Pinups and Possibilities

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  What’re they hiding? I wondered, but Mike didn’t give me a chance to pursue the question.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked me.

  What was most important? The answer was obvious.

  Polly’s safety.

  “The man who came here before I did…how long ago was it? Did he tell you his name?”

  Misty bit her lip, but when Mike nodded, she spoke in a rush. “About three hours ago. He locked me and little Mike in a closet while he ransacked the whole damned house. Mike was already at work. I called him there the second I got us out. The guy didn’t tell me his name, but he was short, and he had long ,blond hair in a ponytail, and had mean eyes, with a scar above his moustache.”

  Smith.

  The man was ruthless. Cohen used him to cover other people’s mistakes. The thought of him going after Polly made me sick. The fact that Cohen sent him to cover my ass made me even sicker.

  “What’s wrong?”

  My eyes snapped up at the concern in Misty’s voice. My expression must’ve given away my feelings and I worked to conceal them.

  “Did Polly give you any indication where she might be going?” I asked in as neutral voice as I could manage.

  “No,” Misty replied much too quickly.

  “Listen to me.” I said softly, and caught Mike’s eye. “Whatever you think of me…it’s probably mostly true. I’m not a good man. But I’m hell of a lot better than the one who came here this morning and tore up your house. I’m your best option. I’m Polly’s best option.”

  “Tell him what you told me on the phone,” Mike commanded gently.

  She scooped up their son and took a breath. “Two hours ago, Polly called the house and left a message. I heard it through the closet door. She just wanted to say that she was ditching the cell phone.”

  “Did she say where she was?” I asked.

  “No.”

  Mike nudged his wife. “Misty.”

  She sighed. “She didn’t say where she was, but I heard the clock chiming in the background. There’s only one town in a hundred-and-fifty-mile radius with those damned bells, and it’s a tiny one. Hereford Circle. Straight north out of Trent Falls.”

  I reined in an urge to hug her.

  “I’ll do my best to keep Polly safe,” I promised.

  “And Jayme,” the blonde woman added.

  My heart hardened a little, but I gave the couple a curt nod and climbed into my car.

  * * *

  I drove from Trent Falls to Hereford Circle without stopping. When I spotted the welcome sign, I finally slowed down.

  I knew Polly was tough, but I was also pretty sure she wasn’t as accustomed to this kind of relentless travel. I could go for two days—maybe even three, if I pushed myself—without sleeping. Beef jerky and bottled water could keep me sustained for an awfully long time. I thought Polly would need rest, and so would her companion. That would slow her down, too. Travelling with someone else always did. They had their agenda while you had yours. Jayme wouldn’t be any different.

  My lips twisted at the thought of her with him.

  Maybe there’s a way I can just get the asshole to Cohen but leave Polly out of it. It’s him Cohen really wants anyway.

  But I knew Polly wouldn’t just walk away. From the start, she’d been willing to sacrifice herself to protect him.

  I sighed and pulled up to a diner on Main Street in Hereford Circle. It was the only place in sight. Not even a gas station marked the edge of the town. If she’d stopped anywhere, it would’ve had to be there.

  I grabbed the plastic bag where I’d tucked Polly’s purse, plastered an open smile onto my face and strolled into the restaurant.

  “Hi,” I said to the woman behind the counter. “I’m looking for a girl.”

  She winked. “Aren’t you all?”

  “This one is special.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  I chuckled. “I suppose they are.”

  “You a stalker?”

  “Not exactly. I’m following her from down in Trent Falls. She filled up at my gas station and she left her purse on my counter.” I opened the plastic bag and showed her its contents. “I just want to get it back to her.”

  The woman smiled. “That’s very kind. Let me call Robyn, the girl who was working the early shift.”

  After a brief explanation, I found out that Polly had been one of Robyn’s only non-regular customers, and she’d ordered two sides of hash browns to go. She’d also been in a hurry, paid cash, and headed west. Five minutes later, I was back on the road, confident I was headed in the right direction.

  * * *

  Another hour brought me to dusk, and to a gas station, where I filled up and confirmed that Polly and her hatchback had done the same.

  Two more hours and it was pitch-black. I was getting tired and restless and was just thinking about pulling over for a break when my headlights bounced off a sign advertising an out-of-the-way motel. Instinctively, I knew Polly would stop there. She might not stay the whole night. Hell, she might not even sleep, but if I was feeling the effects of travel, she was, too.

  I cut off the highway and followed a winding road through a treed area and up to a rustic structure. The parking lot was long, narrow and dimly lit. It was also nearly empty, and the little purple car stood out like a sore thumb. Rather than drawing immediate attention to myself, I pulled in behind the motel, where I spotted a tiny coffee shop.

  And there she was.

  She sat on a tall stool with both hands clasped around a mug, and her dark hair fastened in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. I let myself out of the car and approached the front door slowly. As I swung it open, I noted the dark circles under her eyes. It was impossible to ignore the guilty lurch in my heart.

  When I placed a hand on her slumped shoulder, she tensed up, but didn’t flinch away.

  “Why can’t you just leave us alone?” she asked.

  “So you admit that you’re not Jayme Duncan?”

  “I told you from the start that I wasn’t.”

  “But you did say Cohen was after you. And you knew I was after Jayme.”

  She shrugged. “You jumped to your own conclusions.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  She finally turned to face me. Her blue eyes held me, and two spots of colour were visible in her cheeks. I suddenly had to remind my body that this was a woman who had handcuffed me to a toilet, who had drugged me in a hotel room, and who was most likely planning on hitting me with the mug clasped tightly in her hands.

  “Please just let us go,” she whispered.

  “Who is this guy to Cohen? Who is he to you, Polly? Is he really worth all the trouble?” I couldn’t keep the harshness from my voice.

  Polly opened her mouth, but she didn’t get a chance to answer. A small boy with a mop of curly, brown hair skipped out of the bathroom and hurled himself at her legs. He squeezed her tightly, and then clambered up onto the stool beside hers. The sleeves of his dinosaur-themed pyjamas were soaked. Water dripped from his fingers to the countertop.

  “The hand dryer was broken,” he announced.

  “I see that,” Polly replied with a little smile, and handed him a cloth napkin.

  “Is my warm milk ready?” he wanted to know.

  “Any second,” Polly assured him. “They said as soon as you were done with your banana loaf.”

  “I’m done.” The little boy pouted, and Polly’s smile widened.

  “Except for that giant chunk stuck to your nose.”

  Chubby fingers reached up to search. “Hey! There’s nothing there.”

  “Oops. Must’ve been a new freckle.”

  I watched the exchange incredulously, my eyes growing a bit wider with each sentence. The little boy jerked a thumb in my direction.

  “Mommy,” he stage-whispered. “There’s a man looking at us.”

  Mommy.<
br />
  “Jayme, don’t point, it’s rude,” Polly scolded.

  My chest constricted as I finally made the connection I’d been missing. Jayme wasn’t a boyfriend, or a husband. He was a child. Her child. It was no wonder she would do anything to protect him, and anything to get back to him. Knowing what little I did about her own upbringing, I could only imagine how desperately she would want to keep her kid away from that same kind of life.

  “Yeah,” the kid said. “But he’s staring, and that was rude first.”

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  The boy’s face fell. “Oh. I forgot.”

  Polly ran her fingers through his hair affectionately. “This man is only staring because he wants me to introduce you. Painter Darren, this is my son, Jayme Duncan.”

  Jayme stuck his hand out solemnly. I shook it with equal seriousness.

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said as he released my hand.

  What did my employer want with this little boy? I could think of only one reason why he’d care at all.

  My heart tightened once again as I searched Jayme’s face for signs of Cohen. His eyes were the very same shade of sky blue as Polly’s, and he had the same pert nose. There was no trace of my boss’s cruel mouth or of the cleft in his chin. Jayme had a smattering of freckles and arched eyebrows, and when he grinned at me, all I saw was Polly.

  A yawning server came through the swinging kitchen door and set a glass and a straw down in front of the kid. Polly kissed Jayme’s head.

  “Drink up,” she said, then hopped off her stool and pulled me aside.

  “I know what you’re looking for,” she stated. “And you won’t find it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I lied.

  “I don’t know why…but I think it does.”

  I shook my head. “We have to go.”

  “At least let him finish his milk.”

  “Take it to go.”

  Polly placed a hand on my biceps and with the simple touch, heat seared through my T-shirt, up my arm and into my chest. She took a step toward me so there were only a few inches between us.

  “I realize I haven’t been very…cooperative,” she said in a low voice. “But for Jayme’s sake, let him just enjoy this.”

  Her eyes had a cagey look and I knew she was calculating another getaway.

  “Time is a luxury we don’t have at the moment, Polly. Grab the kid and get in the car.”

  “Please, Painter.”

  “Do you really want to make a scene in here?”

  “Do you?” she countered. “I’m not the one who has to worry about the police being alerted.”

  “I know as well as you do that you don’t want the cops involved.”

  Desperation crept into her voice. “I won’t let you have him.”

  “Dammit, Polly. I need you to—”

  She cut me off. “To obey you without question? To drop any hope I have for a normal life for me and my son? You’re as bad as he is!”

  “Cohen and I are nothing alike!” I growled.

  “You’re exactly alike! You’re both self-centred assholes who want to drag a child into Cohen’s world. My child!”

  “I’m not taking you to Cohen.”

  I didn’t know it was true until I said it, and relief washed through me as I spoke the words.

  Polly’s face was wary. Hopeful, but wary.

  “You’re not?” she asked carefully.

  “Of course not.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Jesus. How many times have I told you I’m not a thug? The men I chase down for Cohen are criminals, Polly. Smugglers and drug dealers and pimps. They get what they deserve. I can justify taking them in, even if it’s not in the nicest way. But I’m not a monster. There’s no way in hell I’d endanger a child’s life.”

  Without warning, Polly threw herself into my chest and wrapped her arms around my waist. Every curve pressed against me, making me ache. I brought my own arms up reflexively and pulled her even closer.

  “Polly,” I said into her hair. “We still have to go. Cohen sent someone else after you.”

  She stiffened but didn’t let me go. “Why would he do that? I thought you were his best guy.”

  “I am,” I replied. “I don’t know if it’s because I wasn’t fast enough, or if it’s something more, but Cohen sent a guy named Gerry Smith to your house in Trent Falls.”

  “Oh, my God. Misty’s family?”

  “They’re fine,” I assured her. “But when this man gets a hold of you…he won’t care that you’re a woman or that Jayme’s a kid. He’ll do whatever it takes to drag you to Cohen.”

  “Mommy?”

  We broke off our embrace at Jayme’s tentative voice.

  “Sorry, kiddo,” Polly said with an embarrassed flush. “Painter just gave me some good news and I got carried away.”

  “You never get carried away,” her son protested.

  Polly floundered for a second and shot me a helpless look.

  I’d been watching the interaction warily. I’d very nearly turned the boy’s mother over to my cruel boss. I’d endangered both their lives. But instead of being angry at myself, I felt a need for redemption. So I jumped in.

  “Do you like sports cars, Jayme?” I asked.

  “My mom drives real slow,” the kid replied, punctuating his words with an eye roll that was all Polly.

  I winked. “I know. That’s how I caught up to her so fast.”

  “Hey!” Polly protested, but Jayme was grinning at me.

  “Well,” I went on. “My good news is this. I’m about to take you and your mom for a ride in my sports car. And I promise you this…I do not drive like an old lady.”

  The kid’s whole face lit up in a hundred-watt smile, and I knew he was sold.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Polly

  Painter guided the car through the night, forcing cheerful conversation. Or at least my end of it was forced. Painter seemed perfectly content to lead Jayme through a round of twenty questions, and then a game of I spy.

  I had too many things on my mind.

  First was my terrible guilt at having put Misty and Mike and their son into a dangerous situation. It hadn’t occurred to me that I needed to protect anyone but Jayme. We’d never lived anywhere long enough to develop the kind of relationship that made it necessary. I shook my head at my own carelessness.

  Thank God they’re all right.

  And then there was Painter himself.

  I stole a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He was more at ease than I’d seen him since our first night together. Even then, the wildness behind his lovemaking hinted at something darker. The passion in his eyes had been deep and soulful, but it didn’t hold any of the sincere playfulness I saw now.

  Thirty-six hours ago, the man had been a one-night stand. An amazing, sexy, much-needed release from my day-to-day life. And just twelve hours ago, I’d been running as fast and far away from him as I could. With good reason. And it went far beyond the fact that every time I looked at him, I had to suppress a lingering desire to have him in my arms again.

  And now…I was relying him to do what? Clean up my stupid mistakes? It wasn’t fair to Painter. Even if I tried to justify it by saying he’d put me directly on Cohen’s radar in the first place, I couldn’t quite convince myself it was okay.

  “Hey.” His deep voice cut through my jumbled thoughts.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Are we all done with I spy? Are we starting a new game?”

  The sides of Painter’s mouth turned up at the corners. “Not exactly. Jayme’s been asleep for about a half hour, and if your eyes weren’t open, I’d think you were, too.”

  “I couldn’t sleep if I tried,” I told him.

  “Scared?”

  I readied a smart-ass retort, but when I caught his eye, I realized he wasn’t teasing me at all. I took a deep breath and admitted I was terrified.

  “I thought I was safe,” I said softly. �
�It’s been so long since I’ve even heard something about Cohen, I let my guard down.”

  “I’m going to take you some place where you’ll never have to hear about him again.”

  Painter’s fierce tone made me want to believe him. Desperately. But when I spoke again, anxiety was still apparent in my voice.

  “How? The man’s a relentless tyrant. And if he finds out you’re helping me, he’ll work twice as hard to find us.”

  “I’m an expert at finding people who don’t want to be found,” he reminded me. “My dad was a cop. I worked as a PI. And I can’t deny that working for Cohen has taught me a few things, either. I can do things above board, below board, and I can ride the line right down the middle. So I’m going to take everything I know about finding people, and find a way to use it to hide you.”

  “What if it’s not enough?”

  “It will be.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Tell me how you stayed hidden for so long on your own,” Painter replied.

  “The basics.” I shrugged. “Every six months or so, we moved. I changed my name each time. I took cash-paying jobs when I could and used a fake social when I couldn’t.”

  “What changed?” he wanted to know.

  “Jayme started preschool. And I figured out there was some stuff I couldn’t fake. At least not easily. Immunization records, progress reports…that kind of thing. I decided we could slow down a bit, maybe move at the end of every year instead of cutting out halfway through, but…” I trailed off.

  “But you got comfortable,” Painter filled in.

  I nodded. “And I got sick. Pneumonia, right at the end of the school year, so Jayme ended up starting kindergarten here.”

  “What does he think of all this?”

  I hesitated.

  Now or never.

  “When Jayme was three, he started having what the doctors thought were seizures, and they told me he had epilepsy. He’d had a brain injury when he was in utero, and they felt the symptoms fit,” I explained, trying to keep my voice even. “But when we moved here, we got a new doctor, and he immediately took Jayme off his medications. He diagnosed Jayme with a sleep disorder. Parasomnia, characterized by violent behaviour that he doesn’t remember when he wakes up.” I paused and touched my still tender black eye. “Stress can trigger it, or make it worse. We were moving so often that the stress was always there. After a year in Trent Falls, the episodes all but stopped. When I brought up leaving…they started all over again.”