Within Range (HQR Intrigue)

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  “Jacob,” she coaxed, “Neil’s been waiting for you to play trucks with him.”

  He wailed.

  What else could she do but leave him? If she didn’t go to work, she’d draw unwanted attention. Anyway, succumbing to his pleas would set a precedent that would come back to bite her. She’d never had to wrench his hands off her, but this morning might be a first.

  “Jacob.” She did her best to sound firm and hide how distraught she felt at his misery. “Honey.” She gave him a small shake. “You like spending your day with Jenna and Neil and Evan. And even Courtney,” she teased.

  He shook his head hard. She thought his tears had slowed.

  “Okay, maybe not Courtney. But she’s not so bad, is she?”

  Jacob didn’t yet care whether his friends were girls or boys. But Courtney, almost four years old, was bossy. According to Jenna, most of the time the three boys did what Courtney ordered them to do, because she was good at organizing games. Helen could tell that Jacob, at least, felt a glimmer of resentment.

  “We’re having macaroni and cheese for lunch today,” Jenna said, smiling. “And ice-cream sandwiches.”

  Sniffling, he wiped his wet cheeks on Helen’s blouse. Oh, well. She was a mother. It was a rare day she made it to work unwrinkled and completely stain free.

  At last, he reluctantly let Helen go and took Jenna’s hand. Walking out, she suspected that he’d quickly forget he hadn’t wanted her to go and start playing with his friends. If only it was so easy for her.

  The last sight of his woeful expression and puffy, red eyes was sure to stick with her all day.

  And that wasn’t even the worst of it, she thought tensely as she waited in a short line at the bank drive-up ATM. If Richard now knew about Jacob’s existence, everything had changed. Was he safe at the home day care? Most of the time Jenna kept the doors locked, but toward the end of the day, the door was open for the pickups.

  Would Jenna not want to keep Jacob if Helen talked to her about being extra careful because she was concerned about her ex-husband?

  She withdrew three hundred dollars and pulled out of the bank parking lot, only to immediately get stuck at a red light. Her gaze flicked to the dashboard clock. She should have waited to do her errand after work.

  As if the inside of her head was a pinball machine, her thoughts bounced back to Jacob. If she intended to stay in town, she could move him to a larger day care. Except he would always be vulnerable while she was at work.

  Plus, if he didn’t want to be left at Jenna’s, imagine if she tried to drop him off mornings at a strange place full of adults and kids he didn’t know! No, she couldn’t do that to him. But, oh God, what if...?

  Don’t think about it.

  By the time she reached her office, stowed her purse in a drawer and responded to an instant message from her boss, her facade of calm felt paper-thin.

  * * *

  BY MIDMORNING, SETH had completed background searches on Andrea’s husband and several of her coworkers. He’d made good progress looking at her closest friends, too, as well as their husbands. Dean Ziegler; the fact that he and Andrea were both married to other people didn’t mean they hadn’t hooked up. Maybe she was trying to break it off and Ziegler didn’t like that. Seth had to seriously consider him, given that he owned Helen’s rental house and presumably had kept a key.

  But so far, the only search that had raised red flags for Seth was the one he’d done on Helen Marie Boyd.

  To all appearances, she’d emerged naked from the sea, as in Botticelli’s painting, The Birth of Venus.

  Damn it, he had to quit thinking about her that way.

  Supposedly, she’d lived and worked last in California. If so, she had had still been using her married name. That was assuming Boyd was her maiden name. That would explain the giant blank where her history ought to be.

  Seth just didn’t believe in either possibility, in part because he had failed to find a divorce including that name in any Southern California county.

  He also couldn’t forget the turmoil he saw in her eyes. The darkness he guessed was fear. There could be a lot of reasons for that, especially after she found the dead woman in her kitchen. Even before he pointed out Andrea’s resemblance to Helen, she’d thought about the possibility another woman had died in her place. He’d put money on it.

  Why did he suspect she was as afraid of him because of the badge he wore as she was of whatever trouble followed her?

  Irritated at himself, Seth shook his head. The fact that he was a cop might not have anything to do with her lack of trust. She didn’t know him. It was equally possible that she’d been living in a gray area legally.

  He brooded for a good ten minutes before deciding all he could do was show up on her doorstep over and over and over again, until she did know him.

  * * *

  HE RANG HER doorbell at six forty, figuring she and her boy would have eaten by now.

  Her car was there in the driveway, but he didn’t hear a sound until the door abruptly opened and she appeared, arms crossed, looking less than happy. “I told you I wouldn’t talk to you again without my lawyer being present.”

  He lifted the bag he carried in his left hand. “I come bearing gifts this time.”

  She didn’t so much as glance at the bag. “You’ve asked me a million questions already.”

  “I have,” he agreed. “Fair warning—you won’t get rid of me until I figure out who killed Andrea Sloan.”

  “Because you think I did it.”

  He frowned. She hadn’t believed his previous reassurances. “No, I actually don’t, but I do believe you’re part of the answer.”

  Her eyes flickered, shadows falling where they hadn’t been an instant before. After a moment, she opened the door wider and stepped back.

  He hid his relief. She was well within her rights to insist on that lawyer, but was apparently relenting. It was also possible she couldn’t afford to hire any attorney worth having, but had thought the threat would be enough.

  “You shouldn’t open the door without knowing who wants in,” he said as he walked in.

  “I peeked out the window.”

  “You might want to get a peephole installed. The better ones give you a good view of your porch while you’re standing several feet back from the door.”

  Helen gave a wry look over her shoulder as she led him to the kitchen. “While I’m at it, why not have surround the house with barbed-wire fencing?”

  Seth cleared his throat. “That might be a little extreme.”

  “Mommy?” Wearing denim overalls and a miniature, bright red cowboy hat, her son popped out of his room down the hall. Seeing Seth, he grinned and raced toward them, skidding to a stop at the last minute to grip his mom’s leg.

  “Jacob.” Seth smiled down at him. “I like the hat.”

  The boy swept it off and held it out to Seth.

  “I don’t think it would fit me.” Seth took it and settled it back on Jacob’s head. Then he tipped up the brim with one finger. “There. Get along, partner.”

  “Giddyup!” The kid galloped down the hall, then back, giggling by the time he reached them.

  “Have you eaten yet?” Seth asked.

  Her brown eyes widened. “I’m afraid so. That’s not what—” She nodded at the bag.

  “No, but I’m hoping you haven’t had d-e-s-s-e-r-t.”

  “You’re trying to bribe me.”

  “You’d be doing me a favor to take this off my hands,” he lied.

  Helen rolled her eyes. “Let’s see what you have.”

  “Actually,” he said, taking the lidded plastic container out of the bag and setting it on the counter, “this is courtesy of my father. A couple of ladies in his neighborhood are constantly baking goodies for him. He grumbled that he had to let out his belt a notch just last week.
” Seth peeled off the lid. “Tiramisu cheesecake and oatmeal raisin cookies.”

  She peered in at the cheesecake, already sliced, and the dozen or so cookies. “I accept.”

  A minute later, Jacob sat in his high chair to eat his cookie and drink milk from his sippy cup. Helen poured coffee for herself and Seth, and served the cheesecake on plates.

  She slipped a first bite into her mouth and made a humming sound, obviously savoring the sugary treat before she finally swallowed. “Have you tasted this?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “No,” he said, a little hoarsely.

  “If I were your father, I’d marry the woman who made this.”

  Seth gave a rough chuckle. “She drives Dad crazy. Anyway, as far as I can tell, he’s not interested in remarrying.”

  “Really?” Her forehead furrowed. “Are your parents divorced?” Helen made a sound that was too sharp to be a laugh. “Wow. Listen to me, pretending you’re not here to interrogate me. And eating your food.” She pushed her plate away.

  “Please.” Without thinking, he covered her hand with his. “I didn’t want to take all this home. I thought you and Jacob could enjoy it. Please,” he repeated, looking from her face to his hand, still resting on hers. He felt quivering tension and the fineness of the bones beneath his fingertips and palm.

  Damn.

  He pulled his hand back. What kind of idiot was he? That she, too, slipped occasionally into thinking of him as a man rather than a detective didn’t help, only heightening his awareness of her.

  This moment, he absolutely could not tell what she was thinking. She did pull the plate back toward her and, after a tiny hesitation, resume eating.

  Breaking the tension, Jacob demanded, and got, another cookie. Seth asked what he’d done today, then tried to piece the answer together from an indignant insistence that Neil had hit him, but Jenna told a story with puppets and they ate mac cheese and he didn’t want to go to Jenna’s today, he wanted to stay with Mommy. At least, that’s what Seth thought he’d said. Some of his words were clear, some incomprehensible, although Seth could tell the boy’s mother understood every one.

  At last Helen lifted him to the floor. While she was still bent over, he whispered something.

  She ran her hand gently over his head and smiled, her face softening. “Yes, you may play with your animals for a few minutes, but then it will be bedtime.”

  He scampered away, her gaze following him. The tenderness changed to worry.

  “Usually, he loves his day care, but today he cried and refused to let me go. It was...really hard.”

  Before Seth could offer sympathy, she set down her fork and lifted her chin. “Can we get this over with? I have to get Jacob ready for bed, and fold laundry, and—”

  “I get it,” he said gruffly. We are not friends. “You said you lived in Hollywood.”

  “North Hollywood,” she corrected.

  “Okay.” He leaned back. “Were you still married then?”

  She became very still, only her eyes vividly alive. Before he could prod her, though, she exclaimed, “What difference does it make?”

  “I need to know you if I’m to find out what connects you and Andrea.”

  “But...I didn’t meet her until I arrived here in Lookout.” Helen’s bewilderment appeared genuine. “If she ever lived in California, she didn’t say so to me.”

  They went back and forth. She didn’t want to tell him any specifics. Not her former employer, sure as hell not her ex-husband’s name, although she did imply the move here came on the heels of the split from her spouse.

  “I don’t want any contact with him,” she repeated stubbornly.

  “Because he might try to take Jacob from you?”

  “No!” She tried to sear him with her eyes, but mostly Seth thought she was afraid. “I’ve already told you all this! He never wanted children. It’s me—”

  “He didn’t want to let you go,” he said slowly, his protective instincts firing up at the very idea of her being terrorized by any man.

  “No,” she whispered. “At the end, he said he’d kill me if I tried to leave him. I had to get away and hide before I could get legal help to divorce him.”

  Seth forced himself to take a mental step back. He still couldn’t be sure there was a brutal, possessive ex-husband at all. The possibility existed that she was really afraid of him, the detective who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “How did you escape him?” he asked.

  “I went to a battered women’s shelter,” she said with such dignity, he felt chastened.

  Or was manipulated a better word?

  Damn, it was hard to hold on to his usual detachment.

  “I can check out this man’s whereabouts without drawing attention to you. I promise,” he said. “All I need is a name.”

  Helen pressed her lips together and glared at him.

  “It doesn’t make you even a little nervous that a woman who looks a lot like you was murdered a few days ago here in your kitchen?” He turned in his chair, zeroing in on a stretch of the vinyl floor. “Right about there, if I remember right.”

  Her gaze followed his, her expression suddenly stricken.

  Feeling like a ruthless bastard, Seth waited.

  “You don’t understand,” she said softly.

  He kept his own voice quiet. “But I want to.”

  Her eyes met his, so much hurt in them he dreaded seeing.

  “I can’t take a chance. I just can’t.”

  The flat finality of her statement had him studying her. What was really going on here? The battered-woman scenario worked in some ways, but not in others. It took a strong woman to tell a detective to his face that she wasn’t going to cooperate in his investigation. She had no trouble ordering him to get out when she’d had enough.

  And yet, he did believe she was genuinely afraid. Of something.

  After a minute, he nodded. “I’ll leave you in peace, then.” He paused. “For tonight.”

  Her eyes dilated.

  “Helen, you can’t keep your secrets from me. You might as well resign yourself. I’ll find out what I need to know, one way or another.”

  Pale as a ghost, eyes huge and dark, she stared at him as he turned and then left.

  When he got outside to his vehicle, he planted his hands on the roof, let his head fall forward and swore, long and viciously.

  He hated the terrified look in her eyes and couldn’t help wondering why he had gone into law enforcement.

  * * *

  ON TIPTOE, ROBIN stretched to reach for a box on the shelf closet, the one that held her few precious mementos. It was stupid to risk so much for them, she knew that, but recovering even this little bit would feel like a victory, a step toward regaining her dignity. She wasn’t the pathetic creature who’d numbly put up with Richard’s vicious treatment.

  I’m not her. Not anymore.

  She managed to get her fingertips to each side of the box and tug gently so that it inched forward.

  Two minutes, and she’d be out of here.

  The softest of sounds came from behind her, and the hair rose on the back of her neck.

  Before she could whirl, hard hands gripped her from behind.

  “Here you are, right on time,” a man growled. Not Richard. Thank God, not Richard.

  She wrenched free but fell to her knees. Furious, scared. So stupid. She managed to crawl, throw herself toward the bedroom doorway, but he grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back. A knee in the middle of her back drove Robin to the hardwood floor. She was screaming, still fighting. She twisted enough to sink her teeth into the fleshy part of his hand.

  Yelling, he hit her. Momentarily, her vision dimmed, but then she realized the blow had sent her flying toward the bed. Robin kicked behind her, felt her foot connect with some part of her as
sailant’s body. She scrambled almost upright and grabbed the lamp on the bedside table. Not one of the pair she’d chosen, of course; Richard had smashed those and replaced them with obscenely expensive art deco metal-and-stained-glass monstrosities.

  Heavy. She had barely a second to get a good grip. To spin, applying all the force she could muster. To see the lamp base smash into the man’s head. To see the shock on his face, to watch the life leave his eyes, to stand stunned as he crumpled.

  Only now did she see that the bloody face was her ex-husband’s. She shook as she stared down at him. I killed him.

  But then she heard a creak in the hall outside the bedroom. Someone else was here. With her hands trembling, she could hardly hold on to the lamp, yet somehow she lifted it again as if she were a baseball player stepping up to the plate.

  Another creak.

  * * *

  “MOMMY?”

  Muddled, Helen shot up in bed. It wasn’t Richard there that night. It wasn’t. So why did she always see his dead face?

  Shaking off the sticky web of sleep, she focused on the small shape hovering beside the bed. Jacob.

  She couldn’t let her little boy see her crying. Oh, God. She pulled up her covers and wiped her cheeks, although she still tasted the salt of tears.

  “Jacob? What’s wrong?”

  “I heard scary sounds.” His voice sounded...soggy. As if he was crying, too.

  “Oh, honey! I’m sorry.” She must have cried out in her nightmare. Please don’t let me have actually screamed. Helen sat up, but didn’t turn on the lamp as she usually would have. Instead, she bent to scoop him up and snuggled them both beneath the covers, where it was warm and felt safe, if only she never slept again, never dreamed. “Better?” she murmured against his head.

  “My room is scary,” he mumbled.

  “Just for tonight, you can sleep with Mommy,” she murmured. “Okay?”

  His head bobbed and he burrowed into her, his knees digging into her stomach. Helen felt another sting of tears at the joy of holding his small, compact body tight. She hadn’t known it was possible to love another person so much. The scariest thing in her world was the idea of losing him.