"What are you saying? That Richard proposed to me to spite you? To beat you?"
"Think about it. Richard was obsessed with winning. He couldn't bear to lose, not ever. But particularly to me."
"No." Kate shook her head, the color draining from her face. "That's not the way it was. He proposed because he loved me. Because, just like he said, he didn't want to… to…"
Her words trailed off; Luke smiled. "He didn't want to lose you. Isn't that what you had been about to say?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Think back to the times Richard and I almost came to blows over things as inconsequential as tennis matches or hands of poker-to the competition over grades. He was not about to be bested by me, poor scholarship student, worthless dreamer. I know how he laughed about my dreams of being a novelist." Luke leaned across the table, eyes narrowed. "Who's laughing now?"
"It's not true," she whispered, eyes bright with tears. "That's the way you might have felt, but not Richard."
"How can you look me in the eye and lie this way?"
"He's my husband. We have a good marriage. A happy one. Marrying me had nothing to do with some adolescent competition with you."
"Whatever gets you through the night, babe."
This time it was Kate who stood, who prepared to leave. And Luke who grabbed her hand, stopping her. He looked her dead in the eyes. "And what about you, Kate? Did you say yes to Richard because you loved him? Or because you loved the cushy future you would have with him?"
"Let me go."
"Not until you answer me."
"Why are you doing this?"
"You wanted honesty, sweetheart. You wanted to dredge up the past. Well, here it is, in all its glory."
For a moment she simply stared at him. In her eyes he saw her hurt, that he had wounded her deeply. He felt a moment of regret. In that moment he wished he could take it back, all of it, every word.
Then he reminded himself of the way she had used him, and he firmed his resolve. He dropped his hand. "See, sometimes the past is better left alone."
"Yes," she whispered, "I do see now. I won't trouble you again." She collected her things, then lifted her baby carrier. She met his eyes once more. "You never used to be mean, Luke. You are now. I'm sorry about that."
"Haven't you heard? Nice guys finish last."
"You were never last in my book, Luke. Never."
And then she walked away, out of his life, head held high. Luke watched her go, ignoring the feeling of loss that settled over him, the urge to chase after her.
Kate Ryan was now a permanent part of his past.
27
Late that afternoon, exhausted and heartsick, Kate arrived home. Richard was still out, thank goodness. She didn't know what she was going to say to him about today, about her meeting with Luke.
She sighed and dropped her keys onto the entryway table, shifting her sleeping daughter in her arms. Richard had assumed she was going into The Bean; she hadn't told him otherwise. If he had known about her plans, he would have been angry and jealous, he would have insisted she not go.
Kate sighed. She had been so certain she was doing the right thing, so certain that tonight she would be telling Richard how she had repaired the rift in her, Luke's and his friendship, certain that she would be feeling so pleased and proud of herself.
Now, she wished she had told him. Now, she felt like a fool. An optimistic, naive idiot. Some things couldn't be changed. They couldn't be made better by time or good intentions. Just as some wounds never healed, they festered instead.
Emma whimpered and snuggled closer to Kate's shoulder, trying to get comfortable. It had been a long day for them both, Kate thought, carrying Emma to her nursery. She laid her carefully in the crib, then as quietly as possible, raised the guard rail. Through it all, Emma didn't even stir.
Kate drew in a deep, shuddering breath and curled her fingers around the crib rail, gazing down at her sleeping daughter, at her beautiful, peaceful face. It wasn't true, what Luke had said to her about Richard's reason for proposing to her. They had been married for ten years. They were happy. They had a good marriage. The kind built on love, not on some juvenile competition. He took his wedding vows seriously, just as she did.
Kate turned away from the crib and busied herself straightening the nursery. She had left in such a hurry that morning, she hadn't had a chance to clean up from her and Emma's play.
She bent, collecting the rattles, shakers and stuffies from the play mat, then carried them to the basket she kept for them next to the rocking chair. Her mind drifted once more to her confrontation with Luke, to the things he'd said. And what of herself? she wondered. Had she been motivated by something other than love? By greed, as Luke had suggested?
She dropped the toys into the basket. He thought she was a gold digger. That she had married Richard for his money, for his standing in the community.
Tears pricked at her eyes, and she made a sound of annoyance, struggling to remember, to go back to that thrilling but tumultuous time of her life. To recall her feelings and examine them. All of them. Honestly.
She had loved Richard. She had loved him from the moment she met him. Sure, he had behaved badly sometimes. He'd been young and cocksure and accustomed to having his way. And yes, he had broken her heart more than once.
But even with his faults, she had longed to marry him; she had prayed he would ask her. Because dating him had been thrilling. Because most of the time, he had been charming and attentive, fun-loving and generous. He had made her feel special. And cared for.
Had his money, his affluence and influential family colored her feelings for him? Sure they had, Kate admitted. How could they not? They were a part of who Richard was. That didn't mean she hadn't loved him. It didn't mean she was a gold digger.
Kate crossed to the baby's dresser and began straightening the framed photos and knickknacks that decorated its top. She frowned. Her favorite photo was missing. The one of Richard holding Emma her first day home.
She looked on the floor, behind the dresser, in the crib. When she didn't find it in any of those places, she stopped in the middle of the room, hand on hips, frowning. It had to be here. She had looked at it this morning, after Richard left for the club.
She brought a hand to her head, trying to remember. She and Emma had been in here, playing on the quilt. Richard had come in to say goodbye; she had stood and kissed him. As she had turned to return to Emma, the photograph had caught her eye, and she'd smiled.
So, where was the photo now?
From the hallway outside the nursery came the creak of a floorboard. A soft whoosh, like a soft breath being expelled.
Kate froze, suddenly, completely terrified. She brought a hand to her throat, her mind filling with the image of her bed from that morning, of the indentations in the pillow. Of her lingerie hanger peeking out from under the bed.
She turned slowly to face the doorway. And found it empty. Legs shaking, she crossed to the door and peered out into the hallway. It, too, was empty.
"Richard?" she called. "Is that you?"
Silence answered her. She held her breath, straining to hear the slightest sound, a stirring or a rustle, even as she told herself she was being silly. Old houses creaked. They groaned and sighed.
But photographs didn't go missing on their own. Hangers didn't walk from the closet to the bed.
She wasn't alone.
Heart thundering, Kate crossed to the crib and picked up her daughter, careful not to jostle her. The infant moaned and stirred, then snuggled into Kate, still deeply asleep.
Kate carried her out of the room and toward the front of the house, moving as quietly as she could. She had left the car carrier and diaper bag in the foyer. She reached it and hands shaking, squatted beside the carrier and gently laid Emma in it. She snapped the harness, then stood and turned toward the door.
A man stood just beyond the beveled glass, a dark silhouette against the gathering dusk. She made a sound, h
igh and surprised, and took an involuntary step backward.
"Kate?" The man rapped on the door. "It's Joe, from around the corner."
She brought a trembling hand to her mouth and laughed, feeling both relieved and foolish. Old Joe, as everyone in the neighborhood called him, was eighty if he was a day and more than a bit of a busybody. He was also about as harmless as a person could be.
"You startled me," she said, crossing to the door. She opened it. "I was just leaving."
"Sorry about that." He glanced past her, into the house. "Nothing wrong, is there?"
As he asked the question she realized how silly she had been behaving, how she had let her imagination run away with her. The house creaked and she'd been ready to run for the hills. "Of course not." She laughed again, her cheeks warming. "Come on in."
He stepped across the threshold and glanced around. "Richard's not home from his golf game yet?"
She bit back a smile. "Not yet. He was going into work straight from the course. Did you need to speak to him?"
"Nope." He drew his bushy eyebrows together. "How's the baby?"
"Fine." She motioned toward the carrier. "Sound asleep."
"Sorry to hear the pretty little thing was ill. What did the doctor say?"
Kate shook her head, confused. "She hasn't been… Where'd you hear that, Joe?"
"From your friend. This morning. She said you'd gone to the doctor with the baby."
"Friend?" Kate repeated, searching her memory. "Someone from The Uncommon Bean?"
"The friend who was visiting. She was on your swing, waiting for you to return."
The hair on the back of Kate's neck stood up. "There was a girl on our swing?"
"A pretty young thing. Maybe twenty. She looked mighty surprised when I called out to her." He cocked his head. "I asked her what she was doing in your yard."
The missing photo. The tousled bed.
The sense of being watched. Of not being alone.
Kate began to shake. She worked to hide it from Joe. "What did she say when you confronted her?"
"That she was a friend of yours, visiting from the city. Said you'd taken the baby to the doctor. She didn't say her name, and I figured it was none of my business and didn't ask." He frowned. "Maybe I should have?"
"She wasn't a friend of ours." Kate swallowed hard. "About what time was this, Joe?"
"I was walking Beauregard." He scratched his head. "It was about noon, I suppose."
By noon, she had been in the city and Richard deep into the second nine.
Joe made a sound of frustration. "I knew something about her wasn't right. At the time, though…I mean, she knew your names and that you had a baby. So, I figured she was on the up-and-up. Sorry I didn't do more."
She forced a smile, not wanting to worry him. "I'm sure it was nothing." "That's what I thought. But I just wanted to let you and Richard know, just in case."
"Thank you. I'm glad you did." Kate walked him to the door. She saw Richard's Mercedes pull into the drive. "I feel safer knowing you're in the neighborhood, Joe."
He beamed at her, pleased with himself. "I'll keep my eyes open and let you know if I see her hanging around again."
Kate thanked him once more and said goodbye, then waited at the door for Richard. From down the walk, she heard Richard greet Joe; a moment later he appeared at the door. "Hi, hon." He bent and kissed her. "How was your day? Everything go okay?"
She looked at him, surprised. "Excuse me?"
"The Bean, was business good?"
She stared at him, heart beginning to thrum. She opened her mouth to tell him about her meeting with Luke. Instead, she murmured, "You know The Bean, Saturdays are always good."
As soon as the evasion, the lie it represented was out of her mouth, she regretted it. But to take it back, she feared, would be worse.
Let sleeping dogs lie, she told herself, even as guilty heat crept up her cheeks. Why upset Richard over something that was done and over with?
"Are you all right?" he asked, crossing to the refrigerator for a beer. "You look a little strange."
Tell him about Luke. Tell him now. "Do I?"
"Mmm." He popped the top and brought the beverage to his mouth. "What did Old Joe want?"
Joe. The woman on the swing. The missing photograph. Coming home to change; the feeling of being watched. It all came tumbling out. As she filled him in, her unease returned, her feeling that something was terribly wrong.
"I thought I heard someone in the house, Richard. I'd convinced myself my imagination was playing tricks on me, but now…"
"Is anything besides the photograph missing?" he asked, frowning with concern.
"I…I don't know." She hugged herself. "I was too spooked to look around. Then Old Joe arrived."
He set down his beer, went to his golf bag and pulled out his new Ping putter. He met her eyes, the seriousness of his expression sending a chill down her spine. "If you ever even suspect there's a stranger in the house, get out. Do you understand, Kate? Take Emma and leave. Go to The Bean or a neighbor's and call me or the police."
She nodded, her mouth desert dry, her pulse fast. She was more frightened now, by his concern, than she had been before, alone in the house. "I understand."
"Good. Now, let's take a look around."
Richard, armed with the putter, Kate with Emma in her carrier, they made their way through the house. They went from room to room, looking under beds and in closets, checking the silver, Kate's jewelry, Richard's office.
They found nothing missing or out of place.
Back in the kitchen, Richard slipped the golf club back into the bag. "Well, nothing looks amiss. Was the side door locked when you got home?"
"I don't know." Emma began to stir, sucking in her sleep-a sign that she was not only about to wake up, but that she was hungry. Kate went to the pantry for a can of formula. "I came in the front."
"I'll check it."
A moment later he returned. "Door's locked. Key's in its hiding place."
Kate filled a bottle with the formula, popped it in the microwave, then turned to Richard. "Why would anyone break in only to steal a photograph?"
"Good question. Could you be mistaken? I mean, a hanger on the floor, a few wrinkles in the bed, none are particularly sinister. And we both know, this old house creaks and groans more than a ninety-year-old spinster."
Kate frowned, frustrated. The truth was, at the time it had seemed so real, so chilling. Not at all like her imagination running away with her. But now, it all seemed rather far-fetched. "I'm not usually flighty like that, Richard. You know I've never been one to let my imagination run away with me."
"I know. But you've had a lot on your mind lately. Sleep deprivation has been known to cause some pretty far-out behavior."
Emma picked that moment to wake up and fret; Kate lifted her out of her carrier and crossed to the microwave to retrieve her bottle. He had a point, no doubt about it, though something kept nagging at her as she fed Emma her bottle. Something dark and disturbing. A thought, a fear, more terrifying than any she had ever experienced before.
As she rocked her daughter, gazing down at her perfect face, it grew, took shape. And then she saw the fear for what it was.
That Emma's birth mother had somehow sought them out. Because she wanted Emma back.
By the time she had finished giving Emma her bottle and had changed her into her pajamas, Kate had worked herself into a state of complete terror. Afraid the child would pick up on her distress, she tucked her into her swing, then went in search of Richard.
She found him in the kitchen, seasoning a steak for the grill. "Richard?" She stepped into the room, hands clasped in front of her, barely able to speak so great was her fear.
He looked up, his smile dying when he saw her expression. "What's wrong?"
She hugged herself. "I…I have this terrible feeling, Richard. What if…what if Emma's birth mother has found us? What if she's the one…the one who-" Kate bit the words back,
unable to verbalize her darkest fear. The one that fueled her nightmares and kept her up nights.
"Who what? Broke in and stole the picture of Emma?"
"Yes," she whispered, her voice shaking.
"And why would she have done that?"
"You know." Kate's eyes flooded with tears. "Because she's changed her mind. Because she wants Emma back."
"And she came here today in a bizarre quest to steal Emma away?"
"I couldn't bear to lose her, Richard." Her tears brimmed, then spilled over. "I couldn't."
"Come here." He held out his arms and she moved into them, pressing her cheek to his chest, and he folded his arms tightly around her. "You're being silly, love. That's not going to happen."
"How do you know?" She tilted her head back to meet his eyes, her vision blurred with tears. "How?"
"Because it's not logical." He smiled. "First, she chose a closed adoption. She knows nothing about us, not our names or where we live. Second, if she wanted the baby back, she would go through Citywide. She'd call Ellen, she'd hire a lawyer. Not sneak into our house and lurk about, for God only knows what reason."
He was right, she knew he was. So, why didn't she feel reassured?
"Where's the picture, Richard?"
He chuckled and shook his head. "It got knocked into a drawer. The cleaning service moved it."
"But I looked at it this morning! I know I did."
"You could be mistaken." As she opened her mouth to protest, he laid a finger against her lips. "It'll turn up,
Kate."
"What if it doesn't?"
"We'll take another," he said, amusement coloring his tone. "Or get a copy made of that one. Buy a new frame."
"Very funny." She rested her forehead against his chest a moment, then met his gaze once more. "Earlier today, when I had that feeling I was being watched, that I wasn't alone, it was so creepy, Richard. And then, when Joe told me about that woman…"
She drew in a shuddering breath. "She was the right age. And it just seems like such a coincidence…I mean, what was she doing inside our gate?"
Cause for Alarm Page 15
