks is not what you're going to recover."

  All these years. George had trapped police officials. He'd blackmailed other legislators. Now he was being jerked around, and by a simple minister's daughter.

  "Are you there, Senator?" Hope asked.

  "Yes." Yes, he was here, and he was going to make Hope sorry. He was going to make them all sorry. "What do you want?" As if he didn't know.

  In a soothing tone, she said, "I'm not asking you to admit your guilt in the stolen church treasury. I'm not asking that you accept responsibility for my parents' deaths. But I want to know what you did with Caitlin. Senator, tell me what you did with my sister."

  "Hope Prescott Givens, I know exactly where your sister is." He heard a sharp intake of breath from more than one person.

  "Did you kill her?" she asked.

  "When she was a baby? Don't be ridiculous. She's alive. I haven't killed her." A red tide of fury rose from his gut and washed over him. "Yet."

  "No. Wait! Senator!"

  With a little smug satisfaction of his own, he pressed the end call button, stepped on the gas, and sped toward Hobart.

  Teague came awake to shouting and jostling, doors slamming . . . he was in a stopped vehicle. His head hurt, his ribs hurt, his face hurt. He felt like hell.

  Some guys had grabbed him, stuck a needle in his neck, and—

  "Marilyn!"

  He sat up so fast nausea hit him in a rush.

  "Lie down." It was a man's voice. He sounded more than a little harassed as he pressed Teague down onto his back. "Or you'll toss your cookies for sure."

  "Where the hell am I?" Teague pressed his hands to his face. "What have you done with Mrs. Montgomery?"

  "I'm right here, dear." Her warm, kind voice spoke above his head. "They're going to drop us off at the FBI."

  "You are kidding." He looked around. He rested on the carpeted floor of an industrial-sized van. Benches lined the walls on either side. The windows were darkly tinted. Two women he had never seen before sat on one side. Nice-looking women—a brunette with highlights, and one with hair as black as Teague's. They clutched each other's hands, they watched him, but they weren't really seeing him. They both had an unfocused, strained look in their eyes.

  Marilyn Montgomery sat on the opposite bench, looking anxious but composed. "They've all been very nice, but now they're in a hurry to go to the airport."

  "This doesn't make any sense," Teague said. "Why are they dropping us off at the FBI? Why did they take us in the first place? Who are they?"

  "We took you because you're investigating Senator George Oberlin, and the lady said you were going to the FBI about him." The military man who'd stuck the needle in Teague stood, feet braced, holding on to a strap and looking at ease. But tough. Flinty-eyed. "And we're the people who have been after Oberlin for way too long to have you tip him off now."

  "But?" Teague looked up at him.

  "He's not cooperating," the guy said briefly. "He's crazy.

  "No." Teague drew the word out, injecting disbelief into his tone. "Ya think?"

  "I'm Dan Graham." Dan extended his hand. "Sorry about the needle."

  Teague considered the hand. But he figured Dan was telling the truth. If these people had been planning to kill Marilyn and him, they would have done it already. He shook hands. "Teague Ramos."

  Dan inspected Teague's face. "Somebody worked you over good."

  "Yeah, one day I walk down the street, and people beat me up. The next day, they stick a needle in my neck to knock me out." With heavy sarcasm, Teague said, "I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings."

  The engine started, the van moved forward.

  Teague looked toward the front.

  The driver was a total stranger . . . but maybe not. Teague thought he'd seen h
im somewhere. In the movies? The newspapers? The guy riding shotgun was the bastard who had grabbed Teague and held him for the injection. Teague was pleased to see he now had an Ace bandage wrapped around his wrist. Apparently, Teague had done a little damage before he'd blacked out.

  No matter. In Teague's current condition, with his cracked ribs, his battered face and a crushing headache, he wouldn't care to take him on. Take on any of them. The three men exuded that air of competence that warned other men to step carefully.

  The women weren't like the guys. They exuded intelligence, beauty, charm, but not toughness. They were the kind of women men lost their heads over. Women who domesticated the world. Women . . . like Kate.

  Slowly, testing his balance, Teague sat up. These women didn't really look like Kate, but they had the same air about them. Women in command. Women . . . he fished out his phone.

  The red message light blinked.

  Dan's hand clamped over his. "What are you doing?"

  "I'm supposed to be guarding Kate Montgomery from Oberlin. I'll talk to her and make sure she's all right." He challenged Dan with his gaze.

  "I'm sure she's all right. Oberlin's got other matters on his mind right now," Dan said.

  "Then it doesn't matter if I call her." Teague saw the glance Dan exchanged with one of the women, intimate and worried. Teague challenged him. "Would you leave the matter to chance with your woman?"

  Dan released his hand. "Call her. If she's near Oberlin, tell her to get away. He just discovered how much trouble he's in."

  Teague dialed her cell. It rang.

  Marilyn sat forward and intently watched him. "Come on, Kate," she said.

  Kate's voice mail picked up.

  "I didn't get her, but that's all right," he soothed. "I've got a message. She promised to check in. I'm sure it's from her." He pressed the button to connect with his voice mail.

  "Do you know why Oberlin is stalking your Kate?" the dark-haired woman asked.

  The automated voice went through its perambulations. "You have four new messages. The first new message . . ."