by Andrea Kane
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No Way Out
By
Andrea Kane
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
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The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that It was reported to the publisher as "unsold and destroyed." Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this "stripped book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Pocket Star Book published by
POCKET BOOKS, a Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
Copyright © 2001 by Andrea Kane
AH rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
This Pocket Books paperback edition December 2007
POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6978 or [email protected]
Front cover illustration by Shasti O'Leary Soudant
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-5485-1
ISBN-10: 1-4165-5485-8
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To new beginnings—at any age, at any stage— and all the hope and promise they represent
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Acknowledgments
With thanks to the following:
The American Professional Society on the Abuse of Children (APSAC) for their dedication in researching and responding to all facets of child maltreatment: prevention, assessment, intervention, and treatment. Through their network of medical, legal, law enforcement, social service, and research professionals, they ensure that those affected by child mistreatment receive the help they need. Their publications, legal research, and educational training provide an invaluable medium promoting public awareness of the complexities of child maltreatment.
Teachers everywhere, both those I interviewed and the thousands I couldn't, for nurturing, educating, and protecting our greatest gifts—our children.
Dr. Hillel Ben-Asher, for medical consultation given with unfailing patience and incomparable wisdom.
And the greatest brainstorming partners anywhere—my family. You define teamwork, and I love you.
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1
April 14
Leaf Brook Mall
Westchester County, New York
Wrong place. Wrong time.
She had to get out of here.
Julia gritted her teeth as she fought the crowd surging back and forth through the mall. She shoved her way to the door leading to the twelve-story parking garage. Wall-to-wall people. Everything was called a grand opening. This felt more like Mardi Gras in New Orleans.
Coming here today had been stupid. The Stratfords were enveloped by spectators, surrounded by members of the press. And the mayor was flanked by his father and brother—a clear message that the Stratfords represented a unified front. Even Julia's desperation hadn't been enough to get her through. She'd have to find another way.
Taking an elevator wasn't an option. There was already a huge line waiting, and as each car opened, Julia could see they were all filled to capacity. The stairwell wasn't much better, but it was her only choice. She scaled each level as quickly as she could, wincing as the deejay's music rocked the concrete walls and vibrated through her head.
Eventually, the throngs of people began to thin out and the music started to fade as she put more distance between herself and the celebration. She was worried sick and frustrated as hell. If what she suspected was true, then an hourglass was running out. It was up to her to stop the flow of the sand.
She exited the stairwell on the eleventh floor, where she'd wedged her car into the only available parking space—a space that was far away from the opening-day pandemonium. Reflexively, she groped for her keys as she walked.
The screech of tires was what alerted her.
Her chin came up just as the silver Mercedes blasted around the corner, bearing down on her with lightning speed.
She knew she was its target. She also knew why.
Her hunch had been right. And she was about to be silenced.
A frozen moment of fear paralyzed her. Abruptly, it shattered. A surge of adrenaline jolted through her, and she tried to jump out of the way.
She couldn't make it.
She felt the stunning impact and then a dazed awareness as she was hurled through the air. The concrete floor came rushing up to meet her.
Brian, she thought, shards of pain piercing her skull. Who's going to save Brian?
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2
March 30
Poughkeepsie, New York
"Honey, are you sure you don't want to stay over?" Meredith Talbot asked her daughter as they finished their late-evening cup of coffee at the town's cozy, home-style diner. "You have over an hour's drive back to your apartment. Tomorrow's Saturday. That means your rather isn't scheduled to teach any classes at Vassar, and your elementary school is closed. You can spend the weekend with us."
"Thanks, Mom, but I have to get back." Julia Talbot shot her mother a grateful look, well aware that this invitation was prompted by more than the hope of a quiet family weekend. Julia would need no prompting for that. She enjoyed going home, spending long evenings swapping classroom anecdotes with her father, and debating everything from books to politics to the pitfalls of modern society with her parents. But tonight, her mother's invitation wasn't about conversation. It was about lifting Julia's spirits..
Unfortunately, her efforts weren't going to work.
"That workshop was more draining than most," Meredith said gently.
"That's an understatement." Julia's breath expelled on a sigh. "Each week when I walk into that hospital and stand next to you, I tell myself that our workshops are making a difference. Then I hear reports like Dr. Garber's, and I wonder if it's all a pipe dream, if what we're trying to do is like trying to boil the ocean."
"You don't believe that. Besides, with enough pilot lights turned up, even the ocean will eventually start to boil. We're gaining awareness. It's a beginning."
"You're a lot more patient than I am. And listening to those statistics—it hurts so much."<
br />
Julia pushed aside her empty coffee cup, remembering the frustration in Dr. Garber's voice as he'd issued his findings to the handful of workshop attendees. An on-staff psychologist, he'd just conducted a study on emotional child abuse and neglect. The results were chilling, and they weren't restricted to any one cultural, demographic, or socioeconomic group. Just as there were all forms of abuse, there were all types of people who resorted to it. Two educators had spoken up in support of his case studies, one a preschool teacher and the other a middle-school guidance counselor. Their stories of the impaired personality traits of psychologically abused kids had twisted Julia's insides into knots.
The fact that some parents physically violated their children was unthinkable. Almost as unthinkable was the fact that large numbers of them battered their kids emotionally and got away with it, since there were no tangible scars to submit as evidence. Not to mention that many of them didn't even consider their behavior to be abusive.
How could someone fail to realize that neglect and psychological battering were as destructive as physical aggression? Especially when it came to young children, who were impressionable and who wanted nothing more than to please their parents?
The very concept tore at Julia's heart. Sometimes so much so that she wondered if she was strong enough to continue giving these workshops with her mother. Her mother handled the emotional fallout better—maybe because she was a nurse, and maybe because she was older and more seasoned. Not that Julia had been sheltered. She'd seen the effects of abuse firsthand, and at a very young age. The impact had left an indelible imprint on her mind and heart and helped shape the direction of her life. But that didn't mean she'd ever be immune to the horror stories.
Regardless, the workshops were necessary. Someone had to heighten the awareness of educators and healthcare providers, especially to the more subtle—and easily missed—forms of emotional child abuse. Meredith Talbot had embraced the task for the past five years, offering these weekly meetings on a pro bono basis in conjunction with the American Professional Society on the Abuse of Children. Julia had joined her right after finishing graduate school. With a double major in child psychology and early childhood education, it was the perfect way to augment her teaching career and make a difference in an area so close to her heart.
But the path seemed endless...
"I'm not patient. I'm practical," Meredith was saying. "And, in your own way, so are you. You're just more emotional than I am—at least on the outside." She squeezed her daughter's hand. "Why not come back to the house? Just for the night, if not the whole weekend."
"I really can't, Mom." Julia rushed on to dissuade her mother's fears. "I'm not being a martyr—honest. It's just that I'm expecting a call from Greg tonight Something about theater tickets. And I've got Brian's Little League game first thing in the morning. It's the season opener. He's pitching. I can't miss it."
"No, of course not." Her mother's smile was filled with fondness. "I hate to think what will happen when Brian Stratford moves up to middle school. On second thought, I know what will happen. He'll be dropping by your classroom once a week to introduce you to his friends, and you'll be driving to the middle school every Saturday of the spring sports season to cheer him on to a no-hitter."
For the first time that night, Julia grinned. "Probably. There's part of me that hates the thought of Brian's father running for the state senate. Especially since I'm sure he'll win. He's a great mayor, and he'll make an equally fine senator. I just hope he has no plans to move closer to Albany. I'd miss Brian terribly—even though he won't be in my class anymore by then. He'll have moved up to third grade."
"Since when has not being in your class stopped him?" Meredith questioned with another smile. "He's been a fixture in your classroom since he was in kindergarten, starting from that week in September when you taught him how to throw a curve ball during recess. He's been a true-blue friend ever since "
"Brian is a very special kid. He's warm, open, and sensitive, not to mention intelligent and mature. One day he's going to make a difference in this world. Heaven knows, we need more people like that." Julia strove for a lighter tone. "As for true blue, that's more than I can say for most men. Other than Dad, of course."
"What about Greg?" Meredith inquired carefully. Al-though she and Julia were close, she tried to respect her twenty-seven-year-old daughter's privacy. Still, this particular aspect of Julia's life, well founded or not, troubled her. "Does Greg fall into that category, or have you even given him a chance?"
A quick shrug sent masses of Julia's silky, mahogany-brown hair tumbling onto her shoulders. "It's not a question of giving him a chance," she hedged. "The truth is, I really don't know Greg that well yet We've only been seeing each other about a month. Which, in our case, means six dates. He's even busier than I am. I manage a classroom. He manages a city—not politically but organizationally and financially. He's swamped."
"In that case, there's no chemistry between you."
Julia looked startled. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." Meredith inclined her head, the shiny dark hair much the same color and texture as her daughter's, only cut short in a sleek, tapered style. "I'm not ancient I remember attraction. It happens in a lot less than a month, and it doesn't wait for your input or your approval. It just happens, sometimes in ways that seem to make no sense at all. Then again, I think you know that already, don't you?"
An uncomfortable pause.
"Julia, life's filled with surprises. Sometimes they pull you off track. That can mean taking risks. Risks aren't always bad, they're just unsettling—especially when taking them conflicts with a plan you're sure is right. Go with your instincts. Don't let fear get in the way."
An uncomfortable pause. "There's nothing getting in the way, Mom. Nothing but work."
"If you say so."
Another pause. "I have to get going." Julia rose hastily, avoiding her mother's astute gaze. The last thing she wanted was to have this particular discussion. It hit too close to home. These days, she wasn't sure where ideology ended and unsettling awareness began. And she wasn't about to find out.
She gathered up her purse and notes. "Thanks for the coffee. And for cheering me up by talking about Brian. Your maternal medicine worked. I feel much better." She stood, leaning over to kiss her mother's cheek. "Give Dad a hug. I'll call you during the week."
"See that you do." Meredith's tone was playful, al-though she continued scrutinizing her daughter's expression, as if she had a lot more to say but was wisely refraining from doing so. "I want to know who wins that season opener."
"You will."
Julia left the diner, crossing over to where her Volkswagen Beetle was parked. For a moment, she paused glancing around at the familiar streets where she'd grown up. She felt a sudden pang of loss as she recalled the absolute faith she'd known here as a child—a faith, that not every child was lucky enough to know. She was determined to change that, to ensure that more and more kids were given the secure foundation they deserved. Maybe that goal was idealistic, but it was what drove her.
Still, she mused, thinking about the results of tonight's workshop. Sometimes idealism got harder and harder to cling to.
But cling she would.
* * *
"Really. You're sure the shots are clear?" Greg Matthews stretched his long legs out in front of him. Leaning back in his living room's leather recliner, he gripped the telephone, listening intently to the information coming to him from the other end. "That's just what I was hoping to hear. Messenger them over here now. Yes—tonight. I'll need the leverage for tomorrow's meeting."
He hung up, mulling over the best strategy for his upcoming breakfast meeting. Normally, he didn't schedule Saturday business appointments. But in this case, he had no choice. And if things went as planned, it would definitely be worth it. He would set the wheels in motion Monday. An insurance policy—one that would result in a solid investment for the city and a solid investment f
or himself.
All in all, he was satisfied. His professional life was finally coming together. Time for his personal life to follow suit.
Pensive, he stood, turning to glance at the clock. Nine-thirty. And Julia still wasn't home. He'd left two messages on her machine since dinner. No reply. That meant she hadn't gotten home from Poughkeepsie yet. He hoped she hadn't decided to stay over at her parents' house. He had Broadway theater tickets for tomorrow night, given to him at the last minute by a local businessman. He'd mentioned that to Julia when he spoke to her earlier in the day. She'd promised to save Saturday night for him. The problem was, she'd sounded rushed and preoccupied when she said it. Her mind was already on the workshop she was giving later that evening. So he didn't have much faith in her remembering their date.
He'd wait until ten. Then he'd call her again. Julia Talbot was a gorgeous breath of fresh air. He had no intentions of letting her get away.
Especially not now.
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3
March 31
Leaf Brook, New York
Stephen Stratford glanced at his car phone, half tempted to make the call he was itching to make while driving the last few blocks to the baseball field. Neither his wife nor his son would notice. They were both in the backseat of the family's Ford Explorer, sidetracked by the pregame crisis that had just occurred.
A button had popped off Brian's uniform.
Unfortunately, this particular button had popped off the dead center of the shirt, rather than off a less conspicuous spot where its absence might have gone unnoticed for this one game. On the plus side, Nancy never traveled anywhere without a first aid kit and a sewing kit—not since Brian's toddler days, when he first became the whirlwind of activity he was now.
