The Breath of Dawn

by Kristen Heitzmann

  Now Morgan promised her a firewall, and naïvely she believed. Show me another card trick, magic man. She would watch his hands and miss the part where something else disappeared.

  She slipped into the belly of the beast, feeling smaller in the Maserati than in the SUV. But she couldn’t bear to get between Livie and her daddy, not for a while, anyway. She’d offered to separate, but where would that leave her? No vehicle, no home, no income. She’d be issuing refunds for everything she couldn’t deliver with nothing to list in their place. Her eBay store didn’t bear her name, but her financial information with PayPal did.

  Without a pirated social security number, she could only disappear through Morgan’s house of mirrors. She had trapped herself more surely than Markham could have. She just hadn’t expected it to hurt.

  The snow came more thickly as she drove the narrow twisting canyon out of Glenwood Springs. Her wipers thwacked in a rhythmic swipe and smear that left small trails of snow in their wake. While the SUV muscled through, this rare exotic animal, whose power she nervously kept leashed, tried through elegance to skate upon the surface.

  Around a curve, the road plunged down. As the Range Rover dipped down and away, the Maserati chose a new direction, gliding sideways in a graceful arc until the rear side panel smacked into the guardrail that kept vehicles from tumbling over.

  Ushered by Rudy’s awe and Morgan’s certain devastation, tears flooded her eyes.

  In his rearview mirror he had watched it happen like a self-fulfilling prophecy. The instant he assessed the road hazard, the Maserati began its slide. Thirty yards ahead, he pulled to the side and stopped. He told Livie to sit tight, and cautiously climbed the sloping Interstate, thanking God the traffic was light.

  Erin’s hands covered her face as he pulled open the car door. After all the times she’d been strong, her crying now was just wrong. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, but he saw a reddening bump just above her temple.

  “I’m so sorry.” She cried harder. “It started sliding. And nothing—”

  “The tires are practically racing slicks. On that curve and this grade . . .”

  Sniffling, she slid her hands off her teary cheeks. “How bad is it?”

  He leaned to look. “I’m glad the guardrail was there. Besides that bruise are you hurt?”

  “No.” Her voice was as small as the real answer was big. She hurt in ways he couldn’t even guess. Every relationship had taught him that.

  He wanted to comfort her, but the side of the road wasn’t the place. He pulled the door as wide as he could before it touched the rail. “You take the SUV. Livie’s okay now.”

  Letting it idle, she put the gears in neutral and engaged the parking brake. She stepped out into the snow and leaned past him to see the damage. She didn’t need to know how expensive it would be to fix and how much value had been lost.

  He brushed her arm. “Livie’s waiting.”

  She grabbed her purse and headed to the Range Rover, punishing herself, though this was nothing compared to—

  The pain in his chest almost doubled him. Crushing, screaming metal, the collapse of pliant flesh. “She died instantly. Died instantly.” He needed Livie, needed Erin, out of there. Reaching in, he turned off the engine, engaged the locks and alarm, and shut the door. Erin watched him come.

  “Slide in,” he rasped.

  “Can you drive?”

  Better than he could ride after watching her crash. Breathing deeply, he rested his forehead against his hands on the steering wheel. The pounding of his heart made lights blink behind his eyelids. “Buckle up,” he told Erin, who seemed to be waiting.

  She did. “What about the Maserati?”

  “I’ll send someone for it.” His roadside service would get the Maserati to the nearest garage. At some point Rick could get it from there. With luck no one would careen around that bend and plow into the jeopardized vehicle before that. He raised his head and looked into the back seat. “You okay, Livie?”

  Eyes intense, she murmured, “Okay, Daddy,” and snuggled the little bear.

  He eased the SUV back into the lane and shot a glance at Erin. “It’s not your fault.”

  Her gaze fell to her hands, and his followed. They were small and tense and bare.

  “You’re not wearing your ring.”

  She straightened her fingers. “I didn’t want Rudy to see.”

  “Good thought. But you should wear it now.” She might be trying to forget, but they were married. Maybe it wasn’t all she’d imagined, but reality rarely was.

  Leaning, she pried it from her pocket. The sparkle reminded him this was no game. He and Erin were joined. He had to find a way to make it work. His daughter deserved that. And so—he swallowed—did his wife.

  Leaving Liam with a friend, Noelle got back into the truck beside Rick. With multiple accidents on the slippery roads throughout the county, it took hours for the sheriff’s department to respond to the call they placed after taking Hank and Celia to the airport. Now, finally, someone was available to talk about vandalism.

  Rick had wanted her to stay home, but she needed to see what had driven Erin and Morgan into their rash marriage. So together they met the heavy, graying Officer Wentz at Quinn’s—Erin’s—address. She stood with Rick behind the man as he surveyed the damage from the doorway. She wasn’t sure the officer could make it up the ladderlike stairs, but he merely took in the scene from the door.

  “The two of you live here?” he said, frowning.

  “No,” she told him. “It’s our . . . friend’s place.”

  “And where’s he?”

  “She left town. The person who did it is harassing her.” This wouldn’t be easy without explaining everything, but Morgan had been adamant.

  The officer turned. “She’s not here to swear a complaint?”

  “No, but we are,” Rick said. “The warehouse there is as bad as this. I’ll show you.”

  “And I’ll take a look, but until the property owner is back—”

  “She won’t be back . . . soon.” Noelle looked from one man to the other. “She received threats, and . . .”

  “What kind of threats?” At their guarded expressions, he said, “Did you hear or see them?”

  She exhaled. “No, but . . .”

  “The guy who did this is here,” Rick said. “He came to our ranch this morning, asking for her.”

  “Have a name?”

  “He called himself Ken West. But we think he’s Markham Wilder. He was recently released from prison.”

  “Parole?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I can look into that. But without your friend . . . What was her name?”

  “Er—Quinn Reilly.” Noelle flicked a glance at Rick, and he nodded.

  “I can’t do much with threats and vandalism until I talk to her.”

  Noelle crossed her arms in the chilling wind. “Can’t you take fingerprints?”

  “With her permission. Unless you think something’s happened to her.” He looked up with the question in his eyes.

  She shook her head. When Morgan called about the Maserati, he seemed certain they’d shaken Markham. And Erin was uninjured.

  “Have a phone number for her?”

  “Yes.” Noelle pulled out her phone and opened her contacts to give it to him, but Rick said, “I don’t think that one’s good anymore.”

  The officer tried it and said, “Out of service.” He straightened as the matter took on a little more substance. “You have a way to reach her?”

  Rick said, “Maybe.”

  “If you talk to her, have her call. She can make a complaint by phone. But she’d have to appear for court.” Officer Wentz looked back inside. “Unless she saw him do this, we’d need evidence to prove it. Without a complaint, I can’t really get a tech in here.”

  It was just as Morgan said.

  “Well, thank you.” Rick had probably come to the same conclusion. Why would Erin risk her e
scape to possibly get damages awarded that she would likely never see?

  When the sheriff’s department vehicle pulled into Quinn’s driveway, Markham had left the Tahoe—registered to someone else—under the balcony behind the house and crept around the side to listen. He could have run into the woods if any real search had occurred, but the deputy did as much and as little as the situation called for.

  Markham smirked. After losing Quinn, he’d come back to her house, even though, as a hideout, it had been compromised. He’d guessed correctly that little would be done about the vandalism if Quinn had fled. But his position was precarious, so after they left, he made the call he’d been resisting. “Hannah,” he said, “I need you to come.”

  Her silence stretched, until finally, she answered querulously, “Come? You have my car.”

  “Then use mine.” He’d left her his modest Toyota since it was uncomfortable for a prolonged period, during which he would have decided whether to return her Tahoe or not. If he’d found Quinn immediately and gotten what he needed, he’d have been on his way.

  Now he needed Hannah, though it would be tricky. At the merest hint of irritation, she crumpled, and especially since his incarceration, he’d struggled to maintain his composure—as today so shamefully demonstrated. “I’ll give you an address to enter into the GPS on the dashboard. You should get here with no trouble.”

  “But . . . why can’t you come back?”

  “I’ll explain everything when you’re here. Just know I wouldn’t ask unless I needed you.” God’s honest truth. But she would come. Faithful, devoted Hannah. And the best part was, she looked so much like her baby sister, Quinn.

  Around seven, Morgan stopped for lodging at a roadside strip motel that had been renamed but not upgraded by a national chain. He’d have gone on to St. George or even Vegas, but Livie needed food and a good night’s sleep. The room was clean and didn’t smell, with two queen beds in faded floral spreads and Southwestern prints in warped frames on the walls. He set up a rickety portable crib for Livie and straightened. “Restaurant or fast food?”

  Erin looked out the window to the low-slung shake-shingled building with a half-lit neon sign that read—AURANT. No fancy name for that eatery. “We can walk to that one.”

  Probably the best recommendation the place had. While she insisted she wasn’t injured, she was shaken, and Livie would fight the car seat if he tried to impose it in search of alternatives.

  So holding Livie snugly, he crossed the street with Erin. The restaurant smelled like an old-fashioned cafeteria, canned soup, and gas stove.

  The different meals they’d shared, from Thanksgiving, to Paris, to this, made a sort of road map for the course of their relationship. Each stage had high and low points, though he was struggling to find a high point now as he settled into a booth, letting Livie stand on the seat between him and the wall.

  Erin slumped into the other side. “I feel awful about your car.”

  “I know you do.” One other booth and two stools at the counter were occupied. Probably travelers, as the waitress talked to them like strangers.

  “It isn’t as though I can pay for the repairs.”

  “It isn’t as though that matters.” He handed Livie the container of sweeteners to sort, and she settled onto her knees.

  “But your Maserati—”

  “Half yours.”

  “No.” Erin stared, palms flat on the table. “Your things aren’t mine just because—”

  “We’re married? Must have hit your head harder than you thought.”

  She touched the bump, then realized what he meant and sighed.

  Though thin and faded, the napkins were cloth. He spooned a few cubes from the plastic water glass the waitress brought and held the ice pack out to Erin.

  “Thanks.” She pressed it to her head. “Are you okay?”

  He frowned. “Of course.”

  “After Jill’s accident, it can’t have helped—”

  “Let it go.” Her words were like sand in a wound.

  “Maybe you should see—”

  “I’m dealing with it.”

  She lowered the ice. “I know. But L-i-v-i-e is starting to notice.”

  “Don’t tell me how to parent.”

  She jerked back just enough for him to realize he’d said it too harshly. He apologized.

  “No, I get it,” she said too quickly. “Not my place.”

  “Erin . . .”

  “I need to use the rest room.”

  He watched her stand, watched her walk away. Neither were at their best, but she hadn’t deserved that.

  “Daddy? Sing me ‘Sunshine.’”

  “Sing you ‘Sunshine.’” Sighing, he lifted and set Livie on the table directly before him. Softly he sang the song that was both plea and love song. Please, please don’t take my sunshine.

  Erin ate hot turkey and gravy on a slice of cheap white sourdough. He hardly knew what he ate, but Livie devoured her mac and cheese. The clouds had fragmented, revealing cold, bright stars as they walked back. In the small bathroom, he washed his face and brushed his teeth, gave his little girl a bath, lotioned and jammied her, and then tucked her into the portable crib.

  She had the ability to close her eyes and fall asleep. When Erin went into the bathroom to change, he hung his sweater and jeans and got into bed wearing the rest. She came out in soft-looking pajamas and located him, then headed for the other bed.

  He followed her with his eyes. “Is this a forever thing, or are you just punishing me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Separate beds.”

  “Morgan, we talked—”

  “You talked. As far as I’m concerned there are very few things as depressing as sleeping alone.”

  She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands. After a moment, she looked up. “It’s better not to complicate it.”

  He read the strain in her face and nodded. “Okay.” Sliding under the covers, he rolled to his side. He wouldn’t do anything with Livie right there, but it would have been nice to hold his wife. He closed his eyes and begged for sleep.

  Somewhere in the night, he realized his face was wet. Now they came? When his biggest feelings weren’t about Jill? He ground his palms into his eye sockets. Grief hadn’t broken him. But healing might.

  CHAPTER

  20

  Morgan woke angrier than he could remember feeling since Jill told him about Kelsey. He worked hard to hide it when Erin raised her tousled head in the other bed. Since Livie was still sleeping, he got up and power showered.

  Then they traded places. While Erin washed, he rallied Livie, eager to hit the road. He hoped Erin wouldn’t spend hours coifing but didn’t expect her to coil her hair damp into a clip and leave it at that. “You can dry it if you want.”

  “No need.” She packed her things and carried them out to the SUV. If she was trying to downplay her attractiveness it was failing, because every aspect of her appealed to him at deeper and deeper levels. The fact that she tried gave his mood teeth.

  “We’ll grab some breakfast, then get going.”

  “Okay.” Hands tucked under her armpits, she crossed the street to the same restaurant as last evening. Following with his little girl, he hoped they brewed the coffee strong.

  Picking up on his mood, Livie misbehaved to the greatest degree she ever had. He told her, “You’re going to be hungry if you don’t eat.” He could have said the same to Erin but didn’t.

  Rick called while she was in the bathroom and explained the response from the Sheriff’s Department. Not surprised, Morgan said, “Well, at least it’s on the record. Erin can decide if she wants to follow up with a complaint.” When they were speaking again, he’d tell her.

  Loading up, Livie objected to the car in escalating tones. Erin said, “You should sit by her and let me drive.”

  With a full day’s drive ahead, that made sense. The bump on her head looked better, and she’d seemingly slept. Discu
ssion would be superfluous. And just to make sure, he connected his music player to the sound system and chose a playlist heavy on Creed, Rammstein, and Dave Mustaine.

  As “Engel” started to play, he tucked his head back. Sometimes he wanted music to hurt.

  In the car seat next to him, Livie entertained herself with a zoo book that had finger-puppet animals. Erin drove without comment. After a while, with his hand on Livie’s chest and her hand over his, they both closed their eyes and fell asleep.

  She’d thought Morgan might expect to drive, but he hadn’t even raised the question, or made more than minimal conversation, which would have been difficult anyway with the harsh lyrics, screaming guitars, and drums booming. His playlist sounded like an orc uprising, but Morgan hadn’t asked her opinion. He’d gone to sleep.

  Around noon, she looked for a place to stop. Even if neither adult had an appetite, Livie needed a break from the car seat and something substantial in her tummy. She pulled into a roadside station with several fast-food options.

  For the first time in days, she felt like herself, a woman who stood against what was wrong, who had taken control of a bad situation and paid the price. She felt like Quinn Reilly—except she used Morgan’s credit card to fill the tank of Morgan’s vehicle on the way to Morgan’s home in a state she’d never seen. Okay. That was reality. Deal with it.

  Morgan got his daughter out, letting her walk off the traveling stiffness across the parking lot in the chilly but no longer snowy weather. Inside, they ordered food to eat on the road, which meant continued progress and no awkward tableside conversation—or lack of. Erin got back behind the wheel and disconnected Morgan’s MP3. Livie balked at the car seat, poor thing, crying when her daddy prevailed, but it was halfhearted and soon she was playing with more things they’d collected on the road.

  Morgan didn’t sleep again. He worked on his laptop. Nice for him. He still had a business, still had a life, an identity. When they stopped again for fuel, he asked how she was doing.

  “A little ragged, I guess.” She had driven through the tip of Arizona, the lower point of Nevada, and into California.