by Terry Odell
“I didn’t see it,”
She had to start paying more attention. She tried to remember what she’d seen of the pickup yesterday. It had been at the top of the driveway. A dark color, she thought. But dusty. Like almost every vehicle in the parking lot, hers included. Glancing around, she saw pickups, pickups, and more pickups. And SUVs. Lots of SUVs. Her little sedan was the outsider. She’d have to think about replacing it. Another time. She steered through the rows of vehicles, searching for a pickup truck holding a redheaded little boy.
When she didn’t find one, she swung around to the edge of the lot where the dog sat. He did look a lot like the one she’d seen yesterday. She pulled into a slot. Will buzzed down the window. “Chester?”
The dog responded with a whine. “See, Mom. He knows his name. That’s Chester, all right.”
Elizabeth realized the dog was leashed to a tree, but his water dish was out of reach. Reluctantly, she got out of the car to move the dish closer, Will at her heels.
“Why is he tied up like that?” Will asked.
“Because it’s against the law to let a dog roam free down here.”
Elizabeth spun at the deep male voice behind her. Grinch stood there, a collection of plastic Walmart bags in one hand. Dylan stood at his side, holding the other.
She sucked in a breath. The man moved like a phantom.
Grinch set the bags down and went to the dog. “What did you do, boy? Run around the tree? Not smart. Sit.” Grinch unclipped the leash from Chester’s collar. After unwinding it from the tree, he secured the dog again, then returned to Dylan, who grabbed his hand.
“Thanks for your concern,” Grinch said. “I’ll bet Chester thought he could catch a squirrel and got tangled up.”
Avoiding his gaze, she said, “See, Will. Everything’s all right. We’d better get going.”
* * * * *
Grinch recognized the frightened-rabbit look in Elizabeth’s eyes. After Jinx’s call last night, her reactions when he’d shown up made more sense. He gave her his best “everything’s fine” smile—the one he used when he was rescuing a hostage on a Blackthorne op. Not that he had much practice. More often than not, he was making sure the helo was ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Dalton and Hotshot—they were the up-close-and-personal guys.
Elizabeth hadn’t met his eyes. She took her son’s arm and tried to sidestep around him. He faked one of those “trying to get around you, but we keep moving the same way” dance jigs and smiled again. “Sorry. I wanted to thank you for what you did for Dylan yesterday.”
Now she met his eyes, and he almost felt the daggers she shot at him. “Any mother would have done it.” Her expression softened a little and she lowered her gaze to Dylan. She brushed her fingertips across his forehead. “How are you feeling, slugger?”
Grinch expected Dylan to hide his face, but he gave Elizabeth a shy smile. “Better. Not all better yet, but mostly better.”
Elizabeth’s kid had gone straight to Chester. He knelt beside the dog, rubbing his ears. Chester quivered, focused on Grinch.
“Okay, boy. Good dog,” Grinch said. “Clear.”
With the release command, Chester jumped up and licked Will’s face. Will giggled, Chester rolled over for a belly rub, and Dylan gazed up at Grinch as if he, too, needed a release command. Grinch patted the boy’s rump. “Go on.”
“Boys and dogs,” he said to Elizabeth.
She looked over her shoulder at the three of them. When she turned to him, her expression was bordering on friendly. The border was as wide as the Rio Grande, but the open hostility was gone. As was the fear. Wary yes, but no longer frightened.
“Has Dylan stopped vomiting?” she asked.
Grinch nodded. He lifted his shopping bags. “Thermometer, Gatorade, honey, bread.” He paused, and she gave an approving nod. “And of course, the biggie. Chicken soup. Plain, with rice, with noodles—every shape known to man, including alphabet.”
“That should fix him right up.” She rewarded him with half a smile.
If he was supposed to keep eyes on the Parkers, he’d better start climbing out of the pit he’d dug himself into yesterday. “I took his temp in the store. It was under a hundred. That’s good—I mean, better than yesterday—isn’t it? Should I give him some aspirin? Or Tylenol? There were too many choices. I bought a bottle of each, just to be sure.”
Her smile widened a notch. “I’d say you’ve covered all the bases. Fever is nature’s way of fighting infection. Helps cook the bugs. Plus, since his stomach was upset, it was smart that you didn’t give him anything.”
“You saying I wasted my money?”
“Probably not. Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.”
She scanned the parking lot, glanced toward the boys again, then shook her head. Although she was following the conversation, there was a distracted air about her. Like a rabbit, making sure there were no coyotes around. Her gaze darted back and forth. Boys, him, parking lot.
Grinch’s stomach clenched when he saw the way Dylan had situated himself, barely within petting distance of Chester. Dylan’s attention seemed torn between Will, Chester, and Grinch, making sure he was still there.
Take it easy. These things take time. And the kid doesn’t feel a hundred percent.
Will giggled, and Elizabeth’s attention snapped that way. “Will, don’t get rough.”
“Aw, Mom. We’re having fun. Chester wants to play.”
A red Ford F-250 pickup slowed as it drove by, and Elizabeth followed it with her gaze. She stiffened. Her lips flattened. “We have to get the groceries home. And Dylan probably needs to rest.” The latter was delivered with a semi-accusatory glance Grinch’s way.
He swallowed a retort. He’d spent the morning coddling the child, who’d freaked every time the phone rang. Hell, Grinch had hardly been able to hit the head, much less check his email. Hotshot was on an op, but Harper had given him some tips on kid-care. However, any lengthy conversations with Jinx about Grinch’s new “assignment” would have to wait.
Right now, playing with Will and Chester was the first time there’d been more than six inches between himself and Dylan in a day. He’d needed supplies, but he’d waited until he was sure the boy felt well enough for a quick trip to the store, and yet he sensed she thought he was screwing up again.
“You’re right.” He motioned to his son. “Dylan, let’s go home.”
The boy leaped to his feet and rushed to Grinch’s side. Did he think he’d be left behind? Grinch scooped him up, stroking his hair. “I’ll wash the pajamas and drop them and the blanket off tomorrow,” he said to Elizabeth.
“No hurry.” He felt her gaze as he buckled Dylan into his seat. He shifted his eyes in her direction. She averted her face, but not before he saw a light flush rise to her cheeks.
“Buckle up, Will,” she said, perhaps louder than necessary.
Damn, he needed more from Jinx. Had Elizabeth been given a new life because someone had called in a favor from Horace Blackthorne, or was there more to it? Was she in danger? Or her son? Or both?
All Jinx had made clear in his abbreviated call was that Grinch couldn’t play his hand—not yet. If Elizabeth thought she was being watched, she’d bolt, and it was easier to keep eyes on targets if they stayed put. And from what he’d seen of her behavior so far, she was definitely the bolting type. He waited until she pulled out, then slid his pickup in behind her.
“Did you have fun with Will?” he asked Dylan, hoping to draw the boy out a little more. Kids were resilient, everyone said. He’d screwed up by leaving him with a sitter—how could a scared five-year-old understand that Grinch had been called out to extract a victim of a rockslide? Especially if he’d been coming down with the bug.
What’s done is done. Move on.
He reached over and patted Dylan’s leg. “You decided what kind of soup you want? How about alphabet? Or stars? You’re my star, you know.”
Dylan’s “okay”
was delivered with a noncommittal shrug.
“Then we’ll go with the stars.”
Ahead, Elizabeth’s sedan hugged the curves. Great for summer driving, but she’d need something better equipped to handle the mountains in winter—unless she didn’t mind staying home for days on end. With a kid, she’d want to be mobile.
His eyes flicked toward his rearview mirror. The red F-250. The same one that had triggered Elizabeth’s tension in the Walmart parking lot. He tried to catch the plate, but red mud obscured it. Convenient? Or normal? What with water restrictions making it illegal to wash your car at home, dusty and muddy cars were the norm.
He studied the plate and made a mental note of the best approximation of the plate. He hadn’t been on an op for a while, but taking precautions was like riding a bike. He thought about teaching them to Elizabeth. Discreetly. Maybe as a game to play with Will.
They approached Elizabeth’s house. She turned into her drive. Will stuck his hand out the window and waved. Dylan waved back. And smiled.
The red F-250 stayed with Grinch as he drove past.
Chapter 5
With her purchases put away and Will happily test driving his new art supplies, Elizabeth sat with a cup of herbal tea and the new paperback she’d picked up. She’d earned a break. Two chapters in, she set the book aside. What had possessed her to pick up a suspense thriller? She was already on edge. She should have gone for the romance. At least in those books, someone had a happily-ever-after.
Her phone rang and she jumped. She definitely should have gone for the romance. And who knew she was here? Her mind whisked through the possibilities as she crossed the room for the phone.
The caller identified himself as the driver of the moving van, saying he would be there Monday—the day after tomorrow—between ten and two.
“Thanks.” After giving the driver directions, Elizabeth stared at the almost-barren room. Furniture would go a long way toward making this feel like home.
Grace had set everything up. Finding the rental, dealing with the property management company. Elizabeth had let her make the decisions—at the time, she was too worried about being found to care what kind of furniture would be in the house. Grace had promised to send the basics, saying the owners would give her the option to take it with her if she moved, or leave it for the next tenant.
Elizabeth recalled Will’s words, asking if they could live here forever. She was afraid that for her, there was no such thing—at least not in the foreseeable future.
She was hoping for a couple of years before she’d have to move again. Hot tears stung, not for her plight, not for a life constantly pulling up stakes, but for Will having to deal with it.
Victor didn’t like losing. And even though he’d barely paid attention to Will after his surgery, she knew Victor—he’d never tolerate someone making off with something that belonged to him. Like his son.
Of course, he considered her another one of his possessions. And if he ever found out what else she’d taken from him … .
Her “To Do” list grew again. “Safe Deposit Box.” Or would that be a way for someone to trace her? No. Not unless they found her. And even if they did, they couldn’t get into the box. Not while she was alive, anyway.
She shuddered at the thought.
Will ran into the room, waving his latest creation. He stopped short. “Are you sad again, Mom?”
She shook her head, blinking away any remnants of tears. “No, I was thinking. Show me what you drew.”
He grinned proudly and handed her the page. “It’s Chester.”
“It certainly is. This is great.”
“See how I blended the colors? Those new pencils are cool. ”
She tousled his hair. “So is the artist using them.”
“Can I give it to Dylan?”
Which would mean another encounter with Grinch. “You know, Chester lives with Dylan, so he can see him all the time. Why don’t we put this on the fridge instead?”
Will considered her words for a moment. “Okay. I’ll draw something else for him then. Do you think he’d like a picture of Reggie?”
The puppy Will had had to leave behind. He sounded as though he’d accepted the separation. She studied his expression, which was quizzical, not regretful. No point in saying no. He’d just come up with something else. Maybe she’d find Grinch’s address and mail it to him.
“I’m sure he would.”
Will scampered off.
Elizabeth scouted through the kitchen drawers in search of a magnet or tape for the fridge door. Neither appeared. She started a new shopping list. In the meantime, she propped the picture on the fireplace mantel. She’d hardly paid attention to the dog, wasn’t sure she’d be able to pick him out of a canine lineup of spotted dogs, yet Will had no trouble recreating his image.
Could he draw people as well? She toyed with the idea of asking him to draw the man in the red cap, then quickly dismissed it. At least until she figured out a way to ask him without him sensing the reason behind it. He was too well-tuned in to her emotional state. She couldn’t stand the idea of him living in fear.
Tires crunched on gravel. Her heart thumped. A dusty SUV wheeled down her drive. Was it the same one that had passed her on the road this morning? She crossed the room, flattened herself against the wall, alongside the window. Straining to see the driver, she tried to slow her breathing, to hear something other than the blood pounding in her ears.
The car door opened. Elizabeth gripped the edge of the curtain. Sweat filmed her palms. The open car door blocked her view of the occupant. She waited. For the first time in her life, she considered buying a gun.
As if she’d shoot someone. She thought of Will. No, she didn’t want a gun in the house. She eyed the kitchen island across the room. That’s where she should be, surrounded by knives and heavy pans.
The car door closed. She peered out the window, forcing herself to pay attention to details. A portly woman, silver-blue hair in a too-tight perm, wearing a mid-calf-length denim skirt, a long-sleeved white blouse, and a long patchwork vest strode toward the porch in sensible black slip-on walking shoes. A cheery smile on her face, a large wicker basket over her arm, she climbed the wooden steps and knocked on the door.
Elizabeth wiped her palms on her jeans and finger-combed her hair.
You’re a normal, everyday mom. Smile.
She reached for the knob, then caught herself. “Who’s there?”
“Norma Fitzsimmons. I’m with the neighborhood hospitality committee.”
Elizabeth took a breath. To refuse to open the door wouldn’t fit the image she had to project. Cautious was one thing. Paranoid was another. She pulled the door open. “Hello.”
“Welcome to the neighborhood.” The woman handed Elizabeth a card identifying herself as part of the homeowners’ association. Not that it would have been hard to fake one, but Elizabeth figured the odds were against this woman being someone Victor had sent. He wasn’t clever enough.
“Please, come in.” Elizabeth motioned her inside. “We don’t have much furniture yet, only a few pieces. The couch has seen better days, but please, take a seat.”
Norma smoothed her skirt, then sat, holding the basket in her lap. Settling down on the opposite end of the couch, Elizabeth smiled. Waited. Tried not to visualize this grandmotherly woman reaching into the basket and pulling out a gun.
Elizabeth vowed to throw that suspense thriller away as soon as Norma left.
Norma set the basket on the couch between them. “There are some coupons for goods and services from local merchants, to help you get to know the community.” Her gaze darted around the room, obviously taking in its emptiness, and she gave Elizabeth an indulgent smile. “I highly recommend Danny’s Diner. They’ve got a certificate for a free meal, delivery included. The chicken piccata is excellent. Moving is enough work without having to cook every night.”
No, Victor was absolutely not clever enough to have sent this woman. “Thanks so mu
ch.”
Norma gazed around the room once more. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything in the way of furniture stores up here. But there’s an excellent one in the Springs. Well worth the drive.”
“Not a problem. Our furniture will be arriving Monday.”
“Excellent.” Norma reached into the basket and pulled out a small pink cardboard box. “And these are my favorite cookies. To die for, if I do say so myself. Never hurts to reward yourself with something decadent.”
Elizabeth took the box. A sticker with Fitzsimmons Fine Foods on the top explained the twinkle in Norma’s eyes. “Did you make these?”
Norma gave a quiet sigh. “No, but it’s my recipe. Kitchen work has gotten to be too much.” She held up her bony hands. “Arthritis. My son and his wife have carried on, though, and I do pop in from time to time. My husband works there three times a week.”
Elizabeth echoed Norma’s sigh. A family business. Not in the cards for her. “I’ll be sure to stop by.”
Norma smiled. “Kids get a free cookie. You have a son, don’t you?”
How would she know that? Elizabeth’s mind buzzed. Of course. Rhonda the Realtor knew, and probably reported it to the neighborhood association, where, if this was like any typical small town, the news would have spread. She swallowed away the dryness in her throat. Any mom would be willing to share that information. “Yes. He’s eight.”
Norma smiled. “He’ll be starting third grade?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Excellent. He’ll love Mrs. Kendall. Enrollment starts in August.”
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to take care of it.” Elizabeth shifted her gaze toward the door in hopes Norma would finish her spiel and leave.
Which was probably not the way a newcomer should behave. She shoved herself into her new role. “Would you like some tea, Mrs. Fitzsimmons? I can open the cookies.”
“It’s Norma. And no thank you on the tea. Inviting as it sounds, I have another appointment.”
Elizabeth hoped her relief didn’t show. Pretending to be hospitable and being hospitable weren’t the same game. “Please don’t let me keep you.”
