by Maggie Thom
“Do you always get what you want?”
He shrugged and then downed half his beer. “I need you to just listen. I want to show you some things.” He put up his hand like a traffic cop.
Bailey snapped her mouth closed.
“Would you like to order now?” The young waitress set down Bailey’s drink.
“No thanks.” Bailey tried to smile but wasn't sure it came across as anything more than a grimace.
“Not now.” Guy, however, was able to give the server his full wattage grin.
“All right. Just wave when you’re ready.” The waitress moved off to another table.
“Have you eaten?”
“No.” Bailey gulped down a healthy swig of beer.
“Dinner’s on me.”
“Well in that case...” She waved at the waitress who was only a few tables away. When the server came, Bailey said, “I’ll have anything that has lobster in it.” The truth was, she didn’t particularly care for lobster and she knew she was being a bitch but she wasn’t inclined to stop herself. Everyone seemed to want something from her. The waitress rattled off three dishes and Bailey chose the most expensive-sounding one. Guy ordered a steak sandwich.
She settled back and sipped her beer. For some reason she couldn’t take her eyes off the cleft in his chin. It was kind of cute and somehow added to his machismo persona.
“Here’s what I know—”
“What?”
“That picture I gave you is your real great grandma on your mom’s side. Her name was Catherine Caspian. Here’s a better picture of her.”
Bailey stared, her eyes opening wide. Except for the wavy hair, it was her face. The flat forehead, high defined cheekbones, rounded chin, bumpy nose. Bailey traced her finger over the features. This was her. Why hadn’t she seen this before? What the hell had her mother been hiding from her—and why? Who all these people were that were showing up in her life wanting to know things that just couldn’t be true?
Her hands shook. “What color were her eyes?” It was impossible to know from the black and white picture.
“Glacial green. The same as the glacially fed lakes in the mountains. They have a distinct green-blue hue to them.”
Bailey’s head snapped up.
“Like yours.”
He held her gaze. She stared at him for a long moment.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.”
She looked at the picture again. The eyes were full of mischief as if she’d been a young girl bent on defying the rules. I would have liked to have met you. “Okay. I want some answers. No more tap dancing. I believe I’m related to her. So where are the rest of my relatives? Why now? They wanted nothing to do with my mother for thirty years so why now?”
“How much do you know about your mother’s family? Or your father’s?”
“None of your business. I want to know what you know. You’re the one who came looking for me. Now talk.”
He guzzled the rest of his beer and then set down the bottle with a plunk. He signaled the waitress for two more. Bailey downed her drink. She toyed with the label, carefully peeling it off the bottle. The new drinks were set in front of them. They reached for them at the same time.
“Your great-grandmother is dead.”
She cocked her head and lifted her eyes skyward, blowing out an exasperated breath.
“All right. Rather obvious.” He rested his elbows on the table. “Your grandmother is still alive though.”
“Really?” She leaned forward with interest, her stomach pressing into the table.
“Yeah.” He studied the beer label. Sighing, he stared past her for a moment as if searching for answers before meeting her gaze. “There’s just your mom on her side but you have two uncles and two aunts on your dad’s side. Then there are the in-law aunts and uncles.”
Stunned, she flopped back into her chair. I have family. Lots of them. “Cousins? Are there cousins?”
“Ten first and some second and third.”
Oh my God. This was too much like the dreams of her childhood, in which her family would find her and make up with her mom. They’d bring tons of gifts and everyone would hug and kiss and they’d stop moving. She’d get to have sleepovers at her grandma’s, at her aunts and uncles. She’d have enough cousins to make two softball teams—real friends to play with. She’d have birthday parties—every year, and not only when her mom happened to remember—which had never been on the same date. If she hadn’t had a birth certificate she’d have been thoroughly confused; it was yet another rule—never get hung up on dates.
She shook her head. “Where do they live? What are they like? Do they know about me?”
“Hi. I’ve got the lobster.” The waitress set the plate in front of Bailey. Startled, she jerked back but the waitress was already smiling at Guy. “The steak sandwich must be yours.” She set the plate in front of him, carefully arranging it.
He smiled at her, flashing almost perfect white teeth. Bailey rolled her eyes. When the girl finally moved off, she asked, “Like robbing the cradle, do you?”
He gave her an indulgent shrug before digging into his food.
She felt a twinge of guilt at her catty remark but shrugged it off. The luxurious aroma of her food soon drew her attention. The lobster was piled carefully into a coiffed mound with steamed carrots and whipped potatoes. Had it been any other time, she would have dug in and enjoyed an expensive meal that she never could have bought for herself. Only she wasn’t hungry anymore; no way was she going to get anything into her knotted stomach.
She looked up and met a pair of sky blue eyes. They studied her. She tried not to squirm or to open her mouth and be flippant and for some reason, she didn’t.
“Something wrong with the food?” He raised one eyebrow.
“No.” Sighing, she pushed away her plate. “Enough BS, I want some answers now. How did you find me? How long have you been looking? Who hired you?” She looked out over the rapidly filling patio. “Where is my family?” She turned back and stared at the man who had the answers to her future.
And her past.
He carefully cut another piece of his steak sandwich and put it in his mouth. if there had been any other way for her to get information, she might have stormed out. But since he had answers, she picked up her beer and leaned back in her seat to wait him out. She got the feeling he was struggling with how to tell her something, she just wanted him to spit it out. She’d learned to play poker at eight but never how to really play 'the game’.
“How much do you know about your family?”
“Wrong question. You already asked that. I want to know what you know.” She tipped her bottle to him. “So spill.”
He held her gaze for the longest time. The overhead lantern provided a gentle, romantic glow that was faint enough that it hid his face in the shadows.
“Just bear with me. I need to know what you know, so I know where to start.”
“Been practicing that line for a while?” She glanced down, her gaze caught by the knight’s helmet and initial insignia on his navy blue silk shirt: K A. She wondered what the letters stood for.
“All right. Fair enough. Okay. This is going to be hard for you to hear. So...” He shoved his hand through his neatly combed hair.
“Your real name is Cassidy Lefevre. You’re twenty-nine. You were born on February 12th, 1983, in Quebec.”
The sounds of the other customers, the traffic passing by and the noise seemed amplified all at once. She jumped up. “Frick, I knew you had the wrong person.” She mumbled some things as she sat back down just as fast. All her life had been about running; she was trying hard to change that. He had answers. She hoped.
“I know it’s hard to believe but I do have the right person. You saw the picture for yourself. It’s real. Your resemblance to the woman is real.”
Heat crawled up her face. She was glad the place was gloomy and he wouldn’t be able to see her fire engine red face. “It can�
�t be possible.” Shaking to the core of her being, she placed her hands over her mouth. “My mother...” She glanced away, not sure what she had been about to say. A few people were openly staring at them and obviously eavesdropping.
“I have a lot I need to tell you. Do you mind if we go some place quieter so I can share what I know?”
“Umm... Maybe...”
“I passed a lounge a couple of blocks from here that looked pretty empty. Want to take a chance?” After she nodded, he tossed down some bills.
He motioned for her to go first. His warm hand against her lower back was the impetus she needed to shake out of her confusion. Her strides grew faster but he matched her pace, his fingers a steady presence. It was very tempting to lean back into that warm, comforting hold, something she’d never had in her life.
“Follow me. Okay?”
“Sure,” she said as she slid behind the steering wheel. She watched as he climbed into a new SUV rental.
He’s from out of town too. That’s how she had always defined herself; no matter where she and her mom had lived, she was never from there—she was never from anywhere. Is that why no one could find us, Mom?
A horn honked. She looked up to discover he was waiting for her, so she started her car and pulled out behind him. She did as he asked, all the way to the lounge. She watched him park, get out of the vehicle and walk toward where she was sitting in her car, at the entrance to the parking lot. The Guess Who’s song, Laughing, came on the radio. It had been her mom’s favorite song.
What the hell?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bailey’s heart felt like it was being held by a vise as it slowly squeezing the life out of it. On some level she knew he was going to tell her something that would rock her world in a way it had never been rocked before. It could have been the threat to her peace of mind or an inability to trust, but whatever it was, it was enough to compel her to hit reverse, stomp on the gas pedal and zip into the street. She’d always been in this alone. She’d find her own answers.
His eyes opened wide in shock before settling into a disappointed, knowing look. It was one she’d perfected when she’d learned, yet again, they were moving. The expression on Guy’s face reminded her of too much. She burned out of there, going well over the speed limit. She whipped in and out of lanes, turned down side roads, drove around, at times a bit lost, until finally she pulled up in the back alley of her mother’s place. It was just something she did on instinct; she didn’t question why she’d chosen to hide her car, but her sixth sense had saved her on many occasions. Living on the streets has taught her a lot. It had only been because she’d listened to her gut that she’d saved herself.
Blowing out her breath, she let go of old memories, grabbed her bag and keys, quietly creeping across the lawn to the side door to let herself in. She unlocked and opened the door, gently closing it behind her just as she was grabbed from behind, one hand clamped over her mouth while an arm wrapped around her middle like a band of steel. She was almost overwhelmed by the stench of stale tobacco and rancid alcohol.
Not again.
“Where’s the picture, bitch?”
Long ingrained instincts kicked in; she lifted her right leg forward and then drove her sneakered foot back into his knee while smashing her elbow into his ribs. He yelped and swore but didn’t break his hold on her. They stumbled backward, crashing into the table. She took advantage of his loosened grip, ripping it from around her. She made it to the door and got it open a few inches before his body slammed into her, pinning her there. His hands encased her wrists. “Try that again and I’ll kill you. I don’t care what I’ve been told. Got that?”
She held herself perfectly rigid but didn’t respond.
“Good. Now where is that picture?”
“At the photo store?”
“What?” He grabbed her arms with one hand and yanked a handful of hair, pulling her head back at an awkward angle. “Listen, lady, I’m not here to play games. The picture I’m looking for is old. Where is it?”
Bailey snorted in disbelief. “Pictures. You want pictures. Well, let me tell you something you big over-stuffed—”
He smacked her wrists against the door.
“Uuuuuuhhh... listen—”
He jammed his knee into the back of hers. Pain ripped through her. She sagged forward, trying to will away the agony. “There have been no photos in my life. My mom didn’t believe in them. I... DON’T... HAVE... ANY.”
Grabbing her left arm, he twisted it behind her back, turning her around. He marched her into the living room. In the dim light, she could barely see her way and stumbled over the mess on the floor.
“What’s in those bags?”
“Newspapers.”
“Where’s your mom’s room?”
“Kiss mine.”
He jerked back and up.
She tried not to respond but she was sure her shoulders were but one thread away from being dislocated. Tentatively walking down the hallway, she tried to avoid the overturned bags of stuff that now littered the floor. When she tripped and almost took him down with her, he jerked her arm halfway up her back. She stood on tiptoe to ease the pain and the blackness that was threatening to engulf her.
“Do that again and I’ll rip both arms out of their sockets.”
Biting her lip so she wouldn’t scream, she said, “Then turn on some damn lights. I can’t see a thing and since you saw the need to redecorate, it’s your fault.”
“All right, turn on the bathroom light. Don’t do anything funny.”
She almost snorted at that because when he let go of her wrist, her injured arm flopped to her side. It took a moment for her to lift it and the muscles protested loudly when she raised her hand so she could flip the switch. He shoved her into the bedroom and although flopping on the bed was preferable to having his hands on her, she wasn’t staying there in case he got ideas. A quick move and she was back on her feet but he immediately backhanded her. She fell backward onto the bed, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. She swiped at her lip as she propped herself onto her elbows. With a torrent of banging, crashing and smashing, he yanked open dresser drawers and dumped them. The veracity with which he moved made her cringe.
The man’s right hand shook like he was thirty hours into detox. He sure didn’t smell like that though. A week of soaking in a bathtub might have been able to loosen the caked dirt and grime, food, grease, sweat and other things, she didn’t even want to guess at what they might be, coating his body and his clothes, but she wasn’t so sure. “Where’d your mom hide pictures?”
We don’t have any pictures, not even of me growing up. So I don’t know what...
Bailey’s eyes opened wide. The only photo she’d seen in thirty years was the one in her bag—which was somewhere on the kitchen floor. What would he want those pictures for? They were old. There was nothing... The jewels. Had someone stolen it? Was someone going to steal it?
She sat upright. He was bent over the debris now littering the floor, his butt pointing in her direction. He wasn’t paying any attention to her. She lifted her feet and rammed them as hard as she could into his butt, toppling him. Then she ran, heading out through the kitchen, yanking open the door and hitting the lock on her way out. It wouldn’t stop him but it might slow him down. Scooping her bag off the floor, she raced out, slamming the door behind her and sprinting across the back lawn. She spit out a mouthful of stale blood as she went. Once in her car, she hit the gas and drove away, the back tires spewing dirt and grass. Winding her way through the streets, she looked for a main road that would take her west.
Flipping open the glove box, she pulled out the two envelopes. Someone had answers. She feared it might just be her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Guy sprinted across the street when he saw Bailey race through the living room, past the open front door. “Wait!”
She didn’t slow down nor act like she’d heard him.
Leaping up the stairs he c
rashed into a small, wiry man who was barreling out. The two men stumbled then caught their balance. The smaller man moved quicker, lashing out with his left foot, catching Guy just below the knee, sending him stumbling backward into the railing. The man was already running down the block.
Fear hit Guy like a punch to the gut. Where was Bailey? Who was that guy?
He raced through the house following the direction he’d seen Bailey run. Zipping out the side, he glanced at the street and then sprinted toward the back fence as he looked up and down the back alley. There was no sign of her car. She was gone. Turning around, he made his way back inside. Picking his way over the littered floor, he looked for clues that might tell him what the hell had just happened.
Boxes were flipped over, bags ripped open, drawers piled on the floor, blood spots on the bed. Since there were only a few drops he assumed the person wasn’t seriously hurt. The question was, was it Bailey’s?
He pulled out his cell phone and made a quick call. “Graham. I need you to do some more digging into Bailey’s background. Go back more than ten years. Retrace her steps. I need to fill in the blanks. I skimmed over some of the history surrounding her mom but I think there must be something I missed.”
“Hello to you too. And I’m on it. What’s going on?”
“Not sure. But someone broke into her mother’s house and she’s on the run. I need to know if this was a random burglary or connected somehow to her. I’m thinking the latter.” He knew his business partner, Graham, wouldn’t question his gut instinct. It had served them enough times when there was no evidence to go on. Like the time he’d caught the accountant with the impeccable record, who was walking out each day, with thousands of dollars in his lunch bag.
“On it.”
Guy filled him in on what had occurred that evening. “I’m not sure where to look for her. I’m going to dig around here and see what I find. I’ll get back to you.”
Following her a few days before had at least given him something to work with. The only person she’d met with had been a lawyer. Would she go to him if she was in trouble? Clicking off his phone, he headed back down the hall. The unmade bed and clothes scattered in the spare bedroom caught his attention.
