The touching photo in the newspaper seemed like the answer to a prayer.
He hadn't seen the woman in the picture in nearly ten years. Actually, he had completely forgotten about her until this morning. It was the boy that had captured his attention. He was a carbon copy of Howard Hamilton IV as a child.
A wild speculation had sent him rummaging through old files in search of a picture of the mother. Comparing that picture to the one in the paper, checking the dates involved and the fact that her first name was Barbara was enough for him to order a background search to confirm what his eyes had guessed.
The investigator easily confirmed the date and place of birth of a boy named Matthew Howard Mancuso. But he was going to have to dig a lot deeper though to explain why the Mancuso mother and child dropped off the grid a few years ago or why the Johnson mother and child's records seemed sketchy prior to that time.
Decker had used the investigator often enough to trust his instincts and those instincts were saying Barbara Mancuso and Barbara Johnson were the same woman. If anyone could prove or disprove it that guy could.
His foot pressed a bit harder on the accelerator. He could hardly wait to see his clients' faces when they realized they might have a grandchild.
* * *
Only a handful of people knew Barbara's cell phone number and every one of them called her by Sunday night.
Two coworkers who knew nothing of her past called to congratulate her on appearing on AOL's home page. Her mother further confirmed what she had feared the moment she'd seen the morning paper. The picture had been picked up by a wire service. A search for her name on the internet showed the picture had been posted in enough places for her to want to cry.
After all, it was the image of compassion, a story without words. The photographer would probably win some sort of prize for it. He couldn't have any idea what damage he may have caused. Since she hadn't given any sort of permission she supposed she could sue someone but no cash settlement would undo the exposure.
They may as well have hand-delivered it to Russ Latham.
One of the calls was from Shelley, a friend who had helped Barbara and Matthew slip out of Albuquerque in the middle of the night four years ago. She was also the one who put Barbara in touch with the organization that eventually helped her establish a completely new identity two years ago.
Barbara had been certain she had finally outsmarted Russ and he had quit trying to find her. She desperately wanted to be able to go back home, even if it was only for a weekend visit. But it wasn't safe. So she and her mother limited their communication to sporadic calls using throw-away phones.
Two years ago, she would have already begun packing. A part of her was tensed in preparation for flight, but a greater part of her resisted. She and Matt were truly happy here. He had friends and was doing well in school. She had a good job with excellent benefits. The house they were in was only rented, but they had turned it into a real home.
There had to be a way they could stay in Fredericksburg. In the past, her flights were nearly always prompted by mindless panic. Perhaps this time, knowing in advance that Russ might try to find them in the near future, she might be able to prepare better. If nothing else, she would hold out as long as possible without endangering Matthew.
She had been making choices based on her son's welfare for so long, it was hard to remember that she was once a young, carefree girl whose toughest decision was whether to follow her dream of being an actress to Broadway or Hollywood.
She smiled as she recalled the stunned expressions on her girlfriends' faces that long-ago day when she made her selection by plucking petals off a daisy. To her, life had been that simple. She had identified her dream and outlined a plan to achieve it. All she had to do was go for it. Thus, she had left for New York City immediately after graduating from high school, with a two-year plan in mind. If she wasn't well on her way to becoming a Broadway star by the end of that time, she would head for Hollywood and try her luck there.
The smile that memory triggered faded as she thought about how terribly naïve her plan had been.
Barbara had no idea how long it might take for Russ to find them, but she began taking protective measures the next morning. She drove Matt to and from school rather than let him take the bus. She reminded him to keep alert, stay with the crowd and run for help if necessary. She notified the school principal and Matt's teacher, filed a watch order with the local police and advised her employer of a potential problem. But being prepared didn't stop her from quaking inside or jumping at every sound.
She felt some relief when she picked Matt up from after-school care on Tuesday and he assured her that everything was still fine. As they approached their house, however, there was a familiar-looking van parked in the driveway, and a man wearing a parka and ski hat was at the door.
Because she had been anticipating a problem, she was able to outwardly control her fear for Matt's sake. The man turned around when she pulled the car onto the swale in front of the house and shut off the engine. Even from that distance, the dark skin on his face confirmed that he wasn't Russ, but that didn't mean they weren't in danger.
"Pop quiz, kiddo. You come home with a friend, my car's in the driveway but there's a strange car out front. What do you do?"
Matt rolled his eyes at her, wordlessly expressing his boredom with her constant reminders. "I look at the living room window. If the elephant is there, it's okay for me to go in. If it's not, I should run to a neighbor and call the police."
She had originally purchased the foot-high Indian elephant because Matt was intrigued by its colorful mosaic tiles. When they moved into the house and saw the wide sill of the picture window, they decided the statue looked very impressive standing guard there. Using it as a part of their code only came to her yesterday.
She rubbed the top of his head. "Perfect. Okay, that man might not be anyone to worry about but just in case, you stay here while I go speak to him. Watch for my hand signals." Satisfied that he was paying attention, she got out of the car and walked up to the stranger.
"May I help you?" she asked.
"If you're Barbara Johnson, you sure can," he answered with a broad smile. "I'm Otis. I deliver the newspaper."
Now she knew why the van looked familiar. "Oh, yes, of course. I'm Mrs. Johnson."
"Great. They got some stuff at the Post addressed to you. They asked me to deliver it, but I wasn't sure if I should just leave it—"
"What kinds of stuff?"
"Mostly letters but there were some plants and flowers too. It'll only take me a few minutes."
She waved at Matt to come help then opened the front door. Otis made several trips to the van, bringing back a small bag of mail, two small packages and a number of plants and floral arrangements.
Barbara had Matt take in the mail but instructed Otis to return the packages unopened. She then carefully inspected each plant and bouquet. Once she saw that there was nothing hidden in an arrangement and that the card was not from Russ, she let Matt take it inside. She was about to relax when Otis set the last two vases on the porch. They both contained beautiful sprays of roses, but one sent a shiver down her spine. She stopped Matt from carrying them inside and hurriedly dug a few dollars out of her purse to give to Otis.
Though she was fairly certain the bouquet of yellow roses was innocently sent, she read the card just to be sure, then handed the vase to Matt. As he went inside and Otis headed for his van, she carefully searched the bouquet of peach Oceanias—the same variety as the first Russ had cut for her at the Hamilton estate ten years ago. There was nothing within the greenery to frighten her, not even a card to identify the sender, but that didn't mean they weren't from him.
With trembling fingers she slowly examined one rose stem after another until she found what she was looking for. Just beneath one blossom, where a person might place her fingers when sniffing the rose, was a sharp thorn. If one didn't know better, one would assume that the florist simply missed
it in the process of removing all the thorns from the stems.
But Barbara did know better. That single, hidden thorn had been left on intentionally. It was all the message Russ had to send to cause her stomach to clench.
She straightened and looked up and down the street. She saw no sign of him, but that meant nothing. He was nearby. She could practically smell the cigarette smoke she had come to associate with him. He might even be watching her that moment from behind a tree or bush in a neighbor's yard.
She wanted to scream loudly enough to shatter windows. She wanted to go hide under her bed and cry her fears away.
But more than anything else she wanted someone to explain how an affair that had begun so sweetly had turned into a ten-year-long nightmare....
Chapter 1
"You really think you're hot shit, don't you?"
Barbara recognized the obnoxious teenager lounging against the wall outside the restaurant. She'd waited on him and his two friends a few hours before. He'd gotten fresh and she'd sassed him right back, as she usually did with customers who thought she was on the menu. Obviously, this one hadn't thought she was very funny. Though she walked a bit faster, he quickly caught up with her, grabbed her arm and brought her to an abrupt stop.
"I want to talk to you," he said, glaring down his nose at her.
He wasn't that much bigger than she was but his grasp was tight enough to cut off the circulation. "Well, I don't want to talk to you. Release me this instant or I'll scream."
Instead of obeying, he laughed and yanked her against him. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to follow through with her threat but his hand stifled the noise she made. One couple gave them a curious glance as they walked by, but the few other people in the area paid no attention at all. She couldn't prevent the fear from showing in her eyes.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he told her with a mean smirk. "This time. But if you ever embarrass me in front of my friends again—-"
"Excuse me," a deep voice interrupted.
Barbara's tormentor turned his head to see who had come up behind him and found he had to look up as well. The stranger was not only a head taller but considerably broader.
"I could be mistaken," the big man said in an overly polite tone. "But I don't believe the lady desires your company."
"Eat shit," the punk said and tried to haul Barbara away, but a beefy hand clamped down on his shoulder and halted his progress. She could see by her captor's grimace that the gesture was less than friendly.
"Remove your hand from the lady's mouth and let her tell me what she'd like."
Obviously deciding the game wasn't worth risking more pain, the young man slowly took his hands off Barbara and backed away. "Look, I was only trying to scare her a little. You know, it was just a joke." When the big man took one menacing step toward him, he turned and ran off.
"Thank you so much," Barbara gushed as she rubbed feeling back into her arm. "I don't know if he was bluffing or not, but I sure am glad you came along."
The big man looked down at his shoes and stuck his hands in his jeans pockets as if his confidence had fled with the bully. "Um, if you wish, I'll, uh, go to the police station with you to file a report."
"Thanks, but it would probably be a waste of time and after putting in a ten-hour shift waiting on characters like that, I'd just as soon go home and put my feet up. If he bothers me again, I'll do something about it, but I doubt if he will. I would like to do something for you, though."
"Oh, no, uh, that's not necessary."
He looked so uncomfortable, she reached out and put her hand on his arm. "Please. I insist. At least let me buy you a cup of coffee. Or something stronger, if you'd like."
"No, um, coffee would be fine, but you said you've had a long day, and your thank-you was more than sufficient."
She smiled. His shyness was absolutely irresistible. "As long as I get off my feet, I'll be happy." In a dramatic fashion, she hooked her arm with his and headed him toward a deli she knew stayed open all night. "Come along, my knight in shining armor. Allow me to reward you for your heroism." That made him smile and with a nod of his head, he quit protesting.
"I'm Barbara Mancuso," she said as they began walking. "And you are?"
He cleared his throat. "Howard. Howard Hamilton."
She could tell he was still feeling awkward and she was determined to get him over it. "Well, Howard Hamilton, it is my extreme pleasure to meet you. Are you a full-time rescuer of maidens in distress or is it just a sideline?"
She watched him smile again and was glad he had kept a straight face in front of the bully. No matter how big he was, he wasn't the least bit frightening when he smiled. In fact, she decided, he had a very gentle demeanor about him, sort of like a huge teddy bear.
"I'm a student," he said much too simply.
"Where? What year? Major? Minor?"
"Harvard. Working on my master's. Business and finance."
She tilted her head up at him and wrinkled her nose. "Really? I would never have guessed that in a zillion years."
He gave a small shrug. "What would you guess?"
She pretended to be very serious as she studied his face and body. "I don't know. A football player? Bodyguard? Professional wrestler?"
"Some people say I resemble Hulk Hogan... when he was younger," he murmured self-consciously.
"Well... you're both big and blond, but he has a mustache and you're much better looking." He cleared his throat again, and she wished it was daytime so she could see if he was blushing.
"What about you?" he asked.
"I'm a student also... sometimes. Occasionally, I'm an actress. Most of the time, though, I'm a waitress. Here's the place."
Though there were a number of customers in the deli, plenty of tables were empty. The next few minutes passed with Barbara insisting Howard should eat something with his coffee. Again, she overrode his protests with little effort.
"So tell me, Howard," she prompted as soon as the waitress took their order. "What stroke of fate caused a Harvard graduate student to be on a New York sidewalk after midnight?" She watched his mouth relax into another one of his heart-melting smiles.
"I came down for the weekend to visit a friend, but he's had a nonstop party going on in his apartment since last night. I had to get out for a while."
"Hmmm. I know how that is. I tried living with a roommate twice and finally decided to rent a studio in a less prestigious neighborhood where I could afford it alone. Where's home?"
"Cambridge. I have an apartment off-campus."
"No, I meant home, as in where you go over Christmas vacation." When he didn't answer immediately, she figured she either overstepped herself or she had accidentally pushed a sensitive button. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so nosy. I didn't mean to be rude, honestly, but I have a habit of looking at people as if they were jigsaw puzzles. Usually I can talk to a customer for thirty seconds and feel like I have all the pieces I need to construct that character. But once in a while, I meet someone I can't figure out and my curiosity takes over."
"I'm really not terribly complicated," he said with a shake of his head.
"On the contrary, my brave knight, I think you are very complicated." Leaning forward and arching one eyebrow, she continued in a bad German accent, "But if I have to keep you here all night, I vill eventually have zee entire picture. Does that frighten you mein lieber?"
He gave that a moment's consideration. "No. As a matter of fact, I rather like the sound of it."
The next instant, his sky-blue eyes met hers straight on for the first time and she felt as though someone had vacuumed the air out of her lungs. "Oh, my," she whispered, shocked by the impact. To her relief, the waitress arrived with their food and she was able to pull her gaze away from his. Only then did she notice how badly he was blushing and realized that he had been affected just as unexpectedly.
Her gaze dropped to his hands. They were large, like the rest of him, and showed no signs of manual labor or nic
otine stains, but most important, there were no rings on his fingers or tan lines to indicate that he usually wore one.
After the response her body had to looking in his eyes, she couldn't prevent her mind from traveling to what it would feel like to have those hands on her.
She was no longer a virgin... technically... but she never experienced the magical sensations she'd read about. After two experiments with intimacy, she had concluded that sex wasn't worth the effort required.
She had also read thousands of paragraphs about love at first sight and heated gazes across crowded rooms, but she had reluctantly abandoned the belief that those things happened to real people. She stared at Howard's downcast eyes until he looked at her again. They weren't across a crowded room but if that wasn't a heated gaze, her name wasn't Barbara Mancuso.
"Are you going to help me out with your puzzle or should I just assume the worst?" she asked to break the tension.
He swallowed the bite of sandwich in his mouth. "What would you like to know?"
"Okay. How about your family?"
"My parents live in Boston," he said, answering her earlier question as well. "I'm an only child."
"Oh! So am I. Wasn't it great growing up without having to compete for attention?"
He looked at her curiously. "Great? I always wished I had a dozen brothers and sisters to take away some of that attention."
She instantly analyzed that comment. There was probably a domineering or overprotective parent in the wings.
"I'm rich," he said bluntly.
"How nice," Barbara said with a laugh. "It's a little tough going to Harvard without money."
"You don't understand. I'm very, very rich. My father is the Hamilton of Hamilton-Greene," Howard explained in a matter-of-fact, almost embarrassed tone. "My mother is the last of the Greenes, which leaves me as the sole heir to the combined fortune."
"Good Lord," she muttered, realizing the immensity of his inheritance... and responsibility. "I bet half the products in my kitchen have a Hamilton-Greene logo."
"Half might be a bit high," he said, playing with the last French fry on his plate.
Unnatural Relations (Lust and Lies Series, Book 1) Page 2
