She was relieved to see that the checks she'd signed had all cleared, but that didn't explain where the rest of the money from the returned jewelry had gone. She was no longer positive Russ was such a saint.
He was pacing the apartment when she returned late in the day.
"Where have you been?" he demanded. "I've been worried sick!"
"I went out for a while. I'm allowed now, remember?" She calmly set down her purse and went to the refrigerator for some orange juice.
"You could have at least left a note! Don't you have any idea what I've been going through for the last two hours? I called the hospital thinking you had another emergency and I wasn't here to help!"
Guilt pierced the protective shell she'd built around herself on the way home. No matter what he may have done with her money, she knew his concern for her was genuine. "Geez, I'm really sorry. I didn't expect to be gone longer than you. It was very inconsiderate of me."
Her apology placated him enough to lower his voice. "How do you feel?"
She walked over to her favorite chair and curled up in it. "Tired. The doctor was right about overdoing it too soon but I'm okay."
Russ sat down on the bed and studied her face. "But something's wrong. What? Where did you go for so long?"
"I re-registered at school. I'm going to take two basic computer classes and bookkeeping this term. It's time for me to aim higher than waitress work."
His shoulders relaxed and he took a breath. "Are you sure you can handle that much?"
"What's to handle? I just have to sit and use my hands and eyes. Since I can afford not to work for a few months, I want to make the most of my time before the baby comes. Anyway, I purposely picked three courses that run together on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, so that I'd still have four whole days to rest. Classes start next week."
Russ nodded but his expression remained skeptical. "I guess it was real crowded at registration, huh?"
"Not really. I had two other stops to make." She said it as casually as possible.
"Oh?"
"I returned the ring. Then I went to the bank." She watched his eyes narrow and had the feeling she should take great care with her next words. "There seems to be a discrepancy. I know I've been out of it lately, but I thought you said I had about three thousand dollars. I also thought I had several more pieces of jewelry to return."
Russ lurched to his feet, his hands balled into fists and he turned his back on her. She held herself very still, not at all sure what he would do. But then he ran his hands through his hair and turned back toward her. When he met her gaze, she could see his eyes were moist. He paced back and forth as he spoke. "I should have known you'd find out before I could explain. I only meant to borrow the money. I was sure I'd be able to pay you back before you found out."
A tear slipped out of the corner of his eye and Barbara's heart wrenched. "I knew there had to be an explanation. Tell me what happened."
"I feel like such a stupid ass. I thought I could take a few shortcuts, you know, get rich quick. I'm too embarrassed to even tell you about it. I lost all the money. There's nothing left and I didn't know how to tell you."
He was guilty, but clearly remorseful. "So you sold the other pieces, too?"
He looked away. "Yes. If you want to call the police, I won't stop you."
"The police? Good God, Russ, I can't have you arrested. What you did was wrong but you're not a criminal. With everything you've done for me, you've proven what a good man you are. But this brings me to what else we have to talk about."
She rose, got her purse and sat down again. Russ watched her take out her checkbook and write a check for five thousand dollars, payable to him. "This is my way of saying thank you for getting me through these last two months. I couldn't have done it without you. This should be enough to get your own place and start over with your career plans."
He frowned at the check in her hand. "I don't understand. What do you mean, get my own place?"
She took a slow breath, knowing this was going to be the hardest part. "Russ, I know you were hoping something more... personal was going to happen between us. I care for you, but as a friend. I wish I felt differently, but—"
"You haven't even given me a chance. You've been sick and depressed. Nobody could fall in love while they feel like that. But you'll see, it'll be different now that you're feeling better."
She was about to contradict him, but he dropped to his knees at her feet and grasped her hands. He looked as though he was about to burst into sobs. "Barbara, please. I've shown you what a good friend I can be. You owe me the chance to show you what a good husband I could be. I swear I won't push you into anything you're not ready for."
"Just let me stay with you until after the baby's born. After everything we've been through together, I couldn't care more about this child if it were my own. I don't want anything to happen to you or the baby now. You need someone in the delivery room with you. Let it be me. Please. If you still don't want to marry me by then, I'll walk away without another word. In the meantime, I'll work twice as hard and ten times smarter, so I can pay you back every penny I took."
Her plan had seemed much stronger when he hadn't been able to present his arguments, when he wasn't begging on his knees with tears in his eyes. She wanted her privacy back, but she also acknowledged the fact that she might need someone in the coming months. She reasoned that with her classes and him working more, they wouldn't have to spend so much time together in the cramped apartment. That could make a big difference. Perhaps she did owe him another chance. "All right. You can stay. But I can't make any promises."
His face relaxed into a crooked smile; then he gave her a soft kiss on the mouth and tore up the check.
"You won't be sorry."
* * *
Barbara recalled those words again and again in the months that followed. He'd been wrong. She was sorrier than she'd thought possible and trapped by her own reasoning.
For three months, she held to her agreement to give him a chance. He was helpful. He was romantic. He was entertaining. He was contributing for his share of the expenses.
And he was driving her crazy.
He got a night job so that they would only be separated while she was sleeping. He registered for the same classes she did so he could learn some business skills and study with her. If she needed to go to the store, he went with her, for assistance and protection. She had no idea when he slept, if he did at all.
He never forced himself on her, but he touched her constantly. His kisses and hugs were undemanding, but there was no mistaking the fact that he was only waiting for her to give the slightest encouragement.
By the time she approached the seventh-month mark, she knew her feelings toward him were lessening rather than growing as he'd hoped, yet she didn't want to hurt him, either. How could he be expected to understand that his worst fault was the constant, devoted attention he showered on her? It might have given her great pleasure if she'd been wildly in love with him, but as it was, it was driving her up the wall.
"This isn't working, Russ," she finally said one night before he left for work. "I swear to God, I've tried to make it work, but I need some time to myself. We can still see each other occasionally, as friends, but I think it would be best if you moved out."
He promised to give her more space, to stop making even the slightest advance, be whatever she wanted him to be. He pleaded. He cried. Christmas was only three weeks away.
And in the end, she gave in again, rationalizing that she'd probably be glad to have his help now that her body had begun the final, unwieldy stage of pregnancy.
On the first day of the new year, her reasoning was proven faulty again.
They were watching the six o'clock news as they usually did during dinner when a picture of Howard appeared behind the commentator's head.
"Some sad news this evening," he said with an appropriately sincere expression. "Howard Hamilton the IV, sole heir to the Hamilton-Greene fortune, died
today from injuries sustained in a car accident early this morning...."
Barbara didn't hear another word. Her fork dropped onto her plate as she stared at the television screen. There was Howard, playing polo astride D'Artagnan, laughing and chatting with celebrities. There were glimpses of his parents trying to evade reporters and Simon Decker giving a statement.
"Stop that!" Russ ordered.
She shut out his words as well. Howard, dead? That was impossible. If he had died, she would have felt it. Somehow she would have known and felt his pain.
"I said stop crying! He was a bastard! He deserted you. He isn't worth your tears."
If Howard is dead, he'll never realize what a mistake he made. He'll never find out he has a child.
Russ slapped her face but she barely felt it.
"Snap out of it, you lousy two-faced cunt!"
He hit her again and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth jolted her back to reality.
"You're still in love with him, aren't you? All this time, pretending to care about me, leading me on. You were only using me until he came back!"
Barbara pushed herself up from the chair and tried to back away, but the kitchen counter was behind her. "Russ, please. You're wrong. Don't—" The back of his hand crashed into the side of her head and she stumbled to the floor.
"You're the one who's wrong, bitch. He's never coming back now. It's way past time for you to realize who you belong to!"
Desperate to escape his rage, she scrambled across the floor on her knees, trying to reach the door, but he delivered a vicious kick to her hip that knocked her onto her back. The next instant he straddled her at the base of her swollen stomach with her maternity dress pushed up to her breasts. As she squirmed upward to get away, he tightened his knees and grabbed both her wrists.
"He should see you now, with your fat belly and cow tits. I bet you'd comb your hair and put on makeup for him, wouldn't you, bitch?"
He was twisting one of her wrists at such a painful angle, tears ran down her face. "Russ, please stop. You're really hurting me."
"I bet you'd have taken care of his needs even if you couldn't fuck. But then maybe you've been lying all the time about not being able to do it. Maybe you were just holding out, hoping he'd come back and fuck you with his big dick again. Well, too late, baby. All you got now is me. And I've waited as long as I'm gonna wait."
She heard the crack before she felt the pain in her wrist. It shot up her arm and stole her breath, so that her scream was nothing more than a high-pitched whimper. Incapacitated by the searing pain and disbelief, she couldn't stop him from ripping her underpants. A moment later he invaded her unprepared body with a savage force that burned and tore her flesh as if he were using a knife on her.
She tried to scream again, but his fingers wrapped around her throat and choked off the sound. As she struggled for breath, she begged for mercy with her eyes, but he didn't seem to see her.
"Bitch. Fucking bitch cunt. You're mine. And I'll never let you forget it again." He grunted and pushed and strained, while Barbara felt herself slip out of consciousness.
* * *
With the return of awareness came an intense pain that enveloped her entire body. The horror of what had happened nearly paralyzed her, but the fear that it wasn't over countered it. Russ could come back any moment. Fighting against the excruciating pain, she dragged herself to the table, pulled the phone down to her level, and dialed 911.
Chapter 6
Barbara dropped the peach-colored roses, vase and all, into the garbage can at the side of the house. If Russ was watching for her reaction, he couldn't possibly misunderstand that one.
The local police had told her to call immediately if her stalker made contact and to hold on to any messages or tokens that might be used as evidence. She figured the big rubber receptacle was an appropriate place to store one of Russ's gifts until she called the authorities.
As she came around the front of the house again, a new-looking burgundy Cadillac pulled into the driveway. The make of the car was a solid clue that Russ was not the driver, so she curbed the impulse to dash inside the house. But she kept her guard up while a man in an expensive-looking coat and hat stepped out of the car.
Before she got close enough to see his face, she heard the front door open behind her.
"Mom?"
She gave a look over her shoulder and tapped her nose with her index finger. Stay alert. "Go back inside, honey. I'll be right in." As he obeyed, she turned back to greet the man, but stopped cold as recognition hit. He'd aged considerably more than the ten years it had been since she'd last seen him, but she could never forget the man who disposed of the Hamiltons' dirty laundry. "Simon Decker. I'm afraid I can't say that it's a pleasure to see you again."
He raised his gray eyebrows. "Still holding a grudge after all these years, Miss Mancuso? How very Italian of you."
"My name is Mrs. Johnson, and I—"
"There are numerous documents confirming your name as Johnson, but it has never been Mrs. anything. I already checked."
"We have nothing to say to each other, Mr. Decker, and my son is waiting for dinner." She turned and walked toward the door, quickly giving her son a hand signal he'd be watching for.
"Your son is a very handsome young man," Decker said, raising his voice to make sure she heard him. "The image of his father."
Barbara felt the blood rush from her head and ordered herself to stay calm. She slowly faced the attorney. "Yes. Mr. Johnson was a very handsome man."
"You may as well stop wasting both our time, Miss Mancuso. My investigation uncovered the fact that you gave birth to your son, Matthew Howard Mancuso, on January first, nine years ago, about nine months after you and Howard Hamilton, ahem, spent time together. Since then you have moved around a lot, filed a few police reports, disappeared and then reappeared as a completely new person, social security number and all. I obviously underestimated your ingenuity all those years ago."
Rather than acknowledge any of his remarks, she said, "Since you've already admitted to investigating my past, perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me how you found me. And why now?"
He smirked at her. "Once your photo appeared in the newspaper with your names and city of residence, finding you was relatively easy. Confirming who you really are took a chunk of Hamilton money and a good investigator. As to the timing, well, until they saw that photo they had no reason to contact you. In fact, they barely remembered you. It was the boy's picture that alerted them."
"I see," she said, nodding her head. "Well, you are right about one thing. I never married Matt's father. We only dated a few times but accidents happen. I didn't like him well enough to be tied to him for the rest of my life so I never told him about the baby. I was already pregnant when I met Howard. That was why the big rush to get married. Matt was born seven months after we met and by then, as you know very well, Howard was out of my life. I gave Matt his middle name because I learned of Howard's death only hours before I went into labor. It was a gesture, nothing else."
"A very reasonable explanation, if it weren't for how much the boy looks like Howard at that age. Also, I can't help but wonder why you are now so certain of whom the father was and yet, on the birth certificate it states that Matthew's father is Unknown. Most women wouldn't admit to such blatant promiscuity."
She managed not to look away from his challenging stare, but she felt a telltale line of perspiration rise on her upper lip. "What do you want, Mr. Decker?"
He cupped his hands over his mouth and blew a breath to warm them. "Perhaps we could go inside—"
"I don't want you in my home. Either say why you're here or go away."
"Very well. I'm here on behalf of Howard and Edith Hamilton. As you can imagine, the loss of their only child nine years ago completely devastated them. They never fully recovered from the tragedy. Discovering that Howard may have fathered a son has given them new hope, though they find your keeping his existence a secret from them cruel i
n the extreme."
"They find me cruel!" Barbara threw up her hands and strode toward the house again.
"They're willing to pay you," Decker said quickly.
Still walking, she glared back at him and shook her head in disbelief.
"One hundred thousand dollars, with all taxes paid, for you to grant them custody of their grandson."
Barbara stopped and marched back to him. "That is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard. Now, I want you off my property by the time I count to ten or I'll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing. Since you're familiar with my past, you know I won't hesitate to file a restraining order against you."
He held up his hands as if to ward her off. "No need for that. I'll give you some time to consider the offer."
"One."
"You could never provide for him the way they could."
"Two."
He raised his voice again as he started backing down the driveway. "He's the heir to a corporate empire."
"Three."
He sped up his retreat. "It's what Howard would have wanted. You can't keep him from his birthright!"
"Four. Five. Six."
"I'm in room 220 at the Sheraton, when you're ready to discuss this rationally." He was in his car before she finished her countdown.
Of all the nerve! How could they suggest such a thing? The Hamiltons, Howard included, gave up any rights they had to their grandson ten years ago! It had never occurred to her that the photo in the paper could dredge up even worse scum than Russ.
"Matthew!" she called as soon as she got in the house.
He was beside her in a flash. "Did I get it right? I saw the two fingers up sign. It meant you wanted me to hide, right? I went into your bedroom and hid in your closet behind your long robe. Wasn't that good?"
She hated the fact that he spoke of hiding as if it were a normal activity, but it was a necessary evil in their lives, just like their secret codes. She playfully chucked him under the chin. "You did great. And what would you have done if I'd scratched my head?"
"Call 911."
Unnatural Relations (Lust and Lies Series, Book 1) Page 9
