Making Her Way Home

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “All right, all right.” When she came out, she said, “Do you have anything I can read? I’m getting really bored.”

  He looked at her like she was crazy. “Why would I have kid books?”

  “I’m a good reader. I don’t need a book for kids. Don’t you have anything?” She was practically begging.

  “I picked up a Stranger the other day. You can have that.” He snatched it off the couch as they passed and thrust the fat magazine-style newspaper in her arms as he hustled her into her room.

  Sicily clutched it gratefully, even though she’d have rather had practically anything else. Her mother used to pick up The Stranger sometimes, since it was free out of newspaper bins on lots of corners. It was a weekly, and sort of counterculture or something. Mom said it was cool. Sicily didn’t actually get most of what she read in it. But right now she was excited to read anything, even the personal ads for escort services, which she thought might be prostitutes, although she wasn’t sure. Did they advertise in a newspaper? It seemed like there were ads for phone sex, which she’d heard Mom tell a friend she’d do to make money except she didn’t have a very sexy voice. The friend had giggled and said, “Yeah, do you know Sandra? She’s, like, two hundred and fifty pounds and she’s got chin hair, but she has this voice that makes guys stand up and notice, and she makes big bucks working for… Oh, I don’t remember. One of those phone-sex lines. But wow, sorry, Rach, I don’t think you have what it takes.”

  Sicily didn’t want to know exactly what phone sex involved. She was sure she didn’t want her mother doing it, just as she didn’t want her mother behind her closed bedroom door with whatever guy was hanging around. Sometimes the bed banged into the wall, or someone screamed or yelled or… Sicily got good at packing her pillow around her head.

  “Mom didn’t know I could hear,” she said out loud. She could have told her, but she never did.

  Aunt Beth hadn’t had a single man spend the night since Sicily had gone to live with her. In fact, the only guy that came by at all was a meter reader and all he did was wave when he saw them in the window as he raced around the house. Oh, and once the UPS driver delivered something, but he practically threw the package at Aunt Beth and ran back to his truck before tearing out of the driveway. Neither of them seemed to want to stay. Sicily wondered if Aunt Beth ever would have a boyfriend.

  She sat on her bed and ate pizza—which was not her favorite kind, she had to pick off the pepperoni, ew, greasy, and the mushrooms, too, and she didn’t know why anyone wanted pizza with so much on it—but it wasn’t a cheeseburger, yay, so she ate really slowly, enjoying every bite, and read The Stranger slowly, too, even stuff about the Seattle mayor’s quarrel with the city council about light rail, and reviews of movies she’d never see. She even studied the ads carefully. She bet he brought it home to look at the ads of naked women.

  The Stranger was a really fat newspaper, which made her happy. Maybe if she ever got out of here she’d write them a dear editor letter and say, “Your newspaper was the best thing I ever read. Oh, by the way, I’m ten years old. Do you think I’m your youngest reader?”

  I’ll get out of here. I’ve got to get out of here.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I’VE GOT TWO BEST possibilities,” Mike finally announced, pushing back from her computer desk and stretching. “Then a second tier, but I might get lucky with one of these two.”

  “They’re the right color?”

  “Yeah, and this car hasn’t been repainted, I can tell you that.” He hesitated. “I may be chasing my tail, you know.”

  “You said you had a feeling.” She wanted to believe in this hunch. It was all she had to believe in. Maybe the FBI was pursuing significant leads, but if so they weren’t telling her. And she didn’t think so. She thought they were waiting for another ransom call.

  He shrugged. “As you pointed out, there were a lot of cars in the vicinity.”

  She nodded to tell him she understood, although she believed he’d focused on this one car for good reason. “Would you, um, like a cup of coffee before you go?” Beth asked.

  He glanced at his watch and seemed surprised. “No, not if I want to get any sleep. Thanks, though.”

  He looked so relaxed and at home here in her desk chair. She couldn’t believe the way he’d moved in on her today. Or that she’d let him. This was the man who—was it only the day before yesterday? Was that possible?—had led the team that ransacked her house, assaulting her privacy and dignity. She thought then that she could never forgive him, and now she’d cooked lunch and dinner for him and was, if she were truthful with herself, wishing he weren’t leaving.

  His hair, a sort of gold-streaked bronze, was ruffled, as if he’d run his fingers through it a dozen times. She knew the texture now—thick, heavy, cool—and that made her palms tingle. He was growing stubble on his jaw that glinted bronze like his hair. As she watched, he rasped a hand over it. He’d long since rolled up his sleeves, exposing tanned, strong forearms lightly dusted with hair. A few healing scratches decorated them, from their Sunday search. Beth remembered staring at the droplets of blood strung along one scratch when it was fresh. He’d carelessly wiped them off on his T-shirt and she’d thought in automatic protest, but blood stains, as if at that moment in time she’d have cared if her entire wardrobe had been ruined, never mind his.

  “Thank you,” she felt compelled to say, “for what you did this morning.”

  His head turned sharply and she felt pinned by his pale, clear eyes. “This morning?”

  “When you…stood beside me. Let me know you were supporting me.”

  “I told you I hoped I’d have the chance. Didn’t you believe me?”

  “I expected you’d take over and you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t keep my mouth entirely shut.”

  “No, but what you did was serve as a witness.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile that made her heart flip-flop in her chest. “Surprised you, huh. So you thought you knew me?”

  She had to smile, too. “Apparently, not that well. Those first few hours at the park, I remember thinking that nobody would question who was in charge. You were that kind of guy. And I was sure you didn’t take orders well.”

  His laugh came out rusty. “You were right. I don’t.”

  “But you seem comfortable handing over the case to the FBI. Not resentful at all.” That had perplexed her, she had to admit.

  “Comfortable?” He seemed to mull it over. “I wouldn’t put it that strongly. But I believe in letting experts do what they do well. I don’t have a lot of experience with kidnapping.” He lifted his arms over his head and stretched again, producing a few pops and a throaty groan. “You notice I’m looking over their shoulders, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She smiled again, even though she hadn’t had much reason to smile in a long time. “I did.”

  His head tipped to one side and she realized how unnervingly thorough his scrutiny was. “You okay?”

  “Of course I am.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. She’d pushed all her emotions down deep. But maybe they were leaking out like poisonous fumes from a toxic dump? Oh, heavens, what did he see that she hadn’t meant him to? She shouldn’t ask, but… “Don’t I look okay?” It came out sounding anxious.

  “Truthfully…” He grimaced. “No. I think you’ve lost weight this week, Beth. I can tell you’re not sleeping well. You’ve got to be scared to death, and that scene this morning with your parents had to be harrowing.”

  “It wasn’t,” she said truthfully. “I’m actually a little surprised. It was harder telling you. Once I’d done that… Well, I guess I was ready. And really, it didn’t achieve anything. For a minute I felt strong, and then…deflated.”

  He rose to his feet, the chair rolling back. He was smiling again, so tenderly she�
��d have cried if she had been more susceptible. “You were strong, Beth. I was proud of you. And you’re wrong. You did achieve something. There’s no way in hell your parents will ever threaten to take Sicily from you again.”

  She had to close her eyes, both to protect herself from him and because once again the tide of fear had risen in her. “But Sicily isn’t here,” she said softly. “She’s not safe at all. So what difference does it make?”

  She knew the moment he stepped closer, even before his arms came around her.

  “We have a good chance of getting her back. With luck, tomorrow we’ll hear her telling us herself that she’s okay.”

  “Proof of life,” Beth murmured, and let her forehead rest against his broad, strong chest.

  “Yeah.” He sounded a little hoarse.

  “Tomorrow, will you track down the owners of those cars?”

  “Yeah, first thing.” His cheek was resting on top of her head.

  She sniffed a little, then made herself step back. His arms fell to his sides. “You live north, don’t you? I’m sorry you have to go home so late. If you’d brought a change of clothes, I’d suggest you sleep in Sicily’s bed.”

  He was quiet. She didn’t quite meet his eyes, but had a feeling she wouldn’t have been able to tell what he was thinking anyway. Still in that same husky voice, he said, “I wouldn’t mind staying if you’re okay with it, Beth. I don’t like leaving you alone right now.”

  She lifted her head in surprise. “Why not? I told you, I’m used to being alone.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to be.”

  Those commonplace words jolted her enough to make her mouth drop open. I don’t, she thought in amazement. I’ve done all right with Sicily. I like having her. I like having him here. Part of my life.

  Beth knew herself to be reserved, but was rarely shy. This was an exception, though. Her cheeks were hot. She didn’t know if he was even hinting at what she was thinking, and…oh, heavens. She wasn’t an impulsive person. She wasn’t about to say, “Will you spend the night with me?”

  Even so, she hoped he didn’t leave. Having him across the hall would be…a comfort.

  “I can let you have a toothbrush,” she heard herself say. “And a disposable razor, too.”

  He smiled again, with that same tenderness she had trouble believing in but wanted, oh, so much. “Sold,” he said. “Who cares if I look a little rumpled tomorrow?”

  Beth couldn’t help letting her eyebrows lift as she scanned him, and this time he laughed.

  “You noticed I don’t like to iron, huh?”

  “If everything you have on is washable, I can put a load in. I could even set up the ironing board in the morning.” She was definitely flushed now. “Well, I guess I can’t take all your clothes.”

  “Probably not.” Amusement sounded in his voice. “I’ll keep on my boxer shorts. I can do without tomorrow.”

  He was getting aroused. She was shocked and aroused herself to see it. Cowardice had her backing toward the door. “Um…the hall bathroom is all yours. I’ll make sure there are clean towels. And let me get my hamper.”

  He turned off her monitor and then the office light and followed her. Beth got him fresh towels from the linen closet and a new toothbrush—Sicily’s toothpaste was in the bathroom, as were soap and shampoo, and she hovered until he handed out his chinos, socks and button-down shirt for her to put in the washing machine.

  By the time she’d done that and turned out the other lights, he was in Sicily’s room, only the bedside lamp on. “I borrowed a book from your office,” he called.

  “Good night,” she told him, and went to her bedroom, where she discovered she felt shaky and she didn’t even understand why.

  * * *

  MIKE HAD TROUBLE SLEEPING FOR a lot of reasons, not least that the twin bed was too small for him. He’d had to untuck the sheet so his feet could hang over at the bottom, and when he flung out an arm it didn’t come down on the mattress. Then there was the fact that this was Sicily’s bed. He felt like an intruder. He kept thinking about her—wondering where she was, whether she was sleeping, how she’d feel if she knew there were an interloper in her room.

  Mostly, there was Beth.

  He’d wanted to make a move on her like he’d never wanted anything in his life. He’d told her the truth earlier, when he said she didn’t look good. Yeah, he could see the strain on her face, the exhaustion; the bones were even more prominent now. None of which seemed to stop him from reacting to her like a randy teenager. And there’d been a moment there, when her cheeks turned pink, when he’d again become aware that, despite everything, she was breathtakingly beautiful—if only to him.

  He lay sprawled on his back, hands clasped under his head, and tried to concentrate on today’s events and what he had to do tomorrow, not on the fact that his body still hummed with desire. Eventually he began to relax. Yeah, good, he thought, on the edge of sleep.

  He must have fallen over that edge, because when he snapped awake he knew he’d been roused from sleep.

  He reached for his weapon even as he otherwise lay still, waiting to hear a repeat of whatever it was that had woken him quicker than any alarm could. And there it was…a whimper. It sounded eerily like a child. A hurt child.

  Oh, damn. He was on his feet and crossing the hall before he knew he intended to move. It came again, the most pitiful noise he’d ever heard. It raised the hair on his nape.

  He paused long enough to snap on the hall light so that he could make his way to her bed by its illumination. And see her. He needed to see her.

  For an instant he thought it was a child in her bed, and then knew why. She was curled into the smallest ball he’d ever seen a person get into. Only the top of her head showed. When he sat down beside her and gently touched her, he discovered she lay facedown with her knees drawn up beneath her, her elbows pinned to her sides and her hands balled beneath her. She shook all over but was quiet, so quiet. Until another betraying moan, stifled against the pillow, escaped.

  “Beth. Sweetheart.” He moved his hand up and down her back. When that produced no reaction at all, he thought, What the hell, lifted the covers and got into bed with her. He gathered her against him, turning her so that her knees dug into his belly and his body was spooned around her.

  She stiffened more. He hadn’t thought it was possible.

  “Sweetheart. Wake up. You’re okay. You’re dreaming, that’s all. You’re okay. Come on, love.”

  She gave a little gasp.

  He kept repeating those words over and over. There was never a moment when he knew she’d awakened and was listening to him. It was more that her muscles gradually eased, the tight clench of her body opening up. He had to shift to let her straighten her legs, then regathered her so that her head rested on his shoulder. That was when he discovered her face was wet. God. She’d been crying in her sleep. He wiped her cheek and let his shoulder soak up the rest of the tears.

  “That’s it,” he murmured. “I won’t let anybody hurt you. I promise. You’re safe. It was only a dream.”

  He could make out the contours of her face, even though the pale path of light didn’t touch the bed. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes closed. Her breath, which he realized had been too shallow and fast, had become deep and slow. Did she even know he was here?

  Mike gave brief thought to her reaction in the morning at waking to find a nearly naked man in her bed, but he didn’t seriously consider letting her go. He liked having her in his arms. Her breath on his chest, the scent of her hair sweetening the air he breathed. He’d stayed tonight because he was worried about her, and he’d sleep better himself with her close. Especially now that he’d seen her regress, in the throes of her nightmare, to the child who’d had to squeeze herself into a tight, dark space to hide, who’d learned to cry silently
but who must, sometimes, have been betrayed by those smallest of whimpers.

  He could feel all her bones, but also the soft press of a breast against him. She wriggled briefly, and her hand found its way onto his chest, where it momentarily flexed as if surprised by this unknown surface, made a tiny circular, rubbing motion, then relaxed in contentment.

  I’m a goner, he realized with resignation and something else that could be happiness, if she were willing to let it be.

  * * *

  BETH RARELY SET AN ALARM CLOCK. She didn’t sleep well enough or long enough to need one. She’d wanted to get up early to move the wet clothes to the dryer so Mike could shower and get dressed rather than padding around her house in his shorts.

  She didn’t wake suddenly. A vague knowledge of how comfortable she was, how warm, floated into her awareness. Maybe she could go back to sleep. She was so cozy, felt so good. She had a brief fantasy that she was a puppy, sleeping with a heap of litter-mates piled against their mommy, whose heartbeat was strong and steady in her ear. She was smiling, a silly smile that froze on her face. She would swear…there was a heartbeat beneath her ear.

  Abruptly and completely awake, Beth discovered that she was snuggled up to a very large, solid and male body. Her head was pillowed on him, his arm wrapped securely around her, and her arm lay across his belly, with her hand nestled in his chest hair.

  She lay there trying to figure out what had happened. They hadn’t had sex. Had they? She’d remember that. Of course she would. She knew he’d gone to bed in Sicily’s room. So…what happened?

  She could ask…but that would mean waking him up. And that would be…exposing herself to too much temptation.