Later, Diana bathed Willow, putting vanilla-scented candles around the tub and using lots of bubble bath. The festive bath delighted Willow, especially when Christabel came into the bathroom and sat on the vanity to watch her. Afterward, Diana showed Willow her new pink pajamas. The little girl insisted on donning them herself, and after a spin in front of the floor-length mirror, pronounced them be-u-ti-ful.
Diana settled Willow in bed. Romeo slept so deeply that he didn’t even open his eyes when Diana moved him from Willow’s bed and gently placed him in his own elegant cat bed. Occasionally he lifted his tail and smacked it down as if smashing an insect, and at other times he let out a soft, sleep-muted quack. Christabel, with her youthful energy and enthusiasm, always refused to settle in her kitty bed until they turned off all the lights and Diana was in her own bed, so she curled near Willow as Diana told the child a rambling bedtime story of her own creation.
Willow’s eyelids gradually closed, and her breathing became even and slow. When Diana was certain the child was sound asleep, she kissed Willow lightly on the forehead then went downstairs, Christabel wide-awake and following on her heels. She found Clarice and Simon sitting in the kitchen over steaming mugs topped with marshmallows. “Good heavens, more hot chocolate?” She laughed. “We each had two mugs with Willow.”
“Clarice and I are going on a hot cocoa binge,” Simon announced enthusiastically. “A real bender. I can’t guarantee what shape we’ll be in tomorrow morning, but I think we deserve to cut loose after the mind-shattering evening we had with the Cavanaugh crew.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Diana put out two tiny cat treats for Christabel, who threw her a look of rebuke. Softening, Diana added three more into the bowl. Then she fixed another mug of hot chocolate for herself. I’ll pay for this, she thought. Even in her late twenties, eating chocolate still caused her skin to sprout at least two pimples, but that’s when concealer came in handy.
“Willow is sleeping peacefully,” she said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “An hour ago I wouldn’t have believed it, but I think sheer exhaustion overwhelmed her fear.”
“Her fear of the Bad Man.” Anxiety showed in Clarice’s violet eyes. “That’s what she called her father.”
“She doesn’t think Jeffrey is her father. She thinks her father is dead and Jeffrey is the Bad Man.”
“The dear child took two years off my life with her shrieking,” Clarice said. “Why do you think she called Mr. Cavanaugh the Bad Man?”
“Penny must have taught Willow the name,” Simon said.
“Willow said she kind of remembers a man in New York—that must have been Jeffrey—but she didn’t seem frightened of him,” Diana said.
Simon nodded. “I think the key words are kind of. Willow was only three when Penny ran away with her. She couldn’t count on the child clearly remembering Jeffrey, so Penny probably showed Willow photos of him to keep his face fresh in her mind. Then she told Willow he was bad and dangerous and that if he found them, he might try to kill them.”
“Why would Penny do that?” Clarice asked doubtfully.
A furrow formed between Simon’s arched silver eyebrows. “She’d want to make certain that if Jeffrey ever tracked down Willow, she wouldn’t go with him. She’d run like hell and hide.”
“Yes, that makes sense.” Clarice frowned. “I simply can’t believe Penny deserted her husband and took their child. Maybe they weren’t getting along, in which case she could have divorced him, but to take his child? To leave him wondering where Willow was, how she was, for this long? Then to teach her daughter to fear her own father? I simply cannot imagine Penny being so cruel.”
“Unless she wasn’t being cruel at all.” Diana stared beyond Clarice and Simon, seeing only the powerful love in Penny’s eyes every time she looked at Willow. “We know Penny didn’t steal Jeffrey’s money. So why else would she literally run from the man, give up the luxurious lifestyle she had as Penny Cavanaugh, bury her and Willow’s identities?”
“Fear,” Simon said softly. “Penny was terrified of Jeffrey Cavanaugh.”
2
The bomb. Diana almost blurted out that a bomb had caused the explosion at Penny’s house, but she’d promised Tyler Raines she wouldn’t tell Simon. She felt guilty for lying by omission, but looking at Clarice and Simon, she realized how desperately each needed a somewhat calm night’s sleep. They looked exhausted, and the evening had been unsettling enough without her announcing that someone—maybe Jeffrey Cavanaugh—had planted a bomb in Penny’s house.
The silence spun out, and Diana finally asked, “Simon, did you call the hospital this evening to check on Penny’s condition?”
“Yes, I did, but Jeffrey Cavanaugh had already been there and established that he is her husband. The hospital will give out information about a patient’s condition only to family, so you and I are no longer privy to updates about Penny. Before you came home from the mall, though, Lenore told us the doctors said her condition hasn’t changed.”
“She’s going to die,” Diana said miserably. “We all know it.”
“We do not know it,” Simon flared. “Today I read extensively about burn cases. These days even people burned as massively as Penny often live. What used to cause certain death was infection. Now we have powerful broad-spectrum antibiotics. There is always hope, Diana.”
“You sound just like Grandmother.”
“No, I don’t. I’m not talking about getting odd feelings and messages from beyond the grave as she did. I believe in science, and science has made tremendous advances in the medical field. You are simply giving up on Penny without knowing all that can be done for her, and I will not have it!”
Clarice lowered her gaze and fumbled nervously with her napkin, obviously afraid Diana and Simon were going to burst into a fight.
This is only her second day with us, Diana thought in sympathy. She still doesn’t understand Simon and me.
Diana smiled. “Clarice, don’t look so uneasy. Simon and I have at least one argument a day. It keeps us from getting bored with each other.”
Simon grinned at Diana, and Clarice gave her a small, wavering smile. “I’m fine if you two aren’t really angry with each other.”
“I don’t think we’ve ever been really angry with each other,” Diana said. “Except Simon was against my marriage.”
“And I was right! That fellow was all wrong for you—childishly self-centered, jealous of your talent. Anyone could see it—anyone except you, blinded by what seemed to me a rather adolescent love, for which you were too old and far too smart. Diana, I never did understand—”
“Excuse me,” Clarice interrupted softly but firmly. “Diana, do you know anything about Jeffrey Cavanaugh?”
Diana suppressed a smile as Simon immediately stopped talking. “I don’t know anything about Jeffrey Cavanaugh except that he’s president of Cavanaugh and Wentworth, which is one of the largest real estate developers in the country. They own hotels in Florida and California and properties in New York. I’m certain that’s not all, but I’ve never made a study of the company.”
“Obviously Jeffrey isn’t a publicity hound like Donald Trump,” Simon said dryly.
“Unfortunately,” Diana returned. “If he were, we’d know something more about him.”
Simon looked at them seriously. “That is the problem. We don’t know what that man is. He certainly didn’t make a good impression on me. Oh, I don’t mean the ranting or the hostility. I could excuse such behavior in a case like this. Something deeper about him troubled me—something about his fundamental nature.”
“He’s a creep. That’s what wrong with his fundamental nature,” Diana stated. “He gave me bad vibes. I agree something is definitely not right about the man. That must be why Penny ran from him.”
“And now he’s here and Penny is near death. The house explosion is supposed to have been an accident, but I don’t like coincidences.” Simon looked at Diana with his penetrating green eyes, and she felt her color rising
. She felt as if he knew that she was withholding important information from him. . . . “That is why we all have to be ready to defend ourselves and each other,” Simon said decisively.
Twenty minutes later, Simon, Diana, and Christabel all stood with Clarice in her bedroom. “Now you have no reason at all to be afraid of this,” Simon said, trying to hand Clarice a revolver. “It has a barrel length of just three inches and it weighs less than two pounds.”
“I don’t care how long its barrel length is! It’s a gun!”
“A very small gun, Clarice, not a rifle.” Simon tried once again to make Clarice take the gun, but she clenched her hands behind her back like a little girl. “Clarice, you are a grown woman, please take it. Of course, you need to be careful when handling it, even with the safety on, but it isn’t nitroglycerin that will explode if you make an accidental move. All you have to do is let me give you a few pointers on how to shoot it, and then not touch it again unless you need it.”
“I won’t need it! Who am I going to shoot? Nan?”
Simon pretended to think then looked at Diana. “That isn’t a bad idea. I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate the girl.”
Diana nodded. Clarice looked at both of them like they were crazy. “How can you joke about this?”
Diana smiled. “Because we’re trying to make you relax. Guns certainly can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Children’s hands, the hands of people who just want to shoot other people for the hell of it, high-strung people who would shoot at the slightest sound in their house, thinking it was a home invader—thousands of people should not have guns.
“But in this case, I think Uncle Simon is right,” Diana went on. “Many people can’t afford security systems. You didn’t have one, Penny didn’t have one, I didn’t have one when I lived alone. And even with security systems, the police can’t arrive in the blink of an eye. Simon has always believed—as do I—that it’s best for you to learn how to protect yourself with more than a baseball bat. I know millions of people would say Simon and I are out of our minds, and we’re reckless and irresponsible to keep guns in the house. But again, I agree with Simon that we need them considering our current situation. We can’t forget what happened to Penny, and I know Simon told you what happened to Willow and me in the hospital last night. Remember, Clarice, we’re not just protecting ourselves but also Willow.”
Clarice slowly unclasped her hands and let them drop to her sides. “Well, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound quite so bad . . . except for one thing. You said a gun should not be in a child’s hands. Have you forgotten we have a child in this house?”
“Not for a moment.” Simon picked up a box he’d set on her dresser. “I keep most of my gun collection locked in a safe especially built for it, but I keep one handgun by my bedside in a box like this. So does Diana. I tried to give Penny a gun, but she told me she already had one. However, I gave her one of these boxes for storage.”
“Oh, Simon, if something happened I’d be too nervous to get a key in a lock or remember a combination,” Clarice almost wailed. “I’d be just useless.”
“You are absolutely not a useless woman, and I don’t want to hear you say such a thing,” Simon said with a mixture of sternness and affection.
Diana could not help smiling, pleased. She knew her great-uncle wasn’t just being kind—he genuinely liked and admired Clarice Hanson.
“Now, Clarice, this is called a fingerprint gun safe,” he went on. “You don’t have to worry about a key or a combination. This safe is new and unused. We will program it to recognize only your fingerprint. All you have to do is touch the box here,” he said, indicating an indentation in the front of the box, “and it opens in as little as three or four seconds. The box saves the fingerprint even if we have a power outage. Now, what could be simpler?”
“Well, opening the box certainly seems simple,” Clarice said reluctantly. “It’s handling, and perhaps shooting, the gun that worries me.”
“I’ll give you a brief lesson showing you how to hold the gun and to aim. No bullets. In five minutes you will know everything you need to know. Then I’ll load the gun and put the wretched thing in the safety box. Will that make you feel more comfortable?”
“Comfortable? You must be joking again, Simon,” Clarice answered, showing her first smile in the last half hour.
Simon smiled back. “Everything will be fine, Clarice. Trust me.”
“Well, I’m exhausted,” Diana said. “I think it’s my bedtime.”
Upstairs, she tiptoed into Willow’s room. The child lay curled in the middle of the big bed, sound asleep and holding her cubic zirconia queen’s crown. Diana gently pried it from her small fingers and kissed the child’s warm forehead. Was it too warm? Or did children’s temperature normally rise slightly at night? Diana had no idea. Penny would have known, of course. If only she were here to look after her little girl, Diana thought, tears clinging to her lashes.
Both cats slept in their beds, wound into seemingly impossible positions that made them look as if their necks were broken. Romeo had a paw over a closed eye. “Take good care of your charge tonight,” Diana whispered, although the cats did not look like defenders of the helpless.
She was careful to leave both doors of the adjoining bathroom open and to turn on a nightlight so that if Willow awakened, she could see Diana in her own bed. She did not want to turn on the bright bathroom light and perhaps awaken Willow, so she skipped her nightly bedtime ritual of cleansing cream, a moisturizer for the face, another for the neck, yet a third for the under-eye area—a ritual her mother had considered as important as breathing.
Instead Diana doused her face with soap and water and brushed her teeth. Then she headed for her bedroom and, still guided only by the night light, stripped down to her panties, pulled on a big, soft T-shirt, and literally dropped onto her bed. She didn’t think she’d ever been as tired in her life, not even on one of Simon’s expeditions.
She dreamed of trudging across an endless vista of sand, so hot that she didn’t even feel the heat anymore, lugging her photographic equipment, determined not to complain, wondering how Simon, could walk faster than anyone else and never seem to need rest. He’s a machine, she thought in the dream. He’s not a man at all. Or maybe the ancient Egyptian gods blessed him with unflagging energy. Maybe he really was one of them, as some of his expedition companions used to joke. Simon Van Etton was a being from another world and time, an entirely different and superior species. . . .
Diana’s eyes snapped open. For an instant, she thought she was still in the middle of the desert. Then her eyes began to adjust to the dim glow made by the night light, and she recognized her dresser, her chest of drawers, her stereo, and . . . Christabel sitting on the broad back of Diana’s bedroom chair in front of the window. Chris’s tail curled around her in the age-old pose of a cat silently, motionlessly, unflinchingly watching.
Diana slid out of bed and, keeping low, made her way to the chair. She hadn’t pulled shut her draperies tonight. Often she left them open when the lights were turned off, liking to look out at the soft black night sky. But she’d never found Christabel on the back of the chair, also looking into the night.
Diana slipped her knees onto the seat of the chair and raised her head just enough to look over the chair’s back. She followed the direction of Christabel’s gaze to see a figure standing beside a giant oak tree about a hundred feet from her window. A muted glow of light grew brighter then dimmer. The figure was smoking. Smoking and watching.
A chill ran down Diana’s spine, and the cat, sensing her fear, hissed gently then began growling low in her throat. “Who is that, Chris?” Diana asked just to hear something beside the unnerving hissing and growling that warned of danger. “It’s one in the morning. Who’s standing by the tree, smoking and staring up at us?”
A car answered her question as it whipped around a curve and its headlights caught the watcher. With sinuous speed, he darted behind the tree, but he
was still too slow to escape their quick, piercing beam.
It was Tyler Raines.
CHAPTER NINE
1
Blake Wentworth emerged from the bathroom wearing a navy blue velour robe and towel-drying his wavy black hair. His wife, propped up in bed with two pillows behind her, the top of her pink lace-and-satin nightgown showing above the blanket, smiled although he was not looking at her.
“You’re the handsomest man I’ve ever seen getting out of the shower.”
Blake lowered the towel and glanced at her, grinning. “I believe that’s what they call a backhanded compliment. Exactly how many men have you seen emerging from the shower, Mrs. Wentworth?”
Lenore blushed. “Oh! That compliment certainly didn’t come out as intended!”
Blake sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re compliments often don’t. It’s cute.” He touched her cheeks. “So are you when you blush. You look like a little girl.”
“And you look like a very young man.”
“I didn’t think so when I saw four gray hairs in the mirror after I showered.” Blake shook his wet hair at her and laughed.
“Half of my father’s hair was gray when he was fifty and you only have four gray hairs?”
“That’s because I’m a mere forty, darling.”
“And I’m a wrinkled, overweight forty-four,” Lenore mourned. “That’s why I sometimes think you’d like to trade me in for a younger model.”
“Sometimes!” Blake grinned. “Lenore, you let me know at least once a day you think I want a younger woman! ‘Don’t you think that young woman is attractive, Blake?’ ” He’d made his voice higher to imitate her, but there was no ridicule in the imitation and she started to giggle. “Other times it’s, ‘My, so-and-so is prettier at thirty-five than she was at twenty-five. Don’t you think she’s looking especially pretty?’ ” Lenore’s giggle grew louder. “And on days when you’re in a bad mood or have a headache, you just burst out with, ‘Admit it, Blake, you wish you were married to a woman in her twenties! Let’s just get it out on the table. Go ahead. Tell me the truth! I can take it!’ ” She was laughing now, unrestrainedly, although her face flamed.
You Can Run... Page 14
