by CJ Snyder
He waited for her glance, held it when it finally came, and saw tears start to trickle down her cheeks.
“Not everything. Not nearly everything, but I–I still missed you so much. He said if I talked about it, it would help.” She hiccupped and it took everything inside not to respond to the urgent apology in her eyes. He wanted to leap over her damned countertop island, haul her into his arms and kiss her until she forgot Vic, forgot the years between them, forgot everything except how much he loved her. He didn’t because the very painful subject of Vic, the only husband she’d ever had, would have to come up again, and again, until it was finally told. He was damn certain he never wanted to hear the man’s name again after today. So he stayed where he was, gave her a nod and let her continue.
“He told me the only way to get over you was to go on, even if I didn’t feel like it. That my feelings would catch up to my life. That he loved me, we were good together. That I should marry him.”
Max could barely hear the last words, but the pain in her eyes doubled his own. Her fingers inched across the tile and he leaned forward to catch her hand in both of his.
“I didn’t believe him, not really, but I didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t want kids.”
That one hit hard. How many arguments had they had? Never long, never fierce, but he’d never really pushed it, either. Max dragged his attention back to Kat.
“At first I told him no. But he was patient, and then I started thinking. What if he was right? What if going on was the only way to get through? You were dead, Max.”
Years ago, right before he’d left her, she’d answered a question of his with as much resolute anguish as he saw in her now. Then, it had made him angry, frustrated because of what he knew and couldn’t tell her, how much pain he had to hand her because of her stubbornness. Now, he lifted her fingertips to his lips and granted her absolution–for both of the choices she’d made. “It’s okay, baby. I told you last night, I’ll tell you every day for the rest of your life. I only. . .ever. . .want you to be happy.”
“I wasn’t.” She didn’t acknowledge the moment, but she did stop crying. And removed her hand from his. “I was miserable.” She laughed, short and bitter. “I made him pretty miserable, too. But he stayed.”
Max refused to let that barb in.
“For six months and he was back east for most of that. He stayed until I told him, unequivocally, that he had to go. And then he did.”
This time he answered her unspoken accusation. “I didn’t know you were divorced, Kat. You always used Jannsen, I never read a hint of it in the papers. I’d have been here in a heartbeat if I’d known.”
She believed him. He could see it in her eyes. In the unspoken forgiveness she extended with those beautiful midnight eyes.
Max relaxed a little.
“He worked for the government, media relations. There was no publicity.” A smile quirked her lips, sad and a little fond. “He didn’t want my career to suffer. He went back to the East Coast. We send Christmas cards.”
Exit Vic, Max thought with relief. Good riddance. To change the subject, and to wipe the too-affectionate look from her eyes, he cleared his throat. “How did you meet Miriam?”
Kat visibly jolted at that, then spun and began to clear the stove of frying pans and utensils, turning on water at the sink, adding dish soap, hiding her hands in the bubbles. But not before he’d seen how very hard her hands were shaking. Max frowned. Why in the world would Miriam make her jumpy?
Still not facing him, she cleared her throat. “When you disappeared, I was frantic.” Her voice was loud, forced, especially when the sink was full of water and she shut off the faucet. “You’d talked about Bluff River Falls, and Miriam and Doug, and your nephews. I drove out to find her. To see if she knew where you were. Actually, I arrived just in time for your funeral.”
He winced at the sudden vehemence in her voice, understanding her earlier reaction now. Miriam and his “death” would be forever linked in her mind.
“I didn’t talk to her that day–she was so sad, Max. It would have killed you to see her.” Finished with the dishes, Kat grimaced at her unintended pun and picked up the damaged towel again. It continued to slide over her hands long after they were dry. “She was–is–sweet. She reminded me a lot of you.”
“She was pregnant, wasn’t she? With Lizzie.”
Kat’s face went hard and her shoulder’s stiffened defensively. Max couldn’t blame her. Lizzie was never far from his mind. Be strong, Lizard!
When she spoke, Kat’s words were detached, her eyes blank. “Pregnant. Yes. She was pregnant. About six months pregnant. Your funeral, that whole period of time, was very, very hard on her.”
“I know. We’ve talked about it often over the years.”
She looked suddenly angry, and then very, very sad. Her shoulders slumped and she dropped the ruined towel to the counter. “I’m going to take a bath,” she announced abruptly and then she was gone.
##
Lizzie opened one eye, winced at the bright sunlight and shut it again. She’d been plain stupid, dreaming about how famous she’d be. She didn’t want to be famous any longer. She just wanted to go home. She didn’t think her wish was going to come true any time soon.
Just when she managed to get rid of all the nasty duct tape yesterday, the old camper had groaned to a stop. She couldn’t pretend she was still asleep, not with the shredded duct tape all over. Too late, she’d searched frantically for a way out, before the men made their way back to her. There was only one door, and it opened as she reached for it.
She’d tried to stay calm, to get them talking, and to take notice of her surroundings. Until one of them slapped her so hard she fell, hitting her head on a flimsy wood cabinet. She thought she heard the wood crack before the stinky rag went back over her face.
Now it was day, her head pounded like it was going to bust open, she was starving, and she really had to pee. She rolled to her side, more to get away from the bright sun trying to crawl inside her aching head, and whacked the tender spot where her head had hit the cabinet.
Definitely don’t care about being an Amber Alert, she thought miserably, trying her eyes again. She was on the floor, an old, stained wood floor. That smelled bad.
She sneezed and then moaned at the pain that shot through her head at the violent movement. The room was barely bigger than her laundry room at home. She took up most of the floor space. She sneezed again, and despite the pain, levered herself into a sitting position to get away from that smelly floor.
The smelly floor was now reverberating with heavy footsteps. Her eyes fastened on the lone door, directly in front of her. “Max,” she whispered fervently. “I promise I will never, ever disobey you again. Please come and get me. Please.”
##
Max rested his elbows on the island and his forehead in his palms. Ten o’clock. Twenty hours since he’d last seen Lizzie. He snatched his cell out of its holster and dialed Detective Reicher. Fifteen minutes later, he’d spoken with not only the detective, but the CBI, and the FBI, all of whom reported nothing new to report. Finally, he called Viper, who informed him he would be in Denver the following day to try and streamline the investigation. All of which didn’t help him now. He paced into the living room and slumped onto the couch. Kat had evidently opted for a shower instead of a bath because water still pumped furiously from down the hall.
There must be something he could do! But short of driving aimlessly around the sprawling city of Denver, he knew there wasn’t. Restlessly, he grabbed the remote and turned on a Sunday morning news show. He was tired, physically exhausted and emotionally drained by worry for Lizzie, which he couldn’t let himself think about, and Kat’s confessions. What he wanted most of all, besides Lizzie’s safe return, was to scoop Kat out of the shower and into bed where he’d spend every second until Lizzie’s return convincing Kat they still had a future together.
He smiled at the thought of that then his eyes narrowed
. There wasn’t a single thing he could do to help Lizzie, but Kat. . .Kat changed her tune rather quickly the day before when he’d pointed out he was hurting and needed her. She’d brought him home, fed him, talked to him–everything he’d asked her for last night. Sometime today he had to get her to eat, though. She’d had exactly one piece of dry toast, refusing his offer to share his omelet or jam-laden toast. She’d started a grocery list, too, he remembered, before the conversation had turned serious. She’d already fed him, so hunger was out. What else could he use? Thinking hard, his eyes drifted shut and the next thing he knew he was surrounded by a soft cloud of lilacs and Kat’s gentle touch on his arm.
“Get in bed, Max.” Her voice hadn’t changed, he realized as it swept over him like a haunting chime. “You’ll have a terrible crick in your neck if you sleep here.”
“Will you come with me?” He opened his eyes just in time to see her dismayed look but his smile was erased by a mighty yawn. Kat shut off the television. “Just keep talking to me then. Your voice is like music, Kat. Did I ever tell you that?” If he did, she wouldn’t acknowledge it now. She was already on her way down the hall. Would she join him? Hmmm, sleep-deprived. He hadn’t thought of that one, but so far it was certainly working.
Or was it? She didn’t act like she was ready to fall into bed with him, but she did lead him to her room, not one of the two guest rooms he’d seen earlier this morning. He’d take that as a good sign. She plumped the pillows and he eyed her trim bottom as she bent over the bed. Remembering the look in her eyes when she’d awoken that morning set him off all over again. It had taken every ounce of self-control he had not to jump her then. It would take close to that now. His libido and a lack of sleep were making damn sure no blood got to his brain. Cold water might help ensure he didn’t screw things up between them forever. Max excused himself and slipped into the bathroom.
Bracing his hands on the perfectly tidy grey marble surrounding the sink, he stretched out his neck muscles and willed his throbbing body to subside. “You don’t even know that dream was about you, ass hole.” That did little but infuriate him, just like listening to her recount her marriage. She was his, damn it! She should have married him, not Victor-I-trusted-him. “Get over it, Crayton.”
She was waiting when he opened the door a moment later, looking for all the world like a lamb about to be slaughtered. “Do you want a blanket?”
“No.” Still irritated with his over-reaction to her presence, he flopped onto the bed and covered his eyes with his arm. The bed felt good and damn if he wasn’t just that tired. Sleep didn’t look so bad after all. He slitted one eye open to find her hovering beside the bed, looking unsure. “Going to tuck me in?” He watched just long enough for her cheeks to turn pink and then smiled, closing his eyes again. “Never mind, baby. Wake me in an hour.”
Kat waited by the window, uncertain what to do. The long minutes in the shower had served to get her brain back on track and her emotions under control. She’d emerged after forty minutes, ready to put things back where they’d been at the hospital, before she’d succumbed to his faulty logic. She didn’t regret the confessions she’d made, he deserved them, but she was determined to put the past firmly behind her now.
That was before she’d walked into the living room to find his head nodding. He looked exhausted, and vulnerable. She was in big trouble if he tried anything, made any gesture. Her ability to resist him was down to zero. But he didn’t try. And he didn’t argue when she suggested he go to bed. He wanted her to talk to him, should she stay? Leave him alone? Ask him? Within sixty seconds she heard a soft snore and she straightened. The blinds were already down, but she released the heavy curtains too, effectively blocking out the weak sunlight. Light spilled into the room from the open door, illuminating the cell phone on his belt. She should get him undressed, but how? Should she at least take the phone? If it rang it would wake him, but if he woke while she was trying to get it off his belt–her heart galloped at the thought. What would he do? Assume she wanted him undressed? Take it further like she’d sworn he was about to when he woke her up this morning? Her heart pounded harder and she placed one hand over it to calm it down. Enough!
She strode toward the door, turning to close it when she reached the hall. She took one last peek and it stole her breath. Max, in her bed, after all these years.
Go get in with him.
Her feet actually took a step forward but he moved, stretching out the arm that had been over his eyes to sweep over her side, gathering in her pillow and burying his nose in it. Kat held her breath, praying. For him to wake up, or stay asleep? She eased the door shut so she wouldn’t have to answer her own question.
In the living room, she tidied up, plumping the deep maroon throw pillows that were nearly the only spot of color in the room. Case files zoomed through her mind. Lizzie in the hands of an abuser. Kat stifled a cry and opened her briefcase, removing mail she’d received at the office–only two days ago?
Lizzie sold to the sex slave traders.
“Vacuum,” she whispered, desperate now. But she couldn’t vacuum, or clean, not while Max slept. She dropped the mail on her desk, then noticed her message light was blinking. Six messages–too many for a Saturday. Frowning, she turned the volume down so it wouldn’t disturb Max and hit play.
The district attorney, with a new case that would have caught her interest last week. Her dentist reminding her of an appointment on Tuesday.
And Max.
“Kat, baby, I’ve got to talk to you. I really hope you’ll give me a chance to explain. I know it wasn’t right. I know I hurt you, baby.” Saturday. After she’d left him in Bluff River Falls, before that meeting distracted him so much he’d left Lizzie alone to be kidnapped.
Geoffrey Klaussen, one of her clients, needed her soonest available appointment. Kat made a note to call him in the morning.
Max again. “Kat.” His voice was different this time, cold and hard. “Call me. It’s an emergency.” She erased that one, remembering how angry and distant he’d been when she got home last night. If not for her alibi–no doubt she’d be his primary suspect. Her answering machine beeped again, announcing the final message in the group.
“This is Mitch. I’m ready to demo your new copier at your convenience. Call me.”
Kat frowned. She hadn’t ordered a new copier. She hit play and listened again. This time it clicked.
Mitch. Her mother’s latest and greatest get-out-of-jail-free card. What had she said? “You can trust him. He’s got pretty eyes.”
She erased the message with a sigh. Her life was rife with denial and lies. A certifiably nuts mother, who wouldn’t even use that certification to get out of jail and into an institution where she belonged. The man she loved more than life asleep in her bed, worried about the child he thought was his niece. Her daughter, a virtual stranger to her, kidnapped, tortured, with a serial killer?
No! When Max woke up, they’d go back to the police, figure out who had taken Lizzie and get her back. It was that simple. It had to be that simple. And she had to move. Now.
She strode into the kitchen and picked up the hasty grocery list she’d made while Max ate. She rarely ate dinner at home and though she used to love to cook for Vic, she had never enjoyed cooking for just one. Usually she worked through the dinner hour anyway. Supplies were definitely needed. Max would need to eat, wouldn’t he? All men needed to eat.
With an anxious glance down the hall at the closed bedroom door, she grabbed up her purse and house keys and let herself out the door. If he woke and she was gone, he’d be worried. Kat stopped and scratched out a note, leaving it conspicuously on the kitchen island. The corner market would have everything she needed for tonight. And tomorrow, after they found Lizzie, she’d go to a large grocery store. After they’d rescued Lizzie from—
Groceries. She rammed the thought through her mind, firmly keeping pictures and thoughts of her daughter out. Get the groceries. Then cook. Then. . .then think of some
thing else to do so you won’t have to think.
She didn’t notice the lingering fog, or the unusual humidity in the air during her three block walk. Kat did smile at Sam, the oldest son of the owner of the small corner store, when he leapt off his stool by the front door as she approached. He was almost exactly Lizzie’s age and helped out on weekends and after school. His father immigrated from Viet Nam years ago, and Sam and his mother joined him only two years ago. She’d enjoyed Sam’s journey through acclimation, amazed how quickly he’d achieved it. His accent was barely noticeable now and she knew his grades were exceptional–he always proudly showed off his report card.
Kat tousled his dark head when he opened the door for her. She headed for the canned goods section, wondering, as she always did, what Lizzie’s hair felt like. Today the familiar thought choked her throat and the rows of red and white soup cans blurred.
Lizzie. Stay safe, baby girl. Stay alive.
