"Miss Marly?" he whispered, still clinging to her neck. "Are Daddy's men going to take me away?"
"No." She pried his fingers loose, kissing his little hands. "I won't let them."
"I'm scared."
"I know, sweetheart. I know. But you have to be a brave boy for me, okay? I'll come get you as soon as they leave. I promise."
Tyler nodded.
"Here, take your action figures. And remember—" She placed one finger over her lips. "Not a sound."
Tyler mimicked her action.
"Good boy," she whispered, closing the wooden door and securing the bar.
Upstairs she heard voices. Annie Lou and a man. She straightened her clothing and climbed the stairs.
"I told you before. She's not feeling well. You'll have to come back another time."
"Look, lady. There ain't gonna be another time. Either you let us in this time, or else—"
"What seems to be the problem?" Marly asked, stumbling into the living room, giving every appearance of being woken from a deep sleep, when inside she was anything but groggy.
Even from the other side of the screen door, Billy Ray looked more menacing than she remembered. His cheekbones jutted out, creating deep hollows in the planes of his crude face. "You Marly Alcott?"
"Yes, who's asking?"
"Billy Ray Cameron, Tyler's father." He tapped one wiry finger against the screen. "Mind if I come in?"
Every instinct screamed yes! She wanted to slam the door and bolt it, to run and hide with Tyler in the crawl space. But she did none of those things, instead gesturing for Annie Lou to step aside as she approached the door.
"Hello, Mr. Cameron. I didn't recognize you out there. What can I do for you?"
Billy Ray's gaze dropped to her body, then back up to her face. His deep-sunken eyes narrowed into slits.
Easy, she told herself. You can't show him your fear. But looking over his shoulder, she realized Billy Ray wasn't alone, that he'd brought two of his goons with him. Big, burly men who looked even meaner and more dangerous than he did, if that was possible. Their professional attire did nothing to camouflage the fact that if they wanted to, any one of them could bust past her, never mind kill her with their bare hands.
No fear. "Was there something I could help you with?"
"I think so." He was too calm, too smug. "What do you know about my son's whereabouts?"
Marly braced herself. She'd rehearsed this routine a hundred times in her head, preparing herself for the inevitable confrontation. "Tyler?" she asked. "But I thought he was with you."
"Seems he's disappeared."
"Oh, my goodness." She put one hand on her chest, felt her heart hammering there. "When?"
"You tell me. When was the last time you saw him?"
"Why, yesterday at school. Has he been missing this entire time?" At Billy Ray's nod, she continued in a rush, "Oh, no. This is all my fault. I never should have assumed. Mr. Cameron, please forgive me. I should have contacted the police right away when Tyler didn't come in today. I just didn't think it was unusual, under the circumstances…" Her despair was genuine, with her pulse racing ninety miles an hour and the imminent fear that at any moment she would start screaming.
He looked her over, sizing her up through the slits of his cold black eyes. "Ain't no need to involve the police. Just let me know if he turns up."
"Yes, of course. Is there somewhere I can reach you?"
"Yeah." He smiled then, and an eerie feeling stole over Marly. "Johnny, get the lady a calling card."
One of the thugs reached into his breast pocket and held out a white business card.
Bile rose in her throat, and she tried to swallow it. Big mistake, asking for a phone number. Now she had to open the screen door.
What if she didn't? What if she asked him to leave the card outside the door? Would Billy Ray see through her act?
She stared at him, unflinching. Cautiously, she unlocked the door, her gaze never wavering from his, and cracked it open.
With lightning speed, Billy Ray grabbed the handle and flung the door wide open.
Marly gasped and stumbled back, immediately transported back to the time she'd walked in on Linda Cameron's bloody murder site. There was a crazy glint in Billy Ray's eyes, and when his gaze speared into hers, she felt an imaginary blade slice the air from her lungs.
"Take it," he said, his voice deadly calm.
"Wh-what?"
"Take the card."
"The card?"
Billy Ray snatched the business card from the hand of one of the men and shoved it at her. "If you know what's good for you, you won't mess with me, Miz Alcott."
"No, of course not." She reached quickly for the card, trying to conceal her shaking hand.
"Call me if you hear anything."
"I—I will." She watched the backs of three men as they retreated, waiting until they'd driven away before locking the door. She jumped when Annie Lou touched her arm.
"Are you okay?" the older woman asked. "I was about to call the police."
Marly shook her head and placed her hand over Annie Lou's.
* * *
Late that night, long after Annie Lou and Tyler had gone to bed, Marly sat in the living-room chair, huddled into a small, tight ball. She stared at the action figure on the side table, the one she'd discovered on the floor of her room, the one she had forgotten to pick up in her haste to hide Tyler.
What if Billy Ray and his men had stormed the house? What if they'd gone into her room and seen a child's toy on her floor? What then?
Marly buried her face against her bent knees. She'd never felt so alone in all her life. So helpless. She knew this wasn't the last she'd see of Billy Ray Cameron, not by a long shot.
Had he noticed Tyler's security blanket was missing, and if so, did he mistakenly believe Tyler was involved, that he'd possibly witnessed his mother's execution?
Dear God, it was all her fault. Why had she said her name on the phone that night? Why had she gone into the apartment, instead of leaving a note on the door? What kind of mess had she created?
Damn, she couldn't cry over spilled milk. She had to find a way to protect Tyler, a way to protect them all, until the police arrested Billy Ray.
She focused her gaze on the black telephone beside her, on the white business card she clutched in her hand.
Carter.
How many times had she thought about him in the past five hours, wondering if she hadn't made the biggest mistake of her life? All week, she'd rationalized too much time had elapsed, that surely Carter had come to his senses by now, and the entire issue of his proposal was moot. But he'd come to her center today, let her know he was still prepared to make good on his offer. And she had turned him down.
Marly shivered, remembering how it had felt when he'd held her hands in his, the brief moment in which his warmth suffused the chill wrapped around her heart.
She no longer had a choice. The stakes were too high. It wasn't just her center anymore, but Tyler's safety, as well. Only one person had the resources to save both. All she had to do was agree to marry him and risk his digging up the skeletons buried in her past. After this evening, it was a price she was willing to pay.
But what if there was some kind of statute of limitations on how long she had to change her mind? Had she already exceeded it, lost out on her window of opportunity?
Marly squeezed her eyes shut, said a silent prayer and reached for the phone.
* * *
Carter sprang from the couch as the phone's insistent ring penetrated the still of the night. It couldn't be. Could it? It seemed almost too much to hope for, but there were only a few people who would call him at the bank after midnight. On his private line.
"Hello?" He wrapped his fingers around the receiver and held his breath.
"Carter, it's Marly."
He closed his eyes and soundlessly exhaled. "Hey, Marly. How're you?"
"Not so good. Can you come over?"
"No
w?"
"If … if you can."
"Are you at home?"
"Yes."
Exhilaration spread through his chest like some pleasurable form of heartburn. "Sure, I'll be right there." Carter dropped the receiver into its cradle and frowned. Funny, he'd never quite recalled excitement feeling like heartburn. On the drive over, he questioned his body's strange reaction.
The sound of desolation in Marly's voice could only mean one thing: that she'd changed her mind. On the one hand, he was ecstatic. It was what he wanted, what he'd pursued with single-minded determination during every spare moment outside of work for the past six months. After he'd thought he'd blown it for good, victory was again within reach, the anticipation of closing a deal heightened by the stakes.
For all intents and purposes, Carter should have been dancing a jig. So why did he suddenly feel about as cheerful as a turkey before Thanksgiving? He shook his head and backed out of his reserved parking spot in the bank's underground garage, then maneuvered the car into the stream of downtown Friday-night traffic.
Just because theirs was a business arrangement didn't mean Carter wanted to stomp all over Marly's feelings in the process of closing their deal. At the same time, he couldn't afford to lose her, let his emotions dull his arbitrating skills during what was probably the most important negotiation of his life.
No, he couldn't afford to let Marly slip through his fingers. Not now, not when he'd finally found the perfect woman for him—the only woman he could trust not to hold his past against him.
Marly Alcott had a rare generosity of spirit, one that knew no socioeconomic barriers. She was a born nurturer, a natural with the children at her center, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would make a wonderful mother.
He knew her profile, had studied it for months. It only followed that a woman like Marly still believed in marrying for love, believed it to be a vital element in a marriage. She hadn't been through the hell he had, and he'd see that she never would.
He'd just have to work that much harder to make it up to her. And he would. He would make good on his promise to be a good husband. He would support her in every way he could, and he'd provide for her and their children to the best of his ability. And after a while, she would come to see that love was an overrated commodity. He would show her. Hadn't his mama always said there wasn't a thing Carter couldn't do if he put his mind to it?
Of course, his mama would have slapped him silly before letting him make a fool of himself the way he had over Eva Ann. She'd urged him plenty of times to learn from her mistakes, warning him not to allow hormones to dictate his life.
Carter sighed as he pulled the car to the curb in front of Marly's house and cut the engine. Even though he knew for certain he'd never fall in love with Marly, he would have to make sure he didn't go and do something equally stupid while he was making it up to her.
Just then, a shadowy form moved across the front lawn. Before he could open the car door, the dome light turned on and then off, and she was there beside him, as she'd been the night he first proposed.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hey." He felt suddenly awkward and excited all at once. He could hardly make out her features in the dark, but her familiar scent filled the interior of the car. He ignored the twitch in his belly, hoping that in doing so, he could stop the sensation from spreading any lower. He didn't want to mix business with pleasure, remember how her lips had felt against his, how sweet she'd tasted. No, he couldn't afford to confuse the issue, wonder how the curve of her body would fit next to his—at least, not until they'd gotten the business out of the way, agreed upon the terms. And even then, he swore to hold himself in check.
"I didn't know if you'd come." Her voice seemed to emanate from a long way off instead of the mere inches between them.
"I said I would."
"I thought maybe you'd changed your mind."
"Marly?" He twisted sideways in his seat, trying to refocus his night vision.
"Yes?"
"You did ask me here for a reason, didn't you?"
She nodded. "You're the only one who can help me."
"Then consider it done," he said, tasting bittersweet victory. "I told you before, and I meant it. I can get you a cashier's check tomorrow."
"Wait, there's more…" She sniffed and looked away, out the passenger window.
Carter frowned, trying not to notice the taste of victory turning more bitter than sweet. He had a sneaking suspicion Miss Marly Alcott was about to up the ante. "Marly?"
For a long time, she didn't answer. Then finally she whispered, "You were right. Something was bothering me earlier today. Besides the center. Something happened last night…"
Carter straightened but remained silent, waiting.
"I'm doing this because … because you're the only one who can help me … the only one I know with the resources."
Her voice was a plea, filled with such desperation Carter had to force his mind to the business nature of the matter at hand. He couldn't fold under pressure, fall prey to a sympathy ploy. He wasn't about to be duped into overlooking Marly's end of the barter if that's where this conversation was headed.
"Go on," he prompted.
"Last night I found one of my little boys from the center hiding underneath our back porch. He stowed away in a neighbor's car, and somehow ended up at the Circle K down the block. I called his mother to tell her where he was, in case she was worried." She stopped and gestured helplessly with one hand.
Aw, man. Something inside Carter twisted. A guy could take only so much of the bleeding-heart routine. If he let her, this woman would have him feeling all mushy and wet, like a pile of leaves after they'd been rained on. Then it would only be a matter of time before he'd be writing her a blank check and kissing holy matrimony goodbye forever.
No, no, no. He had to take control of the situation, instead of allowing the situation to control him. Damn it. He did this every day at work. He needed to focus, concentrate on the issues. Aside from his experience with the bank, Carter also served as chairman of a few boards and often drew upon that experience when faced with delicate negotiations such as this.
It was the chairman's responsibility to remain impassive at board meetings, reserving judgment until all opinions were heard, all arguments presented. Emotion had no place where business matters were concerned. Indeed, it was imperative that one remained emotionally detached in order to do any logical problem solving.
"So what happened?" he prompted after what he deemed a reasonable amount of time.
In the dark, he could feel Marly's wide-eyed gaze on his face, feel her retreat when she turned toward the door. He heard it unlatch and without thought reached one hand out to touch her arm. She was shaking. His gut twisted.
"Marly?"
"I … I can't do this in your car," she said, reaching for the door handle.
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
"Marly, wait." Carter reached across the seat, but she'd already opened the passenger door and slipped out. He ran one hand through his hair and slammed his fist on the steering wheel with a muttered expletive.
She'd been on the verge of capitulating. What had gone wrong? What did being in his car have to do with anything?
Carter opened his door and climbed out. Marly was already halfway across the front lawn and didn't look as if she had any intention of stopping or even slowing down.
He swore again and rubbed a weary hand over his face. Late-night stubble scraped against his fingers, reminding him that he should have been in bed, not chasing after damsels in distress for the second time in one week.
He gave a sigh of resignation and set out after her—did this woman ever know how to bruise a guy's ego. He followed her around the side of the house and into the backyard, where he came to a clearing. Overhead, a full moon hung in the sky, its white light illuminating his path to Marly.
He caught up with her in the middle of some sort of
weed patch and laid his hand on her shoulder. Her skin felt soft and smooth to the touch.
She dipped her shoulder to break their contact, and he let his hand fall to his side. "I—I don't know how to tell you this…"
A business transaction. This is a business transaction. Carter tried to retain his objectivity. He focused on the image of a boardroom, he and Marly seated at opposite ends of a long table. He visualized his neatly typed agenda, maybe even some impressive color transparencies of his spreadsheets. He replayed his well-rehearsed arguments tit for tat like a game of chess.
It was going pretty well until Marly sniffled.
Carter's stomach muscles clenched of their own accord. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again. The sniffling continued. Marly was crying.
With a muttered curse, Carter conceded defeat. Despite his resolve to keep things on a professional level until after they'd settled business matters, he couldn't stand to hear Marly cry.
God help him, he wasn't starting to have feelings for her, was he? No, it couldn't be all that bad. Carter frowned.
"Something happened the other night…" Why had her voice sounded strained? Why was she shaking? What happened?
"Marly, turn around."
"What? No. Carter, please."
"Just for a minute," he coaxed without touching her.
"Why?"
"I want to see your face."
"You can see it now."
"No, I can't."
"Trust me." Her voice cracked. "You don't want to see me right now."
"Yes, I do. Marly, please." It was his turn to implore. He held out his hand, but she didn't turn around, so he let it fall. "You called me for a reason. I'm here now. Tell me what's wrong. If I can help you, I swear I will."
"You don't know how much I want to believe that."
"Believe it."
"Oh, Carter." He heard a choked sob. "Something terrible has happened, and I just don't know what to do."
Carter tipped back his head and stared straight up into the cloudless sky, where stars gleamed and winked like searching fireflies. In the light of day, would he wake up to find the word sucker tattooed across his forehead?
CINDERELLA BRIDE Page 8
